When his boots touched solid ground, the darkness was nearly complete, the entrance above merely a glimmer of light about ten feet overhead. He turned on the flashlight with hands that barely shook at all, fighting the desire to cover his ears against screams that this cave had never heard, to forget about the little girl waiting to be rescued and just climb toward the light and the air and freedom.
The flashlight flickered, and he almost sank to the dirt, his heart pounding so hard, he thought it would jump out through the faded denim shirt he wore. No. He would not let the past rule his future. He took a few deep breaths, as Gregori had taught him during the brief time they’d spent together after Mikhail’s wedding.
Courage isn’t the absence of fear, Mikhail reminded himself. It’s doing what you have to do even when you’re afraid. Right now, that didn’t really help.
Then a few more breaths, until the earth felt steady under his feet again. The beam from the flashlight barely pierced the stygian darkness, enough to show him dirt walls and a ceiling barely higher than his own six foot three. Claustrophobia, his constant companion since the nightmare with Brenna, made his breath catch in his throat as the cave shrank in around him.
He kept moving anyway. The main cavern branched off in three directions. There was no sign to tell him which way the little girl had gone. Where was a nice trail of breadcrumbs when you needed one?
He turned left, for the lack of any better options, but that tunnel ended in a dead end before he’d gone more than a few yards. The beam from the flashlight waned, then grew stronger again as he struck it firmly against his palm. Stupid. What kind of Rider has a magical motorcycle and such an undependable source of illumination? An ex-Rider, he supposed. Still, it might be worth asking one of the Baba Yagas for something enchanted. If and when he ever made it out of this damned cave and to the destination at the end of his journey.
There was a reason he and his brothers hadn’t let themselves be distracted by mundane Human affairs when they’d been traveling. Too many things could go wrong.
He returned to the central section and turned right. Was that a faint cry he heard? He bent over into a crouch as the ceiling grew lower and the walls grew closer, but he kept on moving.
The smell of damp earth filled Mikhail’s nostrils as the underground passageway narrowed even further. His flashlight’s beam flickered and dimmed. He was fairly certain his heartbeat was stuttering in a matching rhythm. Mikhail hated caves. Gods, how he hated caves.
Damn it. Another dead end. The dying light showed him nothing but a blank wall made up of unforgiving stone and clay. He’d have to back out and try again. The sound of his labored breathing echoed in his ears. A scraped spot on one hand burned as he brushed it against the low ceiling, trying not to bump his head.
Finally, he was back in the tunnel he’d started out in. At least the roof was a little higher there, although that did nothing to lessen the weight of the rocks above him. No choice. Had to take the other way, hope it would lead him where he needed to be. He had to go on, no matter how much he wanted nothing more than to bolt for the surface. The air. The sun.
His flashlight gave one more unsteady flicker and died altogether, leaving him alone in the dark.
This was really not the reunion he’d been hoping for.
He wished he could see. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel like an animal caught in a trap.
The thought ricocheted around in his head for a moment and he began to laugh. An animal would do far better under these circumstances. Luckily, that was something he knew a little bit about.
Around the time Jenna showed up at his door, strange things had started happening to him. It had taken him a while to discover that when angered, he transformed into a large greenish bear-shaped creature. This was undoubtedly the heritage of his mother, one of the nearly forgotten legendary Lethy who lived in the deepest forests of Russia.
Gregori had theorized that the Lethy were distantly related to other similar “monsters,” like the Sasquatch and Bigfoot, although no one really knew for sure. The Lethy could take on Human form, and eventually, working with Barbara, Mikhail learned to tame his inner beast so he could now control it, instead of having it take over. Ironically, he had focused most of his practice on working to suppress his ability to transform, but now he needed to find out if he could summon it at will. Desperately.
He forced himself to close his eyes, as vulnerable as that made him feel, and reached deep inside. Once he did, it was surprisingly easy to find his beast-self, almost as though it had been waiting for him. A shimmering greenish aura that hovered lightly inside the brighter light that was his more traditional energy field, it radiated a sense of restrained power and brute force.
Mikhail concentrated on bringing forth the aspects he needed—not the rage or fighting spirit, but rather the forest-dwelling gifts that would be most useful in this situation. When he reopened his eyes, his vision was sharper, picking out details in the dim light that even his normally keener-than-most perception had been unable to see. He could smell mold and tiny mammals and just a hint of something that didn’t belong in this environment.
Looking down, he could make out long, green-tinged fur covering his body, and sharp claws on the hand holding the flashlight. He hoped he wouldn’t scare the child, but at least now he had some hope of finding her.
Being in this form calmed his anxiety too. Perhaps because his previous traumatic experiences had happened, not to the beast, but to him alone. Perhaps it felt more at home underground than he did. Either way, he could finally draw in a deep breath. He would have stood up straight, but in creature form he was even taller than usual, so stooping slightly, he followed the scent he’d picked up, sniffing from time to time to make sure he didn’t lose it.
The trail let down a narrow, meandering passageway past numerous turnoffs to a small alcove tucked into the cave wall; he wasn’t sure if he would ever have found it in his (mostly) Human form. A tiny girl was curled up in the farthest corner, crying quietly and sucking her thumb. Perversely, the flashlight picked that time to spring back to life.
