The Ballad Nocturne (The Midnight Defenders Book 3)

by Joey Ruff

  “Our scout has returned,” Omri said. He pulled a dagger from a sheath at his side and said, “Now, no more distractions. My men are outside injured. Possibly dead. We were warned by our benefactor of the wards and defenses you have in place here. The defenses do not self-activate for anything less than a spiritual threat, which we are not. I also know that as long as we are in the house, we are safe. So, we can drag this out all night. I don’t suspect the house elf will allow this beautiful house of yours to burn to the ground. In fact, by now, the fires should be all but extinguished completely.”

  Beside me, London spat blood onto the floor. Omri looked quickly at him and said, “You have something to add?”

  “Yeah,” London said, spitting again. “You talk too damn much.” Then he spit a large amount of blood and mucus into Omri’s face.

  The aluf reared back, and two of the soldiers drew their blades and took a step forward. Omri turned to them, extending his hand, and shook his head. White-streak handed the aluf a dish towel to wipe his face with and then went back to stroking his locket.

  Omri took a deep, calming breath, and plunged his dagger down into London’s thigh. London screamed. It was gut-wrenching to hear a man as rugged as he screaming like that. It was primal.

  One hand firmly on the dagger, Omri turned his malicious gaze to me and said, “Call. The.” He twisted the dagger, and London screamed again, tears streaming down his face. “Elf!”

  31

  While I quickly tired of the sound of his voice, I was glad that Omri was long winded and prone to monologues like a villain from a Bond film. Because as he talked, I became aware of the two shadows that were slinking, ever so quietly, from the living room. As he plunged the dagger into London’s leg, the shadows moved together into the kitchen, still unseen, somehow.

  Omri yelled, “Elf!”

  I whistled.

  Thai and Taboo sprang into action, angry canines bared, going for the two nearest Edomites, being the one with the scar and his friend with the lips. Both soldiers fell instantly underneath the Ridgebacks, who each weighed an easy hundred pounds of pure muscle.

  In the chaos, I yelled, hoping he would hear me, “Chess! If there’s anything you can do, do it now!"

  Omri turned as the dogs began to growl and snap, loosening his grip on the dagger. I dove at him, tackling him to the ground. I got two good punches in before his knee found my gut and he tossed me off of him. I landed on my back, and Omri was on top of me before I could move. He hit me once, twice. Then a plate flew out of the cabinet and struck him in the side of the head, shattering into a dozen pieces.

  As Omri fell to the side, momentarily dazed, I sat up to see the cabinet doors had all burst open. Plates were launching themselves like Frisbees from the cabinets. Cups were being hurled like grenades. Thai and Taboo had moved on from the first two Edomites and had tackled Levi and the white-streak. The sounds of screaming and shattering china echoed all around me. Dishes were flying every direction, shattering against the counters, the floors. It was absolute chaos, and in the midst of it all, possibly unseen to everyone but me, was Chess. He stood in the center of the island, as tall and proud as he could be, atop an overturned pot and wielding a wooden mixing spoon like a conductor’s baton. If I didn’t know any better, I would swear he winked at me.

  I didn’t hesitate. I moved to London, pulled the dagger from his thigh, and said, “Are you okay? Can you walk?”

  “Fucking A,” he said. “Like I said before, killer party, brother.”

  I helped him stand, and we leaned on each other as we struggled across the kitchen and out the back door. At the bottom of the stairs, his foot touched down on the grass, and he went down. It may have been the uneven ground. When I lifted him again, I saw how badly he was bleeding.

  “We need to treat the wound,” I said.

  “Get me to the truck.”

  I did. I set him against the rear tire.

  “Behind the seat,” he said.

  I opened the driver’s door. Behind me, I heard the screaming of the Edomites, the shattering of the dishes. It sounded like pots were being thrown around now, also. London gave a painful hiss, and I shifted my focus, pulling the seatback forward. “What am I looking for?”

  “Small case,” he said. “Only one there.”

