Runebinder

by Alex R. Kahler

  “Don’t you dare,” Tenn whispered. “Don’t you dare say his name.”

  “Did I hit a nerve?” Tomás asked, a grin still splashed across his face.

  “I’ll kill you,” Tenn said. Red filled his vision—red overlaid with Jarrett’s face moments before he leaped. “You did this to me. You’re the reason he’s dead!”

  Tomás was there in a second, kneeling on the arms of the chair, one hand on Tenn’s thigh and the other gripping his neck.

  Tomás leaned in and whispered into Tenn’s ear. “Don’t fuck with me, Tenn. I’ve kept you alive because I like you, but that doesn’t mean I’ll tolerate such rudeness. I had no hand in your lover’s death, pain me as that does. I’ve saved your ass more times than I care to count. Don’t make me regret it.”

  “I’d rather die than have you help me again,” Tenn gasped. “A Howl that thinks he’s a king is still a Howl.”

  Tomás blazed heat. It burned and seared and froze Tenn’s skin as Tomás screamed in his ear. “How dare you call me that!”

  He dug his fingers into Tenn’s leg. Fire seared up Tenn’s thigh, but that was nothing compared to his fear of the incubus himself. Tomás seemed unhinged. The air around him quivered and glowed red like a hellish mirage. His lips pulled back in a sneer, his canines bared and more pronounced than normal. His clothes and hair seemed to billow in the storm of his rage.

  “You’re still a monster,” Tenn said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Look at yourself.”

  And then, just like that, the aura around Tomás disappeared, the flame in his eyes winked out.

  “He thinks I’m a monster,” Tomás whispered. “A monster. I’m a monster.” He looked at Tenn, then at the blood dripping down Tenn’s thigh. “I hurt you.” He shook his head, backed away and stared at the wall. “No, he deserved to be hurt. He dared insult me.” Another shake of the head, a flicker of red aura. “He deserved pain.” His entire body shuddered this time, like something was trying to escape. When he looked back to Tenn, his face was carefully composed, perfectly arranged.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He clutched one hand to the side of his face. “Sometimes. Sometimes it’s hard to...” He shook his head. “We can’t fight what we are, Tenn. Not forever. Not even you. We’re a lot alike, you know. You burn. You burn even brighter than me.” He reached out and touched Tenn’s heart. The Sphere of Fire flared under Tomás’s fingertip, making Tenn’s breath catch. Tenn had never been attuned to the Sphere, and feeling it burn in his chest was both foreign and familiar. “You’ll burn the whole world, given half the chance.” He removed his finger and sat back, staring at Tenn like a sad specimen. Tenn’s whole body ached for that touch, for the hate and passion that seemed to ooze from Tomás’s skin. It filled the void Jarrett had left, brought sensation to the parts of him he had written off as numb.

  “Why. Are. You. Here?” Tenn asked, biting hard on each word to keep his body in control. Even in a dream, he wouldn’t let the Howl overtake him. He wouldn’t give Tomás that satisfaction.

  A confused look passed over Tomás’s face, as though he wasn’t so certain of that himself. It passed in a heartbeat as the perfect mold of composure slipped back into place.

  “I am here...” he said, his words their usual purr. He leaned a bit closer, putting his weight on one hand like a prowling cat. “Because I know what you want. You want revenge.”

  “I want Jarrett back,” Tenn said.

  “We can’t always get what we want!” Tomás snapped, another flare of energy whirling and settling around him. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. Tenn waited, tense, vaguely wondering what would happen if Tomás killed him in the dream.

  “I am here,” he said again, his eyes still closed, “because I can help you fight back. I know how to reach Leanna. I know her weaknesses. You can’t get your lover back. I know how that feels, Tenn, to lose the man of your dreams. I would rip off the head of whoever did that to me.” He smirked, the tone of condolence fading. “I did actually. It felt amazing.”

  “Why would you help me?” Tenn asked.

