by Catie Rhodes
I jerked one arm away from Cecil. My great-uncle, a man I loved and trusted, motioned to Finn. My cousin hurried over and reached for me.
“Don’t you dare,” I snarled at him, used to being in charge.
At Cecil’s signal, Finn put both arms around me, picked me up, and dragged me away from Black Silas. Cecil followed, hand on his chest, nostrils flaring. I struggled so hard against Finn that he kicked my legs out from under me and forced me to the ground.
Cecil knelt next to me. He spoke through clenched teeth. “Stop it. It’s done.”
I had more fight left, but the fierceness in Cecil’s eyes stopped me.
“You finished?” He spoke to me like a child who’d been showing his ass.
Breath whistling through my nose, I nodded.
Cecil signaled to Finn to let me up. He helped me to my feet, eyes averted. I faced Cecil, embarrassment blazing over my skin.
Cecil put one arm around me and pulled me close. “No matter what happens, know that you didn’t fuck up. You used the resources you had.”
“But I failed, didn’t I?” The question was barely worth asking.
Cecil let me see the barest of nods. “There is only one way, and you don’t have it yet.”
The mantle. The center of the Gregg family’s power. My inheritance. My destiny. My curse. I flinched away from Cecil, wishing for the millionth time I was normal.
“Someone’s coming.” Finn pointed.
This crossroads rippled with magic. Deep, old magic. I hadn’t felt it when we first got here, but now it whipped around me, combing through my hair, trying to figure me out. A sharp, metallic smell filled my nose. It reminded me of blood. I pressed against Cecil, and he slipped an arm around me.
“This has to happen,” he said in a low, trembling voice.
“What?” I asked, but a clap of thunder covered the word.
Underneath the thunder, shouts of men rose and fell. So did the drumming of hoofbeats and the howls of dogs. The Wild Hunt. They were here. It was too late.
Bile shot up my throat. My eyes stung. I swallowed hard, heart already matching the hoofbeats in speed and force. I jerked away from Cecil, slipped Finn’s grasping hands, and ran to Black Silas. I reached for the box.
“Give it to me.” My words grated in my throat.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Miss Gregg. I cannot interfere.”
The hoofbeats and shouts grew louder still, rumbling the earth like a passing freight train, filling my head so full of chaos I couldn’t think. The mantle’s hackles burred out, like a dog sensing an intruder. It stretched the scar tissue to its limit. My chest ached with the strain. I struggled to breathe.
A shadowy figure approached from the left fork of the crossroads. The burning headlights of Black Silas’s car picked up the spikes of horns pointing at the sky. The goat’s gray fur came into focus next. He trotted toward us, bell around his neck clanging.
Thunder clapped again. Lightning jagged across the sky, turning everything too bright for just a second. The sounds of the hunt echoed in the night.
I ran back to Cecil and grabbed his arm, ready to drag him out of here. “Come on, Papaw. We’ve got to go.”
He spun, face contorted in anger. “We can’t. We have to see this through. You can’t just run away like a scared kid.” He caught himself then. His face stilled, and he took a deep breath. “Listen to me. I love you, and I’m proud of you. But you must endure this.”
Cecil turned me to face the goat. It was now only a few feet away. Its otherworldliness joined the crossroads magic brushing against my skin. Dread ached between my shoulders.
The goat clopped merrily toward us. He might have even been smiling. I knew one supernatural being who liked to pose as a goat, but this wasn’t Bub. Bub would have come to us wearing the garb of clergy. Maybe even carrying an ancient Bible. It was his schtick. He’d have also greeted me by now. We weren’t friends, but we tolerated each other.
When the goat came within touching distance, its front hoofs left the ground. Its bones made wet thunking sounds as they shifted under the skin. The face rearranged into something almost human but kept the horns.
Now I knew this goat. It was the one Oscar had made his immortality pact with. I began to shiver. Cecil gripped my hand.
“You have something of mine.” The goat had a whiny, cold voice.
Something of his? I didn’t know what he meant. Right then, I barely knew my name. A gibbering sound came from my mouth.
“I have it, Your Lordship.” Black Silas stepped forward, holding out the phoenix box, and kneeled before the goat.
