The Awakened World Boxed Set

by William Stacey

  "Can you track her? Uncover her secrets?"

  "In time, yes, Beautiful Mistress. But it will be days, perhaps weeks before I can find her in the dream world. I do not know her well enough to hunt her in her dreams."

  "I can help you," Rayan said. "I can show you what I saw in her mind. Through me, you can track her."

  Tlaco stepped forward, her face scarlet with rage. "Beautiful Mistress, this one lies to save her own skin. Do not trust her. We will find the fugitives without her. They cannot elude us for much longer."

  "Yet they have eluded you. For days now, they have eluded you. I grow weary of promises and excuses. Before this day ends, I open the gates to the underworld to bring forth the Death Bat, Sudden Bloodletter."

  Tlaco looked down quickly, no doubt wishing she had kept her mouth shut.

  Rayan, panic threatening to overwhelm her, now understood why she had been brought forth. They’ll use my blood to summon the demon. She glanced at Tlaco quivering in fear. But it doesn't have to be my blood.

  She seized her opportunity, rising to her feet and extending her arms to either side. "Beautiful Mistress, go ahead. Take my heart and use my blood to summon Sudden Bloodletter. I have always lived to serve. But if you kill me, I can't help Aernyx find Angela Ritter, and wherever she is, there you will also find the Haanal X'ib. What use will a demon be if you cannot direct it to its prey?"

  "What are you saying?" the dragon asked, smoke drifting from her nostrils. "I grow weary of the subterfuge. What would you have me do, summon the demon or use you and Aernyx to hunt this mage?"

  Rayan glared at Tlaco, the corners of her mouth curling into a sly smile. "Do both, Beautiful Mistress. Sacrifice a powerful mage to summon the demon and use me to help you find Angela Ritter."

  Tlaco's mouth fell open, her fat face blanched.

  "So be it," the dragon said. She turned her majestic horned head to Aernyx. "Can you do it? With Rayan's help, can you hunt this Angela Ritter?"

  "Probably, Beautiful Mistress," Aernyx said. "I can try this very night—as soon as the prey sleeps."

  "Do it, then," the dragon said. "Sacrifice this other one and use our servant Rayan to help hunt the human mage. Find both her and the Haanal X'ib."

  "Beautiful Mistress," Tlaco screeched, throwing herself to her knees before the dragon. "She lies. She can't help. I am loyal. I should serve, not her."

  "And you shall serve," the dragon hissed. "You shall serve as the conduit between this world and the underworld."

  Tlaco screamed as the guards hauled her to the altar. She screamed as they cut her expensive new robes away. And she screamed as they stretched her, naked, across the stone with her chest arched upward, her wrists and ankles tied to iron rings in the floor around the black altar. Rayan stood beside Aernyx and watched as the pale, dark-haired young man lifted the obsidian dagger.

  Aernyx paused, watching Rayan. All the while, Tlaco screamed and pleaded for mercy, her eyes wide. "Would you like the honor, Mother Smoke Heart?"

  "I would indeed," Rayan said as she took the dagger from him and positioned the razor-sharp point over Tlaco's chest.

  With one quick thrust, she drove the blade into the other woman. Killing her took only a moment but cracking open her ribs and cutting out her heart took much longer. When she was finally done and held the woman’s warm heart in her hands, Rayan's arms were coated in blood to her elbows.

  "Begin," the dragon commanded.

  Rayan swayed in place as she began the incantation to summon the star demon.

  Chapter 7

  Angie dreamed she was a teenager again, no more than thirteen. She strolled through the forests of Char's home, the former zoo grounds in the Fresno Fey Enclave. Her heart filled with joy. She was home, the only home she had ever known.

  No. That’s not true, she realized with a start.

  There had been another home, a happy one with smiling parents and a young boy, an older brother. She remembered her bedroom, her toys. She remembered playing outside with other children on the … the naval base. She had lived on a naval base. She stopped in place, closing her eyes and trying to focus on her family’s faces. She could just make out the faces of her mother and brother, but as hard as she tried, she couldn’t see her father’s face. His features blurred and ran together.

  And then her dream shifted, and she stood before the large wooden door to Char's sanctum.

