by Evie Byrne
Her official opinion, recorded on her report, was that Wat was unreasonable. Gunnar was her only hope. He was just a kid, prince in name only, but he was still their prince. Where he led, others might follow.
Dispirited, she threw herself into the room’s battered old armchair. Now she recognized that the hairy seat cover was made of reindeer skin. For a while, she stroked it absently, thinking in circles. Hetta. Wat. Contingencies. Gunnar. Christ, if Hetta really was a ghost she could be hanging around, watching.
She shivered at the idea and dialed Dominick. He answered on the first ring, his velvety voice with its faint Irish lilt so welcoming and familiar that it almost made her weep with relief.
“Eva, my frosty snowflake. How goes the war?”
This was her first report. She tried to be concise. “The regent, Wat Freysson, has a head on his shoulders, but he’s also militant. He’s convinced his people will not leave of their own volition. He says they’d die first. I believe he believes that. I believe he would die first. I don’t know about the others.”
After a brief silence, Dominick said, “If that’s what he was thinking, why did he tell us he agreed to the terms of the treaty?”
“He lied. He used the only leverage he had to get someone out here, so he could make a plea for mercy in person. It was a stupid move. He’s lucky I don’t have a temper.”
“He wants to convince you, so you’ll convince us. Can you trust a liar?”
“I don’t get the feeling that lying is a habit of his. He’s desperate. He thinks that if he can make the case that his people won’t be any trouble, we’ll back off.”
“And has he made his case?”
“From what I can tell, they’re living clean and quiet. I believe they wouldn’t attract human attention in the future. But there’s so much that he doesn’t understand. Living in isolation, he has no sense of public opinion, or the politics of the Council, much less the importance of Alya taking a strong stand on this assassination attempt by coming down hard on the territory.”
Dominick grunted in agreement. “The Faustins are hard-liners, too, bless their souls. You know how much sway they have.”
“I also want to mention an unresolved matter,” Eva said. “There’s a woman here called Hetta who has an agenda I can’t parse out. I don’t want to go into it until I have more information, but should anything strange happen—”
“Strange?”
“It’s a gut thing. I can’t explain it yet, but you’ll have a report by tomorrow. If anything happens to me, question her first.”
“Done.” She could hear him typing as she spoke. “And what will you do next?”
“I’m trying to sell them on the advantages of leaving. I believe the prince can be swayed in this regard, but I’m going to need your help to cinch it.”
“Who has the ears of the people? The prince or his regent?”
“Gunnar is untried, but Wat—Freysson—wasn’t one of Halverson’s lieutenants. In fact, I just learned he’s the schoolteacher here. So there’s a power vacuum. Few fighters remain, if what I saw the night we rolled in is representative. Freysson says he has maybe a hundred people, spread out over lots of forest. I have to confirm that, of course. I’m in a hidden village they call Brunnrheim. As far as I can tell, it’s their capital, but it’s tiny. As of now, it looks like there’s even less of a force here than I expected.”
“Your recommendation?”
“Since they’re no security threat, I think we can take this slowly. It won’t do us any good to be seen as the destroyers of old people and kids. If I can convert the prince, he will lead them South. He’s our best chance for a peaceful resolution.”
“Alya prefers this done peacefully, but more than that, she wants it done soon. How are you going to convert the young prince overnight?”
“Through hormones, luck, and history. Halverson wasn’t a purist like the survivors. I don’t get the impression that the boy is attached to the land like the others. However, he does parrot the idea that feeding on humans is evil—”
“Ah, but there is such great temptation in evil, isn’t there?”
“Exactly. And sex is a great temptation for a boy his age.”
Dominick chuckled. “For a boy of any age. What’s your plan for him?”
“There’s a big trucker bar in a town called Rust Jaw. I noticed it on our way up. It’s the only bar large enough for mischief for miles and miles. I need a feeder to be waiting for me there tomorrow night between ten and midnight. Can you get me one? I don’t remember the name of the place, but there can’t be two big bars in a town that size.”