  “I have my reasons,” Tomás said quietly, as though those reasons were of the utmost secrecy. “Jarrett would have wanted this, you know. He would have wanted you to avenge him. Do you think, if roles were reversed, he would have let your killer live?”

  Anger roiled through Tenn’s veins. A hundred curses whipped across his tongue—you didn’t know him, don’t ever mention him, he was too good—but if the roles had been reversed, Jarrett would never have stopped looking for Matthias. Not until every Howl and necromancer had paid for what they’d done. At least, if Jarrett cared about him as much as he said he did...

  Tomás seemed to read his thoughts. His sneer widened, and he crept a few inches closer. Heat coursed through Tenn’s body as images floated through his mind—tearing Matthias limb from limb, stabbing the unknown Leanna through the chest, letting all the rage and hatred burn over, destroy the world. Tomás’s visage seemed to echo over all of it, like some heathen god of destruction.

  “Yes,” Tomás hissed. “That’s the fire. Jarrett deserves your anger. Your retribution. Fight for him.”

  Tenn shook his head against the visions of blood. It was harder, in the grasp of a dream. Like swimming through quicksand.

  “What do you want from me? From this?”

  Tomás was on top of him now, his hands on the chair’s arms and his face only inches away. His copper-flecked eyes glinted in the candlelight.

  “Let’s just say Leanna and I have a score to settle. You help me kill her, and I’ll help you get your revenge. We both get what we want.” Tomás leaned in, gently brushed Tenn’s cheek with his own. Goose bumps tingled under that touch. Tenn moaned and tried not to lean in. “And, if you’re like me, you want a lot. It’s about time we got what we wanted, wouldn’t you agree?”

  His eyes burned into Tenn’s when he leaned back. In that moment, Tenn couldn’t decide if he wanted to rip the man apart, rip off his clothes or both.

  Tenn nodded. He couldn’t be certain what would come out if he opened his mouth.

  “I thought you would see things my way.”

  Tenn didn’t ask why Tomás wanted to kill his own sister. He didn’t ask why Tomás didn’t just do it himself. He didn’t care, so long as Leanna ended up dead. So long as she died at Tenn’s hand.

  “What do you want me to do?” Tenn asked, his words breathy with anticipation. Excitement over the prospect of killing Leanna. Excitement over the nearness of the incubus.

  Tomás’s grin spoke volumes. “So many things,” he replied. “But for now, just keep moving forward. I cannot play with you if you are dead.”

  Tenn nodded. Tomás leaned in.

  “I know you mourn his loss, but soon you will rule at my side as king.”

  Tomás kissed Tenn’s neck. Desire curled in the back of Tenn’s throat, heady and hot.

  “I will show you all the pleasures of the world,” Tomás cooed. “Just as soon as you have proven yourself worthy.”

  He bit Tenn’s earlobe, a shot of adrenaline to Tenn’s heart and, the moment the sensation faded, Tomás was gone.

  * * *

  “We will be safe here.”

  Dreya’s voice cut through the fog of his dream.

  “What?” he mumbled. He forced himself up. His throat was dry—had he been screaming in his sleep?

  “We must stop soon. We are nearly out of gas, and we must regroup.”

  He glanced around. It was impossible to tell where they were, surrounded by endless trees and snow-covered signs. But something in the way Dreya spoke had his nerves on edge. It was like she was scared of admitting more.

  “How much farther?”

  “The Witches should be near,” she said, “but we cannot risk bringing attention to them or o
urselves. Not right now. Especially not if the Witches have moved on...that would leave us too vulnerable. We must find a place that is safe and let Matthias pass us by.”

  They passed another road sign.

  Silveron

  Left Ahead

  “No,” Tenn muttered, but Dreya cut him off.

  “You say Matthias has been in your dreams, yes?” she asked. She looked back to him. “Then he knows you would avoid this place. He knows how much it pains you. It is the last place he would expect you to go.”

  Tenn didn’t want to stop again. He didn’t want to have time to think about what had happened. He didn’t want to see the halls that he and Jarrett had walked down, the place that marked both the beginning and the end of their future. But he knew from the look in Dreya’s eyes that he wasn’t being asked his opinion.

