Marcus catches my eye and smiles.
We immediately break into two groups, as planned.
Cordero, Ben, Low, Suarez, and Maia will dig in here at our entry-point location. The rest of us will conduct the search. Jode will keep track of time using our riding pace. Marcus will mark the earth with his scythe, indicating our direction. All four of us will look for Bas.
“Let’s bring him home,” I say, and we ride.
CHAPTER 13
DARYN
We fall into a formation.
Jode in the lead, followed by Gideon, then me, and finally Marcus.
The plan is to search for forty minutes, then retrace back to the B Team, at which point we’ll “assess,” which I’m pretty sure means “Cordero decides what to do next.”
We’re looking for Sebastian but we know there are threats in the Rift, like the Harrows and probably Samrael, too. Which is why I didn’t want all these people to be here, risking their lives, but that ship has sailed.
As we head away from the B Team, the trees close in, dampening sounds. Maia’s voice vanishes quickly behind us.
I’m struck by an unsettling thought: We’re no more than mice crawling under the folds of a cloak. Small and blind.
And scared.
It doesn’t feel right leaving the others. And even my group feels wrong, like we’re together but not together. It’s no time for doubt, though.
“These trees,” Gideon says, with the same awe I felt when I first saw them. The branches look like broken limbs, the knots like yawning faces.
“They look like they’re going to come alive,” Jode says.
The silence thickens even more. I feel it settling into my bones. The sound of the horses’ hooves seems loud. So does my own breathing. And every shadow reminds me of the Harrow, with its spidery speed and agility. Its depthless eyes and raspy voice, speaking in riddles.
You won’t succeed until you fail. You won’t win until you lose.
I don’t know what it meant but I’m not losing. I’m not failing.
A dull ache has settled at the base of my skull, just like the last time I came here. It’s more pressure than it is pain, but it’s still distracting. I have to force myself to stay focused.
Cordero’s briefing had a section on identifying signs of human presence. Any tracks, broken branches, or scratches in tree trunks are worthy of investigation—but as we ride I don’t see anything.
Until the flowers.
As soon as I spot the sprinkling of begonias up ahead, I’m struck like a music cymbal. A tremor rolls through me. My hands start to shake and Shadow snorts, sensing my unease. The petals are brighter in the gloom than I remember, glowing from some internal source, like Lucent.
“You okay, D?” Marcus asks.
They’ve stopped with me—even Gideon, who’s been avoiding me all day.
My cheeks start to burn under his gaze. Last fall I told him about my mother, and I know he’s thinking about that conversation right now. As tense as things are between us after last night, I still feel connected to him. The bond between us may be damaged, but at this moment it feels indestructible. Crisis-proof. Or maybe crisis-bonded.
“I’m fine.” I cue Shadow. “Let’s keep going.”
We ride on, and my heart riots inside my chest as I see that the flowers make several paths that curl through the trees in different directions. I want to break into pieces so I can follow them all.
Is my mom at the end of one of them? I need to see her again. I need to apologize and tell her that I love her and I’m sorry I left her.
Beside me, I hear the hiss of Marcus dragging the blade of his scythe across the earth, leaving a groove to mark our direction. He settles the staff on his shoulder, the blade curving behind him like a steel wing.
“Daryn,” he says.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
Gideon and Jode have pulled slightly ahead.
Marcus runs his free hand over his close-shaved head. “The headache you said you got last time. I have it.”
“You do? Have you had it since we got here?”
“No. Just started.”
“Ho—halt,” Jode says in front of us.
Something is nestled in the white flowers in the distance, something glaringly different from the trees. I don’t even think; I vault from the saddle and run. Gideon is beside me in seconds. He reaches over his shoulder to unsheathe his sword.
“What the hell?” I hear him say as we reach it.
The silver car is nestled in the tangle of roots between two close-set trees. It’s an older-model Mustang, dented and scratched. With tinted windows and Chicago license plates. The driver’s-side door is open. Inside, the darkness is deeper but I can see that it’s empty.
