by Erin Hayes
I don’t say anything to that. How can you when you haven’t seen the person in decades? She risked coming here to see me? When Nakir is leading them to their deaths?
She keeps watching me, though, and I still have that strange, transparent feel to my body, like she can see all of my muscles, tendons, even my very own thoughts.
Which are not very safe.
“I just wanted to see you,” she repeats softly.
I stiffen. “Do you really think you have a chance?” I ask, changing the subject. I don’t know how to address what she said. Or process any of it.
She seems to know this, too, and goes along with my change in subject.
“Even just the slightest chance makes it all worth it.” She licks her full lips. “I know you made the ultimate sacrifice in the past to do this. I know it was cruel to ask you to try again, and I’m sorry for that.” Her face softens. “But I’m glad I got to see you. Even if it was for the last time.”
She turns to head back into the Lodge. “You should probably come in soon,” she says, nodding at the hatchet. “I may have given you an extra thirty minutes of energy, but it’s not even noon yet; if you push yourself too hard, you’re going to go into Hibernation out here. And I wouldn’t forgive myself if that happened.”
Before Jennet disappears in the Doorway, I ask, “How did… How did you meet Nakir? Last thing I knew, he hated any witch.”
She chuckles lightly. “That’s probably why the curse hasn’t been broken in fifty years.” She winks at me, and I feel something shudder to life within my chest. “You’d be surprised what a witch can do when she sets her mind to it.”
Then she’s gone. I look back at the hatchet, and, deciding that it is indeed too much effort to take it back to the shed and clean up my mess, leave the damn thing in the tree.
Chapter 6
Rahym. Rahym, wake up!
I fight my subconscious at first. I feel weak, with the Hibernation just minutes away from grabbing me and collapsing me into oblivion. I know that I’ve expended too much energy today, and if I wake up and have trouble falling back asleep, I’m going to lose control of my body to the curse.
But there’s something that makes me pay attention. A smell lingers in the air. One that chills me all the way to the bone.
Mainly because I recognize what it is.
“Shit!” I yell, springing to my feet, the last vestiges of sleep sloughing off me as panic overtakes me.
Something is burning. And as I take stock of my surroundings, I realize that the Lodge is going up in flames.
“Yusup!” I yell, running out of my personal quarters and heading for the landing on the second floor. “Faruk! We have a situation!”
Do we ever.
I don’t answer as I breathe heavily, despite telling myself that I shouldn’t inhale the smoke-filled air. The fire is on the bottom floor, licking its way up the rafters to the second floor. I have guests on both floors. Guests who may be sleeping. Or in the throes of their Hibernations.
They’re going to die if I don’t do something.
“FARUK! YUSUP!”
Moments later, I’m greeted by Faruk, a big man himself, although not as big as Yusup. He’s dressed in a pair of trousers, looking as if he has just been jostled from sleep like me.
“Boss?” he asks. He looks down the stairs, fear in his eyes.
“Where’s Yusup?” I demand.
“Hibernation,” he answers. Worry drips from his voice like amber. He knows how little chance we have of saving everyone without Yusup’s help.
I curse under my breath. I shouldn’t work my staff this much. Not to the point of them losing control over their bodies like this. I know better.
Take action, Rahym. Berate yourself later.
Deal with the consequences later.
“Get the rest of the staff—those who can get up. Knock on all the Doors on the second floor and get our guests out of here!”
Maysa always wanted to protect and save weary travelers. And I realize with rising dread that I’m not going to be able to protect all of them.
Faruk nods without further comment and gets to work, ticking off the first item on my short to-do list that I gave him. Good man.
I run downstairs, ready to deal with the truly exhausted, those who couldn’t make it up the stairs.
To my surprise, Nakir intercepts me at the base of the stairs. “Evacuation?” he asks.
