“I could not settle myself enough. I have come to ask you to scry for me. You see far better than I do, anyway.”
“Of course I will help. But it must wait until after the Conclave is over,” Giselle said.
“No! That is too late. What if they need me?” he said hoarsely.
“There is nothing you can do from here. A few hours will make no difference.”
He swayed forward. “Please! I left Caro there.”
Max bit down hard on her lower lip. Caro was Alton’s fourteen-year-old daughter. Behind her she heard Giselle draw a sharp breath. But her response was adamant.
“I’m sorry, Alton. I can’t spend that much energy before the Conclave.”
“You promised me help when I need it!”
“And I will give it. After the Conclave. Maybe you should go back to Old Home. You will almost be there by the time I can scry.”
“I can’t,” he said, his teeth clamped together. “I must attend the Conclave.”
Witches did not meet often, and usually people died when they did. Only at Conclaves was there a mutual peace, and this was the first in almost nine years. Max didn’t know the purpose of this one, but only territory witches were invited, and to miss was to put up a neon sign saying you were too weak to sit at the grown-up table. Alton’s cotton-glove ego couldn’t handle that. He’d rather see Old Home swallowed by hell first.
A sly, menacing look slid over his expression. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? I go home and don’t attend the Conclave.” He paused a moment, his mind tumbling with the possibility. Suddenly he shouted. “Bitch! What have you done to Old Home?”
Silence echoed in response. Then Giselle said coldly, “Get him out of here.”
Max heard her turn and step up into the RV. The door shut firmly. For a moment no one moved. Alton’s mouth hung open in shock, and Dorian’s brows furrowed as his gaze ran back and forth, figuring out just how deep was the shit he was standing in.
“You heard her. Time to go,” Max said, striding forward.
“I refuse. Put your hands on me and I will fry you,” Alton told Oz, who had begun to reach for him.
Dorian stepped in front of Oz, bristling. He was smaller than Oz by a couple of inches, and not as muscular. His weapons had been stripped before entering the warehouse, and now he held his fists like a boxer. Dumbshit. Oz had a gun and he didn’t have any stupid ideas about playing fair. He’d put a hole in Dorian’s head without batting an eyelash.
Suddenly Dorian turned and hoisted Alton over his shoulder in one smooth movement before jogging for the door. Maybe he wasn’t as dumb as he looked.
“Put me down, Dorian, damn you! Giselle! This is the end for us! Our alliance is over! I will make you regret this!” Alton was still shrieking as Dorian carried him out into the sunlight. Oz followed.
As the warehouse door shut, Giselle’s RV door opened. “Max, come inside.”
Max did as ordered, setting her shotgun on the kitchen counter as she entered. Giselle was standing in the little hallway leading to her bedroom. She had her hands pressed flat against the wall on either side of her and she was shaking. Her face was gray-white.
“I’m sending Oz to Old Home. He’ll take a mix of Sunspears and Shadowblades,” she said abruptly.
Max shook her head. “That leaves you too vulnerable. We should wait until we get back to Horngate and then send out a team.”
“No. This is an order, not a request. I want them on the road within the hour.” Giselle started to turn away.
“Why? You generally aren’t stupid, and this ranks right up there with canned cheese and clothes for cats. Better make a good case for it or Oz’s compulsion spells will keep him right here where he belongs.” Max couldn’t help her smirk. Giselle’s spells forced her Sunspears and Shadowblades to protect her at all costs. If it came down to a choice between obeying her orders and keeping her alive, the spells won every time. At Giselle’s wince of annoyance, Max’s smile widened into a grin. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”
Her smile vanished as magic enveloped the witch in a crackling nimbus. Giselle crossed the kitchen in two strides and slapped Max across the face. The blow itself was nothing, but the magic was another thing entirely. It crashed over Max in a wave of black energy. It was like standing inside a nuclear reactor. Liquid heat filled her, cutting channels through her flesh and bones. Swords with electric blades stabbed her over and over. Max sank to her knees, gasping. She didn’t fight, not that she could. She breathed, counting to four with each inhalation and exhalation. Her vision swam. She clung to consciousness, her fingers gouging streaks in the linoleum floor. Her body convulsed and her legs and arms twitched uncontrollably. The magic swelled until it felt like her skin would split.