Gideon slowly paces around it. “Why this?” he asks when he’s circled back to me. His blue eyes are honed with intensity.
“I don’t know. I have no idea.” How do you explain a car here in the Rift? Parked like it’s been here for ages? And it’s not just any car. It’s the one Marcus was driving when we found him in the Mojave Desert last fall. Marcus fled home in this car.
Gideon’s gaze moves to Marcus and Jode, who are riding our way. “Shit.”
Marcus dismounts. He stakes his scythe in the earth and strides up, his face emotionless. He reaches out slowly and rests his hand on the hood, like he needs to be sure it’s real. I notice the shudder that rolls through his broad shoulders.
The Mustang looks as real as anything can ever be, solid and tangible. But it projects a presence too, like it’s a living thing that’s only dormant.
Marcus’s expression darkens as he stands with his hand on the hood, and I can almost see the memories playing in his mind. This car is a reminder of one of the worst times in his life.
Last fall, Marcus told me he’d taken it from one of the five guys who had beat him to death—which had led to him coming back as Death. He had attacked the guys first. But he’d been retaliating on behalf of a friend who’d been assaulted by them—a girl. Brutalized by all five. I have nightmares about what he went through. I can’t imagine how he feels. Not to mention his friend, the girl who suffered more than either of us. And who undoubtedly still suffers. Marcus had been driving for days when we found him. Out of money. Stranded in the desert. Terrified by what he’d become. Death.
I don’t think anyone knows this except me—and Gideon, maybe. It’s all Marcus has ever offered—not much. But I respect it. You don’t always get the answers. The gaps don’t always fill in. Sometimes you have to live with not knowing everything. I’m learning that.
Unquestionably, though, this car is a physical token of pain he carries inside him. Just like …
Mom.
The hair on my arms lifts and tears spring to my eyes.
“Shame to break up the fun,” Jode says dryly, “but we’re past time. We need to head back.”
We stand a moment longer, the four of us, and I feel the focus shift away from the car to Sebastian.
We haven’t seen a single sign of him.
The same feeling washes over me as when I came back to the cabin a few days ago—failure, starkly exposed. No shelter from it. No escape from the glare of disappointment.
The ride back is more infuriatingly monotonous trees. I don’t expect anything else, not even after seeing the silver Mustang, so I’m not prepared when a structure comes into view through the scrim of branches and leaves.
A house?
No, a cabin.
The Smith Cabin.
My home in Moose, Wyoming, sits beneath the trees, the A-frame roof disappearing into the thick canopy.
It’s exactly the same, with a porch and weathered green paint. Wooden shutters with the moose details carved at the center.
My fear cranks up to such a fever pitch that I go numb.
There’s no question about whether we’ll go to investigate. We quickly make a plan.
Jode will stay on watch, Marcus will look after the horses.
G
ideon and I approach on foot once again. This time with caution.
I don’t want to go anywhere near it. But what if Isabel is in there?
What if Bas is?
We step onto the porch and I lead, knowing which boards creak, which ones to avoid. When I see the doormat, it stops my heart. A black bear, with the words Please pause to wipe your paws beneath it—exactly like in Wyoming.
Gideon steps aside. “Door,” he whispers.
He’s holding the sword in his good hand, I realize. He needs me to open the door for him.
I reach for the handle and pull it open.
He rushes inside in brisk, practiced movements. I feel like I’m floating as I follow him. The curtains are drawn and it’s almost pitch black and my heart can’t possibly pound any harder than it is now.
We move through the kitchen and down the hall, plunging into darkness that’s even more oppressive. In my room, I can’t stand it anymore; I grab the curtains and yank them open. Gideon and I lock eyes for an instant. Then he slips out to continue searching the cabin.
I step to the mirror over my dresser. The pictures I taped around the frame are all here. My poems. Just how I left them.
I rush back into the living room, terror choking me.
