by Nazri Noor
At least by the light of the evening, very little of the town’s name made sense. Damn near nothing was very silvery about the old, though admittedly charming buildings that surrounded the terminal. As for “polis,” it wasn’t quite big enough to qualify as a city, either.
An odd choice for the Midnight Convocation to gather, certainly. I’d have thought that the entities would prefer to meet somewhere more convenient, maybe a little more modern. The gods, as far as I knew, weren’t opposed to a bit of technological progress. I’d met one that even had wifi access in the dimension she called home.
But as the boys and I meandered through the streets, heading towards the bed and breakfast that Carver had helpfully rented for the duration of our stay, I began to understand. Silveropolis was sparse in multiple senses of the word. The streets were pretty empty, of both cars and people. What few civilians we did spot seemed to be on the upper side of middle aged, which did fit in with the name of the town.
Almost every establishment we passed seemed to be another version of the same mom and pop store, their popularity owing, perhaps, to the existence of so many moms and pops per square mile in town. It felt like the kind of place where people would gasp if they saw someone with a nose ring, or a tattoo. A little old lady waiting to cross the street nodded at us primly, waiting for our group to pass.
Silveropolis was quiet, in short. Mundane, and low-key, and out of the way, not at all the kind of place where a powerful entity’s enemies might think to look, or pick a fight. It was so relaxed that I could barely imagine anyone getting into any kind of scuffle there. It was pleasant. Very, very pleasant.
And that made me nervous.
“It’s here,” Sterling said, nodding at a freestanding two-story building just off the town’s central plaza. This thing was adorable: a swinging loveseat on the patio, old-timey shingles, little planter boxes under every window that were just overgrown enough to be lush, but not enough to look shabby. And squeaking very, very gently in the light breeze of the evening was a swinging wooden sign with a crescent moon carved into it.
“The Twilight Tavern,” I read.
“Cute,” Sterling added. He elbowed Gil in the ribs. “You can have my breakfast. Pretty sure I won’t be up for it.”
Gil chuckled, holding the door for the rest of us. We filed in, with me heading in last – which was when I felt a very strange, and very familiar shiver in the air. A faint buzzing almost, as I passed the threshold, the same odd, numbing sensation I felt around my head when I handled the Null Dagger, a weapon designed to neutralize magic.
“Whoa,” I said. “Something’s off.”
Herald raised an eyebrow. “Not quite. I know what you’re talking about, but that’s exactly why we’re staying here. Neutral ground. There’s an enchantment over the entire place that quells all magic.” He bent in closer to whisper. “The Eyes won’t find you here. It’s perfect.”
“Holy crap,” I said. “Does the Lorica know about this place?”
Gil shrugged. “Practically everyone does, but it isn’t likely that anyone will come looking for you here. It’s like the Switzerland of the Californian supernatural community. Neutral ground. No one fights at the Twilight Tavern.”
“No one?” I watched him expectantly, impressed and maybe a little perplexed by the very concept. “Or else – what?”
“Or else,” a booming voice called out from the lobby. “Or else I destroy them utterly.”
Our heads whipped around, and there, manning the reception booth, was the tallest woman I had ever seen, all seven or so feet of her. Amazonian. That was the word to describe her. She was dressed like a barmaid, which might have been strange anywhere else but Oktoberfest, yet somehow it made sense for someone running a quaint, themed bed and breakfast.
“I am joking,” the woman said, laughing in a voice that thundered around the lobby. The perfect blond coils of her hair bounced as she guffawed, as did the ample curves of her – um, let’s just say that she had the proportions to go with her height. Apparently Sterling thought so, too, his eyes practically bulging out of his head. “Please. Come up to the desk. Let Olga check you in.”
Sterling strutted up to reception, squeaking the whole time in his leather jacket, his chest puffed out. He rested one elbow on the counter, watching Olga out of the corner of one eye.
“Olga,” he said. “That’s a beautiful name. Is it French?”
Dumbass, I thought. Herald just barely restrained an amused snort. Olga, though, was tickled. She laughed again, the tavern practically shaking from its volume.
