Tomas, one of Gregory’s. By all the gods….
“Go!” The werewolf snarled, its voice mangled by overgrown fangs.
Eislen ran. The glow of Wilderwood was just up ahead, its enchanted lanterns calling them home. It wasn’t the ideal place to venture, given their history with the town. If they’d been lucky, they would have stayed the night at The Drake’s Rest and set out by sunrise.
Anything to avoid Octavia knowing they were here.
But Tomas was one of Gregory’s lieutenants, which meant Gregory would know. And then Octavia would. As Eislen bolted for the town border, they skidded in the mud and tripped, their hand just passing through the wards. It flickered, then dimmed, and Eislen braced for the surge of electricity to hit them. Their dispelling amulet should take the brunt of the impact, leaving them frazzled and shocked, but not dead….
Nothing. Just the ward’s lines dimming around them, and then a faint pop in their ears.
She didn’t revoke my passage? That can’t be right.
Eislen got to their feet and looked around. Same old Wilderwood. Same town square, same cheery lanterns outside The Drake’s Rest, beckoning them down the road to rest their weary feet and sate the gnawing pit of hunger in their stomach. Same brick and wood homes and shops, all well-maintained and charming. The first sprouts of spring flowers poked through loamy topsoil in window boxes and garden beds, filling the air with the scents of good, tilled earth, mulch, and fertilizer.
Wilderwood was a promise, one that Octavia had overseen for hundreds of years and held only herself to the highest standards. As long as those who lived here were happy, that was all she cared about for them. Behind the scenes, Eislen had come to know the tension that coiled within her, the rigid thrust of authority she tempered with kindness and a sense of fair justice.
They reached for the crystal inside their shirt, pulling it out to examine its surface for the flaw that had been there for two years. Gone. The crystal was a seafoam green, the color soft even when it reflected the light. It reminds me of your eyes when you cast, Octavia had said when she gave them the gift. When Eislen had fallen into the Faelands and then found their portal home slammed shut, the crystal had been suddenly marred by an ink-like stain across its center. The crystal had been a gift, and a promise, and when Eislen didn’t return home, the promise had been shattered. They were only to be gone for a few months, and those months had turned into years as they traveled the Faelands, always being hunted by the Queen’s dogs.
And now they were free, finally. But no amount of freedom would fix what they’d broken, and they doubted any apologies would be enough to beg forgiveness from Octavia.
I shouldn’t be here. I should continue to Veldersmith and find rest there.
“Good on ya, getting inside,” Tomas said as he came up behind them, covered in dirt and mud and blessedly dressed in rough spun pants and a loose linen shirt. “The wards are a little testy right now, but you’re no worse for wear.” He grinned and Eislen saw receding canines. “Ya all right there, Eislen? Been a while, yeah?”
Eislen wanted to groan. Trust Tomas to be friendly and affable right after tearing apart a pack of fae wolves and saving their hide. And even more, to be friendly and affable to them after all that had happened. “I uh….ahem, yes. I’m all right.” They bowed, remembering their manners. “Thank you for saving me. Those creatures were not easily deterred.”
“I’ll say!” Tomas slapped a hand down on Eislen’s shoulder, staggering them under its weight. Eislen was rather tall, but they were no match for Tomas’s supernatural strength. “Looked like fae wolves, them. What are you doing bein’ chased by those foul beasts?”
Eislen moved their braids back over their shoulder. “It is a rather long story, I’m afraid.”
Tomas grimaced. “Ah hell, Gregory’s always telling me to talk less, use my head more. I’m not even being polite. He’d wallop me good if he caught me right now. Do you want me to walk ya to the manor?”
Eislen froze. “Why would you do that?”
“It’s only polite! Remember what I just said -“
They held up a hand. “No, I mean….why would I go to the manor?”
He shrugged, his face falling as confusion set in. “Why wouldn’t you?”
Eislen’s head spun. None of this made any sense. “Is she home?”
He nodded. “Yep. Been dealing with another of you that rolled into town. I assume to hunt some nasty thing or another.” His grin was back. “You Rangers all know each other?”
Another Ranger may be beneficial. “No. Most of us only work in pairs and unless we’re given a new assignment or sign up to be a trainer, we don’t typically meet with other Rangers unless necessary.”
Tomas ran his knuckles over his jaw in thought. “Makes sense. This one’s alone, too. Like you were when you came into town.” He glanced down the road. “You want me to take you down to the inn? Mama Stockton’s got stew on tonight, and a brand-new cask of ale.” Eislen slumped in relief. “Yes, that would be wonderful.” Especially because I need to figure out what the hell is going on.
***
“Explain it to me again.”
Octavia shot the Ranger an icy glare. “Haven’t we been through this enough? Wilderwood is under my protection. As long as I live, the wards may weaken but they will hold. But we’ve yet to craft a ward that would differentiate between creatures with foul intent and other kind who wish to live peacefully.” She frowned. “The wards cannot tell the fabric of a being’s morality, as convenient as that would be.”
