As the afternoon wore on, other customers arrived. Most eyed Alex and the short sword lying by his feet warily and avoided him. He didn't care. The last thing he wanted was to chat. He couldn't remember how many drinks he had had, but it wasn't nearly enough.
"Nuther," he slurred.
The bartender watched him, a frown on her lips. "You sure you haven't had enough?"
A tall, thin man, bald with a ruddy complexion and oversized ears, stepped up to the bar beside Alex. He wore camouflage fatigues with an MP's armband and equipment belt, including handcuffs and a pistol. The MP stared at the sword resting against the brass rail, and Alex sighed, surprised it had taken this long for someone to call the cops.
The MP climbed atop the stool next to Alex. "Bring the man his drink, Gladys. While you're at it, get me the same."
She frowned but served them both before moving away to tend to another pair of customers at the far end of the bar.
"Thanks," Alex said. The tequila wasn't burning his throat anymore.
The MP sipped his own tequila and sighed in pleasure, his eyes closed. He turned to face Alex, holding his hand out. "Andy."
"Alex," he said, shaking it.
Andy glanced at the sword. "I know who you are."
"I'm nobody."
"Well, I've heard good things about you, Alex. Word is you're taking the fight to those dark-elf pricks. Makes you a double hero."
Alex glanced at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes bloodshot. When was the last time he slept? "Not everyone shares your enthusiasm."
Andy snorted. "You can't kill enough dark elves, as far as I'm concerned. I was gonna sign up for one of the Ranger patrols myself, but… well, I'm needed here."
"These Children of Gaia fanatics keep you guys busy?"
Andy sighed. "Not so much as you'd think. Lot of talk, little substance."
"That’s usually the way."
Andy glanced at Witch-Bane. "So that's it, eh? Is it true?"
"It's true."
"Do you mind?"
"Help yourself, but be careful, it's as sharp as the day I took it from Ulfir." He bent down then paused as a wave of dizziness swept through him. Shaking his head, he picked up the sheathed sword and handed it to the MP.
Andy drew the short sword, its red blade gleaming. His eyes drifted approvingly over the flawless steel, and he turned on his stool and made several short whistling cuts at the air, earning looks of disproval from the other customers. "I don't know jack shit about swords, my friend, but this is perfectly balanced and lighter than you'd think. It freaking sings."
"It does the job."
Andy slid the sword into its sheath and handed it back to Alex. "I felt nothing… different."
"You wouldn't, even if you were a mag-sens—until you tried to channel mana. The blade glows near magic… just before it nullifies it."
"All magic?"
"Sure, lightning bolts, fireballs."
"Human magic too?"
"Everything."
Andy whistled in appreciation then grinned, a glint in his eyes. "Must be quite the surprise for the elf mages."
"Right up till the moment it slips past their ribs."
Andy chuckled and downed his tequila. "I'll drink to that." He raised his voice. "Hey, Gladys, two more."
While the bartender refilled their glasses, Alex saw Cassie Rogan with her short blond hair and pop-star beauty on the flat-screen TV set, doing an interview. The reporter was asking her about the children suffering from the radiation-mana sickness, and Cassie was trying to explain that their symptoms were getting worse, despite both mundane and magical treatment. Cassie was on the defensive as the reporter kept pushing her to explain why she couldn't heal the children with her Brace, the Ancient One talisman.
"You hear that shit?" Andy asked. "Just what the hell is an 'Ancient One,' anyhow?"
"Think Bigfoot."
Andy snorted. "Bullshit. So where'd they go?"
Alex shrugged. "Only ever saw the one, right after it gave Cassie the Brace and died."
"That's right, you two are friends."
"Been to war with that woman." He sipped his drink. "Just didn't win," he whispered.
"To fallen comrades," Andy said, holding up his shot glass.
"To fallen comrades." Alex rapped his glass against the other man's then downed the drink. He watched Cassie explain that the Brace could mitigate the symptoms but not cure the sickness. "That reporter needs to cut her some slack. At least she's kept the kids alive."
