The Wild Hunt

by Thomas Galvin

  Miranda knocked on my door about half an hour later. “Caden?”

  I closed my laptop and turned around. “What’s up?”

  “So I’ve been thinking. About the whole running off to join the monster fighting circus thing. And you’re right, it would be dangerous, and I’m not ready to do the kinds of things you do. But were you any more qualified when that Richard Vines guy started teaching you?”

  “Well, no, but like I said, I didn’t choose–”

  “Which is another thing. You said yourself that I have natural talent. I didn’t choose to have that, either, but I do. I learned how to protect myself from that death cloud thing in like one day. Just think what I could do if I practiced for a month, or a year.”

  I looked down at the floor. Everything she said was true, and worse, it was what I wanted to hear. I wanted to put her in the Jeep and drive away with her. Not in some stupid big-strong-man-saving-the-pretty-little-lady-from-her-life-of-drudgery way, but in a lonely, I’d-like-to-have-someone-to-talk-to way.

  Miranda took a few steps inside the room. “So I could be like your apprentice. You could teach me magic, and I could save you from the scourge of truck-stop meals. It’d be–”

  ***

  Lightning split the sky and the old man stood transformed, wrapped in swirling black cloth and crowned with a helm of antlers. A brilliant ruby flashed and flared, reflecting the tempest’s light as a thousand crimson daggers. He lifted his spear, a great shaft of oak tipped with a blade of gold, high into the air, as if defying the power of the storm.

  Snarls escaped from the wolves crouched at his feet, smoke rising from their nostrils, their eyes reflecting the same wicked light as their master’s gemstone. Twin ravens leapt from his shoulder, searching for prey.

  A gray steed came from the darkness and the Hunter took mount, his cry echoing in the night. His fell company responded to his call, riding forth on fierce black stallions and trailed by the hounds of hell.

  The Wild Hunt rushed forward, raising a tumult that would wake that dead.

  Miranda DuBois ran through the night. Wotan, the Lord of the Hunt, followed after her.

  ***

  “–win win,” Miranda finished.

  I pinched my nose, trying to ward off a headache. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

  Miranda looked like I slapped her. “Wh, what?”

  I scowled and started unpacking my bag. “I’m not going anywhere, Miranda. I just had another vision.”

  ***

  I set up shop at my usual table in the DuBois’ dining room, my laptop and books fanned around me, and spent the better part of the day doing research.

  “Are you hungry?” Miranda asked some time around eight.

  I took off my reading glasses and rubbed my eyes. I hadn’t realized I’d worked through sunset, let alone dinner. “Yeah, actually.”

  “You don’t look happy.”

  I ran my hand through my hair and sighed. “I’m lost. Totally, completely lost. The Asatru are dead, the witches are dead, and the only people who even saw Holda think she was a sorority sister who did too many lines off her professor’s desk. I snapped her damn neck, I destroyed her host body. This should be over.” I smashed my hand on the table. “This whole thing should be over.”

  Miranda gave me a half-hearted smile and kind of shrugged. “Well, I’m glad you’re sticking around. You shouldn’t be alone on Christmas.”

  I swore. “Sorry. I forgot that it was Christmas Eve.”

  “Yeah. We’re going to midnight service, if you want to come along.”

  “I really, really do not. But … Holda went after three churches yesterday. If she makes a move tonight, or if Wotan shows up, there’s a really good chance that she’ll hit another one.”

  Miranda smiled. “We’re leaving around eleven. Do you have a tie? Do you own a tie?”

  I looked at her sideways. “Yes, I own a tie. Why are you leaving an hour early?”

  “Caden, it’s Christmas Eve. We want to get good seats. It’s the busiest service of the year.”

  “Fantastic,” I muttered. “Maybe I’ll burn this one down, too.”

  Miranda grinned. “Meatloaf or chicken?”

  “Whatever’s easiest. Thanks, Miranda.”

  The DuBois’ meatloaf, it should be noted, is a national treasure. My research skills? Not so much. I was missing something, but damned if I could figure out what. Holda should be dead, or at least banished back to whatever netherhell the Asatru summoned her from. The fact that she was still in our reality meant Miranda–and Ethel, and the entire town–were still in danger, and that pissed me off.