Since he’d discovered she was vampire, Roderick had kept his distance. He’d met several decent, upstanding vampires who only wished to live quietly and out of the public eye. He’d had yet to meet one with as much authority as Octavia. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, but training and caution were hard things to shake. As she talked, he’d reached for the smooth, flat disc on a cord around his neck, twisting it between his fingers. It was a simple thing, easily mistaken for jewelry to even the most discerning eye. But it was his strongest charm and yet….nothing. No frisson of energy, no spark of awareness.
Wilderwood had more than hill witches and wards on its side.
“Am I boring you, Ranger Arman?”
He started, sitting up straighter. “No! No, not at all. I just - this is all the opposite of my training. The opposite of what my instincts should be telling me.”
With a nod, she leaned over the desk to watch him twist the bit of cord and stone. “And I can appreciate that. You are not our first Ranger, as I’ve mentioned. That person had a similar reaction. In the beginning.” Her gaze fixed on his preoccupation with the cord around his neck. “You’re fondling that thing like it should tell you the answers you seek. While I appreciate your honesty, the wards here are beyond what your charm can detect.” She smiled softly. “Wilderwood is unique.”
Roderick took in her posture and her dark brown hair and even darker eyes. “I’m beginning to understand that,” he said quietly, almost as an aside.
If she noticed or cared, she gave no sign. Instead, she tapped the map they’d been studying. “Well, now that all this business is out of the way...I more than understand the need for secrecy in this endeavor, but we may want to bring in my associate, Gregory O’Malley. His family has been here almost as long as mine, and he’s a good hunter. He could be of use.” Her gaze landed somewhere in the middle distance outside the window. “His weres keep an eye on the perimeter and inform us of anything odd or suspicious.“
The door to her study slammed open and Gregory, red-faced and breathing hard, strode inside. “Octavia I -“ He spotted the Ranger seated before her and froze. “We have an issue.”
Immediately Roderick was on his feet, buttoning his coat and checking his weapons. “What happened?”
Gregory waved him off almost absentmindedly, his eyes still fixed on Octavia. The fierceness on his face made something inside her gut churn uncomfortably. “I only found out. Tomas was at t
he inn all night.”
Octavia frowned. “Care to enlighten me?” She motioned to the Ranger. “Ranger, Gregory. We were just speaking of you.”
Gregory opened his mouth, closed it. Then he finally said one word that dropped the bottom out from her stomach. “Eislen.”
To her credit, Octavia only blinked before saying, “Impossible. They left for the Faelands and swore their business was there and not here any longer.”
“I’m well aware. But I also know Tomas spent all night with them at the inn keeping watch.” Gregory came closer, hand outstretched. “Tavia, it’s them. Swear it on my life. I saw them from the window. Looking a bit older, sure, but it’s Eislen as sure as I am that the sun rises every morning.”
There was no flicker of anything on Octavia’s face and seeing her expression go blank made Roderick’s neck prickle. “The Ranger I previously mentioned,” she said to him. “Apparently they’ve decided to return.”
Roderick got to his feet, brow furrowed in thought. “Then perhaps I should leave. I will be scouting the woods to see if I can pick up Luther’s trail. I don’t wish to take up more of your time.” He gave Octavia a stiff bow before exiting the room.
They heard the front door open, then close, and Gregory turned back to her. “The Ranger, I presume. Not that he introduced himself.” He came to her side, a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Tavia. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
The bottom drawer of her desk was locked and though she hadn’t opened it in months, she did so now. The key was always around her neck and she pulled it free, unlocked the drawer, and took out a thin box made of hammered metal. “I was hoping to get a bit more distance from our...relationship before Eislen returned.”
Gregory recognized the box instantly. It was the same one the hill witch sisters used to safekeep their prophecies. The Montgomery triplets, a rare occurrence even in humans; but witch triplets were so rare that their birth had been both celebrated and reviled. Everyone knew supernatural creatures and other kind existed, but humans had a right to be wary. Wariness turned into superstition, then fear, and sometimes hatred. There were enclaves like Wilderwood in other parts of the world, because their kind had a right to be wary as well. Humans were massively destructive. Witches had a foot in both worlds and were typically used as intermediaries.
The Montgomerys never wanted that duty, and so tapped into their powers at an early age. Their talent for divination and prophecy was unparalleled.
Octavia’s thoughts swirled. She probably shouldn’t have told the Ranger about her identity, but he would have figured it out at some point. Likely when he paid the Montgomery sisters a visit to discuss the town’s wards. Or if he learned about their prophecies.
Octavia opened the box carefully and handed the single sheet of paper inside to Gregory. It was brittle, almost translucent, and Gregory felt like his hands were too big, too clumsy to even touch it. He let Octavia lay the paper flat on his open palms so he could read the scrawled translation beneath a dizzying array of strange, almost runic symbols.
The door stands open but blocked. They will eat and feed and linger as they scrape the sky with naked fingers. A return signals the shift of the wind. And death will grow in their wake, bare fingers choking life from all they touch.
