Sacrifices

by Mercedes Lackey

  She wondered if it was worse to be locked up and told you were crazy when you weren’t, or to be believed when you described things that you knew were impossible. Tough choice. After a few minutes’ walk, they stopped at the only mailbox they’d seen. Burke shined his flashlight on it. 1642 PARK AVENUE ROAD was painted on the side in messy black letters.

  “This is it,” Spirit said unnecessarily.

  The house was an old white farmhouse—or at least, it had been painted white at some point. Now it was mostly raw gray wood. There was just enough light to show the rusted-out junker half buried in snow in the front yard, the windows covered with ragged plastic sheets. The snow was deep and untouched; it had drifted up over the front porch and covered half the door. There were no lights anywhere to be seen.

  I knew it was too easy.

  Her shoulders slumped in disappointment. The place was obviously deserted, and she had no idea where else to look for Stephen Wolferman. “There’s no one here,” she said, but when she turned to Burke, he was smiling.

  “You might have lived out back of Beyond, but I guess you didn’t have much to do with farm folks,” he said. “Let’s try around back.”

  Their boots crunched through the snow as they walked up the driveway. The driveway hadn’t been shoveled all winter, and Spirit couldn’t see how Burke could possibly imagine anyone was living here. But when they reached the back of the house, she saw light gleaming through the cracks in the aluminum foil that covered the inside of the windows. There was someone here after all, but the sight of the aluminum foil made her hesitate—it didn’t look very encouraging.

  Burke ignored her hesitation and walked right up to the back door. He knocked firmly.

  “Maybe he isn’t home,” Spirit whispered, when no one came to answer it.

  “In Radial on a Sunday night?” Burke asked, and knocked again.

  Eventually the door opened just wide enough for the house’s occupant to look out. He regarded them silently.

  “Mr. Wolferman?” Spirit said uncertainly. “Could we talk to you? I’m Spirit and this is Burke. We need your help.”

  “I can’t help anybody,” Wolfman said, sounding scared. He started to close the door.

  “We brought you some presents,” Burke said quickly.

  Spirit glanced at Burke in puzzlement, but Wolfman opened the door, and for the first time, she actually got a good look at him. He was unshaven and potbellied and his long hair was nearly white. His appearance was a shock, and she realized she’d been expecting him to look the way he did in the photos from the old stories. But the “Hellriders Massacre” had taken place nearly forty years ago. Wolfman was in his sixties.

  When they followed him into the kitchen, Spirit was suddenly very glad Burke was with her. The only light came from scores of big white jar candles clustered on every surface.

  And the walls were covered with handmade wooden crosses.

  Dozens of them.

  What have I gotten us into? she thought.

  “You said you had presents,” Wolfman prompted.

  “Sure did,” Burke said. He began digging through the pockets of his jacket and emptying their contents onto the kitchen table: a dozen of the big-size Hershey bars and a pint of whiskey. Muirin, he mouthed at Spirit.

  “Sit down, sit down,” Wolfman said. “Kitchen company’s the best kind, right?”

  Spirit sat down at the table. Burke took the chair beside her. She’d expected the table to be dirty, but it was so clean it squeaked. It was hard to be sure in the flickering candlelight, but the whole kitchen looked as if it had been scrubbed so hard and so long that the finish had been worn off of everything, including the faded linoleum. Everything she could see was shabby and ancient, as if she’d walked into some kind of weird time capsule of the 1950s.

  “Would you like something to drink? I have water. It’s good. From the well,” Wolfman said. He seemed anxious to please them—and weirdly childlike.

  “That would be great,” Burke answered.

  Spirit had assumed he’d been sent to the mental hospital because the story he’d told was unbelievable. Now she wasn’t so sure. She looked around, trying not to seem as if she was, while Wolfman opened the cabinet and took down two glasses. He filled them at the sink, rinsing them carefully, then brought them to the table. Then he sat down, picked up the whiskey, and poured some into the coffee cup already there.

  “What are you doing out so late at night?” Wolfman asked. It wasn’t even six o’clock, but Spirit supposed if you lived by candlelight, you’d go to bed early.

