by P. C. Cast
“So, when I reported everything to Artus he said the ridge needed to be checked out—and that’s why we’re out here.”
“All right, well, did the old woman turn off the juice to that fence?” Stark asked, keeping a healthy distance from the thick wires.
“No, but we don’t need her to do that. I can get us in there with no problemo.”
“Well, get it done,” said Stark.
He turned from Dallas to motion to the first of the five Humvees parked behind his lead vehicle. The driver obeyed immediately, and red vampyre soldiers and their officers in charge began unloading. Stark made a hold motion, which was passed down the line, but he needn’t have had the soldiers pause. Dallas had gone to the fence and pressed his hand to the post closest to him. The young vampyre’s eyes were closed, and the expression on his face almost looked like he was experiencing pleasure—which wouldn’t have surprised Stark. He’d always thought Dallas was a strange one.
When Dallas lifted his head a moment later and looked back at Stark, his eyes were glowing with a bizarre yellow light.
“Have the soldiers climb over the fence here.” Dallas kept both of his hands on the post, jerking his chin to the left of him. “Tell them to hurry. She’s got a lot of volts going through here. I can only hold them for a few minutes.”
“You heard the lieutenant, get the men moving!” Stark shouted.
Stark stood back and watched the red vamps crawling over the fence. They look like fucking ravenous roaches. Stark didn’t let himself shiver, even though it felt as if bugs were crawling over his own skin. The Red Army is necessary, he reminded himself sternly. Plus, it wasn’t like they could be offended. They didn’t give a damn about how disgusting they were; all they gave a damn about was their insatiable hunger.
“Your turn, General.” Dallas’ words pulled Stark out of his thoughts, and he quickly made his way over the fence. “Okay, let’s spread out and form a loose line, then we’ll move that line up the ridge.”
They’d been walking for about fifteen minutes, pushing their way through winter-brown undergrowth and forest debris before they found a rough dirt path barely wide enough for an ATV, though it was obvious it had been used recently.
“This doesn’t look good,” Stark said. “Lieutenant, did you see any ATVs on the old woman’s property?”
“Yes, sir. Saw a couple of those fancy things that look like souped-up golf carts. She drove one down to the gate to talk to me.”
“Polaris,” Stark said, studying the tracks.
“Pardon, sir?”
Stark looked up at Dallas. “That’s the name of the vehicles. And these tracks look like they were made by one. Might not be as bad as I thought. The old woman could actually just be checking for poachers. But let’s follow this trail up a ways and be sure.”
“Yes, sir!”
After about thirty more minutes of walking and there was a shout from Stark’s right. “Incoming!”
Stark pulled his ever-present bow from the sling across his back and nocked an arrow. Six deer, thoroughly spooked and wide-eyed, bounded past them, causing the red soldiers to mill uncertainly as they stared after the moving venison, obviously considering whether they should chase down this prey or wait for more delicious and slower moving two-legged dinner.
Stark frowned in disgust. “Dallas! Get those soldiers under control. No one kills a deer without Neferet’s permission. Be sure those eating machines understand that.”
“Yes, sir!” Dallas sprinted back down the path.
Stark could hear him yelling at the Red Army lieutenants, and he was, for the second time that night, annoyed as hell that General Dominick and his squad of soldiers had seemed to suddenly disappear a few days ago. Dominick was widely acknowledged as the most ruthless and intelligent of the red generals, which meant his soldiers were always the most disciplined.
“Fucking undependable Red Army,” Stark muttered. He made a mental note to try to get Neferet to consider phasing as many of them out as possible in the day-to-day running of the war, and only use them during major altercations with human armies or the Resistance. “They’re a bigger liability than they’re worth.” Not to mention that he thought it was disgusting that the bite of any fledging or vampyre Marked red was poisonous to humans—always killing them, and always causing them to rise within three days as grotesque, zombielike things whose bite was also contagious. “And they fucking smell awful.”
