Blood Winter (Horngate Witches)

by Francis, Diana Pharaoh

  Whatever it was Alexander was to her.

  Everything, a soft voice whispered in her mind. She strangled it. Nothing. He was nothing.

  THIS TIME, WHEN THEY ARRIVED AT THE COMPOUND, they identified themselves and were allowed in. On the other side, a semicircle of people met them. Most guns were not pointed at them, although soon another thirty or forty armed people closed the circle, each one ready to fight if the need arose. So much for gratitude.

  Kara shoved through to the front of the group. Her shoulders were damp with melting snow. Her straight, dark hair clung to her forehead, cheeks, and neck.

  “Back already?”

  “We ran into a little trouble,” Max said.

  “That thing across the river? What happened?”

  “It was a trap. For our kind,” Max said.

  Kara’s cheek twitched. She still wasn’t happy about the idea of real magic actually existing. Other compounders made the sign of the cross or clutched at a necklace. More than a few hammers cocked back.

  Kara heard them. She glanced around sharply. “Get back to work. These people aren’t here to hurt us.” To Max, she jerked her chin. “Follow me.”

  She turned and threaded her way through the encampment. A few of the gathered people continued with them, unwilling to trust the visitors.

  Gregory muttered beneath his breath at the sight of the thin, pale inhabitants of the compound. The sounds of crying, coughing, and moaning carried through the night. The fight had left many hurt, and it sounded like plenty of others were sick. These days, colds could kill.

  “They shouldn’t be living like this,” he said.

  “Nope,” Thor said, his voice bland. But Max could feel his Blade raging.

  “We should do something. What’s power for if not to help?”

  “Some might say it is to conquer and dominate,” Alexander said, his voice equally bland.

  “Some would be fucking wrong,” Gregory shot back.

  “Yep,” Max said quietly. “That’s why you belong with us.”

  He stopped. “I need to help them.”

  She turned. His sunken eyes were burning with feverish heat. His body resonated with magic, despite his exhaustion from fighting the trap and healing her.

  “You can’t. We need to go after Sterling. Otherwise, healing these people won’t do any good in the long run.”

  “I don’t care. In the short run, some might die, and that’s unacceptable.”

  She sighed. “I know, Buttercup. That’s one of the reasons I like you. That doesn’t mean I’m going to let you be stupid.”

  He drew a breath to say something, but she looked away to Alexander. She kept her expression neutral. “Watch him. Keep him safe, and don’t let him overdo it.” She glanced at Thor and Tyler. “Thor, go with them. Tyler, you go see if you can pick up a trail.”

  “What about you?” he asked with a frown.

  Max noticed that Alexander didn’t seem all that concerned about her. It made his change feel more real than anything else had. “I can handle myself. Go,” she said, hurt stabbing through her gut.

  Their local guardians eyed her and then followed the three men. Because, of course, a lone woman wasn’t nearly as dangerous as three men. Little do they know, she thought sourly.

  She joined Kara again, not looking back. She didn’t want to see Alexander’s indifference. Her mouth twisted in a mocking smile. All that time she’d run from him, and now that she’d figured out she was caught, he was done chasing. Done wanting. Fine. It was smarter this way. She’d scratch her sexual itch with men she didn’t care about, and things at Horngate would get back to normal. No more personal drama.

  “In here,” Kara said, drawing Max after her into a small shed made of stone, plywood, bricks, and mud. The roof was rusty corrugated steel, and the door was two-by-fours nailed together, with hinges made of wire. They screeched as the door opened and shut.

  It was decently warm inside. A small woodstove with a kettle on top sat in the far left corner. A queen-size bed ran along the other wall, with a dresser at the foot of it. Several plastic trunks held who knew what and doubled as benches around a round wood table. Another table with a metal tub on top served as the kitchen sink. An orange tabby leaped up from its spot in front of the stove and disappeared under the bed.

