Mist and Magic

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Is this the portion of the trip where you regale me by reciting encyclopedia entries?”

  “The tiger is the largest extant cat species in the world, can weigh up to six hundred and sixty pounds, can leap thirty feet in a single jump, can eat eighty-eight pounds of meat in a day, and prefers to sneak up on its prey and ambush it from hiding.” Willard eyed the mist-blanketed woods around us. Hiding spots were aplenty.

  “Consider me regaled. What’s extant mean?”

  “Not extinct. Don’t you read any books when you’re not busy killing people?”

  “Of course. I just finished a re-read of The Last Unicorn.”

  “That’s a kids’ book.”

  “It’s a classic for children of all ages.” As I slid a fresh magazine into Fezzik, I decided not to mention that I owned the entire Harry Potter collection in hardback.

  A clack came from behind me, and I jumped, my heart rate springing to double-time as I imagined tigers ambushing us from the trees. It took me a moment—and another clack—to realize it was the cub pawing at the window. Intent green eyes regarded me through the glass.

  “Your cat either wants to come with us or has to pee,” Willard remarked.

  “I don’t think she does that.” Though I was hesitant to let her out, lest she run off and get in trouble again, I also didn’t want her to destroy the Jeep if I kept her in there against her wishes. Aside from my love for intact seatbelts, I had to consider that we might need to make a fast getaway later.

  “Then she truly is magical. I have a cat, and her litter box needs changing regularly.”

  It was hard to imagine Willard cuddling up to some pet at night. Though some house cats were aloof and independent, so maybe that was a perfect fit for her.

  “Does that mean you need to hurry home ASAP to clean it?” I asked.

  “The neighbor is watching her, but yes. She’s a vocal handful, and I have to pay handsomely to get people to take care of her.”

  The cub clacked her claws against the window again.

  “A handful, huh?” I opened the door so my furry princess could bound down into the mud. She splatted a paw into it, spraying murky water onto my jeans. “Hard to imagine.”

  “Pets are demanding.” Willard almost smiled.

  Maybe cats were the thing we would bond over out here.

  She pointed into the tall trees to the south. “The hill should be that way.”

  The roar of the tiger drifted to us again—from the south.

  “Goody.”

  “Tigers are also supposed to be nocturnal,” Willard said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky, and it’s bedding down for the day.”

  The gray sky above us, only vaguely visible through the fog, barely fit the definition of daylight. I doubted even a vampire would be forced indoors at this level of illumination.

  The cub headed into the woods. To the south.

  “It’s moderately disturbing that your cub is eager to unite or reunite with the killer that’s making that noise,” Willard said.

  “It’s possible she’s on the trail of something else.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Let’s hope the killer, if it truly is a feline, will think kindly of us for walking with one of its own kind.” I grabbed the backpack I’d used to carry the cub earlier, in case she got tired and wanted a ride.

  “Considering that tigers see primates as delicious meals, that seems optimistic.”

  The cub paused, her silver glow visible in the fog, and looked back at me. Waiting?

  “Are you going to lead us to the right spot?” I closed the door softly, afraid sound would travel in the still night.

  “Merow?”

  “Are you going to lead us to our deaths?” Willard asked.

  “Merow?” The cub turned, tail swishing behind her, and trotted deeper into the woods.

  “Comforting,” Willard said.

  I shook my head and followed the cub. Even though Willard’s description had reminded me how badass tigers were—and magical tigers were presumably more so—I was more worried about the enemy we didn’t yet know. A tiger hadn’t been the one to order Michael kidnapped.

  14

  The cub led us through the trees, stopping frequently to wait for us. Between the tangled undergrowth, moss-carpeted logs, and the perpetual fog, we couldn’t advance as quickly and quietly as we would have liked, but Willard didn’t slow me down, nor was she any louder than I. Usually, my half-elven feet lent me an advantage when it came to stealth and agility, but she must have had more than intelligence training in her years in the army.

