by Indi Martin
“Hello?” asked a neutral, forgettable voice.
“Yori,” he wheezed. “Message from Gina. The wall is slipping.”
There was silence on the line as Hanagawa digested this piece of information, and Victor let himself slide down against the counter in front of the open refrigerator as he drank. His head throbbed and he knew he needed to heal. The food would only help so much - he was bleeding internally from her unintentional attack, and he needed to rest.
“Are you sure?”
He coughed a half-laugh, and crimson spattered the floor in front of him. “She is sure.”
“Is she back?”
“No,” he panted, lowering himself the rest of the way to the tiled floor and closing his eyes. “Need help, Yori. Get here.” It was extremely rare that he spoke to Hanagawa in any tone other than friendly deference, but this last was spat as a fierce command. The phone clattered out of his hands and onto the floor, and he reached out to flip it closed before he let himself drift into unconsciousness.
63
The white sand was a blur under Mati’s hooves as he cantered toward the massive structure on the horizon. Morgan resisted the urge to kick him into a faster gait, as he knew the horse was on the verge of absolute exhaustion. Aleka struggled to keep up beside him with the giant Toma on her back, the large draft mare unaccustomed to such exertion for such extended period of time. “Just a little longer,” he whispered, leaning over the saddle, his eyes plastered on the spires and towers ahead.
As they watched, a thick, dark cloud formed spontaneously atop the palace, growing from nothing exponentially into a massive thunderhead that sent streaks of lightning behind the walls. Toma made a strangled sound of shock at the sight, and Morgan kicked sharply into Mati’s ribs, forcing the tired animal into a sprint. “I’m so sorry,” he muttered through gritted teeth, and he heard Toma’s mare galloping loudly behind him to catch up.
“What is that?” yelled Toma.
Morgan blinked at the absurdity of the question. “I have no idea,” he called back, standing in the saddle and leaning over Mati’s head. The horse shot through the desert like a bullet, racing toward the alabaster walls of the sprawling structure. “But I bet she’s in there,” he grumbled to himself. Always in too deep, he thought wryly.
He dismounted the heaving Mati at the main gate, which was cracked open. Aleka stumbled in beside Mati, collapsing onto her knees as soon as Toma slid off of her back. Morgan’s concern over the equine’s well-being slid to the back of his mind as he heard screams and cries erupting from inside the walls, and he drew his flintlock and rushed through the massive stone door. There was a beautiful courtyard beyond it, but his attention was focused on an open door at the end of it, and figures moving beyond. Toma was at his side, and they ran up to the arched entry, ready for a fight.
The scene was the strangest Morgan had ever laid eyes on. He scanned the room quickly, seeing a tabby cat the size of a lion straining against his bonds next to another captive, a lanky man in leather armor with several deep scars marring his sharp features. The latter was white as a ghost, and the lower half of his face was a crimson mask. At the far end of the room, shapes fought at one another, moving so quickly that they seemed to blur. One was clearly a man, though he glowed a faint gold and moved with superhuman speed, and the other… his blood ran cold as he recognized the awful shadowy blur that occasionally coalesced into something humanoid before spinning around the man to look for openings. Pan, he thought, and his rage roared within him. His eyes continued their scan, reluctantly tearing themselves away from the irrationally moving darkness, and landed on the body of Gina Harwood, lying with her face to the wall to the right of the door. Her strawberry hair was pulled back in a rough braid, unkempt and frizzy, and she was wearing a dress, which caught Morgan off-guard, but he knew at first glance that it was his partner.
He fell to his knees beside her, rolling her over with a deep pit in his stomach. Please don’t be dead, he prayed fervently to the aether.
Gina murmured something and her face drew tight in concentration. Her bright green eyes fluttered open and flew wide in shock when she registered the face staring down at her. “Morgan?” she gasped, blinking. “I finally found you.”
“Technically I found you,” he corrected, and turned to see Toma struggling to loose the manacles chained to the captives’ necks, to no apparent avail. He shifted so that he was between the fighting and her, crouching protectively in front of her and watching the battle, his pistol at the ready, following the shadow’s movements. “What’s going on here?”
“The king,” she said, pulling herself to a sitting position and rubbing her temples. “And Crowell. We have to help.” She narrowed her eyes at the chains keeping her companions bound and her eyes seemed to glaze over, just before the chains disappeared with a pop. Morgan heard heavy breathing and whipped his head around to see the giant cat and the scarred man bent over, raking in huge breaths now that they were free.
“How…?” he started. “You’re a telepath. That’s Charlie’s gig.”
Gina stood, and he noticed that she had her gun holster on her belt a moment before the gun slid across the velvet rugs and launched itself into her hand. “This is still a dream,” she said, “And we are Dreamers.” She began walking forward, and the giant cat leapt to her side, pacing her closely. He meowed something up at her, and it sounded almost like language. Actually, it sounded exactly like language, and Morgan’s eyes grew wide as the creature’s yowl seemed to modulate itself into words as he listened.
“We should run, Gina-Dreamer,” it said, it’s voice full of tremor. “We can’t kill Yellow Eyes.”