“Yes.” I glare at him, as if he’s the cause of all this. And, most likely, he is. I saw the demonlings’ cloud of dust rising earlier today when there hadn’t been any sort of activity from them for weeks. The coincidence was too much. Why the fuck didn’t I do something to stop it?
More to the point, why didn’t I send Nakir packing when he showed up last night?
Because you have a soft spot for Jennet?
And Nakir probably knew that. Well played, asshole. Now I’ll have to play well myself in order to save all of us.
“Get your crew out of here,” I tell him. “And watch out for demonlings!”
Nakir doesn’t nod and doesn’t say anything. He’s on his feet, gathering up the small band of people that he brought with him. Some stir awake.
Some don’t.
Goddammit. Some of them have already fallen into Hibernation.
Nakir grabs them anyway, hefting them over his shoulders like sacks of potatoes. I glance back up the stairs, concerned as I haven’t seen Yusup or Faruk or the others. I have six other guests who were staying here, innocent bystanders to the destruction that Nakir brought with him.
I should have known.
Save it.
As if to punctuate my subconscious, I hear the splintering crack of a support beam as fire eats away at it. The upstairs won’t last much longer. And if we’re in here when the building collapses…
“FARUK!” I leap over the counter and grab my yataghan. The Lodge being on fire isn’t the only thing that I’m worried about. I’m more concerned about the ugly motherfuckers that want to greet us out front. That’s the only reason they’d set fire to my Lodge.
I know that when buildings caught fire in the old days, there were ways of putting it out. In fact, there were so-called “fire-men” who would rush in to douse the flames with water. With the advent of the curse, we no longer have the luxury of saving anything but our own asses.
If we’re lucky.
“FARUK!” I roar again.
“Move, human!”
I don’t recognize the voice—a young, female voice that is higher pitched and more lilting than Jennet’s.
But I learned long ago not to question who’s ordering, only to heed what they’re ordering, and I oblige without hesitation.
I swivel and duck to see Jennet standing in the middle of the great room, flanked by three of the Halos that she came in with. Her hand is on an older woman, and I see the purple glow of power seeping into the older woman’s exposed arms. Jennet’s eyes are closed, as if she’s in deep concentration.
And the elderly woman, with her white hair pulled back into a knot at the nape of her neck, is glaring up at the fire eating up the staircase. Her eyes shimmer with unnatural power as well.
I realize what she is. And a quick glance at the other two people with Jennet confirm what they are as well.
Witches.
One’s a short, thin man, and the other is a young woman, probably still in her teens. She’s shooting daggers at me with her eyes, confirming that she’s the one who yelled at me to move. She motions with her arm for me to stand next to them.
In a building that’s burning down, the safest place is probably next to the witches.
True.
I hurry to them, and they include me in their circle. It certainly doesn’t feel safer here.
“The fire,” the older woman says through gritted teeth. “There’s too much.”
She must have thought she could control it, which makes me wonder if she has elemental abilities over fire. If she’s a fir
e elemental, she should be able to weave and bend the fire at will. If she can’t, that doesn’t give me much hope we’ll survive.
Jennet takes in a shuddering breath. Fascinated, I watch as she pushes a surge of purple power into the older woman’s body. “Try again.”
The older woman nods, her eyes never leaving the all-consuming fire. “I…” she says. “I can’t—”
But she’s not the one who passes out. Jennet gasps as her knees buckle, and the rest of her falls like a house of cards as the Hibernation takes control of her body. She spent herself in helping the older woman, and she’s now paying the price.
I’m too slow to catch her, but the man next to me does. He grunts as he takes the weight of her body.
“Jennet!” the girl cries.
“I’ve got her,” the man says, straining under Jennet’s slight weight.
The older woman breathes heavily, the glisten of sweat on her cheeks. “I can’t save us,” she whispers. “We have to leave. Now.”
The man next to me grunts. “Let’s go.”