  She raised her hand to rap on the door but stopped herself. The door was ajar. She pushed it open. Char’s sanctum was as she remembered it: gleaming wooden floorboards, comfortable throw rugs, bookcases filled with ancient tomes, a laboratory table in the far corner with glass tubes, beakers, and other chemistry apparatus cluttering its surface. Shelves were filled with small objects and keepsakes, rolled parchments and stoppered vials containing sorceress substances. Comfortable chairs and a love seat covered with pillows sat next to a small table, upon which was placed a steaming tea service.

  Teenage Angie stepped into the chamber. "Mother."

  Angie meant Char, but the face of the other woman flashed in her mind, and she reeled. She leaned against the doorjamb. When she felt steady once more, she closed the door behind her. The air was warmer than it should have been. She saw why in a moment: a dark clay jar floated in the center of the sanctum, slowly rotating—the same jar that had held the Shade King all those years ago. Fire hissed and bubbled from the broken lid of the jar, dropping spits of flame onto the wooden floorboards to evaporate with puffs of smoke. The jar was bleeding fire, bleeding the Shade King. This isn't right. That's not what happened. The fire flowed into me, all of it. The Shade King flowed into me.

  The air reeked of sulfur and brimstone, reminding her of the demon Gouger of Faces. Yet how could she, a teenager, know of Gouger of Faces? The adult Angie had fought the demon, not her. With trembling fingers, she reached out to touch the jar.

  Just before she touched it, Char spoke softly behind her. "It is fire, you know."

  Angie spun to see Char watching her. At six and a half feet tall, she towered over Angie. She wore a simple silk robe, cut too short and exposing too much bosom and thigh, but that had always been Char's style. She was a sexual creature, a succubus, and couldn't dress demurely to save her life. She was grace and beauty and irresistible sexual attraction. It was why she attracted young men and women, turning away all but those who were dying of sickness. Char fed on their sexual energy, using her magic to negate their illnesses while prematurely aging them as she fed upon their sexual energy. Char fed on others. Not as Ephix and her vampires did, but not entirely different either.

  Much like Angie.

  "It’s not supposed to be like that," Angie said, pointing to the fire dripping from the jar.

  Char's large bat wings flapped once before falling about her shoulders like a cape. She cocked her head, her curved ram horns tilting as she watched Angie with her Fey eyes. "It comes from the east, from the age of legends."

  "Mother, it's the Shade King." But if it was still in its jar, then it had never bonded with her, and she shouldn’t know what it was.

  Char smiled, and Angie's heart warmed. "I've missed you so much, my daughter." She held her arms out, and Angie rushed forward to embrace her adopted mother. Char was warmth and love and safety, and Angie buried her head against her large bosom and was content.

  "I've missed you too, Mother," she said, only now realizing she was no longer a teenager but a grown woman. When had that happened?

  Char ran her fingers over Angie's hair, gently smoothing it. She kissed the top of her head. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I should have told you the truth. Ephix was right. I see that now. I was afraid it would break you."

  "You told me the truth, Mother. You told me I'm a source mage. I forgave you."

  "No." Char's voice broke in a sob. "I should have told you everything."

  Angie pulled back to look into Char's tear-filled eyes. When had Char ever cried? "Tell me what, Mother?"

  "Something's comin
g," Char said, her eyes darting about.

  "What's coming?"

  Char’s lips moved but made no sound. Angie stared in confusion. Now Char screamed in silence like a television with the volume muted.

  "What's going on?" Angie asked, hearing her own voice echo, as if from the bottom of a well.

  Then the sanctum vanished, and she found herself standing in a forest once more, but now it was dark, with an almost full moon shining through the branches above her. Where was Char? She turned in place, her heart racing, but saw nothing but the shadows of trees, heard nothing but the creaking of branches. "Mother!"

  "Angela," a female voice that sent a chill down her spine said from behind.

  She turned to see Ephix Lamia standing before her, a young woman with long dark hair who was wearing a plain toga, her feet bare. This was the form Ephix wore when she moved among humans, when she didn’t want to terrify them. Ephix Lamia was not only Char's sister but also the Mistress of Vampires, their Night Mother. She was just as powerful a Fey enchantress as Char had been but possessed little of the succubus's kindness. All her life, Angie had been terrified of Ephix and her vampires. Something about Angie drove the vampires mad with bloodlust, and only Ephix kept them at bay. But despite Angie's fear of her, when they had parted, it had been as allies. Ephix had helped save the Seagraves and defeat Gouger of Faces. Yet only days later, her vampires had tried to kill Angie.

