“All right. This is what we’re going to do. Simon, Tyler, Oak, and Nami, get across to the other ridge and wait for orders. Get down close but not so close they can see you. When the witches get here, we’ll go in. Wait for my signal.”
The four peeled away into the darkness, Tyler’s Grim loping along beside him on silent feet. Whether she would choose to help or just watch was the never-ending question.
“Let’s go back to the road and wait for the others,” Max told Alexander.
They climbed back over the ridge and dropped down to the road, out of sight of the torch army.
“Who the fuck are they?” Max wondered aloud as she paced restlessly. “What are they up to?”
“We will find out soon,” he said, hearing the crunch of tires as two vehicles drove closer. They ran on magic now, making them mostly silent.
The Suburban that Max had intended to take to town pulled up first, followed by a pickup. The rest of her Blades piled out, followed by Kyle, and Gregory.
Gregory stepped out of the Suburban and shook himself as though to straighten out his lanky body. Like Kyle, he was a Triangle-level witch. His powers were considerable, and he had far more experience than Max’s impetuous brother.
His eyes were sunk deep beneath his black brows, his nose protruding like an eagle’s beak. He carried himself hunched, like a slave awaiting the bite of the master’s whip. Max and Alexander had rescued him and several members of his coven a few months back, and although his body had recovered from the experience, his mind had not. His eyes were always roving, searching for trouble. He rarely spoke, and when he did, his statements were terse and to the point.
He glanced up toward the bend in the road that hid the gathering and started walking in that direction.
“Thor,” Alexander said, and he jerked his head after the witch.
The blond Shadowblade was wearing his usual battered straw cowboy hat and scuffed boots. Like all the other Blades, he was bristling with weapons. He nodded and caught up to Gregory. Flint and Steel, twins from Gregory’s original covenstead, joined them.
Giselle stepped out last. She looked almost fragile, like fine china. She stood about five foot five in her stockinged feet, with waist-long chestnut hair and a heart-shaped face. She reminded Alexander of a hummingbird.
But her appearance was deceiving.
She was a powerful witch who had no problem killing anybody who might stand in her way. She could be brutal and vicious, and she frequently was. She could also be generous and loving, which made her extraordinary among witches. Most of the ones Alexander had known tended to be selfish and unconcerned with who suffered and died, so long as they got what they wanted.
“What’s the story?” she demanded.
“There’s a mob of torch-carrying village idiots on our side of the ward line. Hundreds of them. They’ve got five people hanging up on crosses, and it looks like they are planning a human barbecue,” Max said. “They have to have at least one witch with them, probably more, given that they blew out our wards.”
“Who are they? Where did they come from?” Kyle asked.
“More to the point, what do they want?” Giselle said. She glanced at Max. “Let’s go ask. Then kick them the hell off our land.”
For a moment, Alexander thought Max was going to protest. She had been protective of everyone, especially Giselle, since Niko had died and the angels had fallen into their comas.
Max just scraped her teeth across her lower lip and nodded. “All right. Ivy and Jody, collect up Flint and Steel and work around the left side of the gathering. Wait for my signal.”
The two Blades hurried off.
Max looked at Kyle. “This could get bloody,” she said. “Stay with Giselle, and do what she tells you.”
His excitement dimmed, but only slightly. Alexander shook his head. Kyle had no idea what real trouble looked like. He was about to find out, up close and personal.
Max started up the road and Alexander fell in beside her, with the two witches slightly behind and between them. Beyul and Spike trotted ahead.
At the bend in the road, they found Thor with Gregory perched on a pile of boulders in order to get a better view. As the others approached, the two clambered down. Gregory was shaking, his mouth bracketed with white dents. Green magic flickered around his hands as if he was having trouble keeping himself under control.
“They’re going to burn them,” he said hoarsely.
“No they aren’t,” Giselle said.
He did not seem to hear her. “Why don’t they do something to escape? How can a horde of ordinary people snare witches like that?”
“They may not be witches,” Alexander pointed out.
