The Nightwind's Woman

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

And she could hide from him for all eternity. She might even be right behind him at that very moment—laughing, snickering and smirking.

  He spun around with a hand to the back of his neck. Not sure if he was imagining it or not but he’d felt a warm breath of air crossing over his flesh.

  “Why are you here?” he demanded. “What the hell do you want?”

  He hadn’t expected an answer and did not receive one although he was sure she heard him and was biding her time.

  Like a fool, he’d been led to Terra. He had been directed straight to Tearmann where the bitches knew he would find his Blood-mate. They had dangled the adlets and the Saurian in front of him like a carrot swinging before a donkey and he had snapped at it.

  They wanted the two of them to meet, to bond. Why? What purpose was there behind giving him now that for which he’d spent centuries longing? There was evil afoot but he could not see it. One thing he did know, though. Whatever was happening here involved the Nightwind.

  His mother’s words came back to him. “It is important to us he survive.”

  “Survive,” he said as he stopped at a bank of elevators and raked a hand roughly through his hair. “If he’d been left alone with McKenzi, if I had not Joined with her, the incubus would have become entirely mortal again and could have been slain.” He looked up at the ceiling. “But you didn’t want him to die. Why is he important to you, Mother?”

  And what part did Hades’ Key play in the mix?

  He waited impatiently for the cage to open. Though he could easily have transported himself to his destination he wanted the time to mull over what he knew about the infamous keys and the powers they held.

  The gates of hell were mentioned in mythology, in the Christian bible and in the Qur’an. They were alluded to in many religions and cults and in nearly every instance mention of a key or keys was made.

  The Qur’an speaks of the seven gates of hell, each for a different class of sins.

  In the Christian bible, Jesus Christ descended into hell to prove his dominion over death and evil, to destroy the power of Satan. He delved into his memory to pull from it the direct quote from Revelation 1:18. “Fear not, I am the first and the last, and the living one; I died, and behold I am alive for evermore, and I have the keys of Death and Hades.”

  In mythology, Hades—the god of the Underworld—ensured those residing in hell did not leave or that unwanted visitors did not enter his kingdom uninvited nor could they depart without his permission. Thus, he charged the three-headed demon-dog Cerberus with guarding the keys that kept the gates of the Underworld locked.

  “You want the key to unlock those gates,” he said as the elevator doors pinged and then slid open. He stepped inside. “And that key or keys are in the cemetery in Milton on a tombstone.”

  He frowned. It was a strange place to hide something so vitally important to the god of the Underworld but a place where Hades would be unlikely to look, he assumed.

  His mother and her co-conspirators had set things into motion to gain Hades’ Keys. Manipulating the Saurian and the adlets had been the major part of their plan. They knew he would go after the adlets and send the Nightwind and Reaper after the Saurian whore. The four of them would be at opposite ends of the continent from one another. Tuatara would locate the key but…

  “She couldn’t retrieve it,” he said, a light going on in his fertile mind. “But the incubus can.” He punched the button for the ground floor. “Why is that?”

  He thought about it for a moment then nodded slowly as understanding came.

  Because he is a demon and the Saurian isn’t, he reasoned. The keys are guarded by a portal demon only the incubus can command and control—a demon set in place by Hecate, goddess of the frontier between life and death and those shades and evil creatures that move across that frontier. The protectress of the portal. Hecate who holds dominion over realms outside or beyond the world of the living. She would mediate between the mortal and divine. The goddess who was often sculpted sitting with her hound, holding a pair of torches, a set of keys and a dagger.

  “Cerberus guards the gates of Hades,” he mumbled to himself. “There is no need for keys to lock them. Jesus Christ holds the keys to the Christian hell. Those keys would not be hidden here on Terra. There is no mention of keys being needed to lock the seven gates of hell in the Qur’an.”

  Why would his mother and her sisters in magic need the keys to a place that was of no real importance except to the god who ruled it? Why would Persephone send her minister Hecate to hide the key in the first place? Spite? Anger? Vengeance? None of that made sense.

  “If Hades’ Key is not to hell itself then to what does it…?”

  Understanding hit him like a bolt of lightning and he staggered, slamming back against the cage wall.

