Hunting Season (The Twenty-Sided Sorceress Book 4)

by Annie Bellet

  Yosemite returned sometime in the night, long after I’d drifted back to sleep. I awoke with the sun and he was there, wide awake, watching the sun rise over the ridge. The air was cool, and the wilderness quiet as a grave. No morning birds sang.

  “What’s the story?” I asked the druid.

  “I cannot get to Balor’s head. There are two more guardians in the way, camping directly over the burial mound, plus I sense a pack of Fomoire hounds nearby and coming closer. I am not sure it would matter, in any case. I cannot close the lids.” He rubbed his hand over his face, looking older and utterly tired.

  “So we gather up the gang, bring as much firepower as we can muster, and come lay down the hurt,” I said. I was not looking forward to fighting two more of those rock monsters, or another pack of hounds, but what choice did we have? I hoped that with Tess’s help, maybe I could track Clyde and put a stop to his shit as well.

  Of course, I might not have to. If I ruined his little Balor party, he would probably come to me. I was his end goal, after all.

  “Did you not hear me?” Yosemite said. “I cannot close the lids. I cannot purge the land. It is too late—even if we stop this sorcerer polluting and twisting the spirits of the forest, I do not have the knowledge to close the eye.”

  “Who does?” I asked. “I mean, the druids gave you this head but didn’t teach you how to stop it if something happened?”

  “Jade,” Alek said softly in that tone he used when I was being a bitch.

  Yosemite waved his hand in an “it’s okay” gesture, quieting Alek.

  “There is a ritual. There were once many rituals, most lost to time now. But some, the most important, were written down by the druid who trained me. He had three copies of the book made. So far as I know, only one has survived the centuries.”

  “Great,” I said. “So we can do the ritual and stop this. Where is the book? Ireland? Buried inside a glass mountain and guarded by a fox with nine tails? I’m up for a quest.” I smiled at him, trying to bring some lightness to his grim, unhappy face.

  I failed.

  “Seattle,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter. I cannot read it.”

  “Seattle?” That was only an eight-hour drive away. “Why can’t you read it?”

  “My teacher wrote it in an ancient script, known only to a few. He meant to teach me the letters, but he was killed before he had a chance. His knowledge died with him, for he was the last who knew the secret tongue.”

  “Okay, let me get this right. There is a ritual in a book in Seattle that can close Balor’s Eye and stop this?”

  “Yes, and also I think a ritual that will wake the soul of the wilderness here and cleanse the land. But as I said, it doesn’t matter.” He got to his feet and turned away from us, his face lifting to catch the first rays of the morning sun. His cheeks above his thick red beard were suspiciously damp.

  I looked at Alek and watched as comprehension dawned on his handsome face. He smiled, and I returned it, brushing my fingers over his. He squeezed my hand and then let go.

  “So if you could read the ritual, or rituals, we could fix all this?” I got to my feet and waved my hand at the valley below.

  Yosemite rounded on me and snorted in frustration. “Yes,” he said. He closed his mouth on whatever he was about to follow that with, looking down into my smiling face.

  “Cool,” I said. “Because I can read any language. It’s kind of my superpower.”

  “Any language?” He blinked at me.

  “Yep, so far as I know.” I could tell he was skeptical, so I took a deep breath. I wasn’t fond of talking about Samir, but it was getting slowly easier to share. “It’s how I found out my psycho ex was going to kill me. He keeps journals, written in a mix of dead languages and some words he’s made up all on his own, I think. He believed that no one could ever decipher them. He was wrong. So I’m pretty sure I could read your book.”

  Yosemite pursed his lips and folded his arms. After a long moment he nodded. “What have we to lose?” he said.

  Howling broke the morning silence. It sounded distant, but not distant enough for my taste. I started stuffing my sleeping bag into its sack as quick as I could. Alek rose to his feet, sniffing at the air.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “They are closer than they are letting on.”

  “We shall find healthy trees,” Yosemite said. “Then I can open the leaf-way to get us back to the Henhouse.”