  We were both slow compared to the cub. She’d gotten a second wind when she’d jumped out of the Jeep, though the way she flopped down on her side whenever she was waiting for us to catch up worried me. Her aura, which I relied upon to track her, had grown less noticeable in the time we’d been together. Weaker.

  When a magical being died, its aura disappeared. I tried not to think about that happening.

  A howl floated through the woods, the sound of a wolf’s call. Another wolf answered it from the other direction.

  They were on either side of us, perhaps a half mile away, though the intervening trees and sound-muting fog made it hard to be certain. The same fog made it difficult to tell if there were any prints out here besides those of small animals. It bothered me that we hadn’t found a road or at least a trail heading to this hilltop. If ogres had truly come this way, with Michael draped over one of their shoulders, they should have left signs of their passing.

  “Wolves and tigers,” Willard muttered. “Misty Loop Lane is a damn menagerie.”

  “Don’t forget the ogres and the castle.” I let my free hand stray to the pocket where I’d tucked the key. Did it seem warmer than it had at the road? I wasn’t positive.

  “I haven’t. Are we still following the cub? I can’t see or hear her.”

  “She’s just ahead. I sense her.”

  Willard didn’t comment on my claim, but if she’d been working in the office long enough to become well versed in the magical, she would know magical beings could sense magic.

  Up ahead, the trees thinned, and a path finally came into view. As we stepped onto it, a zap of energy raced along my nerves, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

  “Did you feel that?” I whispered as Willard joined me.

  “No.”

  The cub sat in the path, as if waiting for us to decide which way to go. I wished I knew. We couldn’t see even twenty feet down it either way. I checked the map on my phone to verify what my sense of direction was telling me, that it ran roughly parallel to the road rather than inward like a driveway.

  Wolves howled again, closer this time. And more than two of them. They sounded like they were on the path and heading toward us.

  “I think we might have crossed a border and stepped on a magical tripwire,” I said.

  Another howl came from down the path in the opposite direction. The sound of heavy breathing floated across the forest. There was no doubt that the wolves were coming.

  “Back to back.” Willard lifted her rifle, tucking the stock into the hollow of her shoulder, and turned to face in one direction.

  “Right.” I drew Fezzik and pointed it in the other direction.

  Had I been alone, I would have used my charm to camouflage myself, but that would have left them all focusing on Willard. I also would have opted for Chopper, since the sword wouldn’t make noise and announce our arrival to everyone within two miles, but maybe it didn’t matter. Whoever had set that magical tripwire knew we were here.

  A touch at my shin distracted me. The cub was resting her paw on my legs, claws retracted, and looking up at me with concerned green eyes.

  I bent and swooped her up and put her into my pack. There was just enough time to level Fezzik again as the first set of eyes came into view. They glowed like red beacons in the fog, and my senses told me that the approaching wolves were magical.

  “Firing,” Willar
d said, a second before she did.

  Would her weapon do anything against magical foes? I didn’t know.

  I aimed right between the eyes streaking toward me as the furry black canine solidified in the fog. More than twice the size of a natural wolf, it jumped as the weapon cracked, somehow anticipating my shot. My bullet sailed under it.

  It thudded into another creature behind it that wasn’t as fast. A second set of eyes blinked out, but only for a second. The wolf never cried out, and they kept coming.

  Behind me, Willard fired rapidly. I did the same, crouching in case I had to spring aside.

  My bullets rained into the chests of the two wolves I could see, Fezzik recoiling with each shot, the power comforting in my palm. They tried to dodge or jump over my attacks, but now I knew to expect their speed and anticipated it. My rounds parted thick fur and thudded into flesh and bone. But the unnatural wolves kept coming. The red eyes seemed to flare brighter, angrier.

  “My bullets aren’t stopping them,” Willard said, her tone calm but the words clipped and tense.

  “I know. I’m switching to my sword.”

