by Alicia Wolfe
Davril nodded. “It must be Angela’s sign. She must make all her acolytes brand themselves thusly.”
“Exactly.” Scanning the others, I saw a similar tattoo, then another. Yep, these were Angela’s goons, all right.
“Keep close,” Davril said.
“What’s the plan?”
“Follow them. See if they lead us to her. She’ll have Federico close by.”
I pulled in a deep breath to steady myself. “Let’s do it.”
“Stay low.”
As the thugs drew away, we fell in to tail them, trailing them from just within the woods. We had to duck and twist our way through the undergrowth since we couldn’t afford the noise the sword would bring. My muscles ached and so did my palms, not to mention my many nicks and cuts. My heart pounded like a drum, and perspiration stuck my cat burglar outfit to my body. I hoped Davril had noticed how it clung in all the right places.
Davril’s clothes, too, were sticking to him, closely outlining his muscular thighs and calves, not to mention his ripped torso. I tried not to notice. Well, okay, I didn’t try that hard. Unfortunately I had more pressing business, like not going face-first into a tree.
“So if the wolves didn’t kill the other Fae, who did?” I said, trying to get my mind back on track.
“I don’t know. Presumably the same force that created the ravine. That made this place bigger than it should be. That made these trees what they are.”
Sweat burned my eyes as I glanced around, now more on edge than I’d been. I studied the twisted limbs and misshapen boles for signs of unnatural movement. I thought I saw some, too, just subtle stirrings here and there, but I didn’t think they were in my imagination. The trees were taller here, too—significantly so, almost as big as redwoods. Some may have even been higher.
Blinking the sweat out of my eyes, I said, “Well, at least whatever it is hasn’t decided to move against us.”
“Yet.”
“You’re awfully cheerful,” I said.
“I just don’t want you to let your guard down.”
“As if.”
Ahead, I began to hear noise—the pitch of voices, the rustle of fabric, the creak of wood, the clatter of something metallic. Davril and I tensed, then moved toward the sounds. Along the path, the half dozen thugs were doing the same, except while we went slower, they moved faster. Obviously they knew where they were going and were eager to get there. They must be arriving at their destination.
Lights shone in the trees ahead. The illumination came from higher up, not ground level. Shortly, ropes and wooden ramps came into view, leading up to what looked like structures built into the trees. Roofs and walls jutted from thick trunks, and walkways hung suspended in the air between rearing oaks and conifers. Rough-looking types, as well as magical folk, who tended to be more gentle-looking (if only looking) picked their way across the aerial bridges and along the walkways, coming and going from the town built into the trees.
Davril and I paused for a moment, and I felt my mouth drop in amazement.
“It’s like the Ewok village mixed with that pirate city from those Johnny Depp movies!” I said.
“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, Jade.”
I patted his shoulder patronizingly. “I know, Dav. I know.”
“At any rate, that must be Angela’s hideout. She’ll be up there somewhere, I’d bet on it.”
“And she’ll have Federico imprisoned somewhere nearby.” I gestured at all the ruffians and magic users. “What’s she doing, anyway—building an army? It almost looks like the Merry Men from Robin Hood if they’d decided to break bad. I mean, worse. I guess they were always a little bad. I mean, they were outlaws, after all.” I cleared my throat. “Of course, you have no idea what I’m talking about.”
He looked smug. “Actually, I know the tale of Robin Hood quite well. I enjoy the story.”
Of course you do. “So how are we going to get up there?”
“I was hoping that, as our resident thief, you would tell me.”
I studied the aerial village, paying particular attention to the ropes, ladders and ramps that led to its upper reaches. My mouth watered as the succulent aroma of pork being grilled wafted over to us. The villains were about to feast. Maybe if we hurry, we can grab some grub. At the thought, my belly rumbled. Davril raised his eyebrows.