  “Not that again,” Alek said with a grimace.

  “We can’t waste another day, not when we must travel to Seattle and lose time already. The forest sickens; the land will die permanently if we delay too long. We must move with haste now.”

  “Tree travel it is,” Alek said with a resigned sigh.

  “How bad can it be?” I asked as we took off over the ridge. Famous last words, right?

  The uneven ground had entered into a conspiracy to slow me down, trip me up, and make me dog food. Swear to the universe. I was never going hiking again. We raced over the ridge and down the other side, Yosemite and Alek leaping and gliding over rocks and brambles toward the line of healthier forest far below and beyond us. All those hours climbing up this ridge to get to the valley, all that effort, and now I had to stumble my way down at breakneck speed. I would have sighed, but I had no breath to spare.

  Breakneck speed was an accurate phrase for it. I gave up after the second fall ripped my jeans open at the knees and embedded thistle needles into my palms. I reached for my magic, letting it run through my muscles, strengthening me, lifting me up as I sprang a few feet off the ground and forward, leaping like a long-jumper. Using my magic, I pressed down, willing myself not to land, but to keep going. I’d learned in my AP Physics class in high school that gravity is considered a weak force and I intended to ignore the shit out of it for as long as I could if it meant not face-planting again before reaching those trees.

  Even with magic, I could barely keep up with Alek and Yosemite, their long legs eating up the distance, their huge bodies apparently good enough at defying pesky things like air resistance and gravity all on their own.

  Behind me, the baying of the Fomoire hounds grew louder, closer. I couldn’t risk a look, but it felt as though they were closing the distance, definitely over the ridge themselves by now. I wanted to turn and tear into them, but memory of our barely won fight at the barn kept me gliding forward, kicking off the ground for another long glide. All I needed was a Hidden Leaf headband or an Anbu mask and I’d be right at home in a Naruto manga.

  The healthy forest spread out ahead of me, the leaves looking like they were on fire in the morning sunlight, lit from the side by the rising sun. We were nearly in its shade when the first of the hounds caught up.

  Fetid and heavy breathing warned me, and I threw myself sideways, using my magic like a ski pole to shove my gliding body aside as a hound sprang at me from behind. I shouted a warning as I hit the ground, the impact jarring me from ankle to teeth. I managed to keep my feet and spin, lashing out with a beam of purple fire. The hound dodged and went for Alek instead.

  Alek shifted and sprang, his huge jaws ripping into flesh with satisfying crunches, paws bigger than my head with claws longer than my fingers tearing the hound to whimpering shreds.

  Yosemite had reached the trees, and he turned as well, a thick branch, its length still covered in twigs and leaves, dropping from the trees to his hand. He spun it with mastery, cracking into one monster’s skull and spinning back to trip another and send it flying into the trees. Vines ripped up from the ground, glowing green in the dim light beneath the trees. Any hound that shot past us was caught, yowling in pain, and dragged into the earth.

  The pack backed off as a high whistle sounded and the ground shook. There were less of them than before, I noticed as I edged toward Alek and the druid, gasping for air. Still too many; twenty or so at least. I raised my eyes as Yosemite cursed in three different tongues and looked back up the hill.

  One of t
he stone turtle insect guardians, its craggy body oozing rusty smoke, lumbered down the hill. It wasn’t moving very quickly, but it was picking up steam as it went. The one the day before had moved better, and after a moment I could make out why this one was more cautious.

  It had a rider. A man stood on its back, his golden hair bright, a motherfucking crimson cloak streaming out behind him.

  “Fucking theatrics,” I muttered.

  “That the sorcerer?” Yosemite asked. He had half turned away and was looking at the trees around us as though searching for something.

  “A sorcerer,” I said. “Not Samir. I think that’s Clyde.”

  I set my feet, one back, one front, and started to pool magic into my hands, balling force as I had before. Bowling that stupid turtle down would be even more satisfying with that clown on its back. He was an idiot to come out in the open. I smiled.

