The Wild Rites Saga Omnibus 01 to 04

by Anna McIlwraith

  Tiala darted forward and then stopped, vibrating with tension, as something else padded into the pitch black passageway ahead.

  The swish of fur, rhythmic. A quick heartbeat in the quiet. The thing, whatever it was, whined, and advanced slowly towards them. They froze. If they were meant to be dead, it would already have killed them.

  “Tiala…” Nysh placed a steadying hand on her sister’s arm, dug her fingers in, waiting, waiting…

  And then something warm and wet lapped at her fingers. A cold nose pushed against her palm.

  Tiala bit off a squeal as something shaggy thwacked her thigh.

  Neither sister needed to voice their recognition: it was the dog that had been with Telly and the other two men, in the holding cell.

  He took Nysh’s hand in his teeth, infinitely gentle, and tugged her forward. Nysh urged her sister on, wordless need driving them after the dog. Faster the dog ran and faster they followed, until a turn in the passageway revealed a thin yellow band of light up ahead, broken by the dog’s silhouette. A doorway.

  Nysh put her hand on her sister’s shoulder. “I don’t hear any voices,” she whispered. “We must be close to the antechamber, the music’s right overhead, but where are the guards?”

  Tiala put her own hand over Nysh’s. “I will send out the call.”

  “No!” Nysh’s grip tightened. The dog whined low in his throat. “If they sense you do it, they’ll know we’re here. You’re not good enough yet. Neither of us are.”

  “What else can I do?” Tiala’s voice wavered. “I have to try. Nysh, I have to.”

  Nysh gave Tiala’s shoulder another squeeze. She knew they had to do something. She didn’t know why it was so important, couldn’t remember, but it was like there was a voice inside her head, an echo of a voice, warm and calm, urging her on, pulling her forwards. They had to get to the stairs. They just had to.

  Tiala opened the call. She was frightened and holding back, and it was weak; she sensed nothing. Breath rasping in the silence, she sent her wavering senses out farther.

  Then she let the call loose. The dog yelped.

  Tiala found nothing beyond the door but the empty antechamber.

  Nysh felt Tiala stiffen with excitement. “Ti’?”

  Her sister grabbed her hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Seshua stormed up the passageway to the antechamber, Alexi by his side and only a dozen guards at his back. The rest of the royal guard were on their way, but the sanctuary was vast; if there truly was a coordinated attack going down in the Roadhouse above, then Seshua would have preferred his entire guard behind him. The walking god and the two commoners ran alongside, but they could hardly be counted on.

  Seshua heard Alexi’s sharp intake of breath as they rounded the final turn in the corridor. “What is it, priest?”

  Alexi frowned as his pace picked up, turning canary yellow eyes to the king. “Open the call, and you’ll feel it,” the serpent priest said.

  Seshua did as he suggested, awareness fanning out ahead of him in a smooth invisible rush. When it touched two tiny living signatures like flickering candles in the stairway up to the Roadhouse, Seshua swore.

  “Run, all of you,” he snarled back at his men as they cleared the entrance into the antechamber. “And prepare to open fire.”

  The remaining crowd still partying in the Roadhouse never knew what hit them, but Red Sun knew it before anybody did. He caught sight of the sleek blond man and his companion moving into position, saw them reach for their weapons. The security guards either side of the service door that led to the back rooms saw nothing; their minds were being dulled by somebody who was way too damned good at mind tricks.

  Time slowed for Red. It seemed to take forever to draw the big automatic from the inside pocket of his vest, too long to cloak its presence, an age to level its muzzle at the blond and even longer for the crowd to part.

  Then the boom as he squeezed down on the trigger shattered it all, and there wasn’t time enough to stick around and witness the chaos — he had a date with a couple of harpies.

  Red Sun dematerialized.

