by P. N. Elrod
Olivia frowned.
I set my handbag on my Dryad-made wooden desk and a pang went through me at the thought of the young Dryad who’d been shot last night. The Healers weren’t sure she was going to survive.
“What happened?” Olivia narrowed her gaze. When I shrugged she grabbed an eraser from the stash on her desk and loaded it into a rubber band. “Tell me now .”
I held up my hands in mock surrender. “Metamorphs. They went a little crazy last night.”
“Metamorphs?” Olivia looked like she was going to laugh. “Since when did one of them grow a backbone?”
“They chose last night to do it.” I drew my phone out of my handbag, and the worry that had been biting at me all morning snapped at me. “I need to call Adam again. I haven’t been able to reach him.”
“Hold on.” Olivia pulled on her loaded rubber band. “Tell me everything first.”
Fae bells tinkled and I cut my attention to the front door. “Adam!” I dropped my phone into my bag, ran to him, and flung my arms around his neck. His leather and coffee scent was so good, so familiar, that I breathed deep before I said, “You’re okay. Olivia’s okay.”
“Hey.” Adam caught me by my waist and I winced when he pressed one of his thumbs into my abdomen, right where the bullet had gone in. “Feeling better this morning?”
“What?” I looked up at him, confused. Adam didn’t know what had happened. Couldn’t have.
“Last night you said you weren’t feeling well so you didn’t want me to come over,” he said. “We were going to watch Body Double before you went tracking.”
I laughed even though it hurt my belly.
An eraser pinged off my backside and I looked at Olivia, who’d loaded another one. “Start talking, Nyx.”
I told them both most of what had happened last night. No matter that they were two of the people I cared most about here or in Otherworld, I was sworn to secrecy about the Paranorm Center—humans were never to know about it.
“Why didn’t you call us?” Olivia asked when I finished massaging my story to the part about getting shot. She put her hand on her own handgun. “I don’t like it when you leave me out of things, and you know it.”
“That’s right, Nyx.” Adam’s voice was calmer than Olivia’s, but it held disapproval, too.
“It all happened so fast that I didn’t have time to call you,” I said, looking from Olivia to Adam. “That’s the truth.” More or less.
Another eraser pinged off of me, this time off the back of my head.
“No wonder you were worried something happened to me and Olivia.” Adam took me by my arms and ran his hands up and down them, causing a pleasant shiver to skim my body. “What happened to the real council members?”
“Two other Trackers—Ice and Joshua—located them,” I said as I rubbed my scalp. “Wiped out the Metamorphs who’d kidnapped the council members, and saved the hostages.”
“Thank God everything worked out all right.” Adam brought me into his arms and hugged me. I winced again. I hadn’t told them the part about getting shot.
“I know my job.” I wrapped my arms around Adam’s waist. “But thank you both for caring.”
I knew another eraser was headed my way and I turned my head just enough to see it and catch it. She gave me one of her looks.
Adam cupped my face in his hands and brushed his lips across mine. “I think that what Olivia’s telling you is that it goes without saying that we care about you.”
A happy sigh filled me, and I breathed him in as I rested my head against his chest before rising up to kiss him.
“Give it a rest and get to work,” Olivia said, and I turned to watch her shove another file on top of the ones teetering on her desk. “We got a call first thing. Something about a Succubus. I stuck a note on your desk. Check it out with Rodán.”
“Succubus…” I kissed Adam one more time, then headed toward my desk, which was covered in pink sticky notes. “Now this ought to be interesting.”
A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME WOULD STILL BE RED
Elizabeth A. Vaughan
Red gave a quick tug at her black leather gloves before she pounded on the ironbound wooden door. Her breath hung heavy in the cool, misty night.
Muffled voices came from within the guardhouse. She puffed out a breath impatiently, adjusting her black cloak to cover her armor.
“Try talking first.” The High Baron had said. “Use your blade only if words fail.”
