Wolf Interval (Senyaza Series Book 3)

by Chrysoula Tzavelas

  “It happens,” she said and sighed, not taking her eyes off me. Jen’s eyes were blue, too, lighter than Cat’s, but with a dark rim around the iris that made her direct gaze feel like falling into a crystal tunnel. At the end of the tunnel was only a black despair. She understood, I realized. She’d had the center of her life torn away from her, beyond retrieval or repair, and all she could do was try to tidy up loose ends before releasing herself to the darkness.

  I don’t know what she saw in my eyes, but she looked down at her food, took a few more bites, then put it on the end table and took a deep breath. “So. Now you’ve had a direct encounter with the Wild Hunt. I’ve been trying to work out the answer to a question. Maybe you can help?”

  She didn’t look at me as she asked. I thought about the Wild Hunt, about Ion’s hateful voice and Tala’s whisper in my ear. My dogs were bound to them now, all hunters together. It hurt, but there wasn’t any escaping the hurt. “I don’t know how I could help. But maybe.”

  “Sen—” her own voice hitched. “Sen collected a lot of stories about how the Wild Hunt was created. But there wasn’t much to find about what made them go wrong. If we reboot the Hunt, I’m afraid they’ll just go bad again. Everything—everything—will have been wasted.”

  I knew she was hoping I would give her some kind of answer, or at least some kind of encouragement. Some kind of reassurance. But what reassurance was there?

  If the Fiddler and Yejun and Jennifer all managed to reboot the Wild Hunt, what would happen to my dogs?

  The question arrested me. Would they go away? Would they return to what they’d been before? Not mine, but at least themselves again? Grim’s savage eyes were seared into my memory. Could I erase them?

  I caught my breath, a feverish energy surging through me. I could suddenly see paths forward. All of them ended in the blackness beyond Jennifer’s eyes, but anything was better than lying on the ground waiting to be kicked again.

  Jen touched my hand and I yanked it away, unthinking. “Not wasted,” I muttered. “Maybe different, but not wasted. How do we reboot them once we find the Horn?”

  “Cat,” Jennifer said. “Cat and Yejun. We’ve been writing it all down. There’s a ritual. Yejun will hold it down—he’s possibly the only person who can—and Cat will use his knife—” She paused, looking at me.

  I stared past her at nothing at all, thinking about my dogs, thinking about Grim as a drowned puppy, about Heart dying in an alley beside her stillborn babies, about Nod, diseased and maddened. Thinking about how to release them a final time. After a little bit, I was vaguely aware of Jennifer standing up and passing into the suite’s bedroom. As the door clicked closed behind her, I forced myself out of my reverie.

  “I’m sorry. I was... remembering,” I mumbled, and ran my hands over my face.

  Cat put a chair directly in front of the couch and sat down in it, his long legs sprawling out very near my own. “Remembering your dogs?”

  I pulled my knees up to my chin. “They’re not gone, not like your friend is. Maybe it’s worse, what happened to them, because they’re not gone.”

  “Do you think they’re suffering?” he inquired, almost casually, like he was wondering if I thought it would rain soon.

  I shivered. “I don’t know. I never tried to make them something they weren’t. Not—not with my power. I never wanted them to be anything other than there.”

  He picked up the knife and started playing with it. Sometimes one of the human members of my father’s pack played with a knife. They were usually new, and always showing off, trying to find a way to match the fangs of the wolves. This wasn’t the same. Cat wasn’t trying to impress anybody. I thought he’d just spent so much time with the blade that touching it was second nature to him. I remembered reaching out to stroke Grim, then cringed away from the memory.

  “I’m something of an expert on the magic used in making constructs,” he said after a moment. “In a way. I’ve thought about it a lot more than, say, Amber probably has.”

  I frowned, ran back through the conversation in the cave. “You know Amber? I mean, personally?”

  He shifted his gaze from the blade to me. “I know of her. Tia recruited her when we were still coming up with a plan, and told us a little about her.”

  “What did Tia say?”

  He shrugged. “Stuff I don’t think I should repeat, not when you can ask Amber herself.”

