Belle brings the conversation back onto the rails. “Perhaps we should stop borrowing trouble we aren’t yet up against. Right now, we need to deal with this Hunt. We have to keep it under control so it doesn’t harm or take any civilians. We don’t want to upset our allies if we can help it. And don’t forget, not all Fae want another Camelot. They enjoy the human world. They love humans. We don’t want to ruin that because a few of us want to split off.”
I understand Jackie’s fears. She’s waited for Arthur and Gwen for a long time. I’ve never met either.
They are some of the oldest Fae and in the early 1800s, Arthur and Gwen ruled Fae from a new Camelot, keeping Faery secret from humans. It only lasted seven years before they were killed. Jackie was his knight and she believes he’ll make everything right like he did last time. And perhaps he will, but he may be horrible. A coward. An arrogant ass. Or he may lose. Belle’s right — we can’t ruin all relations with humans. They aren’t all horrible. Fae rulers can be just as bad. Mab is an utter terror.. We’re pretty certain she was behind his latest assassination.
I turn to Hatter, speaking for his ears alone. “Do you want to go to Camelot?”
He shrugs. “I’d like to go when he rises to help get it set up, but I have no desire to remain unless you wish it. I go where you go, love. As long as you let me.”
I melt, smiling up at him. He leans over to press a kiss to my cheek. Our hands entwine under the table as the talk turns to the Hunt.
We only have the rest of the evening to prepare. The Hunt strikes at midnight.
Belle turns to Anne. “Were you able to get the weapons?”
Anne grins. “Of course. Most of them were already at our home.”
Everyone laughs.
“And of course between our two households, we have plenty of rides for everyone. Bo here should be a great help if the Hunt scares them.”
I nod. “As long as we aren’t dealing with sheep, I’m good.”
My words bring on more laughter. Even before I broke with Faery, I hated sheep. They creep me out. And of all the animals, I have no affinity with them. The ignorant beasts completely ignore me. Unfortunately, they are everywhere out here.
Once dinner disappears, we trickle into their parlor, where we drink and catch up, and plan, knowing tonight we fight.
Aroused the Horrified Sleeper
The Wild Hunt is upon us.
The eight of us load ourselves down with weapons and Rochester leads us out to the stables. He seems strangely nervous as he opens the door.
As we walk in, I see why. He doesn’t have a stable full of horses. He has a stable full of motorcycles. There’s at least twenty in here.
Belle squeals like a twelve-year-old meeting their favorite boy band, running over to the closest bike, running her hands over the handles.
I turn to Rochester and Jane. “My powers aren’t going to work on these.”
Rochester grins wide. “I know. I just wanted it to be a surprise. Besides, Anne and Elinor did bring horses for those who can’t ride my babies.”
I shake my head in wonder. “What happened to the man who hates newfangled inventions?”
Jane laughs. “He’s still a crotchety old man about everything else except these. He fell in love around fifteen years ago and I haven’t been able to stop him from buying them.”
Belle beams over at us. “They’re beautiful. Are you sure you trust these clowns on them?”
A laugh rumbles from Rochester. “Only experienced riders are touching my babies.”
I hide a grin. He’s adorable.
“Well, that leaves me out.” Hatter doesn’t sound too put out over it.
I grab his jacket. “You can always ride on the back of mine.”
He scoffs. “Of course you know how to drive one of those monstrosities. I’ll stick to the horse.”
“How dare you.” Belle actually sounds furious and offended.
“You aren’t getting within an inch of my beauties.” Rochester is just as offended.
It sends the lot of us into laughter, breaking the tension the nearing Hunt has wrapped around us. Still laughing, those riding the bikes start them up while everyone else mounts the horses. I send out soothing strength to the animals, to keep them brave and calm as we battle against the specters and as they deal with the roar of the engines surrounding them.
Miss Muffet called and won’t make it until day two of the Hunt, which gives me a gross feeling of satisfaction. I much prefer keeping my head buried in the sand instead of knowing for certain whether or not she and Hatter were ever a thing.
We split up in pairs to make sure we funnel the Hunt where we want it to go, away from homes and shops and humans. We need it up on the moors where ghosts are welcome.
The riders are hard to fight. There are always a different amount of them each year. They aren’t alive, they’re shadows of those who will soon return. If I die, I’ll join the Hunt once it’s close to my time to return, like it or not. We have to behead them or shoot them between the eyes to make them disappear. Something rather difficult upon horseback. We have to keep them from taking and terrorizing people.
The Hunt don’t hurt the humans they steal, they just ride far out with the mortals, leaving them alone to freeze in the deep winter snows. That’s what kills them if we don’t stop the Hunt or get to the humans in time. Being cold and alone, lost in the snowy woods.
Hatter and I head out to the left, splitting off from the others, riding through the fading light reflecting off the snow. If it was any other time, it would feel like a romantic ride under a starlit sky.
Thrills zing through me and my free hand drums against my leg as I drive one-handed. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a bike, and I need to be prepared to fight from one.