  And when he rematerialized in the stairway next to Tiala and Nysh, he almost thought he’d killed them himself. They screamed; harsh scrambling sounds filled the darkness beneath their screeching, the scent of feather musk clouded the closed space and there was a brief glow and the frantic sound of wings before Red clamped one big hand around the thrashing girl who had almost called her change. His touch brought her back from the change like a cold shower. When she was flesh in his grip again he seized the other one’s mind and pulled her to him by force of thought alone — it wasn’t often he missed having two arms, but times like this —

  Something sank teeth into his ass and bit down.

  “Mother of a WHORE! ” He whirled, dropped the girl, grabbed a spiky ruff with his big hand, and came up with an armful of angry mutt. The dog snapped and snarled and pummeled him with his back paws, scratching the shit out of his vest, not to mention the flesh beneath. Good thing his abs were nicely insulated; who said beer wasn’t good for you?

  “C’mon, dog, calm the fuck down,” Red crooned. “We can both laugh about the new asshole you just ripped me when the girls are safe, y’hear me?”

  The dog went still and Red put him down. Goddamn mutt. This was not the sanest night Red had ever had, and that was saying something.

  He caught both girls in the crook of his big arm. They struggled. “Gods fuckin’ dammit, hold still,” he growled. They did. “I’m getting you out of here. But you gotta hang onto me.”

  Nysh’s mind struggled against his; she was small and frail, but there was something fiery in there, for sure. “You aren’t him. He’s supposed to come for us. Not you.”

  She meant the gods damned Aneshtevanne male. Slimy lizard bastards. “Change of plans, chicken,” Red growled down at her.

  Then he tightened his hold on them both, pressed a knee against the random mutt, and they disappeared — as Alan’s mental roar of frustration lashed out and hit radio silence.

  32

  Emma and Fern reached security headquarters with no interference; the hallways they ran down were like tombs, silent and empty, their footsteps echoing softly in the expectant hush.

  Headquarters were deserted.

  “What’s happened, Fern? Where are they?” Emma crossed the wide room that was filled with electronics, and stopped in front of a huge bank of CCTV monitors. The screens answered half her question.

  Fern hurried over to stand beside her. His black eyebrows knit in a frown, eyes intense and glittering. “Looks like most of the lights are blown up there, cameras have switched to infrared.” Some had, anyway. The ones that were still normal showed deserted hallways and rooms; all the cameras in the back of the Roadhouse were normal. In the main bar, where the screens were black and white, a few colored spotlights showed up as big, blurred columns of white that roved the area of the bar and stage. They were rotating stage lights, and they were probably playing havoc with the night vision of everyone upstairs.

  As though following her line of thought — which he probably was — Fern said, “They’re all above ground. Somebody must have breached the stairs.”

  Emma stared at him blankly. “What?”

  “That’s the only reason they’d take the fight upstairs. Your security can’t be compromised, and it’s too hard to keep track of an attacking enemy when stairway security’s been breached. The sanctuary’s like a rabbit warren of tunnels and rooms and chambers.”

  Emma scanned the monitors with growing horror. “Fern, it looks like a fucking gunfight up there. Alan can’t have done all —” she froze as she recognized Ricky and Anton, crouched behind the end of the bar closest to the stage. She thought it might be Telly beside them, but she could only see a pair of denim clad legs with bare feet. Bits of broken glass littered the floor; Ricky’s eyes were wide and unflinching, and Anton hunched over something in his lap. She couldn’t tell what was goin
g on, none of the other monitors helped. Half of them were only broadcasting static. The other half showed overturned tables and broken furniture, smoke and dust, bodies obscured by shadow and debris.

  Sweet Jesus . Black blots swarmed across her vision. She braced herself against the electronics dashboard before her, pulse beating thin and fast in her throat. None of this made sense; Alan was an investment banker, for fuck’s sake.

  When she could breathe, she turned to Fern, knowing her eyes were too wide with shock and her face too hard with the first stirrings of rage. “What will happen to them?”

  His breath hitched and he blinked dumbly at her, like an animal transfixed.

  “Fern, what will happen? Seshua doesn’t care about any of them. He’ll kill Alan for coming to rescue me, and he won’t care what happens to anybody else.” She stared at Fern and he at her, gazes locked, minds fused. Fern didn’t need to say anything. And linked so closely, he knew what she wanted to do.