“It isn’t, and you know that, you silly creature.” She leaned over the counter, and I did my damnedest to be polite and keep looking her in the eye. Sterling didn’t. “But in truth, it is the Russian version of my true name. Helga.”
“Nordic, then,” Herald said, his voice surprisingly buttery, the way it sounded in the rare instances when he felt like turning on the charm.
“Correct,” Helga – or was it Olga? – said. “We keep the Twilight Tavern safe for all comers, you see. It is like a mead hall, one where only merriment is permitted. No fighting.” I jumped as she banged her fist on the counter. “Never any fighting.”
“Well, we’re certainly not here to fight,” Sterling said smoothly. “I’m a lover, not a – ”
“Please,” Gil said, effortlessly elbowing Sterling out of the way before he could finish his horrible sentence. “If you could help us check in?” Gil smiled broadly. “It’s been a tiring trip.” From behind him, Sterling quietly grumbled.
“But of course.” Olga ran her finger over a huge guestbook spread across the counter. “Now, let me see. We are expecting a party of four tonight. Gilberto Ramirez, Herald Igarashi, and Justin Braves. Correct?”
“Y-yes,” I said.
“And the fourth member of your party is a – ” Olga placed some keys on the counter, then looked up at Sterling with a smile. “Mister Sterling, I presume.”
“That’s right,” Sterling said. “No last name. Like Prince.” He raised his eyebrows. “Or Madonna.”
“Or failing that, Casanova,” Gil grumbled, tugging on the back of Sterling’s jacket with one huge hand. “Come on, lover boy. Time for bed.”
Sterling’s boots scraped across the floor as he tried – and failed – to resist Gil dragging him along. “See you soon, Olga.”
Olga smiled broadly, waggled her fingers at us, and winked.
“Upstairs,” Gil said to Sterling, like an order. “Now.” He tossed me a set of keys. “Carver booked us rooms next to each other. I’m sharing with Sterling. Regrettably.”
Sterling finally disengaged himself, brushing off his jacket and adjusting it as he gave Gil a fanged scowl. “What was your problem? I was doing so well, too.”
Gil narrowed his eyes. “Now is not the time to be hitting on valkyries, Sterling. We’ve got serious matters to deal with.”
Wait. Olga was a valkyrie? Holy crap.
Sterling folded his arms and sulked.
“Don’t give me that face,” Gil said. “You know tonight’s going to be a rough one, too. We talked about this. You have to chain me to the bed.”
Herald went red at the cheeks.
“You guys,” I said, staring between Sterling and Gil. “I have so, so many questions.”
Chapter 19
“Full moon,” Gil offered by way of explanation as we headed up the stairs. “Remember?”
“I totally spaced on that,” I said.
It was crucial, too, just as Arachne warned me. The Midnight Convocation only met on full moons. Not every full moon, either, just when they felt like it. Entities, am I right?
“So what does that entail, exactly?” Herald said, his head tilted. “What happens to you on a full moon?” I would have asked just to be a gossip, but he had his chin in his hand, his gaze intent, like he was asking out of intellectual curiosity.
Gil sighed. “Full transformation. It’s the worst. The tavern’s enchantment cance
ls out all magic, sure – but lycanthropy isn’t magic. Not exactly. I’m gonna need Sterling to keep watch over me and make sure I don’t trash the place.”
“Not like the last time,” Sterling muttered through a pout, arms still folded.
“Hey,” Gil barked, finger upraised. “We promised not to talk about that.”
“What happened then?” I asked.
“Different town,” Sterling said. “Different hotel room. Tore up the mattress, and I’m pretty sure he ate half the couch.”
Gil scoffed and threw up his hands. “You didn’t tie me down well enough. I was constipated for weeks.”
Sterling chuckled. “Good times.”
We stopped outside a pair of doors that I assumed opened to our rooms. Before Gil could disappear into theirs, I figured I’d ask what was on my mind, it being a full moon and all.