  “I got it.” I pulled the case out, setting it on the ground by his leg, expecting to find it full of bandages, gauze, and antiseptic. There were three road flares. “What are these for?”

  “Cauterize the wound, brother. It’ll stop the bleeding.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  London laughed. “Don’t have time to kid. Just do it.”

  I took one, studying it for a second, and pulled the plastic cap off. The way they were designed, there was a rough, striking surface on the back of the plastic cap. Rubbing that surface against the tip of the flare would light it, much like a matchbook. I took a deep breath, still unsure, and struck once, twice. Nothing. I put a little more force into it, changed my angle to give the surfaces full exposure, and got it on the third try.

  The flare sparked to life in a sputter that was so brilliantly white, it was nearly blinding at close proximity. London looked over at the light and flashed me a weak smile. “Good,” he said. He’d apparently managed to pull his belt off and held it up by his mouth. “Fucking do it. I’m getting weak.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. London bit down hard on the leather belt, and I overturned the flare, aiming the bright end down, and placed it to the hole in his leg. I could hear his skin sizzle, smell his flesh cooking. The sudden surge of pain served to revive him, and he sat upright, howling in pain through clenched teeth.

  I only held it there for a few seconds, but it was enough. The skin had gotten a little crispy. It wasn’t a good fix. He’d still need to see a doctor, especially for the internal damage, but at least he wouldn’t bleed out. Not from that wound, at least.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  He just nodded. I returned to the cab of the truck, finding a duffle bag inside, and pulled out a few shirts. I tore them into strips of fabric and wrapped one around the cauterized leg wound, tying it tight. It would hopefully help the internal bleeding. I used another strip on his face, dabbing at the blood that was beginning to crust from his cuts and around his nose. His nose was swelling. He’d definitely need a doctor. First, though, we needed to survive.

  “We need to get out of here,” I said. “I can get you into the truck. We’ll get out of here. I can call Doctor Cooper in the car. You’re not in good shape.”

  He laughed. “Look who’s talking, brother.”

  “It might be the adrenaline, but I’m feeling okay right now. I can manage with the cane.”

  “What about your house?”

  “Not important.”

  London nodded, held his hand out for me to help him up. Just as I pulled him forward, an arrow whizzed through the air and struck the tire, followed immediately by a second. He screamed, his hand instantly going to the back of his neck where it must have grazed him.

  I pulled him all the way to his feet, and we both turned to see Omri staggering down the stairs into the yard. He was holding a short bow, fitting another arrow to the string as he walked.

  “This ends now!” he howled.

  I spun London to the side as he fired the arrow, and this one, too, narrowly missed, striking the side of the truck bed. There was a quiver newly attached to his belt, carrying a dozen or so feather-tipped arrows, and he shot as fast as his hands would allow.

  I kept London low, but he was slower on his leg than I would have liked. An arrow struck the ground just in front of my foot, but I managed to get him around to the front of the cab. I nearly tripped over the bag of guns as I came around the backside of the car.

  Above me, an arrow shattered the window in the passenger door. Shards rained down over us, and I had just enough time to cover my head.

  I grabbed the first gun I saw. A six-shooter revolver. Like a co
wboy. I half-bounced, half-crawled over to the front bumper and spun around with the gun, keeping my body as close to the vehicle as I could. Before I could get a shot off, an arrow struck the front tire. I jerked at the sound, and another arrow soared in front of me, inches from my chest.

  I took a deep breath, steadied my aim, and pulled the trigger as fast as I could. Omri threw himself to the side, hitting the ground and rolling. The revolver’s hammer clicked empty by the time he’d regained his footing, and he pulled his hood up over his hair and flashed me a wicked smile as he stalked toward me. He aimed his right hand straight out at me, and the little flame clicked on with the snap of his fingers.

  I knew what was coming and ducked back around the hood of the truck. At the same time I heard the hiss of his fire, Omri screamed. I waited, but the heat didn’t come.

