“We need to keep you and your troupe from Logan long enough for the boss to work his mojo on her and set things right. I figure the best way for us to do that is to hold you hostage,” Shawn explained calmly.
“You’ll… keep me pinned… under a sword the whole time?” gasped Dietrich.
“Nah,” said Nathan, who stepped forward, wrapped his hands around the elongated hilt of the sword, and yanked. The sword blade sliced once more through Lehrer’s middle, carving a new, deeper path as it exited in one cruel, swift move. “This was just for fun. See?”
With that, he thrust it back into Dietrich, this time eliciting a howl of agony that the history teacher simply could not retain.
“What we’re going to do,” said Shawn, once Dietrich’s scream had died down so he could be heard, “is take you somewhere far away for safe keeping. Then your little witch and I are going to have a nice private chat.”
Chapter Nine
Logan sat at a worn, handmade wooden table in the small and cozy dining room of the couple’s cottage. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, candles emitted a comforting glow all about the house, and the smell of fresh baked goods wafted out of the kitchen.
The couple, whose names she’d learned were Henry and Mabel, had immediately offered her hot chocolate, which she’d readily taken them up on, and now she slowly sipped at it as she sat across from the woman with gray skin and bright orange eyes.
Henry was the one in the kitchen, a turn-about that Logan secretly found rather entertaining. She’d offered to help him; baking was something she was rather good at herself. But he’d almost angrily insisted she stay out of the kitchen, so his wife had simply placed the steaming mug of cocoa in her hands and steered her toward the table in the other room.
“It’s best to let him have his way, dear,” said Mabel. “The kitchen is his domain.”
Now Logan blew a little on the surface of her drink, took another delicious sip, and then lowered her mug. “Thank you for the cocoa,” she said.
The old woman smiled, displaying the same strong but slightly yellow teeth as her husband. Now that Logan was closer, she noticed slightly elongated incisors as well. Some people had those.
“It’s no problem at all, dear,” Mabel replied. “We don’t often have visitors. The odd, rare mortal has come and gone over the years. Usually witches or wizards exploring and thinking to map out the land. But a visiting bard is a rare thing indeed. You’re welcome company.” The woman’s accent was not quite as strong as her husband’s.
“I am?” Logan asked.
“Aye,” said Henry, who popped his head around the corner from the kitchen. “If it sets right by ye, maybe ye’ll give us a story tonight around the bonfire after the masquerade.” He grinned a hopeful, almost child-like grin, and Logan couldn’t help but smile back.
“What is this masquerade?” she asked. She may as well start somewhere.
They seemed to be taken aback by that. The sounds of cooking in the kitchen stopped, and Mabel sat up a little straighter, her inhuman eyes wide. “You mean you do not know?”
“Um… no?”
“How did ye get here, anyway lass?” Henry asked, this time coming fully out of the kitchen, and wiping his hands on his apron as he did.
“Through a portal,” she said. She was about to say, Samhain brought me, but at the last moment thought better of it. For some reason, she didn’t feel it would be best to share that tidbit of information just yet. If ever.
“Oh?” the man asked. “You opened it yerself, did ye?”
“No,” Logan said. “A friend of mine did.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. After all, Samhain had been inside Dominic’s body at the time. So technically it was true.
“I see,” said Mabel. “A magic user of some sort, is she?”
“He,” Logan corrected carefully. “And yes, you could say that.”
“Well, I can see neither of ye bothered to do yer learnin’ before comin’ for a visit,” said the old man as he stepped back into the kitchen to continue with what he was making. Whatever it was, it was smelling more and more divine with each passing second.
Mabel smiled a consoling smile. “What he means is, the masquerade goes on every night,” said the woman. “It has been a village tradition for centuries. Millennia, in fact. Every night, the masks are donned. When we’ve finished dancing, stories are told around the bonfire.” She paused and leaned forward, placing her hands on the table to clasp them easily. “And then the storm comes.”
