The Wild Road

by Marjorie M. Liu

  Then you’re better than most, she thought at him, and sidled closer, simply for comfort, needing to hear his heart beat.

  “Lannes,” she said softly. “I want to see what you look like.”

  He was silent for a very long time, and only the pulse she felt within that odd little link told her that he was awake.

  Then, quietly: “Go to sleep, Lethe.”

  But when she did, she dreamed.

  She was back in the dome, and it was dark and she was not alone. Children laughed, squealing and shrieking at echoes, and she heard the clicks and thunderous claps of shoes racing on tile. They were slicing through her, cutting like knives.

  And…something was behind her, large and pitiless and lost in stony slumber. Heaving great breaths and tremulous sighs. A beast. A monster.

  A line of poetry whispered in her ear, as though a voice hovered in the air like a butterfly.

  “The blood-dimmed tide is loosed,” she heard, “and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned.”

  Drowned, dying, dead. She tried to turn, to see what slept behind her, but it was no use. Her body refused to move, and she endured, frozen and terrified, as the laughter of the children neared and the thing behind her began to stir like the slow grind of mountain rock.

  It would eat her when it awakened. She knew that. She was as much a sacrifice as a lamb is to a lion, and she looked down suddenly and saw rope around her wrists and feet. Terror clawed up her throat. She tried to cry out, to scream, but could not make a sound. Nothing but a squeak.

  The children came closer, still laughing, but quieter now. Hushed.

  Until, suddenly, a shadow loomed, big as the dome, and hands grabbed the rope around her wrists. A woman’s hands, a flash of blond hair, eyes that were green and furious and frightened.

  And then those eyes shifted to blue, and the face became masculine and dark, and the hands melted from woman’s into man’s, sinewy and large with muscle. Her vision blurred, shadows gathered around the figure wrestling with her bindings, but she knew the heart, and she knew those eyes.

  Lannes, she thought.

  “This is only a dream,” he told her, but he sounded afraid. The ropes would not loosen. When he tried to pick her up, her feet would not budge from the tile floor. They were glued there. Anchored.

  “Run,” she told him. “Hurry.”

  But he did not, merely stepped back, turning in place to survey the cavernous room. And she saw something that made her forget fear.

  Lannes no longer appeared human. Immense wings folded against his broad muscular back, wings made of thin bones and pliable skin the color of silver and lavender. Between those wings was long dark hair, heavy and shining, coarse as fish line. She glimpsed the edge of his face: a craggy cheek, a jaw edged in a gently protruding bone that swept up toward his pointed ear.

  He turned slightly to look at her, and she knew his face, though it was alien and wild. His human mask had been less of an illusion than a simple softening of features—and it was some comfort that she could still recognize those craggy lines cut with shadows and sharp angles.

  And his eyes…His eyes were exactly the same—dangerously intelligent, heartbreakingly compassionate. Otherworldly. A fairy tale.

  Lannes looked past her, his eyes widening. She could not imagine what he saw, but air compressed around her body like a cocoon—not a hand or a body squeezing upon her, but instead a mind, a lumbering awareness finally shaking itself from sleep.

  The children, somewhere, began chanting. It was different this time. Louder. Coarser.

  Lannes pressed close, wrapping his wings around her. He tried to lift her, struggled to cut the ropes. Nothing worked. His desperation was horrific.

  “It’s just a dream,” he hissed.

  “No,” she told him. “No.”

  Again, he looked over her shoulder. “Close your eyes.”

  “Lannes—”

  “Do it now.”

  She closed her eyes, hardly able to breathe. Lannes wrapped himself around her body, pressing her face against his chest. Around them, the air closed like a fist and the voices of the children grew higher, shrill.

  Until, quite suddenly, it all disappeared, swallowed by darkness.

  Lannes was with her. Lethe could hear his heart thudding in time to her own, their bodies pressed skin to skin, so close she could have been part of him.

