by David Estes
Crap. Double crap.
“Harooz manna fey rahhh!” he chants. I really wish he’d stop saying that.
The ground rolls and leaps beneath us, throwing Laney and me and our new ropy friend into a death spiral. Relying solely on instinct, I let my taut muscles and tendons take over, managing to land on my shoulders and arms rather than on my head, while Laney slams on top of me, and not in a good way. Her knee catches me where the sun don’t shine and I let out a groan, awkwardly somersaulting out of the tumble. Simultaneously, I wrench hard at the ropes with my fingers and they fall away almost the moment I touch them. Strange, I think, until I realize that Bil’s jabbed a knife into the end of the wizz’s weapon. Whatever magic is in his knife is apparently effective against the wizard’s defenses.
Good for us; bad for the wiz.
I charge him, my legs churning beneath me, pumping like I’m running a straight deep route to the corner of the end zone. His blue eyes widen and he mutters more curses, his hands extended in front of him, his fingers wiggling slightly.
Cutting to the left, I dodge something gelatinous that sprays from his fingernails, hoping Laney or Bil don’t get hit by it. Cutting to the right, I narrowly avoid getting impaled by a flurry of metal nails that buzz past me like bees. And then I hit him, jamming my sword deep into his gut with as much force as I can muster.
Bzzzz!
An electric shock buzzes from the wiz and through the sword, tearing into my hands, shaking me violently and sending searing waves of pain through my body, my glasses tilting at an angle on my face, making it hard to see. “Ahhhh!” I yell, realizing too late that if the wizard was able to protect his spear/rope weapon, then surely he’d be able to protect himself.
I’m done for.
Hex comes out of nowhere, either by design or because he got bored with the squirrels, barreling from the side and launching himself at the wizard. In midair he becomes a hawk, his beak smashing through whatever magical defenses the wiz has surrounded himself with.
The electrical current stops running through me, although I continue to shake for a few moments longer, wishing I had a comb and a mirror to flatten my hair, which is surely standing straight up.
The wiz is screaming, whacking at Hex, whose brown wings are beating at the man’s face in a flurry of feathers. I stand, straightening my glasses and tightening my grip on the sword, hot and sore and angry.
Once more, I stab him, and this time there’s nothing to stop the sharp blade from sinking into his skin.
He cries out, forming words that sound eerily similar to his strange magic language, but are really just grunts and groans. And then he takes his last breath, his beard so long that it hides the blood and ichor, even as I remove my blade from his gut.
Laney and Bil join Hex—who’s sniffing at the organic remains of the wizard—and me.
I try to think of something funny, and force a grin onto my lips.
“What are you grinning about?” Laney asks.
“The fact that Bil Nez saved you,” I say.
“He saved you, too,” she says, glaring.
“He did,” I say. “Thanks, Bil.”
“No problem,” he says. “You would’ve done the same for me.”
Laney starts to respond, probably some kind of snarky retort, but Bil cuts her off. “You can crack jokes and throw insults all you want, but you know it’s true. If it had been reversed, you would’ve risked your own life to save mine. Admit it.”
She opens her mouth, but then closes it. Bending down, she scratches Hex, who’s not a hawk anymore, under the chin. “And you saved us all, didn’t you boy?” He licks her face and she laughs. Standing, she turns and heads for the mini-mart. Under her breath she mutters, “Thanks, Bil Nez.”
Once she’s stepped through the shattered storefront window and is out of earshot, I say to Bil, “That’s the closest you’ll get to a real thank you from her.”
“I’ll take it,” he says.
“You know there’s more to her than fire and thorns, right?”
“How poetic,” Bil says, a hint of his usual sarcasm creeping into his tone. “Yeah. I know. She’s angry at a lot more than me.”
“You’re just the only one here for her to take it out on,” I say. “Although I have to admit I’m happy to not be her target for a while.”
“Glad I can serve some purpose,” Bil says.
Realizing something, I raise my eyebrows. “You haven’t…left us...for a while,” I point out, hoping he’ll get my meaning.
“That’s what worries me,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because that means I’m due for another blackout,” he says, turning to follow Laney through the window.
“Or it could mean you’re getting better,” I say. But if he hears me, he shows no sign of it.
I crouch next to Hex, petting his back while he wags his tail. “Sometimes I wonder if things would be easier with just the two of us, like the old days,” I say.
He gives me a look.
“You’re right, boy. I don’t mean that at all.”
The sun is bright but the day is coldish, sporting a stiff wind and the smell of rain. Dark clouds threaten in the distance. I clean my bloody sword on a nearby patch of grass, cringing when the red and green mix together and make me think of Christmas.
The wiz is completely gone now, replaced with a bed of daffodils and daisies. Strange, I’ve never seen one of them do that before. Every wiz I’ve killed—four now—have done something different after they died. One disappeared instantly, showering sparks, another—a rare female wiz who was even taller than most men—became a flock of white butterflies. How could someone so beautiful in death be so awful in life?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Trish
New Washington is nearby—she can sense it.
And the red-haired Changeling has been relentless, barely giving Trish a moment’s peace, always plotting and scheming.
