He caught a whiff, a mere memory of his quarry’s scent, faint and growing fainter.
Tension radiated up his jaw as his teeth clenched. With each passing day the threat grew that Den Jeger—brother to the man who had died severing An’s horn—would figure out how to use it. Not an alicorn alive would be safe as long as Jeger held his trophy. Much like a dousing rod, the spire would lead the hunter to anyone nearby with even a trace of magic, alicorn or otherwise.
An would not let that happen. Just the thought drove him closer to the edge of madness as rage flared through him. He was more than a touch mad anyway, as most alicorns robbed of their horns—and thus their magic—tended to be, but for the most part he was able to stay on the reasonable side of sane. In part because of the sliver of horn left to him, in part because he must. Forcing back the pain at the center of his forehead, An turned his focus outward and hunted the hunter, not for vengeance, but to neutralize the threat.
Jeger had to be stopped.
* * *
The energy of Dublin grated on An like a constant jolt applied directly to his nerve endings. He liked the city and had visited often over the years, but this constant exposure wore on him. What he wouldn’t give to leave the perpetual barrage of traffic sounds, human voices, and electronic noise for the gentle music of the wild, to run on four legs and not two. Just for half an hour. Instead, Jeger lead him a merry chase through the city. Over the last week they’d stalked one another back and forth across every neighborhood in Dublin.
For now, An had lost track of the hunter. Snarling, he cut down an old, cobblestoned alley heading toward Trinity College, trying with the meager magic still at his call to locate Jeger’s trail…or the spire’s to be more precise.
An had been both blessed and cursed when he’d been cleaved. Once most rogues transformed to their human form for the final time—the only defense a hornless alicorn had in humanity’s world—their ability for magic was spent. Not so for An Rógaire. The sliver he had left allowed him enough ability to glamour his features and cast other minor workings—such as sensing the inherent magic in others…and his horn, which Jeger had taken as a trophy. All An wanted was to retrieve the blasted thing and have done with this half-existence. No…that wasn’t precisely true. What An truly wanted was to pound Jeger beneath his hooves until his fetlocks were crimson with the man’s blood, to hear the man’s screams fade away into the squelch of pulping flesh...
An’s footsteps became more forceful in response to the violent thought and his lips twisted in a cruel smile, until those walking toward him began to swing wide to go around.
As he realized it, he abruptly stopped, trembling as a cold, clammy sweat coated him. This was not him. This was not the behavior of an alicorn, whose nature was to heal, not harm. With each day that passed—and with him hardly realizing it—the madness took more control.
He needed to end this before it was too late. Before these impulses extended not just to Jeger, but to all mankind. Once the threat was gone, An could let go and find…release…from this shadow existence.
For that he had to find Jeger.
Recklessly, he overreached himself, grasping for magic beyond his current capability. His stomach churned with the effort and a piercing pain lanced through his head. Slumping against a worn brick wall, he heaved a sharp sigh and pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead where the scar throbbed.
“Soundin’ mighty vexed there, sunshine.”
An jerked upright, his hand tightening into a raised fist. Aggression briefly surged through him, until he forced it back. As he regained control he recognized Charlie’s voice and felt a phantom sensation down his back reminiscent of the tingling brush of another’s magic. A sensation An had not felt since his cleaving. As his nerves settled he nearly snorted as the misnomer registered. But then, his friend here tended toward snark. “Nearly missed you today, Charlie,” An said in his gentlest tone as he forced his hand to relax. “Not finding trouble out there, are you?” As he spoke, he reached into the messenger bag slung across his shoulder and drew out what would have been his lunch. He managed an impression of a smile as he leaned out and handed it to the waif.
With a sullen look, Charlie jerked a hard head shake as she all but grabbed the sandwich. “Got more sense than that, An Rógaire.”
He flinched. Though that alias predated his losing his spire, it was the only name he had claimed since. Being addressed by it left him feeling raw, as if he lost a little more of himself each time it was used.
