by Hickory Mack
When she started rolling up her sleeping bag, Wren sighed and got up, sending the majority of her animals back into the forest. The stag stayed at her side, eyeing Elsie warily.
“How do you even know you’re going in the right direction?” Wren asked.
“I don’t. I have a general idea of where to find Riven, so I am going to go that way until I find a mage. There aren’t many of them. Riven said they practically all know each other. Any of them will be able to tell me where to look,” Elsie answered.
“You think a mage is just going to tell you where to find another of their kind?” Wren laughed, the corners of her eyes crinkling. Amusement came from Frost as well.
“I think they can be convinced, yes,” Elsie replied.
“How many mages have you spent time with in your life?” Wren raised an eyebrow.
“A few.”
“So... like, two?”
“Three.”
“All of them associated with the hunters?” Wren guessed.
“And your point is?” Elsie growled.
“They aren’t really like that in real life.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Mages are secretive and thick as thieves. Yes, they all practically know each other because they’re basically extended family. When they’re outside of their homes, training, it’s to bring news of what the hunters and humans are up to back to their people. They trade their skills for a short time in exchange for information. Mages do not share their knowledge with the outside world,” Wren told her.
Elsie rolled her eyes. “I’m not asking them to share their trade secrets.”
“But you are attempting to enter their lands, seeking them out in the places where they train, study, and raise their young. They will not be welcoming. Not even the mage you view as a friend,” Wren warned. “She may have been a trusted comrade, even friendly during your time together in the Hunter Clans, but out here in the real world, she has responsibilities and secrets to keep. She’s not the same person.”
Elsie attached her bedroll to the top of her go bag and slung them over her shoulders, tightening the straps until the whole thing sat comfortably. She knew a little something about being a different person after leaving the people who’d raised her. She’d changed a lot since her mother brought her home. For the better.
“I see your point, Wren,” she said gratefully. Wren was only trying to be helpful, after all.
“But?”
“But I’m going to keep looking for Riven anyway. She’s the only hope I have, and I’m going to hold on to that hope until I have reason to stop,” Elsie vowed.
“Do you have a back-up plan in case this one doesn’t work out?” Wren asked. Elsie took the little vial from her pocket and held it up for the doe to see.
“This has the power to temporarily stop the curse. It isn’t a cure, but it will keep me going for a while longer,” she explained.
“Why haven’t you taken it?” Wren gasped. “Your organs are literally dying!”
“I know. But it’s going to get worse.”
“You’re waiting for worse? When is that ever a good plan?”
“I’m trying to hold off as long as I can, so I have more time to find Riven. Once this vial is gone, I’m on borrowed time.” She carefully put the vial back in her pocket. “I do have a back-up plan. If for whatever reason I cannot find Riven, or she refuses to help, I will accept the hunters’ offer. Once I’m there, I’ll pretend to be a good little reaper until I can steal a large stash of these vials and hightail it out of there.”
Elsie chewed on the inside of her lip as Frost shot daggers at her with his eyes. This was the first he was hearing of it. “If I have enough of it, someone somewhere can replicate it, and I have a pretty good idea of where to find someone.”
“Where?”
“My mother’s homeland, what used to be Mexico. There are still brujos and brujas there,” Elsie answered.
“Mexico?! You want to go through vampire lands just to find witches?” Wren demanded in shock.
“Only if I have to.”
“Let’s label that plan ‘z’ and never speak of it again,” Wren huffed. “There are perfectly good witches on the east coast!”
“Why the hell do you care so much? Do you always cling onto strangers like this? Besides, the witches on the east coast are nothing like my mother’s witches,” Elsie maintained. “She’s taught them things that the witches of the North have never learned. They’ll be able to reverse manufacture the elixir far easier than the witches up here will.”
“How can you be so certain of that?”
“It’s a death curse, and they are the children of death. There’s no one I’d trust more with this.” Elsie shrugged. Wren pinched the bridge of her nose.
“That’s the first thing you’ve said that makes sense,” she admitted. “Wait. Wait!”
“What?”
“What the hell offer have the hunters given you that you plan to accept?!” Wren demanded. Elsie sighed and started walking. She could fill the bossy, nosy, magical creature in while they were on the move.
Chapter 10
Wren’s silence was the strangest thing Elsie had encountered in ages. As Elsie had explained the circumstances behind the curse, Frost, and the hunters, the mythical creature’s face had become a thunderstorm of emotions. Elsie wasn’t sure whether to be amused or concerned. She’d only met the woman that day after all, so it felt a little strange for her to be getting that emotionally involved so quickly.
“I’ve never been a supporter of their organization,” Wren said eventually, a deep frown on her face that was clearly visible in the dark. Elsie wondered if she even noticed that she was glowing, so brightly, in fact, that anything would be able to spot them even miles away.
“You’re one among many who feel that way,” she told her. “Since their creation, they have pretty much only been popular among themselves and the humans. It’s different when you’re among them, where they pretend they were created to protect and for ‘population control’ of the demons, but the reality is they just enjoy killing.”
“There are many creatures in the world that enjoy killing. Demons, fae, spirits, and humans are all among them. The hunters have carved themselves a place in their ranks in a very small amount of time,” Wren muttered.
