Rune Awakening

by Genevra Black

  She looked away, and Edie followed her gaze. Nearby, a female giant—a jötunn, if Edie was remembering correctly—stood with a human companion, petting his hair and kissing his jaw. Edie had never had an overabundance of female friends, since most girls throughout high school had thought she was weird and creepy, but she knew the look on Matilda’s face.

  The unspoken words were heavy between them. Edie’s expression softened, and she looked back at Matilda. “You should tell him.”

  The vampire looked over, raised her eyes. She was about to say something when the clock struck eleven and complete silence fell over the room. Edie watched as most of the guests turned to the south wall, looking up at the mezzanine landing, and she did the same.

  The clock was on its ninth bong when a figure finally came into view, resting his ring-heavy hands on the gilded parapet. He was an elf, very tall and draped in rich maroon robes. His skin and hair looked drained of all color, and his eyes were black as coals. As he scanned the room, his expression changed from one of disgust to a wide, pleasant grin.

  “Late even to his own party, as always,” Matilda whispered, shaking her head.

  That had to be Zaedicus. Edie watched him closely as he spread his arms, addressing the entire room.

  “My friends ... welcome! I hope you are enjoying what the night has to offer so far. You will be pleased to know that this is only the beginning.”

  He paused and scanned the room again, lowering his hands before continuing.

  “I am sure some of you have noticed that this event is more ... diverse than usual. I am humbled to have Gloaming of all reaches here, and not just my fellow wights. Tonight marks a momentous occasion. It will be a night of new beginnings and alliances.”

  Momentous occasion? Anything “momentous” for this creep would definitely be something Edie wanted no part of. She raised her head, looking frantically around the room, trying to catch a glimpse of Cal or Satara.

  “But,” Zaedicus said, raising a hand, “I digress on that point. My speeches—and our guest of honor—can wait for a while. For now, eat, drink, and dance. Here’s to us, my friends.”

  The partygoers cheered and clapped. Zaedicus seemed very pleased with himself, and, still grinning wide, he gestured to the side doors on the first floor of the ballroom.

  Loudly and with authority, he cried, “Bring out the cattle!”

  Edie saw Matilda flinch in the corner of her eye. She opened her mouth to ask what the hell he was talking about, but her unasked question was soon answered. Smaller oak doors near the corners of the ballroom swung open, and Edie watched as a finely-dressed serving staff filed into the room, dragging ropes after them.

  Blood rushed from her face and into her heart, turning cold.

  Attached to each rope was a line of five or six people barely strong enough to shuffle into the room on their own: humans, mostly, but also a couple elves and other, smaller figures Edie didn’t recognize, all of them living.

  The serving staff tugged them relentlessly; in the line nearest to Edie, someone fell, yet the staff kept pulling, simply dragging the fallen. They led the slow march to the dais at the north wall. Once all of them were lined up neatly, each of the serving staff drew long, sharp knives from the sashes at their waists.

  Matilda covered her eyes. Edie knew she should look away, too, but she couldn’t. There could be no doubt what Zaedicus had in store for those people.

  She felt cold and numb all over. No one was doing anything; everyone just stood there.

  Someone had to do something.

  Edie took a step forward, inhaling sharply as if to cry out—but someone reached out and caught her wrist.

  Matilda.

  “Edie, what are you doing! Please … there’s nothing you can do.”

  She knew it was the truth, but how could she just stand there and watch people being executed?

  “Here, look at me.”

  Edie did. Tears pricked her eyes; she inhaled sharply, trying to subdue her own shaking.

  “You’re not part of the Gloaming, are you?” the vampire whispered, black eyes studying her.

  She shook her head numbly and let her gaze flick back to the “cattle.” More staff brought out large silver basins and set them before each of the prisoners. Those holding the knives forced them to their knees and roughly positioned most of their torsos in the basins.

  “That’s okay. I’m not Gloaming, either.” Matilda squeezed Edie’s shoulders, drawing her attention. “Edie, focus on me.”

