The Beckoning of Bravelicious Things (The Beckoning Series Book 3)

by Calinda B

  “Don’t be disheartened, child, these things take time. Now, put the carcanet on and be on your way.”

  Carcanet? I finger the gold, confused.

  “Time’s a wasting.” He picks up my backpack and hands it to me as if I’m preparing for school.

  I take it, sling it over my back, and fit the bracelet on my wrist. It hangs loose and heavy. “I think this will get in the way of my sword fighting,” I say.

  “Not like that, child. It goes here.” Mason removes the jewelry from my wrist and places it around my neck. It affixes to me like metallic skin, startling me, creating a warm, buzzing sensation. It isn’t the least bit unpleasant—in fact, it produces an extremely pleasurable response.

  “See? It was meant for you all along.”

  “So this is what a carcanet is?”

  “Precisely. It comes from the old French word carcan…carcan for collar.”

  “Will I be able to remove it?”

  He shrugs. “Try it and see.”

  I can’t even get my fingers underneath the metal—it’s fused to me. “Seems the answer’s no.”

  “Do you need to remove it? Is it uncomfortable in any way? It should feel like the skin of a kitten.”

  “Like the skin of a kitten? What a horrid image.”

  “Isn’t it soft?”

  “Extremely. But the skin of a kitten? I have to carry that imagery around with me, swirling inside my head whenever I think of the carcanet? Ew, Mason.”

  “I don’t know….think of the tender skin of your lovers’…”

  Cock…at the head…mmm. “I got it,” I interrupt, blushing.

  Mason gives me another tender, wistful look, filled with longing, before quickly turning away. “Well…off with you. I have things to do. Busy day ahead.”

  “What kind of things do you do up here?” I ask, running my fingers along the smooth piece.

  “This and that. Be off with you.” He strides to the wall, places his hand on an invisible handle, and opens a large, looming door.

  “It would have been nice to enter through this door instead of dematerializing through stone.”

  “You’ll have plenty of opportunities, I’m sure,” Mason says, leaning against the doorway after Sober and I step through. He beams at me like we’re best friends.

  I’m not so sure about that.

  “You know, child—now your journey begins in earnest.”

  “What do you mean? It started weeks ago, if you think about it.”

  “That was all prep work. You had to come up here and find me, don’t you see?”

  “I ended up here because the asshole you want me to restore blew up our food supplies.”

  “It’s all part of the plan,” Mason says. “Now you have your soul keeper, and I get repayment of an ancient debt.”

  His face grows hard, almost menacing, making me shiver and step away from him. I wonder what, exactly, Armando reneged on? I’ll find out soon enough. The real question looming before me is, how will I explain the restoration of his father to my soul bound lover? I hope I’ll get the chance to find out. I hope he’s not dead. With all my heart, I hope.

  Chapter 27

  I whistle as we make our way through the low-lying scrub, stepping over rocks and clumps of grass, pulling away branches from small trees so we can pass. I’ve never been much of a whistler but I’m feeling content, even happy; my tummy’s full, and we’ve finally emerged from rattlesnake beige, thank the stars. We’re in remarkable purple, fuchsia, and green foothills, with a blue sky, occasional bird sounds, and tiny lizards darting about—it’s an altogether welcome change of pace from the absence of sound or color we left several hours ago. Even Sober has a springy gait and a dog smile. He flutters above my shoulders and playfully nips at my braid, swiftly retreating when I whirl to grab him. Silly dog.

  “What do you think of Mason?” I say.

  He grabs my braid between his teeth and shakes it.

  “Ow! Is that your answer?”

  He drops to the ground, leans over his stretched-out front legs and looks up at me, giving me a few barks.

  “I know I was quick to judge. I didn’t like him at first.”

  Sober gives a hearty shake.

  “I know, right? You didn’t either. He turned out to be….”

  Sober paws at the ground.

  “I would have said curious, but unusual works, I suppose. I think he’s lonely, don’t you?”

  My mutt licks my hand. “Maybe he needs a dog of his own. Not you, of course,” I quickly say. “Never my Demon Slayer.” I take his head in both hands and kiss his canine nose, and we continue our trek.

