The crow fluttered onto one of the bridge’s pilasters and looked between her and the river with that same expectant look. Did it want her to get closer? Was there something in there? She took another step.
Before she could approach the water, though, growling reached her ears. She spun around.
There, in the treeline, was the wolf that she had heard but never seen before. It was big, white, with cold steel eyes—and it was looking at her like dinner.
Edie’s breath caught in her throat. The dream wasn’t ending, but she didn’t know the next part.
The wolf bared its teeth, lips trembling, and sprinted forward.
Without quite knowing she was doing it, Edie planted her feet and spread her arms at her sides, inhaling the frigid night air deeply. There was power here, all around her—and, all at once, in her. A strange, overwhelming pressure raced up her arms; the kind she always felt when she was fighting, right on the edge of something more. It always made her fight harder, trying to reach that crescendo, but it never amounted to much.
Until now.
As the wolf dove for her, she thrust her hands forward. The pressure burst, an icy numbness enveloping her hands and sending shivers through her shoulders and down her back. A bright blue flash filled her vision, blinding her.
She woke with a jerk.
For a moment, Edie was confused at why the world around her was so dark. She was lying on her back, and skimmed her hand across the rough stone below her. Wet. Freezing.
Oh.
Anger crept up her back, tightening every muscle. Now she remembered. Now she remembered. They had chained her and her friends up like animals. They had killed Astrid, and chances were Satara was dead, too. Now they planned to throw her to the Wounded like a hunk of raw meat to a wolf.
Edie’s arms shook, though whether it was with anger or the lingering power from her dream, she couldn’t say. Her stomach ached so fiercely and deeply that she could feel it in her heart and spine, like something rotten was spreading through her. She clenched her fists, trying to calm the tremors. God, she didn’t even know how to describe what she was feeling now. Hopeless, angry, frightened—those words didn’t seem adequate. The only phrase playing in her mind, over and over, was fucked up. Fucked up, fucked up, fucked up. It was all fucked up.
There was some kind of commotion, all around. Edie lifted herself a few inches off the gritty stones and peered dazedly through the cell bars.
Familiar veiled figurers were rushing objects covered in black sheets through the passage between hers and Satara’s cell. Some of the items were small or pushed along on trolleys; others were much bigger, having to be negotiated through the narrow space by two or more people. In the opposite direction, New Gloaming guards wove between the encumbered figures. Some were still in the process of donning their armor, pulling on gauntlets and helms as they trotted by.
A voice down the hall was so loud so suddenly that it stunned her eardrums for a moment. “The house isn’t fortified well enough to survive an Auroran raid, okay? Just get all madam’s shit out of here before they storm the place! Go!” Someone mumbled in response; then there were more indistinct shouts, talking over one another. And all the while, the Gloaming walked back and forth.
An Auroran raid?
She closed her eyes tight, trying to clear her head. As she slowly came out of her daze, she realized that some of the thoughts tumbling inside her head weren’t her own. She had a sense that something cool, grounding, was nearby; a kind of spark in the periphery of her consciousness….
Cal.
Why the hell was Cal here with an Auroran raid? He hated them almost as much as he hated the Gloaming, and she knew no self-respecting member of the Aurora would ever associate with an undead. Still, he was here—though with all these Gloaming insects swarming the place, who knew how long he’d last, even if he had backup?
Edie knew she had to think up something to meet him halfway. She wasn’t about to just sit here. Beyond that, she was tired of sitting here. She was tired of being powerless, tired of being manipulated, lied to, thrown around, taunted, used.
In the beginning, she had only been doing what was asked of her. Following along and trying to find her place. Desperately hoping to do the right thing. Above all, fighting for survival.
Now she had a score to settle.
For Mercy, for Astrid, for Satara, every single New Gloaming bastard was going to pay.