  Almost as much as putting on a suit and tie. God I hate dressing up. I used to rock a three piece suit, back when I had ambitions of being a high powered attorney. Now that I spent my days in jeans and a t-shirt, and given the frequency with which things leapt out of the shadows and tried to eat my face, I found dress clothes too constricting. Stupid social conventions.

  The Jeep was a two-seater, so we all piled into Miranda’s Camry and headed off to the church. “Jesus,” I said. “Sorry. But you weren’t kidding, were you?”

  It was barely eleven, but the parking lot was already filled and people were parking down along the street. Miranda stopped in front of a drugstore and we walked a block back to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church.

  The crowd was overwhelming. If I had to guess I would say that there were roughly five bajillion people in there. It was hot, loud, and crowded, which are three of my very least favorite things. I tensed up as soon as I walked through the door. It must have been visible, because Miranda put a hand on my elbow. “You’ll be all right, Caden. You’re big and strong.”

  I stuck my tongue out at her.

  To their credit, when the DuBois say they want “good seats,” they don’t mean “as close to sitting on the priest’s lap as possible.” Ethel slipped into the very last pew, smiling and greeting people as she moved toward the center. Miranda followed her, shaking hands and giving out hugs, leaving the aisle seat for me.

  A woman with snow-white hair and a set of hearing aids turned around. “How have you been, Ethel?” She was practically shouting, which made me think that her hearing aids could probably use an adjustment.

  “We’re doing fine, Lois. How is Henry?”

  “He’s ushering tonight. He’ll be sitting down after service starts. How are you, Miranda?”

  “Great, Mrs. Pretelli.”

  “And who’s this?” she asked, reaching over to lay a frail hand on my arm. “Is this your new boyfriend?”

  My face turned red. Miranda grinned and leaned in to stage-whisper in Mrs. Pretelli’s ear. “This is Caden. I think he might propose tonight!”

  Mrs. Pretelli cackled and fell back into her pew clapping. “That’s wonderful, dear. He’s such a handsome young man. Congratulations!”

  Miranda giggled and I frowned at her. “Oh hush,” she said, “I’m just having a little fun.”

  “Nothing about this is fun,” I said, tugging at my shirt collar. I felt like I was choking.

  I hadn’t been in a church in months, unless you count the one I’d blown up that morning, and I didn’t think that qualified as a Holy Day of Obligation. It wasn’t just the crowd that made me tense–although it didn’t help–it was what the place stood for. I had a falling out with the place’s supposed boss, and I felt like I was trespassing. Fortunately, the Mashiach hadn’t personally appeared in a church service in a couple of hundred years.

  “Caden, how nice to see you’ve come home!”

  I closed my eyes briefly, then turned around to see Francine Lockhart, dressed in a black skirt and red sweater, her hair up in a bun. “Mrs. Lockhart.”

  “Oh, please, Caden, call me Francine.”

  “How are you, Francine?”

  “Lovely, lovely. Happy to be in the house of the Lord on the eve of his birth. And it’s certainly nice to see you filling a seat.”

  “Yeah, well, I’
m kind of working tonight. Speaking of, your boss didn’t tell you to expect any fireworks, did he?”

  Francine raised her eyebrows. “Why, no. All he told me was ‘The Lord is faithful; he will establish you and guard you against the evil one.’”

  “Well that’s comforting. And cryptic. Christ, can’t a god give a guy a straight answer once in a while?”

  “Caden Lyndsey,” Ethel said, “you are in a church. Using such language. My word.”

  “Sorry, Ma’am.” Jesus, it was going to be a long night.

  “I have to go join the choir, Caden.” Francine patted her clutch purse. “But I still have that little item, if it turns out you need it. The Mashiach told me it would be important.”

  My head was starting to hurt. Miranda leaned over and whispered, “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” I grumbled. “I’m fine. I just hope I get to make something explode soon.”

  Miranda pursed her lips. “Maybe you should start drinking. It might help take the edge off.”