  Edie did.

  “I’ve heard rumors about the Reach. Are you really going to revive it?”

  “I ... don’t know. Astrid wants to. She says I would lead it.”

  Matilda nodded. “Then I want to help you. This sort of thing has been going on for too long, but people like me … we have no place to go. No protection except for the Gloaming Lords.”

  Edie was still looking at Matilda when the servants slit the prisoners’ throats, but she could hear blood spewing, beating against the sides of the basins. She shuddered in horror and looked over her shoulder just in time to watch as the “cattle” struggled hopelessly and eventually stilled. The majority of the partygoers clapped, and Edie heard Zaedicus sigh slightly from his perch.

  She swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment, refocusing. She had to put what she’d just seen out of her mind for a while. There would be time to deal with it later. “The Gloaming Lord of this area was killed, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes. And now it’s more dangerous than ever to speak up. If you’re ostracized by friends, you truly have no protection against the Aurora, or even other Gloaming. It’s dangerous, existing the way we do.”

  Edie scoffed and pulled her wrist away. “Yeah, well, it seems like it’s pretty dangerous existing around here, period.” She spared a glance back at the dais, where many undead were gathering around to have their glasses filled.

  “Yes...” Matilda agreed sadly. “But you could protect them, too.”

  “Enjoy yourselves, my friends!” Zaedicus called, spreading his arms again. “Let the festivities officially commence.”

  Edie looked back at the landing and realized he was descending, his eyes locked directly with hers. Matilda followed her gaze and inhaled quickly. There wasn’t any time to run.

  “Here, stay by me,” she said, linking one of her cold arms in Edie’s. “I will think of something.” Like a pro, she schooled her expression, greeting Zaedicus with a warm smile as he approached them. “Lord Oldine, very good to see you.”

  “Please, Lady Ardelean, the pleasure is mine entirely.”

  He’d just killed, what, twenty people? Yet he smiled so easily. Edie dug her nails into Matilda’s arm, trying to keep her rage—and fright—in check.

  “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” he said to Edie. His expression didn’t change a fraction, but his voice seemed to darken, almost. She could feel that he knew who she was. But how? Why? Astrid had said he was insignificant.

  “Ah.” Matilda put a hand at Edie’s back and smiled. “This is Sybil Crawford. I’m sure you remember, I brought her to last year’s gala? Although she was a redhead then.”

  Zaedicus didn’t even spare Matilda a glance, just stared at Edie, never taking his black eyes from her. His smile never faltered as he offered his hand, chuckling lightly. “I don’t recall. One forgets faces when one plans so many events. I do apologize.”

  Edie reached out numbly and shook his hand. The grip was stony, and she immediately wanted to withdraw, but he lingered. His smile had faded.

  “Lord Oldine,” Matilda said, loud enough that he had no choice but to acknowledge her. “I wonder, who is the guest of honor you spoke about?”

  “Ah,” he said, finally releasing Edie’s hand, “all in good time, Matilda, my dear. For now, please, make yourself comfortable. You and your friend.”

  Edie squirmed, and he smiled again.

  “I look forward to it, then,” Matilda said. “Don’t let us t
ake up your time. I’m sure you have many important people to talk to.”

  With a cold, tight smile, he looked back at her and nodded. “Indeed. I hope you enjoy the night.” The high-wight turned and drifted away, grabbing a silver goblet before disappearing into the crowd in front of the dais.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “Creep.” Matilda squeezed Edie’s hand. “Are you all right?”

  “I ... I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I think I need some fresh air.”

  The vampire nodded sympathetically and gestured to the stairs. “There are balconies on the second tier.”

  That was all she needed to say. Edie nodded and left quickly, pressing a hand to her forehead. For the first time, the gravity of the situation gripped her, truly gripped her. A lot of these people were evil, and they didn’t give a second thought to slaughtering other beings like animals. Something had to be done.