  I bit my lip. “I don’t know how much of a ‘herself’ there is, though she’s really convincing. I feel so sorry for her, or for who she was, but she’s like my father’s wolves now. They’re more like his shadows than real people.”

  Cat lowered his gaze to the knife. “Are your dogs only shadows of you?”

  “It’s not the same,” I said, stung. “I’m not a celestial.”

  “You seem to have inherited that particular ability of theirs, though.” His voice was calm and rational and implacable.

  “It’s not the same,” I told him stubbornly.

  He glanced at me. “As I said, I’m a little bit of an expert, and I think Amber and the Wild Hunt and your dogs and this knife all have something in common.”

  “Oh really.” I leapt to my feet, went to the window, and stared down at the street far below. “What makes you such an expert, anyhow?”

  “I’ve thought about it a lot,” he repeated.

  They had a great view of the Far City up here. I could trace the path I’d taken from the cul de sac where they’d stolen my dogs to the tower. And I thought I could see the plaza where I’d left my companions. “Why? Why do you care?”

  “You’re changing the subject,” he pointed out mildly.

  “You’re avoiding the question,” I shot back. As I turned to glare at him, I caught a flash of movement in the city below and looked back to identify it. At first, I couldn’t see anything that might have moved on those desolate streets. Then, at the far range of my vision, something came into view.

  It was a giant eagle, drifting low over the city, with vast brown-black wings that seemed broad enough to effortlessly keep the bird aloft all day. It twitched one wing and descended lazily. There was something below it, something moving fast.

  As the eagle gained height again, I saw the brown and white owl that had given me a feather dart out from its shadow. It was flying steadily, close to the ground, weaving between the buildings that protected it from the giant eagle.

  “Since you insist, it’s a matter of—” Cat drawled, but I interrupted him.

  “Wait. I think that’s Tia over there.”

  Cat crossed to look out the window beside me. “Yes, I think it is. She’s been keeping Alastor busy and away from the rest of you.”

  “Not far enough away,” I said bitterly, remembering his presence at the cul de sac. “Why does he support the Wild Hunt?”

  Slowly, Cat said, “He contributed one of the fragments that composed the Wild Hunt. That’s why Sen summoned him, originally. But I remember the argument before the fire. He tried to convince Sen that everybody who lingered after death deserved to be, ah, evicted, I think was his euphemism.

  “It’s not eviction, though,” I said “It’s destruction. Jen’s trying to figure out why they’re broken? I think it’s because they’re destroying something that isn’t meant to be destroyed. Once you think of the indestructible as something you can crush at will, where do you stop?”

  “Angels aren’t tuned toward destruction, generally.” Cat sounded distant and academic again. “The ones who are have a very specific focus: destruction in service to growth, for example.”

  “My father destroys just fine,” I said flatly. The owl dodged around a corner, then another corner. She was using the buildings to her advantage, but all the eagle had to do was gain a little height to see her from above.

  Cat went on as if I hadn’t said anything, his voice still faraway and thoughtful. “And they don’t fear their own destruction, not naturally. Not like humans do. There is no sympathy.” />
  Then I heard a howl. Nod’s howl, followed by Grim and Heart baying, and the rumble of motorcycles. They came from nearly the same direction as the owl and the eagle, but they were closing in on her. The eagle wasn’t trying to catch her, I realized. He was herding her, driving her toward the Hunt.

  I put my hands on the cold glass as the little pack raced into sight. They looked wild, with tousled fur and scrapes along their bodies. They’d been fighting each other and hurt by the riders, I was sure. I wanted to reach across the distance and gather them close, hold them even as they turned on me.

  Instead, Ion’s hateful voice echoed, more imagined than heard, and they turned down the same street as the owl until they were racing beneath her. She put on a burst of speed and pulled ahead of both the pack and the eagle, then came in for a landing, changing as she did, until she was a woman in a business suit with feathers in her hair and owl wings that spanned the street flowing out of her back. She threw up a hand at the eagle and it flapped once to rise away. Then she turned back to where my dogs approached, and waited.