Smiling sheepishly, I said, “There’s too much attention being paid to the ramps and ropes. Let’s scale a tree, then sneak onto the platforms from the side, not the bottom. Once there we can waylay some thugs and steal their clothes. We want those idiots to think we’re one of them. Well, two of them, I guess.”
Davril gestured forward in a gentlemanly fashion. “After you, of course.”
“I need to work on both your sense of humor and your chivalry.”
“I look forward to both equally.” His face was deadpan, but his eyes, and I could see them now because of the lights from the village, twinkled.
I pushed forward, hunting for a tree with low branches or plenty of handholds, and Davril followed close behind. I could almost feel him breathing on the back of my neck. It wasn’t a bad sensation. It was a hell of a lot better than feeling the breaths of the wolves on my ankles, that was for sure. And I might even let Davril pounce on me. I mean, if he wanted. Which he obviously didn’t. Le sigh.
A tree caught my attention ahead. I crossed to it, keeping low, then began to climb, my fingers grasping one rounded protrusion, then another. It had no low-lying branches, but its flanks proved quite lumpy. Perfect for climbing. Davril came up immediately behind me. I glanced down once to see if he was watching my ass. Unfortunately, his attention was on the village, probably making sure no one was watching us. I wanted to clear my throat and draw his attention to me so he would notice my ass, since it was one of my better features, but I resisted.
We had an imp to save, after all. We’re almost there, Federico. I thought of the short, cigar-chomping little demon with the Chicago accent and smiled. Hang in there, little guy. With any luck, Angela wouldn’t have gotten what she needed from him, and he would be safe and unharmed. Please be all right.
We reached the level of the first series of platforms. Angela’s hideout, if that’s what it was, had several levels to it, the first beginning on what I thought of as the second-floor level—that is, one story above the forest floor. There seemed to be about three levels to the village, which proved how big and thick those damned trees were. They weren’t as clean and pristine as the trees of the Ewok village, though. They were twisted and malevolent-looking trees, with weird limbs and scales instead of bark.
Davril and I waited and watched for several minutes, then scampered out onto a stout limb and pulled ourselves over a railing and onto one of the outermost platforms. We were hidden behind the bulk of a tree and didn’t fear being seen. There in the shadow of the tree we turned to each other. His face was tense, his eyes determined and confident. I hoped my face was the same, but I knew it was probably pinched and pale and scared.
“Are you okay?” he whispered, as if to confirm my suspicions.
I straightened my back and gave a mock salute. “Ten four, Sergeant.” This would’ve sounded more impressive if my words hadn’t come out in a squeak. In any case, I don’t think Davril understood the reference.
“We need to waylay a couple of Angela’s thugs,” he reminded me.
“On it.”
“What do you—?”
Not giving myself time to think, I popped out from behind the tree and casually leaned against the railing, in full view of the ruffians and magic users who were carrying out business as usual, whatever that was, here in Angela’s lair. Nobody seemed to notice me at first. The scent of pork fat and beer hit my nose, and my belly growled again.
“Jade,” Davril whispered from behind the tree. “What are you doing?”
Ignoring him, I leaned more provocatively against the railing.
Eventually a group of three ruff
ians, all munching freshly grilled pork on a stick, took notice of me and approached.
“Hey there, sweet thang,” one said. “What’re you up to?”
The other two chuckled and egged him on.
I straightened as they drew close, placing one hand on my hip and trying to look sexy. I knew I was bedraggled and roughed-up looking, but they were probably used to that out here. I hoped so, anyway. And I knew in my cat burglar outfit I would look just as disreputable as anyone they’d happen to encounter. It probably wouldn’t be enough to allow me to penetrate the heart of their operations, but it was apparently enough not to raise eyebrows here on the periphery.
“I came for some fun,” I told the goon who’d spoken. He had a tattoo of a dragon eating its own tail on his bare, scarred arm.
He leered, a piece of pork stuck between his two front teeth. Pork fat dripped down from his lips onto his bristly black beard. “Well, ain’t that a coincidence?” he said. “I’m in the mood for some fun, too.”