  “They sold my daughter,” whispered a voice from the darkness, broken with grief. “Oh, Milly. Oh, God. They took her from me. They called it a game and they lured her, they enticed her, but it wasn’t, it wasn’t, and I couldn’t save her, they wouldn’t let me save her, and I would have died for her, I would have died—”

  “Stop,” Lethe breathed. “Stop, please.”

  “You see,” said the voice. “You see why I stole you. Because you are of me, you are all I have, you are my blood. And you came here. You came here, and you were willing, and I will keep you until they are dead. All of them, dead. And when they are dead, you will be free.”

  “Don’t make her kill,” said Lannes. “Don’t turn her into a monster.”

  “We are all monsters,” whispered the voice.

  Lethe struggled to protest, but everything inside her tightened like the stretching of a rubber band—the world heaving with shadows—and before she could ask who or how, she was flung back into her mind.

  She opened her eyes—thought she was turning somersaults, but that was just dizziness. She shut her eyes again, holding very still. Something moved beneath her: a warm chest, breathing in and out. A large hand that fell against the back of her neck.

  She was on the floor. On top of Lannes. They had fallen off the bed, both of them tangled in covers. His arms were wrapped around her. It was hard to breathe. Part of her was still wild with terror.

  “Lethe,” he mumbled, “Are you okay?”

  She could not answer him. Her voice refused to work. Lannes sat up, groaning slightly as he carefully rolled her sideways so that she lay on her back on the hard floor. He leaned over her, massive as a mountain, his right hand moving lightly over her waist, up her ribs, following her arm to her wrist.

  He checked her wrists. She tried to sit up, but he held her still.

  “What?” she asked, and he held up her arm. Lethe squinted. “I can’t see.”

  “Can you feel?” he asked, and the moment the question left his lips, she suddenly became aware of a burning sensation around her ankles and wrists. Fear spiked through her. She had to close her eyes.

  “Oh, my God,” she breathed. “It was real.”

  “Or it felt so real in our minds that our bodies reacted.” Lannes ran his hand very lightly up her throat, his thumb brushing the edge of her collarbone with a gentleness that made her shudder.

  “Something terrible happened here,” she managed to whisper.

  “Someone was sacrificed,” Lannes replied, sounding ill. “That’s what started this.”

  “Runa,” Lethe said, then shook her head. “No. Her daughter. Milly. Those other kids hurt her.”

  “A game,” Lannes growled, with such fury he almost frightened her. “They used the little girl to summon something.”

  “You saw it.”

  He closed his eyes. “I felt it. There was nothing to see.”

  “Are you lying to me?”

  “No,” he said firmly.

  Lethe wished she could see his eyes. “We almost died, didn’t we?”

  His silence was all the answer she needed, and she clamped her mouth tight, struggling for calm. Lannes leaned in even closer and pulled her into his arms with an ease that made her feel impossibly delicate.

  “It’s not safe for you here,” he said. “We’ll go as soon as possible.”

  “She’ll just keep following me. She wants them dead. If what we saw was true, I don’t blame her. Doesn’t mean I want to do the deed, though.”

  “Etta and her brother. Simon. Who else? That name on the back of the postcard. Will…?” />
  She hardly heard. Another memory tormented her. “What did she mean, Lannes, when she said…‘You are my blood’?”

  “I don’t…” He stopped. “I don’t want to speculate.”

  “I might be related to Runa. That’s what’s she meant, right? According to Ed, I look just like her.” A horrifying thought slipped into her brain. “You don’t think…I am Runa, do you?”

  “Absolutely not,” he said firmly. “That would be crazy.”

  She banged her head on the floor, frustrated. Lannes, swearing softly, slid his massive hand beneath her skull like a soft pillow. “Don’t take this out on yourself. Not even in the smallest way.”

  “Lay off,” she said.

  “Trust me,” he shot back. “Things are going to get worse. Take out your frustration on the enemy. Not yourself. Once you start that…” Lannes stopped, looking away. “Once you start, you’ll lose part of yourself. More than your memories.”

  He began to pull away, and she grabbed his face, her thumbs caressing craggy lines and bone, and in her mind she saw again his true appearance. It was not nearly as shocking as she had believed it would be. And not in the slightest bit disgusting.