  You can’t . He shook his head, spiky black hair bristling. “You’re the reason they’re fighting up there. It’s stupid and dangerous.”

  “That’s why I have to.”

  “Because it’s stupid and dangerous?”

  She gave his arm a slap and glared at him. Because I’m the reason they’re fighting . “If I can convince Alan I’m okay and get him out of there in one piece, if there’s even a chance I can call Seshua off, I have to try. Ricky could be — shit.” She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, swallowing the fear. “It’s a long shot but I have to try.” She grasped his wrist and squeezed, pleading with her eyes for him to understand. “I can’t have them dying for me, Fern. I just can’t.”

  He stared down at her and she felt his resolve disintegrate. He made a strangled sound deep in his throat, squeezed his eyes shut.

  Emma put her hand on his chest. His eyes opened.

  Please , she sent.

  His face crumpled. He choked out a laugh, wet and strangled. “You have no idea, do you? You could use your power over me to make me jump off the Empire State building, yet you ask me please.”

  Emma shook her head. “Talk some sense already, spiderman.”

  He grinned fiercely. “Never mind. Come on.” He grabbed her hand and ran with her, out of security HQ and down the main corridor towards the antechamber before the stairs.

  They rounded a corner and heard voices, movement. Fern froze and Emma bumped into his back.

  Quit poking me with that stick of yours . Fern’s mental voice was teasing, but she could clearly feel the tension in his body, the harshness of his breath as he listened.

  It’s not a stick, it’s a spear. Who’s making that noise?

  We’re close to the antechamber. It’s the guards, their voices carrying.

  Shit. How many are there?

  Fern began to move slowly, silently forward, and Emma tried to emulate his stealth. She was barefoot, and her robe was made of soft but not silky material, so she was relatively quiet — but she still made sounds. The barest whisper of her hair falling over her shoulder, the creak of her grip on the spear. Fern made none.

  They crept up the corridor towards the shaft of dim orange light that fell into the hallway from the open entrance.

  Fern spoke absently in her mind. As near as I can tell… She felt his awareness shift away from her, but he wasn’t listening to the voices of the guards to determine how many there were; he was opening his senses instead, reaching out with them. A tiny thread of power curled out from Fern, and Emma knew it was the call.

  It was subtle; it didn’t raise every hair on her body or make her skin feel as though she was being dipped in ice water, but it still brought her pulse into her throat. She swallowed against the pounding of her heart, breathed deeply through her nose, ignoring the way Fern suddenly smelled; like hot skin and good cotton and salt, somehow warm and comfortable and edible all at once. She squeezed the spear in her right hand, made a fist of her left. And prayed for control — control against what, she didn’t know. It was something about her connection to Fern. She just knew that the call woke something within her, something alien, and she didn’t know what to do with it. Yet.

  Emma? Fern straightened as his awareness shifted back to her. He turned when she didn’t answer. Emma, are you okay?

  He put his hands on her shoulders, and abruptly sucked in a breath. God. Emma, you have to turn it off. We’ll draw the guards.

  It’s your fault . Emma clenched her teeth. I think you need to take your hands off me, it’s making it worse.

  What’s wrong?

  I don’t know, I just… She just what? She forced her eyes to meet Fern’s, and found his gaze wide and rapt. His mind hovered in hers, waiting, hanging.

  Slowly Emma reached up, and using the smooth shaft of the spear, she pressed against the inside of Fern’s arm until he dropped his hand. She moved to the other arm and did the same, using the spear so she didn’t have to touch him. She had a feeling the skin to skin contact would not help.

  He shook his head, blinking, realization filling his eyes. “The call,” he whispered, barely audible.

  Hearing his voice, solid and real and not inside her head, helped. She responded in kind. “Yep. Warn me next time.” She breathed deep, and wasn’t hit with the overpowering urge to drink down Fern’s scent like a glass of cool water. Ten points for her. She jerked her chin in the direction they were headed. “How many?”

