Huntress

by Christine Warren, Marjorie Liu, Caitlin Kittredge, Jenna Maclaine

You are a fixer, she reminded herself fiercely, pretending she stood inside her barn, tools at hand. You help people. You make things better.

  She told herself that, again and again, digging in her heels. Hands dropped away until no one touched her. The men—vampires, incubi, demons—did not make a sound.

  Robber King, she named Irdu, savoring the weight of the shark teeth hanging around her neck. His gaze flicked down to it, and disgust briefly filled his eyes; difficult to see through the curtain of hair partially obscuring his face.

  “You have no way to leave us,” he said coldly. “And I think I am tired now of trying to woo you with kindness. I tried to give you time. I tried to set you on a path that would wake you to us, with care. A greater courtesy than has been shown others, I promise. But that is done. You will serve me. You will become us, even if I must force the waking of your blood.”

  “I have no idea what that means,” Maggie replied, trying not to tremble. “But I’m not your pet. I asked for my life once, remember? I bargained for my life, and you agreed.”

  “You’ll have your life,” he said coldly. “A better life. One not subject to human weaknesses.”

  “I am human,” she shot back. “I like my weaknesses.”

  Anger flashed through Irdu’s eyes. “You still have no idea what you are. After all this, you still fight yourself.”

  He snapped his fingers, and Maggie watched in horror as Samuel was dragged to one of the tables and slammed upon it face first. Ekir stood close, caressing Samuel’s cloak of feathers with a faint grim smile on his face, which seemed to Maggie as much of a violation of the man as any other gesture, this touch more intimate. Samuel snarled at Ekir, fighting the hands holding him down.

  Irdu stepped close to Maggie, his body so cold she could feel him near her like a sheet of winter ice. “Another bargain. Give yourself to me—willingly, now—and I will set him free, with his skin intact.”

  “No,” rasped Samuel, and Ekir slammed his fist into the man’s face.

  Maggie flinched, her hands flying to grip the teeth hanging around her neck, which were cold, but with a reassuring bite that steadied her. She met her friend’s dark, wild gaze, and every moment—each one—spent with him as bird or man flashed through her mind in one split second of pure rock-solid clarity.

  “Leave him alone,” she said softly, and despair crept into Samuel’s gaze.

  “You agree then,” Irdu replied, and for such a dangerous man, Maggie thought, there was a great deal of greed in his eyes. A weakness, she told herself, such a human weakness.

  “Kiss me,” Maggie told him. Irdu hesitated only a moment—as though sensing the possibility of danger. But it was not enough to stop him. He leaned in and clamped his mouth over hers; a rough touch, and violent. Maggie braced herself and kissed back.

  She knew nothing but instinct, although she had been fighting that, and herself. She closed her eyes, reaching deep inside, and felt a great fury and hunger rise strong and hot within her belly. Irdu pressed closer. Maggie grabbed his head between her hands and held him to her, her lips sucking on his, stealing his breath—stealing him.

  It happened so naturally she hardly knew what she was doing until Irdu stiffened, his eyes flying open. He tried to pull away, but strength flooded her body—as though all those years of steelwork had turned her into steel—and she opened her eyes, locking gazes with him, savoring his fear. Using it to stoke the hunger burning inside her belly.

  Fixer, she told him silently. I am going to fix you.

  Maggie inhaled him like smoke, filling her lungs, and still he remained frozen, eyelids fluttering. She could feel his life pulsing like a black flame, and she sucked hard, pleasure growing heavy between her legs as she pulled sharp, loosening the demon—vampire, incubus, be mine—from his moorings. Irdu’s life slid through his mouth into Maggie’s own; he tasted like bone, baked dry and hot; and the tail of his spirit slithered down her throat, making her fit to burst—which she did, pleasure rocking through her body. She gasped, and shoved him away.

  Irdu collapsed. Maggie did as well, falling hard on her knees. She felt sick to her stomach, sick at heart, but there was something else in her, too; a rising scream of power that was silent and awful and heavy against her skin. Her heart hammered with such strength, she thought she could pull the vital organ from her body and it would still keep pumping.