Minutes passed as Max struggled in silence. She would not let her moans of pain escape. Her bladder clenched and her face screwed tight as she clamped down on the urge to pee. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d ended up at Giselle’s feet in a pool of her own piss, but she had no intention of doing it today. Finally the magic began to subside. Max felt certain spells inside her coming alive and beginning to gather it up to use for food. Brilliantly, Giselle had made Max’s punishment as strengthening as it had been debilitating. Slowly Max pushed herself up, holding onto the counter as she swayed, her head spinning.
Giselle sat stiffly in her chair, her hair pushed back behind her ears, her hands clamped together. Her face was expressionless as she watched Max recover.
“Well, that cleared the sinuses,” Max said in a raspy voice. Fueled by the residual magic, her healing spells were writhing inside her like a giant ball of spiders, fixing whatever Giselle had broken. “Feel better?”
“You need to take this seriously,” Giselle said, her lips a gash across the lower half of her face.
Max frowned, studying her. Giselle looked haunted and worn. Her makeup barely disguised the shadows around her eyes and did nothing to cover the hollowness of her cheeks. Max straightened, her head ducking slightly, her knees flexing, as the predator in her took over from what was left of the human girl. “I’m listening. Tell me a bedtime story.” She yawned and patted her mouth, unable to resist needling the witch.
“Is it so bad, being a Shadowblade?” Giselle asked, then flittered her fingers in the air. Her voice shifted, becoming crisp. “Never mind. You’ve made yourself clear on that often enough. I have some things you need to know. It’s time.” She paused and licked her lips, the corners of her mouth twitching in something like a nervous smile before flattening out again. She watched her fingers as she spoke.
“I have never spoken of this to anyone before. It is far too dangerous. But I have to trust you.” She gave a wry shrug and glanced at Max from beneath her brows as if looking for a reaction.
Max’s mouth fell open. She stared stupidly. “Are you kidding me? I spend most waking moments thinking of ways to kill you.” She was so used to the rake of pain that accompanied her words that it was hardly noticeable. But then Giselle had made certain she had a high tolerance for pain. Practice makes perfect and all that crap.
Giselle snorted. “That’s not exactly a state secret. But what I’m about to tell you might make you reconsider, if only for the sake of Horngate. My mother was a seer. A truly rare ability. One day she had a vision of the future. It was so powerful it nearly killed her. Then it wouldn’t leave her. It came to her again and again. It tormented her. It became all she could see. She became a shadow of herself; her body could hardly handle the sendings.” Giselle’s face twisted and she stared hard at the cabinets above Max’s head. Her voice roughened. “Then she was murdered. The entire coven was butchered. The blood was terrible.” She swallowed and brushed at her eyes. “I was with my father when it happened. When we returned’” She broke off, her fingers pressing against her lips.
“We ran. Every time we thought we were safe, someone found us. They wanted no traces left of my mother’s vision. But eventually we managed to find a haven. And then I start
ed preparing for what is coming.”
“And what’s that?” Max couldn’t help imagining the small, sunny child that Giselle must have been, arriving home to find a bloodbath, and no one left alive. Then being hunted, always hiding, always looking over her shoulder, always fearing what might be waiting around the corner. A grudging sympathy wriggled to life inside her.
Giselle scrubbed her hands across her face, rubbing circles on her temples as she drew a deep breath. Her hands fell to her sides. “My mother’s vision said exactly what the Hag said. There is a war coming. It is already begun. It is going to get very ugly.”
“A war for what? About what?”
“Magic’the very existence of it. Once it was everywhere’like the wind and rain. But then humans came along and started finding ways to kill it. Bit by bit it has disappeared. Many Uncanny and Divine creatures have died off or hidden themselves deep underground or inside magical pocket realms. The way things are going, all magic is going to disappear forever. The Guardians have decided that they will not allow this.”
“The Guardians? As in mythical gods?” Max asked in disbelief. They were like bogeyman stories or Loch Ness monsters’constantly seen but never existed.
