“I’m not worried,” Jasper said. He should have been, a little bit, but between the heavy feeling in his limbs and the smoke clouding around them, dancing in the air, he couldn’t really be bothered. He stretched out on the chaise lounge, his boots hanging off one end, his head pillowed in his arms at the other. Crimson offered him the hookah and he shook his head. He felt good right now. Like, really good. Better than he could ever remember feeling. He didn’t want to push it, and just watching the smoke swirl around him was enough.
Crimson leaned his back against the side of the sofa and breathed the smoke out through his nose. Like a dragon, Jasper thought. The blueish smoke hung around him like a cloud. Crimson was talking, as he usually was, but Jasper found it difficult to distinguish words from one another, all of them blending together in the smooth song of his voice. The air was hazy between them, thick enough that it was almost a real, substantial thing. Jasper lifted a hand, trailing his fingers through the smoke. It drifted away, made of nothing after all. Still, it seemed to cling to Crimson, spinning tendrils caressing his jaw, his cheeks, the shiny black of his hair. Jasper reached out again to move it away, the tips of his fingers brushing Crimson’s hair. It was soft and silky and warm to the touch. Jasper touched it again, smoothing a lock back behind his ear.
And then Crimson stopped talking. He turned his head to better look back at him but said nothing, just met the half-blood’s green eyes with his brown ones, a question held there.
Jasper sat up, the motion making him a little dizzy, and ran a hand over his face, tugging his fingers through his own unruly hair. “I’m kinda hungry. Do they have any, like, normal food here?”
“Sure,” Crimson said slowly. His eyes were still on him, curious. He took another long hit from the tube and then set it aside as he exhaled. “Well, close enough to normal anyway. You like seafood? I’ve heard the serpent sushi’s to die for.”
“Maybe just a cheeseburger,” suggested Jasper.
“Well, they don’t really have cows here,” said Crimson. “But I’m sure summer buffalo couldn’t taste all that different. They export a ton of it this time of year.”
The food court was out along a huge shallow lake. Several small craft were adrift in the water, which was a dark gray-blue and smooth as a mirror. The tables were packed, so they crawled out on the stones above the shoreline. Dawn had broken while they were resting in the lounge, though this dawn was like none Jasper had ever seen. The sun was a shining lavender beacon, and the sky never grew blue, but pinkish-purple, with wispy clouds that hung low like smoke.
The summer buffalo burger wasn’t bad—seasoned with spices and extremely juicy, with a warm bun that had a slight crunch, and a reddish sort of lettuce that tasted vaguely like fry sauce. Crimson bought one too, but only so he could tear it up and toss chunks down at the waterline for the long-bodied baby serpents that nested there. A particularly bold one crawled halfway out of the water to snatch a piece that had fallen short, then backpedaled rapidly into the pool with the meat clenched in its beak. It was cute in that awkward sort of way ugly things often were, head too big for its slender body, eyes too big for its head, and malformed legs too small to be of any real use. Crimson said that next summer it would migrate out to the open ocean (of which this planet was primarily comprised) and there it would shed its baby skin, along with its silly little legs, and then, if it survived, grow to an enormous and terrifying size.
Jasper felt steadier with the protein in his stomach absorbing some of the alcohol, and the glass bottle of crystal-clear water that came along with the food rejuvenated some of his energy, which was good because they spent the rest of the day bouncing from one attraction to the next, only stopping for drinks (and once, another burger) along the way.
On the outskirts of the fair, Jasper cautiously stroked the ears of a giant fox bat as big as a horse, while it nibbled on an oversized apple and stared at him with big puppylike eyes. In the afternoon, they saw two full-grown sea serpents fighting for territory from the deck of a small boat a safe distance away, and afterwards walked a hedge maze where, for a small fee, one could sample exotic fruits by plucking them directly from the bushes. By the time evening came, they had added an assortment of odds and ends to Crimson’s backpack, including two pounds of summer buffalo jerky, which Jasper decided he liked after all, and a smattering of exotic spices he thought he’d use if he ever learned how to cook. They went to every inch of the place except for the barren stretch on the other side of a craggy pass Crimson called the “Summoning Circles,” which he seemed determined to steer clear of.
