“Well lass, what be ye then?” he asked, narrowing that violet gaze on her again as he raised his hand and placed a smoking pipe between his thin lips. From his left side crept a frail looking woman with the same dark gray colored skin but eyes of gold-orange that glowed like the centers of candle flames.
“Is she a witch?” the woman asked.
“Nah. There’s no’ that kind of magic about her. Come closer lass, so I can make ye out.”
Logan stayed where she was. It was taking a good bit of her faculties to process the couple’s appearance, including their accent, which was a bizarre combination of what sounded like a brogue and a Gaelic lilt and something else she couldn’t even begin to place.
“Och, mortals,” grumbled the old man. “Never listen.” He stepped past the threshold and moved toward her instead. The woman at his elbow let him go, but with reluctance. As he drew nearer, Logan’s heart pounded faster.
The old man stopped a foot away, lowered his pipe, and looked at her as if he were looking straight down into her soul.
“Ah then,” he smiled, showing her two rows of strong, if slightly yellowed teeth. “Ye be a bard.” He nodded, grinning, and the woman on the doorstep behind him sighed heavily in relief. “Please lass,” he said, gesturing to the cottage. “Come inside. The masquerade’ll be startin’ soon and ye don’t want to be out in it without a mask.”
Chapter Seven
For some length of time, Dominic floated. It was terribly nauseating. His surroundings were like smudged and blurred paint, indistinct and immaterial. He had nothing to hold on to. There was no ground, no sky, and he was afraid he was going to throw up in his sleep and choke on his own vomit like Jimi.
But then, in the most gracious kind of mercy, the nausea faded. The nothingness beneath him began to feel more solid, and the blurry, smudged-paint sky pixelated itself into different shapes that started to make sense.
He could feel other aspects of his body again, his head, his hands, his legs. He blinked, and his eyes responded. Things cleared a little more. He did it again, and then again, until everything had more or less returned to focus.
He was still in the forest he’d ended up in after separating from Samhain in the portal. His left cheek was pressed to fallen leaves. He could see his fingers a few inches away; he was laying on his stomach, his head turned to the side.
My head.
Logan had kicked him square in the jaw with the business end of her boot. For all intents and purposes, his jaw should be broken and he should have a concussion.
But his head didn’t hurt. Not at all. The nausea had passed, and his vision had cleared. If he’d concussed, it had either knocked him literally senseless to the point that he couldn’t feel pain, or he’d healed already. Or maybe it had just been a lucky shot – for both of them.
Dom pushed himself up to his knees and looked around. The ground had been disturbed, most likely by Logan’s mad dash for freedom. Chunks of soil had been kicked up, and the leaves were clumped together in some places.
He got to his feet and was surprised at how steady he felt. In fact, he felt… good. Out of curiosity, he lifted his shirt and looked down at his chest. The red line across his midsection where Logan had carved into him with her knife was fading. He touched it gingerly. It was still a little tender, but not nearly as much as it had been before.
He dropped his shirt and looked at the ground with its messed up leaves. His gaze followed the leaves and their troubled pattern for several feet. There were clumps of them leading off into the distance, places where Logan had probably run and kicked them up behind her. This was good. If he could remember half of what he’d been taught in Boy Scouts, he might just be able to follow Logan’s progress through the forest.
Dom felt a beam of sunlight kiss his cheek and glanced up. Little to no time seemed to have passed since before his little nap. It was still mid-afternoon, and the sun was in exactly the same place it had been in before Logan had kicked him.
Was that possible?
Dom frowned and blew out a sigh, running his hand through his thick black hair. “None of this is possible,” he muttered to himself.
And therefore, all of it was.
*****
Meagan counted down in her head. Her lips moved in silence, ticking the numbers off with her. Fifteen… fourteen… thirteen….
Somewhere behind her, in the darkness of the insanity the last few days had held, two vampires had been left unconscious in an alleyway behind a strip mall. They had been classmates of hers. Another classmate was dead.
