Magic Harvest

by Karlik, Mary

  Ian nodded. “Now!”

  They jumped over the roll of red and landed easily on the floor.

  Layla expected the blood carpet to upset the table and chair and keep rolling. Instead, it bounced off and reversed direction, unwinding toward them and gaining speed.

  Ian and Buzzard fled to the storeroom and up the steps with Layla right behind them.

  Blood spilled into the storeroom and crashed onto the stairs.

  At the top of the stairs, Ian jerked the door closed behind them, barely avoiding the crimson splash.

  As the door slammed shut, Layla human-sized, nocked an arrow, and prepared to meet the creature who stood between them and their escape.

  Ian nearly fell against the door when he saw the hag hunched over the empty cages, moaning.

  Using the top of the cage as a crutch, the old lady pulled herself upright. Miranda’s hate-filled eyes darted from Buzzard to Ian to Layla. When her gaze landed on Layla, she pointed a gnarled finger at her. “You! I’ve smelled you before.”

  Layla stepped forward. “Let us pass and I won’t hurt you.”

  Ian searched the creature for a clear indication that somehow Miranda might be locked inside. True, the eyes were the same. But how could his sweet American friend have turned into this thing?

  “Where are they? My dolls?” the hag screeched.

  “Step aside.” Layla pulled back on the bowstring.

  “Do you deny that you took them?” The woman banged her gnarled hands on the empty cages.

  “We freed them.” Layla held her chin high and leveled the arrow at the crone.

  This was insane. If Miranda was still somewhere inside this creature, Ian had to try to bring her back. He stepped forward. “Miranda?”

  The hag’s eyes flashed with recognition and for an instant, Ian saw a plea for help.

  “Miranda—it’s me, Ian.” His gut clenched and his chest ached as he neared her. “What have they done to you?”

  The woman’s stooped form straightened.

  “Come back to me,” he coaxed.

  Her hair began to change to its natural caramel color.

  Ian stretched out his hand. “That’s right, Miranda. I’m here for you.”

  The hag was transforming. Before his very eyes, the years faded from her. Wrinkles smoothed, her twisted fingers straightened, and a soft smile formed on plump lips.

  He returned that smile and his heart rejoiced. He’d take her away from this place, from Connor Davis. This would be his victory. He reached out to her. “Come with me.”

  Miranda’s smile broadened as she slipped her fingers into his. He guided her toward the door. But then he bumped one of the empty cages.

  Miranda’s head snapped toward the cage and her eyes flashed crimson. A moan started deep in her gut and rose to her throat. Her neck popped left and then right, elongating with each movement while her face morphed into a lizard form. Screams erupted from the creature as it shed its human skin, revealing iridescent scales beneath. Tombstone-shaped ridges formed along her spine. Stretching behind her dragon body was a long tail with a spade-like spike at the end. Acrid smoke billowed around the creature as it completed the transformation.

  Ian’s chest tightened so much he couldn’t breathe, while his pulse raced through his system. What had he done? How had he triggered this? He kept his eyes on the monster and yelled at Layla and Buzzard, “Get to the door!”

  Buzzard pointed his weapon toward the beast and made for the door.

  Layla faced the creature with her bow ready to fire. But it was aimed to the left of the dragon. The fairy’s face was chalky and her eyes had a frozen, glazed-over look.

  Ian had seen it before—PTSD. She was probably reliving the moment the dragon had attacked her parents and there wasn’t time to talk her down.

  Ian pushed Layla ahead of him to the door, but as they neared, the beast maneuvered its body between them and their escape.

  He watched as, like a robot programmed into action, Layla released the arrow. It bounced off the beast’s belly and clattered to the floor. The arrow was followed by three shots fired from Buzzard’s gun. The bullets rattled harmlessly to the ground after impact.

  The dragon roared and fire shot from its mouth. Whether it was the feel of the flames narrowly missing them, or the smoke choking their lungs, or the scream of the beast, or a combination of it all, something must have clicked in Layla’s mind. She snapped into action and conjured a shield between them and the dragon just as a blast of fire shot toward them.