Gregory’s head whipped around. “Of course they are. Why else would those bastards burn them? They have two children up there,” he said, his voice dropping to a ragged whisper.
That rocked Giselle back on her heels. Her eyes widened, then narrowed to slits, and her hair rose on invisible currents as magic swelled around her. Her lips tightened and white dents bracketed her nose and mouth. The air turned thick and hot.
“We will not let them burn,” she assured Gregory. “But Alexander’s right; they may not be witches. They might just be unlucky. Don’t go expecting them to be able to help themselves or us.”
That took Gregory aback. Apparently he had forgotten his history and how often innocent people were taken for witches in the Salem witch trials and the Spanish Inquisition. After a moment, his fury flared hotter. His throat worked, and his face turned red, but the words refused to come. Magic sparked from his hair and ran in threads over his exposed skin. Like Giselle, Gregory did not believe witches were better than normal humans. Like her, he believed they ought to be protected. Alexander was still not used to that mentality in even one witch, much less two of them.
“Hold that thought,” Giselle said. “Let’s go.”
Thor fell in on the other side of Max, while Gregory walked behind with Kyle and Giselle. A moment later, Tyler and his Grim stepped out of the trees, his knives glinting in the moonlight.
“Going to the party?” he asked. Despite the casual ease of his words, he was stretched tighter than a bowstring and near to snapping. “You weren’t planning on going without me, were you?” His tone was accusing.
“I figured you’d crash,” Max said. “You have all the manners of a buffalo.”
He was not in any mood for humor. His Blade was frothing. He was losing control of himself. The next step was to go feral, and Alexander was the only person he knew of to ever come back from that insanity. He was not going to let Tyler try it.
Alexander loosened his grip on his Prime. Instantly, his vision went ghostly as the world turned from solid matter to living lights. He could see his companions’ spirit flames and those of the gathered people. The earth, trees, rocks, animals, and air shimmered with life and magic. It was his unique talent to see the world in this way. An aftereffect of going feral. He brushed a hand over Tyler’s shoulder, letting the power of his Prime surge. He pressed down on Tyler’s wild rage, tempering it, making it controllable.
It took all of a second, and then Alexander dropped his hand. The other Blade looked at him and shifted closer to Max, like a child clinging to his mother. Which was true in its own way.
She was Horngate’s official Shadowblade Prime. Alexander had come from another covenstead and had been allowed to stay and serve, but as far as he knew, no other covenstead had ever had two Primes at one time. Generally, there would be a fight for dominance, and the lesser one would be killed. But Horngate was different. The world was different. Besides, he was happy serving. There was no better Prime than Max. He would not have challenged her for anything.
Max reached back and touched Tyler’s cheek reassuringly, flashing a swift smile at Alexander that was gone as fast as it formed. She was not jealous or threatened by him. She trusted him with her Blades. The knowledge warmed him.
“What’s the plan?” Kyle ask
ed from behind.
“Don’t get dead?” Tyler said.
“That’s a good plan,” Max said. “I always like that one.”
“Then how come you always go with the plan that includes death?” Tyler complained.
“I’ve only died once, and I did wake up from it,” Max pointed out. “It’s the rest of you—”
She broke off, and the tension instantly ratcheted up. The air felt so brittle that Alexander wondered if it might shatter.
“Seriously,” Kyle said, unaware that he was taking his life into his own hands. “What do we do?”
A moment passed. Then another. Finally, she spoke. “Since we don’t know what’s going on and since we probably don’t have a lot of time to waste before they start cooking their prisoners, we’re going to walk into the middle of the shindig and ask questions. Your job is to protect us and yourself when things get ugly.”
“You think there’s going to be fighting?”
Max sucked an angry breath between clenched teeth.
“Yes, expect fighting,” Alexander answered for her. “These people did not come here to be friendly. So that means you had better be on your A game. This is serious. Deadly serious.”
“I know,” Kyle said defensively, his pale cheeks flushing.