  "You tried to kill me," Angie said, the words slipping past her lips without thought of consequence.

  "No, of course I did not."

  "They were vampires."

  Ephix smiled, her dark eyes shining in the moonlight. "Not all vampires are mine."

  "Why are you here?"

  "You need to wake up, Angela. You are being hunted by one who does not fear me. And you are vulnerable in dreams. You must go to Elenaril. She can protect you."

  "I don't understand."

  "You don't need to understand, Angela. He hunts your dreams, but his children have found your trail in the waking world, and they are coming for you. You need to wake up. Now!" Ephix snarled, her face transforming into that of a black-eyed beast, a nightmarish creature with rows of needlelike teeth.

  —Angie cried out and bolted upright next to Erin, her blanket falling from her, the stars shining down on her. Sweat coated Angie’s skin, her pulse raced, and her heart pounded like a drum. She remembered the dream of Ephix—She was warning me!

  Erin sat up, her werewolf eyes flashing in the darkness. "What's wrong?"

  "They've found us!" Angie said.

  Chapter 8

  Angie grasped for her boots, pants, sub-gun, and sword belt, clutching them against her chest as she scrambled to her feet, trying to look in all directions at once. It was another cloudless night, the sky a vast canopy of brilliant stars, the bright moon waxing gibbous—it would be full tomorrow night.

  Erin, in a T-shirt and underwear, stood and gripped Angie’s arm. "Who’s found us?"

  "We're under attack!" she said.

  "Stand to!" Erin yelled, letting go of Angie and grabbing her sniper rifle from the ground. Erin threw her load-bearing vest over her T-shirt, her fingers patting the ammunition pouches. "Stand to!"

  In moments, Rowan was there, already dressed, holding an assault rifle across his chest. Had he been awake, or did he sleep like that? "What is it?" he asked in a voice so calm he might have been chatting with friends.

  Jay bolted past, running for the high ground, where Casey had fixed the two heavy machine guns earlier. From that height, they'd have an overlapping field of fire on the plain leading to the headlands and airfield.

  Angie pulled her pants and boots on, leaving the laces untied. "I don't know exactly, but I know we're in danger."

  "Okay," replied Rowan. "But you’re gonna have to give me more to go on."

  "Who's on sentry?" Erin interrupted.

  Even with the starlight and almost full moon, Angie could only make out shapes. Erin and the Seagraves no doubt saw with perfect clarity. Angie grabbed at the pack she had taken from the church and removed her NVGs, slipping them over her face and turning them on. Her vision jumped into sharpness, revealing the doubt on Rowan's features.

  "Casey's on," Rowan answered. "Talk to me, Angie. Tell me something."

  Tec joined them, followed a moment later by the two elves. Wyn Renna held her hexed saber bare.

  "I ... someone warned me in a dream," she said, hating how stupid she sounded. "You have to trust me."

  "Someone?" Tec asked.

  "Ephix. Ephix Lamia."

  "Wait," said Rowan. "You dreamed of a vampire? Angie…"

  Tec gripped Rowan's biceps, making the other man meet his gaze. "Listen to her. Lamias are not just vampires. They can enter the dreams of others, even feed on them in their dreams. It's not as crazy as it sounds."

  Rowan sighed but nodded. "Okay. It's about an hour before sunrise. We'll stand to defensive positions and wait until then. After that, we move out."

  Wyn Renna's posture stiffened. "My mother—"

  Rowan shook his head. "We can't wait."

  "On it," Tec said and then trotted away, followed moments later by the two elves, leaving Angie with Erin and Rowan.

  Tavi stumbled forward, also wearing her NVGs. Her sub-gun hung near her hip from its sling, but she had drawn her hexed cavalry saber, and its blade flashed in the moonlight. "What is it?"

  "Not sure yet," Erin said. "Be ready for anything."