  They wheezed and coughed as the air grew thick with smoke. Ian’s eyes burned as he struggled to keep them open. “We need to get her away from the door.”

  Layla croaked, “Be ready. I have to lower the shield to fight her.” The shield dropped and she shot a stream of magic at the beast. But the blue stream washed over the dragon like water.

  Adrenaline raced through Ian. He yelled at the creature, “Miranda, this is not you.”

  The dragon bellowed and swept fire at the ceiling.

  Layla flipped her bow over her shoulder, then pulled Tormed from her belt and her targe from her left shoulder. “Ian, she’s gone. You can’t get her back.”

  Blinking burning tears from his smoke-filled eyes, he reached out. “Then give me your dirk. She has to have a weak spot somewhere.”

  Layla handed him the dagger.

  The dragon turned her head toward Buzzard making his way to the door. Layla swung the sword hard at the dragon’s neck, but it clanged against her green scales without making a dent.

  Ian moved beneath the belly of the beast, but his stabs were as useless as the rest of the assaults.

  Layla fey-sized and flew above her.

  Buzzard lunged for the door. Before he could shove it open, the dragon roared and turned toward him. Swishing her tail as she moved, the spade on the end caught Ian’s right arm, gashing his bicep.

  Pain seared through him as he let out a scream and dropped the dagger.

  Blood poured from his arm. With his left hand, he squeezed the gash together as well as he could while keeping pressure on it, and staggered to the wall for support. Drawing in rasping breaths, he slid along the wall until he reached the door. He fell against it, opening it enough for the smoke to escape.

  Buzzard sprinted to the fallen dirk and thrust the tip toward the dragon’s head.

  The dragon avoided the blow and lined up on him. Her eyes narrowed as she prepared to focus her fire.

  “Buzzard, take this.” Layla tossed her sword to him. He dropped the sgian-dubh as he caught it.

  Layla called the sgian-dubh to her and flew straight to the dragon’s snout. She landed between the beast’s smoke-billowing nostrils. This close, Layla could see a separation in the beast’s plated skin. Bracing her feet on the snout, Layla drew back the kinfe and jabbed it deep into the soft tissue between the plates. It wasn’t enough to do her real damage, but even pinpricks hurt.

  The dragon roared and craned her neck.

  Layla pulled out the blade and jabbed again.

  The dragon shook her head, but Layla held on and stabbed a third time.

  The beast arched the top of her neck lowering her snout toward the ground. Buzzard lunged forward with the sword, impaling the dragon deep through its crimson right eye.

  The dragon screamed and fell to the floor.

  Buzzard pushed the sword deeper though the dragon’s eye into her skull. He gave the sword a twist before yanking it out, dripping with black blood.

  Ian yelled from the doorway. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They ran for the tunnel. Halfway there, Ian stumbled. Buzzard grabbed him around the waist and helped him the rest of the way to the passage. Inside the tunnel, Layla used the dragon stone for light as Buzzard fashioned a semi-tourniquet to slow the blood loss.

  When they reached the wind stream, Buzzard lay flat next to Ian and hooked his arm under Ian’s injured arm. Side by side, like a two-headed monster, they belly crawled until th
ey reached the other side.

  There were only a handful of tourists left in the public portion of the tunnel and they were able to pass through it easily to the intersection that led up the stone steps to the street level. They pushed through the unlocked iron gate to an empty courtyard, and skidded to a stop.

  A bank of black fog billowed between them and the close that would take them to the high street.

  Layla flipped her bow over her shoulder. “We have company, lads.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  As they prepared for the fight that was sure to come, Layla held her sword and targe out to Buzzard. “Take this.”

  He slipped his left hand into the targe handle and held Tormed with his right. “You realize I have no idea how to use these weapons.”

  Fighting the urge to crumple to the ground and hide beneath her wings, she feigned confidence as she nocked an arrow. “Ach. You did all right with the dragon. Besides, your human weapons are useless.”

  The gun wagging in Ian’s left hand caught Buzzard’s attention. “You have blood soaking your shirt and you’re as pale as a ghost. I think you need to sit this one out.”

