The Wild Hunt

by Thomas Galvin

  “Yeah, he taught me the magic missile spell. But what about everybody else? What about the people who can’t call down fire, but have to face the demons anyway?”

  “People like your fiancée?” Francine asked softly.

  I shot out of my chair, grabbed the knife from Miranda’s grasp, and tossed it on the floor. “We’re done here, Miranda. Mrs. Lockhart, if you need anything, hang a towel or a sheet out the window. The sheriff’s deputies will send someone to help.”

  Mrs. Lockhart took a sip of tea. “Thank you so much for stopping by, Mr. Lindsey, Miranda. I’ll be seeing you soon.”

  I pulled my jacket on and left the house. Miranda said goodbye to Mrs. Lockhart and followed me. “So that was fun.” I huffed in response, and Miranda threaded her arm through mine. “What has you so wound up?”

  The sunlight reflecting off the snow was blinding, and I squinted against the glare. “You ever feel like your life isn’t your own?”

  “Sure. Usually when the fifth order for a double stack comes in.”

  I sighed. “I left the Church for a reason, and I really don’t like the fact that he keeps trying to drag me back in.”

  Miranda was quiet a moment. “What reason?”

  I looked up and down the road. “Where’s the next house?”

  “Um,” she pulled a sheet of paper out of her jacket. “Over this way.”

  “Let’s go,” I said. “I’d like to get home before sundown.”

  We started walking. Miranda was quiet for about a block, then she asked again, “What reason?”

  I sighed. “There was a girl.”

  Miranda snorted. “There’s always a girl.”

  “It’s not like that. She was young. Eleven, twelve. Abigail. Her family went to Richard’s church. Still does, as far as I know. We aren’t sure how the demon got her. By the time they called us, her face was green and she was crawling around on the ceiling.”

  “That really happens?”

  “Yeah. So we went in, Richard, me, a Prophet named Abraham Cohen and a girl named Jordan West. We bound the demon and we went to war. We thought we were helping her. We thought we were doing the Lord’s work. God, we were idiots.”

  “And she …?”

  “She died. Eleven years old, and she was just lying there, dead. I called down fire from heaven, and I burned the demon out of her, and when I was done there was nothing left. That was it for me, the last straw. That’s why I left.”

  “God.”

  “I keep trying. New spells, new tactics. But every exorcism I perform ends up killing the demon’s host. And the Mashiach, as far as I can tell, is perfectly fine with that.”

  “Playing devil’s advocate, isn’t it possible he knows something you don’t? That there’s a reason it works like that?”

  “It’s possible,” I said. “I just don’t care. He’s the most powerful being in the world right now. If his wonderful plan and mysterious ways includes dead children, I don’t want any part of it. Look at what’s going on here. Twelve people are dead, and his solution? To make it easier for me to kill more of them.”

  We visited five more homes. Ed and Carol Taber were the only couple without some sort of wood fire stove or backup generator, so we helped them to the fire hall, checked in with the sheriff, collected the Norse spell book, and headed back to the bed and breakfast. The sun was already setting, turning the crisp air cold and bathing the snow covered landscape in soft red hues. I stood on the porch, staring out at the fading day.

  “What’s on your mind?” Miranda asked.

  I jumped; I hadn’t heard her sneak up on me. “Just taking a minute to center myself.”

  The corner of Miranda’s mouth turned up. “Going all Zen on me? I thought you weren’t into religion.”

  “I’m not into getting killed by a possessed coed, either.”

  “Do you think Holda is going to come after you?”

  “Probably. I mean, I did kill her. But that’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried about them.” I waved my hand, indicating Mirrormont in general. “And you.”

  Miranda slipped her arm though mine and stared at the horizon with me. “Thanks.”

  “I’m sorry you got pulled into all of this.”

  “You keep saying that, like it’s your fault or something. You didn’t bring Holda here. You didn’t convince Matthew Warren to go nuts. You didn’t force Ashlyn West to shack up with him. There’s nothing you could have done.”