Her history teacher, who was also her grove leader, was a goblin, transformed into one by the venom of a Hell Hound. Speaking of Hell Hounds, the horrid canine beasts had been let loose on an unsuspecting neighborhood. And her best friend was trapped somewhere beyond that pulsing portal in the arms of the Death God… who was in the body of another classmate.
Life had become a fairytale.
Eight… seven… six….
There were so many wrongs to set right, it would unnerve her if she allowed herself to dwell on it. It would seem insurmountable. So she concentrated on the swirling lights of the doorway into October Land and flexed her hands into fists.
Four… three… two….
Meagan glanced at her two companions. “Ready or not,” she said. They returned her nod of acknowledgement, and Meagan moved forward, stepping through the portal.
The moment she entered the swirling edifice, she wished she’d taken a deeper breath before doing so. The wind of its power sucked the air from her lungs at once, paralyzing her in its chaos. Colors swirled maddeningly, light blinded her, and a tingling, almost painful kind of sensation pricked at her skin. She felt a pressure in her head, pushing at her eyes, and she closed them, at once afraid the portal would literally tear her apart – or that she would explode.
And then she was being tossed through the other end.
She would have screamed, but she was too busy drawing in a harsh gulp of air as her body went awkwardly sailing through the air. There were flashes of red, yellow, purple, and green, and she could at once smell the scent of fresh apples; it was almost cloying, like a perfume. Thoughts of slamming into apple trees ricocheted through her mind.
But fortune was on her side, and she hit the ground instead. She rolled, came to a stunned stop, and then, just as she was gaining her faculties, she realized the others were coming through after her.
Move! she told herself. She shot to her hands and knees, scrambled to her feet, and stepped back out of the way just as the swirling portal flashed a second time, and another body came soaring through the air.
Katelyn was just as mute on her exit as Meagan had been, and Meagan knew why. She was inhaling madly, trying to draw in air. Now that they knew what traveling through portals was like, if the need ever came up again, she would remember to take one hell of a deep breath before entering.
Katelyn hit the ground near the base of a tree trunk, also fortunate enough to miss any of the trees themselves. Meagan watched her roll a few times and ran to meet her. “Are you okay?”
Katelyn shot her a big-eyed look, but nodded.
“Good,” Meagan said, reaching down and grabbing her friend by her upper arms. “Now get up and move!”
The two scrambled out of the way. The portal flashed again, this time with greater force and brightness, and Meagan’s eyes widened. They hadn’t moved back far enough. “Get back!” she shouted, shoving Katelyn to the side as she backpedalled.
Hugh Draper came hurtling out of the center of the swirling hole like a cannon ball. A blur of gray and khaki shot well past Meagan and Katelyn, sailing deeper into the apple trees behind them. They spun, following his progress as he left a trail of smoke behind him.
“What the –” Meagan had no idea what had happened inside that portal or why Draper was smoking as he was tossed out of it; it was surreal. She burst into motion, running after his form as it shot through several branches, knocking bright re
d, yellow, and green apples to the ground. He hit the ground at the base of a tree, slamming partially into the tree’s trunk, and came to a full, unmoving stop.
“Draper!” Meagan skidded to a halt beside him and dropped to her knees. The wizard groaned and, with Meagan’s help, turned onto his back.
“Are you okay?” she asked, wondering if he’d broken anything.
“What is that catchy colloquialism you say here?” he asked, his voice a bit gruff with pain, but otherwise okay. “Ouch?”
Meagan almost smiled. She nodded. “That would be the one. Is anything broken?”
“I think not,” he replied, taking a moment to assess his legs, arms, fingers, and toes. “As you also say – I’m good.”
“Thank the gods,” Meagan breathed. She helped him get slowly to his feet. “What happened in there? Why did it throw you out like that?” She touched the shoulders of his sweater, where it appeared singed. “You were actually on fire or something.”