"Not all the kids," Andy said. He drowned his own drink, stood up, and waved his shot glass. "Gladys, two dead soldiers here."
Much later, Alex jerked his head up, confused but aware he must have passed out somewhere, a bar maybe. What he did know was that he was shit-faced drunk. Mission accomplished.
Two MPs were helping Andy, supporting him between them while the man mumbled about "the end of the world." Another pair of MPs held Alex by the arms, lifting him to his feet between them.
"Come on, Major," one said. "Party's over. You can sleep it off in a cell."
"Please don't," a woman pleaded. "I can take care of him."
Leela?
He passed out again.
When he came to, it was dark, and he was lying in bed as someone, Leela, pulled the covers up to his chin. He caught her wrist. "Me," he slurred, his lips and tongue too thick for speech. "Not you, me. I should have been there."
She pulled her wrist away and smoothed his hair. "You need to forgive yourself, Alex," she whispered. "It wasn't your fault."
"'Kay." He closed his eyes and fell back into a bottomless chasm.
Her words trailed behind him. "But everything after was."
15
Alex dreamed of his son.
In his dream, Noah was older, at least eight or nine. It was the Noah he would have been. He and Alex were at the cabin along the river, not the ugly walled settlement with its guard towers, sentries, and spotlights but the happier little community nestled beneath the shade of the trees on the riverbank. The sun was shining, the air crisp but cool, fall or early spring, and Alex sat with his back against a tree trunk, watching Noah skip stones across the sparkling water. Noah had a good arm. He'll be a ballplayer when—
The smell of smoke sent panic coursing through him, and he jumped to his feet, his heart pounding. Flames engulfed their log cabin as if they had been burning at least ten or fifteen minutes. Leela!
He ran for the cabin—and then remembered his son, but when he looked back, Noah wasn't there. And a heartbeat later, it was night.
Around him, homes burned, hellhounds howled, women and children screamed, and gunshots cracked through the air—and then he heard the screams of his son inside the burning cabin, but they were a baby's cries of fear and distress, not the young boy who had just been throwing stones. The Noah who would never be.
Fear twisted Alex's gut, and he bolted for the cabin door, but the flames and heat drove him back. A small part of his psyche whispered he hadn't been there that night and should have no memory of the boggart raid, but another part screamed it was real—and he had to do something. A long, drawn-out howl of pain twisted Alex's soul as the flames reached his son. Noah's burning! Again and again, he threw himself at the doorway, and each time, the fire, smoke, and heat pushed him back. He fell to his knees, crying out in anguish as Noah burned. Then the fires were gone.
Now, the cabin was charred old ruins with twisting vines and bushes growing among them. There wasn't even the faintest hint of smoke. In the east, the sky was crimson with the coming dawn. His fear vanished, replaced by sorrow. Noah was dead, had been dead for months. He'd never grow old enough to skip stones.
And it had been Alex's fault.
"Alex," a woman said from behind him.
He turned and stared in confusion at Elizabeth Chambers. She wore a light summer dress, bright yellow with a floral pattern, the kind you'd wear to church. The dawn's glow haloed her long brown hair.
"Elizabeth. Noah's burning."
She smiled, her large eyes shining with love. "No, Alex. Noah's safe. He's with me. I'll stay with him until you and Leela come." And somehow, she was now holding baby Noah in her arms. She looked down, smiling sweetly at him. His little hands reached for her face.
"I… I don't understand."
When a hellhound growled behind him, he spun around, his heart hammering. An entire pack of the beasts, their eyes glowing red, formed a semicircle a dozen paces away and creeping closer. His hand darted for Witch-Bane's hilt on his hip, but the sword wasn't there.
"They're just like us," Elizabeth said, "not that different, really."
"No, they're monsters," he argued, taking up a fighting stance. If he could get the hellhounds to attack him, Elizabeth could escape with Noah. One beast stepped closer, fire darting from its open jaws. Alex tensed to charge.
"I wasn't talking about the hellhounds."