“I’ve got a few contacts in that area. And I mean the Great Lakes in general, not Rust Jaw. I’ll see what I can do. What kind of feeder does his highness prefer?”
“He’s a virgin. In all ways. I’m thinking no sex—that would be too much, too fast. This will be no more than a pleasant introduction to feeding. The feeder should be attractive and very discreet. The prince can’t know it’s a setup.”
Dominick was still clicking at his keyboard. “Define ‘attractive.’”
“He’s a sixteen-year-old boy. You tell me.”
“Well now, when I was sixteen, I fantasized about muscular black men shaved smooth as cue balls. Do you want me to order up one of those?”
She laughed. “Well, weren’t you the special one? But no. This feeder has to be female. Blonde. Big tits a plus. Young as you can manage. Experienced. I can’t have her freaking out if he gnaws on her a little. Oh, and she should get hazard pay.”
“And mileage, too,” Dominick said. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I’ve just mapped your metropolis of Rust Jaw, and you’re how many hours north of that? Have you spotted any polar bears, by chance?
“No, just reindeer.”
Dominick laughed.
“No, seriously! They’ve got herds of them.”
“Then I’m thinking you’re the one who should be getting the hazard pay. And that reminds me—the boss left me a note for you. Where did I put it?” She heard him rustling though the papers on his desk. “Here it is. A rare missive from the honeymoon suite.”
“How’s it going with those two? Are they still happy?”
“Happy was never so frightening. The two of them together puts chills down my spine…” Eva waited while he read the note to himself. “It’s nothing. Just a clarification of her orders. When you clear them off the land, you are to burn all structures to the ground, destroy any landmarks, et cetera, so they won’t be tempted to return.”
The Spring. The Grove. The houses with walls built of dead people.
“I’m not sure what you’re supposed to do with the reindeer.”
After Eva said goodbye to Dominick, she ran out to the front porch and stood there, gripping the railing, gulping air, afraid she might vomit. Holding it together for the duration of the conversation after he’d told her she had to level Brunnrheim had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done.
Alya’s order made sense. If the Brunnrheimers went South, the destruction of all they loved would ensure they’d never come back. If it came to fighting, the destruction would obscure the truth of what had been done, and what had been here before. Rangers and realtors would pick at the rubble and wonder.
It made sense to her head, but not her heart.
It is not your will. It’s Alya’s, she reminded herself. A Hand did the hard things, things an ordinary lieutenant couldn’t be trusted with. She thumped her head against one of the porch columns a few times, wishing she could brain herself.
All she could do was damage control. If she had to destroy their homes, she could still save these people’s lives, even if she had to drag them out of the woods kicking and screaming.
The light of the bonfire and the promise of music drew her off the porch. She had no intention of crashing the party—she just wanted to see it. She didn’t want to be trapped alone with her thoughts. Stalking through the snow, she edged up on the gathering,
keeping to the shadows. They’d built the bonfire in a clearing between houses. It spat sparks at the stars. As far back as she was, the heat brushed her face and made her long to creep closer.
The nearest house was lit up and wide open, with people trooping in and out and hanging out on the porch. The most popular gathering point seemed to be three barrels set up on trestles: the liquor zone. Wat was there, his hood back, his hair blazing in the firelight. He was gesticulating, trying to convince another man of something.
Musicians stood off to one side, gathered in tight circle around a small fire of their own—probably trying to keep their fingers and instruments warm. They played a reed pipe, an odd little bagpipe, something stringed, and a wide, flat drum.
Ivar jumped into the firelight, pulling a reluctant Gunnar with him. Both wore spiffy shirts like Wat’s and those odd pirate sashes around their hips. They linked arms and danced under a storm of whistles, hoots, and commentary in two languages.