  I spun back around to see the column of fire spraying straight into the air like a geyser, before it fell to the side, toward the house, and began licking up the side of the house.

  Omri was on the ground. He lay on his back, pinned down by a massive shadow that looked to be part bear and part lion. It was one of the Foo.

  While I wasn’t sure exactly what the defenses were, I would have guessed, from the stories I’d heard, that the Foo Lions that stood at intervals along the driveway would be part of it. Even half-expecting it, there was nothing that could have prepared me for seeing it in person.

  The creature was majestic, with big curls of hair that rolled from the top of its head along its shoulders and glittered in the dim light. It had to have been six feet tall at its shoulders, and every inch of its legs and torso rippled with muscle like a racehorse. It’s front shoulders were a little wider than its rear, which was undoubtedly due to its massive head, and the mouth that stretched nearly ear to ear in a way that would have almost been comical, but for the rows of savage teeth and the foaming saliva that strung off its lips onto Omri and dripped from the horns that curled back from the corners of its jaw like the forks of a beard.

  Over the growl of the Foo, I heard one of the other Edomites yell, and Scar appeared in the doorway. He was haggard and bloodied, but he held a drawn bow in his hands. He aimed directly at the Foo and fired three arrows in rapid succession. Without lifting its paw from Omri’s chest, it batted its other at Scar, missing him as he stepped back, but catching an arrow in the pad.

  The small distraction was all Omri needed, and he brought his arm back to center and sent a column of flame directly into the Foo’s face. Scar put two arrows into the side of its neck, and it lifted its paw from Omri and took a half step back, sneezing and shaking its head.

  While keeping the flames in the Foo’s face, Omri used his other arm to scoot out from under it, gaining his footing. At this angle, the flames were directly in the Foo’s face, and it continued to sneeze and took one step, then another, further back.

  Scar descended the stairs to stand next to Omri, his bow drawn back, and fired an arrow directly into the Foo’s eye. It let out a wounded cry, lowered its head, and then bounded off into the darkness.

  Once it was gone, Omri let the flames die, and he turned to Scar. He said something, then pointed to the truck, and Scar nocked another arrow and aimed it directly at the truck.

  Before he could fire, there was more commotion from inside the house, and Lips and Levi walked out, followed by White-streak. Each of the first two held a Ridgeback, and as they hit the ground, they tossed the hounds onto the grass into a heap. I sat there, watching them, willing them to move, but neither did.

  Behind me, London was saying, “Ape, brother, what the fuck is…” His voice trailed off for a moment and then he said, “Holy fuck. Are you seeing this?”

  I didn’t turn to see what London was talking about. So blinded by rage, I ran forward, dropped onto London’s discarded flamethrower and lifted the gun, pulling the trigger and submerging them all in a cloud of fire.

  It burned for maybe ten seconds before Omri stepped forward out of the flames, one arm up in front of his mouth to shield his face, and stomped me with his boot, knocking me back. “You should have learned by now that fire has no effect on us. Dusares is a god of the flames.”

  Behind me, London yelled, “Dusares can suck my monkey nuts, you dumbass motherfuckers!!” Then the night exploded with automatic gunfire and Omri dropped where he stood. The gathered Edomites scattered, and Scar sent an arrow flying behind me.

  My head was still spinning where I lay, and I tried to lift my arm, but I had fallen back onto the flamethrower’s pack and become tangled in the strap. From somewhere nearby, London laughed and more gunfire rippled and sawed through the night.

  The next thing I knew, I was being scooped into the air by what felt like the shovel of a backhoe. It took a minute to realize that the shovel was actually the mouth of a Foo. It wasn’t the same that had been wounded, but another. I was lying loosely between its jaws, and above me, London was riding atop its haunches, a bag of guns strapped to his shoulders and an automatic rifle with an extended clip in each hand.

  As the Foo turned away from the house, I caught sight of the Ridgebacks, their bodies lying prone in the grass, one of Thai’s front legs twitching gently, as it did many times when he dreamed. I cried to see him lying there, wondered what I would tell Crestmohr if and when he returned. Those dogs had stood their ground against a dragon, and they fell protecting me against a handful of Edomites. It was beyond cruel.