They were strolling along the path with the moon high in the sky overhead and no particular destination in mind, when somewhere far off a trumpet began to sound. “That’ll be the closing ceremonies,” said Crimson. “They’re basically like the world’s greatest magic show if it were also a rock concert. C’mon, it’ll be fun.”
Beyond the rise, a depression in the forest floor made a sizable valley, at the bottom of which a stage had been erected. There was no seating, but people were sitting along the slope on blankets and pillows and in folding chairs and gathered around the stage.
Jasper had never been to a concert before, much less a magical concert. The stage was large, made of raw unprocessed wood, the dark blue-green bark showing through, looking like it had simply grown there on its own rather than been built. Instead of traditional spotlights, several pillars were topped with bright flames in different colors, casting light on the stage and gathering crowd. As they approached, the band—a motley crew who didn’t look like what Jasper thought rock bands looked like (though one of them looked like they were literally made out of rocks)—took up their instruments and began to play. There were no speakers that Jasper could see, yet the sound was loud enough to easily be heard across the field.
“They’re pretty good,” Jasper said over the music. It reminded him a little bit of Rush, but somehow with more drums and even weirder.
“Wanna get closer?”
“Um, okay.” The crowd was thicker and livelier near the front. Jasper hooked his arm into Crimson’s and smiled. “Just don’t ditch me. For real, man.”
Crimson looked down at their arms and smiled back. “I won’t. For real.”
#
The show ended with a literal BOOM, the performers vanishing in a multicolored blaze of glittering smoke. He wished his phone worked here so he could record some of this stuff. He had no idea how he was going to file a report for this when it was all over.
The crowd screamed and jumped excitedly, some of them shooting small wisps of harmless light at the stage. Crimson said that was like throwing roses, then added that they should probably move before everyone started to leave and the whole thing became “a clusterfuck.” They had moved further away from the stage over the course of the show and opted to take a shortcut through the woods to avoid the crowd. Since the entire situation was unsafe, Jasper decided not to bother asking whether this was safe or not.
The trees muted some of the sound from the valley. The woods were surprisingly more comfortable than he’d thought they would be. There were no curious stares here, nor rambunctious conversation; it was almost quiet. He felt mellow and calm amid the cool colors and sweet-smelling air. Crimson was trotting along ahead of him, going on about one of the women who’d been on the stage. Jasper was only half-listening. He knew he should probably listen carefully to everything the werespider was saying, but he said so much half the time, and so little of it about anything, that it was hard to pay attention. The wood was denser here, the canopy more so, and he was more focused on keeping from stubbing his toes in the dark.
“Did you hear that?” Crimson stopped short and Jasper bumped into his back.
“You’re not about to tell me these trees are alive or something, are you?” Jasper didn’t know whether he was joking or not, and neither did the tone of his voice.
“Of course they’re alive, Jasper. They’re trees.”
“Shu
t up, you know what I mean,” replied Jasper, but Crimson became very still, his head cocked to one side, with his luminescent eyes focused off in the middle distance. He looked suddenly in the opposite direction and then, without words, started off in long strides.
As they got closer, Jasper heard it too. Jasper was light-footed by trade, and Crimson by nature, but whoever was moving towards them was not. He heard him snapping twigs and stumbling on roots, the short, ragged sound of his breath. The noises were coming towards them at an angle. Crimson moved suddenly like a viper striking, reaching out, grabbing hold of whoever or whatever it was, and dragging it from the foliage.
It was a seemingly human man in a red shirt. It was difficult to tell much else with him squirming and struggling uselessly against Crimson’s grip. Jasper squinted through the darkness and drew a little closer, then grabbed Crimson’s elbow. “Put him down. He’s hurt.”
Up closer, he saw the red he glimpsed was not fabric, but blood, a shocking amount.