A slot opened at eye level on the wooden door. “The slave market’s closed,” came a growl. “Come back at first light.”
“Message from Swift’s Port,” Red said softly. That made the damn slaver pause, as she’d known it would.
The one eye she could see squinted at her. “Who be you?”
“What does that matter?” Red snapped. “Since I’ve never been here, and I’ve orders to deliver it direct? Open the damn door, I’m freezing my ass off out here.”
The eye blinked, and then the slot closed. There were more muffled noises, talk mostly. Three of them, from the sound of it.
Good. She could handle three well enough.
A rattle, then the door opened just wide enough for her to slip inside the hot, stuffy room.
The place was dark, lit only by flickering oil lamps and the fire in the hearth. A table, a few chairs. Red wrinkled her nose at the smell. Sweat, smoke, and underlying it all, the acrid scent that went with selling slaves.
There was a rope dangling from the ceiling in the corner behind the door. The warning bell, no doubt.
“Master ain’t gonna like it, being disturbed this late,” the man muttered as he secured the door behind her. His armor was open in front, as if he’d just shrugged into it for the watch. He was between her and the rope.
“Did the royal messenger come through before me?” Red demanded.
“Oh, aye.” One of the men seated behind her chuckled. He was in leathers, a tankard in one hand, gathering up dice with the other. “Bearing a royal decree from Queen Gloriana about ending slavery.” He rattled the dice in his hand. “Tried telling us that the High Baron of Athelbryght had returned, too. The Master gave him short shrift. He’s naked, whipped, and thrown in with the worst of them.”
“He’ll not be so pretty come market day, if he lives through the night.” The one against the fire laughed. He was also still in leathers, but with no weapon at hand. “Not with those monsters.”
Well, that made her task that much easier, now didn’t it? Red smiled, throwing her cloak back, clearing her leathers and weapons. “Your Master should have listened.”
“How so?” asked the first one.
“Because,” Red said, drawing one of her daggers, “I’m enforcing the Queen’s command.”
It was laughable, watching the muckers react to her blades. Damn fools, for letting her through the door in the first place.
The doorman went for the rope, but Red grabbed his collar as the others scrambled for their weapons. “Give them a chance to comply, Red.” The High Baron had said.
She’d give them as much chance as they’d given their “wares.”
Red jerked the doorman back and thrust her dagger deep into his thigh. He collapsed with a cry, and she spun to deal with the other two.
The one by the fire was quick, reaching for a sword. The dicer was still rising from his chair. She shoved the table hard with her free hand, sending him sprawling.
The faster one came at her, snarling. Not calling for help, the fool was intent on taking her on his own. She dodged, and scored his cheek with her dagger as he moved past. He cursed, starting to turn as he reached for his face. She rammed the short blade into his lower back, punching through the leather armor.
He dropped like a rock.
The dicer was on hands and knees, scrambling for the door. Red flipped the table aside. The dice went flying across the floor as she took two steps and drove the toe of her boot up between his ass cheeks.
He collapsed wi
th a high-pitched squeal, grabbing for his “injuries,” so to speak.
Red stood still and held her breath. There was no alarm.
“Damn you.” The one by the door had his hands clasped around his thigh, trying to stop the bleeding. He glanced up, but the rope was well out of reach.
Red knelt before him, her dagger pointed at his throat. “How many guards?”
He stared at her, and licked his lips. “Eight, counting us.”
“Near as I can figure, lady, there’s about fifteen regulars.” The innkeeper had said. “There’s always a crowd of them in here, drinking themselves stupid and harassing my girls.”
“One more chance,” Red said softly, holding his gaze with hers. “How many?”
The man didn’t blink. “Eight—”
Red shoved the dagger up through his throat, then yanked it free as he gurgled out his last. She cleaned it quickly on his clothes, sheathed it, and then dragged his body to a dark corner.