  And they stopped. I couldn’t tell what was happening, but I hoped—oh, I hoped they remembered her. I had a wild moment of joy when I thought she’d reclaim them for me. She’d saved us once before. She was going to do it again, however little I deserved it.

  Then the Wild Hunt rolled around the corner. The figure in the lead gestured once, grandly, and my dogs surged forward. A white light flared out from Tia’s outstretched hand, but my dogs, so talented, so special, barely noticed. It sank into their fur and Grim shook it off like rain while the other two just ran up it. How could mere light stop them? Nod leapt, teeth flashing, and—

  Cat was beside me, his hand on my shoulder. He was trying to pull me away. He didn’t want me to see what my dogs did to my oldest surviving friend. I don’t know why. Even if I wasn’t watching, I could feel it inside. The part of me that had been numb was burning now, raw wounds dipped in acid.

  With a quick, habitual movement, I twisted away from his hand, grabbed his arm, and applied enough targeted pressure to snap the bone, all so he’d stop grabbing me. Then I tried to find a way to open the window. I could get out, go to them, stop them, save her, join her. But there was no latch, and I could break an arm, but the glass was slick and strong and hitting it only made my hands hurt.

  “Do you really want out?” said an unexpected voice at my ear. “I can help. It might make your stomach hurt, though.”

  I whirled around. Standing just behind me was Yejun.

  -eighteen-

  Despite being disheveled and out of breath, Yejun looked as relaxed as I’d ever seen him. He had one hand under Cat’s elbow. Cat, on the other hand, was pale, with a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

  I didn’t even think to ask what he was doing there. I didn’t care. Nothing made sense anymore. I reached up to take hold of Yejun’s shirt. “Tia. They attacked her, Yejun. My dogs. They weren’t playing. I don’t think...”

  He ran one finger over the back of my hand, a light touch that penetrated my panicked haze without upsetting me, and looked over my head out the window. “Looks like they weren’t,” he agreed. Whatever he saw didn’t ruffle his calm at all.

  “But—Tia.” My voice broke. I couldn’t bear to look and see what he saw.

  He tilted his head, looking down at me. “Demons are hard to really kill, though, aren’t they? And they’re hardly mortal souls.”

  I shook my head. “Tia went on and on about how the Wild Hunt had powers that nobody else did. I felt it. I don’t know what it means, but they tore her apart.”

  He didn’t ask about why my dogs would be attacking Tia, and I couldn’t tell if he didn’t really understand or just didn’t care. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

  “Like Sen was fine?” My voice cracked. “They’re killing everybody who knows what we’re supposed to be doing!”

  “They must be worried, then.” He was imperturbable. Glancing at Cat, he said, “Do you need help with that, man?”

  “Little bit,” Cat admitted. He was cradling one arm with the other. I remembered the snap under my hands as if somebody else had done it. I couldn’t feel bad. All of my capacity for guilt and misery was eaten up by Tia, and my dogs, and the near-memory of tearing into her. It was so real: the biting, the ripping, the painful rage that drove it. It was too real to have just imagined it.

  “Why didn’t she run away?” I demanded. “Why did she just stand there? She should have run away.”

  “I don’t think she had time,” Cat said, as he moved to the table and carefully unzipped a case. “It happened very quickly.” He sat down and looked at Yejun.

  Yejun touched my hand again and I loosened my grip on his shirt. “Don’t run away again. It wasn’t exactly a walk in the park chasing you down.”

  I blinked in surprise, and then my eyes swam with sudden tears. Unwilling to give in, I turned back to the window and strained to see where Tia and the dogs had been. But there was nothing now: no sign of Tia, no sign of the dogs, no sound of the Hunt’s motorcycles. The city had simply swallowed any remains. No matter what Cat said, I didn’t understand. She’d turned around to face them, and the assault itself felt like it had gone on forever.

  I didn’t understand, and I was angry at Tia for letting my poor dogs do that to her. Didn’t she understand that I needed her? Without her, I didn’t have anybody left that I could really talk to. I didn’t think it was possible to be more alone than I was after the Huntsman stole my dogs, but now I knew the truth.