  Just a little closer, fuckwad, I thought, watching Clyde come down the hill. I could make out his features now. Delicately pretty, like Tess had said. He was grinning fit to split his face. Well, that made two of us.

  “Jade,” Yosemite hissed, his voice filled with fear and urgency. “The other guardian, it’s behind us.”

  I risked a glance behind, clinging to my focus, holding the gathering ball of magic in my hands. Something grey and black slithered between the trees, brush crackling as it came closer. I made out a snakelike head and rust-colored eyes or maybe nostrils, smoking beneath the trees.

  “I don’t think I can take out two, and the hounds,” I hissed back.

  “I can open the way, but only in that tree,” Yosemite said, pointing toward an oak about twenty yards to our left. It was bigger than the trees around it, growing at the edge of the wood where it had gotten plenty of light and water.

  Alek crouched by my side, growling low in his throat, his whole body vibrating with tension.

  The stone turtle insect stopped its advance, and Clyde called out to me, “Good morning, Jade Crow.”

  Cocky cocksucker. My whole body shook from holding the spell. It wouldn’t be as strong as yesterday’s; my reserves were still low.

  “Good morning, Clyde,” I called. Then, in a whisper, I said in Old Irish, “Start going to the tree, I’ll distract him,” and added the words in Russian for Alek’s benefit.

  “I see our little traitor has been talking,” Clyde yelled. “You think she won’t betray you, like she did Samir?”

  Something about his words bothered me, but I shoved them aside. I couldn’t hold the spell much longer.

  “Fuck off,” I yelled. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Alek and Yosemite had halved the distance to the tree. It would have to be good enough.

  “You are trapped,” Clyde called out. He started to say something else stupid and gloaty, but I threw my hands forward, unleashing the Kamehameha.

  The energy ball ripped along the ground, tossing hounds out of its path like sticks. It slammed into the polluted guardian, rocking the creature backward and bowling it off its feet in a cloud of dirt and shale.

  I bolted toward the tree, not watching to see what further effect my spell had. The stone snake guardian rushed us, crushing ferns and saplings in its path as it abandoned stealth for speed.

  Yosemite was chanting, green light streaming from his hands and into the oak. A glowing portal opened in the trunk and he half shoved tiger-Alek through it and reached for me as I made one last magic-assisted leap. The snake’s jaws snapped just where I had been, its breath an ill wind at my back. I dove into the leaf-way.

  There was no ground, no up or down. I flew through empty space, feeling like I was moving or that perhaps the filtered green light that danced all around me was moving and that I was just falling. Falling forever, my heart in my throat. If that was what skydiving was like, I made a solemn vow right then and there to never ever try it.

  I clutched at my d20 talisman with both hands, needing something solid to remind me I was here and real. I was a sorceress. Hitting the ground after a fall like this wouldn’t kill me. If there was ground. Hadn’t Alek and Yosemite come out through the ancient oak at the Henhouse, safe and sound, only days before? I tried to cling to that memory, to the knowledge that whatever was happening would pass and I would survive it.

  I slammed back into daylight, ground beneath my feet for a moment until my toes tripped me up as my forward momentum carried me into a full-on-face plant in the dewy grass outside the Henhouse. I almost kissed that ground as I realized I was here and it was solid, but I was afraid if I opened my mouth, I’d barf.

  Alek, back in human form, leaned down beside me, helping me to my feet.

  “How bad can it be?” he said, eyebrows raised.

  “Okay, you win,” I said, swallowing hard. “Let’s never do that again.”

  Yosemite leapt from the tree behind us as though he’d been on a stroll, and turned, banishing the green light and closing the leaf-way. I really wished he’d said something cool, like “The way is closed” but you can’t have everything, I guess. Besides, hadn’t I just been disgusted with Clyde the evil sorcerer for being overly theatric? That was partially sour grapes on my part, I knew. His little distraction plan had almost worked, though I wanted to believe I could have taken him, and his little dogs too. All two dozen of them. And two giant monster things made of nearly impregnable stone.

  Yeah, those grapes would have tasted like shit. The fox was so right.