“Two hundred years is a really long time, Wren.” Elsie laughed until Frost sneezed at her, and she scowled at the creature she figured must be older than dirt. “Your opinion doesn’t count.”
“When it comes to the creation of a whole new species? Two hundred years passes quickly,” Wren disagreed. “You’ll understand someday.”
Elsie kept her opinions about it to herself. She didn’t really consider the hunters a new species. They were all mixed species, and at this point the type of species varied from one to the next. Eugenics didn’t work beyond a single generation when the humans who’d started the project couldn’t outlive their experiment.
As for aging, not even her oldest sisters had surpassed a thousand years yet. She doubted they considered two centuries to be a short amount of time. Not even Santisima knew the lifespan of her children. Elsie was technically thirty now, including the six years she’d spent in Molta, but she’d stopped aging at twenty-five.
Apparently, not even that was a certainty among her sisters. Some looked like old women, while others had become skeletal beings like her mother’s true form. Still, others had kept their youth as Elsie seemed to be doing. The differences weren’t surprising. All of her sisters had her mother’s blood, but not one of them shared a father, and the men in Santisima’s life were a wide variety of magical creatures, demons, and fae. Like her father, a fae king.
He was the reason she’d been forced to join the hunters in the first place. Apparently, he’d had a taste for dangerous witches, most of which he discarded when he was tired of them. According to Stolas, the man had a beautiful wife, and more bastards running loose than days in a year. M
any had been killed, both the witches he’d kept as prizes and the children they’d produced.
Santisima was more of a challenge than he’d been accustomed to. The Goddess couldn’t be held down, and she grew bored of the king long before he was ready to give her up. He’d attempted to imprison her, and she had played along for a few days, but once he found out she was pregnant, things got serious. He’d forbidden Santa Muerte from leaving her room until after Elsie was born.
He inspected each and every one of his bastard children before deciding their fate, and he’d no plans on making an exception. Usually, the witches he’d taken could do nothing against his wishes. They were powerful women on Earth, but in Underhill, where the fae ruled, they might as well be powerless. Santisima was not one of his usual prey.
She called upon Stolas and the shadow wolf, and they came, ripping their way through the labyrinth of Underhill until they found her. Once reunited, Santa Muerte returned to demolish the winter king’s castle. From the way Stolas told the story, there was nothing left of it when the three of them were through.
Satisfied with her work, Santisima had given the king a one-finger salute and taken herself back to Earth without a backward glance. It was just the beginning of a universe-wide game of hide and seek, with death the prize for being found. The king had pursued them for years, with the goddess’ only reason for running being her fear for the safety of her child. Her final daughter.
For years, they had visited other worlds. Elsie had friends on more planets and in more dimensions than she could remember back then. One day, when she was seven, her father had found them, nearly killing the Goddess of Death because she couldn’t fight the way she wanted to in a town full of innocents.
Elsie hadn’t seen him. She’d been left with the family of her best friend for the day, but Santisima hadn’t returned for a week. When she had, her mother had moved with a stiffness that hadn’t been there before. Her easy smiles came more slowly, and there was a hardness in her bright eyes that Elsie had never seen before.
Not long after, Santisima had brought her back to Earth to leave her with the hunters. The last place the king would look. As an adult, it was a marvel to her that the fae courts allowed them to exist. The fae nobility didn’t much like half-breeds such as herself. They didn’t much like witches, either, making the hunters practically an abomination in their eyes.
Wren caught her eye once more. She was the most fae-like creature Elsie had ever seen. So dainty and beautiful but full of magic that gave her an almost alien otherness. She isn’t fae, Elsie reassured herself. The fae couldn’t lie.
“I know you said I’d be less likely to trust you if I knew what you are, but I’m having a really hard time wrapping my mind around what you could possibly be,” she admitted, the first words either of them had spoken in several minutes. Wren glanced over and gave her a gentle smile.
“I’m beginning to believe you are one of those people who feel better when they can compartmentalize something,” she teased.
“My brain wants you to be a faun or a faery,” Elsie explained.
“Because of my appearance,” Wren guessed. Her elf-shaped ears turned light brown and hair covered them. They unfolded into the ears of a deer, and her hair and fur darkened to the same color. Her eyes turned brown, and her nose flattened.
“I’ve never seen a shifter who can do that before,” she said.
Wren laughed, the sound bright and almost tinkling. “That’s because I’m not a shifter.” She scratched the cheek of the stag walking at her side. “I think it’s fair to think of me as a spirit.”
“Okay,” Elsie agreed immediately. She didn’t know enough about them to disagree. “What kind?”
“Boxes within boxes,” Wren commented, shaking her head.
“My guess would be a forest spirit. Or some kind of… animal spirit?” Elsie guessed, then realized neither fit with her fertility aspect.
An image slammed into her mind, so real she froze mid-step. A giant woman with light, leaf-green skin loomed over her. Her hair was long and a darker green, and she was completely nude, showing off a full figure. Her lips were drawn up in a smile as she cradled a newborn. Flowers bloomed all around the pair, and all the animals in the forest kneeled at her feet.