Despite the exotic dress, the towering trees, and the freezing cold, Eva recognized this party. It was a family gathering like any other. The old folks sat on the sidelines, watching, remembering. The men opined in twos and threes. Teens kept to the shadows, doing whatever it was they weren’t supposed to be doing. The little kids, who looked like gnomes in their pointy hoods and red boots, ran around in frenzied, screaming packs. Meanwhile, their moms tried to keep them from serious injury.
Family. The word made her heart ache. She had her own, but Alya had always kept her busy, and since becoming a Hand, she’d had to distance herself from them even more, for their own safety. But when she was growing up, she’d attended parties like this almost every weekend—in her extended family it was always somebody’s birthday, or anniversary, or naming, or whatever. Until now, she hadn’t realized she missed those parties so much.
And now I’m going to destroy this family. Brunnrheim was a family, she realized. The village’s inhabitants had been bound together by isolation and tragedy. Watching them from the outside, knowing their bleak future, made her feel like the Grim Reaper. She turned away from the fire’s warmth and headed away on silent, empty paths, past the dark houses, down into the clearing where the only sound was the song of the Spring.
Eva edged up to the fountain, wary—and embarrassed to be suspicious of what was, essentially, a water feature. She caught a little water in her upturned palm and sipped it once, twice, daring the hallucinations to start again. They didn’t. So the water itself was not tainted.
The lanterns at the door to the Grove still burned brightly, though mostly likely no one was worshipping. Knowing this was a great opportunity to explore, she headed for the entrance.
“Miss Sosa?”
Maren stood behind her with a big smile on her face and a tea kettle in her hand. Damn her.
“Good evening,” Eva said, stepping away from the door.
“Já, it’s a fine night.” Maren bent to fill her kettle from the fountain. “The water is healthy, full of minerals,” she said by way of explanation. “Would you like some tea?”
Oh God, yes, please don’t make me go back to my room. “Well, if it’s no trouble…”
“No bother at all.” Maren smiled. “In fact, I have some friends at my house, women all, just come from the party and looking to warm up. You’d be very welcome.”
The layout of Maren’s house was much like Wat’s, except the space was smaller and prettier. Like Wat, Maren had a central fire pit, the flames banked low. Bright turquoise tapestries woven with large red flowers hung on the gently curving walls. Little wooden stools, painted white and red, covered with cheerful cushions, surrounded the fire. A big basket of knitting leaned against the stone hearth. Three women waited there, warming their hands. They stood when Maren and Eva entered.
Eva craned her neck up at the other women, who were all almost as tall as Wat. I’m surrounded by Valkyrie.
The women smiled, bowed, and sat down again. Two were blonde, like Maren. One was dark-haired, like Ivan, but fair-skinned. All of them had rosy cheeks and light-colored eyes. Like Hetta, they all looked strong enough to bring down boars on their own. Eva felt acutely foreign—and acutely short.
Maren settled among the coals the kettle she’d filled at the Spring and removed a steaming kettle from a hook. “I thought we’d all be women together,” she said. “No matter where we are from, we are women first.”
The other women nodded. Eva, not believing her words for a second, also nodded.
“So we will share our tea and speak of women’s things.”
Maren poured the tea into a shallow wooden bowl and passed it to the woman on her right, who took it with a smile and sipped, and then passed it to the woman next to her. The bowl traveled around the circle in silence. Eva took it in turn.
Little carved reindeer danced around the sides of the bowl. She took a sniff of the tea before drinking, and drew back her head, surprised. It wasn’t regular tea. The brew was pungent, earthy, strange. She hid her surprise and hesitated for a moment, weighing factors. Her strange hallucinations at the fountain made her wary of drinking anything at all, but she didn’t want to lose the opportunity to talk to these women. She had to show good faith, so she took a sip. As the scent promised, the tea tasted a good deal like dirt, like earth overlaid with a hint of bitterness, but the aftertaste was unexpectedly sweet. She passed the bowl to Maren. To Eva’s dismay, Maren sent it around again.