Logan listened intently. She felt a chill go through her. This was the kind of stuff movies were made of. It was the kind of inside information an author would kill for. Most amazing of all, no matter how far fetched it sounded – it was real.
“What is the storm?”
The old woman again looked a little surprised, and perhaps disappointed as well. “It’s just a storm, dear. It too happens every night. But you wouldn’t want to be caught out in it.” Her tone lowered and her voice took on a hushed quality. She leaned forward a bit. “Wind and fury such as that always blow in something wicked.”
“There now.”
Logan looked up as the old man came out of the kitchen carrying a tray that was surrounded in a cloud of scented steam. She sat up straighter, her eyes growing wide as she took its contents in. It was piled high with plates of small cakes, cookies and muffins. She spotted tiffins, fritters, strudels and even a small cobbler. Almost as if to balance out the plethora of baked goods, fresh fruits and vegetables had been cleaned, sliced, and laid out beautifully on their own separate plates.
At once, Logan stood, intent to help Henry carry the loaded tray to the table, but there was a spryness to the old man that seemed almost unnatural. He was at the table before she’d managed to push out her chair.
“Sit,” he instructed. “Eat.” He smiled, clearly proud of his creations.
It was all the encouragement Logan needed.
A few minutes later, when Logan had eaten an apple fritter, a piece of pie, a few carrots just to be good, and finished off another cup of cocoa, she watched as Mabel wiped her mouth daintily with her napkin and looked over at the far wall where a tall grandfather clock stood.
Pumpkin visages had been intricately carved out of dark, hard wood, and the clock’s face boasted twelve gothic painted and gold gilded numbers. At the moment, the short hand, a slightly crooked black pointer, was halfway to the eleven. The long hand had another thirty minutes to go.
“We’d best get you ready then, dear,” said Mabel. She pushed her chair from the table and stood.
Logan was confused for a moment, until she realized they must be referring to the masquerade they’d mentioned earlier.
“I don’t….” She looked down at her clothes. “This is all I have,” she said.
Mabel studied Logan carefully, placing her fingers to her lips in contemplation. “That won’t do at all.”
“Ye’re dressed like a lad, ye are,” said Henry.
Logan bit her lip. That felt a bit harsh. Especially coming from the man who’d just spent the last hour baking in the kitchen. It wasn’t like women really wore dresses any longer, especially not girls her age, especially not in the fall and winter – and most especially not when they were running from death gods.
“Hmm,” said Mabel, who appeared to be in deep contemplation. Her orange-gold eyes glittered as she looked Logan over. “Stand up, dear.”
Logan put down her empty cup of cocoa and pushed out her chair, coming to her feet.
“Ah, yes,” said Mabel. “I do believe I may have something you can wear.” She smiled. “From my younger days.”
Chapter Ten
Meagan turned a slow circle. She couldn’t believe it hadn’t immediately occurred to her that her teacher, who had gone through the portal first, was nowhere to be found. “Mr. Lehrer!” she called.
There was no reply.
Hugh Draper frowned, stopped dusting himself off, and rubbed his chin. He looked down. Meagan fo
llowed his gaze.
“There don’t seem to be any footprints leading away,” he said.
Meagan had to admit that she wouldn’t have known it even if there were. She was not a hunter, and tracking was something completely alien to her. The ground just looked like the ground.
“Mr. Lehrer!” Katelyn called, cupping her hands around her mouth.
“He must not have landed here,” said Meagan. It was really the only logical conclusion. If he wasn’t here, and he hadn’t ever left, then he’d never been here to begin with.
“Oh, he was here,” came a hauntingly familiar voice.
Meagan spun around. Her heart hammered in her chest, rising into her throat.
Before they’d arrived at the portal, when she and the others were gathering their necessities and preparing for their journey, they had discussed the possibility that Samhain had taken more than Logan through the portal with him.
Katelyn, who actually did the most leisure reading out of the four of them, made it quite clear that no evil overlord would go anywhere without his minions. They’d had to admit Nathan McCay and Shawn Briggs were probably going to get sucked into October Land too – and that their dealings with the boys were far from over.
