“Um, why did you lead them back here?” Miranda asked. Ethel glanced over, then started scrubbing the counter rapt attention.
“They would have come here anyway. They know they can find me here, and it’ll be better if I’m here to face them.”
“Are we going to be okay?” Miranda asked.
“Yeah. And your windows will be, too. I’m going to throw up a different kind of ward.”
“How considerate,” Ethel mumbled. Miranda looked sharply at her, but I couldn’t blame the woman.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know this is … I’m sorry.” I took the oil and salt and headed out the back door.
Miranda, of course, followed me. “What’s the plan?”
It took me a moment to put my words together. I’m not used to explaining how I work. “Okay, there’s not enough salt or oil to create a barrier around the entire house, so we need to improvise.”
“I don’t think I’m at the making stuff up as I go along stage yet.”
“That’s okay, I’ve been faking this for years. You know that spear I took from Warren?”
“Uh huh.”
“It’s dangerous, and magic artifacts are nearly indestructible, so I have to keep it somewhere safe. I created a place that’s almost impossible to break through, partially because it’s surrounded by wards.”
I poured a bit of salt into a sigil pattern and wet it down with oil. “This is an old, protective spell. The land around the Vault is covered with copies of this symbol. It’s carved into the rocks, the trees, the walls. We don’t have time for something that complicated, but we can still put together something reasonably effective.”
“So you’re going make a bunch of copied of that, and it’ll keep the Vikings away?”
“Kind of. Come on.” We hurried over to the side of the house and replicated the sign beneath a tree, then formed a third copy behind the house, making sure I still had line-of-sight to the second. Finally, we completed the diamond with a fourth copy, on the house’s opposite side. The entire process took me about twenty minutes.
“So that’s it? We’re good?” Miranda asked.
“Not quite.” I knelt down and touched the final sigil. Fire raced off in either direction, linking each ward-point to its siblings. The cobalt flame burned briefly, then faded to invisibility, but the ward still tickled the back of my mind. “There. The house should be safe now.” I took a deep breath and tried to relax.
“Your confidence is inspiring,” Miranda said, but she was smiling, just a little. “Um, this isn’t going to turn the mailman to ash or anything, is it?”
“No. This isn’t a physical barrier. It’ll block magic, and stop people from using magic inside the house, but it won’t fry anybody.”
“Well that’s comforting. So what now?”
“Now we wait.”
Miranda nodded. “Okay. But can we wait inside? It’s kinda freezing.”
Miranda returned to the kitchen to help her grandmother. I hid myself in the living room, pacing back and forth. I was expecting a fight, and had too much nervous energy to sit still. My frustrations built when, after two hours, the Asatru refused to show up. I was ready for violence, and it was just rude to keep me hanging like that.
I grunted, threw myself down in an armchair, and started flipping through Warren’s book. God, that thing was old. The cover was cracked black leather decorated with a squarish rune, and I was pretty sure the pages were made of vellum, not paper.
The writing was faded, which made it hard to read, and the fact that it was written in a Runic alphabet made it even harder. I don’t think Google Translate does Futhark yet. That was going to be a problem; I needed to know what the Asatru had summoned, and this book was the best lead I had. Translating it would still be possible, theoretically, but it was going to take a long time, and I would have much rather just punched something.
They worshiped a war god, for Christ’s sake. Where the hell were they?
I allowed myself a one-minute pity party, then grumbled and got back to work. The text wasn’t going to translate itself. Fortunately, the Runic alphabet was pretty simple. Each symbol translated to a sound, just like in English, rather than each symbol translating into a word, like in some Asian languages. Logographic writing systems are a bitch to translate just because there are so many different symbols, but the runes could be translated into Latin letters that formed, more or less, German words. Old German words, but it gave me something to start with.
It only an hour to translate the first page. Christ, I was going to be there forever.
Handling to book was dangerous, too. It was permeated with the Asatru’s magic, and I didn’t want that energy mingling with my own. I wanted to be able to study it without touching it, so I flipped through its pages, photographing each one, then stashed the grimoire in the fireplace. It wasn’t like it was going to burn or anything.