An internal soundtrack plays in my head — the same Doors song mixed with a little Ozzy. We should add some harder music into our gigs, play around with new sounds. Playing at Hatter’s club opened up bigger venues for us, and better paying ones too.
Juggling three jobs is starting to become a little difficult, but for the first time in a long time, I’m not so lonely and restless. I no longer have the constant itch, wondering who I’ll be or where I’ll go next. The vigilance and paranoia, worrying over being recognized and informed on, are gone.
I’m freer now than I have been in years.
But the longer I’m in England, the more the weight begins pressing on me again. The stronger the itch to run gets. Everywhere I turn, I see flashes of my life here. How happy we were, even in the midst of our fights and pain. This is where my children grew up and it’s where Fitz finally died.
I would have been happy never coming back to England. Especially here.
Hatter and I reach our position, and we hide in a thick part of the woods.
And we wait.
The darkness lightens as the clouds pass across the moon, making the snow glow. It’s a winter wonderland out here, like we’re trapped inside a snow globe.
The Hunt always comes in the bitterest week of winter. It’s partly what took Belle so long to figure out exactly when it would happen. And where. Weather isn’t easy to predict. There’s something about the bleakness of it, drawing spirits in. Or, it’s what the legends say, so it’s now the truth. We live in a world where tales and legends become truth.
Do authors worry when they write novels now that they know their creations will come to life in a few decades? Are they more careful about what they bring into the world? It’s not only the heroes who come to life. It’s the villains and monsters too.
Do they revel in the power they wield? Do they respect it? Does it change how they write? Or do they not give a shit because they won’t be alive when their creations come to ravage the world?
As the years have gone by, less and less characters are born. Books don’t last as long as they used to. They’re lucky to get a second printing. Will TV characters start coming to life now with Netflix growing in popularity and readin
g on the decline?
I guess we’ll find out.
A blowing horn echoes across the moors, hounds baying and growling in response.
The Wild Hunt has begun.
The Hunters' Shouts
Hatter and I pull our swords, readying ourselves for their approach. I perk my ears, listening for the rustle of frozen leaves, the drum of hoof beats.
It doesn’t take long to reach us.
My pulse speeds up and my palms sweat inside my fur-lined gloves. Hatter grins madly over at me, and I can’t help but grin back at him.
As long as he has my back, the fear isn’t allowed to take hold. We are too good of a team, finding our groove even after such a long time apart, and we’re even better than we were before.
I send out another blast of calm and strength to the horses, praying my power reaches the ones on the other sides of the moors. The hoof beats drum louder and louder, until it’s all I can hear. No birds or other animals. We’re the only things in this forest, the Hunt driving everything off.
The air grows colder, frosty vapor spiraling from our mouths. We have seconds until they’re here. I release the lion, and he flows from my arm with a roar. Hatter’s horse whinnies and shifts, but my power smooths away her nervousness. My lion is a streak of colors between the horse and the motorcycle, prepared to strike.
The Hunt rides over the hill, ghostly specters on the backs of midnight black unicorns.
The leader of the Hunt rounds the corner of the trail, and Hatter and I spring into action, riding towards them. The tires slip in the icy snow, the lion still at my side, his paws leaving no footprints behind.
I adjust my grip on the sword, raising it high to swing at the head of the leader of the Hunt, but I falter when I catch sight of his face. I recognize him from the portraits hanging in the London Library.
It’s Arthur.
My sword clangs harmlessly against his armor, bouncing so hard I almost drop it. He rides past me, but heads in the direction we want them to, the rest following.
I turn the bike around, almost dumping myself into the snow, racing back around, cutting the riders off. The lead unicorn rears, shrieking in fear.
Hatter and I herd them towards Belle and Jackie’s position, slicing at them with our swords, my lion nipping at the unicorns’ hind legs, taking on the black hounds. Our powers useless against these ghosts.
We fly over the snow-crusted hills, the moonlight shining right through the riders, making them glow, making them more terrifying.
The riders get tired of us slashing at them, and begin to fight back. Their swords may be transparent, but they’re real enough as they swing at my head.
We reach Belle and Jackie’s position, and they join the battle. The twenty or so riders spread out to take us on, leaving us wildly outnumbered. But the bikes freak the riders out, giving us a little bit of an edge.
I recognize every rider I fight against, making it harder and harder to swing my sword. My blade slices through Gwen’s neck, but it doesn’t faze her. What the hell is going on? Beheadings always work.
Her blade slices into my bicep, leaving a freezing hot burn searing down to the bone.
I let off the throttle, my arm burning, focusing on my lion, keeping him between me and the riders. Belle rides over to me. “Are you all right?” she calls out.
“Just a graze. I beheaded Gwen and nothing.”
“Me too. The rules have changed. Regular steel isn’t working.”
I pull out my gun. “Then let’s try something else.” I dive back into the fray, firing off three shots at one of the rider’s heads.
Nothing.
Belle drives at my side and yells over at me. “We’re just going to have to keep herding them away from the populated areas.”