I look up to see Nakir carrying four people over his shoulders and one in his arms. Several others are with them, conscious, and with Faruk dragging Yusup’s big body, I let out a sigh of relief that everyone is accounted for.
You haven’t let down Maysa yet.
“Yet,” I mumble. My eyes focus on Nakir, and that propels my brain forward. “We can’t leave. Not with those things out there.”
Nakir gives me a cool look. “Then what do you suggest we do?”
I open my mouth, but I’m cut off by the loud groaning of support beams weakening.
We’re going to die if we don’t get out of here.
We’re going to die if we go out there anyway.
The girl next to me closes her eyes and hums lightly as her hair moves as if it’s floating in the breeze. She concentrates for a long moment, then opens her eyes.
“There are seven demonlings out there,” she says determinedly. More magic, this time in the form of sensing where the demonlings are. Who are these people that Nakir found? “Four out front and three in the back.” Her eyes snap open, and she proudly lifts her chin as she talks to Nakir. “If we go out both Doors at once, we’ll catch them off guard.”
She’s insane. I don’t even know if the back Door is unblocked.
Nakir, meanwhile, takes this in stride. “Right. Rahym, you lead Sena, Kerem, and Nury through the back since you know your Lodge. I’ll face the others out front.”
I want to protest, but he passes by me, and I see the scabbard strapped to his back. He still has that Godforsaken Sword of Jan strapped on. Five feet of Damascus steel and a bone handle, it takes inhuman strength to wield the weapon.
The sword can slice through the fabric of time and space—that’s another thing he’s told me, but I don’t doubt that if he’s greeted by demonlings in the front, he’ll have no trouble dispatching them.
Meanwhile, my group will be slaughtered. I look to the three that I’m with—Sena the elderly woman, Kerem the wiry man carrying Jennet, and the man who passed out when the Halos arrived last night—and I wonder what the hell they could do to stop demonlings from killing us.
Nothing.
The yataghan in my hand feels slippery from sweat. The heat is building in here now, and it’s either we leave now and die at the hands of the demonlings or we die inside the Lodge.
“It’s never easy,” I mutter under my breath.
Nakir gets a wide grin as he regards me. “That’s the spirit, Rahym.”
He rushes toward the entrance. I swallow, feeling the lump at my throat bob up and down in nervousness as I look to my small group. They wait for my answer, as if I’m supposed to lead them. I can’t help feeling like I’ve turned into Nakir and I’m now leading them to their deaths.
“This way.”
They follow me out the back like shadows. I keep glancing behind me to make sure that Jennet is still with us, that Kerem hasn’t discarded her in favor of faster travel.
He’s carrying her like a lamb across his shoulders.
To my immense relief, the back Door to the Lodge, where one leaves to use the outhouse, isn’t blocked by fire or any fallen beams. But as we walk toward it, the hallway collapses behind us.
The older woman looks back at the timbers and bricks now blocking us from any alternative route. “Looks like this is our only way out now.” Her mood is almost detached, as if she’s watching this happen to someone else.
Meanwhile, I’m trying not to let my eyes bulge out of their sockets.
“Too bad Fatma’s not with us to see if the demonlings are still here,” Nury says. The cheeks of the young man burn intensely at that comment. Kerem shares a knowing smile with the old woman, and I’m so goddamn tired of pseudo-heroics from these people.
“How good are you with that yataghan, miner?” the old woman asks.
“Decent.” I grip it harder. “But it won’t help if there are too many demonlings.”
That knowing smile from the old woman widens. “Just trust me to keep the flames at bay.”
I want to tell her that, no, I don’t trust her one bit. In the short time I’ve known her, she’s failed to gain my trust one hundred percent of the time.
But what choice do you have right now?
“And I’ve got your back,” the young man—Nury—says, unsheathing a small dagger. It gives me a little more confidence, but small daggers, yataghans, and bravado won’t save us. A miracle will.
Here goes nothing.