  She looked up, her vision blurred, but saw enough pale faces staring at her to know she was in deep trouble. Irdu was dead. She knew it. Killing had been easy, like a disease.

  But I can’t fight them all, she thought, with both defiance and despair.

  No one touched her, though. Samuel was still pressed to the table, but he was watching her as well, grim satisfaction in his eyes.

  Behind the men, Maggie heard the loud squeak of hinges. A door, opening and closing. Boots scuffed the floor. The men turned, staring, and a quiver rode through them as though they shared the same nerve endings. Maggie watched as they stood back in slow retreat, heads bowed, revealing a dark-skinned woman with white braids and a knit green cap tugged low over her ears. Her eyes glinted, and she looked from the men to Samuel, and then to Maggie.

  “Well,” said Trace, smiling coldly, “isn’t this a pretty party?”

  NINE

  It was like being bludgeoned in the head, Maggie thought. Seeing Trace felt like a physical blow, and the young woman stared for one long moment, blood roaring in her ears. The sickening crunch of taking another life—even a life that had threatened her own—faded in comparison to seeing Trace.

  The men released Samuel. He slipped off the table, dropping quickly to Maggie’s side. She clutched his hand, leaning heavily against his shoulder as he helped her stand. She could not stop looking at Trace. The old woman looked good and healthy, with a light raging through her eyes that could have been anger or pleasure.

  Ekir strode to Trace but did not attack her. He clutched the cape of feathers, and the old woman reached out and took it from him. He let her, and when she held out her hand and pointed to the cape he already wore, his expression darkened, but he did as she asked. Yielding to Trace as though he feared her.

  “She won,” said the old woman. “Just as I promised. Just as we bargained. She beat your leader at his game, and so she owns you now. She owns you.”

  “She knows nothing of us, or herself,” Ekir rumbled, the side of his face not quite as caved in, though his eye was still hidden—or perhaps just smashed beyond recognition. “She could never lead us.”

  Trace grunted. “Crow. The demon questions your lady.”

  Samuel rose to his feet and in two steps snatched one of Maggie’s forgotten whirly-gigs off a nearby table. Ekir began to turn, but Samuel was too fast—so fast, Maggie wondered if he had let himself be captured. Nothing but a blur, and then blood spurted and she saw that he had shoved one of the tin blades into Ekir’s remaining good eye.

  The wounded man staggered, blind, against the table, grunting with pain. Trace kicked at the back of his knees, and he went down hard. She grabbed his hair, yanked back his head, and kissed him hard.

  Not just a kiss, Maggie realized in horror. She was sucking him dry, stealing his life, just as Irdu’s spirit had been stolen, consumed.

  Trace was not human.

  And neither, Maggie realized, was she.

  The other men backed away toward the doors. Something came over her. She stood and lurched past Samuel, who caught her waist as she began to fall. No words escaped her throat, just a low growl that twisted from her chest, raw with fury. The men froze.

  Trace released Ekir, who fell backward into a boneless heap. The woman wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes bright, her skin less wrinkled. Ten years had been knocked off her life, Maggie thought.

  “Run,” Trace whispered to the men. “But you remember what happened here. You remember what you owe us, and you stay clean and good. You keep away from people, much as you dare. You know you can.”

  “No
,” Maggie began to say, but the men nodded solemnly—if not with some disgust, and fear. They left the bookstore, filing into the night. They did not take the bodies of their brothers. They were perfectly quiet—pale creatures, black hair shining against their backs. Within moments, it was as though they had never been there at all. When Maggie heard the roar of their motorcycles, she ran toward the door. Trace caught her.

  “They’ll hurt others,” Maggie protested. “How can you let them go?”

  Trace shook her head. “You can’t destroy ’em all. And why would you? There’s a balance to these things, Maggie Greene. We took what was our right. The rest would be murder.”

  Maggie yanked herself away. “Like they murdered? There’s a room back there full of bodies. Probably more in places where these demons have been.”

  “And would you kill me?” Trace asked, a touch of hard grim sadness in her eyes.

  Maggie stared at her, helpless, and then sank to her knees. Strong, warm arms encircled her shoulders, and Samuel said, “You put too much on her. All of this was too much.”