“My magic, it would seem, did not mix well with the magic in the portal. You see, I am already under the influence of a very strong spell.” He paused, bent over, and brushed off his pants legs and sweater, knocking loose the leaves and dirt clods that had stuck to him. “The one that allows me to travel through time. Different forms of magic are like oil and water. Surely you know this?” he asked, looking up at her.
If Meagan had been a more “proper” witch, she might have blushed. But she had proven herself capable far too many times over the last few days to let one missed lesson shame her. “Nope. I must have slept through that class.”
Draper frowned, looking confused. But it didn’t matter.
“So it didn’t like the way you smelled and it tossed you out with a bit more force than it did us,” Meagan surmised.
Now Draper smiled, chuckling a little as he nodded and finished cleaning himself off. “More or less.”
“Um, guys?” came Katelyn’s voice from behind them. They turned to face her. “Where is Mr. Lehrer?”
Chapter Eight
The moment Dietrich stepped through, he could tell the portal didn’t like him. It didn’t want him there.
There was something about the blood now running through his goblin veins that made him understand – he belonged in another kingdom. His “kind” had been banished there long, long ago. The portal knew that. To it, he was a runaway. An escapee.
Something like that.
The colors of the portal swelled and grew painfully bright. It felt hot – so hot, it was like a flash heat, rushing through his skin to his bones. The portal stole the air from his lungs as well, but he was fairly sure that was just due to the fact that he was moving impossibly fast through it. It would do the same to Meagan and the others.
In every other manner, the portal attacked him because he was a goblin. It burned him and then blinded him, and all at once, Dietrich realized the swirling doorway fully intended to throw him into that goblin kingdom, wherever it might be. To put him back in jail where he belonged.
But he was only half goblin, really. The rest of him was still Mr. Dietrich Lehrer, the history teacher, and very powerful grove leader.
He used that power now, that stored magic he’d had a feeling he might need, and fought against the vicious pull of the portal. He concentrated through the blindness and the heat, focusing on October Land, on following Logan and Samhain, on exiting in whatever realm they had gone to.
He managed. Just barely.
But his problems in traveling through the portal had only begun.
They attacked him the moment he was roughly ejected. He barely had time to acknowledge the faint combination of tree colors, the strong smell of apples, and the nearing of the hard, leaf-strewn ground before he was slamming into it at a tremendous, painful speed and rolling to a rough stop.
He lay still for a moment, trying to regain his bearings. His senses were overwhelmed with the scents around him, in sharp contrast to his blurred vision. His body was slightly stunned from the fall, but not for the first time since his transformation, Dietrich was admittedly glad for the massive goblin body – if he’d been human when he’d come hurtling out of the portal, he would have broken something. He’d never been thrown so hard in his life.
He was lying facedown, his right tusk digging a small furrow in the moist ground beneath him when he noticed the indistinct dark shape just past the leaves in his direct vision. He tried to adjust his tortured sight while he pushed himself up a touch. It was a pair of boots?
He blinked rapidly, trying to clear away more of the portal’s blindness. After a moment, he could tell that it was a pair of boots, black motorcycle boots, and there was also a pair of blue-jeaned legs.
Then something grabbed him, ripped him violently from the ground, and he again went soaring through the sky so fast, his big brown eyes watered. He couldn’t breathe in the speed; air tried to enter his nostrils and mouth too fast and his throat automatically closed just as it had in the portal.
What felt like almost no time later, he was once more hurtling toward the ground, and this time, when he hit it, he heard something in his body crack. It was a distant sound, perhaps in his lower body, but everything seemed distant just then. He felt numb with the chaos of what had happened since he’d stepped through the portal.
He came to a second stop laying face down. Footsteps moved on either side of him. He was about to try to roll over to get a better look at who had attacked him when he was grasped once more from behind and roughly tossed over like a dying fish. A second pair of hands wrapped around his life pendant, ripping it viciously from his neck.