I throw the Door open out to the cold desert air of the night. Out here, a breeze blows that smells slightly of the ash from the Door. There’s something else; something pungent and rank hits my nose and threatens to choke me.
I see why.
Those bastard demonlings even set fire to the shithouse with their torches. No wonder I’m choking, although it seems like a smart tactic as my eyes are watering so badly right now, I can’t see.
Some fighter I am.
And then I’m attacked by a demonling that launches itself from the roof of the back patio. It lands on me, its claws raking across my back as it looks for purchase in my flesh. I feel my night clothes immediately soak from blood.
I roar, straightening as I fling it off me, hacking away with my yataghan. It catches the demonling by surprise, grazing its upper bicep with the blade of my knife. Illuminated by the fires, I can see it literally licking its wounds as it glares at me.
“I forgot how ugly you assholes are.”
The word demonling makes them sound like little gremlins, but they stand just shy of an average man’s height with thick, rubbery, rust-red skin. This one has a pair of horns curling from just above its brow line, and it has a bad underbite, its lower teeth protruding in haphazard brick shapes. There is a tuft of black hair on its ugly head, and its yellow eyes watch me as it snarls. Its tail whips about like a pissed-off cat.
I need to do more than piss it off.
And this is just one. There are two others, and I have no idea where they might be hiding.
Inhuman screams from the front of the Lodge distract both of us. It takes me a moment to realize what happened, but as it cuts off shortly, another scream rents the night, and it clicks into place. Nakir is taking care of the demonlings out front. Well, good for him. That does nothing to help me back here.
Meanwhile, things do not go well with the demonling in front of me.
The thing rears back and screeches at me, spittle flying in my face, with breath that matches the horrid odor from the burning shithouse.
I respond by kicking it in the face—anything to shut that maw.
Another weight lands on my back, and I stagger, too overwhelmed to deal with the growling beast in front of me and its companion now on my back. I flail, trying to dislodge it, but I can’t take my eyes off the first demonling because if I do, it’ll attack me. They’re sneaky like that.
“Some help!” I shout to my group.
At firs
t, I don’t see anything, but then Nury tears the thing off my back and, with lightning-quick motions, slits the demonling’s throat. The beast splutters as black blood spews from the wound.
One down.
Did not expect that kind of attack out of the embarrassed young man. Apparently, he’s good with a blade. I make a mental note not to piss him off if we make it through this alive.
I want to say thanks, but we don’t have time, and I don’t want to distract him.
“Behind you!” Sena shouts.
I turn, a moment too late, to see a thrown torch hurtling toward me. The inferno reaches out, ready to take me as I hear the rumbling laughter of the demonling behind it.
The fire stops, as if it hit a glass wall, unable to pass through it. This surprises both the demonling and me.
“Move, Rahym!” the old woman shouts, a strain to her voice.
She’s doing something to the fire.
I don’t dare question it. I sprint, catching the demonling in the chest with a hack of my yataghan. It screeches, clutching at the gaping wound, and I kick it to the ground. The young man at my side slices through the demonling’s neck, and its head flies to land in the sand, blood steaming in the night.
Two down.
Never thought we’d make it this far. But still…
“Where’s the other one?” I demand. I whirl, looking around us, to see if I can spot it.
Then I do, as it catches me in the side, its claws tearing into the flesh just below my ribcage. The agony tears through me, and I scream.
This demonling is smaller than the other two, but its laughter is deeper. It knows what it’s doing to me, how much it hurts, and it’s enjoying it.
It’s all too much.
I don’t know what comes over me. Something ugly. Something feral that won’t be sated until the beast that is impaling me is dead. It’s the same feral thing that made me not kill myself in the despair after my wife’s and daughter’s deaths.
It’s survival. And I bend it to my will, grabbing my yataghan as I spear the demonling in the eye. It falls to the ground, dying, but I’m not done with it yet. I proceed to hack away at it while the hot, black blood lands on me and spills out around me.