  “Now or never,” Trace muttered, and settled cross-legged on the floor in front of Maggie. Her eyes were solemn but kind—just like the woman Maggie had always known—but Maggie could not forget the sight of her stealing Ekir’s life with a kiss.

  Trace glanced at the teeth hanging from the necklace, and then met Maggie’s gaze, giving her a long steady look. Maggie waited.

  The old woman reached inside her mouth and tugged. Maggie heard a clicking sound, and then—another shock—Trace’s teeth came loose in her wrinkled hand. Teeth, set in a neat row, embedded in a ridged plastic shell. A full set, both lower and upper halves. Trace held them in her palm.

  “Those didn’t come from a shark,” she said, pointing at the necklace and showing off her pink gums. “But I got tired of being one way. I got tired of hurting folks for my supper. So I changed. I changed, Maggie Greene, in the same way those men might change one day. That’s why I gave ’em a chance. That’s why you should, too.” Trace bowed her head, and placed her teeth back into her mouth. “Not much difference, you know. Got some of the same blood in your veins.”

  “How?” Maggie breathed.

  “Your momma,” Trace said, and hesitated. “My niece.”

  Maggie caught her breath. She felt woozy. Too much to hear, on top of the two dead men behind her, with more people close by. She swayed, and Samuel was there, bending to scoop her into his arms. He showed no sign of strain, and did not speak to Trace. He carried Maggie from the bookstore, into the cool night.

  A great deal of time had passed. The sky was beginning to lighten. Maggie inhaled deeply, and the fresh air helped. Samuel set her down, carefully, on her feet, but she did not let go of him, and his arms remained around her.

  “Mister Crow,” she murmured.

  “I wanted to tell you,” he said. “I knew. I knew what Trace was, but I did not know how to share such a thing.”

  Maggie nodded, numb. “Did she tell you to stay with me?”

  “She asked,” he said softly. “But only, I think, because she thought it would do us both some good not to be alone.”

  Tears burned Maggie’s eyes. She looked up as Trace exited through the creaking door, and stood there, very still, watching. She looked so human. So human.

  Like you, she told herself.

  “Did granddaddy know?” Maggie asked, wiping her face. “About you and me? My mother?”

  “He was not your granddaddy,” Trace said heavily. “He was your uncle.”

  Maggie stared. “He was an old man.”

  Trace leaned heavily against the door, and for the first time, she looked her years. “He didn’t start out old. He was young at the end of the Big Death. Not as young as you, but close. He just … didn’t know what he had on his hands. His sister-in-law didn’t mention you had … certain gifts.”

  Maggie pressed her hand over her mouth. “No. No, Trace. I … did I hurt him?”

  “It was an accident,” Trace whispered. “Truth was, I didn’t even think you were capable of more than a few tricks. Your mother certainly didn’t have much to show for the blood in her veins. But you … you were different.” She looked deep into Maggie’s eyes. “You were so horrified, you shut yourself down. You made yourself forget … everything. And I thought … I thought it was for the best. So did your … your granddaddy.”

  “My uncle.” She breathed, remembering the old man—who had never shown a sign of fear around her, who had loved her as his own. Maggie was certain of that. She knew, in her heart, that much.

  Samuel said, “And the demon? How did he find her?”

  “Blood calls to blood.” Trace crouched in front of Maggie. “He would have felt something, the closer he got. I was afraid of that happening one day. When I heard about those men and their motorcycles coming east, raiding Enclaves, I wondered if it might be them. I suspected. Made me worried they could catch your scent. I knew the truth when you described who visited that day, and knocked you flat on your ass. So I took off to find those brother numbnuts. I had words with them. Made a bargain. Irdu had to leave you with free choice, and if … if you chose him, I wouldn’t interfere.”

  Maggie forced herself to breathe. “Is that why Ekir had your necklace?”

  Trace grunted. “I made Ekir think he had a prize. You’re not the only one who can see the future. I knew what would make you leave home. Irdu thought it would be him, that you’d be so enamored, you’d think of nothing else. Didn’t know my Maggie. Not turned by a pretty head.”

