Salem's Revenge Complete Boxed Set

by David Estes

  “Calm down. It’s okay,” he says soothingly. “Who took your gun?”

  “Arnold Jones,” the man says. “He said he’ll kill her if we don’t release his wife.”

  Cameron’s eyes narrow. “Kill his wife?”

  “No,” the man breathes. “His hostage. The little girl. Your daughter.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Hex

  For Hex, the light is better than the dark. It’s one less thing he needs to worry about, one less thing he needs to fix. As they approach the Way Out, Hex is mostly worried about Grogg, who they left behind to bar the path of their pursuers.

  The Two-Leggers, Bil, Laney and Chloe, also seem to prefer the light, because their smiles are wide and excited all the way up until the point where they exit the cave and see the horde of magic-born gathered around the dead vulture’s carcass. Chloe opens her mouth and screams, but Hex is quick enough to make sure her scream is silent, only audible to her own ears. Together, they shrink back into the shadows of the cave mouth to reassess the situation.

  “I’m sorry,” Chloe hisses. “I didn’t mean to scream. It just came out.”

  “Scream?” Bil says. “What scream?”

  While all the Two-Leggers look at each other blankly, Hex gets distracted by the smells wafting in from outside, a mix of burning and something dead.

  Laney whispers, “Any suggestions?” They haven’t been spotted yet, the Shifters, Pyros and Volts too distracted by their fallen comrade. No, Hex realizes. Not distracted exactly. They’re eating him. Eating the vulture. The carnivorous Shifters are diving in on one end, coming up with chunks of bloody flesh in their mouths, while the Pyros are using fire to flash-cook the meat on the other end, passing around charred hunks of what smells like seared chicken.

  Bil says, “We’ll let Chloe distract them with an offering of Grade-A Slugs, and then we can sneak away.” Chloe’s face contorts with fear, but Hex lays a comforting paw on her foot and licks her hand and the fear melts away. He didn’t even have to use any of his powers to do it, just his general dogginess.

  “Sorry for the confusion. I didn’t mean suggestions from you,” Laney says to Bil. Hex grins. He likes that some things never change, even when most everything else seems to.

  “I bet your dog could help,” Chloe says. “Can’t you, boy?”

  Hex wants to bark his loudest bark of appreciation, but knows it’ll only get them into trouble, like it used to when his previous owner would get a knock on the door from the angry old woman next door who didn’t like when Hex pooped in her yard. Instead of barking, Hex shows them a secret he’s not sure they’ll understand.

  It looks like a long thin shadow, but it’s really a door to a place that’s still here but not quite here. Maybe he could call it Barely Here, or Nearly There, or The Middle of Here and There. He doesn’t know if the name is important, so he forgets about it and paws at the black rod and it opens slightly. Laney seems to catch on the quickest, because she grabs the rod with her hand and pulls it back all the way, until it’s big enough for them to step inside one at a time. Hex knows they’ll be scared, so he’s about to show them the way, but then Chloe, to his surprise, steps forward.

  “I’ll go first,” she says.

  “You’re not scared?” Laney asks.

  “Someone taught me not to be,” Chloe says, and Laney beams. When she smiles Hex thinks she can rival the sun. He wishes Rhett would tell her that more, even if he knows it’ll earn him a punch on the shoulder. Secretly, he knows she loves hearing it.

  Just as Chloe steps inside the Here-But-Not-Here door, the echoing thud of running footsteps thunders down the tunnel behind them.

  “Hurry!” Hex barks, although the others don’t need the encouragement, filing inside like obedient schoolchildren lining up for recess. The moment Hex is within the safe confines of his secret place, the door seals itself off from the previous Here and creates a brand new Here where no one from the other Here can see them.

  The Pyros charge past, spilling out of the cave entrance, hollering to their gluttonous comrades. Hex feels a thick knot form in his throat and it feels weird. He knows why it’s there, but can’t make it go away. It’s there because the Two-Leggers that just ran past are covered in mud, from head to toe, like they’ve been bathing in it. The beautifully sniffable smell of Grogg is so strong it wafts its way from one Here to the next, filling Hex’s nostrils with a sadness that droops his ears and tail.

  The magic-born are arguing, throwing blades of blame at each other, hurling fireballs and lightning bolts and claws and fangs around like confetti.

