by Skye Knizley
The guards relaxed when she held up her badge, and the leader shook his head in apology. “King told us to expect the worse. What happened down there?”
Raven brushed past him. “The Behemoth is dead, so are most of our prisoners. What’s happening up here?”
“Understood. As for up here, well, take a look.”
Raven followed him through Section Thirteen. Most of the cubicles were empty, it was after all, early on Christmas Eve. Those few that were occupied contained agents frozen in place, covered by a light shell of ice.
Raven stopped beside a young agent she’d spoken to a few times, a young man named Riley Jansen. He’d been working at his desk, a file folder stood open beside a cup of coffee now frosted over from the cold. She reached out to touch her hand and the lycan agent stopped her.
“Don’t. They collapse when touched, some have broken,” he said.
It was no wonder that Thad had been so worried. Their human allies, their food supply, could be destroyed in a matter of hours by the Renegades. They wouldn’t even have to fight, just bring a hammer or a shotgun.
“Where’s King?” she asked.
“Upstairs coordinating our response, ma’am. I’m supposed to bring you to him as soon as you’re available,” the lycan said.
“Fine, let’s go.”
He paused and frowned. “Ma’am, don’t you want to see a medic first?”
Raven looked down at the blood that covered her. She looked as if she’d been fed into a meat grinder and somehow come out the other side.
“It isn’t my blood and we don’t have the time. Take me to him,” she said.
“Yes ma’am.”
“And stop calling me ‘ma’am,” she added.
The lycan smiled. “No, ma’am. You’re the Furstin. You’re also Mason Storm’s daughter. You and Sable earned the ma’am, ma’am.”
Raven gave up. It wasn’t worth arguing over. The way things were going, he’d be dead in a few hours anyway.
King had set up an impromptu command center in the Chicago hub, a wide, round conference room with access to all the surveillance cameras in the city and a view of the surrounding office. Raven didn’t have to look hard to see that dozens of agents were frozen in place, oblivious to what was going on around them.
She passed through the sliding doors into the hub, ignoring the looks from the preternatural agents still functioning, and dropped into a chair opposite King, who was examining a report.
“Welcome back, Agent Storm,” King said without looking up.
“I didn’t go anywhere. Is Aspen back yet?” Raven asked.
“Not yet. I take it the Behemoth is dead?”
“As a doornail. What’s going on?”
King raised his head and stared. “Is that your blood?”
Raven leaned forward. “Only some of it. What the hell is going on? Why are our agents frozen?”
“I don’t know,” King replied. “I’ve never seen magik like this. Normally I would ask Silver, but she is in intensive care. I was hoping you or Agent Kincaid could provide insight.”
“Only what Aspen could tell me,” Raven said. “Its something cooked up by the Renegades, a play against House Tempeste and the city.”
King looked surprised. “The Renegades? That small band of crazies trying to raise the Sanguinarc from the dead?”
“That’s them. So far we’ve been able to handle them, but with Mother ill, they’ve been taking more chances. They broke into Strohm’s vault and stole his remains,” Raven said.
“You’re just telling me now?”
Raven bristled. “Family business, King. You didn’t need to know, I’m handling it.”
King met her gaze. “I see that. Was freezing every mundane in the city part of your plan?”
“Not exactly,” Raven admitted. “I didn’t see anything like this coming, Abraham. Nothing this big, I thought they were just trying to bring him back, not destroy the whole city.”
“Fanatics will do anything to achieve their goals, Raven. The Renegades are fascists, true believers who put Strohm on a pedestal and see themselves as his rightful servants,” King said.
Aspen stepped breathlessly through the doors. “They’re moving on the House.”
Raven stood. “Who is?”
“Renegades. Thad just called, soldiers are trying to take the house by force. He wants to know when we are coming,” Aspen said.
“In broad daylight? Even with the storm that shouldn’t be possible,” Raven said.