“Sir, the soldiers are under control,” Dallas said, panting, as he rushed up to Stark.
Stark grunted. “Then let’s get moving again. Crawling around this ridge is not the way I wanted to spend my evening.”
The line of soldiers kept moving forward, snaking their way around as they followed what could barely be called dirt roads. Soon the trail took a sharp turn to the right, and then headed almost straight up. Stark sighed and bent to the task, not liking that the air felt colder and damper. He tried to remember if ice or snow had been forecast. He checked his phone and cursed softly under his breath.
Of course there’s no damn service out here in the middle of nowhere.
Suddenly, overhead, a single raven began circling and shrieking, as if it was pissed that they were on his ridge.
“Let’s pick up the pace,” Stark told Dallas. “Go back down the line and tell them to keep up with me.”
General Stark didn’t wait for an answer. Pumping his arms, he began to jog up the red dirt trail, wishing he was just about anywhere but there.
* * *
Other Kevin
Dragon Lankford grabbed Kevin’s arm and pulled him roughly to his feet, dragging him to the lip of the small cave. His longsword was drawn and he stood in front of Kevin, holding the pointed razor tip of the weapon against his throat.
“How many of them are there?” Dragon demanded.
Grandma Redbird tried to rush to his side, but Anastasia snagged her wrist, not allowing her to go to him.
“No, my friend. This has gone beyond your good will. Dragon must deal with your grandson now.”
“How many?” Dragon repeated, and the sword drew a tiny bead of blood from Kevin’s neck.
“Kill me. Cut off my head. Do any damn thing you want, but it won’t change my answer because I am telling you the truth. I don’t know what’s going on out there. I don’t know how they found your ridge, but it has nothing to do with me.”
“So, it’s just a coincidence that a lieutenant in the Red Army shows up here, and the same night so do soldiers of the Red Army?” Dragon’s voice was filled with barely controlled rage. “Do you know how many innocents are with us? Dozens! They’re scattered all around us in deer blinds. Humans and blue fledglings—just children. All looking for safety and freedom, and tonight they will lose their lives. Because of you!”
“No!” Grandma Redbird shouted. “Kevin has been with me. He’s telling you the truth! I swear it to you on my own life.”
Dragon spoke only to Kevin. “She’ll die tonight too. Horribly. And if they leave enough of her, she’ll rise in three days a ravenous, brainless eating machine. Your soul must be completely filled with Darkness to do such a thing as this.”
Kevin turned his head away, unable to look at his grandma. “I’m so sorry, G-ma. I should never have let you bring me here. I knew it was too dangerous. I should’ve spied on Neferet like you told me to and let you report to the Resistance for me. I’m so, so sorry.”
“They’re coming up the west trail!” A blue vampyre Kevin didn’t recognize scrambled up the last few feet of the ridge to them.
“Bank all of the fires!” Dragon turned his head to look at his mate. “My love, lead the innocents down the back side of the ridge. They might not have us surrounded.” His hard gaze found Kevin again. “The rest of us will remain here and buy you time to escape.”
“No. I won’t leave you.” Anastasia s
poke quietly but firmly. “Sylvia is accustomed to the Oklahoma wilds. She can lead the innocents. I will remain with my mate. I can wield a sword too, and I prefer to die by your side.”
Kevin saw the pain flash through Dragon Lankford’s eyes and the despair that curved his shoulders, and he couldn’t bear it.
What the hell would Zoey do?
He knew what she wouldn’t do. Zoey Redbird—the High Priestess who ruled the Tulsa House of Night with strength and honesty—would not give up.
“My mate’s blood will be on your hands.” Dragon ground the words from between clenched teeth. “And after I kill you, what kind of welcome do you think Nyx will have for you? Well, one good thing about dying. I’ll be there, in the Goddess’ Grove, to witness Nyx’s punishment.” As Dragon spoke, he pressed the longsword harder against Kevin’s neck.