  “Sit,” Kara said. “Want some hot cider? We’ve been having to do something with the apples before they spoil.” She reached for the kettle on the stove.

  “I can’t stay. I just need some shoes. And I’m wondering what else you can tell me about Sterling and the Last Standers.”

  Kara shrugged out of her coat and set it in front of the stove to dry. She poured two mugs and handed one to Max.

  It smelled heavenly, with a hint of clove and cinnamon. There wasn’t a lot of either left to go around. “Thanks,” Max said, sipping. She lifted her head and eyed Kara through the steam. “What do you know?”

  Kara pushed her hair back from her face, and Max revised her estimation of the woman’s age. Maybe mid-twenties. Kara carried herself with such careful control and confidence that Max had pegged her for five to ten years older.

  “How much do you know about what’s been happening in Missoula since fairy-tale time started up again?” Kara asked.

  “Not nearly enough. We’ve had some troubles we’ve had to deal with,” Max said, not wanting Kara to think Horngate was ignoring the city.

  Kara snorted. “Haven’t we all? We didn’t know what was going on at first. Some stuff stopped working. Phones. TV and cable. The Internet. Then we stopped getting deliveries. No food, no fuel, nothing. That’s when panic set in. Only took a couple of weeks. Everyone started going into survival mode. Some grouped up and took over stores and made strongholds there, selling off the products. Did that at Saint Pat’s and Community Hospital, too. All the drugs, you know.”

  She shook her head. “Anyhow, pretty quick, regular people were going hungry and getting robbed, raped, killed. So some of us started organizing. We gave up our houses—weren’t safe enough, and we couldn’t protect ourselves—and set up this camp.”

  “What about Sterling?”

  “Did you know that the Unabomber lived in Montana? We get a lot of lunatics around here. A lot of religious and patriot types who want to live off the grid without the government nosing into their business. We get the whole range: Church Universal and Triumphant, Montana Militia, the Montana Freemen, polygamists, Cal Greenup and his militia, Hutterites, World Church of the Creator, a bunch of neo-Nazis, and oh, yeah, word is that some of the Ruby Ridge folks moved up by the Flathead.”

  “So you’re saying Sterling is one of these lunatics.”

  Kara gusted a sigh. “He seemed harmless at first. Started standing on stumps and shouting on and on about fire and brimstone and Satan and hell. People started flocking to him when he started curing cancer and diabetes and whatever other diseases they might have. All they have to do is promise to worship at his feet. He’s been picking up followers left and right.

  “He showed up around here just after the changes started. Heard he came from somewhere up by Great Falls. Claims God sent him to bring his light to the people here. He says if you’re not with him, you’re the enemy—children of the devil—and he’s going to wipe God’s enemies off the face of the earth. That’s about all I know. Not all that helpful, I know.”

  Max stared up at the roof, folding in on herself and thinking hard. Options unfolded, and she considered them.

  “If someone like me happened to join these Last Standers, would they take me to Sterling?”

  Kara stared. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Would they?”

  “Probably. Word is he checks out all the new followers for the taint of evil. Lays hands on them or something. But you can’t do that. You don’t know what he’ll do to you. It’s worse than you can possibly imagine.” She looked haunted.

  Max rubbed her hand hard over her mouth and came to a decision. It was risky, but
at least it was a plan, which was more than they had now. She just had to convince the others. Alexander probably wouldn’t argue, but Tyler . . . he was going to go ballistic.

  She smiled at Kara. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m tough to kill.”

  “Has anyone told you you’re a bad liar?”

  “Frequently,” Max said. “But I have no intention of letting Sterling do anything permanent to me.”

  “You know what they say about the road to hell and good intentions,” the other woman said. She raised her mug. “Here’s to stupidity and bravery and killing the bad guys,” she said.

  Max chinked her mug against Kara’s and drained the last of the cider.

  “Can I borrow a pair of shoes?” she asked.

  SOMETHING HAD HAPPENED. SOMETHING VERY strange. Alexander did not know if it was bad or good. All he knew for sure was that he felt more in control of himself than he had in a long time. Since he had met Max.