Cherubic. That was how he looked, with his peach-fuzz bristle, rounded cheeks, strawberries-and-cream complexion, and wide blue eyes. He should have been a kindergarten teacher. Instead, he had the ability to wield powerful magic and a stomach made of tapioca. He was more likely to freeze than fight. Alexander gave a quiet sigh and resolved to guard Kyle closely in the next few minutes.
Without a word, the four Blades arranged themselves in a diamond formation around the three witches, with Max in the lead, Tyler and Alexander on the left and right points, and Thor bringing up the rear. Beyul, Spike, and Tyler’s Grim trotted just ahead.
As they turned the bend, Giselle broke ranks, stepping up beside Max. The road descended before them in a long, shallow slope. The ridges on either side rose almost vertically. They were thick with trees and stone outcroppings. With his altered sight, Alexander could see all of the Shadowblades hiding in the trees on either side of the gathering.
It appeared that the last of the parade had pushed beneath the charred horn arch. The crowd circled around the five crosses and swayed back and forth. They chanted, arms hooked together, their faces glowing with an unsettling blend of animal hunger and beatific rapture.
Max approached from behind the circle and pushed people apart. The small group wedged through the crowd. For a few seconds, the chanting faltered, and then it flared with new life. But now a corridor opened for them, giving them passage to the center ring. It was almost choreographed. Alexander’s spine itched. This felt like a trap.
Bolts and wire bound the five victims to the crosses. The bolts passed through their hands and crossed ankles, and wire looped their shoulders, cutting through their clothes into the flesh beneath. Blood ran from their wounds. There were two women in their twenties or thirties, a man closer to forty, one teenage girl, and a boy who couldn’t have been more than ten. The boy and the girl were incoherent with pain, unrelenting keening sounds slipping from their cracked and broken lips.
The adults stared glassily at the surrounding group in fear and desperation, begging to be released. Tears and snot crusted their faces and clothing. Flies and mosquitoes buzzed eagerly around the blood.
Alexander’s mind thinned to a hard wire, his Prime surging up hot and hard. Gregory’s magic turned to a green nimbus around him as his rage increased. Kyle bent and puked. Giselle’s eyes had turned black as magic pooled in her eye sockets. It danced around her fingertips.
The chants of the crowd nearest them stumbled and turned to mutters, and then angry growls. The path widened and then they were surrounded, the torches turning to weapons as the invading people prodded the air and began to shout.
“Witches!”
“Devils!”
“Demons!”
The words swelled and garbled together, then suddenly shifted to another chant that swept like wildfire through the mob, growing louder with every repetition: “Kill them! Kill them! Kill them!”
Each word was punctuated by a shake of a torch. The witches and Blades fell back to stand at the base of the crosses. The torch flames reflected in the fanatical eyes of the horde, turning them into the devils they shouted about. They pressed forward, expressions frenzied, flinging their torches toward the Horngaters and the dry fuel at the base of the crosses. Alexander batted aside the missiles, fire searing his skin where they hit. Behind him he heard crackling sounds and screams of the five desperate victims on the crosses.
Magic swelled in the air as Giselle swore. “Take them down,” she ordered as magic billowed from her hands, snuffing out every flame within a hundred yards.
The Blades leaped forward to yank the crosses out of the ground. Before they could make contact, columns of red smoke rose around each of the five victims. Acrid and sweet, it smelled like jasmine and battery acid. When Alexander touched the smoke, his hands blistered and blackened. He pushed against the crimson wall, but it did not give. He stepped back and looked up.
Above him, the woman on the cross twitched violently and screamed as boils covered her from head to foot. They burst, and her skin ran with blood and pus. She was not the only one. All five victims thrashed under similar attacks. It was a relief when the two children passed out and their heartrending cries ceased.
The four Blades looked expectantly at Giselle and Gregory. But at that moment, a sudden hush fell across the crowd.
“The faithful shalt not suffer a witch to live! It is the obligation of every God-fearing, God-loving human soul to stamp out the devil’s minions!”
Although the voice was buttery soft and almost mellow, it echoed from the ridges, repeating and growing in intensity. The gathered crowd picked it up and started stamping their feet in time to the rhythm of a new chant, shouting, “No witches! No witches!”