“I’m curious, though.” I squinted, my gaze going to Gil’s fingers. “You can do that trick with getting your wolf talons to burst through your skin, right? And I’m pretty sure we’ve seen you go full dog even when it isn’t a full moon.”
Going dog was how me and the others at the Boneyard referred to Gil’s lycanthropic transformation. I’d only seen it a couple of times, but as viciously powerful as Gil could be in his human form, nothing quite compared to his destructive brutality when he transformed and wore a wolf’s skin.
“That’s right. That’s not exactly normal for my kind.” He frowned, scratching the tip of his nose in annoyance. “Actually, I’m kind of shunned for it by some of the others. They say it isn’t natural. But it makes me versatile. Keeps me useful. Carver taught me how to break the cycle and transform whenever I wanted. Hurts like fuck, which is why I don’t do it too often, but it helps.” He grunted. “Wish he could teach me to ignore the full moon, though.”
“Holy shit,” I said, eyes wide. “Carver taught you?”
“There’s lots to pick up from centuries of studying grimoires and supernatural lore, and he used what he knew to give me an upper hand.” He smiled broadly. “I know he’s not the best at showing it, but he really does want the best for each of us, you know.”
I nodded. “He’s a good boss.” I meant it, too.
“He’s a great boss,” Gil corrected. His massive hand landed on my back, making a meaty slap against my skin. “You take care of yourself, now. He’ll never say it to your face, but Carver worries about you more than you know.”
I rubbed my shoulder, massaging away the sting of what Gil surely thought was a friendly clap on the back. “I know,” I said sheepishly. “We’ll leave soon.”
“Soonest,” Gil said. “Cloudy night, but the full moon is going to be up there shortly. You don’t want to stick around for the show.” He grimaced. “It gets ugly. And loud. We’re gonna get noise complaints. Plus the two of you still have to climb up to the tether.”
That was a good point. Herald nodded. “We’ll freshen up a little, then we’ll get going.” He clapped Gil on the shoulder. “Good luck with tonight, man.”
Gil smiled. “Same to you. Take care of Dust.”
“Hey,” I said. “I’m right here.”
Herald unlocked the door to our room, saying nothing.
“Guys. I can take care of myself.”
Sterling patted me on the back of my neck, his fingers cold as ice. “Watch out for werebears and werelions.”
“Wh-what?”
“He’s kidding.” Gil tugged on Sterling’s arm, all but bowling him single-handedly into their room. “But seriously, though, you’re passing through some rough terrain. Look out for the wildlife.”
I did not sign up for that shit. We needed to head to the Convocation, sure. But evading a mountain lion?
“Least of our problems,” Herald said later, leading the way back out of the tavern. Olga waved at us with a huge smile on her lips, as if she thought nothing of the fact that two of her guests were heading out for a night hike that potentially involved getting eaten by bears. “We run into something, I’ll freeze it in its tracks. It’ll thaw by morning. No harm done on either end. So, win, win.”
The air vibrated again as I walked out of the front door. It was like moving through one of those giant carwash brushes, only invisible ones. Also it tickled a little.
In silence, Herald and I headed to the trail, which led into the woods at the base of a hill that overlooked Silveropolis. It was a chilly night, made even colder by the damp of being surrounded by so many dewy trees. I pulled my collar up around my chin, shuddering. The woods smelled gorgeous, though. Like bark, like wet earth, like life.
The trail ended shortly around the bottom of the hill, in an area marked with wooden signs strongly suggesting that it wasn’t a great idea to head into the hills after sundown. Unfortunately, that was exactly where we needed to go.
I guess I’d expected the hike to be less uneventful, but it was borderline boring. Almost pleasant, actually, going up at a reasonable incline, kicking rocks as we followed an old, seemingly abandoned rope trail that wove around the hill. So far, so good. No bears in sight.
“Damn it,” I wheezed. “I shouldn’t be getting this worn out so fast. I’m too young to be tired.”
Herald frowned. “Quit your bitching. It’s all those damn burgers you eat. Plus we need to move fast before the Heart tries to track you down again.”