However, it seemed the initial ceremony was complete, and conversation could start. Maren introduced the other women. “Miss Sosa, this is Mathilde and Leni—” She gestured to the two blondes, and then to the dark one, “—and Bera.” They all murmured greetings. Eva reminded herself that she was a Hand, and therefore scary, if undersized, and did her best to look friendly.
“Leni is mother to Katta—the girl you met by the reindeer. Mathilde is my sister, and our green woman.” Eva saw the resemblance. Both had the same luxuriant yellow braids and round faces, but Mathilde was older. What a green woman was, she could only guess. “And Bera is one of our scouts.”
“Scout?” Eva said. Bera was the youngest woman in the room, with fierce, hawk-like features that managed to be very beautiful.
“A scout, like Ivar,” Maren said.
Eva accepted the bowl again and took a second swallow. The stuff sort of grew on you. “Ivar and I haven’t spoken much.”
Mathilde laughed, a genuine belly laugh. “Now there’s a surprise.”
Leni explained. “Ivar doesn’t speak much to anyone.”
“He’s at his best when he’s not speaking,” Bera added.
“Now that’s the truth,” Mathilde said with another hearty laugh. “And you’re one to know it.”
Bera’s face flushed. “And I’d not be alone in that knowing, Mathilde Redding.”
“True enough,” Maren said. “There’s few of us who haven’t walked in the woods with Ivar Freysson.” She took a sip of the tea, her eyes sparkling with mischief over the brim. “Thank the gods I’m too old and wise for such things.”
Eva watched this exchange with fascination. With no humans for partners, there had to be a lot of vamp-on-vamp action in these woods, assuming backwoods vampires had libidos as strong as their city cousins. Eva could count the vamps she’d had sex with on one hand. She preferred humans.
Sex with vamps—male vamps, at least—was too complicated to be worthwhile. As a breed, L.A. vamps were obnoxious. And glory-hungry. And condescending. And domineering. Then, if you somehow managed to put up with the attitude long enough to end up in bed with one, you ran the risk of pregnancy—unlike with a human partner—and the only contraceptive method that worked was a condom. Worst of all, she couldn’t feed during sex, which took the fun out of the whole thing. Feeding on other vamps was illegal, except in two cases: princely exsanguination and connubial feeding between rare blood-bonded mates, like Alya and Mikhail. Eva loved the freedom of sex with humans. No attitude, no condoms, and lots of snacks. And they were ni
ce and warm.
These poor women got nothing but reindeer blood and turns in the woods with Ivar. What a life.
“Ivar and I are both scouts,” Bera said, clearly trying to inject order into the conversation. “We’re the only scouts for this village now. We patrol, monitoring the animals and seeking signs of human intrusion.”
“What do you do if you find evidence of human intrusion?”
“Depends. If it’s just signs, we keep watch. If we see humans, we make sure they don’t come back.”
“You attack them?”
“Oh, no, that would call more attention to us. We sabotage them—whatever they’re doing. Move their markers, damage their equipment, their cars, take their food.” She grinned, her teeth flashing white and wolfish, perhaps relishing some choice memories. “We frighten them in their camps at night. The locals say the woods are haunted, so they tend to stay away. The rangers don’t come either. Only outsiders dare, and they never come back.”
“Good strategy.” Eva took her third sip of tea. Not only was it growing on her, it warmed her from the inside as much as the fire did from the outside.
Mathilde spoke. “And is our Wat taking good care of you, Miss Sosa?”
“Eva. Call me Eva. And yes, he’s a great host. He’s very…gentlemanly.” “Gentleman” was not a word she often had cause to use, but it seemed appropriate in his case.
“That’s our Wat,” Maren said.
“Too much the gentleman,” Mathilde groused.
“Now Tilde…” Leni admonished gently, her tone implying this subject was old territory.
“It’s not healthy, his denying himself. And I say that as a healer, not a woman.”
Eva couldn’t resist. “You mean, he’s…?”
“Since his woman moved away, a year ago or so.” Maren said. “Of course, he’s never been one for a quick tumble.”