Gina stopped, tracking Pan with her handgun as Morgan did with his flintlock. “I know,” she whispered, as she pulled the trigger and unloaded her clip into the shadowy form. The bullets streaked through the shadow, but seemed to hover within it for a moment, before exploding into bright white orbs of light that ripped through the blackness. Morgan put out his arm instinctively and caught her as she stumbled, expecting the fatigue that always came after she did something extraordinary.
The shadow roared and turned its attention away from the bruised and bloodied king for just long enough, as the glowing man threw his arms out and screamed a battle-cry. Morgan had to shield his eyes with his pistol arm against the explosion of bright light that filled the room. When he was able to see again, the king was lying on his back, and Pan was nowhere to be seen.
Gina scrambled across the floor to the man, lifting his head. “Kurenas,” she whispered. “What can I do?”
The man’s glow had faded, and as Morgan watched, deep lines began to etch themselves in his face and his hair began to turn white from the roots out. “Nothing, Dreamer. I could only banish him, not kill him, and only for a while. He will come back,” coughed the king weakly, and the light in the room dimmed as dust and grime descended down the stained glass windows.
“I saw a great shadow over this world, and mine,” rushed Gina, her voice desperate. “Is it Crowell? How do I fight him?”
The king closed his eyes and his clothes sagged on his thinning frame. The skin on his face drooped and he struggled to speak. “Not him,” he croaked. “Go here.” Gina stiffened suddenly and the glaze fell over her eyes. Morgan edged closer, his hand hovering above her shoulder. The cat narrowed its eyes at him and growled. “Push back the shadow. Save this realm.”
“What about my world?” she asked, wobbling on her knees as her eyes cleared. “How do I save my world?”
Kurenas expelled a final breath and disintegrated in her arms, dissolving into grains of sand that sunk into the ground and out of sight. The massive hall was in ruins, the walls crumbled and broken, grime and dust covering everything that surrounded them. The windows were broken, and their shards glinted in the last rays of the sun. “No,” whispered Gina, looking at her empty hands where the king had lain. “NO!” she yelled, and her voice broke in her anger. The massive feline placed his paw
on her leg and lay his head against her shoulder.
Morgan glanced back at Toma, who was standing beside the scarred ex-captive, his face frozen in wide-eyed shock. Their eyes met, and Toma’s mouth formed a small ‘o,’ and he shook his head slightly in disbelief. “I have seen magic today,” he heard the giant mutter, before falling silent again and looking around at his surroundings.
“Gina,” he said, ignoring the cat’s low hiss as he kneeled next to her. He placed both hands on her shoulders and turned her slightly to face him. “It’s really you,” he said, and pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her surprised frame as tightly as he could and burying his face in her shoulder. She smelled familiar and right and the tension of the last months melted from his body. “It is so good to see you,” he whispered.
He felt her fingernails dig into his back and thought she was laughing for a moment, then realized she was crying, heaving with the effort. “I thought you were dead,” she sniffled. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”
Morgan pushed back from her, looking in her glistening eyes as tears streamed down her freckled cheeks.
His partner released her death grip on him and wiped her red nose with her arm, looking up at him with sad eyes. “I have seen some shit, Morgan,” she said, snuffling.
He laughed, and she did, too. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
“Deal,” she said, but a shadow passed over her face and she dropped her gaze. “We have to go.”
“Where?” asked the cat, who had been sitting patiently by her side watching the reunion.
“The king showed me the route we need to take, to a mountain,” she said, standing and locking eyes with Morgan. “It’s like the wall, in our world.”
He didn’t need to ask to which wall she was referring, as she sent a flash of Snow Hill along with the words, and he shivered in the warm desert air. “Is the same thing behind ours behind that?” he asked, pushing himself to his feet.
“Yes,” she replied, and her countenance was dark. “Morgan, it’s breaking through to our world too.”
Morgan glanced back at Toma and thought of all of the people he’d met along his journey. “Well, Unit’s there, and it was handling these things way before we came along,” he said slowly. “And we’re here. So let’s get to that mountain.”
She looked down at the cat and scratched him behind the ears, crouching to look him in the face. Morgan’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Well, Kyrri, it looks like you got your dreamquest,” she said, chuckling.
“The lore said so,” he purred back. “It is an honor to serve a Dreamer.”
“It sounds like your story will be interesting,” laughed Morgan, and he walked over to clap Toma on the shoulder. “I’ve found her, Toma. I’m indebted to you, forever.”
“Oh, I’m with you until the end of it,” replied the giant. “Don’t think I’m missing whatever comes next.”
The scarred man walked past Morgan and Toma and took Gina by the hand. “I owe you my life, milady,” he said, bowing and kissing my hand.
“You owe me nothing,” she replied, her cheeks in a high flush. “Except maybe 500 dinieri,” she added with a chuckle.
“Let me continue to fight for you,” he argued. “If you fight to save my realm, I would be beside you.”
“I think this is something I might have to do alone,” she replied in a low voice, and Morgan shook his head.
“You always say that,” he called. “And you’re always wrong. We don’t know what we’re facing, and another local wouldn’t hurt.”