King stood. “It isn’t daylight, Raven. The magik that is freezing our people has also blotted out the sun. It is as dark as any night.”
“Swell.”
Raven rubbed her forehead and stared at the desk. Levac was in trouble, if he wasn’t dead he was going to be. So was the city, if they didn’t do something fast. Could the Manor hold them off without her?
She felt Aspen’s hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright, lover?”
“It’s not my blood,” Raven said automatically.
“Not what I meant, Ray,” Aspen said.
Raven looked up and met Aspen’s eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. You?”
Aspen shrugged. “Good as I can be. A little worried about Sloan, but I figure doctors are doctors whether they’re preternaturals or not.”
“Most preternaturals in this city are partial blood or less, ladies. They’ll do as they always do and depend upon us to set things right,” King said. “It’s how they cope. How everyone copes.”
Raven stared at him. “They aren’t going to notice their coworkers and family are frozen solid? That’s insane!”
King shook his head. “They will notice, Raven, and push it aside. Yes, many are calling the emergency numbers, others still have tried to take matters into their own hands, hospitals are filling up with frozen citizens, but the majority are getting on with things as best they can. Routine, repetition and familiar surroundings stave off insanity.”
“That makes no sense!” Aspen said.
“Would you rather they were rioting in the streets? Smashing their frozen human neighbors to bits?”
King stood and leaned on his cane. “We have always found it easier to ignore what is happening than to take action. Most are likely waiting for Lady Valentina’s response.”
“And working helps pass the time,” Aspen said.
“Indeed,” King replied.
He moved to the large map table in the middle of the room. “Estimates place less than one hundred thousand preternaturals in the city, give or take ten percent. Most are vampires, probably still resting and oblivious to what is happening. The remainder are lycans, Fae and those with the gift or mixed parentage.”
He tapped the map with his cane. “We are tracking two factions we believe to be Renegades, one is indeed converging on Tempeste Manor, the other is coming this way, to Section Thirteen.”
Raven looked at the map. Most of the city was shaded blue, meaning it was frozen and no preternaturals had been spotted on the cameras. Small sections were unshaded, neighborhoods such as Old Town, the Dark and Sisters of Mercy hospital where the majority of citizens were preternatural of some description.
“I believe the spell causing this originated on Outcast Isle out in the lake,” Aspen said.
King glanced at her. “What makes you believe that? The island is off limits to all but Section Thirteen personnel.”
“I cast a spell to locate Rupert. He’s there, it makes sense whatever they’re doing is also happening there,” Aspen said.
“I’ve heard nothing about anyone on the island,” King said.
“And the last time anyone checked in with them was..?” Raven asked.
King frowned and grabbed a nearby telephone. He punched the buttons with the handle of his cane and held the cradle to his ear. A moment later he
slammed the phone down.
“No answer.”
“That’s what I thought,” Raven said. “Get me out there.”
“In this weather? Are you mad?” King asked.
“Of course not, but do you have a better idea? My partner is out there and the fate of the city may stand on saving him. I’m going, you can help or not,” Raven said.
“What about those Renegades? They fear you, Raven,” King said.
Raven met Aspen’s eyes. “Tell them who you are, they’ll fear you more. I’ve got a partner to save.”
Aspen smiled, but there was doubt in her eyes. “What about the Manor?”
“I can’t be everywhere, Aspen, and I can’t fight everyone’s battles for them. If they can’t hold off a dozen nutjobs, maybe House Tempeste shouldn’t be ruling the city,” Raven replied.
She looked back at King. “You haven’t answered my question, how do I get out to the island?”
King fumbled in his pockets, producing his pipe and a small tin of tobacco. “As you wish. I know a pilot as crazy as you are. I presume, Ms. Kincaid, you are going as well?”
Raven opened her mouth to answer and found Aspen’s hand over her lips.
“I’m going, Raven. Rupert is my friend, my brother. It isn’t your choice, its mine,” Aspen said.