A tingle crawled up my spine; someone was testing my ward, examining it for vulnerabilities. I headed into the kitchen to warn the DuBois.
White sparks danced in front of my eyes as the Asatru attacked the ward. I stumbled and grabbed my head. Damn it, that hurt. I pushed the kitchen door open. “Miranda, the–”
Miranda stood near the stove, green eyes wide and afraid. Mini-Thor stood behind her, his big hand clamped around her throat and a knife held at her gut. Cyrano de Bergerac stood in the doorway and Jersey Shore stood in the corner, each of them holding a shotgun, Cyrano’s pointed at Ethel’s head.
Damn it, I was an idiot. The ward I had created would prevent them from using magic against or inside the house, but it wasn’t a physical barrier. People could still come and go as they pleased. So instead of attacking with magic, like I assumed, they had come after me with conventional weapons.
And they had come after Miranda.
Unbidden energy swirled around me. The lights flickered and dimmed. The table, chairs, and dished began to shake. I stepped forward. “Let her go, you son of a bitch.”
Mini-Thor squeezed Miranda’s throat, drawing tears and a pained choking noise. “Easy there, champ,” he said. “It’d be a shame if something happened to your girlfriend here.” He ran the knife blade beneath her shirt, raising it and exposing her belly. Miranda whimpered.
Raw, animal fury boiled inside me. My teeth ground together, my muscles coiled, my eye twitched. Mini-Thor just laughed. “I think we made him angry, bro.”
Which was really, really stupid. These guys were mages. They should have known better. They knew that magic is fueled by will. They knew that powerful emotions are like jet fuel for spells. And they should have realized that making me angry was like handing a toddler a loaded bazooka.
The kitchen shook like an earthquake was hitting and the light bulbs exploded. “John,” Cyrano began. I turned my palms toward Mini-Thor and threw my arms back.
The kitchen exploded. The doors ripped off the cabinets and pantry. Silverware flew through the air like missiles. Glass streaked across the room like flechettes. Pots overturned, chairs splintered, and the table was thrown like it was caught in a tornado. The crash of debris slammed into Mini-Thor’s back. He screamed, let go of Miranda, and fell to his knees.
Miranda stumbled forward. I grabbed her arm and pushed her behind me, then grabbed Ethel and hid her as well. I turned toward the rest of the Asatru. They opened up with their shotguns, the sound deafening, the stench of gunpowder acrid and terrible.
I didn’t even bother to raise my hands. My will was focused through the lens of white-hot fury, and I didn’t need to wave my hands around to create a ward. Shotgun pellets slammed into the barrier, creating a series of waves in the empty air, and fell to the ground.
I flung my hands forward. Twin blasts of light leapt from my palms and slammed into the Asatru, lifting them from their feet and throwing them across the kitchen. Mini-Thor and Jersey Shore smashed into the walls. Cyrano was thrown through the back door and out onto the driveway.
Mini-Thor, still on his
hands and knees, reached into his waistband to pull a gun. I gestured, ripping the weapon from his hand with my will, grabbed it out of the air, and pistol-whipped him. A tooth flew from his mouth, trailed by a spray of blood. Mini-Thor fell unconscious.
“Stay here,” I growled at the DuBois, then stormed out the back door.
Ashlyn’s witches stood just outside the wards, but Ashlyn herself was nowhere to be seen. Black smoke swirled around Sandra and pooled up along the barrier, which burned with bright blue fire. The guy with reptilian eyes stood behind them. He raised his own shotgun and fired as soon as I emerged from the house.
I raised my arm and caught the pellets with another ward, filling the air around me with ripples. The guy fired five times before he ran out of shells, and I counterattacked as soon as he stopped to reload. White light lanced out from my hand. The girls ducked and dodged, but Reptile was too focused on his weapon. My spell caught him square in the chest. It hit him like a train, lifting him and throwing him clear across the street.
The Asatru threw their magic against the wards protecting the house. Dark mist and green fire slammed against the barrier, but the wards held.
