“Come on!” Spirit shouted at the top of her lungs, turning to face the other three. “We came here to do this! We have to! Loch! The wards aren’t going to protect us! Not tonight!”
It was as if her shouting broke the spell of fear the approach of the Hunt had cast over them. Spirit saw Addie draw a deep breath and take a firmer grip on her squirt gun. Loch nodded. And suddenly Muirin screamed—a high wavering fingernails-on-a-blackboard sound—and pointed.
The Hunt was here.
Spirit turned back just in time to see them appear. “Appear” was the word for it: One moment there was nothing on the endless white moonlit snowfield, and the next moment there was a line of vehicles heading right for them. They left no tire tracks in the snow, and they were running without lights.
As the vehicles got closer, the five of them could see they—Jeeps, SUVs, a couple of pickup trucks—were all rusted, burned, and half-wrecked, as if they’d come from some supernatural junkyard. Their windshields were shattered, their tires were flat—and some had no tires at all. Lashed to every grille or hood was a set of antlers: deer, elk, even moose. And every set of antlers was garlanded with a withered wreath of evergreen.
But that wasn’t the most terrifying thing about them. Because each vehicle held passengers.
Some leaned out the sides of doorless roofless SUVs. Some stood in the passenger seats of roofless Jeeps. Some stood in the beds of pickup trucks, whooping and hollering and urging the drivers onward. All of them were dressed in the ragged remains of hunting clothes—hunter’s orange and red-and-black buffalo plaids and woodland camo—and every single one of them was dead. Skeletal hands gripped roll bars and steering wheels and door frames. Eyeless skulls covered in tatters of rotting flesh gazed avidly toward their prey. All of them were carrying shotguns or rifles.
Suddenly all the headlights of the Hunt’s vehicles came on at once. For a handful of seconds the five teenagers stood petrified in the glare as the Wild Hunt raced closer.
Then Burke raised his shotgun to his shoulder and fired.
The sound of the gunshot was loud enough to shock them out of their terrified stupor. Even through the dazzle of the headlights, Spirit could see Burke’s first shot had taken the driver of one of the Jeeps square in the chest. The hunter had dissolved into smoke, but the Jeep seemed capable of acting on its own. Burke fired again—at the Jeep itself this time—but his second shot had no effect.
“It’s not a ghost! Run!” he shouted.
But Addie had already raised her Super Soaker. She’d said its maximum range was fifteen yards—but Addie was a Water Witch. It didn’t matter that she was firing into the wind; when she pumped the trigger, the jets of water flew from the nozzle and kept going, as if they were arrows—or bullets. When the jets of iron-laden water struck the same Jeep Burke had ineffectually fired at, there was another ear-splitting howl—like an animal in pain—and the Jeep suddenly reared up on its back wheels and sank beneath the snow. It vanished without leaving any trace behind it—aside from its undead occupants, now sprawled in the snow. They scrambled to their feet and ran to one of the trucks, climbing aboard quickly, and left no footprints behind them.
Burke had already reloaded. He didn’t bother to shoot at the vehicles now; he aimed only for their occupants. When he hit them, they vanished. Banished.
The wind was almost a gale now, chilling them even through their warm coats and boots, numbing exposed flesh, making it hard to hear anything other than the howls of the Wild Hunt. As soon as they’d begun fighting back, the Wild Hunt had changed its tactics. It wasn’t approaching them at a slow stately pace any longer. Now the remaining vehicles were speeding up, driving back and forth, trying to confuse them.
Trying to surround them.
“Run!” Burke shouted again, but it was already too late. Now they were in the center of a ring of trucks and Jeeps and SUVs, and any time he or Addie fired at one of them, their target would simply dodge out of the circle so that their shot went wild. Soon they would have used up all their ammunition.
They’d be helpless.
“Fish in a barrel!” Muirin snarled, brandishing her slingshot. “Come on, Ads! Let’s give these losers a run for their money!”
“Glad to!” Addie shouted back. She and Muirin both targeted the same vehicle. The SUV swung out of the circle. Muirin’s iron missile whistled harmlessly past it . . . and Addie’s jet of water made a right-angle turn in mid-flight, spraying the unsuspecting truck behind it.