A slow-whirling cloud of red smoke erupted from the ground behind the crosses. It grew denser, rising twenty feet in the air. Then it collapsed back down, revealing a man.
He wore sandals and long beige cotton robes belted with rope. Except for the fact that he had short reddish hair and was clean-shaven, he could have been attending a Halloween party dressed as Jesus. His hair stuck up in wild tufts. He lifted his arms with slow grandiosity, his palms turned upward. The crowd noise increased. Then he turned his hands outward, and the noised ceased as if someone had hit an off switch.
He smiled, and a feeling of joy radiated outward. It was physical. It caressed and warmed. Alexander snarled and shook himself. Beyul nosed his hand, and the feeling dissolved. He pet the Grim and glanced at his companions. Kyle looked slightly starstruck. The other two witches were irritated. Max was scowling.
“The Lord of Heaven and Earth bids us not suffer a witch to live,” the man declared in a singsong cadence. “We must not suffer evil in our midst, or we will become evil; we will defile our Lord’s name by our very existence. We must do His work, no matter the cost. He sacrificed His only son for us; we must be willing to sacrifice no less for Him!”
Alexander could not help but gawk at the brazen hypocrisy. The bastard was a witch.
“Mother of fuck . . .” Max whispered.
“Now, that’s what I call the pot calling the kettle black,” Thor drawled.
Tyler said nothing. His gaze was fixed on the boy on the cross, his hands clenching and unclenching. A thin line of yellow ringed his eyes. He was crossing into feral territory.
“My brothers and sisters, we have come here to the heart of the devil to show that we will not be corrupted; we will root out evil in all its shapes and forms. We are God’s army, the last stand for all of Earth and humanity. God has made me His right hand. His might flows through me. Let it be done!”
His words pulsed through the air, throbbing with magic. His worshippers sighed a
nd moaned and shouted “Amen!” and “Hallelujah!”
An instant later, fire erupted around each of the crosses, filling the red columns with hellish flames. The people within screamed. At once, the four Blades leaped forward, smashing at the magic barriers, while Gregory and Giselle unleashed a torrent of magic on the obstructions. Alexander slammed one flaming column with all his might. He bounced off, his clothing smoldering. He leaped forward again, this time with Beyul beside him. The Grim broke right through, and Alexander passed into the heart of the fire.
Flames caught his clothing and hair. They scorched his skin and burned away his eyelashes and eyebrows. Pain seared his body, and he could not breathe.
He plowed through the pile of firewood around the base of the cross, driving his shoulder into the upright. The cross shuddered. Changing his approach, Alexander wrapped his arms around it and lifted. It slid easily out of the rocky dirt. He twisted and stumbled blindly out of the fire, the massive beam tight against his chest. A moment later, coolness enveloped him, and familiar hands eased the heavy cross out of his hands.
The rest of Horngate’s Shadowblades had joined the fight.
Alexander dropped to his knees, coughing raggedly. His body was a mass of pain. All around, he heard screams and running feet. He smelled blood and cooked flesh, and through it all spun that odd sweet-acrid scent.
It was not a good time to rest. He stood again, tottering as his head whirled. Beyul wuffled his hand, and he gripped the Grim’s fur. His spirit sight told him that the other four columns had been breached and the other crosses had come down.
The crowd frothed and boiled as Shadowblades drove them back. They fought efficiently. The invaders were ill-equipped for their skills or their fury. Some of the invaders fought with knives, bats, shovel handles, and axes. More had guns. A barrage of shots rang out and bodies fell—none were Blades. People screamed in fear and agony. It sent the mob over the edge. People exploded into a frenzy as they fought to get away. Cowards. They pushed and shoved at one another, desperate to escape. More people fell and were trampled beneath their stampeding companions. In just a few minutes, the entire crowd had vanished, scuttling away down the road, leaving behind a couple of dozen bodies, some still alive.
Blood Winter (Horngate Witches) Page 3