  Hex would normally enjoy watching the foolish Two-Leggers fight, but now he just feels sad, especially when the mud troll’s odor intensifies, strengthening with each passing second as if his friend is still alive and sneaking up behind—

  “Boo!” a creaky voice says, making Hex’s whole body jolt an inch off the ground, spinning him around in excitement. Because, to his absolute delight, Grogg stands behind him, missing an arm and a leg, hopping up and down with a mad sort of gusto that almost seems to define him.

  Hex rushes forward and licks him from foot to face, relishing the muddy taste on his tongue. Grogg says, “Grogg knew you’d be Here,” and Hex knows exactly what he means.

  “You’re hurt,” he barks.

  Grogg shakes his head and says, “Grogg is better than he’s ever been.” His belly grows, looking more and more pregnant by the second, and then he begins scraping the excess mud off with a hand, stuffing it in his mouth, swallowing in big, loud gulps. With each swallow, his missing limbs lengthen, strengthen, and eventually become whole again. Perfect.

  “You’re amazing,” Hex barks.

  “Hex teaches Grogg to be amazing,” Grogg says.

  Hex leaps up and barrels into the mud troll, his slobber mixing with the mud in a way that the dog knows is absolute perfection.

  Chapter Thirty

  Laney

  Given all the crazy crap I’ve been through since Salem’s Revenge, I thought I’d seen it all. But the Hex/Grogg reunion was definitely all new, all weird, and all kinds of cute, although I’m not going to admit that to Bil Nez, who looks like he might throw up at any second.

  Come to think of it, my stomach’s not feeling so good either, and it’s not because of the way Grogg is cradling Hex’s head and whispering sweet nothings in his ear in that gravel-like voice of his. Whatever strange magical hiding spot our resourceful and imaginative dog has thought up seems to be hurting us humans deep in our guts, like we’ve got food poisoning. Unless it’s the slugs, which is a definite possibility.

  “Hex?” I say, and his ears perk up. The two—best?—friends separate, and look at me. Bil’s doubled over now, his head between his knees, while Chloe has sunk to the floor, clutching her stomach. I’m barely holding onto my cookies by sheer strength of will and by trying not to think about food.

  Grogg says, “Humans aren’t ready for this place. Can’t stay long.”

  Which is a problem, because there are more footsteps, thousands of them, some heavy and pounding and others quicker and softer, padding along. All echoing, filling the air with a cacophony that’s fit for a magic-born army.

  Hex barks and though it sounds like a normal bark, the way he moves his head makes it clear he’s shouting “Follow me!” He takes off and Grogg ushers us forward, leaving muddy handprints on our butts as he literally pushes us from behind. Our arms linked to hold each other up, Bil, Chloe and I stumble out of the cave, veering left to stay on the path charted by Hex, who weaves through the thinnest portion of the magic-born army. Even still, space is tight and twice I bump into witches who unknowingly get in the way. It’s a weird sensation, because we’re not exactly in the same place, and yet we are, as if occupying the exact same spot at the same time. It knocks me slightly off course but doesn’t stop me, and the witches flinch and cast their eyes about, as if searching for the individual that whacked them when they weren’t looking.

&
nbsp; The whole time, my stomach continues to heave, and I’d almost welcome the opportunity to empty it via the less traditional route.

  After a few minutes, Hex finally skids to a stop behind a large boulder. He paws the air and another black line appears, like someone’s used an enchanted permanent marker and ruler to draw on the very fabric of life.

  Bil Nez, his face as red as a beet and contorted in agony, doesn’t wait for the door to fully open before barreling through it. I help Chloe through next, and the moment we’re out, the pain in my stomach abates, the only evidence of its passing a lingering knot that is likely more mental than physical. The whole experience leaves me drained, sucking for breath.

  But I am smiling. I feel as light as a feather and zinging with excitement. I wonder if that’s how a fish feels when it manages to slip off a fisherman’s hook, diving back beneath the cool, blue waters of the ocean.

  While Grogg tends to Bil, who still looks like he might spew his guts out, and Hex comforts Chloe, who seems okay if a little stunned, I sneak to the edge of the boulder and peer around.