His two buddies cracked up. “You tell ‘er, Larry,” one said.
Larry took another bite of his pork leg, then masticated on it while staring at me. He was trying to look badass, but it wasn’t working.
I made myself pout. “Hey Lar,” I purred. “If you help me scratch my itch, I’ll let you feed me the rest of that pork leg.”
His eyes widened, and he exchanged a glance with his fellows.
“Do it, man!” said one.
Larry turned back to me. “Sweet thang, you want my pork leg … in exchange for a fuck?”
I pointed at the meat the other two were eating. “Hell, I’ll do you all for your pork legs. I love pork legs.”
In what I hoped was a seductive manner, I waggled a come-hither finger, then turned about and strolled into the shadows behind the tree, making sure to sway my hips. The three idiots only hesitated a moment before rushing after me. They must have had high confidence in those pork legs. Well, the legs did smell good. But I liked mine without goon drool on them.
Davril had climbed the tree a few feet, and he dropped down behind them. He hit the rearmost one on the back of his head with the flat of his blade. When that guy collapsed, the other two twisted around. Davril knocked them out with one blow each.
I searched them for uneaten pork legs, but no luck.
Wasting no time, we stripped them, tied them up, and outfitted ourselves in their clothes, arranging them to suit us. The goons were much bigger than I was, and so were their clothes, but one of their jackets kind of fit me, and one had a helmet I could conceal my appearance with a bit. It at least helped me blend in with the rougher element of the arboreal village.
Davril, by contrast, really owned his outfit. I mean, he made tree-living outlaws cool.
“Robin Hood, eat your heart out,” I said.
Davril raised an eyebrow. “Then you approve?”
I eyed his black leather jacket and pants, which were tight enough to make his muscles and bulges distracting.
I swallowed. “It works.”
A small smile playing on his lips, he turned to lead the way around the thick tree trunk and along the ramps and walkways of the evil Ewok village. The smell of frying pork grew stronger. More goons passed us, munching on cuts of meat. They didn’t give either Davril or me a second glance. Mission accomplished.
“I think we should…” I started, pointing in the direction of the thickest concentration of thugs. By the smoke billowing up, it was obvious it was where the feast was coming from.
But Davril steered me toward a ramp leading up to the next level. “There’s too many that way,” he said. “They might notice something.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Besides, it seems to me like most of the magic users are higher up. That makes sense. I think Angela would need some magical help to contain a demon, even a small-time one like Federico.”
I remembered that Prince Jereth’s man had come to Selma Queen for just that reason; he was looking for something magical to help contain Federico.
“Maybe some of them are helping with that,” I agreed. Sadly, that meant leaving the delicious-smelling pork behind. Maybe I should have stolen Larry’s pork leg, goon drool or no goon drool. Was there time to double back and get it?
Apparently not. In seconds, Davril had reached one of the ramps and was taking it to the next level. Hiding a sigh—well, actually, making it more dramatic—I followed. We passed a riotous dwelling embedded in a tree with mostly naked women, and even a few young men, hanging out of the windows trying to entice the passersby. A steady stream of ruffians and mages came and went from the building. I was impressed Davril didn’t even give the building a second glance.
“Guess Angela likes to keep her goons entertained,” I said, but he just nodded.
Then he gave me another wicked smile, and my heart melted.
“Perhaps,” he said in teasing tone, “we should check out the brothel and avail ourselves of its comforts. To keep up the charade, of course. To maintain cover.”
I laughed and punched him on the arm. He mock-winced.
“I don’t think so, bucko,” I said.
We were really starting to develop a rapport. He had been so frosty to me last night when he thought I had betrayed my vows (well, okay, I had), but now that he’d allowed himself to trust in me, he was treating me how I’d always wanted him to. I was so happy I almost grabbed his hand, as if we could have walked along hand in hand like a couple of horny teenagers on the boardwalk. I resisted, but I loved the idea that if I had done it, he wouldn’t have immediately resisted.