  “We wanted to talk to you about the Hellriders,” Spirit said cautiously.

  “You know the ’riders?” Wolfman asked eagerly.

  “We want to know about them—about you,” Spirit said.

  “Aww, we were the best. The guys, they were really great guys—” Wolfman smiled and nodded happily.

  It didn’t take much to get him talking. A lot of what he said didn’t make any sense to Spirit, and she didn’t want to confuse him by asking too many questions. She got the impression that he and someone named Kenny had been in the Army together back in the 1960s and had decided to bike cross-country when they got out. They hadn’t gotten further east than Radial. Somewhere along the way they’d become the Hellriders.

  “So I guess you had a … clubhouse?” she asked awkwardly, when Wolfman showed signs of slowing down. She had to figure out how to ask him about Oakhurst, but the more she saw of him, the harder doing that seemed.

  “Shhh!” he said sharply, looking around. “The aliens can listen through the electricity. That’s why I took out all the wires. But it’s okay. We’re safe here.”

  That was something Spirit doubted more by the minute.

  “Sure we are,” Burke said easily. “So it’s okay to talk about it, right? Or else you wouldn’t have let us in.”

  “That’s right,” Wolfman said, apparently completely willing to believe Burke. “Because Kenny said run. Kenny said run. I wanted to look for Kenny, but I never saw him again. Do you know where he is?”

  “I don’t. I’m sorry,” Burke said. “Why did Kenny tell you to run?”

  “I was in Vietnam. Me and Kenny. That’s how it started. It wasn’t a real war—it was a government cover-up because of the alien invasion. We got rid of them, you know, but then the government wanted to get rid of us, because we’d seen their secret ninja base, and we’d seen the aliens. They look like giant black snakes—with wings—and they can walk through walls but only when the electricity is on, so I don’t use electricity anymore. The mansion was safe too, because it didn’t have any electricity.…”

  If Wolfman had seemed only a little confused when he’d let them into the house, he’d gone rapidly downhill. But they had to find out what had happened.

  “But it wasn’t safe, was it?” Spirit asked daringly. “Something happened.”

  “Kenny said run,” Wolfman repeated, sounding forlorn. For a moment Spirit thought he wasn’t going to say anything else, but when he began to talk again, the vague hesitancy was gone from his voice, and he sounded like the man he must have been almost forty years before. “The night of the big storm there was bad voodoo going down. We all knew it. Couldn’t go for a run in the storm, and Bobby’d had a fight with his old lady, and Roadhog wouldn’t let up. Only … I guess it wasn’t Bobby after all, ’cause him and ’hog were friends. It was one of the aliens. They’d followed us back to our world. And it shot Roadhog, and that opened the interdimensional warp-gate to let the aliens out of the shadow universe and Kenny said run—Kenny said run, Wolfie, run, run, run—and there was blood everywhere and the shadows came out of the blood and Trace was gone, and Bobby was gone, and Preach was gone and I ran and I ran…”

  His voice had gone high and shaky while he was talking; he drew a sobbing breath and scrubbed at his eyes. Under the edge of the table, Burke reached for her hand, and Spirit clutched his gratefully. It was easy enough to read between the lines: Bobby kille
d Roadhog—somehow freeing Mordred from the oak tree—and half the Hellriders ended up as Shadow Knights and the other half ended up dead.

  How is this my life? Spirit thought bitterly. This wasn’t even the creepiest thing that had happened to her this week!

  “I’m the only one who remembers,” Wolfman finished sadly. “And I will always remember, because if I remember, the ninja aliens can’t win.”

  He got to his feet and walked over to the refrigerator. When he opened it, it was dark inside (no electricity), and he obviously used it for storage. He brought out a flat object wrapped in an old t-shirt and set it on the table in front of them.

  “This is me and Kenny,” he said, unwrapping it. “See?”

  The framed photo was old and faded. It looked like something out of a movie. Two young men wearing jungle fatigues, arms around each other’s shoulders, grinning at the camera. “Kenny was my best friend. Kenny said run, Kenny said run. You haven’t seen Kenny, have you?” Wolfman asked again plaintively.