It took but a moment to set the table aright and get the other body slumped in a chair. With all but one lamp extinguished, the darkness helped conceal the details. She placed the dice on the table, rather pleased with that touch, then unlatched the door she’d entered through. Just in case. So far, so good.
She knelt next to the dice player, still wheezing, trying to catch his breath, his eyes wide.
“How many?” She asked.
“Who … who are you?” he croaked in a whisper, darting a glance at the bodies.
“A mercenary in the service of Lord Josiah, High Baron of Athelbryght.” Red drew her dagger again, and tapped the tip of the blade on his cheek.
The man was trembling. Red was certain it was half pain, half fear. “Now,” she said, pulling her dagger. “How many?”
“Guards, there’s ten not counting us.” He flinched back as Red shifted her dagger. “But there’s a special shipment came in today with five guards. Their wagons are in the courtyard.”
Muck. Red kept her face still, and her dagger point close to the man’s face. “Servants?”
“None that sleep here.” The man gasped for breath, staring at the tip of her blade. “Master uses slaves and they’re chained at night. Even the ones in his bed.”
Red tightened her grip on the dagger.
“Try not to kill them all. Most are just men, working for coin.” The High Baron’s voice echoed in her thoughts.
“On your belly,” Red ordered with a sigh.
He swallowed hard and rolled over, his face making it clear he thought she’d cut his throat. She should. It’d be safer. More expedient.
Muck.
She trussed the fool up fast and gagged him with a rag, then stuffed him back into the shadows and threw a cloak over him. She leaned over him and placed the edge of her dagger against his neck. “Don’t move, don’t make a sound, or I will return and gut you slow.”
He quivered, but made no noise.
She eased open the door to the courtyard and slid through, closing it softly behind her. The cool air was a gift, the heavy mist falling on her skin. There was no sign of disturbance, no alarm yet. She pressed herself into the deep shadows by the wall.
Fifteen guards. Red considered that. She wasn’t in so deep yet that she couldn’t retreat at this point. Wait until the Royal Guard of Palins came through with fancy uniforms and more blades. They’d see to these pigs. But that would be months from now, what with the Queen fresh on her throne. That did nothing for the poor, miserable ones chained within. And a special shipment could be anything … including children.
Anger rose in her throat like bile, and her gloved hand tightened on her dagger.
“Rescue, yes, but not at the cost of your own life,” The High Baron had said.
Eh. Fifteen. Easy enough, if they were of the same quality. It was worth a try. If the alarm was raised too soon, well, she’d get out and return later. But for now, she had the night. Besides, it wouldn’t do for any to think that she’d gone soft, working for the High Baron, now would it?
Red grinned as she moved down the wall, staying in the shadows. Those men had been settling in for their watch, from the looks of things. So with any luck, there would be some asleep and some on watch and drowsy.
“They claimed the Mayor’s manor house, lady. He’d a walled-in courtyard, and fine stables, and a deep cellar for wine. We was a prosperous town, once. Before…” The innkeeper had stopped, his voice breaking.
“Enough.” The High Baron’s voice had been gentle. “Tell her what she needs to know.”
“I can draw it out for ya. The stables, the wine cellar. There’s the main house.…”
Two torches burned at the main doors of the house. The stable was across the yard, and two wagons along the side. Prison wagons, with solid wood walls and the smallest of barred windows at the top.
Red wrapped her cloak around her, lifting it to hide her breath in the cold night air. She stayed in the shadows and watched and waited.
Patience was not one of her best skills, but time had taught her the need. She waited until she was sure, then waited a few moments longer. Better to be sure than—
There. By the wagons, in the deep shadows. One man stamping his feet and swinging his arms as if to warm himself.
Odd, that. Why guard the wagons?
Red kept still, watching. And was rewarded when the wagon guard went to the stable door and pounded on it. “Hern, give a man some kav, eh?”