Trish isn’t convinced they’re doing the right thing. Killing the president? Killing the Reaper? What will those acts accomplish except to further fan the flames of war? Something in the back of her mind—a memory, she thinks—wiggles its way to the front. And yet she can’t seem to grab onto it. What is her past trying to tell her?
Something important, she knows.
Something crucial to her ability to guide her children.
Something about…
Realization hits her so hard she stops gliding through the woods.
Her death.
Which death? she wonders. She’s had so many of them that they all start to blur together. Old age, in most of her lives. She may be able to repair her human body better than most, but it’s still a human body, susceptible to all the weaknesses that come along with flesh and bone and blood. Disease. Cancer. Time.
But there were accidents, too. Untimely deaths. She drowned in one life, as a child, before she even knew what she was. Seems she’s never been a very good swimmer. And yet, her last death is a mystery to her, shrouded in a black cloak, like a magician about to make his big reveal. Why can’t she remember it?
The red witch strides up to her once more, snapping her away from her thoughts. She pretends not to see her, hoping she’ll go away.
“Once the Claires—”
My children, she corrects, almost automatically.
“Your children,” the witch says, “get my people inside and we’ll take care of the rest. We’ll take down the president and anyone who supports her. You and your children are not to come in after us. You’re too important to risk, even on this mission.”
But you’re expendable? The insinuation surprises Trish. She’d never thought of the red Changeling as the martyr type.
“Yes,” she says. “I know you think I’m in this for some malicious reason. I may not be able to read minds, but you don’t hide yours particularly well. I know you don’t like me.”
Trish stays silent, wishing she could better control the tiny muscl
es in her human face.
“But I’m not the enemy. I want peace as much as you do. I know the Claires and Changelings have had our differences—I may not have countless lifetimes of memories, but I’ve read the ancient histories—but we’re on the same side in this battle. If you have any doubts, make them known now.”
Trish finally lets her gaze drift to the witch’s. The intensity in the beautiful woman’s sparkling green eyes surprises her. There’s no lie in them. She thinks she’s doing the right thing—that much is clear.
But the real question is whether she’s right.
We will help you breach New Washington’s defenses, Trish says in her head. That is all she can promise at this point.
“Thank you,” the witch says. She pauses, looking away, and Trish can tell she’s trying to figure out how to say what she wants to say next. But she doesn’t have to. Trish’s powers are strengthening, and for a moment she can clearly see what the Changeling leader is struggling with.
I know my sister isn’t the priority, Trish says. The witch’s eyes snap back to hers, as if shocked by how easily Trish could read her. But I will try to save her if I can.
The witch runs a hand through her hair, combing it back. “One day you’ll realize you have to let her go. She is nothing to the greater cause.”
And one day you’ll see that you’re wrong, Trish responds, moving quickly ahead. She doesn’t care to listen to her anymore.
Mostly because she wonders if she’s right about Laney.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Laney
There’s not much food inside the mini-mart, which has been scavenged a dozen times over, but we find enough to ease the ache in our guts.
Then it’s back to the road, past the flowers that were once a wizard. I step on one of them—an unnaturally-purple rose tipped with red edges—and crush it under my shoe.
“Nice,” Bil says.
“Shove it up your—”
“Guys,” Rhett says, cutting off my retort. “Save it.”
Was that…command in his tone? “Yes, sir, general, sir,” I say, snapping off a salute.
“The crimson flocks are settling on the westward boughs,” Bil says.
Rhett and my heads snap toward Bil, our hands flying to our weapons. Between us, Hex lies down, as if to say, “Not this again.”
And Bil Nez laughs, his expression completely lucid, his brown eyes sparkling. “The looks on your faces…classic!”
“A-hole,” I mutter, my hand falling away from my Glock as I stomp away.
Behind me, Rhett and Bil argue. “You can’t do things like that,” Rhett says.
“I just did.”
“Bil…”
“Okay, okay, I was just trying to have a little fun. I hate being treated like this crazy person all the time.”
“You are a crazy person,” I say, not breaking stride or looking back.
“Thanks a lot,” Bil says.
“Look, Bil,” Rhett starts, always the peacemaker. “We could’ve killed you. I’m not exactly into taking chances these days, and Laney’s known for shooting before asking questions.” I consider shooting Rhett at that moment, but I decide that would only prove his point.
“You would kill me?” Bil asks incredulously.
“Only in self-defense,” Rhett says.
“Speak for yourself,” I mutter, but I don’t think they hear me.
“I see how it is,” Bil says. “I blackout and then I never wake up from it…because I’m dead. One strike and you’re out, is that it?”
“You’re already on strike four,” I say, loud enough that he can hear. “Strike one was when you took the mission to kill Rhett. Strike two was when you almost killed us. And strike three was when you ditched us and let us get taken captive.”
Bil doesn’t say anything to that, and frankly I don’t really give a crap.
Rhett, however, continues to play mediator, trying to make Bil feel better about things while hammering home the point that his issues are nothing to joke about. I do my best to ignore them, watching Hex as he acts like a normal dog, chasing butterflies, sniffing at something dead on the side of the road, pawing at the trunk of a tree and making it shrink down to the size of a flower. Well, almost like a normal dog.