  “I could have come in blasting. Maybe I talk too much. Maybe I give too many second chances. People are dead, and maybe I didn’t cause it, but I could have stopped it.”

  Miranda frowned. “That’s not who you are, Caden. I know that you’ll do what you have to do. I know if push comes to shove you’ll make hard choices. But you aren’t a monster. You aren’t an executioner.”

  I looked at her sideways. “I’ll have you know that people across the country tremble in fear at the sound of my name.”

  She patted my arm. “I’m sure they do. You’re very scary.”

  I nodded. “Damn right I am.”

  “So what do we do? How do we prepare? Hey, I know, maybe we could avail ourselves of a weapon forged specifically to combat the forces of darkness.”

  “Hmph.”

  “Just kidding. Kinda. But seriously, what do we do?”

  “Well, I’m going to spend some time getting my armor together.”

  “Wait, you have a suit of armor?”

  “I have a spell that protects me. You’ve seen me do it, it’s just invisible most of the time. The more time I have to prepare, the stronger the armor is.” I looked around the yard, “But first I think I’m going to touch up the wards guarding this place. Want to help?”

  Miranda’s emerald eyes sparkled. “Your proposal interests me, and I would like to receive your newsletter.”

  I smiled. “Okay. We need salt and oil.”

  Miranda led me into the kitchen and pulled open the pantry. The contractors I had hired were held up by the storm, so there were still a lot of repairs to be made. Miranda grabbed a can of salt, then bent down to grab a container of olive oil. “Is this enough?”

  “Should be”

  “Are we redoing that spell with the squiggles?”

  I walked back out into the living room. “Sigils, and no. This is basically the same warding spell you already know how to weave, it’s just that instead of raising the ward around yourself, you project it out around a door or window or whatever.”

  “Okay, gimme that.” She took the olive oil from me and poured it onto the windowsill, then smeared it around with her fingers.

  “I usually add the salt first, but it’s not a big deal.” I sprinkled some on the base of the window, then tossed it at the sides and top. “This version doesn’t have to be an unbroken line. The oil lets enough of the Æther jump from crystal to crystal to make the spell work.”

  Miranda bit her lower lip and stared at the window. “Okay, so I just cast the ward? But around the window, instead of around me?”

  “Yeah, then hold it until you feel it snap into place.”

  Miranda laid gentle fingers on the windowsill and closed her eyes. The air filled with static electricity as she summoned the Æther and bent it to her will. I opened my senses and beheld her spell. The Æther swirled around her, green mist and white fire, wrapping around her like a cloak billowing in a strong wind. It traveled down her arm, writhing like a vine ensnaring a trellis, and poured out from her hand. It flowed over the lower portion of the window, then climbed up the sides and across the top. The Æther flared as the spell burst to life, and emerald flames raced around the window.

  “Good,” I said quietly. Miranda opened her eyes and inspected her handiwork. “Now hold it there a moment.”

  Miranda took a slow, deep breath and closed her eyes again. The flames continued to dance, briefly expanded, then faded from view. The salt crystals glowed for a moment, then they, too, dimmed. Miranda opened her eyes. “Di
d it work?”

  I gestured at the window and tossed a quick burst of light at it. My spell struck the ward and shattered, falling to the floor in a shower of harmless phosphor. Miranda grinned. “Looks like,” I said.

  “Okay, so now what?”

  “There are twenty-three more windows to ward, plus five doors. And then I want to reinforce the sigils around the property.”

  Miranda’s jaw fell open. “God. How am I going to do it twenty-eight more times?”

  “You’re not. I’ve been doing this for a long time, Miranda. Magic is a lot like exercise. The more you do it, the better you get. I couldn’t even make a ward work when I first started out. It’s honestly kind of amazing that you’re able to do even one.”

  “Aw, you’re gonna make me blush.”

  “But, a house with an incomplete ward is about as safe as a bank vault with a screen door, so I am going to have to complete the set.”