Once again, her target screamed and sank beneath the snow, bolting for the Hollow Hills and leaving its skeletal passengers afoot. The pickup truck behind it swerved to avoid running them over, and Burke took advantage of the moments that the hunters were afoot and vulnerable to empty both barrels into them. The shotgun shells filled with blessed salt did their work, and the ghostly huntsmen vanished.
Then, for an instant, there was a gap in the line. Loch grabbed Spirit and dragged her through it. She was running with him before she realized what she was doing. “What—? We—We can’t!” she gasped.
“Ghosts—Elves—” Loch panted. “Have to lead them—Back over Muirin’s—Traps—”
The nails in the snow! Would they work if the elf-trucks just drove over them? Were they even touching the ground? Could the others get away, too? She ran beside Loch, back along the footprints they’d left in the snow, and didn’t dare stop to look back. Ohgodohgod, we left them, we left them . . . Behind her she heard Burke fire again and again, the sound loud even over the wail of the wind and the engines and the howling of the hunters. Tears of relief mingled with those of terror as Spirit heard running footsteps crunching and skidding in the snow behind the two of them—she was certain on an instinctive level that the Wild Huntsmen didn’t make those sounds.
She thought she was running as fast as she could, but Muirin passed her and Loch—and then, incredibly, skidded to a stop. Muirin slid to her knees in the snow and didn’t bother to get to her feet as she readied her slingshot again.
Spirit hesitated, but Loch grabbed her arm again and yanked her onward so violently she slipped and nearly fell before she could recover her balance. Her throat was raw and burning with cold, and her chest ached as if she’d been punched. If she hadn’t survived the accident that had killed her family, if she hadn’t undergone months of painful grueling physical therapy to learn to walk again, she could never have kept up the pace that Loch set. But pain was an old friend to Spirit White. It was the one thing she wasn’t afraid of. This wasn’t any worse than the hospital. This wasn’t any worse than waking up, knowing her whole family was dead, so broken that there weren’t enough drugs in the world to keep her from feeling the pain of broken limbs and a broken heart.
Behind her Spirit heard another eldritch shriek as another of the not-trucks was sent back to the Hollow Hills. She heard Burke fire again—two shots, then he had to stop to reload—she heard Addie shout for Muirin to come on, come on—
“Okay, okay,” Loch said, gasping for breath and slowing to a staggering walk. He waved behind him, obviously wanting to convey information but too winded to do it. Spirit stopped, leaning over, hands pressed against her thighs, breath whistling in her throat, coughing and choking as she sucked in great lungfuls of the bitterly cold dry air. She reeled, staggering as she finally turned to look behind her, squinting as she was painfully buffeted by the storm-wind the Hunt had summoned.
There were only five vehicles now instead of the dozen there’d been at the beginning. The Wild Hunt could have overtaken them in seconds if it had wanted to, Spirit thought, but the vehicles were moving forward at a speed no faster than a slow walk. Her friends were running away—but so slowly! And they were staggering as if they were sick or hurt.
“Come on, come on,” Loch muttered.
Then Addie fell. The Super Soaker skittered out of her hands, spinning out of reach across the surface of the snow. She lunged for it, but Burke hauled her to her feet and dragged her onward.
&nb
sp; “What’s—?” Spirit gasped, still panting for breath. What’s wrong with them?
Then she felt it. A wave of abyssal cold, rolling toward her through the wind as if somebody had just opened a giant freezer. It made the bone-chilling temperature of a moment ago seem balmy by comparison. Too cold to breathe, too cold to do anything but lie down and . . .
“Come on,” Loch said, but this time he was speaking to her. “We have to . . . get out of . . . range.”
Out of range of the spell, Spirit supplied mentally. But for a moment she couldn’t move. She was staring at the driver of the single surviving SUV. The rider, rather, because he was standing on the front seat staring at them intently. Though he was dressed like his hunters in ragged hunting clothes, he had antlers—either attached to his cap or growing directly from his skull—and beneath the shadow of the cap’s brim, his eyes glowed with a baleful crimson light.