The air around my body began to shimmer and glow as I pulled the Æther around me, forming an armored shell. The Æther flowed into my muscles and sinews. I wasn’t able to form my full suit of armor, but my rage allowed me to draw massive power from the Æther.
I stepped across the ward surrounding the house. Dark magic assaulted me, life-stealing smoke and flesh-scorching fire whipping around me in a phantasmal maelstrom. My armor burned bright, its radiance cutting through the swarming blackness. The women of the Asatru faced me, their eyes enfired with green energy. The spectral Valkyries stood behind them, lending them their power. Reptile, however, had no such advantage. He was back on his feet and weaving some kind of spell, twisting his fingers into knots and muttering beneath his breath, but the energies he controlled were purely human. I held out my hand, almost casually, and removed him from the battle with a column of blue-white light.
Swedish Bikini Girl threw a blast of fire at me, lighting up my left side. I turned and threw light at her, but the power of the Valkyrie kept her from being thrown aside. Strawberry Shortcake had apparently been studying with Mini-Thor, because she sent bolts of lightning streaking and cracking toward my right. I turned and hurled light toward her, too. I managed to stop her attack, but I wasn’t able to take her out of the fight, either. Italian Princess threw her hands forward, kicking up a gale-force wind that stripped asphalt from the driveway and sent it hurtling toward my back. Sandra stood in front of me, the dark mist writhing around her, black tendrils lashing out at me.
My armor burned as bright as the sun, the Æther around me combating the Æther being thrown at me. My spell, honed by experience and fueled by my rage, stood firm, but the sheer overwhelming mass of the Asatru’s attack would, eventually, wear me down.
I gathered energy around my fist and stabbed it toward the sky. My armor swelled and swirled and transformed into a pillar of light, cutting through the energies around me and disappearing into the gray winter clouds overhead. I shouted, the sound muffled by the rush of power emanating from me, and the column expanded, tearing the Asatru’s spells asunder and throwing them bodily away from me.
I lowered my hand. My clothes were soaked with sweat, my breath came in labored gasps, and my heart pounded like a jackhammer, but damn it, I was ready to finish this. I expect a certain amount of violence in my life, but when that bleeds over and affects the people I’m trying to protect, I get pissed. The air around me crackled with shimmering blue energy as I pulled the Æther back to reform my armor. My hands burned particularly bright as I formed spiked gauntlets made of pure willpower.
Sandra was flat on her ass in front of me. I stalked forward. She scrambled backward, despite the urging of the Valkyrie to get up and murder me. I grabbed her by her black shirt and jerked her into the air. Energy swirled around my fist and Sandra shut her eyes …
Thunder erupted behind me and a dozen pieces of shot slammed into my back. I staggered forward and dropped Sandra, who landed neatly and threw a bone-crunching uppercut into my jaw. I flew backwards and smashed into the DuBois’ porch, cracking one of the pillars. I rolled into a crouch, raised my hand, and ripped the shotgun from Swedish Bikini’s grip. She screeched and rushed at me, hands hooked into claws, the Valkyrie urging her forward. She slashed at me but I blocked with my left hand and smashed her with my right fist, then turned and threw another burst of light at Sandra, who was trying to sneak up from the right.
Italian Princess sent a wall of fire rushing toward me. The flames were fifteen feet high and white hot; they wouldn’t just fry me, they’d take the whole house behind me, too. I dropped to one knee and threw my hands forward, willing the Æther into a convex ward that wrapped around the girl and her Valkyrie. The fire struck my shield, sending ripples racing through the air, but the ward held and the fire stopped dead. Flames rushed back toward the girl, threatening to consume her and forcing her to abort her spell.
Mini-Thor shouted and jumped at me, his fists clamped together over his head, ready to smash me into paste. I threw my own fist into the air and let lose a blazing lance that caught him in the chest and threw him into the tree that occupied the DuBois’ front lawn. The branches cracked beneath his weight and he fell to the ground.