  “And watch you two have all the fun? I won’t lie—I’d feel better if Theo were to appear in the fog rather than the Dark Harvester.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the gun still in his hand. “As long as I’m standing, I’m fighting.”

  Buzzard pointed at the gun. “Then steady that weapon before you shoot one of us.”

  Ian braced his left elbow against his chest with the barrel of the gun pointed up. “I’ve got it.”

  “Keep it pointed up then, aye.” Buzzard cut his eyes to Layla with a subtle headshake.

  “Keep your eyes keen.” Ian slurred his words and took a step back. “I’m good. Let’s get this over with.”

  Buzzard held the sword ready to strike. “You want to give us a quick briefing, Layla?”

  To keep her hands from trembling, she gripped her bow so tightly her knuckles turned white. “The Dark Harvester’s magic is powerful and he throws it fast.” Tension twisted in her belly. “Most important, don’t look him in the eyes. He can entrance with his eyes.”

  “Come on, fog man.” Buzzard took a step forward and shouted, “Get on with it. We’ll die of old age waiting for you to come out of hiding.”

  A thud sounded next to Layla. She and Buzzard turned together to see Ian face-down on the ground.

  “Ian!” Layla’s body trembled as she dropped to her knees next to him.

  Buzzard squatted next to her. “Help me roll him to his side.”

  As they moved Ian, he moaned and rasped, “Looks like I will be sitting this one out.”

  His eyes closed and Layla’s throat squeezed tight. “Is he—?”

  “Aye. Still breathing.” Peering into the fog, Buzzard asked, “Are you sure that thing is here? We need to get Ian help.”

  Layla rocked back on her heels and stood. “If there’s fog, he’s here.”

  An arrow zipped past Buzzard, grazing Ian’s shoulder, before skidding across the stone.

  Buzzard took his place next to Layla as she swung around and shot an arrow into the fog. “Is that how you play?” She snapped her wings wide and set her feet beneath her. “Afraid to face us?”

  The fog cleared enough to reveal the Dark Harvester with his bow in his left hand.

  Layla let fly another arrow.

  He raised his right hand and deflected it with his magic.

  But he hadn’t anticipated the dirk Layla flung as soon as she released the arrow. It stuck into the side of his neck almost to the thistle-embossed hilt. The Dark Harvester dropped his bow with the arrow still nocked. His mouth gaped, exposing putrid green gums as he sucked in a breath and reached up for the knife.

  Before his bony fingers could graze the hilt, Layla called it to her. It backed from his muscles, tissues, and skin with a sickening sucking sound before sailing hilt-first through the black fog and toward her outstretched palm.

  The Dark Harvester slapped a hand across the neck wound. Blood seeped between his fingers and dripped down his throat as he shot a spell at the knife. His red stream hit the sgian-dubh, flipping it blade first toward Layla’s chest.

  Her pulse raced as she cupped her hands and shot a thick blue stream from them to the dirk. The handle spun toward her hand. But as soon as it flipped, the Harvester turned it back toward her heart.

  And as the red and blue streams of magic battled for control of the sgian-dubh, time seemed to stall. The knife slogged through the air, spinning in slow motion... blade-first, hilt-first, blade-first, hilt-first.

  The Harvester’s neck muscles strained until blood ran in a thick stream and pooled in the little pockets of sunken skin that formed above his collarbone. He hunched his shoulders to suck in shallow breaths and still the dirk was making its way through the air, aimed just to the left of the center of Layla’s breastbone.

  As the knife neared she shielded her chest with her cupped hands. When the tip of the blade was just shy of touching them, she tried to move out of its path, but it changed direction with her.

  Each time the the knife swung blade-first, she held her breath to create more room between her skin and the tip of the blade. The Harvester’s magic was stronger than hers. It was only a matter of seconds before she lost the battle and he drove the dagger right through her skin and deep into her heart.

  Movement flashed in her peripheral vision. With a hair’s breadth between the tip of the blade and her skin, the Harvester’s power dissipated. The knife spun one last time and the thistle handle struck her chest in a blow so forceful it took her a second to realize that she hadn’t been stabbed. Confusion clouded her thinking as she took control of the knife.