The door stands open but blocked. The hunger he brings will break through. When the eye of the storm stands before all, follow the wind to where the blood splashes against black bark.
The door stands open and needs to be closed.
Gregory read it twice before motioning to her to take it away. Once the paper was resealed in its container, he felt his lungs expand but they still burned. An unscratchable itch was now buried deep in his body that begged to be dug at with ragged fingernails.
“I hate those things,” he grumbled, earning a grim smile from Octavia.
“So do I. But I’ve learned to never ignore them. I had an inkling they meant Eislen as part of this, since they’ve been the most….significant person to leave Wilderwood in recent history. But the rest is unknown. Though I suspect our new Ranger and his quarry factor into this as well.”
He motioned to the box. “Do any of the sigils match?”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t ask.” Octavia was already undoing the button on her right cuff, rolling the sleeve up to her elbow. “Remember, don’t look at them too long.”
Gregory pulled a face. “I’m no whelp.” The corner of her mouth twitched and he sighed. “Nor have I any desire to throw up in the corner again.”
He waited until she signaled him to come closer. Octavia pointed to one of the prophecy sigils she’d copied onto a scrap of paper. “There. ‘The door stands open’.”
A quick glance between the scrap of paper and the matching mark near her elbow told him all he needed to know. “Shit.”
“I know.”
Her gaze went hard as she then said, “Where is Eislen?”
“The inn. Mama Stockton’s got her eye on them. And I set some of the others to watch the exits, in case they mean to slip away.” He put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “What do you need me to do?”
“Stay with Ranger Arman. I do not think he understands his role in all this, but I’m not about to show every card just yet.”
“He knows?”
“He does. It was either that or let him think we were purposefully hiding it when I knew he’d discover us sooner or later.” As Octavia stared at one of her oldest friends, he saw those deep brown eyes bleed out into a russet orange. “Stay with him. Don’t let him out of your sight. He may try to lose you in the woods; he seems the admirable sort to face a feral vampire down on his own.”
“Understood. And what will you do?”
She sighed and put her hands on her desk, staring down at the map. “I’ve a reunion to attend.”
Five
“I am appreciative, Mr. O’Malley. Your tracking skills will certainly be useful.” Roderick sucked in a lungful of cold spring air, tasting rich, wet earth on the back of his tongue. “I admit the sheer enormity of the task ahead is rather daunting. But Luther is both feral and intelligent and he will slip up.” He cast a look at the massive man keeping pace with him. It was hard to imagine him as a werewolf, and with none of his usual tricks to help him see past what was likely a very good glamour, Roderick could have fooled himself easily.
“But that means he’ll have killed someone.”
Roderick nodded, mouth a grim line. “Three deer hunters went missing from Veldersmith recently. They have yet to be found. I fear that may be our first indication of Luther’s path. Hopefully it’s one we’ll be able to follow and use to prevent him from hurting anyone else.”
Gregory scratched his beard. “I’ve dealt with ferals before, Ranger. It’s always a bad scene.”
Roderick’s mind flashed back to the night Yasmin died. “It is. I’ve bore witness to such events before.”
“Then I am sorry. It’s an ugly business.”
“It is.”
They were silent for several minutes as they tread deeper into the forest. Here the shadows grew long even in the weak sunlight of mid-afternoon. Bare branches scraped against each other as the breeze picked up. And everywhere Roderick looked was grey and dull. The burgeoning spring colors in the village did not exist here. It was as if all color, all life, had been leached out of the trees and the ground itself didn’t wish to give way to their steps.
But while the hunt was primary in his mind, he was still rolling around the truth Octavia had provided him about the nature of Wilderwood’s residents. Having fae and weres and other kind available to assist him was incredibly helpful - O’Malley, for example, would be able to track scents in a way he could not. And it was clear from his interactions with others in town that they deeply respected Octavia and her leadership. This, too, was a benefit.
And then there was the issue of the other Ranger’s appearance. Even an unknown Ranger was better than handling any fight solo, and his first order of business back in
town would be to discuss the situation with them. But from Octavia’s reaction to their appearance, there was clearly something more personal going on.
It wasn’t unheard of. It wasn’t even that odd. Romantic entanglements were not forbidden. Roderick realized he may have been jumping to conclusions but what little he knew about Octavia Wilder, he doubted she was one for dramatics. Her look at Gregory at the mention of this Eislen spoke volumes. It was the look of someone who’d had their heart broken. Just a flash of vulnerability before the mask settled over that sharp-featured face and made her expressive mouth turn down. It gave him pause.
Born vampires were as confusing as mortals in many regards. There were always stereotypes about other kind: weres were good hunters and trackers and prone to fiery tempers; fae were fickle creatures who flocked to beautiful, shiny objects; devilkin were solitary, often hermits, for fear word of their heritage would incite mobs. Satyrs loved music, val’un dai lived in the mountains like their feathered ancestors, and elementals kept to the ground (or water or lived near volcanoes, based on their powers). Some of those stereotypes were based around an other kind’s strength, such as tracking with weres. It was not untrue nor exaggerated.
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