Gina looked at him and her eyes were haunted. Morgan frowned. She turned back to the scarred man and shook his hand. “Sorry we couldn’t kill him,” she said.
The leather-armored man scowled. “He was right there, and I could do nothing,” he spat on the ground and a puff of dust rose from the ground. “I wasted my chance. You at least hurt him.”
She inhaled deeply, looking worried. “I don’t think I hurt him at all. I think I distracted him long enough for Kurenas to hurt him.”
“Maybe he’s not dead,” offered the cat. “The King, I mean. Is that what it looks like if a Dreamer dies?” He pawed lightly at the ground and his whiskers drooped.
“You tell me,” replied Gina with a sigh. Her eyes found Morgan’s face again and her face looked a little brighter in spite of the loss. “Ready?”
“Ready,” responded Morgan, unable to take his eyes off of her. She was here. She was really here, and his spirits were buoyed in spite of the bad news. Together, they could figure anything out. He was sure of it.
64
The first thing Victor heard as he drifted slowly back to consciousness was a familiar voice chattering in his office. Worry over Gina’s comatose body pushed him to a seated position, still on the tiled floor of his hidden room. The bloodbag he’d been drinking when he passed out had oozed the remainder of its contents onto the floor around him and underneath him, and he was covered in the sticky mess. He lifted his blood-soaked sleeve in disgust; there were few things Victor despised more than being unclean.
He stood to his feet, absent of his usual fluid grace, and held his head steady. The bloodflow from his ears, nose, and mouth appeared to have stopped, though his balance was still far from correct. He stumbled past the curtain and leaned against the frame, seeing the diminutive Japanese man sitting in his office chair. “Mr. Yori. You could have at least dragged me out of the puddle,” he admonished, shifting to the other side of the door and snarling in disgust as he saw the smear of crimson he’d left on the paint. “Is she alright?” He squinted at the readouts on the monitor, but his vision was still fuzzy, and the bright green lines refused to clarify themselves into any meaning.
Yori glanced over at him and then back at him, nodding and holding a finger up to tell him to wait. Victor’s office phone was cradled against the man’s ear, and he was listening to something intently. “That’s fine,” he said. “That’s fine. However you have to.” He paused again and an exasperated expression painted his face, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. “I don’t care, Charlie, I really don’t. They’re all involved now. Take them all. We don’t know if we’ll need them.”
Victor found himself swaying slightly even with the door frame steadying him, and lowered himself into a crouch. Gina’s message had reached him loud and clear, but a little too loudly. He glanced over at her covered body, perfectly still save for the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, her heartbeat steady in his ringing ears. She is alright, he reassured himself, though I am not. He gave up the crouch and sat hard on the ground, letting his head fall between his drawn-up knees, waiting for Yori to finish his conversation. He heard the click of the receiver being placed back on the set, and raised only his silver eyes to look toward the desk. “I am surprised you are here,” he managed.
“I’m sorry about not moving you,” replied Yori in clipped, professional tones. “You were already filthy when I arrived, and you’re dangerous to get near when you’re unwell. I thought it would be best if I worked from your office until you recovered.”
Victor lowered his eyes and nodded. “Wise decision,” he admitted.
“Gina’s readings haven’t changed since I got here,” Yori added.
“What have you found?” asked Victor, reaching back to grab a fresh bag from the open refrigerator and closing the door. He was still full from earlier, but it couldn’t hurt. Covered in crimson, he knew he looked like a monster, and felt ashamed to be seen this way. Even by Yori, who wasn’t any more human than he was, not anymore.
“Little good, mostly bad,” sighed the smaller man, clicking through screens on the monitor. “Several sperm banks have reported missing stock, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that they’re located along the route that Marcus Owens has been traveling.”
“Is his tracker still active?”
“Of course,” snorted Yori. “Still alive, still active. He’s in North Carolina at the moment, in the wi
lderness, it appears. We would be notified the moment he went dark.”
“Are you going to have someone bring him in?” asked Victor.
“I don’t think we have any choice,” sighed Yori. “I’ll go and get him myself as soon as you’re cleaned up and well. I don’t feel comfortable broadcasting his location; if someone’s going after our precautions, then he’s almost certainly on their most wanted list.”
“Are you sending Charlie to Snow Hill?”
Yori frowned. “Yes. With her entourage in tow,” he replied, tapping furiously on the keyboard. “I’ve reactivated the barn and have our last few reserve units headed there to await instructions. Charlie will take command once she arrives. The elevator there is operational.” He stood and crossed to crouch in front of Victor, his black eyes searching the vampire’s silver ones. “How long will it take you to heal up?”
“I need to clean myself,” responded Victor tiredly. “I think I can be back on my feet after a few hours of rest.”
“I don’t need you barely on your feet, I need you at full force.” Yori’s voice was sharp, and Victor glanced up in surprise. “How long for that?”
“A day, perhaps two,” frowned Victor, cocking his head to the side. “But I am not sure waiting for me to be completely up to speed is a good use of our time.”
Yori set his jaw. “Marcus Owens was a stopgap,” he said coldly. “You and I know that. We’ve always known that one man wasn’t enough to hold the wall forever, even with the other precautions.”