  If he realized what she had seen in her vision, he gave no sign. She forced him to look at her. “Whoever hurt you…are they gone now?”

  “Dead,” he said, terrible tension raging through his body.

  “Then stop. You let it go.” Lethe curled her arm around his neck and pulled herself close, brushing her lips over his cheek. His arms squeezed.

  She heard a distant thump and the low murmur of voices. Then came a knock at the bedroom door, which opened before either of them could say a word.

  “Lady, you need to—Oh.” Koni stopped, staring at them. His body was backlit by the lights in the parlor, preventing her from seeing his expression, but his silence was enough.

  And then: “It’s good you’re both here. We need to go. Right now.”

  Lannes sat up, bringing Lethe with him. “What happened?”

  “The police,” Koni replied. “They’re at the front desk. Looking for the woman.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  They took nothing with them except Lethe’s new clothes. Just got up and walked out. Lannes flung his thoughts ahead and behind, searching for any surprises, but the hall was quiet and they found the stairs. Five minutes later, they were in the parking lot, at the cars. Rictor was already in the Humvee. Koni climbed in. Lannes and Lethe slid into the Impala. They drove away.

  No one stopped them, though they passed an empty police sedan parked by the front entrance. They drove out of town, the Humvee in the lead, following a road that traveled from West Baden into the deep country night. Lannes did not know what time it was, but no other cars were out, and when they left the small state highway for an even smaller road, they passed old farmhouses and small cottages framed by trees. At one point, they were chased by a wickedly fast spotted dog that leapt from behind a bush to snap at their wheels.

  Lannes liked the near emptiness, the quiet. Reminded him of his youth, a world that no longer existed. He was seventy years old, still young by gargoyle standards, but everything around him had deteriorated in the intervening years, turning from a land that was idealistic, full of hardworking pride, into a carnival of glitter and excess, where the superficial, the artificial, reigned supreme.

  Not that Lannes was old-fashioned. Not exactly. But for someone who had watched the world turn for seventy years and would not hit a midlife crisis for seventy more, there was something to be said for the solid strength of a land not eaten by strip malls and parking lots.

  Rictor and Koni led them to a state park, which was little more than a boat ramp at the edge of a lake. No one else was there, and the air was quiet except for the faint lapping of waves on the shore. It was cold out, and dark. Almost three in the morning. Lannes could see Lethe’s breath, and he wished he had thought to buy her a coat.

  Rictor walked a short distance away, down to the water’s edge. Koni sat inside the Humvee, bracing his foot on the open door.

  “We’re being screwed with,” Lethe suggested.

  “It’s an odd way to do it,” Lannes replied. “If Simon is capable of taking over minds, then why not just jump into the police officer himself? He seems capable of tracking you, too. He wouldn’t have needed to ask at the front desk.”

  She leaned against the car, rubbing her arms. “He must be old. If the thing inside me needs to rest after coming into my mind, what about him? Maybe he’s getting too worn out, so he calls in a tip to the police, tells them about Orwell Price or the car chase. Maybe he makes something up.”

  That made a bit of sense but was of little comfort. Lannes had prided himself on a nice orderly life for decades, and this free spin had his nerves in a bind.

  As did their recent shared vision.

  As did Koni’s revelation about the woman.

  Alice. Lethe. Blood kin of the witch who had tried to enslave him and his brothers. Who had tortured him and nearly stolen both his soul and his mind. His brothers would shit themselves if they knew whom he was keeping company with. He wondered if Charlie had been made aware. There were no missed calls on his phone.

  The devastation of the knowledge still rocked him. So stupid, he had thought. So stupid. He had thrown his heart to the world, and the world had burned it with venom. Even knowing what lay inside Lethe’s mind—the wounds, the emptiness—had not been enough; everything, every memory of his captivity, had slammed him sideways. He could not stand to look at her.

  I would have left her, he thought, staring at Lethe now, so slender and still beside him. I would have given her to Koni and Rictor and run like hell.

  He would have. He definitely would have, if she had not come for him, her heart like a small bird in his mind, fluttering and strong. Filled with concern. Concern for him.