  Then she saw Buzzard draw Tormed from the Dark Harvester’s side.

  The creature’s face contorted in pain as his already bloody hand went to his new wound. Then he closed his eyes, the fog enveloped him, and both disappeared.

  Buzzard wiped the blood from the blade on his trousers as Layla dropped to her knees beside Ian.

  He moaned and opened his eyes. “Is everybody okay?”

  “Aye. Except the Dark Harvester. We each got a stab in.” She smiled down at Ian, but her gaze went to his wound. The bleeding had slowed with the tie Buzzard had placed above it, but blood still soaked his shirt and a little pooled on the ground. And there was something else. Something that made her want to squeeze her eyes shut and deny what she’d seen. Because she was fairly sure there was a wee spark of green in that puddle of blood.

  She rocked back on her heels and pressed her hand to her stomach as if the gesture could settle the waves of nausea. There was only one thing that caused sparks like that.

  Dragon poison.

  Ian had lost a lot of blood. Surely, the flow would have washed the dragon poison from his system.

  Ian looked up at Buzzard. “Then if we’re all okay, help me up and we’ll get this wee cut seen to.”

  Jack ran to them from the other side of the close. “I saw what happened but I couldn’t get past the fog to help.”

  Buzzard handed Layla her weapons and knelt next to Ian. “You’re going on a wee ride over my shoulder.”

  Ian shook his head. “No. It’ll draw attention. I can walk with your help.”

  “Aye.” Buzzard jerked his chin at Jack. “Help me get him up.”

  The two men sandwiched Ian between them and half dragged him through the narrow passage to the high street.

  Layla ran ahead. When she stepped into the lane, uneasiness crept up her spine and brought her to a full stop.

  Ian wheezed. “Problem?”

  She scanned up and down the street. “Magic is near. It’s dark and powerful.”

  “Worse than what we just faced?” Buzzard spoke from behind her.

  “Aye. It must be Connor Davis.” She turned to the lads. “We need to get Ian to the church.”

  Jack looked at her like she’d gone mad. “But the van is close
r. We need to get him to A&E.”

  “Trust me. He’ll be safer in the kirk.” She pointed to the building across the street.

  She wove a path among the tourists, with the men following close behind. As they neared the kirkyard, a man tried to stop them to offer help, but Buzzard shook his head and kept moving.

  When they entered the sanctuary, Buzzard and Jack sat Ian in a pew.

  Father Wilson appeared. “Layla. Good to see you.”

  Fortunately, the church was empty except for an elderly couple kneeling in prayer on the far side. “We need help. Ian’s injured.”

  Jack looked at Buzzard, “Who is she talking to?”

  Buzzard released a resigned sigh. “A spirit, I reckon.”

  “Oh, goodness me. Let me help.” The priest turned to the lads.

  Layla watched as three sets of eyes widened. The priest had made himself visible to the men. Father Wilson bowed. “My apologies. Follow me.”

  Buzzard helped Ian stand and kept an arm around his waist as the priest led them to through a secret door located to one side of the altar. “This has proved handy on many occasions.”

  They stepped into a small room with a narrow staircase spiraling down.

  Jack looked at the spirit. “Below the city?”

  “Aye. It’s safe.” He pointed next to Jack. “There is a switch just there on the wall.”

  Jack flicked the switch lighting the stairway.

  It was tricky getting Ian down the narrow steps but once they were at the bottom, the priest led the group down a short corridor. Jack turned on another light to reveal a cellar draped with cobwebs and covered in dust.

  The priest entered the room first. “At one time this was our wine cellar. It has also served to hide innocents from those who would do them harm.” Worry crossed his face as he looked at Ian. “I’m afraid you’ll have to put him on the ground.”

  “It’ll be fine.” Buzzard helped Ian stretch out on the stone floor. Jack inspected the gash on Ian’s bicep. “This wound needs to be cleaned and stitched up. If I can get my field kit from the van, I can do it.”