  We stop at a burbling creek to refresh ourselves. The water tastes almost as good as Mason’s spring water. I retrieve the map, spread it before me and study it. “Right here,” I tell Sober. “Just up ahead. This is the only way to get over to here.” I tap a colorful spot on the map. “And this is supposedly where the sisters are. Rumor has it.” I scratch my cheek, thoughtful. “Am I ready for this? I guess ready as I’ll ever be.” We head out and pick our way through the terrain. “We still have to bring Armando back. Gah! That makes me so mad! That will be a big time suck for sure. But first we have to find him. How do you find someone you really, really don’t want to find?” The answer’s obvious when Sober bares his teeth and growls, indicating magic up ahead. Sure enough, a few steps later, I sense the tingling hints of magic, too. “Conceal,” I say, making myself invisible. “Stealth,” I tell Sober. He immediately gets low on his belly. We creep up an incline. My heart sinks when I see what’s below.

  Armando’s in his wheelchair with the three thugs and the hulking woman. The men are dressed in Army green, while the woman is dressed like a park ranger, in a crisp green shirt, dark green pants, sturdy boots, and a belt clenched around her ample girth. They’re all bickering about something, it seems. The thing that really concerns me is the hundreds of men, armed to the teeth, blocking the way to the one bridge I have to pass. It’s over a treacherous, rocky ravine that seems to be miles deep. How could he find all those men? “What are we going to do, pup?” I’m overcome with worry, fear, trepidation, you name it. I never thought I’d have to deal with all of this. A few sorcerers? Maybe. Hundreds of who knows what? I don’t think so. Where are you Daniel? I think…or imagine… the faintest glimmer of an answer. My heart quickens. Baby, if you can hear me, I’m in way over my head here…too many to count. I’ll do my best but it would be super if you could…

  Armando gestures to several men toting what looks like explosives. “Dig a three inch wide strip about six feet long, yay feet deep. It has to be…” He puts his left hand out, palm outstretched. “It has to be right here, where the energy is the weakest.”

  “Okay, boss, what’s our goal?” One of the minions asks.

  “We’re going to split apart the ground to release the darkness. You’d better run like hell when we do, because every manner of demon will come pouring forth, hungry as hell. The boys and I will put a spell of protection around us, so we’ll be safe.”

  “All of us?” The man takes a step back.

  “This guy’s a real jokester,” one of Armando’s crew says.

  “All of us?” Another mimics in a sing song voice.

  “This is only a practice run, don’t worry.” Armando turns to his crew and begins talking in a low voice, ignoring the man.

  The soldier guy slinks away and commands a group to start digging.

  “We can only do this when Daniel’s in the vicinity. I’m sure the explosion we set off on the road hindered them. They’re days behind us if they’re still alive. When he arrives, I want him disposed of immediately. That will distract his bitch enough to make her easy fodder. We’ll have to work in concert with the explosion, splitting apart the magnetic field to the demons. Morton, Schemer, I’m counting on you for that.”

  “You got it boss,” one of the men replies.

  Oooh, I hate this man. No way am I going to restore him. My
hands are balled so tight, I’m going to break my bones.

  An explosion shatters the air, and Armando and his henchmen—and woman—are thrown to the ground. “Not us, you fools,” Armando shouts. “And not yet!”

  The men responsible for the explosion make a hasty retreat, tossing their weapons and racing across the bridge. “Big mistake,” one of them yells as his feet pound across the slender wooden bridge. “I told you not to use that much C-4.”

  The other men shuffle about like lowing cattle, trying to appear innocent.

  “Goddamn it! You idiots can’t do anything right! Nurse Ratched, get me back in my goddamned chair.”

  “I’m fine, thanks for asking, ass-wipe,” the large woman states, as she gets to her feet. She brushes the dust and debris from her clothes before leaning over, placing her arms around Armando and hefting him into his wheelchair.

  “Freddy! Schemer! Get those men! Do something!” Armando waves his one good arm frantically.

  The two goons scramble to their feet, put their hands in the air, let loose their magic, and the deserters burn to a crisp, their horrid screams filling the air.

