fOR WHO THE spELL tOLLS

by H. P. Mallory

  I nodded while wanting to throw up because the taste of acid creeping up the back of my throat was becoming toxic. “Right, so Bram obviously must have helped plan the Netherworld Guard’s response.”

  “Did he know anything about our other attacks?” Knight continued, eyeing me directly. I still couldn’t find any anger in his features. And, for some reason, knowing he didn’t blame me for trusting Bram, despite his repeated warnings not to, made me feel even worse. It was a guilt I’d never experienced before—it made me want to drop to my knees and cry, while tearing my hair out in mute frustration.

  I shook my head and heaved a sigh as I tried to banish the self-disgust from my mind. I just couldn’t accept that I, Dulcie O’Neil, was so stupid as to trust the vampire so blindly. I rarely trusted anyone; and it usually took years, sometimes decades, before I allowed someone into my inner circle.

  And, yet, you’ve known Bram for years, a small voice reminded me. Bram played you like a pro. He waited all these years, pretending to be your ally and your friend, while planning to pull the wool over your eyes at the very end.

  “Bram didn’t know anything else about our other strategy,” I said finally, concentrating on the subject at hand. “I didn’t tell him about staging the phony surrender at the airport, or our proposed attack on Tipshaw.”

  “So maybe both the airport surrender and Tipshaw went off without a hitch,” Knight started as Quill began firmly shaking his head.

  “Melchior is a smart man. He would have assigned reinforcements at Tipshaw as well as all the bases in the Netherworld as soon as he learned about Squander Valley,” he rebutted, frowning at Knight and then at me. A shadow passed over his face as the bird creature from the swamp flew over the trees.

  I nodded at him, reminding myself that the monster bird couldn’t find us in the dense forest. And, even if it did, there was no way it could reach us beneath the thick canopy of trees. ’Course, all that did was remind me of all the creatures in the forest that could get us …

  “Right,” I said. “I think it’s safest to assume that my father has all his bases covered, no pun intended.”

  Knight turned his attention from the sky, where he was watching the flying obscenity, to me. “So Bram has no idea how many soldiers we have with us right now?” he asked.

  “I never told Bram anything about our numbers,” I started. I cocked my head to the side as I considered whether that was a benefit or a hindrance to us. “Bram not knowing our numbers could be good, but it could also be bad.”

  “How so?” Knight inquired, ever the eager manager.

  I shrugged. “Maybe Melchior thinks we’re coming with lots more backup than we really are, in which case his battalion here could be huge, leading to our brutal defeat.”

  Quill shook his head and crossed his arms against his chest. “So far, from what we’ve seen, there doesn’t appear to be much going on here. If Melchior had a whole battalion of soldiers at Willoughby, they’d be assembled everywhere—on all the beachfronts and the forest bordering Willoughby. So far, I’ve yet to see one soldier.”

  “That doesn’t mean they aren’t in the house,” I pointed out, and then frowned because it was never a good practice to make assumptions.

  Quill nodded. “Your father would have instructed guards to patrol the house, and the property too. My point is, I don’t think Melchior stationed more soldiers here than usual simply because we haven’t seen nor come into contact with any.” He took a breath. “Something I find strange.”

  “Beaurigard’s got a point,” Knight piped up as my wings, which lay previously in repose against my back, suddenly started beating furiously. Both Knight and Quill had to grasp hold of my arms to keep me in place. “That issue we had in the swamp would have alerted nearby soldiers if there were any,” Knight finished.

  I couldn’t help smiling at Knight’s reference to the swamp situation as an “issue.” The word was such an understatement to what truly happened. But any feelings of levity quickly vanished as soon as I reminded myself of our current predicament. Really we were stuck between an enormous rock and a hard place, because it was never a good idea to begin an assault without first knowing what you were up against.

  “I think it’s safe to assume that your father doesn’t think we’re coming here with much backup,” Quill finished. “Because it’s not as though he could hide a squadron of soldiers.” He shrugged as his eyebrows reached for the sky. “But why doesn’t he have an army of reinforcements here? That’s the question to which I have no answer.”

