Two people knelt in the bed of the truck, bent over.
All of them had the same dark-brown skin and long dark hair of First Nations citizens. They looked up with suspicion as Elizabeth trotted over to them. The sensation of mana use grew much stronger. Whoever was channeling was in the bed of the truck.
But it wasn't Cassie.
A happy, deep bark greeted her as a huge dark-brown German shepherd jumped up against her, almost knocking her down. Just for a moment, her fear spiked, but when the dog began licking her face, she realized she knew this animal.
She grabbed the dog's head between her hands. "Clyde?"
Clyde barked.
One of the two people in the bed of the truck, a man, stood up and stared at her. "Elizabeth?" he asked.
She knew him as well. "Paco?"
Paco grinned, cracking his weather-beaten features. "What the hell are you doing here, Elizabeth?" He leaped out of the bed of the truck and ran over and embraced her, crushing her rifle between them as he lifted her off the ground in a bear hug.
Clyde barked and jumped up against them with his front paws, panting happily.
"Paco," she gasped, still in a state of disbelief. "How—" The last time she had seen him, he was being loaded onto a medical evacuation helicopter to be flown to a hospital for life-threatening injuries after the basilisk had crushed most of his chest. Had it not been for Cassie's magical healing, Paco would have died before the helicopter could even arrive. She hesitated, completely overcome by surprise, then wrapped her arms around him. "Oh my God, I'm so happy to see you. You have no idea."
A member of the Dene-Zaa Doig River First Nations and a superb hunter with an expert knowledge of the local terrain, Yancy "Paco" Nelson had been hired by the task force to help them track the hellhounds and the basilisk. He was, she just now remembered, also an ex-soldier, a former infantryman in the Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry, the PPCLI. He was exactly the kind of man needed right now. Paco pulled back, his hands on Elizabeth's shoulders, and stared at her. He was a handsome man, with granite-like weathered features and a touch of gray in his long dark hair, sideburns, and goatee. Of medium height, only slightly taller than Elizabeth, he was powerfully built, with forearms corded in muscle. His smile was genuine, and his eyes twinkled with joy at seeing her.
Constable Trotter moved beside them, staring at the two of them.
"Elizabeth," said Paco. "Where is Cassie? Where are the others?"
"I don't know, maybe dead."
The smile disappeared from Paco's face, and he embraced Elizabeth once more, whispering in her ear. "Those Special Forces types, they don't die easily—and Cassie's tougher than a bear. Trust me. Be strong."
She nodded, choking back a sob. The channeling she had sensed had stopped, and she now looked past Paco to the bed of the truck. A young man with severe burns over his face and arms lay on his back while a young woman in her twenties, beautiful, with long brown hair and big, expressive eyes, knelt beside him, tending to him. "I don't understand," said Elizabeth, staring at the young woman. "Someone was channeling. I thought … Cassie."
"We ran into some more of those damned hellhounds trying to make our way home to Doig River," said Paco. "We fought 'em off, but my cousin got flamed. Can you help?"
"You fought off hellhounds?"
"Elizabeth, there's no time."
"I … I can try, but I'm not … Cassie is—"
"You can work the magic, too?" asked the young woman. "I did what I could, but healing is hard for me."
Elizabeth's mouth fell open. "You … you what?"
The young woman lifted her chin, her gaze defiant. "Can you help, or not?"
When the young man cried out in pain, the young woman turned back to him and began channeling once more, sending weak weaves of healing energy into him. Elizabeth turned from her to stare wide-eyed at Paco.
"Elizabeth Chambers," said Paco. "Allow me to introduce my little sister, Leela. I think you two have much in common."
Elizabeth stared at the young woman, her thoughts a storm. When the young man cried out again, Elizabeth climbed up into the bed of the truck, meeting Leela's brief gaze. She placed her hands on Leela's shoulders. "I'm not good at healing either, so I'm going to augment your magic with my own." She ignored the confused look on Constable Trotter's face. "It's going to feel strange at first, but it'll help."