  She climbed the golden stairs, walking carefully in her unfamiliar pumps, and wove through the clusters of guests on the mezzanine. She spared a glance towards the north wall. The serving staff were now cleaning up the dais, bleeding the last from the bodies and removing them, probably so they could move the gore-filled basins to the refreshment table. Oh, god. The thought churned her stomach.

  “Excuse me,” she mumbled, edging around the brawny form of what appeared to be an anthropomorphic salamander. Finally, she had reached the arched double doors of the balcony. A shining crystal grille covered the glass, and in the ballroom’s bright light, the exit gleamed like a beacon.

  Edie slipped out onto the balcony. It was large and perfectly silent. Ferns grew from stone vases and onto the iron rail riveted to the parapet, obscuring it almost completely. She closed the doors softly behind her and took a big gulp of air, then crossed to the edge of the balcony. She was grateful for this place, so quiet and dark despite the horror that reigned in the ballroom and the throbbing chaos that reigned in her head.

  Twenty people had bled out right in front of her face, and she hadn’t done anything to stop it. No one had. These were the people she was supposed to be fighting. But how could she? She’d be dead—or worse—the first time she had to fight someone one-on-one.

  The thought, and the fact that she knew the situation was inevitable—that she would have to at some point—made her extremities go numb in terror. She tucked her chin against her chest, looking over the parapet as tears welled in her eyes.

  It was a good seventeen-foot drop, if not more, to the flagstones below. An urge she had never felt before rolled over her: If I jumped now, I wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore.

  She’d been depressed before—clinically depressed, even, in the years following her father’s death—but she’d always had hopeless, lonely reasons for wanting to stop existing. This feeling ... it was different. The paralyzing fear of what was to come, what else she might have to see, was the cause of this panic. This grief. Grief for the life she’d lived before, and for the poor, oblivious girl that had been Edith Holloway a week and a half ago.

  How can I save innocent people if I can’t even save myself?

  She gritted her teeth and carefully wiped away the tears with her fingertips, trying to cause as little damage to her makeup as possible. She tried to find new resolve in her fear and anger. She was being selfish, feeling bad for herself again. Like hell would she die here, while she still had a chance to learn and help.

  No doubt she’d die either way—and she’d never be prepared for it—but not like this.

  She doubted falling from two stories would be enough to kill her, anyway, unless she landed directly on her head like a Looney Toon.

  A skinny shaft of golden light fell over her shoulder and onto the parapet beside her as one of the double doors eased open. Music and laughter filtered out from the party, but whoever had found her was silent. Edie closed her eyes briefly before turning to look.

  It took her a moment to recognize him in the unfamiliar clothing. “Marius?”

  He seemed surprised to see her, but not nearly as surprised as she was to see him. He was the last person she would have expected to meet at a Gloaming party.

  He lingered in the doorway for a few moments before toeing a nearby chunk of crumbled stone in front of the door, propping it open just a sliver. He stepped closer to her on the balcony. “Holloway.”

  The horrible guilt, paused momentarily in her surprise, began to fill her heart again. She winced and looked down, studying his outfit to avoid his eyes. He looked different in the silk-lined cloak, black embroidered doublet and breeches, and polished cavalier boots.

  Yeah ... “different” was a safe word.

  Marius must have noticed her grimace, because he said instead, more quietly, “Edie.”

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, turning more fully toward him and trying not to sound as nervous as she felt. Risking someone from the Gloaming recognizing her was enough; she didn’t need him coming after her, too.

  “Here”—he gestured around them with a sweep of his cloak—“or the party?”

  Edie shrugged. “Both, I guess.”

  Marius came a little closer, still standing in the shaft of light he’d let onto the balcony with them. Backlit as he was, she could only vaguely make out his features, but his eyes were as bright as ever. “I needed fresh air.”

  “Me, too.”

  Neither of them said anything. They didn’t have to. They were no doubt fleeing the same guilt—and if Edie thought hers was bad, she couldn’t imagine being Auroran, someone oathbound to protect the good and slay the evil or whatever.