  Beside her, Spirit heard Burke draw a quick startled breath.

  What would you do if I said I saw Kenny this morning? she thought wildly.

  One of the men in the photograph was clearly Stephen Wolferman, at a much younger age. And the man standing beside him—Kenny—could only be Doctor Ambrosius.

  Kenny, who’d told Wolfman to run the night of the “Hellriders Massacre.”

  If Dr. Ambrosius had been Kenny then, had he had magic? If not, how had he gotten it? How had he become … him?

  Was there any chance they’d found—Merlin?

  * * *

  They made their escape as quickly as they could after seeing the photo. Wolfman had told them all he could, and—everything else aside—if they spent too long here, Muirin might just go back to Oakhurst by herself.

  “That was…” Spirit said as soon as they’d reached the road. It seemed darker and more threatening now than it had when they’d arrived. She had the feeling of being watched, even though there wasn’t anyone in sight, but at least she wasn’t sitting in a kitchen full of candles and crosses listening to somebody talk about an alien conspiracy.

  “Poor guy,” Burke said. “But I guess we’ve got our proof now.”

  Spirit shivered, but not because of the cold. “Maybe,” she said hesitantly. There was something about Wolfman’s story that didn’t make sense, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

  “Wish we could’ve taken the picture with us—you know, for proof,” Burke said.

  “Maybe we can find a copy of it somewhere,” Spirit said absently. Muirin could. If only I—

  There was a sharp crack, and she jumped and squeaked.

  “Branch coming down,” Burke said reassuringly, pointing. “Lotta ice still on the trees.”

  “I guess,” Spirit said doubtfully. “Hurry up. I’m freezing,” she added, walking faster.

  They passed the library and walked on into town. Most of Main Street was closed up and dark, but The Fortress was lit up as bright as day (Spirit thought it would probably still be lit up at midnight; what a waste of energy), so there was plenty of light to see by. As they got further into town, she could see there were a lot of cars on the street, for some reason.

  “Looks like they got tired of their fancy rec room,” Burke said, sounding disgusted. He nodded toward the pizza joint, one of the few storefronts that was lit up. It was crammed with people. Spirit recognized Clark and Mandy from Breakthrough and a few other people she’d seen around Oakhurst but couldn’t put names to.

  “I guess they’re boosting the local economy,” she said darkly. Most of the people she could see were Breakthrough employees. “So much for nobody knowing we snuck off campus.”

  “Maybe that’s a good thing,” Burke said slowly. Spirit looked at him in confusion. “I’m thinking they might feel better if they think they’ve got something on us. And, well, it isn’t as if they can do much worse to us than they’re doing now.”

  “I hope you’re right about that,” Spirit said. She took a deep breath and followed Burke as he crossed the street and pushed open the door.

  A couple of the Breakthrough people waved at them as they entered. Feeling oddly guilty, Spirit waved back. The noise—laughter, and a dozen different conversations, and music—was jolting after the quiet of the night outside. It sounded so strange, and after a moment Spirit realized why. Even at the school dances everyone was … careful. They all knew they were being watched—and judged. But there was no sense of that here.

  Besides the Breakthrough wonks, there were a bunch of Townies, all within a few years of her age. She recognized Brett and Adam, and she’d have bet real money (if she’d had any) Breakthrough was picking up the tab for everybody’s pizzas and Cokes here tonight. She saw some Oakhurst kids, too—Joe Rogers (of course), Sarah Ellis, and a couple of others whose names she wasn’t sure of.

  At least Burke and I aren’t the only ones breaking the rules tonight, she thought. But maybe the others aren’t. Maybe they’re being courted by the Shadow Knights. Just the way Muirin is. Joe looked up when she and Burke walked in, but instead of the sneer she expected to see on his face, Joe just looked thoughtful.

  “There’s Murr,” Burke said, pointing.

  Muirin was in a booth near the counter. Spirit was relieved to see Ovcharenko wasn’t with her, but she wasn’t alone. There were three people—two men and a woman—sitting in the booth with her. All three of them wore red polo shirts with the Breakthrough logo embroidered on them where the pony or the golfer or the alligator went.