  Hecate, goddess of the frontier between life and death and those shades and evil creatures that move across that frontier. The protectress of the portal.

  “Merciful gods, no,” he whispered, eyes wide.

  As the elevator doors shushed open Kerreyder all but ran down the corridor to the Supervisor’s office. Not bothering to knock, he barged into the inner sanctum of the Ridge Lord, flinging the door wide.

  “Where is the incubus?” he demanded.

  “On his way to the Raven,” the Supervisor said then shook his head. “To the jet.”

  “Is the Reaper with him?”

  “Aye,” the Supervisor replied. “What’s wrong?”

  “You need to send as many men as you have with the demon. Now, Alexandru!”

  “Tell me why,” the Supervisor ordered.

  “Hecate hid Hades’ Key in that cemetery where the Nightwind found the Saurian.”

  The Ridge Lord tossed out a hand in irritation. “Aye, I was told—”

  “The key is hidden somewhere on a tombstone in that pissant town. We need the demon to find those keys and protect them, keep my mother and her sisters from taking them from him at all costs.”

  “What will your mother do? Open the gates to hell and let loose the inhabitants?” the Supervisor challenged.

  “The key isn’t to the gates of hell,” Kerreyder replied. He clenched his fists, dug his fingernails into his palms to keep from screaming. “I believe the key is to the Charvaal portion of the Abyss. They intend to throw wide the Gate of Caighean.”

  The Supervisor’s face turned deathly white. “And that means…”

  “The Nikkeson will be set free with no place to send it back to, to contain it even if every Ridge Lord in the Megaverse is sent after it!”

  * * * * *

  The Nightwind had just taken his seat in the jet when the flight attendant came hurrying toward him with a vid-pad.

  “The Supervisor, milord,” she said, thrusting the vid-pad at him. “He says it is urgent.”

  Randon took the vid-pad and looked down at the Supervisor’s strained face.

  “What do you know of Charvaal?” the Ridge Lord demanded.

  “The bottomless pit?” Randon asked. “Isn’t that where the Nikkeson is imprisoned?” He glanced at a chopper that was landing close to the jet then turned back to the screen.

  “The key you are going after is to the Gate of Caighean,” the Supervisor said. “Kerreyder is going with you.”

  “What the hell did he say?” Darkyn Sorn asked, getting up from his seat to stand over Randon.

  “The goddess Hecate must have hidden it in a place she never imagined anyone would find it,” the Supervisor said. “How the succubae found out its whereabouts is anyone’s guess but we can’t let them get their hands on it.”

  “If the Gate of Caighean is opened, the Nikkeson can escape,” Sorn whispered, his voice shaky.

  “You think?” Randon snarled. His heart was thundering in his chest at the thought of the greatest evil known to mankind being set loose to annihilate all life in the Megaverse.

  “You must get to that key and keep Naamah from taking it from you. She must not get hold of it, Kayle!”
the Supervisor stated.

  “What if she gets there before me?” Randon asked.

  “Kerreyder believes Hecate set in place a spell to guard the tombstone. Perhaps it is part of the tombstone. She would not have trusted the succubae because she knows how brutally they despise humankind. No woman could gain possession of the key. It would have to be a male, and a male demon at that.”

  “Makes sense,” Sorn agreed. “Either you or Kerreyder can take possession of the key.”

  “The archdemon doesn’t think he can. As a son of a succubus, he would not be trusted either,” the Supervisor told them. “Only you can take the key.”

  “And I don’t even know what I’m looking for,” Randon said.

  “My guess is there will be yew trees around the tombstone,” Kerreyder said as he came walking toward them down the aisle. “There will be torches, dogs perhaps. Three if my theory is correct.”

  “Yew trees are sacred to Hecate,” Sorn said.

  “And they are abundant in Florida,” the Supervisor put in. “There is something I’m sending to you. Something you are going to need. Cree will fill you in on what it is.”

  When the Supervisor terminated the transmission, men began filing onto the plane—Viraiden Cree and another man Sorn obviously didn’t like as he caught sight of the man in black among them for the Panthera Reaper growled low in his throat.