And Elizabeth, Noah, and the hellhounds were gone.
He was alone in the dark.
A fog rolled in like a wave, brushing his thighs as he looked about wildly for his son. "Noah. Noah!"
"Noah!" Alex bolted upright, and sheets fell away from him. Sweat coated his face and chest, and his heart raced wildly. He was in bed, surrounded by darkness. His throat was parched, and pain throbbed in his skull.
He recognized Leela's scent and her touch as she sat up beside him and held him, holding his head against her chest.
"Shh," she whispered.
"Noah," he croaked. "I… I was with Noah—and Elizabeth."
She reached past him and picked up a glass of water and waited while he took it with trembling hands. Had he ever been this thirsty? He drank nearly the entire glass, his skull still pounding.
"Take these," she said, pushing two pills into his palm.
He swallowed them with the last sip of the water.
Then he remembered—the military base, the bar, and McKnight's mission. He fell back against the pillow, overcome by the knowledge that his son was dead, not skipping stones by the river. Leela rolled away, presenting her back to him. He lay there for minutes, listening to her breath, deep and regular. He tried to return to his son, even if it was only in sleep.
When Alex woke again, the bright sun stabbed through a gap in the curtains, lighting the military quarters. He smelled fresh coffee and heard a running shower. Groaning, his head still sore, he sat up, rubbing his eyes. He stared at the closed bathroom door then placed his face into the sheets where his wife had lain, inhaling her. Then he swung his legs over the side of the bed and waited for the motion sickness to recede. Two more pills sat by another glass of water on the bedside table, and he downed them, drinking the water.
A small two-cup coffee machine sat beside the flat-screen TV set, and he poured himself a cup before staggering to the curtains and peering past them. They were still on the base. A shadow grew as another massive flock blocked out the sun, their cries echoing. He sipped his coffee. What now?
The bathroom door opened, and Leela swept out, a towel wrapped around her. She watched him, her dark skin moist, the look in her large brown eyes indecipherable. "You gonna live?"
When he tried to speak, it came out as a mangled grunt. He coughed, clearing his throat. "Hope so."
She watched him for several moments then dressed, pulling on her underwear and bra.
He stared at her unblemished back. The wound was gone. Even after all these years, Cassie's healing skills amazed him. He stepped closer, raised his fingers to touch her back, then stopped himself. "I thought Dr. Ireland wanted to keep you…"
"I'm fine." She pulled on her jeans, a T-shirt, and a light gray hoodie. "Cassie fixed me but couldn't replace the blood I lost, so I stayed around while they pumped me with plasma."
"I'm sorry. I should have…"
"Don't worry about it. Cassie told me what McKnight wanted." She looked up at him, fixing him with her gaze. "I'm glad you said no. You've done enough, too much." She motioned to his clothing, which was folded on one of the plush armchairs. Relief coursed through him at the sight of Witch-Bane resting against a wall corner. "Get dressed. Cassie's picking me up, and she's bringing her daughter."
"I… they're sending Lee, her husband. He's taking my place."
"I know. I'm sorry for Cassie, but I'm still glad it's not you. Anyway, that's why she's coming. I'm going with her to the departure ceremony—do they call it that, a ceremony?"
"The machine is here?" he asked, realizing a moment later that of course McKnight would keep the Gateway Machine here, where it would be safe.
"Apparently." She sat to lace her boots. "You… you could come with us," she whispered, not looking at him. "I called Cassie while you were sleeping and told her you might be with me."
His thoughts raced as he dressed. She wasn't asking him to come to a deployment but offering him a chance to spend time with her. How is it possible after all I've done—all I haven't done—that she still wants to be near me? "Yeah, maybe… okay, I'll come." When he tried to lace his boots, fresh pain lanced through his skull, and he had to sit back and close his eyes.
Leela knelt before him and tied his laces. "You're not good at drinking."
"Tell me about it."
"What… what are you going to do?"
"I don't know. Last night I was talking shit about going back to Newfoundland, but…" He stared ahead, his gaze unfocused.