  Knight nodded before turning to face me, his blue eyes flashing. The trees shook with a small breeze, allowing the sun to penetrate the branches in prismatic rays of yellow light. “You said Bram didn’t know anything about how many soldiers we brought with us here, but does he know the total number of our soldiers?”

  I figured he meant how many soldiers and recruits we’d managed to corral. “No,” I said, frowning and inhaling deeply as something else occurred to me. “But don’t forget: Bram had Christina in his custody for a couple of days when she was still on the Blueliss.”

  Knight nodded, his eyes sparkling with something that resembled anger as his jaw twitched. “Right, so he could easily have discovered our numbers from her, which he probably did.”

  Quill faced Knight. “But at that time, The Resistance was only comprised of the three hundred or so soldiers, right? Wasn’t Fagan still in the midst of drafting the others?”

  “Right,” I answered, crossing my arms against my chest as another breeze coiled around my body in an icy embrace. “Which means Bram probably thinks we’ve only got three hundred soldiers to the Netherworld Guard’s four hundred. And, if he does, it’s all the better for us since we would still have the element of surprise.”

  Knight shook his head and arched a brow at me as if disappointed that I hadn’t considered some other angle. “But don’t forget Squander Valley and Tipshaw equated to four hundred fifty soldiers and recruits, so Bram and your father would be well aware that our numbers exceeded three hundred.”

  “Well, based on however many creatures they were able to consign,” I corrected him as my wings suddenly stopped beating and simply hung there, now exhausted. Knight and Quill released my arms as I remembered Christina mentioning over the radio that many of her group were able to flee from Squander Valley. Since our soldiers hadn’t all been caught, Melchior wouldn’t know for certain how many of us there really were. Maybe the same thing happened with the attack on Tipshaw. Or maybe I was underestimating us, and our forces had decimated the Netherworld Guard in Tipshaw. Until we reached Fagan, we’d never know.

  “At any rate, Melchior must be aware our numbers are larger than three hundred,” Quill said.

  Knight took a deep breath and shook his head, frowning as he alternated his stoic expression between the two of us. “None of this matters anyway. This discussion is doing nothing, but wasting our valuable time,” he said forcibly. “We have two options: we either go after Melchior now, not knowing what we’re up against, or we have to surrender. It’s too late to beat a path back to Splendor and regroup.”

  “He’s right,” I started, facing Quill. “I say we go in,” I finished robotically, swallowing hard as I searched Knight’s stunning eyes for an answer as to where he stood on the subject. It felt like time stopped as I waited for his response. If he and Quill chose to surrender, I didn’t know what I’d do. For my part, I intended to go after my father and that’s all there was to it. Whether that meant going in with Knight and Quill was beside the point. I was going in. Period.

  “Agreed,” Knight said with his jaw tightened and his eyes calculating. “I will never surrender to Melchior. I’d rather die fighting his minions.”

  I rewarded him with a big smile before turning to face Quill, who was already looking at me. He frowned and I figured his answer wouldn’t be quite as clear-cut as Knight’s. After a few seconds, he began nodding. “We’re here; we might as well go through with our ori
ginal plan. If we retreat to Splendor, your father would assume he still maintained authority and he’d, no doubt, come after us.”

  “Either way, there’d be a confrontation,” Knight finished.

  Quill glanced at the horizon for a few seconds before facing us again. “And, for whatever reason, it seems your father is not very well protected here, which only strengthens our upper hand.”

  I couldn’t agree with them more and nodded. Then, taking a deep breath, I glanced first at Quill and then at Knight. “Our soldiers are already surrounding the house and they’re waiting for your word to move forward, Knight.”

  “Right,” the Loki answered. “So we give them the go-ahead, and when they attack the house, all of Melchior’s men will be focused on defending the house and its perimeters.”

  “And we go after my father at the same time,” I finished as my heartbeat began to race with peaked adrenaline.

  “Your father will have guards surrounding him,” Quill cautioned.

  “How many?” I demanded.

  Quill shrugged. “Probably three. He’s always got Manga, Angus and Herrod hovering around him at any given second.”

  “What are they?” Knight asked.