  “Is that the new Alpha at the Exchange?” Randon asked.

  “Aye,” Sorn said with a grunt. “The bastard’s name is Dixon Coulter. He took Taylor Reynaud’s assignment.” He gave the man in question a hard look and didn’t greet him.

  “Hello to you too Sorn, and before you ask what the fuck I am doing here,” Coulter said as he strode past Sorn, “I’m from Milton. Born and raised there.”

  “You shitting me?” Randon asked, twisting around in his seat to look up at the man he sensed was more than a Reaper. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

  “I shit you not and I don’t think so either. By the way, I’m the Gravelord,” Coulter told him.

  “Oh,” Randon said with a furrowing of the brow. “What the fuck is that?”

  “I’ll explain later,” Coulter told him.

  “Like it matters what you are,” Sorn muttered.

  “Sorn, I’m not your problem,” Coulter snapped, “but, son, if you want me to be I can sure as fuck oblige.”

  “Enough,” Cree said as he pushed past Coulter and dropped into a seat, placing a long wooden box on the seat next to his. “Sorn, keep your comments to yourself.” He dragged the seat belt across him. “Coulter, sit your ass down and pretend you’re one of the boys instead of thinking you’re the big dog on this plane.” He leveled a red-tinged amber glare at the Gravelord. “You ain’t and if you’d like me to prove it to you, I sure as fuck will.”

  “Huh,” Randon said with a grin. Though he disliked all Reapers, he admired Viraiden Cree’s attitude. The wolf knew he was a badass and had the stones to prove it.

  “I could take you,” he heard Coulter mumble.

  “Keep thinking that and one day we’ll just have to test your idiotic theory,” Cree replied.

  “Milords,” the flight attendant said, “we are about to begin taxiing. Please take your seats and buckle in. Capt. Jonas said to tell you we might be in for some bad weather on the way down. There’s a tropical depression along the Gulf Coast.”

  “Wonderful,” Randon said with a grimace.

  * * * * *

  Naamah walked unseen behind Kenzi, raking the human with eyes that were so fired with fury they should have incinerated the bitch. She could not remember ever hating anything—living or dead—more than she did the woman in front of her. Her claws itched to shred the flesh from the woman’s body and her fangs throbbed with the need to drain every last drop of blood from her.

  Bide your time, sister, Lilith whispered to her. We need her for a while longer.

  Stopping a mere six inches from her target, Naamah did not enter the medical room when Kenzi did. Instead she pivoted on her heel and sank through the floors all the way to the lowest level. Unseen, undetected, she flowed through the wall of the Saurian’s cell then materialized.

  “You!” Tuatara shrieked, climbing onto her bunk and pressing herself tightly to the wall. Her bare feet dug into the mattress as she tried to meld her body into the wall to get away from the incubus. “Please, Your Grace, don’t kill me!”

  “I have no intention of killing you, lizard,” Naamah said. “You did what I wanted you to do and you are right where I need you to be.”

  Tuatara’s scaly face puckered with confusion. “I am?”

  “Sit down,” Naamah ordered. “I’ve no desire to break my neck staring up at your butt-ugly visage.”

  Carefully Tuatara eased to a squatting position on the mattress but she kept her back firmly against the wall. She warily watched the incubus pacing in front of the bunk.

  “When we discovered the whereabouts of Kerreyder’s Blood-mate, we were overjoyed to find she was near one of the warriors my sister Lilith had turned into one of her disgusting Nightwinds. That was like catching two birds with one stone.”

  Tuatara blinked at the statement. No one had ever said Naamah was the brightest cathode in the vid-com.

  “Then when we found out Hades’ Key was here on Terra…” Naamah sighed heavily. “The pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place.”

  “How did you d-discover the whereabouts of the key?” Tuatara asked.

  “The disgraced Nightwind Syntian Cree was good enough to tell us. He saw it on a stroll through the cemetery in that dismal little town in which his witch lives,” Naamah said. “When we release the Nikkeson, we have agreed to release him as well. He will extract his treacherous female and take her from Terra. I have agreed to allow him to live out eternity in Tine with me.”