“—demon—” Spirit gasped breathlessly. Not just ghosts. Not just elves. There was a demon as well. They’d need Loch’s spell-trap. And they’d need her spell. But I don’t remember the words!
For the first time since that terrible night when she’d lost her family, Spirit believed—she knew—she was going to die. They were all going to die. Banish the ghosts, banish the elves, none of it would matter, because the demon would call up more for its Hunt.
But first—now, tonight—it was going to kill all of them.
Once more she and Loch began their nightmare flight across the snow. It was agony to Spirit to turn her back on her friends—on Burke!—but Loch wouldn’t let her go. Tears froze on Spirit’s cheeks as she staggered across the snow, every muscle aching with cold. The trees were just ahead, and with them the school boundaries, but there was no safety there. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to leave you, it wasn’t supposed to happen this way . . . She didn’t have enough breath to tell Loch it was useless, all of this was useless—she didn’t remember the spell, there was no point in luring the demon into the spell-trap, she didn’t remember the spell . . .
She was so convinced she’d abandoned her friends to death that Muirin’s whoop of triumph took her by surprise. “Keep going,” Loch said as she hesitated. “Trees. Hide. Wait.”
Spirit staggered on as fast as she could—alone now, because Loch was staying behind. She could see the trees shaking, tossing in the wind so violently they were shaking off all the snow on their branches. At the edge of the stand of pines, despite herself, Spirit turned back to look. Addie was slogging determinedly onward, staggering with exhaustion, but Muirin and Burke—and Loch—were just standing in the snow. Waiting for the Hunt—for the demon—to come within range. As Burke raised his shotgun again, the five remaining vehicles revved their engines and leaped forward. Burke fired methodically, reloaded, and fired again, and Spirit sobbed aloud in despair. She was going to have to watch them die, and she couldn’t bear it!
As she watched, she saw Muirin get off a couple of shots with her slingshot, saw another of the Jeeps let out one of those bone-chilling screams before it sank down through the snow, but then Muirin threw her only weapon aside. Spirit knew without needing to see it that the intense cold had made the elastic snap.
And there were still four of the vehicles left: an SUV, two Jeeps, and a pickup truck.
Muirin and Burke both turned and ran, but Loch—much closer to safety—didn’t move. Three of the vehicles followed—including the SUV with the demonic Hunt Lord in it—but the truck had circled back to pick up the hunters who’d been set afoot by the destruction of their eldritch vehicle. The other three sped toward them—
—and struck the scattering of horseshoe nails Muirin had strewn across the snow.
This time the mingled wails of agony were loud enough to make Spirit want to cover her ears. The three vehicles reared back and twisted and vanished beneath the snow.
Now the Hunt Lord was afoot, along with perhaps a dozen ghosts. He gestured imperiously, and the last remaining vehicle zoomed forward at full speed, intent on running Burke and Muirin down. It crossed the second scattering of iron nails just as Burke turned back and fired. This time he’d loaded his shotgun with some of Muirin’s iron balls as well as his own blessed-salt shells. The salt struck the eerie forms crowding the front seat and the iron balls buried themselves in the seat behind them. The truck shrieked in agony and fled back to the Hollow Hills. Spirit didn’t know how many of its passengers Burke had also dispatched with those two shots, but as the rest of the ghosts ran across the snow toward him, Burke calmly reloaded, fired, reloaded, and fired again.
Run, Burke! You have to run! Spirit thought desperately, pressing her hands over her mouth to muffle her sobs. With every second Burke spent destroying the ghostly members of the Wild Hunt, its demonic Hunt Lord came closer. And closer.
And Loch still stood unmoving.
“Spirit! Hide!” Addie gasped, reaching the edge of the trees.
“But—Loch—Burke—”
“Loch has to lure him in—Burke has to kill the rest of them,” Addie said, dragging Spirit back into the false safety of the trees. Their branches were still shaking, showering the ground below with snow.
A moment later Muirin joined them. “Where do we—What do we—How can we—” she babbled frantically. Addie simply grabbed her and hauled her—silently—to the far edge of the little woods.