It’s suicide. That’s what Raven wanted to say. She wanted to tell Aspen to stay here, where it was safe, or at least safer. But Aspen was correct, she had as much right to be there as anyone, more so, in fact. Levac was her family, too.
“Fine. I’m going to get changed, this blood is starting to itch,” Raven said. “Grab what you need and meet me on the helipad with whomever King has in mind, we don’t have time to argue.”
She nodded at King and turned on her heel, hoping this wasn’t the biggest blunder she’d ever made.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Over Lake Michigan, 9:00 a.m., Dec 24th
The lake below was a black pool of nothingness, a void that reflected only a handful of snowflakes and the deep red lightning that was almost continual. Raven looked out at it from the passenger compartment of the Pave Hawk helicopter King had assigned to the mission. She and Aspen were the only passengers, none of the lycans had been willing to accompany them to the island, and King wasn’t about to make it an order. In this weather it was a suicide mission. They would be lucky to make it to the island in one piece, not to mention making a landing on the storm-swept island. Approach was tricky on a clear day, in a snow storm it was all but impossible.
The pilot, however, had volunteered without hesitation. He was a middle-aged man of average height and a wiry build, with sandy blond hair and a soul-patch beard that was just a shade darker. He now sat alone in the cockpit, smoking a stubby cigar and singing along to the Rolling Stones as lightning tossed the helicopter around like a child with a favorite toy. Nothing seemed to faze him, not even when hailstones the size of baseballs began to fall.
“Things are getting interesting, ladies,” he called over the radio. “Please make sure your seatbelts are fastened, your tray tables are in the upright and locked position and all personal belongings are stowed. It might get ugly.”
“Define ugly, Kyriel,” Aspen said.
“Get struck by lightning, burst into flames and spread shrapnel across a mile of lake,” Kyriel responded.
“You had to ask,” Raven said.
She adjusted the tactical holster on her thigh and slid her knives into the sheaths of her boots. She’d traded in her blood-soaked gear for an official Section Thirteen tactical uniform, complete with leather pants, long-sleeved leather jacket over a moisture wicking tank and body armor that looked like something out of a super hero flick. Aspen had followed suit, and Raven had to admit the form-fitting leather and injection molded armor did amazing things to the faerie’s already fantastic figure.
She looked back out the window and squinted at the island in the distance. It was small, less than a half mile across, but big enough to hold an ancient altar dedicated to a Goddess so old no one knew her name. It was also where her father had left Excalibur, shoved into a stone awaiting the return of someone worthy to wield it. It had been untouched for seventy years, guarded by a mixed team of retired Marines and Army Rangers.
The exterior of the island was an almost impenetrable wall of rock that rose thirty feet above the water. There was only one small inlet on the south-east corner, equipped with a stone jetty that was barely visible above the waterline. A stone path climbed from the jetty to the heart of the island at the top of the cliffs. A ruined temple surrounded the altar, along with a bunker that dated back to World War II, the remains of Black Eon that had crashed in 1943 and the aforementioned sword. Raven had no idea where Kyriel might land the helicopter, but she had a feeling if anyone could set it down in one piece, it was him.
Lightning shook the helicopter, followed by thunder so loud it made her fangs vibrate in their sockets. She rubbed the sensation away with her fingertips and leaned back into the narrow seat. They weren’t far, now.
“Agent Storm, I’m going to try and drop you ladies on the leeward side, away from the worst of the blizzard,” Kyriel said, adding “not that it means much in this bastard.”
“How far from the temple?” Raven asked.
“Little more than a quarter mile. It’s the best I can do, ma’am,” Kyriel replied.
“You know, she hates being called ma’am,” Aspen said.
“Sorry, Agent Kincaid. Ma’am goes to the women I respect, and that includes you two. Not a lot of people would put their lives on the line like this,” Kyriel replied.
“After this, you can call me Ray,” Raven said. “All my friends do.”
Kyriel laughed. “Yes ma’am, does that mean the beer is on you?”