  Tuatara’s elliptical pupils dilated to pinpoints. “The key is to the Abyss?” she asked, her voice a mere squeak. “To the Gate of Caighean?”

  Naamah stopped pacing and pinned the Saurian with a hard glare. “That’s right,” she said with a tsk. “You are living matter.” She grinned. “Oops.”

  “The Nikkeson will destroy all life in the Megaverse!” Tuatara said, beginning to tremble.

  “All save that which we take to Treigeilys with us,” Naamah told her. She sidled closer to the bunk. “Would you like to be one of those, Saurian?”

  “Aye, Your Grace!” Tuatara said. She put a hand out in pleading. “I beseech you, please take me with you!”

  Naamah put the long vermillion-tipped nail of her index finger against her fang and tapped, her head tilted to one side as she surveyed the creature hunkered down on the bunk. “I will think about it.”

  “Please!” Tuatara crawled forward on her knees, lowered her head with her right fist doubled over one of her two hearts. “I will do anything you ask. Anything!”

  Naamah was silent for a moment then said, “That’s good to know for I’ve got a little job for you.”

  * * * * *

  Kenzi patted the chepi on the shoulder and thanked the spirit informant for his help. He had given her a vast amount of knowledge while she had slept the evening before. It was the purpose of the chepi to provide information and wisdom to medicine people—usually during trances—and his help was much appreciated.

  “I should be able to cure the Lovelandfrog of his red leg disease,” she said. “Thank you, Byrl.”

  “My pleasure, healer. Please call upon me whenever you need my assistance. I will await your next request,” the chepi replied with a bow then left her office.

  Kenzi stood there for a moment then took a deep breath. She needed it before going into the operatory next door to consult with the Loveland frog. A five-feet-tall man-like creature with leathery webbed hands and feet and the head of a large frog. His appearance wasn’t frightening but rather unsettling. It didn’t help that he gave off a musky odor that made her eyes water and when he spoke, he slurped his words around a
two-foot-long bright-blue tongue.

  “Knock-knock.”

  Kenzi turned to find Dr. Alyn Matheny lounging against her doorjamb with his heavily muscled arms folded over a wide chest. His broad shoulders all but filled the opening. Topping out at well over six feet, he was known around Tearmann as Dr. Hot-As-Sin. With his thick black hair, startling blue eyes and thousand-watt sparkling white smile, he set many hearts to fluttering. He was the Primary Physician at the facility.

  “Busy?” he inquired.

  “I’ve a patient next door but it can wait a minute. What’s up?” she replied.

  “I’m having a spot of trouble with the muireartach. The old bat heard we have a female healer and she has decreed I am no longer worthy to treat her gout. She wants to see you.”

  “What kind of creature is she?”

  “Ugly as hell is what she is,” Alyn said with a snort. “She is the Pictish Mother of the Western Storms—better known as a sea-hag. She’s bald-headed, has jagged teeth, blue-gray skin and one enormous eye in the center of her forehead—an eye that waters constantly. She’s not real keen on the male of the species.” He cocked one of his massive shoulders. “Brunst’s not particularly malevolent but she can be a handful.” He smiled hopefully. “Would you be a dear and take a look at her for me?”

  “If she can wait until after I talk to the Loveland frog,” she answered. “I can see her while I’m waiting for the salve to work on him.”

  “Red leg?” he inquired.

  “Yes.”

  He nodded. “Okay, I’ll tell her, but be warned. She won’t like playing second fiddle to an amphibian and a male amphibian at that.”

  “So don’t tell her,” Kenzi said with a grin.

  “Oh, she’ll know. She’s telepathic,” he said with a sigh.

  “Then please extend my apologies and tell her I’ll be with her shortly.”

  He smiled. “Thank you, sweeting.”

  That said, he turned and left her, whistling an Enya song as he went.

  “Gorgeous, gorgeous man,” she said with a groan.

  The rest of Kenzi’s day was spent seeing patient after patient—each more fantastical than the last. She made a few friends and one enemy—naturally it had to be a brownie—from among her charges. It hadn’t helped matters in trying to break the ice with a new patient when she asked the brownie if she had any Thin Mints on her.