  “Thugs,” Quill responded, but seeing Knight’s frown, he continued. “Manga is a goblin. He’s maybe six-two and he fights street-style.”

  “Goblin means he has no magic,” I said quickly. “We can defeat anyone who doesn’t have magic.”

  “Angus is a warlock,” Quill threw back at me. “He doesn’t have brawn, but he makes up for it with witchcraft and he’s damn good.”

  “I can take him,” I answered quickly, resting my hands on the two Op 6s strapped to my waist, beneath my T-shirt.

  “Dulce, your magic won’t work in the Netherworld,” Quill reminded me.

  “I’m aware,” I snapped back. “But my Op 6s will.”

  Knight chuckled behind me as Quill grinned, shaking his head. “Yep, they will,” he finished. “It’ll help that we’re all armed,” he added, patting the band of his waistline where he kept an Op 8 loaded and ready to go. “But don’t forget that Melchior’s men will be armed as well.”

  “This is nothing new,” I said quickly. “We’ve dealt with this same scenario a thousand times at the ANC.” I said it mostly to beef up my own confidence.

  “And what is Herrod?” Knight asked, facing Quill.

  “Herrod is all brawn. He’s a werewolf, but he’s bigger and badder than any wolf you’ve ever seen.”

  “That doesn’t intimidate me,” Knight said matter-of-factly.

  “Well, maybe their artillery will,” Quill shot back. “Each one will be armed with Op 7s and 8s, not to mention automatic machine guns filled with dragon’s blood bullets. And that’s just what you’ll be able to see. They’ll also have blades strapped to their bodies beneath their clothes. The main thing to remember is that they’re Melchior’s thugs for a reason; they’re exceptional at what they do.”

  “Good to know,” Knight said, not sounding particularly concerned. “But Dulce is right. It’s just another walk in a very familiar park.” Then he turned to face me. “When we go in, we go together.”

  “And how do you propose getting to the top floor of a windowless turret without going through the entryway of the house?” Quill asked, sounding irritated.

  Knight replied with a smug smile. “Last I checked, we had a portal ripper.”

  I nodded, pulling Bram’s pocket watch out to pinpoint my father’s exact position inside the house. Before I attempted anything, though, I glanced up at Knight. “You realize my father’s going to know that we know where he is?”

  Knight nodded, not looking especially concerned. “Hopefully, we haven’t kept him waiting too long.”

  ###

  After Knight gave his lead soldier the go-ahead to enter Willoughby house, I cut a portal into Melchior’s library. Neither Quill, Knight nor I said anything; and the silence hung ominously between us. Standing on either side of me, the three of us stepped forward, entering the portal.

  The feelings of wet, balmy air hit me immediately, and I clenched my eyes tightly, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach. Moments later, though, the nausea disappeared and the air became frigid. I opened my eyes and felt myself falling. My wings immediately started flapping wildly to stop me from hitting the ground. Knight and Quill weren’t as lucky. Knight smashed into a large, black desk that occupied the center of the room; while Quill fell against a bookshelf in front of the desk.

  I didn’t have the time nor the wherewithal to take in much, but I scanned the perimeter of the small room anyway. I took in the bookshelves that lined the walls, as well as the desk that Knight so adeptly snapped in two. In only a split second, I realized we weren’t alone in my father’s library. My eyes focused on a beefy man, looming in the doorway, right behind the bookshelf Quill had bashed into.

  “Quill, behind you!” I screamed as I watched the man turn his scowl toward Quill. My ability to differentiate creatures didn’t work in the Netherworld, so I wasn’t sure if this was the wolf or the goblin. Either way, he was enormous—well over six feet. With his unshaven face and longish, greasy, matted hair, he looked as if he hadn’t bathed in weeks. His nose was incredibly wide and uneven, probably broken too many times, and one half of his right ear was missing.

  “Beaurigard, you double-crossing son of a bitch,” the man bellowed as he rushed forward from maybe ten feet away. Silver daggers shone from both of his hands, and he was missing a finger on his left hand. Quill turned in a split second, though he was still sitting on the floor, and pushed against the ground with his heels, trying to put some distance between the man and himself. Careening into the bookshelf behind him, Quill pulled his Op 8 from the holster around his waist. He fired twice and both bullets hit the man in the center of his chest. He was dead before he hit the ground.