  “You, my lady, are a brilliant creature.”

  Then the lights went off. I leapt from my seat started drawing in the Æther. Miranda grabbed my arm and yanked me back into the pew before my magic became visible. “That’s supposed to happen. It’s a candlelight service.”

  “I, uh. Huh. Oh.”

  A couple of kids started passing out candles. They had little cardboard circles around the base to catch the melting wax. When everyone had one, a couple of well-dressed older men–I assumed one of them was Lois Pretelli’s husband–came down the aisle, lighting them.

  The priest and his compatriots made their procession down the aisle. He stopped at the front of the church and raised his hands. “This is the night,” he called, “when heaven was wedded to earth. This is the night when the love of God became manifest. This is the night when the light conquered the darkness.”

  There were murmurs of ascent and a few “amens.” It really was a lovely sentiment. It would have been even better if it were true. I hunkered down to wait out the pageantry.

  The service itself was unremarkable. The kids in the nativity pageant were cute. The choir was off-key but didn’t make it all the way to painful. The priest was dry but upbeat and, most importantly, brief.

  It wasn’t actually a midnight service; everything got started around eleven thirty, and the priest delivered his benediction almost exactly at twelve PM. He must have been doing this for a while, because the instant he said “amen,” the lights came on and the church bells rang out, signaling midnight. The priest smiled and spread his hands in blessing over the crowd. “Merry Christmas, friends.” The crowd responded in unison, and Ethel hugged Miranda.

  Miranda turned toward me. “Merry Christmas, Caden,”

  “Merry–” A chill rushed up my spine. I felt something moving in the Æther, a large, powerful presence. Thunder crashed, the building shook, and the lights went out. “–fucking Christmas,” I sighed.

  “Everyone calm down,” the priest said. “I’m sure a lightning bolt just hit a transformer. Nothing to be concerned about.”

  Some guy in the front stood up. “Because there wasn’t a double murder at the church down the road this morning? And the building didn’t blow up right after that?”

  The crowd murmured their ascent. The sheriff stood up and made a calm the hell down gesture. “All right, everybody. There’s nothing to worry about here, so let’s settle down.”

  Pressure started to build up between my eyes. “Actually,” I said as I rose from my pew, “I don’t think that’s true.”

  The sheriff turned his pinched, slate eyes on me. He stared at me for a level minute, his wooly white eyebrows knit together, then asked, “All right then. What do you suggest we do?”

  “Get everyone up by the altar. Stay behind me.”

  The sheriff started waving people out of their seats. “Come on, everybody. You heard the man. Let’s all get cozy with the big fancy table.” The priest balked at that, but kept his mouth shut when the sheriff pulled his gun. Skerrit walked down the aisle, waving people along, and stood beside me, training his revolver on the door.

  “Can I be of assistance?” Francine asked, gesturing toward her purse.

  “No, ma’am, I think I’ll be all right.”

  “Very well.” Francine grabbed the hands of the people to her left and right. “Come, everyone. Let’s ask the Lord to help us.” She closed her eyes, bowed her head, and began to utter a prayer. I felt her faith rippling through the Æther.

  Miranda appeared on my other elbow. “What can I do?”

  I didn’t take my eyes off the door. “Keep your head down and get ready to throw up a ward.”

  “Okay,” she said, and fell back a handful of steps.

  I took a moment to focus the Æther around me, forming my armor, then summoned blue flames around my hand. Gasps and cries echoed behind me, but I ignored them.

  Cold wind howled, ripping through the night like frigid knives. An icy breeze leaked through the stained glass windows. The church held its breath.

  It was soft at first, almost unnoticeable, but soon we heard the unmistakable sound of hooves striking the ground. The beast galloped at a terrific pace and the sound of its strides became almost as deafening as the thunder.

  The hoofbeats stopped right outside the church. Miranda grabbed my arm. The sheriff cocked his revolver. Behind us, a baby started crying.