  The magic-born have stopped fighting, which I don’t think is a good thing. Ideally they’d fight until they’re all dead. No such luck. Instead, an unnatural hush has fallen over them, as well as the entire forest beyond. No birds chirp; no bees buzz; no animals scuffle in the undergrowth. Not silence so much as the absence of sound, as if the sound is there but you just can’t hear it above the uproarious hush of expectation. Even the wind seems to pause in its travels, leaving the branches unswayed, the leaves unrustled, and the wildflowers undisturbed.

  Then Flora arrives, striding from the cave with all the grace and intensity that her panther form will allow. There’s no doubt in the minds of the army of magic-born that she is their leader, even if only for this day, for this battle. Next to her is the Resistor girl who I now know is Rhett’s sister. The resemblance is striking now that I know to look for it. Her eyes are the same big, brown orbs that drew me to Rhett, and I know they would light up like his if only she would smile, something she seems completely incapable of, her expression one of contempt for…her crappy life? The world itself? Something has clearly jaded this girl, and getting her back seems like an impossible task. On Flora’s opposite side is a wizard, his thin lips so pale they’re almost bone white. For a moment I wonder if this is the wizard who assaulted Bil’s mind earlier today. Even amongst his peers, he’d be considered tall, well over seven feet, with legs so long under his cloak he looks like he must be on stilts. His beard is impressive, snow white and neatly combed into a triangle that stretches from his chin to just past his waist. I have the sudden thought that perhaps wizards have long beards because that’s where they store their power, like a fantastical version of the Biblical Samson. If so, I might have to add scissors and a straight razor to my weapons cache; I won’t even bother with shaving foam, cuts be damned! Mwahahaha!

  The coming attack is one that Rhett and the Alliance won’t be expecting until tomorrow. They’ll have no chance unless we can warn them. Equally frustrating is that Martin Carter and his curse—the initial goal of this entire expedition—may not last long enough for us to figure out a way to cure him.

  Backtracking, I drift to where my friends continue to recover. “Hex, Grogg—can either of you find your way back?”

  Hex whines and Grogg says, “Hex is a good sniffer. He can sniff our muddy trail all the way back.”

  I groan at the thought of retracing the roundabout, convoluted route we’ve taken since we left Alliance. “I was thinking something much faster. Can’t Hex, like, wiggle his nose and transport us or something?”

  Bil, still looking slightly green but having recovered both his voice and snark, says, “I think you watched too much Bewitched growing up.”

  Hitting him seems mean considering his condition, so I add an IOUAP (I Owe You A Punch) to his tally, which already stretches beyond the counting ability of both my fingers and toes combined. Instead, I say, “Hex?” and he says Bark!

  Grogg translates: “Furry sniffer says Two-Leggers wouldn’t survive a trip that long, and he won’t leave you. Grogg will do it. We can’t go from Here to There or fly like Hex-Dog but we can scamper faster than human or Shifter can run.”

  Although I find that hard to believe, I’m out of options. “Go,” I say. “Go around things if it makes you faster; you don’t always have to stay in a straight line. Go as fast as you can to Rhett Carter and tell him the enemy is coming a day early. They’ll be in Alliance by tonight.”

  Grogg does a cartwheel and then, before I can defend myself, climbs my leg to my torso and lays a sloppy, muddy kiss on my cheek. “Grogg shall not fail!” he declares before trotting off, tripping and falling twice before getting his balance and rhythm, settling into a remarkably speedy sprint that, I must admit, is faster than I could achieve in my current underfed condition.