"Have you done this before?" Leela asked.
"My friend and I have practiced it a lot over the last year. I wish she were here now, but we'll make do."
Leela bit her lip and nodded. "Hurry."
When Elizabeth channeled, Leela gasped in surprise but then refocused her healing weave into the young man, stronger now with Elizabeth's help. The worst of the burns on the young man's chest and face began to dry out then scab over, quickly falling away to be replaced by fresh pink skin.
"What the hell is going on here?" Constable Trotter asked in a small, terrified voice.
18
Kargin knelt beside Tlathia, peering between the slats in the wooden fence that surrounded the rear of the manling home. Boggart soldiers were inside the three-story wooden dwelling, looting it—destroying it, actually. He growled softly whenever a boggart walked in front of a window. Without taking her eyes from the home, Tlathia reached over and placed her hand atop his, the message clear: do nothing.
His resentment was a bitter knot in his gut, but he understood her concern. Their mission here was far more important than killing a few boggarts—no matter how much they deserved it for being boggarts. Dwarves could be very reasonable when needed, despite what the other races believed. Really, he was a model of dwarven restraint.
Besides, there were always more boggarts to kill.
The fish-faced freaks spread like… well, like something that bred too quickly.
Like… fish.
It had taken the two of them most of the morning to sneak their way through the burning city, avoiding the roving bands of boggarts, trolls, and gwyllgi hunting hounds. Tlathia was a master at casting invisibility cloaks, but using magic this close to the Nexus Star could give away their presence. They had seen few fae seelie warriors, and none of the ones they had seen had been mages. But the closer they came to the Nexus Star, the more numerous the security patrols had become.
There would be mages nearby as well.
The machine was too important to leave its defense to mundane forces—especially after Kargin and Tlathia had sabotaged it once already.
They remained in place, waiting. Eventually, the boggarts, a half dozen of them, moved on to the next home, squealing boisterously to one another, sacks bulging with their stolen loot over their shoulders.
Tlathia rose, preparing to leap over the fence, but this time Kargin grabbed her hand, stopping her. When she glanced at him in confusion, he lifted away the two wooden boards in the fence that he had absentmindedly pulled the nails from while they watched the house, leaving a two-foot gap in the fence. She raised a single eyebrow at him, and he shrugged. Given enough time, any dwarf worth a stale beer fart could disassemble even the most complex instrument. Pulling nails from wood was like scratching his ass. Not that he would scratch his ass in Tlathia's presence, but that was beside the point.
Tlathia slipped through first and darted across the well-maintained lawn. An assortment of younglings' toys had been left scattered about the yard when the manlings had fled.
At least Kargin hoped they had had time to flee.
The stench of death was in the air.
Damn Tuatha de Talinor! Is there no limit to her cruelty?
Tlathia stood beside the closed door at the rear of the home, her hand upon the doorknob, but Kargin shook his head. She moved aside, letting him go first. If there was killing to be done, it would be best if he did it. Tlathia was perhaps the finest mage among her kind, but if she began to cast spells, she'd be a beacon to all the other fae seelie mages in the vicinity. Sometimes the simple methods were best, and there was
nothing simpler than splitting skulls with his battle-axes.
He tried the manling doorknob, but it was locked. He dropped down on a knee and peered into the keyhole. Snorting softly to himself, he reached into his belt pouch and removed a small brass globe the size of his thumb with finger-long silver wires extending from it. He tugged on one of the plaits of his beard as he considered the keyhole, then he inserted one of the wires into the opening. The dwarven magic fused into the device activated a moment later, forcing the locking bolt open. Kargin winked at Tlathia, who rolled her eyes. He slipped the dwarven master key back into his pouch as he turned the doorknob, then he pushed the door open and peered inside.
The dwelling appeared deserted, although the stench of the boggarts was still present. He slipped inside, his axes ready. He saw nothing. Tlathia followed, a curved fighting knife in her grip. He passed a kitchen, its contents thrown about everywhere. In the hallway hung a small statue of a manling crucified atop a wooden beam, his face turned up in agony.