Charlie didn’t even notice, all her attention focused on the food. Deft hands extracted half the sandwich from the wrapper and squirreled the rest away, somehow managing to do so in a way that made it seem nothing was there at all. If not for her age and obvious state of existence, An would have suspected Charlie of being one of his kind, but no foal could have mastered the human transformation this young, and even if one had, they would have been sheltered and nurtured, not cast alone into the world to subsist among humankind at such a tender age.
Still…perhaps somewhere back in her human lineage she had alicorn kin. Despite living on the rough there was a sense of purity there, and signs of mage potential that might develop as she grew older. It was enough to make him wonder.
Of course, Charlie’s entire nature was a puzzle to him. A long tenure on the streets had made her age and sex nearly indeterminate. Any tell-tale features were as hidden as the sandwich he’d given her. Most people assumed she was a young boy. An figured somewhere in her early teens and female, but that was just instinct. Her scent was muddied, not clearly one gender or the other. He’d known her for years through a mutual connection to the local Romani clan, but even he couldn’t be completely certain, though he was better equipped than most at sensing biological cues.
Without intending to, he leaned a little closer and let his nostrils flare, still trying to make sense of Charlie’s scent. She tensed and her jaw stilled. Though they’d known each other a while and counted each other friend, Charlie never lost the sense of self-preservation that kept her alive on the streets. She looked ready to drop the food in her hand and bolt.
An caught himself before she took off. He stepped back out of reach to lean against the opposite wall of the alleyway, sliding his hands into his pockets and crossing his ankles. It almost wasn’t enough, but after a long, taut pause, Charlie lifted the sandwich and made half of it disappear in one bite, never once taking her eyes from him.
“What’s the word?” he asked, knowing street kids—especially this one—were better informed than practically anyone else, just as a matter of survival.
That got him an eye-roll and half-shrug as Charlie carefully chewed, then swallowed before answering, showing she had more sense than most of those he sacrificed his meals to. An reached into his bag again and drew out a bottle of water, which Charlie was quick to take, but not snatch. She sipped enough to clear her throat before answering, then squirreled away the rest.
“The yobs are causin’ trouble down by the docks, an’ a new crop of Paki dossers are settin’ shop ’round the market. I tell ya, they could teach them cinema actors a thing or two, they’re that good at fakin’. Oh, an’ someone’s snatchin’ school girls, but it’s real strange. Always good girls…lily white, if ya get me. They turn up somewhere a few days later loopy on somethin’ but otherwise just fine. Three’s gone missin’, an’ two come back so far.”
An bobbed his head and let her ramble between bites until her sandwich was gone. Normally this was the point where they’d part ways. An hesitated. What she said about the school girls concerned him, but that didn’t sound like Jeger’s thing. Yet anxiety twitched down An’s back in an instinctive warning he couldn’t shake.
It wasn’t like anyone would confuse Charlie with a school girl. Hell, as far as he knew no one except him pegged her as female at all. If this was a random snatcher, An was pretty sure she was safe.
But what if this wasn’t some random perv? What if gender wasn’t
the only common identifier between the victims? Jeger was out there somewhere roaming those streets Charlie called home. That made An nervous. He still couldn’t say if his young friend had anything to worry about. Might be there was nothing more than the usual; unless his suspicions were correct and she was an aliman, a melding of their kind with threads of magic woven through her humanity. That could definitely put her more at risk from the hunter. The horn fragment Jeger possessed could lead him right to her thinking she was alicorn…and worse yet, if she had any developing mage sense, she might not realize a stranger drew near if she felt An’s essence through the horn.
Again violent urges surged through him. He closed his eyes as he felt them begin to roll and clenched his jaw as he swallowed down a bugling scream. Breathing slow and deep, he got himself under control before he spoke.
“There’s a man out there you need to stay clear of...”
Charlie scoffed. “Just one, An?”