There was no Valkyrie fueling Mini-Thor’s attack, but he was still one tough son of a bitch. He was back on his feet in an instant, electricity swirling around his arms. I reinforced my armor and moved toward him, the Æther dancing around my fists like fire. We went at each other like wild dogs, throwing fists sheathed in lightning and punches cloaked in flames. The sound of our battle was deafening, and the energy released by our combat scorched the ground, but neither of us gave way.
A car engine revved somewhere behind the bed and breakfast. A moment later an old Lincoln Mercury, one of the giant steel land-yachts they used to sell before people cared about getting more than five miles per gallon, rumbled around the corner, Jersey Shore in the driver’s seat. The living room window shattered and Ashlyn landed on the ground, crystal razors falling all around her.
She clutched Warren’s grimoire beneath her arm.
I turned to throw a blast of light at her, but Mini-Thor cracked the back of my skull with a (literally) thundering punch. I fell forward, landing on my hands and knees. I felt the air behind me light up with energy, and my whole world became white fire and pain. I felt the thunder more than I heard it.
The Asatru piled into the car. I gritted my teeth and summoned the Æther, ready to blow the front of the vehicle off.
The engine growled like one of Wotan’s hounds. The vehicle lurched forward, a mass of metal propelled by an old, angry V8, and slammed into me. I flew backwards, landing hard on the asphalt. The car barely noticed. The front right wheel ran over my legs. The back right wheel ran over my chest. The Asatru’s car pulled onto the road, skidded into a left turn, and roared away. I tried to roll over, tried to throw a spell at them, but instead I just collapsed back to the earth and closed my eyes.
The back door opened. Feet pounded on the driveway, quiet in the wake of the thunderous battle.
The footfalls stopped inches away from me. “Caden?” Miranda asked. “Caden!”
Chapter Thirteen
“Caden!” I was dimly aware that Miranda was shouting my name, but after the number Mini-Thor’s thunder did on my ear drums, it sounded more like a muffled Charlie Brown murble.
“Just fifteen more minutes, Mommy,” I said. “The bus is never on time anyway.”
“Caden? Caden, you’re delirious. Can you tell me where you are? What year it is?”
I groaned and opened my eyes. I only saw three of her. Better than I expected. “It’s eighteen sixty one, and we’re stationed at Fort Sumter. I’m a Private in the United States Army, and you’re a nurse. We’ve been under siege for three days now.”
“Oh
Jesus,” Miranda said. “I need to get you to a hospital. I need–”
“God,” I interrupted, “everyone is always so serious. You’d think I just got run over by a car or something.”
Miranda just stared at me. I rolled over, my back making a spectacular series of pops, and got to my feet. I offered Miranda a hand up, but she just stared at me. “Are, are you all right?”
I turned my neck from side to side. It sounded like I was pouring milk over Rice Krispies. “Yeah. A bit stiff, but I’ll be fine.”
“You were hit by a car. A big car. They drove over you.” She was kneeling on the ground, her hands folded in her lap. She looked like a teacher talking to a kindergartner.
“I was protected. That’s why the shotgun didn’t kill me, either. Or the fire. Or the lightning. It’s been an interesting day.”
“And you can just shrug all of that off?”
I twisted to the left and right. The sound was reminiscent of walking on bubble wrap. “That might be a bit of an overstatement, but I’ll be fine.”
She stared at me like I was a lab specimen. “How does it work? How do you do it?”
“It’s the same principle as the wards,” I said, gesturing around the property. “But the armor and wards I set up when I’m fighting are designed to stop everything, not just magic.” I held out my hand again. “Come on, it’s cold. Let’s get inside.”
She let me help her up and we went back into the B&B. I headed straight for the living room, and sure enough, the grimoire was gone. “Damn it,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Ashlyn got the book. This whole thing was just a diversion. She needed me distracted while she looked for Warren’s Book of Shadows, and now that she has it …” I tried to suppress a snarl, and the overwhelming urge to light something on fire.
“So you won’t be able to translate it,” Miranda said.
I shrugged. “I have photos on my laptop. I’m less worried about learning what the book says and more worried about what the Asatru might do with it.”
The Wild Hunt Page 12