Kargin stared at the face of the man, whose eyes were so sad.
Tlathia's fingers brushed his arm, and he turned away, following her into a large ransacked common room. The furniture had been smashed apart, and one of the boggarts had defecated in a corner, the stench gag inducing. His blood simmered. Boggarts—can't kill 'em all, but you can sure try.
Tlathia dropped down behind a thick, plush couch set against a large window. Flowered curtains flapped softly in the breeze through the shattered window. Kargin joined her, looking over her shoulder. She peered past the curtain, looking across a street filled with smoking manling chariots at a large, open field on which teams of gnome tinkerers erected the Culling Machine.
The gnomes worked under the harsh supervision of fae seelie warriors. As expected, he saw female fae seelie among them—mages, no doubt. One of the gnomes dropped a length of brass tubing, and two of the soldiers began to administer a cruel beating right there.
Kargin closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, his pulse throbbing in his neck. When he opened them again, he saw Tlathia watching him with her large yellow eyes. She looked away quickly, no doubt shamed by her people.
If only more fae seelie were like her…
The two of them remained in place for some time, spying on the machine's construction. Kargin would have thought it would take the fae seelie longer to transport and erect the machine, but the gnome tinkerers were performing admirably, far better than he would have suspected.
Fear did that.
At this rate, they'll have the machine ready in a day, two at the most.
Of course, without the orb, it will do them no good.
Eventually, Tlathia must have seen enough. She whispered in his ear, "I sense nothing of the ancient ones, and if the presence of the machine doesn't draw them out…"
He placed his large hand tenderly over her much smaller one. "We'll find them. I trust you. They must be here."
The faintest trace of a smile curled her lips, and she nodded. Then she led the way, moving toward the rear of the home. They slipped away again, with Kargin's thoughts a dark maelstrom.
Where are they?
19
Leela ceased her healing weave. The young man's head fell back and his eyes closed as he fell asleep, breathing much easier. Elizabeth removed her hands from Leela's shoulders, severing the flow of mana.
"Thank you," Leela whispered. "I didn't know we could do that—share our power."
"You're a mag-sens?" Elizabeth looked from Leela to Paco. "How is this possible?"
Paco raised his eyebrows in a "who knows" kind of gesture. "Doig River is close enough to Fort St. John that whatever changed you, Cassie, and Duncan changed Leela as well."
"But … how did no one know?"
Leela climbed down from the bed of the truck, and Elizabeth followed her, her mind grasping at the implications. Constable Trotter stared at them then the young man sleeping in the bed of the truck.
"We're private people, Elizabeth," said Paco, scratching Clyde's head. "Doig River is remote. Our people don't mix with yours, not if we have a choice. But even I didn't know about Leela, not at first. I was busy with you and Cassie and … and Duncan. Then we went after the basilisk, and I was stomped good. I was in the hospital for a couple of weeks. When I finally got home, my sister had already developed her magic enough to not set herself on fire like Duncan did."
"But if you knew about us—"
"After the way the army treated you and Cassie, like you were both weapons?" Paco shook his head. "No, there was no Goddamned way. Besides, you and Cassie made it pretty clear the government didn't have a clue how to help you."
"We look after our own in Doig River," said Leela. "We're family. I learned how to control my powers."
"That's how you fought the hellhounds, isn't it?" Elizabeth watched Leela.
The young woman stared back defiantly then nodded. "I'm not helpless."
"Powers?" said Constable Trotter, stepping between them. "What is going on here? How did they do that?" She pointed to the young man with the healed burns.
"Here's the thing, Constable," Paco said, placing his arm over her shoulders and leading her to the opened tailgate to rest against it. "Trust me. I know how this sounds, but you need to keep an open mind. There is magic in the world, and monsters. It's real. Call them aliens if you'd like, or call them hellhounds, dragons, and dark elves, but they exist. They can tap into an energy source we call magic, but the good news is that some people can do it as well, including Elizabeth and my sister, Leela."