Crimson let the man drop too suddenly for him to have a chance to catch himself, and Jasper missed catching him by an inch, so he hit the forest floor on his hip. He dragged himself backwards, away from the pair, until he lost his energy and stopped at the base of a hewn stump. The light found him clearer here, and now Jasper could see the symbols and sigils carved in neat rows on his torso and down his arms. He was older than he’d thought—silver streaks in his dark hair, lines on his tanned face, the scraggly shadow of a beard on his chin. Forty-something, maybe.
Crimson shrugged. “Smells human to me.” As if this were not obvious.
“It’s alright.” Jasper took a few steps closer. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
“He musta been over near the summoning circles,” said Crimson. He hadn’t moved to help, but was listening again and watching the surrounding trees. “Probably got loose. There’ll be someone looking for him. Let him be.”
The man didn’t seem to hear them. He was holding one hand cradled in his lap, shaking. When Jasper was within grabbing distance of him, the man looked up, startled. “Please. Let me go. They’re coming. I have to go. I have to—”
“Good gods, I’m not gonna listen to that.” Crimson sighed. He swept in beside Jasper, took hold of the man’s chin to angle his face up, and looked him carefully in the eye. “Be calm.”
All expression went out of the man’s face. The shaking eased, and gradually he went from gasping for breath to breathing normally. Crimson let go and looked at Jasper. “There are people headed our way. You’ll hear them soon.”
“We should get out of here.” Jasper shrugged off his jacket and offered it to the man. He merely looked at him with blank eyes, so Jasper leaned forward to lay the jacket over his shoulders. He was reaching for his hand to pull him to his feet when he saw that two of his fingers were missing, the stumps still lazily pumping blood. He grabbed his elbow instead. The man swayed on his bare feet.
“Can you walk?” Jasper asked. He thought he heard something in the woods back the way the man had come from, and a glance showed the orange glow of a torch through the tree trunks. “Or run?”
“Uh,” replied the man.
Overhead, an owl perched on the bough of a nearby tree.
“Little late, I think,” said Crimson.
The owl hooted loudly and one of the voices called, “This way!”
“There’s definitely too many of them,” said Crimson. “They’re coming from over there too. Just let him be.”
Seeing that Crimson had no intention of helping, Jasper pulled on the man’s arm. “Run.”
But the man did not move. He was listlessly watching Crimson. God damn the stupid glamor.
“Crimson,” hissed Jasper.
Twigs crackled underfoot.
The owl hooted and ruffled its feathers.
“Fine,” Crimson growled back. His glaring eyes flickered to the mortal. “Run.”
The man moved so suddenly he almost jerked Jasper’s arm out of its socket, though once he was moving, Jasper caught up and passed him easily. The sounds were closer now, and Crimson was right—they were all around them.
The shape of a tall, robed figure burst into view, and Jasper veered away as wisps of fire ignited at his heels. They ran around a fallen trunk, losing sight of the caster as they lost sight of them. He and the human dove in a small copse of trees. Crimson was with them all along, but he didn’t follow them into the copse, preferring instead to stand right out in the open, rocking boredly from heel to toe with his hands in his pockets. Jasper swore under his breath.
Before he could figure out how to get him out of the open, two men appeared, running on foot in their direction. Jasper crouched, gesturing for the human to stay silent while he watched through a break in the boughs.
“Hey! You there! Demon!” The taller of the two men jogged right up to Crimson. He stooped over, his hands on his knees as he panted. “Did you see a human come through here?”
“About yea high? Drenched in blood and reeking with the unmistakable scent of mortal terror?” asked Crimson politely.
The shorter of the two snapped his fingers. “Yeah, that’s the guy.”
“He went out towards the coliseum.” He pointed back the way he and Jasper had come.
The taller one seemed to finally catch his breath. “Thanks,” he said, and they both took off again.
Crimson glowered at Jasper through the trees, his gaze finding him quickly even though he was hidden. “You’re gonna get us killed.”