It smelled like fresh rain and the sweetness of an arboretum, earthy and warm and so damned welcoming. The giant of a woman looked Elsie in the eyes. Beautiful doe eyes fringed with heavy lashes. She didn’t want to believe what she was seeing. It didn’t make sense.
“What the fuck,” she muttered, using a nearby tree to catch her balance. She looked at Wren who tilted her head curiously.
“For someone who cannot speak, he can certainly communicate when he chooses,” the spirit muttered. Elsie frowned. Something to bring up later. What the hell did she mean Frost couldn’t speak?! She shook her head firmly. One thing at a time.
“Are you some kind of goddess? Like, a fertility goddess, or a spring goddess, or something like that?” she asked.
“Hmmm. I suppose that depends on who you ask.” Wren smiled secretively. “I am different than just a spirit of the forest or the animals. If you must put me in a box, label it spirit of the wild.”
That rang a bell somewhere deep within Elsie’s mind, but she couldn’t make the connection. She’d heard the phrase before, but she couldn’t remember when or where. What made it worse was how fae it sounded, and she almost wanted to throw her hands up and stop trying to figure the woman out.
“It sounds important,” she pointed out. “Do you have time to be following me around? It seems like you’d have more pressing things to do.”
Wren came toward her, and as she did her features returned to what Elsie was starting to think of as the spirit’s default setting: the glow-in-the-dark elvish fae creature with faun features. Her hips swayed seductively with every step, and her eyes sparkled as she licked her lips. She stepped into Elsie’s space, leaving a mere half inch of heated air between them.
“I think I’m exactly where I want to be,” she said softly, gently tracing Elsie’s jawline with her fingertips.
Leaning in, expecting the spirit to kiss her, Elsie was disappointed when Wren pulled away and turned her back on her, wagging that fluffy tail over her beautifully rounded ass as she went. A smug feeling came from Frost and she shot him a dirty look. His disinterest in the pale beauty was simply confirmation of his lack of taste.
A few hours later, they’d reached the darkest part of the night. The moon was dipping low, and Wren was their only light. She ended up walking in the front with Elsie following her, occasionally checking the stars to make sure they were going in the right direction.
Something was tracking them. It kept just enough distance to avoid being seen, even with Elsie’s eyes capable of catching its magic trail. Wren moved ahead, unperturbed, though she must have felt the eyes on their backs. ‘Maybe she’s so used to people looking at her, she barely notices,’ Elsie thought to herself.
Whatever creature was behind them had magic. Though, to be honest, it didn’t have much, unless it was hiding its powers. Some demons could, depending on what they were. Having it back there, refusing to come forward or at least attack them if that’s what its intentions were, was starting to get on her nerves. She didn’t look back, knowing she wouldn’t see anything, but she kept her senses expanded, taking in every scent and sound.
It had a thick, musky scent that wasn’t too unpleasant. It kind of reminded Elsie of a horse, but the sounds it made were far too dainty and careful for an animal of a horse’s size. Frost was equally annoyed, but he seemed to have taken a wait and see approach.
The big wolf’s ears kept twitching backward, listening to their invisible companion. A silent snarl pulled his lips back, but not once did he look behind them. She could feel the challenge coming off of him in waves. Whatever was following them would be met with tooth and claw if and when it decided to make a move. Frost wasn’t in the mood to play around.
“How long do you intend to keep walking?” Wren asked, sounding bored. She’d stopped walking herself and had instead climbed aboard the stag when he’d offered her a ride. An owl kept appearing above them, watching as they passed, then flying off to hunt, though it always returned before long.
“Until I need to sleep again tomorrow night,” Elsie answered.
“I don’t like it,” Wren pouted. If Elsie didn’t have an impending sense of doom about needing to continue, she’d be pouting too. All this bullshit was way too much work for her taste.
She felt it the moment their uninvited guest decided to make its move. It was smart, using the distraction of their conversation, but not smart enough. Before Frost had time to react, Elsie spun on her heel, her hair flying behind her, the scythe materializing and cutting through the air in a deadly arc.
The creature let out a shriek, showing a flash of razor sharp teeth, but half a second before Elsie decapitated it, Wren was between them. The blade of the scythe should have sliced her in half, but instead, it rested between two of the spirit’s fingers. A thin line of blood dripped down her hand to the forest floor. With her other hand, she held the creature by the throat, cooing at it fondly as she attempted to calm it.
Elsie’s eyes widened, and she yanked the scythe away. “Are you crazy?! I could have killed you!” she nearly shouted. Wren’s eyes flicked in her direction, and she gave her a half-cocked smile.
“Could you have?” she asked with amusement before turning back to the little monster in her hand.
It was even smaller than Elsie had expected, a bit larger than a gnome, and thinner, more wiry. Covered in greasy dark brown hair and barely clothed by bits of rag, it kind of reminded Elsie of a pig, but its face was more like a goblin. It spoke in a high-pitched voice in a language she couldn’t understand, all the while straining to free itself from Wren’s vise-like grip.
The spirit spoke back in the same language, and Elsie noticed that her teeth had sharpened into points as well, allowing her vowels to grow harsh to match the creature’s.