Everyone had told Spirit to hide, but nobody had told her where. She didn’t even know where the spell-trap was. They’d been spending so much time staying away from each other that they hadn’t done all the planning they needed to. Next time we set out to kill some demons we’re going to plan things better, she thought wildly. Only there won’t be a next time! I’m sorry—I’m sorry—I’m sorry—I wasn’t good enough to do what you needed me to do—I’m sorry—
The only place she could think of to hide was behind the tree where Loch had propped the leaf blower. She clung to it and rested her forehead against the trunk, trying to slow her breathing and stop crying. When Loch got the Lord of the Wild Hunt into the spell-trap, she was supposed to say the spell she was supposed to have memorized. And she couldn’t remember the words!
A moment later Burke came running past her, staggering with weariness. She wanted to call out to him, to ask him where Loch was. But I know where Loch is. He told me where he’d be. He’s still out there luring that . . . thing . . . in here. That’s why the others haven’t just run for home. It would just follow their magic the way it’s following Loch’s.
But it can’t see me at all.
They’d only been guessing about that. She could only hope they’d guessed right.
It was quiet. It was too quiet. It was taking too long. It got him. The certainty of it settled on her like lead. Everything they had planned had fallen apart. Everything they had done was for nothing. Loch was dead—that thing had gotten him, and it was going to come and take the rest of them because the whole plan depended on her and she couldn’t do what she was supposed to do. She blinked back tears. It was so cold out here they were freezing on her eyelashes.
It was so cold . . . .
Suddenly Loch came stumbling and staggering into the clearing. He grabbed the leaf blower and slung the carrying strap over his shoulder. He scrabbled for the starter cord, but he couldn’t grip it in his heavy gloves. He pulled them off and flung them aside, then yanked at the starter cord over and over.
But nothing happened.
Spirit looked back the way they’d come. The Lord of the Hunt was only a few yards away from the edge of the stand of pines now, walking toward them with a slow measured tread. With each step he took, his appearance changed. Tattered hunting clothes became a long fur cloak over armor. Battered work boots became high black boots with jeweled spurs. A bill cap and deer horns became a helmet with stag’s antlers. Only the glowing red eyes were the same. She was shaking so hard with fear and shame that if she hadn’t been holding onto the tree, Spirit would simply have fallen to the ground. All for nothing. I
t’s all been for nothing. . . .
As the Hunt Lord walked into the grove, the temperature dropped so sharply that Spirit heard the trees crack and groan as they froze. Loch was still working with single-minded determination at the little engine of the leaf blower as the demon lord silently paced toward him.
And—finally—the little engine caught.
The demon was so close Spirit ached with cold. So close every breath she took was like breathing liquid fire. It was too cold for anyone to be able to smell anything, but despite knowing that, Spirit had the relentless sense that she could smell some horrible combination of sun-heated decaying garbage and burnt rubber and rotten eggs. And though she knew the only sounds in the pine grove were the sounds of the wind in the branches and of the leaf blower’s two-stroke engine, she had the conviction she could hear screaming—as if the sound of something in terrible pain was stuck in her head like one of those earworm songs you just couldn’t shake.
And there was one more thing she knew: When the demon Huntsman touched Loch, Loch would be dead. She knew Loch knew it, too, but Loch didn’t move. He just stood there like some maniac groundskeeper as the demon stepped closer, and closer . . .
And then, just as it reached out its hand to touch him, Loch swept the leaf blower down toward the ground.
Pine needles blew upward, skirling everywhere, and beneath them, Spirit could see the ground had been scraped down to bare earth, and then carved, carefully and elaborately, with the lines of the spell-trap, and the lines of the carving filled in with a mixture of charcoal and sulfur and saltpeter. She knew that was what Loch had used, because those were the materials the spell-trap had to be drawn in if you were drawing it on a bare floor. He must have used water to bind it all together and hold the mixture to the ground—frozen—when he blew the leaves away.
The demon looked down at the intricate design beneath its feet, and as it did, all the marks flared blue, burning with a literally unearthly light. It hissed—the first sound Spirit had heard it make—and when it tried to step out of the design again, it couldn’t.
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