“I mean it, Charlie,” he said, leaning forward to catch her gaze. “This guy’s a hunter and might be you have enough in you of what he’s hunting for.” An quickly described Jeger, from his brush-cut blond hair to his flat brown gaze. He detailed the scar across the hunter’s right wrist—for which An was unintentionally responsible—and even the horn shard—though An didn’t call it that—which never left its custom-made sheath at Jeger’s side. The way the man moved and how he operated. The words came out in a rush because An didn’t know how long she’d let him talk before taking off. He could feel himself losing his calm with each word. Already her eyes were wary. “If you hear anything about him…or worse, cross paths with him, stay clear and get word to me through the Clan.”
“Don’t know what you’re going on about.” She started to back away and he knew she’d dash once she was clear of the alley.
“I just want you to be careful, Charlie. He’s after me, but that doesn’t mean you’re safe if he notices you…If he notices what I have.”
An spoke that last to the empty air.
* * *
Tension rippled through every muscle and drew his brow into a vicious scowl. An felt something looming on the air. As if there were somewhere he should be. Driven, he made his way across the Temple Bar. His hands fisted and his shoulders bunched as his gaze tracked all around him. Where was the bastard? It wasn’t like Jeger to drop off the grid. To taunt and tease and try and lead An somewhere society wouldn’t interfere, that was the hunter’s usual course. But Jeger was nowhere to be found.
Jeger’s absence left An agitated. But that wasn’t all.
Over the past weeks three more girls had been reported missing. They had all turned back up, in the same condition. Innocent girls, unharmed and intact, but with no memory of what had gone before. He had a bad feeling Jeger, misguided by legends of unicorns and virgins, was responsible for the abductions after all.
That wasn’t why An was worked up, though. What had him worried was that there were only six girls reported missing. And seven had been found.
The seventh was a street kid no one knew or cared had gone missing.
An couldn’t help but think of Charlie, whom he feared was number eight. The otherness about her reminded him of his own kind. The only other instance a human came close to such a resemblance—without possessing magic—was those who were pure.
Like all the other girls gone missing.
Alicorn had no care for human abstinence; what they sought was their own kind. Unfortunately, one form of purity often mimicked the other, giving rise to the legends.
The thought that the hunter might have targeted his friend kindled rage in An’s belly. He felt the urge to roll his eyes and toss his head, rearing up in a display of equine fury, though his body could no longer manage the posture and his rough, shoulder-length locks hardly constituted a lashing mane. He fought the impulse down, but it kicked his ass. Even in the thick of Temple Bar foot traffic, the space surrounding An cleared. His nostrils flared with every heated breath and his lips kept twitching, baring clenched teeth. For a moment he caught his reflection and nearly screamed in challenge.
That snapped him out of it. He was no use to Charlie like this.
He wrestled the madness down and strove to ignore the depression that flowed into its place. He moved more methodically through the city with an eye out for the hunter, but hoping to find his friend. He believed he caught fleeting glimpses of Jeger, occasionally sensing what might have been the trail of his horn, but An could not be certain. The presence of magic in the city and the crowds muddled his senses. There was enough whiff of Jeger’s trail to lead An southward, but not give him a clear sense of direction.
Giving up on the hunter for now, An turned his focus back toward finding Charlie.
Gritting his teeth, he crossed the street toward St. Stephen’s Green thinking to search the shadows beneath the trees, where the street kids like to hang after dark. Before he could dodge them, a cluster of women intersected his path. He grunted as he collided with a mass of soft curves and flowing skirts. Bell-like laughter rose in the night as two delicate hands gripped his arms to the musical clatter of a multitude of bangles. More laughter, just as loud and melodious rose around him until An cursed at the attention the bevy surrounding him drew.
“Ah, La-La! What a catch! Toss that one here if you even think of lobbin’ him back.”
“Now, now, La-La! Don’t listen to her…family before all others, yeah, cousin?”
The catcalls and ribald comments continued as An sought to extract himself, but he stilled as soon as he recognized the Romani lilt to their voices and took heed of the name they called to.