Gideon’s already there, sword sheathed at his back. “It’s clear. We’re good. We’re the only ones here.”
My eyes are starting to fill. I don’t want to be this afraid inside these walls. I live here.
He takes a step toward me. “Daryn?”
“I don’t know what this means. Why do these things keep appearing? How many will we see? Will it be something from your life next? From Jode’s? And I don’t know why we haven’t seen Bas. I feel like I should know all of this. I feel like we’re all here because of me and I should know.”
“Slow down a minute.” His hand finds my elbow. “None of this is your fault and no one’s expecting you to have all the answers. Let’s just keep this simple. One thing at a time. We’re here for Bas and we’re going to find him. I’m not going to give up. Are you?”
“No. Never.”
“Okay. You doing all right?”
For an instant I see him for what he is. An anchor. A marvel to me. “Yes.”
He nods, relaxing his posture slightly. “Scary, isn’t it? Seeing this stuff in these woods?”
“I hate it.”
“Sums it up for me, too.” His eyes dart to the door. “We should go. B Team will be waiting.”
But neither one of us moves. I want to say something to make things better between us. To set the bone that’s broken so we can start to heal, even though this is a terrible time to have that conversation. I have to do something though, so I reach for his hand. My fingers close around cool sculpted metal. “Thank you.”
He frowns slightly. “No need, Martin. We look out for each other.”
We share a beat of silence. Close and connected.
Not at all civil or professional.
Then chaos erupts outside.
Our horses squeal and Marcus shouts for us. Through the open door, I see the flash of Jode nocking an arrow and taking aim.
But it’s the screams from the distance that chill me. I’ve never heard Ben or Cordero scream for their lives before, but I know it’s them. And I know what’s happening.
Harrows.
CHAPTER 14
GIDEON
It sounds like a massacre.
I push Riot to top speed, risking missing the directional marks Marcus left with his scythe. Riding slow isn’t an option, though, or I’ll be too late to save anyone.
The Arabians are screaming—horse sounds I’ve never heard before—and the Harrows are making a crazed pack-hunting noise—something between wolf and hyena howls.
Cordero and Ben were screaming, too. A little while ago.
Not anymore.
The pull I feel to fold with Riot is intense. And futile. We could reach them in seconds as fire, but we’re stuck as horse and rider.
The woods have been dead still since the minute we came through, but now the wind is rising, shearing off leaves and making the branches bend and groan. A burnt wet smell like floods and fires stings my eyes and throat.
“It’s them!” Daryn says, thundering beside me on Shadow. We weave through the trees, all four of us, our horses leaping over roots, smashing through smaller branches. “They’ve surrounded us.”
Movement blurs past my peripheral vision—too heavy and fleet to be shadows.
Marcus, who’s a few lengths ahead, looks back and catches my eye. “I’m going!”
“Yes, go!”
He sinks lower in the saddle and couches the scythe to his side as Ruin accelerates and surges ahead, Daryn and Shadow following right behind him.
Jode, who’s with me, our horses much slower, sends me a look. Splitting up is a mistake. But I need everyone to stay alive.
In moments I spot four Harrows closing in. Skeletons in hoods, ragged and bony. Loping on all fours with predatory speed.
“On my right!” Jode yells.
I look and see nothing, then realize he means “Get on my right” because, with my useless robohand, my left side is vulnerable.
Before I can make a move, something leaps directly in my path.
Riot twists to the side and collides shoulder-to-haunch with one of the Arabians. The horse caroms off Riot and hits the ground with the gritty sound of the air emptying from its lungs. It rolls over, legs thrashing in the air, and springs back up. Cordero’s white horse freezes for a moment, looking at us, its saddle askew, blood staining its white neck; then it shoots off again in terror.
Looping the reins around my prosthetic, I push to catch up to Jode. The acrid stench is more powerful as we draw close, burning my throat. The reports of several handguns as well as Maia’s rifle fill the air, and I hear Low shouting something over and over.