  There was no time to say more. As I holstered Fezzik and drew Chopper, the lead wolf sprang for me.

  Not wanting to bump Willard with my swings, I rushed forward to meet it. The magical blade flared blue, as if it was hungry for a fight.

  The otherworldly wolf had to weigh three hundred pounds, and my instincts screamed at me to slash at the snapping jaws, anything to keep the fangs away from my neck, but I needed to strike a more vital target. As I dodged its attack, the unaccustomed weight of the cub rocking on my back and almost upsetting my balance, I plunged my blade in under its jaws. The tip sank into the fur of its throat, and I thought it would be a killing blow.

  But its head whipped around, still snapping at me as the wolf landed. I skittered back, branches clawing at my pack and the cub screeching a protest. It charged again, jaws opening wide, and I braced myself. I swung Chopper toward its gleaming fangs, and metal screeched against teeth, slicing into its tongue. The wolf shook its head, giving me the opening I needed. I swung Chopper in hard enough to cut through its skull and into its brain.

  For the first time, one of the wolves yelped and cried out. It dropped to the ground, half disappearing in the fog as the body went limp.

  The second wolf lunged at me before I could celebrate any victory. With little room to maneuver on the path, I backed up again. Fortunately, Willard had moved off to the side, using two trees to protect her flanks, and wasn’t in my way. She was keeping her two wolves busy so they couldn’t get through to my back.

  As my second wolf tramped over the first in its eagerness to get to me, I lunged back in to meet its snapping jaws with a thrust from my sword. Power seemed to flow out of Chopper and into the wolf. It yelped as the tip of the blade sank into its chest. The eyes flared brighter red, then went dark.

  I yanked my blade free, made sure I didn’t sense any more coming down the path, and spun to help Willard. Somehow, even with her mundane rifle, she’d managed to down one of her fanged foes. Another huge gray wolf was snapping at her with berserker-like fury. She fired until she ran out of bullets, then ducked behind one of the trees to reload.

  The wolf lunged after her, not paying attention to me. I rushed at its flank and swung down with Chopper like a logger splitting wood. The blade sliced through fur and flesh—and vertebrae.

  Our foe yowled, and its back legs collapsed, but that didn’t keep it from trying to spin and go after me. I pulled my blade free and scooted out of its range. As I prepared to lunge in again, Willard whistled. Snarling, the wolf twisted back toward her. She stepped out from behind the tree and shot it in one of its glowing red eyes. It slumped lifeless to the ground.

  “Thanks for the help,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.” While I wiped my blade, I reached out with my senses to see if any more magical creatures were in the area.

  “I found out I had to shoot them exactly in the eye for my bullets to do anything. More than once.” Willard pointed at the first one she’d killed. “I took that one in the right eye three times in a row. There have to be three bullets lined up back to back in its brain.”

  “They’re magical wolves.”

  She gave me a sarcastic look. “You think?”

  “I wasn’t sure if you were confused as to why a mundane rifle didn’t work that well.”

  “Less confused and more wondering where I should go to buy one like yours. Though I noticed even you switched.” Willard considered Chopper, the blade still glowing as I finished wiping off the blood.

  “There’s a lady in town with gnomish blood who makes magical firearms. Her name is Nin. She runs the Crying Tiger food truck.”

  “I’ve heard of her. I’ll check it out.”

  “Get the beef and rice while you’re there. It’s good.”

  “Is that where you got that sword too?”

  “No. I won this in battle a few years back.” I sheathed Chopper carefully, the cub still in the pack also occupying room on my back.

  “Does that mean you looted it off your enemy after you killed it?” Willard sounded judgmental, as if her unit’s basement wasn’t full of magical artifacts that the agents had brought back after defeating enemies.

  “Yes, but it was a zombie lord menacing the locals by raising the dead from a cemetery. I didn’t think anyone would object.”

  “It looks dwarvish. How did the zombie lord get it?”