  I continued to hover, unable to convince my wings to allow my feet to touch the ground. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything close at hand that I could use to tether myself. Instead, I just snapped my head to the left and right, trying to get a quick recon of what we were up against. There was no sign of my father, and as far as I could see, only these two thugs, one down and one to go. The one to go was already brawling with Knight. The two looked pretty well matched when it came to brawn, both huffing rhythmically as they faced one another with contempt. From the looks of the shiner already forming underneath Knight’s eye, he’d obviously suffered a blow. I wondered why he didn’t just pull his Op 8 from his holster, but decided he must have wanted to fight the old-fashioned way.

  I scanned the room again for any sign of my father or the warlock Quill warned us about. But it seemed there wasn’t anyone else in the room. Looking above me, I noticed the library had a second floor that overlooked the first, with more rows of bookshelves lining the walls. But the second floor was also clear.

  Somehow, my father must have been forewarned of our attack. He must have known we were coming and fled. I reached inside my pocket for my Melchior GPS device, but before I could pull it out to locate the bastard, I heard the sound of fists meeting flesh. I glanced at Knight, who fell into a bookshelf behind him, after sustaining an incredibly powerful blow. The shelf snapped beneath his weight, sending him, as well as twenty or more books, tumbling onto the floor.

  Regarding the thug, I assumed he was the were, Herrod, because he seemed especially hairy and unkempt. More so than the previous thug was. This guy was also immense—built like a wall, thick and wide. Within a split second, he validated my hunch as the man’s face began to change. His eyes started to migrate to the center of his face while widening and their color changed to a jaundiced yellow. His nose stretched, growing darker and wetter as it morphed into a snout. Fur began covering his cheeks and chin, overtaking the rest of his face. His human teeth fell onto the floor and much larger, sharper canines replaced them. But that was just his face. Observing his body, I noticed his rib cage seemed to double in size as the sou
nds of snapping bones accompanied the transformation. His back began to hunch, forcing his abdomen upward and inward. Then a bushy tail emerged from his already shredded pants. His arms elongated while his hands and feet stretched. Razor sharp claws materialized on his fingers and toes. The remnants of his clothing lay in shredded fibers at his feet.

  Knight didn’t waste any time waiting for the werewolf’s change to finish. Instead, he pummeled the were’s face and sent the abomination flying into the back wall. It fell into another bookshelf, spraying splinters and books through the room like a tornado. As soon as the creature pushed itself up, it had morphed completely into a wolf.

  “Come and get me, you ugly son of a bitch,” Knight taunted. He held his hands out by his sides and stared at the gargantuan beast with no trepidation in his eyes. Reaching for my Op 6s, which were strapped to my waist beneath my shirt, I watched the creature jump on Knight. When Knight gripped its arms and rolled over, I realized I couldn’t get a clean shot—if I tried, I could just as easily miss the wolf and nail Knight instead.

  I eyed Quill, who was already on his feet and staring at me, no doubt trying to figure out how to get me down. It seemed like slow motion as he reached for me, when he suddenly pulled back and gripped his throat like he were choking on something.

  “I,” he started, still staring at me. “I can’t breathe!”

  Clawing at his neck, he fell back against the wall as if something were stuck in his throat preventing him from catching his breath. His face started to grow paler as his eyes widened first with fear, and then, panic.

  “Quill!” I screamed out, suddenly feeling my wings beating as they took me further and further away from him.

  Quill continued to tear at his throat and then leaned over, his hands on his thighs. A few seconds later, he collapsed onto the floor, the color completely drained from his skin. I realized then that he was under the influence of magic. And magic could only mean one thing—that bastard sorcerer was somewhere in the room. Looking back at Quill, I noticed his arms hanging limply by his sides. The need to assist him infiltrated me with an increased sense of urgency and I desperately tried to figure out how the hell I could descend from my ridiculous altitude. I glanced at Quill again. His eyes were closed. Panic spiraled up inside me as I searched for any sign of the warlock, Angus.