"How?"
"The army knew. And the government. They've been keeping it secret." He looked over at Elizabeth; so did Constable Trotter.
Elizabeth nodded. "They … they tried to help us."
"They've been using you," said Paco. "They've kept you and Cassie under close surveillance, haven't they?"
"There was no way I was leaving my family," said Leela with conviction. "Not a chance."
"Wait," blurted Constable Trotter. "Can you help the others, heal everyone?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "No. I'm not a healer. Besides, using mana is draining. If I tried to heal everyone, I'd exhaust myself—and I need to conserve my energy."
"I don't understand," said Constable Trotter.
"What are you planning on doing?" Paco asked Elizabeth.
She bit her upper lip, looking at the crowds in the parking lot then the cars wedged together on the highway. What she wanted to do was go home and check on her family, but she now knew that would be suicide. Besides, if the city had been overrun, the people evacuated, her family couldn't possibly still be there. Unless they didn't get out…
No! She refused to think about that. They're alive. I'm certain of it.
"We need to sort ourselves out right now," said Paco. "We're what? Ten kilometers from the city? Twelve?"
"About that," said Constable Trotter. "There's hills, rough ground, and a major ravine between us and the city, but the highway cuts east then south—straight here. If they're coming, they can reach us on foot in a couple of hours."
Paco rubbed his goatee and shook his head. "Soldiers can do that kind of distance in a lot less time than that, and whatever these things are, they sound like an army. How long before these people can get across the bridge?"
The RCMP officer stared at the long lines of honking cars, which were moving a few feet every now and then before stopping again. "Three, four hours, maybe longer."
"There's something up there!" Leela said excitedly, pointing into the sky.
A winged shape—large but not large enough to be the dragon—soared high above the tree line, flying west to east in the direction of Fort St. John. They heard a distant screech, and Clyde began to snarl and bark furiously. It was another of those flying lizards the dark elves rode, Elizabeth knew, its bat-like wings extended as it soared over the hills to the north. "It's a scout," she said, suddenly understanding. "We don't have three or four hours. I don't know if we ev
en have one."
Another RCMP officer accompanied by a middle-aged First Nations man carrying a bolt-action rifle joined them. "Corinna, the mayor wants you inside. He's on the phone to the provincial emergency center."
The First Nations man wore a red hoodie emblazoned with the logo of the Canadian Rangers and sergeant's chevrons. Constable Trotter looked from Paco to Elizabeth. "We'll talk later," she said then took off with the RCMP officer, heading for the front of the community hall.
Paco stopped the ranger and gripped and shook his hand. "Hey, Paco Nelson. Doig River. Where you from?"
"Samuel Yahey, Hudson's Hope Ranger Patrol."
"How many guys you bring?"
"Couple dozen." The man's eyes fell to the ground. "And some youngsters."
"We're gonna need 'em. I think we're in for a fight."
The ranger sergeant nodded and spun away to follow the RCMP officers inside the community center.
"We should move on," Leela said. "Get out while we can."
"And go where? The bridge is blocked."
"We go east," said Leela, her face anxious. "We find a way across the Beaton River then head north to home. This isn't our fight."
Paco shook his head, staring north, his lips a hard straight line. "We'd have to cross on foot then make our way north. Okay for us, maybe, but not your cousin." He glanced at the young man in the truck bed. "Besides, I can't leave these people. They'd be massacred."
"Yancy," said Leela, grabbing his arm.
He pulled his arm loose then lit a cigarette and shook his head. "There are families in all those vehicles, Snowbird—families, little kids. No way I'm leaving 'em."
Elizabeth looked from Leela to Paco. The family resemblance was unmistakable, but where Paco was handsome and rugged, Leela was young and fresh-faced with large dark eyes and a striking natural beauty. She carried herself with the same self-focused pride he did, however. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her older brother but, a moment later, sighed heavily and nodded. "Okay, what do we do then?"
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