  “We didn’t discuss it while we were fighting. My guess is that he looted it from one of his enemies after killing him.” I frowned at her, prepared to argue further that it was rightfully mine, but Willard was now gazing up and to the south.

  The fog had thinned, and the hill we’d only seen on the map had come into view. If it had truly been clear-cut once, there wasn’t evidence of it now. The trees had grown back in a hurry and stretched as tall as they did elsewhere in the forest. Still, it looked like the very top of the hill might be more open.

  “I believe that’s our hill,” Willard said, then waved for me to follow her over one of the wolf bodies and up the path.

  After only a few steps, she pointed her rifle down at the mud. A huge five-toed barefoot print was visible—that of an ogre. It had come from the direction of the road and walked along the path in the direction that looked like it led to the hill.

  “But where’s our castle?” I asked.

  “Maybe it’s a small castle.”

  “Maybe that’ll make it easier to storm.” I thought of my keychain.

  “I doubt it. You still have the key?”

  I tapped my pocket to make sure the magical item hadn’t fallen out. “Yes.”

  “Good. Are you leading or am I?” Willard looked at the cub when she said it, not me.

  I glanced back as the cub rested her chin on my shoulder.

  “I think I’m leading,” I said, wondering if she had grown too weary or had lost interest. And if the latter, why?

  Shaking my head, I followed the ogre prints up the path. We would find out one way or another soon.

  I’m coming for you, Michael, I thought, hoping the castle was up there, and that he was in it and all right.

  15

  The hilltop was empty, save for ribbons of fog curling through the grass and around the occasional stump.

  We crouched to the side of the muddy path, hiding behind the last trees and ferns before the forest opened up into the grass. Fog stretched away in all directions, this hilltop an island amid gray. The path continued out into the grass, though from our vantage point, it appeared to continue on and down the other side. But wolves and magical tripwires wouldn’t have been placed to guard an empty hilltop.

  I slipped what we believed was a magical key out of my pocket. Before, I’d thought it slightly warm. Now, there was no doubt. It heated my palm noticeably in the cool damp air.

  “If you’re a key, where’s the lock?” I rubbed the castle emblem wi
th my thumb. Nothing happened. I waved it in the air. Nothing happened. I clunked it against the nearest tree.

  Willard’s eyebrows twitched as she watched, but she didn’t comment.

  “Any ideas?”

  She started to reply, but I was holding it over my shoulder for the cub to look at.

  Willard snorted. “Is she the brains in this outfit?”

  “I don’t know. She hasn’t recited any encyclopedias to me yet.”

  The cub licked the castle emblem.

  “Ew.” I pulled it away and wiped it off.

  While I was distracted doing that, Willard sucked in a breath and gripped my arm. She was staring at the hilltop.

  A structure was slowly appearing in the fog, a rambling structure with several levels, including crenelated parapets stretching between towers with spires. The whole thing was made from wood, predominantly intact logs, and it made me think of some Colonial army fort rather than a castle. But the structure radiated magic, so I had little doubt that this was our place. That magic wasn’t as powerful as what I sensed from Chopper, but there was a lot of it. At the least, I suspected wards or alarms to alert those inside of intruders.

  I looked down at our key, wondering if the cat licking it had evoked its magic or if rubbing it had done the trick.

  “It’s made of logs,” Willard said, sounding even more bemused by the structure than I was. “I don’t think you can call it a castle if it’s made out of logs.”

  “Why don’t we go knock on the door and discuss it with the owner?” I waved at double doors made from split logs behind a portcullis also made from wood. The muddy path now led to a drawbridge that was down over a meandering moat that had appeared along with the structure.

  “I should knock and show them my warrant.” Willard didn’t rise to do so. She was eyeing the windows in the towers. Looking for guards? Wondering if she would be shot as she walked up?

  “Do you have a warrant?”

  “Yeah. For One Cave Misty Loop Lane.”