  I led her from room to room, weaving wards while she recovered and letting her try when she caught her breath. It took a couple of hours to finish, and then we headed outside to reestablish the diamond-shaped ward around the property.

  A fine sheen of sweat covered Miranda’s forehead. “Why am I so tired?”

  “You’ve been throwing around an awful lot of power tonight.”

  “Yeah, but it’s magic. Isn’t magic supposed to make things easier? Flick your wrist and the broom sweeps the floor for you?”

  I laughed. “And then you get attacked by pink hippos? Magic doesn’t work that way. It isn’t super worried about the laws of physics, but there are still laws. One of the most important is that it takes energy to move energy. Controlling the Æther takes an act of will, and mustering the kind of willpower that can literally bend reality isn’t easy.”

  “Okay. That explains the sudden onset starvation. Are you hungry?”

  “No, this took longer than I wanted. I need to prepare for tonight.”

  Miranda’s face suddenly became solemn. “Are we going to be all right?”

  I shrugged. “We haven’t died yet.”

  “That is not the brazen confidence I was hoping for.”

  ***

  I locked myself in my room and began to assemble my armor. A few minutes later I heard the shower running and Miranda’s singing echoing down the hallway. I found myself swaying to the rhythm of her voice as I pulled the Æther tight around me. Her voice was perfect, so beautiful that it almost sounded like she was being accompanied by music.

  My eyes flew open. The musical backing wasn’t just an illusion, it was real. Hauntingly beautiful music, the sounds of phantom lyres and spectral reeds, drifted on the cold winds. The notes sent a chill down my spine and brought a tear to my eye. I had never heard something so enchanting.

  I went out into the hallway. Miranda was looking out of her door, too, wearing pajamas and wrapping a towel around her head. “What’s that noise?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I think it might be–ARGH!” I grabbed my head and fell to my knees, pain lancing through my skull like a white-hot needle. Something was assaulting the ward I had established around the house, something immensely powerful and completely unconcerned with subtlety.

  “Caden? Caden!” Miranda rushed to my side and put a hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort me, but the mystical attack was giving me the worst migraine in history. I ground my teeth and focused my will, adding as much power to the ward as I could draw together.

  It worked, for a moment. The pain dulled, leaving nothing but a slight ringing in my ears, but the respite lasted less than ten seconds. Another flash of searing pain exploded between my eyes, and my ward shattered like glass. I cried out as the thought-form holding the spell together broke apart, and I fell back to my knees.

  “Oh my God, Caden, what’s happening?”

  Everything was white spots and ringing bells. I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to clear my vision–and prevent my eyeballs from leaking out of my head, which felt like a distinct possibility. “Someone broke through my ward.”

  “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, that’s–GAH!” I grabbed my head and thrashed. The attacker now focused on the wards around the doors and windows. The energy was traveling through the psychic connection between me and my spell, driving a burning spike into my brain.

  And Miranda’s.

  She was on the floor, curled into a ball, clawing at her hair and moaning. The window at the end of the hallway wavered with green and white energy. Whatever was attacking was invisible, but that didn’t make it any less effective. The ethereal music played on.

  “Break your wards!” I shouted, louder than I intended.

  “What?” Miranda shouted back at me.

  “Take down the wards! Take them down!”

  Miranda closed her eyes. The window at the end of the hall shattered, throwing shards of glass hurtling toward us. I raised a ward to deflect the debris.

  The DuBois were never going to get their house fixed up.

  “What’s happening?” Ethel called from downstairs, her voice trembling.

  “We’re under attack!” I shouted down to her. “Stay away from the windows!”

  The haunting music grew closer, louder. Without the wards to block it I could feel the music worming its way into my brain. The rhythm wasn’t particularly fast-paced, but the sound of it still made my heart speed up. I was convinced that “enchanting” wasn’t just a throw-away adjective; the music was, itself, a spell. “Miranda, we need to get–oh hell.”