The goat reached out one spindly-fingered hand and snatched the golden box. He held it up to the glare created by the headlights and studied it.
Then he turned to me. “Usurp Oscar’s position as master of the hunt, and this soul is yours to kill. My covenant. But you must win that honor on your own.”
The thunder grumbled again, shaking the ground. The wild shouts of men having fun, chasing something smaller and weaker, but still good quarry, came out of the clouds. A bolt of lightning zigzagged across the sky. The bay of one lone hound spoke to it. The goat man raised both arms like someone taken by the spirit in an apostolic church.
“Come now.” His whiny voice clapped loud as thunder.
The bay of many hounds answered.
“No,” I whispered and glanced at my friends and family.
Finn stepped in front of me, brandishing a shotgun. Shelly came closer, clothes blowing on her slight body. She held a high-power deer rifle in front of her. I groaned. Those weren’t going to do anything. Hannah’s bullets had done nothing to harm Oscar and his marauders.
I tapped Finn. “Don’t bother. Bullets don’t hurt them.”
Without turning, he said, “These are special bullets, made with iron. It’ll hurt ’em all right.”
Hannah and Tubby came to stand on the other side of me. Between them, they had four pistols, one for each hand. Both had their eyes slitted. Not afraid, not angry. Just two modern-day gunslingers ready for high noon and whatever carnage it brought. Maybe they were right for each other.
Mysti and Griff stood off to the side, stuck in this, but not really a part of it. Like the others, Griff held a pistol in each hand. Mysti held only her wand, energy crackling on the end of it. Our eyes met. She gave me a slight nod.
I didn’t have to speak to her to know the message. You can do this.
I loved Mysti, but I feared she was wrong. There was no way I could beat Oscar. I’d given away his soul, the one bargaining chip I had. Without full control of the mantle, there was no way I’d be able to usurp him as master of the hunt. This fight would go just like the others. I’d hurt Oscar a little. He’d hurt us more. Maybe I’d be able to run him off before he killed anybody, but he'd be back.
The mantle, still expanding inside me, nipped at the edge of my consciousness. It would lend a little power. I relaxed and let it in. The magic flowed through my brain, iron hot, making explosions of light flash behind my eyes. The black opal heated on my chest and reached out.
Orevorevorevorev.
Orev, who usually slept at night, answered. His voice came from everywhere and echoed inside my head.
Hoofbeats approached, now louder than the thunder that had preceded them. The shapes of horses and deadly riders emerged from the billowing clouds. Behind it buzzed the sound of motorcycles. Their ghostly headlights came into view first, hovering just above the road. The first huntsman, Michael Gage, raced alongside them, whipping his horse to run faster.
Tubby fired the first shot. The rest took up their arms and joined in. I aimed energy at the gas tank of King Tolliver’s motorcycle and let it fly. The gas tank exploded in a bright flash, flames licking over King’s body and face, their roar covering his screams. The iron bullets punched into Michael Gage’s horse. It fell with a scream, trapping Michael.
I watched, fascinated. Finn had been right. These bullets did their job.
Oscar’s antler headdress danced in Black Silas’s headlights as his horse touched down from the sky. He charged toward Cecil and me, raising his sword. The metal caught Black Silas’s light and seemed to glow.
I stepped in front of Cecil. He tried to push me away, but I roared a word at him, one I didn’t even know when I was my regular self. My poor old uncle cowered from me.
I lowered my head and focused on Oscar’s sword, pouring all my concentration into it. My body jittered. I ground my back teeth and pushed harder. Fire flashed from the sword and began to climb up Oscar’s arm.
His shriek rattled my eardrums. The horse ran a few more steps. Its pained screams hurt my heart. But survival was survival. I pushed more energy into the fire, urged it higher. The horse staggered and fell. Oscar went down with it.
The flaming sword clumped to the dirt. The fire whipped in the wind. My magical core pulled me toward the sword. I took one step in its direction. The sword’s flame roared brighter, its magic reaching out. The two magics touched. The sword went out and lay blackened on the road. It was over. I’d defeated Oscar.
I turned to the goat man, hand already out for the soul box.