  The door shook beneath the force of a massive fist. Heavy wood creaked and bowed. Dust fell from the ceiling. “We might be okay in here,” I said. “Churches have a certain energy, and sometimes that’s enough to keep–”

  The doors exploded, a massive, fur-clad boot reducing them to splinters. A gigantic form, lit only by pale moonlight, stood in the entryway.

  The sheriff helpfully fired at him.

  “God damn it!” I yelled and slapped the gun down.

  “Sorry,” the sheriff said, but he aimed his gun back at the figure in the doorway.

  I shook my head and walked down the aisle. “Eckhart,” I called, “what are you doing out of the forest?”

  The massive Viking came inside, shaking snow off his cloak. “Caden, son of Lyndsey. I thought not to see you alive after venturing into Holda’s domain.”

  “They said the same thing about the Taco Bell I stopped at last week, but I managed to escape with my life. What brings you to town?”

  Eckhart strode further into the church. The guy was huge, damn near seven feet tall and probably four hundred pounds. He adjusted his gigantic sword, which made the sheriff raise his gun and the crowd behind us twitter nervously. I waved them all down. Eckhart stopped in front of me and offered his hand. I went to shake it, but he grasped my forearm instead, squeezing hard enough to light up my armor.

  “You have dealt Holda quite a blow.” Eckhart’s voice rumbled off the walls. “She will be looking to rebuild her forces.”

  “Yeah, about that. How the hell is she still alive? I killed her.”

  “That mortal body was merely a vessel, and its death was merely an inconvenience. The spirit of Holda remains strong, and grows more powerful with each moon. Be wary, brave sir. Her attack is imminent.”

  “What the hell does that mean? Where’s she going to hit? What should I get ready for?”

  Eckhart pushed past me to address the crowd. “All you who love your lives, flee! Flee from the oncoming storm! The Lady of the White, the Queen of Snow, the Mother of the Dead rides, and the Wild Hunt rides with her!”

  December 25th

  Chapter Twenty

  That night, the storm hit.

  The wind shrieked like a mother watching her child die, knocking over trees, cutting off the entire town’s power, and dumping twenty-two inches of wet, heavy snow. That part of Washington normally gets four or five inches in an entire year, and the blizzard was absolutely crippling. The roads were impassable, and even the cell towers were inoperable. Mirrormont was completely cut off from the rest of the world
.

  The bed and breakfast’s fireplaces were functional, if a bit neglected. I dragged in some logs from the garage and set them aflame with a muttered spell. Ethel started cooking breakfast, bacon and coffee, in the living room. I headed into the cold morning air to dig us out. Miranda joined me a few minutes later. “Need a hand?”

  I stabbed my shovel into the snow and wiped sweat off my forehead. “I need a backhoe. How’s everything inside?”

  “Well, the fireplaces are keeping us warm enough, at least in the main rooms. I’m kind of worried about the pipes freezing, though.”

  “Turn on the kitchen sink, just a trickle. That’ll keep water flowing through them, stop them from freezing.”

  “Really?”

  I shrugged. “That’s what I hear. I’ve never had to actually try it.”

  “I’ll give it a shot.” Miranda considered the driveway. I had only managed to clear about four feet of it so far, and there was a good twenty feet to go. “This sucks. Was it Holda?”

  “Probably. You guys never get snow like this, right?”

  “Not that I’ve ever seen.”

  “And Holda is the Lady of Frostbite or whatever Eckhart calls her, so there’s a good chance this is her fault.”

  “What a bitch.”

  I laughed and tossed another load of snow aside. “I kind of figured that was established when she murdered all those people, but everyone’s got their own standards.” I jabbed the shovel into the drift and hurled another ten pounds of slush onto the lawn. “Jesus, this is gonna take forever.”

  “So why don’t you just magic it away?”

  “Because I … because … huh.” I stuck the shovel back into the drift and stared at it. “It never really occurred to me.”

  I extended my hand. The barest flicker of flame danced over the ground in front of me, an adaptation of the light I called in battle. Steam rose up into the air and blew away. Within seconds a foot-wide circle of asphalt had been revealed.

  Miranda examined my handiwork. “That is so much easier. Why didn’t you do the whole thing?”