  Coming to stand beside her, Marius rested his wrists on the railing and looked out at the dark blue horizon.

  Edie watched him, tracing his profile with her eyes. “And why are you at the party?” she finally asked.

  He didn’t move his head, but glanced at her in the corner of his eye. “I’m sure you already know.”

  Taking another big gulp of air, she nodded. He’d come to capture her. And now, here they were, completely alone together. Two stories was probably nothing for someone with his powers. It would be no biggie to knock her out and slip away. But he didn’t make a move to grab her or even threaten her. He just kept his eyes on the horizon. The music filtering in from the ballroom swelled—a lively flute, a harp, drums, and something else Edie couldn’t quite pick out.

  “The music is nice,” Marius remarked suddenly.

  “Uh ... yeah.” She looked at him oddly, trying to figure out what his angle was. After a moment of silence, she added, “Besides the … you know, the senseless killing, it’s a nice party.”

  “You’re a musician, aren’t you?”

  She was about to say the same thing she always did: I just play bass. But that wasn’t really true, was it? She played bass, and keyboard, if it came down to it; she sang; she wrote at least half of the music and lyrics for all of DYSMANTLE’s original songs. Mercy got most of the credit, but … maybe that wasn’t Mercy’s fault after all. Maybe it was because Edie never took any. Maybe she was so insecure that she hid behind Mercy, so she could blame her instead of taking responsibility for her own failures.

  She took a breath and managed a weak laugh, coming to lean against the railing next to him. “Yeah. I am. Fisk insists on calling me a skald, though.”

  Raising a brow, he looked over. “The sea spirit?”

  She nodded. “We brought him home. So I guess if you come across some sirens singing ‘Friday I’m in Love,’ that’s my fault.”

  Marius actually laughed at that—and his laugh made her smile, too. It was quiet and deep and secret. She got the feeling he didn’t have much to laugh about, wherever he came from.

  They fell into silence for a few more moments before he straightened up, turned to her, and offered a hand. “Do you want to dance?”

  Well. That was unexpected.

  She almost declined out of instinct; in fact, she almost looked around to see who else he could possibly be talking to. �
��What— You want to dance with me?”

  He shrugged one shoulder, hand still extended. “It is a party. Everyone else is dancing.”

  “If everyone jumped off a bridge, would you do it, too?” she asked, taking his hand.

  “If everyone here jumped off a bridge, my job would be a lot easier.” He smiled and drew her close, closer than she had expected.

  He was warm, and the fur and silk lining of his cloak was soft as it brushed against her arms. She hadn’t danced with a boy since ... probably since senior prom in high school, although it wasn’t wholly accurate to think of Marius as a boy. He was probably, what, twenty-five?

  With his left hand, he kept hold of hers; he rested his right wrist, covered with a simple black sleeve, at her waist. “Sorry. I don’t have all the usual equipment.”

  “It’s fine.” She adjusted a bit, placing her free hand on his shoulder. Once she was settled, he pulled her waist a little closer and began to lead her capably across the balcony. “When I first noticed your hand, you hid it from me. What ... happened to it?”

  “I sacrificed it,” he said simply, raising a brow at her like she should know.

  “Sacrificed it?”

  “Did your father tell you nothing about the Aurora?”

  Edie shook her head. “I had no idea any of ... this ... even existed until a week and a half ago.”

  Marius seemed surprised and intrigued but didn’t push, answering, “Our people follow the Pantheons, the Aesir and Vanir—”

  “Two pantheons seems a little excessive.”

  “The Vanir are more ... primal—gods of the elves—where the Aesir are holy. The Vanir warred with the Aesir—the Asgardians—eons ago, but now they’re more or less banded together.” He seemed to study her face as they spun and swayed slowly. “The Aurora revere them all, but Tyr most of all. He’s the god of law and justice, bravery, and glory in war.”