  We walked into the Henhouse after checking on Max and the unicorn. A few lights were on and I heard voices as I entered. The whole lower floor smelled of butter popcorn. The first person I saw was Harper, walking between the kitchen and the open door to Tess’s room, a huge bowl of popcorn in her hands—which explained the scent at least. She looked tired but had a smile on her face that grew grim when she saw us.

  “You guys are a mess,” she said. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Everyone in Tess’s room?”

  It sounded that way, at least, their voices spilling out into the hall.

  “I must make a phone call,” Yosemite said. He went up the stairs without another word.

  I followed Harper into Tess’s room, Alek behind me. Levi, Ezee, and Junebug had all set up camp there, as far as I could tell. They’d brought one of the flatscreen TVs into the room and I recognized the closing credits from Firefly paused on the screen. Tess had more color in her cheeks, but still looked delicate and weak in the bed, propped up on half a dozen pillows.

  “You guys been up all night?” I said.

  “We were worried about you guys,” Levi said.

  “So we started watching Firefly,” Ezee said, with a shrug.

  “Next thing we knew, it was morning,” Levi finished.

  “You are just in time though,” Tess said. “We finished the first season, but we haven’t started season two yet.”

  “Season two?” I said, raising an eyebrow at the twins. “You didn’t warn her?”

  “We didn’t have the heart,” Harper muttered as she set the popcorn down on the nightstand.

  “Warn me about what?” Tess asked, looking between their faces.

  “There is no season two,” I said, glaring at my friends. I felt like I was in some alternate universe. I went away for a few days and everyone was hanging out like old friends, turning our new friend into a gorram Browncoat while they were at it.

  “What do you mean there is no season two?” She looked crushed. I knew the feeling.

  “Fuck this,” I said, throwing up my hands. “I’m going to go take a shower. You guys can explain things. Then we’d better tell you all what we found.”

  I left to the sounds of another fangirl heart breaking in twain.

  It appeared that the Henhouse and surroundings had been quiet while we were gone, which was a relief. No one had tried to get to the unicorn again. If I had to guess, I would have put my money on Clyde being distracted hunting us through the woods, trying to catch up to us once he’d realized we were tracking the
hounds and heading for Balor’s burial site.

  We wasted little time, despite being exhausted with almost no sleep. Clyde had no reason not to come after us, perhaps bringing the stone guardians with him this time. Yosemite thought we had a day, maybe a day and a half on them because of the tree travel. Ciaran, surprising me, showed up as I wolfed down an omelet. He and Brie would go into the woods, he said, and see what they could do to slow the pack’s progress.

  I tried to protest, of course, but he just looked at me with his ancient eyes and I shut up. All three of them, Brie, Yosemite, Ciaran, were a lot more than they seemed and I had to accept that I wasn’t the only badass in the room. In some ways, it was a relief. I wasn’t alone against Clyde and his filth.

  I’d spent a lot of the last month feeling alone, despite my reconciliation with Alek. My tiger was still conflicted about killing a fellow Justice, and his Council’s apparent withdrawal of their support from him. His feather still hung from his neck, and I often caught him fingering it, with a sad look on his face, in unguarded moments. He’d been busy with the local wolves, dealing with the fallout, sometimes gone for days at a time.

  The loneliness came because I knew that time was growing short. Samir would tire of these games, and then we’d find out if everything I could do, everything I had, was enough to keep the people I loved safe. My helplessness against Wylde’s stupid witch coven didn’t help my confidence. How was I to fight monsters without being the bad guy? How to fight people who weren’t monsters, but were just bigots? I didn’t think I could kill someone for just being an asshole, much as I sort of wanted to in the deep dark parts of my soul.

  But, sitting at the dining table in the Henhouse, listening to my friends scheme and make plans to help me take out the latest big bad to throw himself at us, my loneliness faded into the background. I had some pretty awesome friends and they weren’t running away, weren’t cowering, or coming up with excuses. They were tackling every problem like proper gamers, as though our enemies were a puzzle that just needed the right solution.