  Dreya turned back to the front and Devon turned the car up the drive. Tenn wrapped himself tighter in his coat. He wanted to feel bad about pushing the two of them away, but that would require feeling something.

  Right then, he felt nothing at all.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE ROAD THAT led to Silveron quickly changed from concrete to gravel, the grit crunching like snapped bones beneath the snow. Branches stretched overhead like black veins, pulsing memories into the twilight and bleeding through his mind. How often had this path haunted him? All the dreams of death and destruction, the final flight from this place. All the times he returned in his sleep, drifting like a ghost through the rooms of his past. And now, here he was, driving that very path. It didn’t feel any more real than the dreams.

  They rounded the corner and there it was: Silveron spread out before them like an admissions photograph, everything snow-covered and pristine in the dying winter light. The buildings were the typical New England flair, everything wooden and white. Long two-story buildings for classrooms, a steepled clock tower jutting from the central library, wide swathes of open lawns dotted with benches and shrubs. Charming. Unassuming. As though looking like any small college was a part of its defense.

  Before it all stood the great wrought-iron gates that barbed up like talons through the white. “Silveron Academy” wove itself through the top arch, gilded in chipped gold. He’d passed through those gates twice during his time as a student. Once, when his parents dropped him off, and last, when the school was evacuated mere hours after the Resurrection was televised.

  His gut turned over as they passed under the arch.

  He hated how much it felt like coming home. It just made the empty backseat seem emptier. He’d never considered coming back here with Jarrett, but coming back here without Jarrett felt like torture.

  He bit his lip and tried to keep from breaking down.

  Somehow, the school was still immaculate, as impressive and imposing as the first day he’d stepped foot there. The lawns were clean and blanketed with fluffy snow, the windows intact and the roofs perfectly dusted with frost. All that was missing was the warmth of inner fires and lights. But there was an emptiness to the place, too. A hunger. It drew them in and promised to never let go.

  Devon parked just inside the gate and the three of them got out. Tenn stared up at the sky, a few stray flecks of snow falling on his face.

  “I am sorry,” Dreya said. She stood beside him, so pale in this light that she could fade out against the snow.

  He didn’t know what she was apologizing for. Whether over Jarrett or bringing him here, it didn’t really matter.

  “Why can’t we just go to them?” Tenn asked. “The Witches. If they’re close, why do we have to stay here?”

  “Because they might be dead,” Devon said. He walked over to them, snowflakes catching on the fibers of his scarf, making him look festive despite his words. “Witches keep to the wilderness, which means we have to go to the wilderness to find them. That means we would be in the open at night. It could be a trap.” He stepped closer, and Fire flickered in his chest, sending a small shiver through Tenn; just knowing Devon was under Fire’s spell made him nervous. “I am too drained to fight off Matthias. As is my sister. And you cannot control your own powers. So we will stay here. Where it is safe. Where we can rest. And when we are ready to move on, we will.”

  Dreya didn’t seem to breathe. She stared at her brother with a slight part to her lips.

  “I didn’t ask you to get involved,” Tenn said. It was barely a whisper—Devon’s words cut deeper than they should have. Devon was right: Tenn was a burden. If the two of them couldn’t fight, he had no chance. “I didn’t want anyone to die.”

  “But they did,” Devon said. He looked Tenn right in the eyes when he said it. “Many people have died. Some to keep you safe, others as part of this unending war. If there is a chance—any chance—that you can end it, or make their lives worth something, you will see it out. To do anything less would be a disgrace.” He wrapped the scarf tighter around his neck. “Now. Lead on.”

  Dreya looked from her brother to Tenn and shrugged.

  Tenn thought she might come to his aid, but her silence said it all. Devon was right. Tenn had to keep moving forward. There was never time for weakness, and now least of all. He shoved his doubts down and led them toward the dorms. If they expected a vocal tour, they would be disappointed.