It was obvious to Dietrich that whoever these people were, they’d been waiting for him there on the other side of the portal. They had prepared for his arrival, which meant they’d known he was coming.
There had been no warning, and there was no time to retaliate. It all took place in the space of mortal seconds. A few heartbeats. His vision hadn’t even fully cleared from his trip through the portal.
Dietrich tried to sit up, tried to reach out and stop them and fight back, but the next thing he knew, he was being pressed into the ground by a terrible weight.
A moment later, he felt a searing pain begin to blossom within his chest, and the pain brought everything into disturbing focus. He looked down at his midsection to find the blade of a sword protruding from it, pinning him to the ground like a dead bug.
“We’re told that wounds heal in October Land,” came a low, familiar voice.
Dietrich felt his pulse quicken, and knew that it was the worst thing it could possibly do. He’d just been stabbed through the chest. Had it hit his heart? The agony was yawning awake now, spreading through him and growing sharper.
He looked up.
Nathan McCay and Shawn Briggs smiled down at him from either side of his massive pinned body. It was Shawn who had spoken, his deep voice amplified by the vampirism that clearly still held him.
“Something about October being the new year and a fresh beginning,” explained Nathan calmly, picking up where Shawn had left off. His fangs flashed as he spoke. “The only one who can take a life here is the Death Lord.”
“So we figured it wouldn’t hurt for us to get a little payback in while we handle business,” Shawn continued. “At least, it wouldn’t hurt us.” He smiled, flashing those fangs of his for all to see, and then chuckled softly. “You, on the other hand, it’s going to hurt quite a lot.”
Can I breathe? Dietrich wondered. Had the blade pierced his lungs? He had no choice but to find out. No one can hold their breath forever.
Dietrich looked back down at the massive sword. As he slowly took in a tentative breath, testing the depth and breadth of the blade’s damage, he studied the weapon like a history teacher.
It was a long sword. More precisely, it was a great sword. And to be exact, it was a Scottish Claymore, heavy and long, meant to be held and wielded with two hands.
Pain arced through him, sharp and dangerous. He wi
nced, stilled his breath, and gritted his massive teeth. How had this happened? How had these boys gotten the better of him so quickly? How had they even known he was going to be there?
“You’re probably wondering how this all happened,” joked Shawn, who had most likely been reading his mind. Vampires could apparently do that – because that was how Logan Wright had written them, and Shawn and Nathan had been modeled by Samhain to take after characters in her stories.
The vampire knelt beside Dietrich and looked into his eyes. The history teacher-turned-goblin gazed up at his student, who had become more of a monster than he had. But who looked like an angel.
“So this is how it went down, teach,” Shawn said. “You’re right. We knew you were coming. We’ve also figured out a few things.”
“One,” said Nathan, who walked around Lehrer to stand beside his crouching friend. “We know we can touch the life pendants as long as we wear gloves.” He held up his hands, and so did Shawn. Both wore black leather gloves.
“And two,” continued Shawn as they both lowered their hands, “October Land is a wonderful place.” He laughed, grinning, probably for no other reason than to have an excuse to show his teeth again. “It not only heals any wounds or injuries you acquire while you’re here, any magic you have is enhanced.” He paused, possibly for effect. “You see, Mr. Lehrer, Nathan and I were made. Samhain took the mortals in us, cast a spell, and created something that had never even existed before this. Something from Logan’s beautiful imagination. We don’t just have magic – we are magic.”
“In other words,” laughed Nathan, “the force is strong in us.”
Shawn chuckled as well, and then stood. “Quite frankly, you can’t possibly defeat us now, so I suggest you just listen and do as we say.”
In… out….
Dietrich listened as best he could as pain seared through his body with every shallow breath. If he lived through this and everything somehow went back to normal, he was going to have to remind himself that Briggs and McCay acted under the influence of dark magic, or they might not graduate. Their sarcasm was insufferable, especially while he contemplated careful breaths around a double-edged sword.
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