The stable door opened, and light and noise spilled into the yard. “Gar, you’ve only been on watch for—”
“The damp goes clear to the bone,” Gar replied. “Hand out some kav, or some of the damn gutrot you’re drinkin’.”
Laughter came from inside, and Red saw something handed out to the man. The door closed with a bang. Muck, from the sound there had to be at least a handful of them in there, all awake, damn them.
Still …
Nothing by the main gate. If there was a guard up at the house, it was inside and not out. So take out these six, and there’d be, what, maybe only nine left, and some of those had to be sleeping.
Oh, aye, and tomorrow would be paradise, with scarlets singing in the birches.
Gar had his bottle now, and he was walking around wagons, taking swigs, his back toward her.
Red grinned, and darted across the courtyard.
She ran right up to the front of the wagon and ducked down, crouching on the wet flagstones. Gar’s feet paused for a moment, then continued on. She could hear him grumbling under his breath. There were other sounds too, quiet breathing and soft …
Muck. There was something in the wagons.
Red froze, but there were only seconds to decide. Gar was circling around. Attack? Run?
“Damn cold,” Gar muttered. “Damn dice. Last time I dice for watch. Last time I—”
Her dagger was up before she drew another breath. She launched herself at him, aiming for the throat.
Her blade caught him in midswig, head back. The damn bottle fell and rolled away, but the man slid down, silent but for the gurgle of his dying.
Red dragged him over to the wagon and stuffed him under it. She crouched there, bloody dagger in hand, trying to listen over the beat of her heart. The bottle rolled to a stop in the center of the courtyard.
Silence.
There was a whine from within, questioning, and a snuffling noise as claws dug at the wooden walls of the wagon. Red’s throat closed, expecting a baying at any moment. Dogs, it had to be, and slaver dogs would take a scent and run their prey to ground.…
Still, only silence.
Red dared to breathe, taking in cold air tainted with the strong smell of piss and wet fur. Whatever was in the wagon had not been cared for, that was sure. She ran her hands over the dead man’s body, more from habit than anything else. Never knew what you might find—
Her fingers brushed over two keys on his belt. She held them tight so they didn’t jangle, and cut them loose, tucking them into the top of her glove.
Then the faintest of whispers from the wagon. “Who’s there?”
Slaves in with dogs? If there was a slave dog-handler in there … Red could not believe her luck would run that good. Still …
“You’re not one of them.” The sound was so soft that she had to strain to hear it. “They’d be … is it … are you?” The voice paused, then rushed on, heavy with hope. “Rescue?”
“Quiet,” she breathed. The snuffling continued for a moment, the animals taking in her scent.
“We can help,” the whisper continued, pained and excited. “Unlock the—”
“Gar?” The door to the stables opened, slamming against the wood. “You finish that—”
Light spilled out onto the courtyard. The bottle sparkled.
Then a muffled voice, from the guardhouse. “Help! A woman warrior. She’s killed—”
Red grimaced. So much for showing mercy.
The guard in the doorway uttered his curse, and started to call for his fellows.
Red leapt up and ran for the door, both daggers in hand. She surprised the man standing there, peering out into the darkness. She lunged, going for his eyes, more to force him back then anything else.
The blade caught the bone, and sank deep within. He sagged, and she pushed his body back as it fell. She stood in the doorway, and brandished her two blades with a laugh as another charged.
She kept herself back just enough that the doorway hindered their movements. The man’s sword swings hit the wood, and he was forced to use his sword to block her blows. Her blades were swift and small, and she didn’t hesitate to go for any target he offered. The shouts from behind him were a relief; she’d feared another exit. If she could keep them coming at her one at a time …
But that mucking dicer was still yelling in the guardhouse. Then shouts came from the main house. From the corner of her eye she saw a door open and movement, and knew she was done.
She focused back in time to see a spearhead thrust at her.
She dodged, but too late. The blade sank deep into her shoulder, and the wielder twisted it as he forced her back, out into the courtyard.