  It felt amazing.

  He had been so wild, so angry, and then he had looked into her eyes, and something within him had released. Just—let go. He did not know what. He had not had a chance to think about it and was not sure that he even wanted to. All he knew for sure was that when Max walked away with Kara, he had not felt the usual surge of fear or the urge to go with her and protect her. In fact, he felt nothing. It was as if all his emotions had frozen solid and he could no longer touch them.

  The relief of not having to feel was breathtaking. He felt free. Really free, for the first time in almost a hundred years. It was intoxicating.

  As they turned to follow Gregory, Thor cocked an eyebrow at him. At some point, his battered straw cowboy hat had vanished.

  “That’s okay with you?” he asked, tipping his head at Max’s retreating back.

  “She can handle herself.”

  “Usually,” Thor agreed, his gaze narrowing.

  “Then why should I object?” Alexander asked matter-of-factly.

  He looked at Gregory, who was already making a beeline for a woman coughing raggedly as she stirred a pot over a fire. More coughing and weak childish crying came from within the tent behind her. Snow settled on top. It would not be long before it collapsed.

  When Gregory approached, flanked by Alexander, Thor, and the four self-appointed compound guards, the woman stumbled to her feet, shrinking back.

  “What’s going on? What do you want?” she demanded. Her words were thick and full of snot. Her nose and upper lip were red and chapped, and her body shook with chills. Suddenly, she turned and vomited, heaving until she had emptied her guts.

  At last, she straightened, wiping her mouth. Before anyone could move, Gregory brushed his hand over her forehead.

  “You’re burning up.”

  “So?” she said, knocking him away. “I’m sick. What’s it to you?”

  “Sit,” he ordered, pointing back to the upended bucket she’d been using for a chair.

  She scowled. “I don’t take orders from you. Just who the hell are you, anyhow?”

  “Today I’m the doctor,” Gregory said with a thin smile. “This is a house call. So sit.”

  Her entire demeanor changed from fear to hope. “A doctor? Oh, thank God! Come in. My kids—” She reached for the tent zipper, but Gregory’s hand closed around her wrist.

  “You first.”

  The four guards started forward, but Thor and Alexander turned deadly looks on them.

  “Let the sawbones work,” Thor drawled, falling heavily into his Texas accent.

  “He’s not a doctor, he’s a fucking sorcerer,” one growled.

  “Actually, I’m a witch,” Gregory said mildly, not letting go of his new patient. His eyes had taken on a silvery sheen, a little like an animal caught in the light at night. “Sorcerers are much more powerful than I’ll ever be, and frequently, they are mentally impaired. You really don’t want to mess around with the likes of them.”

  “We don’t want to mess around with the likes of you,” sneered another guard, the muzzle of his gun rising to fix on Gregory’s chest.

  Alexander made a hissing noise. “Do not even think about it.”

  “Or what? I’ll kill you, too? Sounds like a pretty good plan to me.”

  Alexander smiled a slow crocodile smile. “Would you like to try?”

  The other man blanched and took a step back.

  “All of you, shut up,” Gregory snapped. “It’s okay,” he told the woman gently. She looked scared half to death, like a wild deer trussed in ropes. “I’ll fix you up. Your kids, too. You don’t have to be afraid.”

  Gregory was good with people. His entire demeanor was calming. After a few moments, his patient gave in and sat back down.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked, twisting her fingers together.

  “Cure you. It won’t hurt.”

  With that, he went to stand behind her, setting his hands on her shoulders. She jumped and stiffened. The sheen in his eyes intensified, turning them to silvery disks. Green magic swirled around his hands and wound around her chest in long streamers. It sank in. She jerked as if she was going to stand up and then went still, her eyes widening as her mouth fell open in a silent “oh.” Slowly, she relaxed, leaning back against him like a kitten cuddling up against its mother’s stomach.