Edie rose to her haunches and rocked forward, gripping the wrought-iron bars. She peered past black-clad legs as they rushed by. Standing diagonally from her cell, directing the two-way traffic in the corridor, was the young man Scarlet had brought to Satara earlier. A breathstealer, but he was still wearing the baby-faced warrior’s skin.
Hanging on his belt was Scarlet’s keyring.
A bizarre combination of heat and cold ran through Edie’s body, making every hair stand on end. She clutched the bars tighter to quell the shaking. He would be the first to die.
“Psst.” She pressed her face to the bars, trying to regulate her breathing. “Hey.”
He heard her and glanced over, then did a double take. With a confused frown, he pointed at himself.
“Yes.” She didn’t even sound like herself. The word came out like she was possessed, a low hiss. Slowly, she stood, though she still leaned heavily into the bars. “I stole something from Scarlet on her way by. Do you think she’ll want it back?”
The breathstealer paused for a moment before looking both ways down the corridor and approaching.
Edie shook her head and motioned for him to come closer still.
He did. Evidently not very smart creatures, breathstealers. As he came closer, he glanced at her lips; and like that, his features blurred and shifted until he was her father again. Fucker. He had only been looking for an excuse to suck the life from her again.
A voice slithered in the back of her skull. We’ll see who sucks the life from whom.
Edie waited until he was close enough to reach a hand in. Then, one of hers darted out. She seized him by the collar and jerked him forward, thankful for the strength training and the icy magic numbing her muscles. His face struck the bars with a dull clang, and blood sprang from his nose.
Die.
He recovered quickly and reached both of his hands in, clutching for her throat.
Keeping a tight grip on his collar with her right hand, she used the other to try and twist one of his wrists away from her throat. But he was strong, pulling her hair, trying to jab at her eyes. He breathed raggedly and snarled like an animal, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth, spittle flying as he grunted.
All she had to do was call the magic.
In a second, the tide of the scuffle turned in the breathstealer’s favor. He yanked his wrist away from Edie and grabbed one of her jacket’s lapels, pulling her against the bars, flush with his chest. With teeth bared, he forced his hands onto either side of her neck, pressing into the base of her skull, trying to bring her mouth closer to his.
All she had to do was call the magic. In panic, she gulped down a mouthful of air and waved her arms around, trying to find purchase on his shoulders or his clothing. But she could only find his face—his snarling, grinning face.
The breathstealer pressed his thumbs into her windpipe, and she choked and slapped a hand over his mouth, pushing as hard as she could. If only she were stronger….
Warmth. Warmth under her fingers, a lively spark that shot up her arm. Edie watched, wide-eyed, as blood dripped from his nose onto her knuckles. Yes, bleed. Bleed.
She didn’t need strength. She had blood.
Edie gritted her teeth into a hideous smile of her own and looked him in the eyes. Cold, slate gray. Her father’s eyes. Her own eyes.
Blue fire ignited in her hand. With an icy spark, clothes turned to ash, flesh to bone. The figure in front of her rotted away in an instant.
The sound of the elevator screeching on its rails filled the air, so loud Marius cou
ld barely hear himself think. The lights flickered, everything rattling and shaking like existence was about to come apart at the seams.
They were going to crash. And, considering his companions were a deathless revenant and a sea spirit, he was the most likely to perish when they did.
There wasn’t even time to scream in horror. All three men wavered, lowering their center of gravity and waiting for impact. With ragged breath, Marius uttered a small prayer, hoping to mitigate at least a little of the damage with a shield of light. It flooded the car.
But they didn’t crash. In fact, they didn’t even come to a hard stop. One second, they were free falling; the next, the car was sitting neatly at the bottom of the shaft. The floor indicator dinged pleasantly, and the doors opened.
It defied physics and time as Marius knew it, yet there it was.
“That shit ain’t right,” the revenant breathed as the group stepped out.