  Hex raises a single paw in farewell, and Chloe says, “Be strong, little guy. Be strong.”

  ~~~

  The magic-born army begins its march just as the sky turns pink on the horizon. If it wasn’t for the fact that their mission is to eradicate humankind, they would almost be beautiful, awe-inspiring, like the orc and warg army in The Lord of the Rings movies. Instead, their lines upon lines of the evilest of the evil magic-born curdle my stomach and send spikes of anger to my fists, which feel like lead anchors.

  They pass near to where we’re hiding, but we make sure the girth of the boulder is always between us and them. Hex must’ve done something to remove our smells, too. Otherwise, after almost two days without any sort of hygiene, they would’ve been able to scent us from miles away. While he’s at it, he also creates a barrier around any inadvertent—or advertent—sounds we might make. All in a day’s work for Hex the Wonder Dog.

  Their force is impressively deadly. The ground shakes as elephants the size of semis stomp past, their thick ivory husks gleaming orange in the light of the dying sun. Between them run hundreds of other types of animals, all slightly bigger than those you’d normally see in the wild. There are red-eyed bucks with barbed antlers, wolves as large as horses, and thick-bodied anacondas that seem to stretch the length of a football field. The big cats are numerous, loping along lithely with barely restrained violence: leopards and panthers and cheetahs and lions and many, many more. They’ll cut through the humans like sharks through a school of guppies. Gorillas, bulging with muscles and hands so large they look as if they could snap a man in half, gallop forward on all fours. Mixed throughout the Shifter force are their magic-born allies. Pyros and Volts and Spellcasters and Brewers and other witches and warlocks I won’t be able to identify without seeing what type of magic they wield. Some look as old as the earth itself, while others are young teens wearing hate-filled expressions that make me think their mommies and daddies didn’t give them enough affection growing up, the same type of punks I used to get into fights with on the playground.

  And that’s just the ground force. The air is full of Destroyers, skimming along without need of anything—not even broomsticks—to keep them aloft. Scattered amongst them are hawks, eagles, vultures, and other even larger birds of prey, their wingspans so huge they cast long shadows across the army over which they circle.

  I’m almost glad I don’t have my magged up Glock, because I’d have trouble resisting the temptation to charge the magic-born, one against thousands, reducing their numbers by at least a few dozen before they even realized who was attacking them. Rhett would call such thoughts Classic Laney, and he would be right; sometimes my brain needs time to catch up to my hit-first-think-later instincts. But still, the daydreams in my head make me smile.

  Hex licks my face with the same tongue that licked Grogg, which snaps me out of my reverie in a disgusting instant. Bil Nez laughs. “Is that chocolate on your face?” he asks as I use the back of my shirtsleeve to wipe at my skin. Now I wish I had my Glock to use on him. Of course, he’d just be able to Resist the magic bullets anyway, but a girl can
dream, right?

  Chloe says, “What are they going to do?” She means Flora and her magic-born army.

  “Kill us all,” Bil says helpfully.

  “New game,” I say. “It’s a variation on the Silent Game, where only people named Bil are silent.”

  “Very funny,” Bil says.

  “You lose. Your punishment is to go say hello to Flora.”

  Chloe giggles.

  “Don’t you mean ‘hello-ow!’” Bil croons, doing a pretty decent imitation of her yowling voice. It is pretty funny, or at least would be if it didn’t send chills up my spine.

  “They’re going to attack our friends,” I tell Chloe. “They don’t like humans very much.”

  The girl stares down at the butchered stumps of her missing fingers, as if to say ‘You don’t have to tell me.’

  “But don’t worry,” I say quickly. “We’re going to stop them.” Chloe looks away and I don’t blame her. The empty promise sounds absurd even to my own ears, especially with the ground rumbling under our feet, an earthquake caused by the sheer size and strength of the army we face.

  When Chloe looks back, I’m surprised to see the sharp angles of determination in her jaw and the steeliness in her green eyes, even if her bottom lip is trembling slightly. “Or die trying,” she says.

  Oh God, I think, I’ve turned her into a miniature version of me.

  Bil is clearly thinking the same thing, because his lips quirk up and he says, “Mini Me,” in yet another brilliant impersonation.

  I say, “Shut it,” but I have to look away to hide my grin. As the day continues to fade, shadows lengthening, light waning, I wonder how we’re able to laugh and make jokes, when the world is falling apart. Humans are a special breed with the rare ability to find laughter in darkness, horror in the light, hope amidst turmoil, and fear in times of peace. We are the contrarians, the restless ones, the pessimistic optimists, those who surprise ourselves with our own bravery when really we should expect it from each other. Our standards are so low and high at the same time that we manage to feel satisfied and dissatisfied in the same breath. And that, I realize, is what makes us worth saving. We may be far from perfect—and by far I mean the distance from one galaxy to the next—but that’s what makes life interesting. The good is only good because of the bad, and happiness all the sweeter because of the pain. We are brave; we are strong; we are despicable; we are scum; we are kind; we are mean;