I laugh at his antics as he pees the colors of the rainbow on the tiny tree. That one will never get old.
I’m distracted, not really paying attention. None of us are, Rhett still locked in conversation with Mr. Jekyll-and-Hyde.
The crack of the gunshot sounds like a car backfiring. Loud, but not that loud. Threatening, but not that threatening. In fact, it takes me until the second shot to realize we’re being fired at.
“Down!” I yell, throwing myself to the pavement. My eyes are wide, trained ahead, searching for any sign of movement from the shooter, who is thankfully not very good at human target practice. Hex comes over and licks my face as if the two gunshots are no big deal.
“See anything?” Rhett asks.
“Not yet,” I say, trying to see around Hex’s pink tongue.
A form comes into view.
“Got something,” I say.
Walking directly down the center of the road, the soldier seems unthreatened by us, even when I snap to my feet and point my Glock at his chest. He’s still too far away for me to possibly hit him, but still…aiming a gun at someone usually gets some kind of a reaction.
But this guy just keeps walking, his camo fatigues pristine in a world where everything’s supposed to be dirty. He doesn’t even raise his rifle, which he could easily use to cut me down. I should be the one running, but I just stand there, aiming my gun at his chest as he approaches. And I’m not even a little bit scared. Not in this world. A soldier with a gun seems like the least scary thing after when I’ve seen.
Rhett’s beside me a moment later, while Bil sort of hides behind us. Thanks for that. I guess I can check “Act as a human shield for a schizo witch hunter” off my bucket list.
When Rhett draws his sword, the soldier doesn’t bat an eye, as if he’s seen a million swords in his lifetime. Just keeps walking, until he’s close enough that I could hit him with my Glock.
“Stop right there,” Rhett says.
He keeps walking. Thirty feet away.
“I said stop,” Rhett says. “This girl hasn’t shot her gun in a while and she’s getting antsy.” Thanks. Put it all on me, I think. Of course, he’s right. This guy takes another few steps and I’m going to fill him up with magic bullets.
He keeps coming and my finger compresses the trigger the slightest bit, my heart racing. He stops at twenty feet and I release it, letting out a silent sigh. Shooting humans isn’t something I’d choose to do.
Witches on the other hand…
“You shot at us,” Rhett says.
“No I didn’t,” the soldier says.
“Yes. You did,” Rhett responds, and this conversation is beginning to sound like something out of an elementary school playground game: I tagged you! No you didn’t! Yes I did!
“I was just warning you that I was there. That I was approaching you. If I wanted to shoot you, I would’ve.” The soldier’s clean-shaven face is completely relaxed, as if we’re just a bunch of normal people out walking their dogs, chatting about the weather. He looks like he’s in his late forties or early fifties, with plenty of life experience under his belt.
I believe him. But still. “Waving a white flag or something might’ve been more effective,” I say.
“I’m not surrendering to you,” the soldier says calmly.
“You should probably consider it, seeing that you’re the one in my sights.” I tighten my grip on the Glock.
The soldier laughs. Removes his cap, beneath which his hair is cut short, his eyes a dull gray. One of his cheeks has a long scar from the corner of his eye to his chin. He replaces the hat, his eyes lost in shadow once more.
“Not sure what’s so funny about you dying a horrifically painful death,” I say.
<
br /> “You shoot, and the twenty-eight gunmen positioned in the trees around you will mow you down before you can even consider raising a white flag.”
“I call bullcrap,” Rhett says, but both of our eyes are already darting to the tree line.
There’s a rustle as branches move aside, whispering as if blown by the wind. Except there’s no wind.
Soldiers peek out at us, only their white eyes and black tips of their guns visible. Everything else, their painted faces and camo garb, blend in with the trees they’re perched in.
I slowly lower my gun, until it’s pointing at my own feet. Game. Over.
“What do you want?” I ask.
To my surprise, the response comes from behind me. From Bil Nez. “He wants to escort us into New Washington,” he says, pushing between us and striding forward.
I wait for the guns to erupt, for Bil to get cut down, but instead, something I never would’ve expected happens. The soldier breaks into a huge smile, extends his arm, and shakes Bil Nez’s hand.
“Welcome back, my friend,” he says.
Chapter Thirty
Rhett
“How’d the mission go?” the soldier asks Bil.
I share a look with Laney. She’s as shocked as I am.
Bil leans in to the soldier’s ear and whispers something I can’t hear. The soldier’s head cocks to the side and his gaze settles on me. “That’s him?” he says.
Bil looks back, raising his eyebrows as if offering a silent apology, and says, “Yep. That’s him.”
I pray Laney’s gun will be quicker than the soldier’s, that she’ll be able to take him out before he blows my head off, that I’ll still get the chance to make Bil Nez pay for leading us right into the lion’s den.
But none of that happens. “Lieutenant Hemsworth, meet Rhett Carter,” Bil says. “He’s on our side.”
The lieutenant continues to stare me down. “I’ll be damned,” he says. “Everyone thought you were with the witches.” He extends a hand. “I never thought I’d say this, but good to meet you.”