  A minute or two later, Gregory lifted his hands, his magic whispering away like mist. The woman sat very still, then stood up and drew a deep breath and let it out. She turned to look at him. The red chapping on her face was gone, as were her fever and her cough.

  “I’m better. I—” She bit her lips. “Thank you. You said you can help my boys, too? They aren’t doing very good.” She looked down, flushing. “I don’t have much to pay with. Some jewelry, maybe. Spices and some blankets I might be able to spare.” She shook her head sharply and looked back up at him, her jaw firm. “Doesn’t matter. Anything I’ve got, you can have if you can help them. They’re really sick.”

  The witch curled his lip and waved away her words. “I didn’t ask for payment. Let’s have a look at them.”

  She went to the tent and took a push broom to shove the snow off the top before unzipping the flap and ducking inside. Gregory went with her. She zipped the flap closed again. Thor exchanged a look with Alexander, but neither moved to join them. Instead, the two Blades turned to keep an eye on the four guards, who looked as if they did not entirely know what they should be doing.

  Magic flared inside the tent, once and then twice. A few minutes later, Gregory and his companion emerged. “Who else needs help?” he rasped.

  “Hold up a minute,” Thor said. “You’ve already been through a nasty fight tonight. You have to conserve your energy.”

  Gregory’s expression was incendiary. “I can take care of myself. It’s not your business.”

  “But it is,” Alexander said. “We need you to go after Sterling.”

  “These people are in trouble. Half of them are going to die if I don’t help them.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” said one of the four guards, and fear turned his voice high. “It’s just a bad cold. Happens.”

  Gregory shook his head. “It’s not just a cold. It’s strep, too. And very likely the flu. The way you’re living, half your population could be wiped out. One of the boys actually had rheumatic fever.”

  Alexander cocked his head. “You are sure? I thought that was cured in the 1800s.”

  “I am sure. Once upon a time, I really was a doctor. And rheumatic fever has not been cured. Outbreaks happen still, and we’re probably looking at one. It happens when strep goes untreated. The only way to cure it without magic is plenty of antibiotics over several months. I don’t think these people have nearly enough.” He looked at the men. “We’re looking for swollen, painful joints, skin rash, fever, nosebleeds, shortness of breath, and maybe a lack of coordination. Sound familiar?”

  They exchanged looks. Then one wearing a John Deere cap and a gray down jacket nodded. “Maybe.” />
  The man in stained Carhartt overalls beside him chimed in. “Yeah, okay, me, too. A few. It’s not that bad.”

  “Oh? Are you willing to bet your life on it? And your family’s lives?” Gregory demanded. “Once it sets in, rheumatic fever can destroy a person’s heart and cripple them forever. Plus, even with a long-term course of antibiotics—months and maybe years—the fever is quite likely to return.” He glared at Alexander. “Which means they need me.”

  “They do. But so do we. You had better deal with that fact right up front,” Alexander said. He shifted, gathering the woman and the four men in his gaze. “You need to triage. Find out who is sickest. That is, if you want help from the likes of us.”

  The four men stared at Alexander and then at one another. Indecision bound them.

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” the woman exclaimed. “Warren, Larry, and Carl, you go start checking on folks and making a list. Jerry, you go tell Kara what’s going on and start pulling together the Board. We’re going to need a plan.”

  They hesitated, eyeing the two Shadowblades and the witch, clearly not wanting to leave them alone.

  The woman made a disgusted sound and stomped forward. She poked her finger sharply into the Carhartt overalls. “Understand me right now. No one here is going to die because the help is coming from a witch, not if I have anything to say about it. And there’s no mother, no father, who’s going to let their child die because they don’t like magic.” She stepped back, putting her fists on her hips. “What are you waiting for? Get on with it. Now.”

  The men turned away reluctantly.

  The woman swung back around to examine Gregory. Her mouth pursed. “You look wrung out. You need something to eat and drink. I have a stew going. It’s not much, but it’s filling.”