But they’d agreed that death wasn’t an option. They would prepare spells for this contingency, but do their best not to cast anything lethal.
Now, however, as Meagan looked upon her two classmates and realized she didn’t recognize them, she wondered if not killing them was really going to be an option.
Shawn Briggs gave her a deadly smile. “Surprised to see us, Angel Eyes?”
She didn’t respond, of course. She was too busy backing up and weighing her options. She could feel her magic pulsing in her palms, invisible, ready and potent. It felt even stronger than it had the last time she’d noticed it, as if it were angry and waiting to be unleashed.
But she could feel Shawn’s power too. His appearance had changed even more since the last time she’d seen him. She could actually feel a sort of… wickedness radiating off Shawn now, as if he’d sunk so deeply into his character, he’d actually become him.
His skin was so pale now, it was nearly translucent. His normally brown hair was black, shunning light as if it would have nothing to do with it. His eyes glowed red, but it was a blood red, deep and sultry like the difference between red in the spring and red in the fall. And his clothing had gone dark as well, all the way down to his black leather gloves.
He’d become Logan’s vampire, draped in the colors of night, wrapped in its shadows like their king.
Shawn’s red eyes pulsed to her hands, as if he too knew all too well there was magic there. But his expression wasn’t one of fear. If anything, he looked slightly amused.
“Having fun, Angel Eyes?” he asked, cocking his head to one side and raising a brow. He walked toward her, smooth and tall. A predator. He and Nathan reminded her of lions in a field of gazelles.
On the other side of the clearing, the portal zapped closed, popping as it snapped the door shut on any form of escape they might have had. Meagan jumped at the sound, but kept her eyes on the vampires in front of her. She was well aware of which was more dangerous.
Again, she stepped back. She needed to know where her teacher was before she let loose with any magic. “Where’s Lehrer?” she demanded. They’d taken him. She knew that now. They could fly – because that was the way stupid Logan had stupidly written them! She swore to herself then and there that she would never again give Logan a pen and journal for a holiday present.
Nathan laughed. “A writer will always find a way to write.”
The vampire was reading her mind. He and Shawn both were.
There was no point in asking them to stop. Logan had definitely made these guys too powerful.
“Jealous of that power?” asked Shawn. “I can fix that, Meagan.”
Suddenly, he was standing before her. There had been no warning. Just a quick, sudden breeze, the scent of charcoal or smoke, and Shawn Briggs the vampire was looming over her, tall and dark and deadly.
“I can make you one of us.”
She reeled back, trying to backpedal, but his right hand shot out with blurring speed, encircling the silver chain of her Celtic life pendant and ripping it from her neck in a single, harsh tug.
She’d forgotten she’d even had it on.
What he’d done defied logic. Meagan couldn’t believe that had just happened! It was too easy!
Meagan inhaled sharply and reached up, instinctively attempting to retain the medallion, but Shawn tossed the necklace into the distance, his arm so strong and his throw so hard, she knew she would never again find it.
She saw a blur of motion to her right as Draper moved toward them, and the wizard was suddenly spouting a string of cryptic words into the clearing with practiced vehemence. A spell. Thank the gods, thought Meagan frantically. She was an idiot for not casting something sooner herself.
Nathan shot toward the wizard with vampire speed.
Meagan tensed, preparing for Draper’s spell. She had no idea what was going to happen, but she hoped the wizard knew enough to try to keep from catching her and Katelyn in whatever he unleashed.
It happened so fast, time slowed down.
Shawn’s tall frame recoiled as if he had been slammed in the stomach with a baseball bat made of rebar. The leaves in the field all picked up at once, filling the air with a whirling yellow and orange tornado, and the roar of a massive wind whipped through the clearing.
Shawn’s body lifted, was airborne for a split heartbeat, and then disappeared into the leaf-strewn hurricane. Nathan went spinning into the debris after him; Meagan caught the blur of him as he shot past, following Shawn into the unknown.