A collective exhale washed over them as they stared into the dark room in front of them. It was mostly pitch black, but at the far end, some torchlight glowed under the crack of a door. Marius could see just fine—he’d always had keen night vision—but he wasn’t sure about the others. He summoned a ball of energy in his hand to illuminate the room.
It was a stone basement with low arched ceilings. Tables and chairs were staggered around the room, littered with bottles. A couple of stools had been tipped over and there was a heavy, yeasty smell in the air. As Marius shone his light around, they even spotted a robed figure passed out drunk in the corner, breathing slowly and evenly.
The Gloaming had been celebrating down here. That didn’t bode well.
Suddenly, to his left, Marius noticed that Fiskbein had disappeared. He turned and was about to call out when the door in front of them opened.
Torchlight poured into the room, and with it, a group of perhaps six or more New Gloaming soldiers. They stopped short for a moment when they saw Marius and Cal; then the biggest one shouted, and they all drew their blades.
The vivid released his ball of light, letting it bob above his head as he summoned his weapons. The Gloaming were already upon them, and his shield glimmered into existence just in time to deflect an axeman’s blow. Cal fired his revolver one, two, three, four times, putting down three warriors in one fell swoop. Fiskbein leapt from behind one of the stone pillars and tackled two.
With those dealt with, Marius could see there were three left: the axeman, a swordsman, and an unfortunate mage carrying a runic staff.
The vivid dove for the mage first, skirting around the other two. He slashed for her throat, but she deflected his blows with ward spells, and his blade spat yellow sparks each time it scraped against them. Thrusting his left hand forward, he called up a shield. He’d let her throw a few spells at it while he dealt with her friends breathing down his neck.
He twisted his upper half to face them, summoning a whip of light from his right wrist. The golden rope whistled from the mouth of his wolf vambrace and wrapped around the axeman and the swordsman with a crack. Marius shortened the rope and jerked his whole arm, hard, until he heard the crunching of bones.
He dispelled the whip, letting the two warriors reel with pain. A second later, they both had bullets in their heads.
The mage had been fighting through the vivid’s shield with huge torrents of dark purple shadow spells, but watching her companions fall had made her abandon that endeavor. Now she dodged to the side, trying to manipulate the darkness in the corners of the room to escape.
Marius lunged after her, but someone beat him to it. A huge webbed hand shot from the darkness. As his ball of light wheeled around the room, he only caught glimpses of Fiskbein grappling with the mage, whose hair and face had somehow become soaked; then she was gone. When Marius called the light back to his hand, he finally got a clear picture. The sjóvættr had her by the ankles and was using her to beat one of the other guards to death.
Gruesome. But clever. The Reach were a strange people.
“All right, all right,” Cal said as he crossed the room, reloading his revolver and shouldering open the door. “Come on, Free Willy, we got shit to do.”
Indeed. Marius followed him, with Fiskbein taking up the rear. Now they were in a stone corridor. It was lighter here, so Marius dispelled his ball of energy, but there was still only a torch every twenty feet or so. As they went farther in, more corridors branched off, and more, until he was sure this was a network of some kind—probably leading to other exits all over the house, perhaps even the neighborhood. They trod quietly, following the torches and ignoring the darkened halls.
Distantly, he thought he could hear some argument going on. He could only pick out a few words: quickly … retrieve … other way … all costs. It was a complete surprise when, as they passed a perpendicular hallway, their flank was slammed by two robed figures.
The figures—wearing circlets and veils over their faces—were unarmed. Both toppled over when they ran into Cal and Marius respectively, and something they’d been carrying between them crashed to the ground, shattering into several pieces. Both figures looked up at the intruders but seemed more concerned with crawling around on their knees, trying to pick up the pieces of whatever they had dropped.
Cal cranked his leg back and kicked one of them in the side of the head, causing him to immediately slump to the side. The other, he grabbed by the collar, forcing her to look at him. “Where’s Holloway?” he demanded, his voice even more gravelly than usual.
The veiled figure said nothing.