  The only consolation Tenn could find as they made their way through the maze of sidewalks was that his classmates had all gotten out. There was no sign of battle here, no sign of bloodshed. There had never been any victims here to devour. But it also put him on edge: nowhere else in the world was a landscape so untouched, especially not one inhabited by humans. Why had the Howls—or, hell, the Church—avoided this place?

  Behind the beautiful facade of normal buildings were the true structures that set Silveron apart. He led them toward his dorm, past the field of stones used for Earth practice, around a tall stone tower that had been reserved for Air. The Fire bunker was farther down the path, near the lake where he’d spent the vast majority of his time. Tenn nearly jumped when something shifted on one of the benches. Then the light caught, and he realized it was just a fox, ribs pronounced and eyes wide.

  “She watches,” Dreya whispered.

  Tenn’s heart leaped into his chest.

  “Who?”

  The fox stared at them, its eyes seemingly too intelligent.

  “The Violet Sage,” she whispered.

  “Who?” Tenn repeated.

  But Dreya shook her head, and he knew that he would get no more from her. The dorm, one of only four on campus, housed the underclassmen. It was stone and wood and two stories tall, flanked by massive oaks that had long since lost their leaves. Like the other buildings, the windows here were intact. The glass front door was closed and whole, the lawn in front devoid of the clutter and chaos he’d grown so used to seeing. He gripped his staff tighter and walked up the front steps. A twist of Earth and the lock broke. The door creaked open, the noise far too loud in the otherwise-silent air. More chills curled down his spine. Everything about this place felt haunted, and it wasn’t just the memories warring behind his thoughts.

  Ghosts of history swirled inside the lobby. He saw the vending machine that had saved him on more than one early morning of skipped breakfast and sleeping in. Over there, the wooden cubbies that had served as their mailboxes. And in front of them, the front desk he’d lingered by more nights than not, hoping to catch sight of Jarrett on his way back to his room. Tenn nearly dropped to his knees as the full weight of his past slugged him in the stomach.

  If not for this place, he never would have learned magic. He never would have met Jarrett. He probably wouldn’t have survived the first few days of the Resurrection.

  He owed this place everything.

  Yet he also felt like this place had taken everything away. And here it was again.

  “This was my dorm,” he sa
id. His words echoed in the lobby. “The last time I was here...”

  The last time I was here, my friends were running out the door with their bags half-packed because the monsters had been set loose. The last time I was here, I thought the end had come. The last time I was here, Jarrett and I were just kids. Now one of us is dead.

  Why couldn’t it have been me?

  He glanced around, surveying the empty lobby, trying to keep his thoughts or Water from getting the upper hand.

  “If you want to rest for the night, we can stay here.”

  Dreya nodded. Neither she nor Devon moved. He didn’t want to take command, but it was becoming clear they expected as much. At least in here.

  A part of him wanted to take them to the opposite wing, to some random stranger’s room so he wouldn’t have to feel like he was stepping into his old life, but there was another part, a masochistic part, that wanted to see his old bed. He’d dreamed of this place more often than he could count. He wanted to lay those nightmares to rest, one way or another.

  Besides, Jarrett had lived in the opposite hall. He wasn’t as masochistic as that.

  So he led them upstairs and down the hall, toward a room near the fire escape in case they needed a quick getaway. All the doors along the hall were closed but unlocked, their faux wood surfaces glinting in Devon’s light. A few still had the construction paper signs the RA had made before they arrived. The rest of the signs littered the floor like faded leaves. It felt like being in a crypt, like every one of those closed doors and fallen signs was a testament to a life unlived. He pushed open a door—the one across from his own—and held it for them.

  “This work?”

  He knew he shouldn’t be short with them, but he couldn’t find room for eloquence.

  Dreya peered inside. Thin light filtered through the curtains, but Devon opened to Fire and sent more lights through. When he stepped inside, Dreya shrugged again.

  “It will do.”

  But she didn’t head inside. She stood there in the entry and stared at Tenn.