“They are not mythical, and no one is all that sure they are gods, either. But they are enormously powerful, and the Uncanny and Divine’every one of us’serve them. Refusal is ...not allowed.”
“What would they do to you?” Then it clicked. “Is that what you think happened to Old Home? Alton refused to serve and they destroyed his coven?”
Giselle’s shoulders shifted in not quite a shrug. “It’s possible. Maybe he just didn’t act quickly enough. The Guardians are impatient. They don’t tolerate disobedience or failure.”
“Sounds like a witch I know.”
“To prevent the destruction of all magic,” Giselle continued, ignoring Max’s barb, “the Guardians will raise armies. They will unleash a maelstrom of magic so that the earth itself strikes against humanity. They mean to slaughter most of the people and let magic return to the world. They have already begun. Hurricanes, fires, volcanoes, floods, droughts, earthquakes’have you noticed how many disasters have been happening recently? These aren’t random or global warming. They are the first feints of battle. They mark the wrenching open of doors to all the places where the creatures of magic have gone to hide from human encroachment. All the creatures of the Uncanny and Divine are being summoned to fight, and the witches will be their generals. They will not allow anyone to sit safe on the sidelines. The devastation will be unimaginable. All we can do is try to stay alive and protect what we can. That’s why I built Horngate. That’s why I made you. I cannot do this alone. I need your help to keep our people safe.”
“Why me?” The question had itched at Max since she’d first awakened on Giselle’s altar. Of everyone to choose from, why her? Why not some other sacrificial lamb?
Giselle smiled, leaning her head back. “I had a vision of you, years before we met. It was only a flash, but you glowed. I can’t explain it, but I knew you were going to be important in this struggle.”
“Lucky me. Did you ever think to just ask instead of getting me drunk and tricking me?” The sting of Max’s usual venom was dulled. Even to her the words sounded like reflex. Somehow she believed Giselle’s story. The witch had never lied to her. Even in the bar that night, peppering Max with questions, she’d never actually said anything that wasn’t true.
But Max didn’t know if any of it changed anything. Her hate still burned. Hate and betrayal and fury at herself for being so stupid. Could she put aside all the hours and days of torture on Giselle’s altar? Could she forget, even for a while, the endless agony, her mind made half insane by the horror of what was being done to her? And not just once or even twice, but over and over and over. It happened every time Giselle added a new spell. Every time Max’s bonds started to loosen. The few drops of witch blood in her veins lent power to her furious resistance, and those bonds loosened regularly. How could she just let it go like it didn’t matter?
“I couldn’t risk that you would say no. I needed you to say yes’otherwise I could not have bound you. I hoped our friendship would mean something, that you would know I did not do this lightly. I hoped you would be pleased with the changes in you. If you think about it, you will agree that this life suits you. Do you think you could go back to an ordinary, human life now that you know what else is out there?”
“It should have been my choice,” Max said adamantly.
“Perhaps. I have often wondered what you would be capable of if you were willing. Even as bitter and resistant as you are, there is no better Shadowblade. But you can’t change what you are. Even if I wanted to, I can’t unwind the magic that has made you. You are a Shadow-blade and you always will be. So now, knowing what is coming, you have a choice to make. This business with the redcaps and the Hag and the ominous silence at Old Home’it all stinks of the Guardians. If so, they’ll be knocking on our door soon.”
“What exactly are you asking?” Max’s stomach churned. It felt as if the world were turning inside out’which, if she believed Giselle, was exactly what was about to happen. Did she believe? Honestly? Yes, dammit. But what was she willing to do about it?
“I am asking for your help. I am asking you to stop fighting me and start helping me.”
Max tensed. Though she already knew the answer, she had to ask, “If I do? What will you give me in return?”
Giselle shook her head. “You want me to say I will free you. When it’s all over. But I don’t know if it will ever be over, and I won’t lie to you and say it will be. I don’t think I can ever let you go.”
Max’s teeth bared in a snarl. “You ask too fucking much. You always have.”
“I know. Will you consider it?”
“Go to hell.”
Max slammed out of the RV. The steel walls of the warehouse closed in on her. Her throat closed. She could hardly breathe. She shivered. She reached for her anger, wanting its comforting heat. But it was cold and bitter, like ash. She thought of the Hag’s promise: Know what you want. You will have it.