He shook his head and pointed. I turned back.
Oscar got up and shook off the ash. His armor glowed good as new. Still smoking, Oscar picked up his sword and sheathed it. He helped his horse to its feet and climbed on its back. The charred duo shook themselves like wet dogs. The black ashes dropped from them.
“No,” I said to the goat man. “I killed them. I won.”
“Until you take his position as master of the hunt, he cannot die.” The goat man turned his attention to Oscar and said, “Finish what you came here to do, and you can have your soul back.”
Oscar adjusted his headdress, fixed his gaze on me, and raised his sword. I felt, rather than saw, Oscar’s smile. He had me.
“No,” I muttered. “This isn’t fair.” My breath tore in and out of my already dry mouth.
“Life isn’t fair,” Cecil said in my ear.
Oscar cued up to take another run at me. I drew on my power, but setting him on fire had taken most of it.
Oscar raced toward me. He held the sword aloft. Cecil stepped in front of me. He pushed me backward with one hand.
“No.” I ducked around Cecil.
Cecil and I struggled to get in front of each other, arms flailing like two teenage girls. I could only give our tussle half my attention. The other half went to my magic. I needed enough to fight Oscar. One eye on Cecil, I tracked Oscar’s movement. Cecil gave me a hard shove away from him and planted his feet.
Before I could regroup, Cecil slammed his fist into the side of my head. My brain short-circuited as it sloshed against my skull. I went down on one knee. Cecil reared back one of his pointy-toed boots and kicked me in the side.
“Stay down.” Dark eyes blazed out of a mask of fury I’d never seen on my uncle, who’d been nothing but sweet to me.
Cecil stepped in front of Oscar, drew a revolver from his pants, and began firing. Oscar jolted each time one of the six shots hit him but kept coming. Cecil didn’t even have his pistol loaded with iron bullets. What was he thinking?
I called for Orev. Our minds connected. Something winged and huge brushed past my face in a rustle of feathers and headed straight for Oscar. It hit him at the same time that several other birds did.
Pecking and flogging, they knocked Oscar’s horse off course. It turned a confused circle less than a foot from Cecil and me. But it got right back on course and came again, Oscar leaning forward. They reached us. A long howl filled the night. It came from me.
Oscar’s sword arced through the darkness, right toward Cecil. I struggled to get my feet under me, grabbing at Cecil’s legs. He kicked me away just as the sword swiped across his chest at an angle. He staggered backward and fell. I grabbed Cecil and clutched him to me, my body hunched over his.
Thoughts scattered, heart jittering, I accessed every drop of power I could and transferred it to the birds in the form of instructions. Kill. Kill. Kill. The birds converged on Oscar’s face and head. Their squawks and calls took over the night.
So many birds covered Oscar I couldn’t see him. They latched onto his headdress with their feet and flapped their wings as though trying to pull it off. Oscar quit trying to defend himself and focused on keeping it on his head. Some knowledge teased at the edge of my brain, but Cecil let out a pained moan and I lost it.
I glanced down at him. The fight around me faded in importance. All I saw was Cecil, shirt soaked with blood, gasping in my arms. Suddenly, I understood the deal Cecil had made. How he’d bought me a ticket to see the Wanderer. Sometimes the Death Card was spiritual. But this time it had been literal.
A knot of emotions twisted in my chest, as painful as the nervous acid had been earlier. My failure to shed the scar tissue and gain full control of the mantle had led to this.
“No,” Cecil gasped. “Don’t think that.”
He took a few more rough breaths and said something else. It was hard to hear him over the birds, so I leaned close enough to see blood bubbling from the corner of his mouth.
“Tell me again.” My words ached in my throat and sounded all thick. That was when I realized I was crying, loud, braying sobs.
“I said, I know I’m dying because I can read minds again. Just like when I was a little, little boy.” He stroked my face, leaving trails of wetness. “You’re the only one I ever met whose gifts stayed the same, didn’t fade. That’s why you’re the right one. That’s why…” He coughed.
I strained to raise him, a muscle in my back pulling the wrong way. Cecil turned and spat a wad of blood and phlegm on the ground. He stared into the distance, lips moving.
“I’ll tell her,” he said.