But the warm feeling quickly washed away, and a knot of worry grew in me. If he really was letting his guard down around me like this, what would his reaction be if he learned how I’d found out about Federico’s whereabouts? Shit, I thought. I’ve really dug myself into a hole this time.
As we passed the steady stream of mages, some frowned at us. Obviously the goons weren’t as welcome up here. Still, no one ordered us to leave. That was something, anyway. It would have been a pain in the ass for us to waylay a couple of mages. Although I had to admit being envious at some of the beautiful dresses the female mages wore.
“What’s the difference between a female mage and a witch?” I asked Davril, making sure to keep my voice low.
“Mages typically use power from astral plans and other spheres, directing that power through themselves by virtue of ritual phrases and certain artifacts. Or they learn how to use artifacts that are instilled with certain powers. Witches and warlocks draw on the magic in this realm, which is already baked into the Earth. Some do draw on powers from other planes, but these are generally … infernal planes.”
I winced, thinking of Ruby. “I’m sure not very many of them get their magic from hell, or whatever.”
“Your sister uses earth magic, have no fear,” he said. “But I suspect Angela acquired her power from more diabolical sources.”
“It was probably through them that she learned about the Shadow.”
“Very possible. Or perhaps Lord Vorkoth located her via his contacts in the infernal planes.”
“Is that where he’s from?”
“No. But he has allies there.” Davril indicated a group of people occupying platforms sticking from a tree to our right: a group of women with punk hairdos and wearing chic black clothes. They were a wild and exotic sight in all this arboreal stuff. I knew them immediately.
“Who are they?” Davril said.
“The Razor Wings. A gang of female shifters.”
“I’ve never heard of them.”
“Why would you?” I said. “They’re human, or at least human shifters. They all turn into giant blackbirds. Sometimes they serve as mercenaries, sometimes thieves for hire. Sometimes, the rumor is, they’re assassins. But that’s just speculation. Let’s try not to get on their bad side.”
“Duly noted.”
We approached a certain rope bridge that spanned a gulf to a thick tree in which a lar
ge, two-story structure was embedded. Two guards stood to either side of the bridge, as if restricting access.
Davril touched my arm, signaling me to something, and I followed where his eyes were indicating: the second floor of that structure. Green, almost surely magical light bathed the windows, then faded and was replaced by a purple light. Then red. A great force emanated from that room, a raw sort of magic that put an oily, bitter taste on my tongue. It was a far greater sensation of magic than I’d felt anywhere in Shadowpark so far.
“That must be where she’s keeping Federico,” I whispered.
“She might be questioning him even now.”
We had to get to that structure. Reaching the decision by unspoken consent, we crossed to the two guards stationed at the entrance to the swaying bridge. They watched us with bored eyes. Both were of the rougher type, and both sported dragon tattoos like Marko had.
“Yes?” one said.
“We’d like to pay our respects to Mistress Angela,” Davril said. “May we pass?”
“I don’t think so. The Mistress wants you, she’ll find you. Move along.”
Davril and I exchanged a glance. The thug had just confirmed, however unwittingly, that Angela was indeed inside that structure. Part of me wanted for Davril and me to force our way past the guards and inside, but there were too many mages up here coming and going all around us, and this was a busy area. Naturally it would be if Angela lived here, or even if she just visited often. Forcing our way in would only get us killed.
“No worries,” Davril said. “We’ll catch her later.”
The guard shrugged. Davril and I turned away, then moved off some distance from the structure. Knowing Davril would defer to my cat-burglar expertise, I kept glancing backward, studying the fairy tale-like building whose windows and door stuck out from the weirdly thick tree. It was the most awesome treehouse ever. Except that it was very likely inhabited by an evil witch keeping an innocent—well, relatively—imp prisoner.