Kevin reacted automatically. He lurched back, shouting, “I would do anything to make this right!” His wounded back screamed as it collided with the rocky wall of the cave, ripping apart the few stitches Anastasia had already sewn. Kevin tripped and fell as his blood spattered the rocks and flowed down his back.
Instantly, there was a change in the air so great that it penetrated Dragon’s rage. He froze, sword above his head, ready to strike a killing blow.
Later, Kevin thought that it was similar to how the air felt around the tear between his world and Zo’s, but at that moment all he could do was stare in open-mouthed wonder as ethereal beings began to materialize around him. Some lifted from the cave’s sandstones. Some descended from the sky, like feathers floating to ground. Still more seemed to emerge from within the gnarled bark of the old oaks perched precariously on the steep ridge around them.
They differed greatly from one another. A bunch of them looked like a cross between fallen leaves and butterflies, and then the wind blew a small gust and they changed form and suddenly they were beautiful, winged women. A few of them reminded Kevin of hummingbirds, only they had the delicate heads of impossibly beautiful women and handsome men. Some looked like Fourth of July sparklers, only smaller and see-through. Several of them were in the form of fireflies—big, beautiful fireflies that should not be flitting around in the middle of winter. And more of them appeared to be mermaids and glittering jellyfish.
They were all descending upon Kevin.
“Old Magick! Old Magick!” croaked the raven from his perch on Anastasia’s shoulder.
The beautiful priestess was suddenly crouching beside Kevin, studying the creatures with awed curiosity. “Yes, Tatsuwa! These sprites are Old Magick. I never thought to see even one, as Old Magick has almost disappeared from the world.”
A butterfly winged figure of a voluptuous woman about the size of his hand, and naked except for a dress made of glitter, fluttered up to Kevin, giving him a beseeching look.
“W-what do they want?” Kevin stuttered.
“You conjured them. Ask them,” she said.
“Um, what do you want?” Kevin tentatively asked the floating sprite.
“We heard your call
Your blood is true.
What is it you wish
That we shall do?”
Kevin didn’t hesitate. “Hide us! Don’t let the vampyres coming up the ridge find any of us who are already up here.” He paused and then added, “Please.”
“If we do this for you
For us what shall you do?”
Kevin opened his mouth to answer, but Anastasia’s hand on his arm stopped him. Urgently, she whispered, “Be careful. Old Magick is powerful. It is also never free.”
“What do you think they want?” Kevin whispered back.
“Sprites are tied to the four physical elements—air, fire, water, and earth. It should be easy enough for them to cloak this ridge. Offer them your blood, but only as much as you’ve already shed.”
Kevin cleared his throat and then replied to the glittering sprite. “I’ll pay you with my blood, but only the blood I’ve already spilled. Is that enough to keep us safe?”
The sprite spun in the air and was joined by one each of the different creatures. Kevin could hear that they were speaking, but the words were strange. Not like a different language, but like a different way of thinking and forming sounds.
Then she fluttered back to hover above him again.
“We accept your price tonight
As your blood is strong with Light.
We seal this deal with thee
So we have spoken—so mote it be!”
With Tatsuwa squawking a complaint, Anastasia backed quickly out of the way, joining Dragon where he stood a few feet from Kevin, his sword still unsheathed, as the sprites covered the young red vampyre. At first Kevin flinched, expecting them to cause him even more pain than he’d already endured that night, but their touch was oddly soothing, like cool rain falling on a forest blaze. The sprites also covered the rocky wall of the cave, the dirt floor around him, even the tip of Dragon’s blade—anywhere any of his blood had spattered. As they drank, their bodies blazed with light and color, and they made excited chirping and clicking sounds that actually had Kevin’s lips turning up.
Then, just as quickly as they’d appeared, they were gone.
And the night around them changed utterly.
* * *
Other Stark
It began innocently enough. Stark felt the direction of the cold night breeze shift and sharpen. He was sweating from the climb up the ridge, so his damp face instantly registered the change and he shivered, increasing his pace.