“And try not to get killed.”
Belle revs her engine and rides away to let the others know, snow spitting into the air beneath her tires.
I shove my gun back into the holster and move into a better position.
One of the riders turns to look at me and my sword drops from numb fingers. All the blood drains from my face and the adrenaline flees, leaving me hollow.
It’s Fitz.
The Thunders' Crash
I try to ride after him, weaponless against this mirage. I need to touch him, to hold him, to be in his arms, to kiss him. My throat aches with unshed tears. But he disappears, swallowed up by the other riders and my heart cracks wide open.
The Hunt rides on without me, my lion along with it. I have enough awareness left to make sure of that. But I can’t move —- I’m stuck here, in this spot, my lungs fighting desperately for air, my heart pounding in my temples, a roaring in my ears.
Is this place playing tricks on me? Is it part of the changing Hunt? How it is possible that Fitz is a rider? Only Fae become riders and are part of the hunt.
It’s impossible.
Unless, being married to me somehow change him. Is he going to come back? A tendril of hope rises. He could come back. We could be together again.
No. There’s no way.
I imagined it. I’ve been seeing him everywhere since landing in England. Surely there are some Fae who look similar to him. It would be an easy mistake to make.
Shaking it off, I push off, hurrying to catch up with the others. The riders have made it to Jane and Rochester’s position and they join us as we try to surround the Hunt. Rochester must have contacted Anne and Elinor because they fly over from the woods on horseback.
The wind strengthens, whipping around us in a frenzy. Thunder crashes and lightening crackles, momentarily blinding me. The snowfall grows heavier, swirling around us, making it harder to see.
Gasps and cries come from the others, but I can’t tell what’s wrong. I’m too busy searching for Fitz. Maybe it was my imagination, but I have to be sure. I have to figure out what this means.
My pulse pounds in my temples, sending shards of pain slicing through my head. The horn blows again, and the riders shift, galloping away from us. Rochester tries to bring us together, speaking into our minds, but the roaring in my head drowns him out. All I can focus on is finding Fitz.
The hounds attack, snapping at our legs. I kick one of them in the face, and it flies away from me to crash into the deepening drifts of snow.
Another hound replaces this one, his jaws almost sinking into the flesh of my calf. I bring the pommel of my sword onto its head. Anne’s horse rears, slamming its hooves down on the back of another. And then, my lion is there, roaring and slashing at them.
I glance over, and the others are struggling with the same thing. The hounds are keeping us busy so the Hunt can ride off to wherever they’re headed.
I reach out, begging for help, but other than the horses, there’s no response. All the living creatures are long gone, somehow sensing the Hunt. With a frustrated hiss, I try another approach, reaching out to the hounds themselves. But only emptiness responds. There’s nothing.
I’ve never encountered anything like this before. This blank blackness. When I pull away, it remains, sticking to me like tar.
My lion finally takes care of enough of the hounds for us to break away. We follow the trail the Hunt leaves behind — the crater in the snow quickly filling with the blizzard falling down on us.
My bike slips and slides, almost tossing me from my seat. We have to slow down. We’ll get hurt or injure the horses. I call out to all the horses, telling them to be careful, guiding them through the snow and ice.
I can’t stop shivering, both from the cold and from the come down. And from seeing Fitz. I shove it away, unable to deal with it right now.
I glance over at Hatter, guilt filling me. How am I going to tell him? Do I tell him?
We keep riding until we reach the edge of the town where screams come from. We have failed spectacularly. The riders stampede through the town, chasing the residents, their unicorns riding straight into homes.
The Hunt carries off at least ten human, before they disapp
ear into the snow and dark night.
We’re swarmed by sobbing humans, begging for our help, demanding we fix this.
And the riders get away.
Roared High in the Lust of Slaughter
Jane, Rochester, and Elinor remain to deal with the townspeople, and the rest of us chase after the Hunt. We ride through the park the rest of the night, making it to other towns right after the Hunt has ridden off with more people.
We make it all the way to the coast before morning comes, all of us drooping over our handlebars and saddles with exhaustion. It was only the sheer force of my will keeping the horses going themselves.
We limp back to the Rochesters’, where the Fae stable workers take the horses and bikes from us as dawn stains the sky in reds and golds. The other bikes are already in the stables, so the others must be back.
They’re waiting for us inside. Jane rushes over to us. “Did you find any of the humans?”
I shake my head. “We were too late every time. What happened with you?”
“We got tangled up with the authorities. Anne and Elinor are still with them, helping to organize a search. Belle really should have been the one to stay.” Rochester casts an apologetic glance towards Belle.
Belle groans. “Whose feathers do I need to unruffle?”
Jane grimaces. “I’d call Inspector Martin. I’d also call the London office and get them on it.”
Belle’s hands fist at her sides. “I’ll give Dracula a call while I’m at it and see if he can help. But first, what the hell happened out there?”
I jump. “What do you mean? The fact that we couldn’t hurt them?”
Black Sheep of Faery: Books 1-2 Page 12