“If we get back in one piece, hell yes,” Raven replied.
“Stand by, we’re going in,” Kyriel said, suddenly all business. Raven felt her stomach lurch and the helicopter banked, dipping lower to the lake as it turned. A moment later it swung back the other way, narrowly avoiding the hellish lightning cast from the sky. The island loomed outside the window and the helicopter lurched again, gaining altitude as it climbed along the cliff face. The stone was so close, Raven could see the narrow paths cut into the stone by ancient worshippers and, later, by the Nazis who had used the island as a launching point for their campaign against the United States.
The scene was quickly replaced by snow-covered trees as Kyriel’s expert hand guided them low over the island, heading inward toward the altar. Raven felt, for once, that the universe was going to cut them a break, that they would make it to the heart and rappel down as planned. Her hopes were dashed when a bolt of lightning scythed through the helicopter, cutting it in two. She watched frozen as the cockpit fell away and the rear section spun out of control. Her last thought was of Aspen, then nothing.
Outcast Isle, Lake Michigan, 11:00 a.m. Dec 24th
Raven woke to the crackle of fire and the sting of ice on her face. At first, she didn’t know where she was and panic rose in her throat, fearing she was again trapped in the freezer, aware and unmoving. Memory came back slowly and she sat up, wiping snow and blood from her face. She was still buckled into her seat, but it had been thrown some distance from the helicopter to land in a snowbank. Trees smoldered, scorched by the burning wreck, and shrapnel dotted the snow-scape around her, making it clear the helicopter had broken apart on its way through the forest.
Her seatbelt was jammed, damaged in the crash. She yanked it free and stood, pulling herself out of the snowbank and into the relative safety of the forest. There was no sign of the fuselage or the cockpit, just her seat and the debris left behind by the helicopter’s passage. She listened for voices or cries for help, but could hear nothing but the whistling wind and the crackle of the trees that continued to burn slowly in the storm.
‘Aspe
n? Honey where are you?’ she sent.
Don’t be dead, she thought. Please don’t be dead.
There was no answer, but Raven could feel her somewhere close by. The connection they shared was more intimate than the one she shared with Levac, and that was by design. Levac had asked for that space and Raven gave it to him without question. Aspen desired the closeness, and so did she.
She followed her instincts, pressing through the snow until she spotted the Pave Hawk fuselage. It lay on its side in a wide crevasse near the cliffs. There wasn’t much left, the tail and rotor had been ripped off at some point and the left side cargo door and a portion of the floor were torn. The rest appeared more or less intact, but it lay in a precarious position. Already Raven could see that the heavy wind was pushing the remains toward the cliff edge. If the crash hadn’t killed Aspen, the fall to the ocean below most certainly would.
Raven started down the slope as fast as she could go. The snow was deep, over her knees, and it made the going slow. The biting wind and heavy snow didn’t help, the armor might be the latest thing in ballistic protection, but it was useless against the elements. If anything, it made them worse. The reinforcement plates absorbed the cold and channeled it straight to her core, making her long for the scarred leather coat she wore most winters.
Ahead, the fuselage was nearing the precipice, rocking back and forth in the wind as it slid across the snow. Raven watched it and redoubled her efforts, leaping through the snow rather than running.
‘Aspen? Come on, honey, wake up’ she sent.
‘I’m here, Ray, what’s happening? Ugh, my head is killing me and I think my toes are freezing off.’
Raven breathed a sigh of relief that was instantly torn away by the storm. ‘I was thrown clear, I’m trying to get to you. Can you move?’
‘I can, but not much. I’m upside down and my seatbelt is jammed. I’ve lost blood, too,’ Aspen replied. ‘I feel lightheaded.’
‘I’m almost there, hold on,’ Raven sent.
Without warning the fuselage began to slide faster, driven by the rising wind. Raven jumped and grabbed what was left of the tail, digging in with her feet to keep it from falling over the side.