“Run!” Katelyn yelled, pulling on Meagan’s arm and shouting to be heard over the magical gale.
For a fraction of an instant, Meagan felt torn. She had no clue where the boys had gone or what Draper had done with them, and they were the only ones who knew where Mr. Lehrer was. Did they survive? If they did, would they kill Lehrer now?
She spun around, choosing to follow her friend’s lead.
Draper lowered his hands, which were still crackling and rippling with yellow-orange light.
“Run!” Meagan instructed, grabbing his elbow as she raced past him.
“Right!” he replied before he did the same and the three of them sped through the apple orchard for everything they were worth.
Chapter Eleven
Logan had never felt more out of touch with reality.
She was a stranger in a strange world. Somewhere, in another dimension, her brother was probably beating up on someone. Holes were being punched in walls. Her mother was drinking.
Alec Sheffield was dead.
But here, in the rabbit hole, Logan stood before a tall, ornate mirror and gazed at a beauty she barely recognized.
Dominic Maldovan was possessed by the Lord of the Dead. Samhain wanted her soul. She didn’t know where she was, or where the man who had brought her here was.
But midnight hues shimmered with stardust in that looking glass. And Logan had never felt more like letting go of everything she’d once known.
“Well, I think we can settle this once and for all then,” said Mabel breathlessly from where she stood behind Logan, also staring into the mirror. “Men know nothing. Not buxom enough, indeed.” Mabel’s small hands were clasped before her, her old gray cheeks flushed with pink dots of warm excitement.
The gown seemed to have been threaded together using pieces of night. Deep sapphire blue sleeves gave way to an ametrine twilight corset, which melted into the velvet black skirts of a starry sky, complete with miniscule shimmering sparkles that caught the light and reflected the heavens.
Every portion of Logan’s figure was hugged, silhouetted, and flattered. Bare skin on her shoulders peeked temptingly through ribbons of satin blues that crisscrossed down her arms, the contrast of dark and fair bewilderingly attractive.
Logan had never felt so beautiful.
She had never felt so confused, or frightened. But she had also never felt so beautiful.
“And now for the finishing touch.” Mabel turned around, took the matching mask from the bedside table, and held it out to Logan. “No one attends the masquerade without something to hide behind.”
It was a small strip of a mask composed of blue satin. Along either far edge, it was encrusted with dark blue and black gems in the shapes of roses and thorns. The craftsmanship was beyond anything that anyone in the mortal realm had ever created.
Logan reverently took the small piece of shimmering material from Mabel’s fingers and lifted the long satin ribbons around her head. Mabel stepped forward to help her tie it in place. Waves and curls of golden blonde cascaded over her shoulders and down her back and framed her hidden face, presenting a picture of alluring mystique.
Logan realized, suddenly, that the bite marks Sam had left in the side of her throat had completely disappeared. She frowned and touched her neck.
“What’s wrong dear?” Mabel asked.
“Uh… nothing. It’s just, there was a bite on my neck earlier,” she explained, figuring that the old woman would most likely attribute “bite” to a mosquito or spider. “But it’s disappeared.”
“Oh well, that’s no surprise,” said Mabel dismissively as she continued to tie the mask in place, curling the ends of the ribbon around her bony fingers. “All wounds heal eventually in October Land.”
Logan blinked. “They do?”
“Of course! This is the realm of renewal. October marks the beginning of the new year! All things are fresh here, all things are healed. Here, we can start anew.”
Logan stared at her reflection and got lost in her own gaze as Mabel’s words moved through her. There was quite a lot to like about October Land.
Since Mabel and her husband had taken her into their home, she’d been ushered into and out of the kitchen, her jacket had been hung up, and she’d been stuffed with pastries and cocoa as the couple chatted about bards and how nice it was to have a visitor. There had been little time for questions, but what time there had been, Logan used.
The October Trilogy Complete Box Set Page 37