  No deception, no lies. She had sat on that grass for hours only to make certain he was all right, and for all those hours he had listened to nothing but their link, searching it for even one trace of dislike or greed or selfishness. Just one stray emotion would have sent him fleeing.

  He had found nothing but compassion. Nothing but distress at his obvious upset. Not an ounce of concern for herself. Lannes could not fight that. He had stood there trying to, and all he had done was burn a hole through his soul.

  Her memories were gone. Who she had been, whom she had loved, the things she might have done—these things all meant nothing. He could not judge her. Not when he could see inside her heart.

  And that kiss…and later, in the bedroom…

  Lannes folded his arms over his chest, leaning on the Impala. “Koni. Something happened just before you came to get Lethe. The two of us…saw something. Another vision of what started this mess.”

  “We saw the murder,” Lethe said. “We were…part of the murder.”

  “Not just a murder,” Lannes corrected her grimly. “Ritual sacrifice. An attempt to summon something.”

  Rictor, down by the lake, turned around. His green eyes flashed. It was similar to the light Lannes had witnessed just once in Lethe’s eyes. He started walking back toward them. Fast.

  Koni frowned. “So, who’s responsible for what, again?”

  Lannes curled his hands into fists and ground them together. “It was evil. That’s all I can tell you. Old and evil.”

  “They were just kids,” Lethe remarked, rubbing the back of her neck. “Just kids, but…”

  “Ed,” Lannes replied. “We need to show him that photograph.”

  “And then what?” Koni asked, as Rictor joined them. “You find the kids who did the deed, and all you’ll be doing is setting them up to die. Isn’t that what this thing wants?”

  “Maybe you can protect them from me,” Lethe said, a note of desperation in her voice.

  “Lady,” Koni said, “no offense, but how long do you propose we do that?”

  “He’s right,” Lannes told her. “We have to focus
more on getting Runa out of your head. If she won’t go willingly…”

  “Doesn’t seem right,” muttered Lethe. “If this is Runa…Punishing a mother for wanting to hurt the people who killed her daughter and herself just feels wrong.”

  “And the alternative?”

  She looked down at her hands, almost as though she were seeing blood. “I know. It’s bad.”

  Rictor stared at the lake. “Did the sacrifice take place in the dome?”

  “Seems that way.”

  “And you’re sure the mother is the one responsible for using the woman?”

  “I have a name,” Lethe said. “I’m not ‘the woman.’”

  Rictor gave her a long look, then fixed his gaze back on Lannes. “Are you sure?”

  For a moment, Lannes thought the man was still talking to Lethe. She seemed to think so, too, given the hint of confusion pulsing from her mind.

  Lannes finally said, “I’m sure.”

  “Then perhaps we are dealing with a ghost.”

  “If you’re right, a ghost, a spirit, will make things more difficult.”

  “How difficult?” Lethe asked.

  “Depends on the dead person,” Rictor replied. “Yours will be…complicated.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Lovely.”

  Koni leaned back into the Humvee, against the passenger seat, most of his face lost in shadow. “Lannes…maybe you should take a moment.”

  Lannes studied him. “A moment of what?”

  But Koni made no reply, and the silence stretched into something uncomfortable.

  Lethe tilted her head, gaze sharp. “A moment of your time,” she answered for him, coldly. “With them.”

  Lannes reached for her, but she slid away and walked across the parking lot to the boat ramp. No backward glance, spine straight, tension rolling across their link. Her limp was almost gone.

  Koni said, “Don’t give me that look.”

  “Then tell me something,” Lannes replied, fighting to control his temper. “What was her crime, when you knew her? You never told me.”

  The shape-shifter’s golden eyes glittered. “There was no crime, as far as I know. She was kidnapped. I met her briefly, after she had been freed. It was her own family who hurt her. A great-aunt, I suppose. It happened more than a year ago in Vancouver. The old woman locked Alice in a cage with a bunch of dead people, made her sit in her own shit for days, all because she needed a blood sacrifice. The old woman was trying to summon something. Maybe the same kind of thing you saw in your…vision.”