  Angie exhaled, now starting to doubt herself, feeling as if she had just made a huge mistake. "I …"

  Rowan squeezed her shoulder and spoke reassuringly. "It's cool. Just ’cause you’re paranoid doesn’t mean you aren’t being followed. Stay with Erin—and do up your boot laces before you trip." With that, Rowan hurried away, climbing the embankment to join Casey and Jay with the heavy machine guns.

  Angie faced Erin. "I know how this sounds."

  "Nobody's accusing you of anything. Life has been too weird lately for that. Come on, let's go up top with the boys…" She glanced down. "But Rowan's right. Do up your laces."

  Angie giggled, a nervous, forced chuckle. "Put some pants on."

  "Later."

  "I'll stay down here," Tavi said.

  "Stay close to Tec," Angie told her, but the other woman had already turned away to join the others. So be it, Angie thought. She's a Brujas Fantasmas combat mage. She doesn't need me to tell her how to fight.

  Angie quickly tied her laces then followed Erin up the embankment to where her brothers were observing the open field below. Casey and Jay lay prone, each behind a machine gun as they peered over the iron sights.

  Rowan knelt beside Casey, peering intently at the wooded hills more than a kilometer to their west. "You see anything while you were on sentry?"

  "Not even a squirrel," the larger man answered. "How sure are we something's up?"

  "Pretty sure," Erin answered before Angie could say anything. Angie smiled at her friend. Erin always had her back.

  Casey grunted. "Well, sis, I'm not too proud to admit you've got the best eyes in the family."

  Erin raised her scoped rifle to her shoulder and peered through the telescopic sight. She scanned the low ground, beginning from the forested hills to the flat plain leading to the headland, moving from right to left, the opposite of how most people scanned their surroundings, so that she’d be more likely to notice something unusual. Angie had learned a lot more tradecraft in the last few weeks traveling with the Seagraves than she’d ever imagined possible.

  "Nothing," Erin said softly. "I'm not seeing—oh shit, we've got movement. Multiple supernaturals coming in fast from the south and west."

  When Angie and the Seagraves had served in the Home Guard, there had been long-established standard operating procedures—SOPs—for dealing with all likely threats, including the Fey. But because the Fey were so different, it was impossible to prepare for everything, so they used the threat-descriptor "supernaturals" to describe everyt
hing from a naked winged nymph to a nine-foot-tall armored troll. But even with her NVGs, Angie saw nothing moving on the field. She closed her eyes and cast out her life-sense ability, instantly picking up on the others, as well as numerous small animals, but nothing else within her range of about two hundred meters. Whatever Erin saw, it was too far away for Angie.

  "I got 'em," Rowan said. "Vamps." He raised his voice enough for the others to hear. "Heads up, people," he said with the detached calm of a lifelong professional warrior. "We've got multiple vamps, five hundred meters out and coming in on our ten o'clock to our two o'clock."

  "Call it," Casey said, reaching forward and adjusting his iron sights.

  "Light 'em up, brother, but don't stop shooting until they're ash."

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah," Casey answered. "Teach your mother how to—"

  "Keep telling ya, same mother, dipshit." Rowan’s teeth flashed in a smile.

  Because vampires were so hard to kill—and because no one wanted to get close enough to try their luck with a wooden stake—the Home Guard's SOPs had been to lay down enough lead from a distance to destroy the vampires’ heads, which was pretty much the same thing as a decapitation. Sadly, this was one of those unproven SOPs that sounded great in theory but had never actually been tested.

  Until tonight.

  There was a third way to kill a vampire, Angie knew—with magic. She could destroy their bodies with a powerful blast of Shockwave. But to do that, she'd have to be much closer, and she had no idea how much mana she still had. The last time the Shade King had consumed a life force had been in the underground temple of Zolin days earlier. She’d have absorbed trace amounts of mana from the atmosphere, but she had always been far weaker than other mages that way.

  She was probably running on empty or close to it. Shit, shit, and triple shit.

  Casey began firing first, the retort of the heavy machine gun impossibly loud, and Angie covered her ears. Barely a moment later, Jay began shooting as well, easily handling the weapon with one hand. Red tracers, every fifth round, zipped across the field like angry fireflies. Empty casings and discarded machine gun links flew out of the weapons, piling up on their right sides. Smoke hung in the air, thick and powerful.