  Fern lifted his hand, then dropped it; it had been on its way to touching Emma’s face. He rubbed his palm against the leg of his jeans. “At least twelve, no more than fifteen. I’d know exactly, but I got distracted.” He arched an eyebrow at her.

  She risked the touch of her mind to his. How do I get past them? How do I get into the stairway?

  The release panel for the first door into the stairway is on the left, and it’s red, inlaid with black stone. The black’s obsidian, shiny. And the hydraulics on those doors are automatic, you don’t have to heave them back. He showed it to her, picturing it in his mind; the image wasn’t solid, barely a visual, but she found herself knowing what it looked like all the same. As for how you get past them… He glanced over his shoulder. There’s only one way I can think of.

  She read it in his mind. No!

  I’ll be fine, honest, I can —

  You’ll be hurt, I won’t allow it. You won’t do that. She wouldn’t let him put himself in so much danger, just to create a diversion so she could get through to the stairs. She opened her mouth again to tell him so, but he cut her off.

  Okay , he said simply.

  She stopped with her fists on her hips, frowning up at him. Okay? You’re not going to argue with me?

  He blinked his shiny black eyes at her, his face suddenly guarded. I can’t .

  Something about the way he held himself — so very still, so tense. She had a bad feeling about this. What do you mean you can’t?

  You gave me an order. I can’t argue with a direct command, not from you. The ‘Enam-Vesh is kinda rigid where this is concerned…

  Shit. “Fern, I didn’t mean it. I mean, I meant it, but I… Ah, crap.” She turned and rested her forehead against the stone wall. “I just don’t want you to get hurt,” she said quietly. “Everybody seems to get hurt because of me.”

  Fern put his hand on her shoulder, tentatively stroking her thick tangled hair, and leaned his face in close to hers. “When I bit you, Emma, I gave up any rights to be angry about the power you’d have over me. I don’t like that you can stop me from helping you, but I can’t be angry.”

  “It doesn’t count. It doesn’t make it better just because you ‘gave up’ your rights. It’s still wrong.”

  Fern shrugged and dropped his hand away from her hair, and she felt colder for its absence. “My definition of right and wrong is a lot different to yours,” he said. “We come from different worlds. And in my world, charging out into a chamber full of guards just to distract them for you is no more dangerous than anything else I�
�ve ever done.”

  She looked at him. “I keep forgetting. You’re nearly a hundred years old.”

  He nodded. “Old enough to have seen and done worse.” Will you trust me?

  She bit her lip. You’ll be hurt.

  But not killed.

  And that’s good enough for you?

  He nodded again, sending her waves of confidence in a strong mental push.

  “Fine,” she whispered. “Let’s do it your way.”

  33

  Fern rounded the corner with Emma on his heels and let go of her hand as he called the change. She closed her eyes in anticipation, still running, and the flash of light was all the warning the guards got before the giant black tarantula barreled into the chamber and into them.

  He reared and ran sideways with impossible speed, knocking guards over and slapping out with his forelegs. Emma tore her eyes from his nightmare form and sprinted for the opposite entrance in a wide arc around the battle.

  “HOLD! ” a voice boomed out, rough with panic. “The girl’s escaping!” Emma ignored the guard’s cries and ran harder; looking over her shoulder wouldn’t do her any good.

  She felt the guard’s body heat a split second before he slammed into her, sending them both sprawling to the mosaic stone floor. “What do you think you’re doing?” the guard yelled at her, pinning her body with his. She thrashed and he grabbed a handful of her hair, jerking sharply. “Hold still!”

  “Fuck you!” Emma brought the blunt end of her spear up and aimed for the side of his head. Her right palm flared like hot champagne against the ivory of the spear, and she caught his nose instead with enough force to knock the weapon out of her grip. The guard shrieked and let go of her hair. Apparently a broken nose hurt like hell whether you could heal it in minutes or not.

  She scrambled out from underneath him; he caught her ankle and would have pulled her back, but then the guard was airborne as one long, bristling tarantula leg knocked him flying.