  “Holy shit,” I say. I’d seen El Demonio de la Muerte do that trick on his coffee workers. They went from now you see them to now you don’t in two seconds flat. “Must be a standard sorcerer’s trick. Okay, we need a plan, pronto,” I whisper to my dog. “What do you suggest?”

  He turns his head in my direction, sniffs, and makes a slight wag of his tail.

  “That’s a thought,” I say softly. “But I was thinking we divert the men…you assume Demon Slayer eagle dog mode. Draw them across the trestles. We’ll need that bridge when we return from our fool’s errand back to Mason, so I don’t want to destroy it. Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. Get it? Cross that bridge?”

  Sober looks in my direction, blinking, no doubt wondering where the sound’s coming from—I’m still in stealth mode.

  “Okay, so it was a lame joke.” I reach out an invisible hand and pat his head. “Ready?”

  He wags.

  I give the signal.

  He waits.

  I give the signal again.

  He waits, alert.

  “I’m invisible! What a dummy! Go!”

  Sober unfurls his wings and takes flight. For a minute, I’m captivated by my beautiful dog in flight. He pins his wings back into soaring eagle mode and dive bombs the soldiers below.

  “Look!” Armando yells. “It’s her dog! Get him!”

  Sober ascends, too high for bullets. He races high over the bridge, followed by men shooting guns, screaming, jostling.

  Damn. Not as many men chasing my dog as I would have liked, but it’s a start. I run down the hill, unseen, trying to think of a way to deal with the men chasing Sober. Okay, this won’t be pretty, but it will have to do, I think. My footsteps pound across the bridge after the men. I whisk my sword free from its sheath, pull power from my core, and aim it in a wide arc, the same way I felled the tree in Tom’s yard. That was a mistake. This is not. Twenty-five or so men lose their noggins, neatly severed by my laser beam of powerful energy. Their headless bodies lurch and fall as their heads, frozen in silent screams, tumble toward the bottom of the ravine. Oh, man, my karma just took a hit. I wonder how many Hail Mary’s it will take to fix that mess.

  “That’s her sword!” Armando commands. “Get her! She’s attached to it!”

  “Sky!” I call to Sober.

  He quickly ascends until he becomes a dot, high above, circling like a bird of prey.

  The males race across the bridge. I quickly slip my light-filled sword into its invisible sheath, making all of me concealed. I grab the rope side rails and swing myself over, dangling over the precipice.

  “Where’d she go?” One of the men asks.

  “She’s a witch,” another answers. “Who knows where she went? Let’s get out of here.”

  A few more deserters race to the other side. I wonder if they have any idea who lives over there.

  A few down, a hundred or more to go, I tell myself, trying to keep a positive frame of mind. I hand over hand it until I reach the edge of the canyon and pull myself up to solid ground. This always looks so easy in the movies, I think. Reality check here. This is fucking hard. The sickening stench of scorched flesh makes me want to gag. I place my hands over my knees and fight back dry heaves, trying to remain quiet.

  “Where is she?” Armando yells. “Everyone! Find her!”

  The men break apart, running this way and that. Freddy, Morton, and the Schemer remain by Armando and the female caregiver’s side.

  Chickens, I think. As my stomach calms, I try to scheme. Find their weaknesses, I think between gulps of air. This is what Betty taught you. Everyone has an Achilles Heel. And whatever you do, don’t give up. I slide to the ground and sit cross legged, eyes closed, and find that inner cave of stillness I sourced while under Betty’s tutelage, scanning the sorcerers with my mind. I imagine fingers, delicately running across their energy fields, searching for tiny chinks and flaws. The guy he calls Schemer—meth head, I think. His high’s wearing off. Freddy’s easy—he has to cast spells in a certain order. If he messes up, he has to start over again. Morton…not so sure about him…and Armando…. My gut trusses up tight again, thinking how I not only have to save him—I have to restore him to good health. Focus, Engles. I scan the men running around like squawking hens—they’re hired guns, mercenaries, no doubt. They’d have to have a hint of magic to be able to be in Warplandia, but it’s probably miniscule. As for the sturdy broad taking care of Armando? She only wants to earn a paycheck to take care of her family. Poor thing. She doesn’t know who she’s dealing with.