“I love burgers,” I mumbled. “Anyway. I thought the rest of Silveropolis was protected, like the Twilight Tavern.” I cocked an eyebrow. “Are you saying that this hill isn’t?”
Herald looked around nervously. “Can’t say. I mean I feel magical emanations throughout the place, but you never know with the Lorica.”
We crested the peak, finally. It was flatter than I’d expected, and very sparse. Almost unnaturally so. Dead trees sprouted out of the few patches of earth interspersed among so much smooth, weathered rock. Something made it so that they grew in a circle around the plateau, like sentinels watching over the cairn in the center, just as Arachne had described.
And the cairn was just that – a mound of smooth pebbles and rounded rocks, piled into a miniature mountain in the dead center of the trees. It almost looked as if the plateau grew this way by design. It did, of course, probably crafted by the gods and entities of night themselves into the perfect, conveniently laid-out setting for a communion, complete with a circle, and an altar for the offering.
Herald and I approached the cairn, and by the light of the moon it was easy to spot the dried, rusted drops of blood that had been offered and dripped onto the stones over the years. Herald extended his hand, mumbling softly to himself.
I watched as wisps of violet energy curled from his fingers, then solidified into a shimmering, glassy blade. The Midnight Convocation demanded blood of all who climbed its sacred plateau, whether or not they came to present themselves as candidates for patronage.
“You first,” Herald said, holding out his hand.
I bit my lip, then reached out my arm. It always surprised me how Herald could move so fast, how agile he was. In a flash of purple the blade had already pierced the tip of my finger, its bite drawing a perfect, dark bead of blood, which fell onto the cairn and smoked as it hit the stones. I hissed, sucking on my finger until the bleeding stopped, the taste of copper lingering on my tongue.
Herald was too focused on drawing his own blood to care, expertly flipping the arcane knife in his hand, then without even wincing or hesitating, stabbing himself cleanly in the tip of his ring finger. He squeezed it, the blood still clinging stubbornly to his skin.
“Come on,” he muttered. “Damn it.”
Above us, the sky flashed red.
I threw my head back. There it was again, soaring through the night like a falling star, a comet. A streak of red light, the dreaded pillar of the Scions, the lashing, far-reaching beam of its vengeful Heart. But it wasn’t headed for the plateau. The light was flying far from Silveropolis, maybe several dozen miles away. The pillar struck ground somewhere beyond the hil
ls, a fact only made clear when the earth rumbled with the impact of the explosion.
“What the fuck,” I said. “You saw that? Who is the Heart attacking now?”
Herald stared at me with severity in his eyes, still squeezing the tip of his finger. “This place must be protected. That means the Heart and the Eyes can’t find us. But that also means that rifts are still opening all over the place.” He shook his head. “This is bad, Dust. The Eldest were using you as a beacon, but now that they can’t see you, any rifts their worshippers open with their prayers can appear anywhere, anytime. And we would have zero warning on the matter.”
“No way,” I said. “This is fucking nonsense.” There really was no better choice, then. I would have to wear the Crown of Stars to have even the slightest chance of stopping the shrikes, and ultimately, the Eldest.
“Fuck this,” Herald hissed, wincing. He stopped squeezing, resorting to just smearing his blood directly against the rounded stones with his finger.
“Dude, what are you – is that even going to work?”
Apparently not. Herald cried out when the contact made his blood sizzle, and he pulled his finger away, his hand shaking. The dark stain on the cairn said that it had accepted his blood offering. The whitish burn mark on Herald’s finger, however, said that it had been the wrong thing to do.
“Fucking ouch,” he said, his lips pursed as he carefully applied healing magic to his finger with his free hand. I watched, but the scorch mark didn’t seem to be improving.
“Is that going to help?”
“The hell if I know,” Herald said. He craned his neck back, searching the sky for – something. And then there it was.
The full moon peered out from behind the clouds, and like a searchlight it cast a massive shaft of light right onto the plateau, drowning the cairn and the copse of trees in cold, purifying silver. I looked down at my fingers, marveling as they disintegrated before my very eyes, as they began the journey of crossing over from our world to whatever domicile the gods of night called their meeting place.