Sounds of fighting, very faint, turned Marius’s ear. He looked up ahead. About forty feet in front of them, the corridor they’d been following turned sharply, and he could see lights pouring from it, flashing. Shouting, screams, and the sound of metal on metal raced down the hall toward them.
“Answer me!” Cal barked.
“Cal.” Marius nudged him and pointed to the strobing battle lights. “There.”
He dropped the veiled figure, and the three men sprinted down the hall, closer and closer to the invigorating scent of magic. Marius’s hairs stood on end. Was someone using it against Edie? If so, she was helpless.
When they were barely ten feet away, there was a sudden, eerily silent explosion of color, and the screaming ceased. Bright blue light pulsed faintly from somewhere around the corner.
They rounded it and stopped dead in their tracks.
Before them was a hallway of cells with a narrow passage between them. Standing in the middle of it, facing away with her hands engulfed in blue flames, was Edie.
At least ten bodies—though the way they were piled made them hard to count—lay at her feet, in various stages of decay. Some had their faces rotted away to skulls; others were only partially putrefied; some were simply withered and hollow-faced. One, slightly off to the side, had turned completely to dust and bone. The grisly pile glowed with a faint blue aura.
Edie wavered on her feet, and Marius could hear her breathing harshly from where he stood. Slowly, she turned to face them, looking like an entirely different person—one that wanted more bodies, more death.
The moment, however, was brief. As the power faded from her body, she only looked exhausted. In one of her hands, a keyring hung limply from her fingers. She gazed down at it like she hadn’t noticed it before. Then her knees began to shake.
Marius rushed forward, and she slumped into his arms, letting the keys fall to the stone floor.
A flood of heat filled his chest and mingled with concern as he hoisted her up, trying to help her stand on her own once more. He barely noticed as Cal picked up the keyring and went to unlock the adjacent cell. A moment later, Satara shuffled out, her fine dress dirty and rumpled. She looked even more exhausted than Edie did, and surprised to see the vivid.
“Where’s Astrid?” Cal asked, helping the shieldmaiden over the pile of bodies. He patted her down as though looking for injuries.
“Dead,” Satara murmured, letting the word drop from her lips li
ke an anchor; then, “We have to leave. Now.”
Fiskbein hissed as Satara began to struggle down the hall. He scooped her up bridal-style, then started back where they had come from.
Dead? A valkyrie, dead? They died now and again, but mostly in otherworldly battles. Marius had been under the impression that it was nearly impossible to kill a valkyrie in Midgard.
Then again, perhaps “impossible” was just a challenge for Norns.
The hellerune was still in his arms, eyes closed, breathing irregular. He looked down at her and brushed her hair from her face, shaking her gently to try and bring her back to the waking world. The hollows of her eyes looked bruised, her face pale, nostrils crusted with blood. She was a mess.
The warmth in his chest spread down his arms, dutifully healing her. “Edie … you have to wake up. We have to leave this place. It’s over. Wake up for me,” he murmured, tracing her chin with his thumb.
Cal lingered for a moment, glancing between the two of them before following Fiskbein.
After a few moments, Edie’s eyes fluttered open—those eyes he wished he could stop noticing, the color of rain on stone and storm clouds. Her face twisted in pain, and she pulled away, holding her head. “Ugh, fuck….”
So eloquent. Marius’s mouth twitched, but his concern for her only grew. He wanted to reach out and steady her, but what if she pushed him away? Their relationship wasn’t exactly warm. “How? How did you do all that?” He clenched his jaw as he gestured to the pile of bodies. It was obviously death magic—powerful death magic, at that—but he thought she didn’t know how to use it.
Edie turned her head, looking at them as if for the first time. “I … I don’t know.” She shook her head like she was trying to shake the image from her mind, locking eyes with Marius. “You … you’re the Auroran raid. You … came to help. You helped Cal.”
No Earthly Treason Page 27