And then the night sky began belching ice.
Stark slid on a rock, suddenly slick with ice as black as the forest around them, and he had to windmill his arms to keep from falling. He tucked his head against the frigid rain and slowed his pace.
The mist began then, rolling from low spots around them, lifting from the bowels of the ridge. Behind him, someone cried out sharply, and a few moments later Dallas was panting beside him.
“Sir, the men are losing their footing. One of the soldiers just fell and smashed his head against a rock.”
Stark stumbled to a halt. “The weather’s turned. I should’ve checked before I left the House of Night.”
“Sir, I did,” Dallas said, wiping his face with the back of his sodden sleeve. “It was supposed to be clear and cold.”
“So much for listening to Travis Meyer and the News on Six,” Stark grumbled. “Well, tell the red officers to get their soldiers back to the Humvees. You and I will go ahead and scout up to the top of the ridge so that I’m sure—”
A cluster of impossibly large fireflies flitted from a bank of mist, darting around in the icy rain as if they were kids playing in a sprinkler. Stark stared at them through the ice and rain and mist as their insectile bodies shifted from bugs to naked women, and then back to bugs.
Stark felt his blood go as cold as the falling ice.
“Old Magick,” he said softly.
“What was that, sir?” Then the glowing insects caught Dallas’ vision. “Hey, fireflies! That’s weird as shit.”
“Not fireflies. Sprites. Back away, Dallas. Tell the soldiers we’re getting out of here. Now!”
Dallas gave him a confused look but hurried to do as he was ordered. Stark paused only an instant before he followed him back down the path.
The sprites were truly spectacular—as beautiful as they’d been described in the ancient tomes his Spells and Rituals professor had insisted his advanced classes read, cover to cover. Stark had immersed himself in the Spells and Rituals class, mostly because he loved reading. The entire last half of the most advanced textbook used in the class had been devoted to Old Magick, and elemental sprites in particular.
Stark searched his memory as he backed slowly away from the glittering cloud of creatures. Sprites were powerful, but as capricious as the Old Magick that formed
them—in other words, they could aid you one moment and turn on you the next.
What had Dallas said about this ridge? It was ancient Creek Nation land.
“That figures,” he muttered to himself as he continued to back down the path, unwilling to look away from the sprites. They must have been protectors of the land, allied with the Creek Nation when they lived here, and they don’t understand the world has changed, moved on. They’re still protecting the land.
He joined the retreating line, ordering the soldiers to move as quickly as possible to get off this land. Dallas hurried ahead of them, holding the electricity at bay long enough for the group to cross over it again. By the time Stark had gotten back in the Humvee and Dallas turned their lead vehicle around to head to Tulsa, the road was almost impassable with ice.
“Sir, what the hell was that up there?” Dallas asked.
“The assurance that no Resistance members are sneaking around on that ridge. Old Magick that protective doesn’t allow trespassers. That human woman, Tina, she owns this whole ridge?”
“Yes, sir.”
“She must have Creek blood. That’s why the sprites let her putter around up there, pretending to look for poachers.” Stark snorted. “Poachers, hell! I’d hate to see what Old Magick would do to anyone trespassing on this land.”
“Well, at least we know the locals weren’t lying,” Dallas said. “Don’t know hardly nothin’ ’bout Old Magick, but I saw them bugs. They glowed like lights. Must’ve been what people were talkin’ ’bout seeing up there.”
“Has to be.” Stark hesitated. “Is that all you saw? Just big lightning bugs?”
“Yeah, isn’t that weird enough?”
“Yes, it is,” Stark said, wondering why he felt relieved that Dallas hadn’t seen the sprites shifting to semihuman form.
“Well, it don’t look like we need to worry ’bout policing that ridge. Good thing. Too many damn brambles and rocks and crap for my taste. Plus I hate the country. I’m a city guy.”