One to talk, thought Jasper. Somewhere nearby, the owl hooted again, louder this time. It probably belonged to a sorcerer a good deal wiser than the two nitwits Crimson had just fooled.
“We gotta keep moving,” Jasper told the newcomer. The glamor appeared to have faded. He was shaking again, and when Jasper spoke suddenly, he took a sharp intake of breath, as if startled. “Hey, don’t be scared. I’m Jasper and that’s Crimson. We’re going to help you, okay?” This was said almost pointedly in Crimson’s direction. “What’s your name?”
“M-Maxwell. Max.”
“Hi, Max. We gotta go, okay?”
Max’s eyes were still dazed, but he nodded as if he understood. They picked their way clear of the copse, and the three of them started to move away from the approaching sounds. The owl hooted irritably, hopping after them, from branch to branch.
“How much time do we have left?” Jasper couldn’t tell how long they’d been there. It felt like forever and also like no time at all.
Crimson took his watch from his pocket and looked at it. It seemed to work fine here even though Jasper’s phone wouldn’t even turn on. “About ten minutes.”
“We can make that.”
“We could make it a lot faster without the human,” replied Crimson. Presently, Max’s foot caught an exposed root. Despite his bitching, Crimson caught him and strung his arm over his shoulders, stooping slightly to heft him up on his hip and then breaking into a flat-out run.
The owl screeched and plunged from the boughs with its great white wings spread and its talons outstretched. Jasper drew his pistol and spun to take the cursed thing out of the air, but even as he raised the weapon, there was a blinding flash of light. Then…
Pitch darkness.
He tried to blink his vision back into focus, but all he could see was an inky blackness. Something snatched at him out of the shadows, and he struck it with the heel of the gun’s grip on reflex, connecting hard.
A voice that was unmistakably Crimson’s swore a vile string of curse words and insults, too quickly to truly understand. The darkness was impenetrable. He couldn’t even see the demon’s eyes.
“I can’t see anything.” Jasper tried to keep the panic from his voice. He wasn’t like Crimson; he couldn’t easily fall back on his other senses when he found himself suddenly without his sight. His demon sense was useless against a spellcaster that was otherwise human, and he couldn’t hear well enough to allow him to fight blind.
The were
spider’s hand grabbed his empty one, tugging him after him. Jasper’s boot caught on the uneven ground, but he righted himself and tightened his grip. “It’s a spell,” Crimson growled. “Don’t you know anything? Fight it off.”
Jasper’s specialty was in demons such as Crimson—vampires and weres, things that had once been human but now weren’t—not in sorcerers and the like. He wasn’t used to dealing with magic, but now did not seem like the time to get into it.
He tried to focus on clearing his mind, shaking the spell off, all while still running blind through a forest. There was a low whistle and they were suddenly moving in a different direction, the whooshing boom and throwback heat of a fire somewhere near where they had just been. His shoulder crashed into a tree, jarring him. He would have fallen if Crimson let go, but the werespider’s grip was an iron vise.
Branches whipped from all sides, cutting into his arms. One branch hit him good and hard across his face, and he tasted blood from his split lip. This seemed to be enough to snap him out of the spell, and the world returned to him just as quickly as it had disappeared, like a light switching on.
They were still in the forest, the trees closer and taller and darker, blue-black. Crimson seemed to know where he was going, but Jasper suspected he was only going on impulse and necessity. Jasper spared a glance over his shoulder to see a figure—he could not tell if it was a man or a woman or otherwise—literally flying after them, the great owl at its side. The spellcaster threw out its hand, and a tree that was awful close for comfort burst into flames.
They sprang over a fallen tree trunk, the firelight casting their shadows out ahead of them. Beneath the nearer sound of spitting and crackling flames was the chatter of voices and laughter. A clock began to chime in loud, even keels.
Crimson swore.
The forest gave way suddenly to a steep decline, the lavender sky open above them. He could see the disc now, and the large number of people gathered on it. A few looked up in their direction.
Strangers in the Night Page 15