  Samuel’s arms tightened around Maggie. Trace added, “Until now, maybe.”

  Maggie covered her face. “Why so much interest in me?”

  “You would have been strong enough to bear him a child,” Trace said bluntly. “Children are rare among our kind. Those we consume don’t survive too much, and only if we let ’em. Doesn’t happen often.”

  Chills raced over Maggie’s skin. She forced herself to look at Trace and said, “They were scared of you.”

  A grunt of laughter escaped the old woman’s throat. “And now you, Maggie Greene. Now you.”

  They burned the bodies, including the cape of feathers that had belonged to Samuel’s long-dead love. It was easier than trying to dig below the leaves and hit concrete.

  Maggie did not stay and watch. At dawn, she walked inside the city, and listened to the birds sing, and watched the sunlight trickle through the green-budding branches. Spring, even here. Among the bones and ruins that in another twenty years might be lost forever in the endless tangled green.

  But this place was not dead, she thought. There was life. Maybe not human, but there was life.

  Trace had left her mules and wagon hitched somewhere on the northern side of the forest, and she went to fetch them. While she was gone, Maggie found Irdu’s and Ekir’s motorcycles, parked on the other side of the bookstore. The keys were in the ignition. She had found a gas station nearby.

  A crow cawed once, sharply, above her head. Maggie looked up and watched the bird swoop low behind some bushes. Moments later, a human man pushed free, holding his cape of feathers around his waist.

  “I think I’ve seen it all,” Maggie said dryly.

  A faint flush warmed his cheeks. “Until you return the favor, I think I will attempt some modesty.”

  She smiled—and marveled that she could. “Thank you. For everything.”

  Samuel looked away. “I did nothing. You saved yourself.” He cleared his throat and looked down at his feet. “I suppose you will be going home. No reason not to.”

  “I don’t know,” Maggie said, running her fingers along the motorcycle; no longer quite so in love with the machine, but still in awe. “The world is big. I’m here now. I think … I think I might like to see more of it. Other cities. Other kinds of … people.”

  “Your home,” Samuel said, moving closer, studying her face. “Your things.”

  Maggie swayed near him. “Things are just that. And
I know where to find more now, if I really need anything.” She hesitated, searching his eyes—trying to see the root of him, the corners of his soul. “You want to come with me? I could use a friend.”

  So simple. A straightforward question, heavier than the air around them, but Maggie had been through too much to care. Too much.

  And she was not going to be afraid of her heart.

  Wind sifted through Samuel’s dark hair and feathers, and a faint, warm smile touched his mouth. “What would we do?”

  “Talk, I guess,” Maggie said carefully, also beginning to smile. “Same as always. We could find another forest. One without … you know, life-stealing demons.”

  “You’re a life-stealing demon.”

  “But I won’t steal you.”

  “Are you sure about that?” But Samuel was laughing now, silently, and when Maggie climbed on the motorcycle, he slid behind her, naked, his large elegant hands curling around her waist. Maggie turned her head and kissed him hard on the mouth. He tasted good.

  She started the engine. And they flew away, into the forest.

  Been down with the devil in the Dalling Road

  One place I don’t want to go

  —The Pogues

  Edinburgh, 1990

  The Crucifixion Club smelled like whiskey, smoke, and piss. The Poor Dead Bastards were on the downside of their second set, and the crowd had thinned to the diehards, the drunks, and the groupies.

  Jack Winter leaned on his mike stand, feeling sweat droplets lick their way down his spine. Thank fuck for the groupies. They were the only thing that made some nights worthwhile.

  Brown glass from a lager bottle crunched under Jack’s boots as he grabbed the mike again, Gavin’s drumming, like a heart in fibrillation, signaled the start of “Lockstep,” the big finish, the big ending that should have them on their feet in the pit, at one another’s throats—punks throwing elbows into skinheads, blood washed out by the janitor’s mop at the night’s end.

  No one in the Crucifixion Club got the message. Jack shot a glance to the right, Rich the guitar player, to the left, Dix on bass. Then he threw the microphone down, into the pit. “You know what? Fuck it. You can piss off, the lot of you kilt-lifting wank-sacks.”