“Hello Ella,” he said, the words only a little roughened by their transition through his beast’s mouth. “My name is Mick. Your mother sent me to find you. Would you like to go see her now?”
In the flashlight’s dim glow, he saw her nod. He wasn’t sure if she could see well enough to make out the unusual shape of her rescuer, but she seemed to accept his presence and calmly put her tiny hand into his gigantic claw-tipped paw and allowed him to lead her back the way he’d come. Once they reached the space beneath the hole to the surface, where the light was somewhat brighter, Ella blinked at him.
“Are you a monster?” she asked.
Mikhail had been asking himself that same question since his creature-self first appeared. “No, Ella,” he said. “I am just...different. But don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. If you close your eyes, I will show you a magic trick. Would you like that?”
The little girl nodded earnestly and squeezed her eyes shut. Mikhail stifled a chuckle as he did the same, willing himself back into his own form. He breathed a sigh of relief when he looked down and saw denim-clad legs instead of fur.
“Okay,” he said cheerfully. “You can open your eyes now.”
Ella put her free hand over her mouth. “Oooh! Fun!”
“That’s right,” Mikhail said. “So much fun. Now let’s get you back to your mama. She is very worried about you.” And that’s without knowing you were in the cave with a huge hairy green beast...
* * *
Louisa was beside herself with joy when Mikhail handed little Ella up out of the darkness, then climbed out after her. He brushed some dirt off his clothes and gave her a huge smile.
“Here we are,” he said. “Safe and sound, and no worse for the experience. Will you be okay now?”
The woman nodded. “I don’t know how to thank you. We would have been lost without you.”
Mikhail shrugged.
“Anyone else would have done the same,” he said. But he hummed all the way back to his bike, happy to have been of use again. He had started a small private detective agency back in Clearwater County, mostly helping out in unofficial ways when Barbara’s husband Liam couldn’t do anything as sheriff. But it wasn’t the same as being a Rider.
Mikhail had to confess, if only to himself, and to his trusty steed-turned-Yamaha, Krasivaya, that he kind of missed the hero business. It had been nice to feel like the White Rider again, even if only for a few minutes. And even if he had been green at the time.
Chapter 3
Gregori was somewhere in South Dakota when he crossed the Lewis and Clark Memorial Bridge going across I-90. It was a basic and not very decorative structure, with low barriers on either side and two narrow lanes on each side running over the Missouri River. But he enjoyed the view of the water, which was unobstructed by the high railings featured on other, more modern bridges. It was running fast, deeper than usual with the last of the snow melt from mountains far away.
He had taken advantage of the lack of other vehicles to slow down, gazing at the wide expanse of river with pleasure, and barely noticed a teenage boy standing by the side of the bridge in a tee shirt and ragged jeans, a large knapsack propped up next to him.
Gregori wondered if the boy was hitchhiking, since there was no sign of another car anywhere nearby. Still, it was none of his business, so he kept on going. Back in their days as the Riders, he and his brothers had learned to avoid getting involved in the affairs of Humans. Those people always had some problem that invited meddling and the Riders had other jobs to do.
The way the youth had been standing, though, reminded him of the at-risk teens at the Center. Those slumped shoulders and the discouraged droop of the head made Gregori wonder if the boy was a runaway. If Gregori had been in Minneapolis, he might even have stopped to give the kid a flier for the Center, but there didn’t seem to be much point to doing so now.
He was still trying to persuade himself that he was probably fretting about nothing when the vision hit. So vivid it nearly blocked out the road in front of him, Gregori was suddenly grateful for his slow speed as he eased the Ducati to the edge of the highway.
He’d struggled with his precognitive abilities when they first appeared along with a gift for healing that had almost killed him when he’d used it without any control over the amount of energy it drained from him. Mostly these days the visions were mild—suggestions of possible futures, or hints from the universe that helped to guide his steps.
This one though, was a single clear image: the bridge he had just crossed, looking exactly the same, except that the knapsack sat alone on an otherwise empty stretch of road. A shudder ran down Gregori’s spine.
Not my problem, he reminded himself. The bike’s headlights were aimed down the road, in the direction he was supposed to be heading. It made no sense to stop and involve himself in every Human problem. He could not solve them all. Could not even make a dent. And yet...did not the Buddhist teachings he had studied say that every life was sacred? Certainly he had acquired an intimate knowledge of how fragile life could be, and how precious.
He changed his course, spinning the bike around and heading back the way he’d come. Just as he approached, he saw the teen climb over the side of the bridge and fling himself into the deep waters below.
Gregori screeched to a stop, trusting his enchanted motorcycle to take care of itself as he pulled off his black leather jacket and leapt off the bridge without a moment’s hesitation. Hitting the surface of the water in a clean dive, Gregori still felt the impact like a hammer as the river closed over his head. He was pretty sure the river had been nearly thirty feet below the bridge—a long way for a Human to fall. Luckily, the Riders were still tougher than the average person, even without their immortality. It paid to have a god as a father.