  Miranda was back on her feet. The towel had fallen from her head and her fiery hair hung down in wet clumps. She was staring past me, through me, and out the window. Her face was slack, her eyes dull. It was the look of someone under compulsion.

  “Christ,” I muttered I grabbed a can of salt and spilled a quick circle on the carpet around her, then erected a fast ward. This one shattered so quickly I didn’t even have time to experience pain. Miranda started walking, moving with an eerie grace, heading for the stairs. I raced ahead of her and blocked her path. She turned her dead eyes toward me, reach out, and shoved.

  Miranda was not a large girl. She was tall but thin, not the kind of person you’d expect to get their way through physical force. And she was definitely not the kind of person you’d expect to throw a two-hundred pound man aside as easily as a rag doll. I flew through the air, crashed into the wall, and fell fifteen feet to the ground floor. My armor rippled, protecting me from the impact, but I still landed in a heap.

  “Miranda!” Ethel cried out.

  The phantom music grew more insistent. Miranda peered off into space, looking almost like a bride posing for a portrait, except she was wearing fleece instead of an elegant gown. She descended the staircase, her feet barely touching the steps, and headed toward the door.

  I got in front of her again and braced myself. She shoved, but I was ready this time and managed to deflect her force to the side. She cocked her head sideways, like a puppy that’s heard an interesting noise, then threw a haymaker at me. I raised my arm to block, but that’s exactly what she wanted. She grabbed my arm, ducked beneath it, pushed her hips under mine, and pulled, sending me to the floor. I tumbled along the ground and almost ended up in the fireplace.

  Miranda turned back toward the music and walked through the front door.

  Literally through. She didn’t pull the door open and walk out into the night. She walked through the door, like it wasn’t even there, like she was a ghost.

  Mrs. DuBois stared at the door. “What in the name of God?”

  “I don’t know,” I growled, “but I’m going to get her back. Wait here.”

  I tried to open the door, but it was locked. I muttered a profanity and started throwing latches open, then ran out after her. Miranda was walking down the middle of the street, oblivious to the cold. Her bare feet left no prints in the snow. All down the road, girls and young women were walking out of their houses, slipping through solid matter a
s if it were air, and following the sound of the cursed music.

  My wards were useless and Miranda was physically powerful enough to resist me. I had no idea how I was going to stop her, let alone the other dozen girls, so I simply fell into step behind her. She seemed oblivious to my presence, so long as I didn’t get in her way.

  More girls poured in from the side streets. We marched for over an hour, into downtown Issaquah. By the time we reached City Hall I estimated that three dozen girls had joined the spectral procession. Each of them had the blank expression of an automaton.

  Downtown Issaquah was ablaze. Shops and buildings and homes had been smashed and set alight. In the center of the city, near City Hall, debris ripped from houses and trees torn from the ground had been piled high and ignited, creating a bonfire that reached thirty feet high. A multitude surrounded the blaze, spinning about it in circles. Dark elves held wooden flutes to their lips. Dwarves smashed their fists against drums. Beautiful women plucked at the strings of lyres. As the girls of Mirrormont drew near they fell into step with the assembly. Wide smiles split their faces as they began to dance.

  And in the midst of it all was Holda, still taking the form of Ashlyn West. Her gossamer raiment fluttered in the wind as she danced and leapt and spun. She took an elf by the hand and twirled around him, then fell into the arms of one of the dwarves, then took one of the girls by the hand and kissed her on the mouth. “Welcome, Sisters!” she cried. “Welcome to the Maiden’s Dance!”

  A cheer went up from the crowd. Somewhere, glass shattered and a baby started crying. Beside me, Miranda joined in the bluster, throwing her hands up into the air and shouting at the top of her lungs. The assembly formed two concentric rings, moving in opposite directions. Miranda fell into the outer circle and began to dance.

  I poured willpower into my shield and prepared for war. A siren sounded in the distance. Another crash echoed and some unseen force threw twenty feet of tree onto the bonfire. The music continued to play, and the revelers continued to spin and dance through the night.