She wanted her freedom; she wanted revenge.
But she couldn’t have either.
Will you consider it?
Thirty years ago Giselle had bound her in magical chains, and today the witch-bitch had bound her again, this time in chains of duty and friendship. Not for Giselle. But for Oz. For Niko and Akemi and Magpie and Lise and everyone else who called Horngate home. Including Max. She had no choice.
Horngate needed Giselle, and the witch-bitch needed Max’the best of her’heart, mind, and soul.
A sound tore from Max’s throat and her hands curled, her fingernails cutting deeply into her palms. Hot tears burned her eyes and a hollow space opened in her chest. Giving up her battle against Giselle tasted too much like consent’like she approved of what Giselle had done to her. Like she accepted and condoned it.
Her stomach heaved violently and she swallowed, swinging around and punching her fist into the side of the RV. A hand snatched her arm before she could connect. She stopped, tracing the arm to the shoulder and face. Niko. He looked worried, but he didn’t let go.
She wrenched away. “What the fuck do you want?”
“You do realize that the protections on the RV haven’t changed. Hitting it will only powder your bones. It won’t even scratch the paint.”
“Yeah, well, maybe it would make me feel better.”
“Because a shattered hand makes everything better,” he mocked.
“I could always hit you, though your head is hard as a rock.”
“True. Now, not to be insulting, but you could really use a shower. Even Akemi thinks so.”
He glanced over to where the Chinese woman stood with her arms crossed. She flashed a look of annoyance at him. “When you find your clothes in the burn barrel, you’ll know how they got there,” Akemi said.
Niko blanched. “That’s just mean.” Suddenly h
e grinned. “Look at that, Max. It’s like seeing a baby take her first step, ain’t it?”
“Pook gai,” Akemi shot back, color flushing her round cheeks.
“Whoa!” Niko said, glancing at Max. “Did you hear that? I think she swore at me. Wow. That’s two steps. I’m so proud.”
“Niko, shut up before she cuts your tongue out,” Max said, humor eating away the hot edge of her fury. “I’m going to shower. Do try to play nice.” With that she stomped away, heading for her bunk.
4
MAX STEPPED INSIDE HER CRAMPED, LIGHT-sealed room in the bus. She wore a T-shirt and her underwear, her wet hair slicked back against her head. Her room was really nothing more than a cubicle paneled with fake wood with a narrow, folding bunk along the outside wall. Strapped to its underside was a collection of weapons and ammo. A small nightstand was beside it, and above it, a footwide closet. There was a mirror on the wall facing the bed, and nothing else.
On her nightstand was a note. She picked it up. It was a Taco Bell receipt. Scrawled across the back was one line: Keep yourself and Giselle safe. Oz hadn’t signed it. So. Giselle had convinced him to go. He’d folded fast. Max wondered what Giselle had told him. Much to Max’s relief, there was no mention of their kiss. Hopefully he hadn’t taken it seriously.
She wadded the note and flung it against the wall, glaring balefully at the clothing laid out on the bed like a deflated corpse. The skintight, forest green suit consisted of leather pants and an almost-whole vest without any shirt. With a jerk of her arm she swept it onto the floor and lay down on her bed, setting the alarm for eight o’clock. She didn’t fall asleep immediately.
Her mind roved over what Giselle had told her as she stared at the ceiling. The Guardians were real beings. Fuck. And Giselle was afraid of them. Which made Max want to curl up in a ball and hide under a mountain. Giselle was made of stone and ice. Max sighed, frowning. She didn’t know a lot about Guardians. A lot of the legends claimed that they had created most of the Uncanny and Divine races, then abandoned earth for other dimensions. Which was a good thing because what little Max did know about the Guardians wasn’t good. They were cruel, petty, and terribly powerful. Some said they’d set off Mount Vesuvius to teach one merchant about too much pride. Then, too, they were credited with the disappearance of Atlantis, the creation of the Sahara Desert, the black plague, and a billion other things large and small. Even if only a fraction of those stories were true, humanity was way the hell up shit creek.
Bitter Night: A Horngate Witches Book Page 7