  If I didn’t have to bring Armando back alive, Sober and I could slip across the bridge and be done with it. Well, not really. They’d keep coming after us. Okay, I think, standing up. I crack my knuckles, roll my neck, a plan already in mind.

  Sober’s a super smart dog. He knows loads of skills and tricks. I took him to sheep herding school at one point. The only Doberman around all those black and white Border collies, learning how to herd animals. I learned how to command him with whistles and hand gestures. Wanting to remain invisible, I’ll have to use sound only until I’m ready to be seen.

  I let out a series of short, loud trills, watching the skies above.

  Sober hears me and begins his decent, wings folded back like a jet.

  I run toward the clump of men. A few of them look up, confused. They hear my footsteps, they can’t see me. Another whistle brings Sober to the rear.

  The men whirl, take aim and shoot.

  Sober darts like a huge hummingbird, avoiding their bullets while driving them forward. He nips a few of them in the head while they yell and bat their arms at him. Some of them begin pumping their arms and legs, moving in the exact direction I want—toward me. A few continue to try and kill my dog. He fights like a Demon Dog, grabbing a wrist here, chomping down on an ear there, dodging gunshot all the while. Finally, the men race in a clump in my direction.

  “That dog’s psycho!” One of them calls.

  “Whoever heard of a dog with wings?”

  “Good, boy!” I call. I race toward a rocky wall. I’ve never started a rockslide but there’s no time like the present. I whip my sword out, pull energy, direct it, and shatter the side of the hill. Boulders large and small, dirt and gravel tumble free, landing on and around the confused men. A few of them crumple instantly. More karma to deal with. Oh well. I signal to my dog and he pivots mid-air, racing toward Guerreros del diablo, leaving rockslide chaos behind. I could still use some help, guys, I think to Daniel. The remaining men will be after me in two quick secs.

  I’m running hard, sprinting like an Olympian. “Reveal!” I say, and I burst into corporeal form. I’m blazing with light like a comet, completely flooded with adrenaline and power. It’s streaming out in all directions. The bolt of lightning on my jumpsuit burns with icy blue flames.

  Sober
launches at the leg of Freddy, mid-sentence in his spell cast. The male quickly loses his place and has to start over—once he gets my dog off his bloody, shredded leg. Sober shakes and tears at the shouting male.

  The Schemer raises his hands and prepares to launch an attack of magic. He’s wielding a gnarled wand. Green light bursts from the end and lands on my cheek, burning me like an acid wash. “You motherfucker,” I scream. I raise my saber and direct a pin point beam of light at his forehead, shooting him clean through the skull. Yeah, baby. Light Rebel in action.

  His head jerks back and he topples to the ground.

  The thunderous sound of boot-clad males running toward me catches my attention. I whip around and see the remaining solders headed in my direction. If you’re anywhere, still alive, a little help would be great, I beseech my lovers. Noticing the sunlight dancing along the rocks, I raise my hand, yell “Caeco carpitur igni!” and watch, pleased, as sunlight blinds the eyes of my would-be assassins.

  They blink and stagger, faltering in their pursuit of me.

  A supersonic shriek explodes through the air, making us all cover our ears. The ground splits, red and purple mist rolling up from the underground as two powerful alpha males launch from the depths. They land with blood-thirsty grins, their hard bodies pumped, ready for action.

  “Need some help, darlin’?” Rafe asks.

  “At your service,” River says.

  “River! Rafe! Where’s Daniel?” For a moment, fear tears at my heart. Then, my badass, soul bound lover rockets from his world of darkness, riding the biggest Annihilator I’ve ever seen. “Hell, yeah, baby,” he shouts to me. “Let’s end this thing.”

  Chapter 28

  River and Rafe immediately deal with the minions—the ones who haven’t turned tail and run, that is.

  Rafe’s breaking necks with his bare hands, moving like a blur between falling bodies. I see why he never wanted me to know what he does—he’s a ruthless killer.

  Sober races alongside him, moving like the Demon Slayer he is, tearing at arms, legs, and whatever he can get his canines on.