  “Way to be inconspicuous,” Spirit groaned quietly. Burke squeezed her hand understandingly.

  “Hey, guys, ready to order?” Muirin called when she saw them. “Anything you want! Breakthrough’s buying!” She waved a slice of pizza.

  Thought so. “I kind of want to get back,” Spirit said. “I need to study.”

  “Hey, you can’t study all the time,” one of the Breakthrough guys said. “Spirit, isn’t it? Ken Abrams, Graphic Design.” He smiled at her.

  “I guess we’ve got time for a slice,” Burke said. “C’mon.”

  Ken got up and brought a pie and an armful of Cokes back to the table. The other two Breakthrough people were Judy and Brian; all three of them worked in the graphic design department.

  “These two geeks use Photoshop,” Judy said, laughing as she punched Brian in the shoulder. “I’m a paper-and-pencils type myself.”

  The three of them were happy enough to monopolize the conversation—mostly about how wonderful working for Breakthrough was, and how you didn’t need to be a hotshot programmer to work there. It would have made a great recruiting pitch if Spirit hadn’t known the truth. She concentrated on her pizza while Brian and Ken tried to convince Burke Breakthrough would be happy to hire him in their motion-capture department. Not as a programmer, but as a model.

  “Face it, big guy, slap a horned helmet on your head and put a sword in your hand and you could storm the gates of any citadel we’ve got,” Ken said.

  “Nice to know,” Burke said genially. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Fortunately, Muirin was curious enough about what they’d found out to want to leave fairly soon, much to Spirit’s relief. She’d had visions of having to spend hours pretending she wanted to hang out with Muirin’s new friends.

  But it was her idea to give Burke that stuff for Wolfman. So no matter what she acts like, she’s on our side.

  I hope.

  * * *

  “So. Give!” Muirin said, as soon as they got into the car. At least this time Burke could sit up front—there wasn’t a lot of point to hiding when half of Breakthrough had seen them in Radial tonight. “What did he tell you?”

  Maybe if I tell her about the photo, she’ll realize it’s too dangerous to keep leading those guys on the way she is. She always thinks she’s smarter than everyone else, but they’ll figure it out. And then what will happen to her? “He showed us—” Spirit began.

>   “According to Mr. Wolferman, Earth has been invaded by alien ninjas from the Shadow Dimension,” Burke said. “I guess I wasn’t counting on much once I saw he’d lined the house with aluminum foil.”

  So Burke doesn’t trust Muirin either, Spirit thought in surprise. She wasn’t sure what to think about that.

  “Awww, too bad, Burksie,” Muirin said, snickering. “Hey, I wonder why Ms. Groves hasn’t suggested using aluminum foil against the forces of Eeeevil in magic class? Think I should tell her about it?”

  “Yeah, even you would get detention forever if you tried that,” he said. “Just so you know, the alien ninjas look like snakes with dragon wings and can walk through your walls when you have electricity,” Burke continued. “Wolferman says he saw their secret base in Vietnam.”

  “Wow.” Muirin shook her head. “That’s messed up. But hey, at least you got a couple of hours outside the prison walls and a pizza out of it.”

  “It’s the little things you treasure,” Burke agreed gravely.

  * * *

  “You shouldn’t be out after curfew, Ms. Shae. It isn’t safe.”

  Muirin parked up in the motor pool again. The three of them had just gotten out of the car, when one of the Security patrols showed up. There were two of them, wearing black uniforms and—even in the middle of the night—sunglasses. Both of them were armed—and wearing body armor, it looked like.

  “Wanna see my pass, Dave?” Muirin said in her brattiest voice.

  Dave laughed, lowering the flashlight he’d been shining in their faces. “Guess not. But you be careful. We still haven’t caught that cat yet.”

  “When you do, I want seat covers,” Muirin said, waving. Dave laughed and gestured to his partner, and the two of them walked away.

  “It’s okay,” Muirin said when they were out of earshot. “They didn’t see you.”

  “Thanks,” Burke said. “I know they’re going to know we were down in Radial—”