"Take your time. Figure it out. But I'll be there when you do. Okay?"
"Leela, why do you keep—"
She placed her fingers against his lips. "Shh. Not right now."
He nodded and walked inside the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Steam still covered the mirror, so he wiped away a patch to stare into his reflection. With his beard and gaunt features, he looked thirty years older than he was. He opened the medicine cabinet, finding spare toiletry supplies—toothbrushes, combs, even a small pair of trimming scissors, a razor, and shaving cream. Military temporary quarters were often this well stocked. Sometimes soldiers arrived with nothing but the clothing on their backs. Staring at his reflection once more, he took up the scissors and began to cut off his beard. Hair scattered about the sink, he picked up the razor blade and shaving cream.
When he was done, he left the bathroom.
Leela, standing in the kitchenette with the fridge door open, raised an eyebrow at his shaven features before smiling in appreciation. "Much better. There's bread and peanut butter and some fruit."
"Yeah, sure, please."
She made him a sandwich and peeled an orange. He watched her, his thoughts racing faster than his heart. "I… I was trying to balance the scales."
She hesitated, a small knife poised over the bread. "And now? Do you feel better?"
"I don't feel… anything."
Leela cut through the bread in one smooth motion, the blade grinding against the cutting board. "I should be so lucky."
They sat in silence as he ate.
When they heard an engine, Leela opened the curtains, and a blue minivan pulled up. "They're here."
Alex followed her outside. The base's temporary quarters looked like a motel, with a long row of suites and an ice machine and Laundromat at the end. Alex shivered in the cold desert air, rubbing his upper arms.
Cassie, dressed in jeans and a windbreaker, climbed out of the van. She rushed over and hugged Alex then stepped back, holding him at arm's length, her nose scrunched up. "Had a few, did we?"
"A few," he admitted.
She watched him, her deep-blue eyes filled with concern. "Listen, I'm a bitch. It's been so many years, and I've been so busy, but it's no excuse. I'm so, so sorry about your—"
"Thank you," he said, avoiding her eyes and changing the subject. "I saw you on TV last night."
"Oh God, I looked terrible."
"You looked great. You're famous now, the miracle worker. And by the way, thanks for saving Leela."
She waved a hand at him. "Cancer is tough. Gunsho
ts are easy."
"Listen, about Lee, I'm sorry I can't—"
"Lee's an officer now, one of Huck's platoon commanders. This is the price you pay for being an army wife, right?"
"He's a good man. So is Kargin—well, dwarf. But Kargin will keep him safe."
"I know he will. Anyhow, why should I be the only one in this family to travel to another world? Hardly seems fair."
Despite her words, Alex heard the strain in her voice. They had been through too much together. He placed his hand on her shoulder. "He'll be fine."
She nodded, looking away just as her eyes watered. She composed herself and pulled open the van's side door.
"Here," said Leela, thrusting Witch-Bane into his hands. "I imagine you don't want to leave it sitting in the suite."
Cassie, once more in control, glanced at the sword, a frown on her face. "The MPs won't let you in with that. You sure you don't want to lock it up?"
"I'm not leaving it."
Leela stuck her head inside the van. "Well, hello, sweetie," she said in a bright voice. "Aren't you the little angel?"
"Most days," said Cassie with a smile.
Alex leaned in to see the minivan's occupant, a little girl, only four years old, strapped into a child's seat. The resemblance to Cassie was unmistakable, but in place of Cassie's blond hair, the little girl's long hair was bone-white, like a dark elf's, and her eyes were a deep, unnatural violet, even absent the white sclera. Her skin was so pale he could see veins running beneath it. He didn't react to the girl's appearance. He had seen too many ghost children in the last few years. "Hello, little princess," he said, flashing a bright smile. "What's your name?"
"Lizzy," she answered in a tiny hesitant voice.
Alex's smile vanished, and a wave of dizziness swept through him—Elizabeth.
Leela wrapped an arm around his waist, half supporting him, and squeezed.
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