The fear in his voice shocks me.
When we fought the Kindred, Low kept his calm even when he was gravely wounded; I can’t even think of what could scare him.
Then I see our group and I understand.
The B Team’s on the opposite end of the clearing, where we came through, and is divided in two. Both groups are under siege by Harrows—an attack style that reminds me, suddenly, of crows diving on a bird’s nest.
Suarez and Maia are with Cordero and Ben—the four of them huddled close. Suarez and Maia are firing at Harrows that bolt from all directions, charging to swipe at them with claws and snapping teeth. They’re managing to hold off the bulk of the attack with a steady flow of rounds but I know our ammunition is limited.
Marcus is protecting them on one side with big swings of the scythe.
Forty yards away, Low is alone with the Arabians, making up the other part of the B Team. A force of one. He’s trying to untether the horses, but it’s chaos. The animals crash against each other and scream, tossing their heads, desperate to flee. As I watch, Daryn rides up and I see them shouting at each other.
Jode nocks an arrow and fires at a Harrow. It disintegrates along with the nearby trees to concussive cracks that fill the air and pop my ears. I haven’t seen the full destructive power of his bow in months, but I haven’t forgotten it. There’s an instant of silence in the aftermath, like someone hit pause; then I hear the crackle of fire in the distance.
Jode looks at me, a quick frustrated expression crossing his face. His bow is too powerful for close-range combat, like taking out an ant with a bomb. He won’t be able to do much without endangering the people we’re trying to save.
We need to get out of here.
We need the orb.
I put my heels to Riot, going for Cordero. Then I sense the first Harrow coming at me from dead left, my weak side.
It has no eyes. I knew from Daryn’s briefing, but seeing it is another thing, a chilling thing.
The Harrow leaps at me like it’s weightless, on springs. I wheel Riot as I swing my sword. It connects where the Harrow’s neck and
shoulder meet, the blade resisting more than I expect. The thing is all bone and sinew, like a body made of pure tendons, but it’s mortal. It tumbles to the ground, writhes for a second, and stops moving.
Another comes from the left. Riot and I have done this before and we’re good at it. I take the thing’s head off and make my first offensive attack, picking off a Harrow that’s working its way toward Marcus.
I’m still in my follow-through when Riot surges up. I know what he’s doing—facing an attack from the front—but I’m twisted, shoulders turned like I’m loading up to swing a bat. I have no chance of staying on him. I fly back, lifting off the saddle.
The harness of my prosthetic yanks against my elbow, and for an instant I’m sure I’ll lose my entire arm this time, but then the reins slide free. I somersault and land on the flats of my shoulder blades, sword thudding away as I tumble ass-over-head.
Finding my feet, I scramble for my weapon.
Riot is trampling the Harrow under his enormous hooves. As I run up, the thing’s legs are mashed. I pin its neck with my prosthetic and stare into empty eyes.
“Where’s Sebastian?” I growl, pressing the point of my sword into its armpit. “Where is he?” It breathes heavily through yellowed fangs. The brackish stench of its breath almost makes me gag. “Answer me! Where’s Sebastian?”
It snaps at me, fangs scraping my metal hand.
I push myself up and Riot moves right in, finishing the job he began.
Then he looks at me, fire rolling up his broad chest. Did he bite you?
He didn’t.
Get on.
No. We’re two fighting if we stay separate, Riot. We can do more.
Riot’s eyes flash as he stamps his hooves. I can tell he doesn’t like this, but he lowers his head and tears after a Harrow.
The creature reverses so fast that it skids out and lands flat on its back, standing no chance.
Firming my grip on my sword, I think through my next steps as I sprint to Cordero’s group. We need a secure position first. We’ll be annihilated if we can’t regroup somewhere.
“Suarez! Fall back!” My voice is drowned in the noise, but Suarez and Maia hear me. I point. “Cabin a hundred yards that way.”
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