Looking around, he could see the boy far below him, struggling feebly against the river’s current. Gregori kicked strong legs in his direction, barely hampered by the drag from his wet clothes and heavy motorcycle boots. He grabbed the youth by his collar and scissor-kicked to the surface, relieved to hear sputtering and gasping from his companion as they broke through. Gregori had been afraid the boy would fight him, but once he struck out for shore, the teen allowed himself to be towed along, and collapsed on the bank with a sobbing sigh, clutching at the grass with both hands.
“Changed your mind, did you?” Gregori said in a mild, carefully nonjudgmental tone as he pulled himself into a sitting position. His hair, grown back into its original long black tail after he’d cut it short, dripped down his back as he took off his shirt, wrung it out, and put it back on.
The boy coughed up river water a couple of times before he could get out anything resembling words.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “Just as soon as I could feel myself falling.” He paused, and then added. “Thanks for coming in after me. That was kind of crazy.”
Gregori smiled. “You are very welcome. And I suppose it was. But it seemed like the thing to do at the time.”
They sat there in silence for a moment, both of them dripping onto the grass and staring out at the river in front of them.
“How did you know to come back?” the boy asked after a while. “I know you couldn’t see me, because I waited until you were out of view.”
“Call it a gut feeling,” Gregori said. “I work with people your age back home in Minnesota. Kids who are dealing with difficult situations, homelessness and drugs and abuse. Something about you reminded me of them.” All true enough, although it left out the bit about the vision. That was probably best left out of the conversation.
“Oh,” the boy said. “Minnesota. That’s a long way away.”
“It is,” Gregori said. “And it is not. Distance is relative. So are problems, although it might be hard to believe that right now. Something that seems impossible to deal with today might appear much more manageable tomorrow. Or the day after tomorrow.”
The boy looked at him sideways from underneath ragged, over-long bangs that clung to his thin face like seaweed. His whole body was narrow and scrawny, from his slender shoulders to the bony wrists and ankles that stuck out from underneath clothing a size too small for his frame. Gregori thought he looked about fourteen or fifteen, but he could have been older. It was hard to tell with the ones who had been through the wars.
“How would you know?”
“I have dealt with my own share of impossible todays,” Gregori said. “And come out the other side when I was not sure I would.”
The boy stared at him with doubt for a moment, but something in Gregori’s voice must have rung true. “How? How do you get to the other side?”
Gregori patted him gently on the shoulder, then stood and offered the teen a hand up. “Stubborn persistence, a refusal to give in to the darkness, and if you are lucky, a good friend or two.”
The boy shook his head, although he accepted Gregori’s help up the rough incline towards the road. “I don’t have any friends.”
“Oh, I disagree,” Gregori said. “I think anyone who dives into a river to save your life should count as one. And I can put you in touch with some people who you might end up adding to that list.” He stopped and faced the boy. “My name is Gregori Sun.”
“Darren,” the boy said. “Smith.”
“Right. Darren Smith. Very nice to meet you,” Gregori said. The first name was real, he thought. The second not so much. “Do you have family who are looking for you, Darren Smith?”
The boy scowled and shook his head, scuffing the ground at his feet with one soggy sneaker. “No. No one cares where I am.”
That, alas, had the ring of truth. Gregori thought the boy was probably a runaway from the foster system. They dealt with plenty of those at the Blue Skies Center, unfortunately. Sometimes the system worked. Often, it did not.
He pondered the problem for a moment. He knew what Ciera would tell him to do, without even bother
ing to call her and ask.
“If I buy you a bus ticket in the next town, would you be willing to go to Minneapolis and visit some of my friends? You do not have to stay if the place does not suit you.”
Darren pushed the hair out of his eyes and stared at him suspiciously. “What’s in it for you?”
Gregori lifted one shoulder slightly. “Nothing at all. Sometimes the universe gives you an opportunity to do something for someone else. It is a gift.”
“That’s a pretty strange gift, man.”
Gregori actually laughed out loud, something he rarely did. “You have no idea,” he said. “A very strange gift indeed.”
Chapter 4
Alexei was already inside the National Forest lands where Bella and Sam made their home when he stopped at a pull-off spot to eat his lunch. Over the last sixteen hours, he had traveled almost two thousand miles from Cape Cod. It would have taken almost twice that long on a non-magical motorcycle, but it was still a tiring trip, and he had worked up an appetite.
He parked the massive black Harley in the shade of a tree and delved into the fringed and studded saddlebags for the large paper bag he’d stowed there after stopping to pick up food at the convenience store he’d passed.
Alexei Knight was a giant of a man, six feet eight inches tall, wide and muscular, and he had an appetite to match his size. The bag contained two huge ham and cheese subs, a bottle of water, and two large chocolate chip cookies with nuts. It ought to hold him until he arrived at Bella’s and she fed him dinner. Or maybe a late afternoon snack.
He was about to unroll the top of the bag when he thought he heard something. He cocked an ear toward the woods that lay beyond the open space where he’d parked, and the sound came again.
Dangerously Driven (Broken Riders) Page 3