  I pressed my head against the glass hard. Cat made a soft, pained noise and I whirled on him. “You shouldn’t have grabbed me!”

  He and Yejun were in the process of doing something to his arm. They both paused and looked over at me. Then Yejun looked back at the splint he was working on, and Cat said gravely, “My mistake. I’m very sorry.”

  There wasn’t any accusation or any mockery in his voice, and as quick as I’d flashed to anger, I was swept away by anguish.

  “No, I’m sorry,” I gasped, sinking down to the floor again. “I’m so sorry. There’s no excuse. I couldn’t do anything. I’m so useless, even to my father. All the worst bits. Oh, Tia.” I covered my face. “I’m my father’s daughter. My mom tried so hard to teach me to be good, but all she did was ruin me for what he wanted. I’m still... still what he put into me.”

  Lightly, without looking at me, Yejun said, “He put breaking arms into you?”

  I held out one of my hands, flexed it, felt the ache. “I heal fast,” I said bitterly, drunk on despair. “That made it easier.”

  Yejun finished tying a knot around Cat’s splinted arm, then raised his eyes to mine. His brown eyes blazed with an unexpected fury that went through me like a bolt of lightning. “I’ll kill him,” he said softly. Then he was kneeling before me; he put his hands on my shoulders and held me tight. “Or I’ll help you do it.”

  “No,” I whispered. “You can’t. He just comes back again. My mom and her friends killed him once, and he came back and he killed all the others and took us.”

  “A career project, then.”

  “No!” I scrambled backwards until my back hit the wall. “People don’t come back to life again, only the monsters come back. Please don’t. I don’t want you to die. I’ve tried so hard to keep all of you from—” I shook my head frantically. “Don’t even talk about it. He’ll find out.”

  The bright, hard flames in Yejun’s eyes deepened until they seemed almost black. Gracefully, he stood up. “We’ll see about that. Get up.”

  I climbed to my feet warily. “Why?”

  “We have to get back to the others. You can’t hide here.” The look he gave me was cool and insolent. “We have a horn to find. Tia’s been keeping them away from us and whatever really happened to her, I bet she’s not doing that now. How much time do you think we have?”

  You don’t need me, I almost said. But he’d said he’d come after me. And Tia, Tia. Tia wouldn’t want me to hi
de up here. Tia would be disappointed in me again. It was a fact of life, but if she wasn’t around anymore... I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to cry.

  I gnawed my lip as I glanced at Cat. “I’m really sorry.”

  “Are you going to do it again?” he inquired.

  I shook my head. “No.” Then I amended, “Well, not if you don’t grab me when I’m really upset.”

  “Fair enough.” Cat smiled so faintly I wasn’t sure if I was actually seeing it. “Progress, Jen?”

  Jen was back on the couch, I realized, and wondered how long she’d been there. “Maybe,” she said. She looked at me seriously. “It’s best if you go, AT. We’re going to disconnect this place when you leave, in case the whole Hunt can get here the same way you did.”

  It was suddenly hard to speak around the lump in my throat, so I just nodded and walked over to the door. I reached out for my dogs as I did, calling them after me. The emptiness in response punched a hole right through me, and the grief poured in.

  Shaking my head furiously, I ran to the corner of the elevator, then slid down the wall and pressed my face against my knees. Somewhere beyond the tidal wave of grief and loss, I heard Yejun step into the elevator and felt it begin its slow descent to ground level.

  Yejun remained silent, although when I turned my head to one side, he was looking at me as he leaned against the elevator wall. I struggled to find something to say, something that would fill up the silence, distract away the pull of his eyes. But all I managed was, “How—how did you find me?”

  “At first I tried to follow Heart when she ran away. She was a lot faster than I expected. I wandered around some. Then Jennifer contacted me. We reworked the communication charm so I could step directly to where she was.”

  “Why?” I asked, bewildered.

  He shrugged. “She thought I could help you.” The elevator dinged and slowed to a halt and he looked over at the door, then held down the Door Close button. I hadn’t remembered a Door Close button. In fact, the panel had a whole lot more buttons than I remembered.