  For a minute, I wondered what had happened to Chess, if they had caught him. I didn’t think they had. I bounced a little as the Foo took to a regular stride, and a second later, the gunfire was silenced, and all I heard was the galloping of the Foo’s massive paws, felt the rush of wind on my face and legs that was surprisingly cool compared to the hot breath that swept over my arms and chest. It occurred to me how peculiar it was that I felt safe in that moment, even stretched over those jaws, those rows of unforgiving teeth, as though I were lying on a bed of nails. Somehow, it felt like a safe haven, a sanctuary. I became convinced for a second that no harm would befall us as long as we were in the presence of this majestic beast. I became so comfortable in that notion that the adrenaline faded momentarily, replaced with an overwhelming exhaustion.

  I blinked my eyes closed. When I opened them, I saw the familiar trees out past the barn and the garage. I blinked again, a little longer this time, opening to see the gun range and the hedge maze off to our right. For a second, I was curious where we were headed and concerned that London needed to get to the doctor, but then I blinked again, and maybe, the exhaustion overtook me, and I don’t remember much else.

  32

  Swyftt

  Running at full speed back to Ezra’s, it still took me a good five minutes. I hadn’t realized how far Lara had lured me away in the darkness. I broke from the swampy foliage and collapsed into the grass, falling onto my knees to catch my breath. The old shed was to my left, and the door was standing open.

  As I sat there, DeNobb walked casually from the shed. He had a beer in his hand and an annoyed expression on his face. “Oh,” he said. “Look who came back.”

  I looked over at him. “What the fuck are you doing? Who said it was happy hour?”

  “Did you find Nadia?” he asked, ignoring me. He made a mock effort of looking around. “No? Gee.”

  “I don’t appreciate the smug attitude, mate.”

  “We don’t appreciate being excluded from your little tirade, Jono. Seriously. Aren’t we a team?”

  “I was looking for Nadia.”

  “Running off half-cocked doesn’t get us anywhere. While you were flopping through the jungle, we were actually here doing…”

  “Listen you little cock-sure prick,” I said, standing up. “Where the fuck do you get off talking to me like that?” I strode over to him, grabbed the beer from his hand, and took a swig. It was still cold, and I was thirsty from the run. I drained the bottle and tossed it into the garden.

  DeNobb looked disarmed for a second before regai
ning his composure. “Jono. Stop. I’m serious.”

  “So am I.” I stood a little taller, staring him in the eyes, challenging him. “We don’t have time for this bollocks.”

  Huxley walked out of the shed behind DeNobb and said, “The boy is right, Swyftt. While you were chasing shades in the marsh, we were actually formulating a plan and making headway.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Show him,” Huxley said to DeNobb.

  DeNobb fished in his pocket and pulled out two little cloth-bound packages that looked like hacky-sacks. One was fashioned from the hem of what looked a polka-dotted dress, and the other from a shirt I had seen Nadia wearing the other day.

  “Seeker sacks?” I said.

  A Seeker Sack was an old voodoo trick I used from time to time, something Huxley had taught me several years ago, as there was little spell work to it. It was a type of gris-gris bag, a combination of various herbs and spices assembled to produce a desired effect. The key ingredient was Mandrake, which was used normally to lead its bearer to hidden treasure or to create love potions. John Conker root granted success and luck, Lucky Hand Root was used for safe travel, and either fuzzy weed or yellow evening primrose helped in the hunt. Combine all of that in a little satchel with something that belonged to the person you’re looking for and it operated like that children’s game of “Hot and Cold.” Simply put, the closer you got to the person the sack was made for, the hotter it would glow, whether in your hand or your pocket.

  “For Nadia and Ezra,” DeNobb said, proudly. “Huxley walked me through them. Ezra had all the stuff either lying around or growing in the garden. It’ll help us find them.”