“Tell me what?” I bawled.
“Now listen. Your memaw is over there.” He wiped blood off his mouth.
My head snapped up. Memaw. I’d not seen her since the night she died and her ghost walked off with my grandfather’s, both of them young again. I squinted at the night, using all my power. Nothing was there. Was Cecil hallucinating?
“Your memaw says to tell you to get both Oscar’s headdress and his sword. Once they’re yours, you are master of the hunt.” He coughed again, more blood dribbling from his mouth.
Shelly ran over and dropped to her knees next to Cecil, her usually cool face knotted with tears. She gripped her husband. He put one bloody hand on her back but held me with his eyes.
I focused my attention on Oscar. The birds still swarmed around his head, flogging him. Bring Oscar’s headdress to me. Just that little connection drained so much energy. My vision wavered, and I rocked on my knees.
Cecil started to cough again, this time worse. Blood ran from his mouth in thin strings.
“Help me.” Shelly could barely say the words. She was crying too hard now.
Shelly and I got Cecil’s head up enough for him to spit out the blood. Our eyes locked. Hers blazed anger. I’d stolen her husband from her. I nodded my understanding. We’d settle it later.
Cecil’s fingers gripped my wrist, smearing blood on my skin. It glowed in the dark night. “Leticia and I are both so proud…”
Cecil’s body began to seize. Shelly and I both gripped him, neither of us with any knowledge of what to do for him. He was probably bleeding internally. How could I fix that? I racked my brain and came up with no solutions.
Cecil’s convulsions seemed to go on forever, even though it couldn’t have been more than seconds. Each one tore at me. When his body stiffened with the final one, Shelly and I both clutched at him. He let out one last rattling breath as his life left him.
I eased my uncle to the ground and wept tears of regret and loss. Cecil had been flawed, but I’d loved him. He’d always known what to do, what to say, who to be. He’d loved me when I needed it.
“Oh, Papaw.” I stroked his hair back and drew in a quivering breath, the loss so deep and painful it seemed to cons
ume me. “Those bastards will think the devil is a nice guy by the time I get through with them. That’s a promise.”
With that, I pulled together my resolve. Kill now, mourn later. I glanced at the birds. They’d converged on Oscar’s head, pulling at the headdress, wings flapping with the effort. It was as good an attack as any. Body aching, I looked for energy to push into them and had none. I let out a frustrated growl. Of all the times to be low on energy.
The huntsmen came to Oscar’s aid. They all bore the wounds of this battle. Part of Joey Holze’s head had been shot off. King Tolliver’s face had several bullet holes in it, and his arms were burned black. My mother, missing one arm, rode up on her red-eyed horse. Despite their injuries, they all lived. Unlike Cecil. Veronica Spinelli swung her sword back.
A flash of anger filled me. No way I’d sacrifice these birds to her.
Go, I shouted mentally.
The birds flew away before Veronica’s stupid sword even arced through the air. I held out one hand, not sure what I wanted. Someone put a pistol in it. The iron bullets would fix Oscar. Hurt him good. I walked toward Oscar with it pointed.
“Stop.” The goat man that Black Silas had called master stepped from the shadows.
“Eat shit,” I growled and kept coming.
He waved one crooked hand at me.
He was waving me off? Oh, hell no. I pointed the gun at him. Or tried to. My arm wouldn’t move. I tried to take a step. My feet seemed frozen to the ground. Straining with all my might did nothing but make me grunt.
Behind me, Mysti yelled, “Help me. I can’t move.”
“Let me go,” came Hannah’s fury choked voice.
I tried to answer them and couldn’t even move my tongue. The goat man produced the box holding Oscar’s soul. In his other hand, something white flashed. I was too far away to see exactly what.
“Oscar Rivera, you must take possession of your own soul. This is a battle that must be fought to the death. I can no longer protect you.” The goat man clapped the soul box and the white object together.
The white object began to grow arms and legs. It expanded until it was about a foot tall. It looked just like a man, only one whose neck ended in a stringy clump instead of a head. The texture of the thing’s skin reminded me of a carrot. Only a glowing white one. What the hell was this thing? A root of some kind maybe.