“La-La?” he asked on a bare breath. He peered into the woman’s face, finding familiar dark eyes asparkle among a riot of long, thick curls he knew would be a warm honey brown in the daylight. His hands came up to rest on her shoulders and hope seized his breath, scarcely believing to encounter this one here. She was not alicorn, or even aliman, but she knew him and his kind. Her Clan…the Kalderãs Clan, had oft sheltered members of his herd.
Perhaps…but no, he could not sense any kin among those with her. Still, the Clan might be able to help. They held a magic of their own…for tracking, for Seeing. And they knew Charlie. Cared for her. If anyone could help him find the girl, it was the Rom.
The woman stilled, a frown on her face as she peered closer. He watched her gaze lose focus as her Sight kicked in and she saw beyond his glamour. Her eyes crinkled and her smile grew warmer.
“Lor…!” She started to squeal the name she knew him by, only An darted his hand out and pressed it over her lips, giving a sharp shake of his head. Jeger knew that name, but not the face An wore now to hide his own.
The sparkle in her gaze dimmed as she noticed the changes in him, along with his behavior. She scanned around them for trouble. Her forehead creased as none was evident, but any good Rom knew when best to be silent, and to fade from notice. She gestured to the women she was with. With a nod, they swarmed past the two of them, and moved off, their voices rising higher and more exuberant than before as they danced and laughed and drew everyone’s eye off of the two they left behind.
An let La-La claim the hand he’d raised and draw him into the shelter of the boughs overhanging the wrought-iron fence surrounding the park. Together they turned and headed off in the opposite direction, both remaining silent and moving swiftly, once the attention of the masses was firmly anchored on the Romani women now playing “gypsy” to the hilt.
“Talk to me, my friend,” La-La said once the crowds had been left behind, gently slipping her hand into the crook of his arm and reining him back to a more leisurely pace as they moved off down a quiet cobbled street. Her calm demeanor conflicted with the worry woven through her scent.
An stopped abruptly. He could not help it.
La-La turned back toward him. The worry blossomed in her gaze as she noted his faint trembling. He flinched when she peered closer at him, her brow furrowed. The muscles of An’s face
twitched as he tried to answer her, but he could not say the words. Could not tell her of his cleaving. She must have read something in his expression, though, because her hand rose slowly, as if not to startle, and gently brushed beneath the locks hanging heavy across his forehead.
He clenched his eyes shut at the sight of her silent tears as she mourned his loss.
“There is a hunter in the city…Den Jeger,” An told her, his voice low and controlled, his tone flat. “He has gone to ground. I am afraid he has taken a friend of mine with him to force my hand.”
As he filled the Rom in, fury kindled in her gaze. She reached out and took his hand, striding off with a determined gate.
“Where are we going?”
“Phoenix Park,” she murmured. “The others need to know. An’ perhaps we can help find…your friend.”
* * *
As they made their way across the city the crowds lessened as the spaces grew more open. An turned his focus inward toward his meager trickle of magic and allowed La-La to guide him. Centering, he charged his senses and extended them outward, seeking Jeger’s trail through the essence of the spire. His spirit surged. As they followed the Liffey toward Phoenix Park the trail strengthened.
La-La tried to draw him toward the Clan’s camp, but An tugged his arm out of her grip. His nostrils flared as he caught the faintest trace of Charlie’s scent wafting on the breeze. She was here, somewhere. Beyond Phoenix Park. Behind him he heard the electronic tones of a cell phone dialing but ignored it, his stride lengthening as he left La-La behind.
An tracked Jeger to an abandoned warehouse in the Ballymount Industrial Estate, south of the city, past the park. A fire had left the building a burned-out husk not quite a year ago. The walls were solid, but the roof was gone in patches and the windows altogether. The gaps in the walls had been boarded over, but one had been pried away, left prominently propped against the smoke-scarred wall.
Were- Page 15