“I could ask you the same question,” I said, looking at the crumbling shack.
“The Fae Plains,” the dog said, puffing out his chest, restoring his sense of academic gravitas. “You’re not looking for the Tributary, too, by any chance?”
I stared at his brown eyes and sharp snout. There was a long silence, the distant claps of thunder being the only sound.
Finally, I said, “I think we’d better start from the beginning.”
12
Hour 9
Argos welcomed me into their clean, if sparse, base of operations. The main room tripled as a kitchen and bedroom. In the adjacent room, a man sat in the corner by a buckling wooden table, staring at an array of monitors.
His aura still bore strains of half-demon, even though he was now mortal. Heavy flecks of gray ran through his once jet-black hair.
“Clock’s winding down,” Kalos Aeon said, by way of hello. He didn’t turn around.
“Good to see you, too.”
“You left without saying goodbye last time,” Kalos said. “Figured that’s what we did.”
He didn’t sound angry about it. More amused—like continuing this thread was part of our friendship. Argos hopped up on the table, and Kalos gave him a scratch on the ears. The dog shook it off and barked.
“He only likes me,” I said.
“That might be true.” It wasn’t, of course. Kalos and Argos had been best friends for 3,000 years, ever since the then-half-demon had saved the border collie from the Underworld. “You’re here for the Tributary.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“No other reason to be out here.”
“You got any whiskey?” I sat on a rickety stool by the table. The entire shack might have been twenty feet by twenty.
“What do you think we do for fun?” He jerked his thumb toward the ceiling. I followed the angle, tracing it to a hanging wire rack filled with dusty bottles. I found one with a faded black label and took a pull.
“You see a man out here?” I asked, looking around the humble dwelling. Besides the light hum of a generator outside, the air was still. Our conversation sounded louder than a gunshot. “Brown hair, lean, wears a—”
“Ruby’s got herself a little crush, buddy.” Kalos didn’t look away from the screens. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Need I remind you, asshole, I still carry a gun.”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
I set the bottle down forcefully, hoping to jar Kalos from his typing. He didn’t even jump. He must’ve practiced those Zen exercises of his a lot since I’d seen him over twenty years. No longer being half-demon probably helped a whole lot, too, with rashness.
Hell, the wisps didn’t even change colors around his head. Just cool, even blue.
Kalos finished typing and leaned back in his plain chair. The screen flashed behind him, and I heard him sigh. He gave a slight nod to Argos, then rose and finally turned.
I guess, after the wait, I expected him to be different. Missing an eye. Blind or scarred beyond recognition. The computer was something new. I don’t think I’d seen Kalos touch one back when I’d last known him.
But aside from some wrinkles tugging at the edge of his eyes, he was still the same man I’d met back in 1812. If I squinted hard enough, he looked the same as when he’d staggered into my father’s print shop, bleeding from a werewolf bite. A little older, and a hell of a lot calmer, sure. He stretched to his full height in the cramped shack and ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. That was different.
Being turned back to mortal hadn’t shrunk him, at least; he still looked about six-two. A biometric wristband clung to his forearm. I’d seen them on some of the folks in Phoenix. Injected nutrient supplements, telomeres, that type of thing. The trademark .45 was strapped to his hip, which made me breathe a little easier.
Same old Kalos, when it came down to it.
“Get a little stiffer than I used to,” Kalos said. “Perks of mortality.”
“What were you doing?” I asked, nodding toward the screens. He and Argos shared a look. “Hey, you gotta trust someone.”
That was a tall order, even though we’d all shared quite a few near-death experiences. We’d trekked through Agonia, that place worse than Hell, together. And almost hadn’t made it, because the demon magic had eroded his soul. Dark magic tended to do that. Everything in the universe had an equal and opposite reaction—even matters of essence.
Kalos looked at me. I’d never gotten this impression before, but the 7,000 years of experience seemed etched upon his soul. Flowing around him, a sage ambiance about his gaze. Maybe it was the gray hairs. I half expected his eyes to glow with the dim remnants of his lost magical powers, but they were simply brown.
I peered at the former half-demon, trying to read him. What would it be like if my powers suddenly disappeared? I had been mortal once, but that was so long ago that it was no longer even my life.
Rebecca had been meek, afraid. Reading about adventure, but never having any of her own.
Ruby was always roaming, never backing down from a challenge.
He’d sacrificed the core of his being to save Argos from certain death. Would I do the same for anyone?
I didn’t know. A supernatural creature renouncing their identity was no small thing. Most would rather die than become mortal. But he seemed at peace with the decision.
The easy silence began to make me feel anxious, so I figured I’d make the first move.
I took the map out of my pocket and put it on the table, next to the whiskey. Argos eagerly trotted over to examine it.
No one spoke for a long time. The border collie’s ears flicked back.
“It’s legit,” I said.
“That’s where the entrance is? My predictions were off, Kal.” So his current expression was professional embarrassment. Good to know.
Kalos glanced at the screen. “Give me the approximate coordinates.”
Argos did so, and Kalos entered them into the computer. After a second, the workstation processed matters, and Kalos nodded.
“It’ll take a little while to process, but it looks solid.” He raised the whiskey bottle toward me. “It must be fate, Ruby.”
“I guess you can call it that,” I said. “Why the hell do you need to reach the Tributary?”
“The world needs to be brought together,” Kalos said. “And you’re going to help us do it.”
“I live to serve,” I said, with biting sarcasm.
“You can’t deny it. What are the chances?” Kalos shook his head. “We’re meant to work together again.”
“Maybe you’re meant to work for me,” I said in a low growl.
Kalos shrugged. “And what do you want in the Tributary?”
It was an obvious question, but it still managed to catch me off guard. I hadn’t thought about it. I’d just been focused on finding Roark.
And keeping MagiTekk from getting it.
“I want to see it burn.” It felt strange, saying it aloud. Like screaming there is no God in a church. But I knew, deep in my soul, that it was the only course.
Destroying the origin of all magical life. That was what Pearl had trained me for: to make the hard decisions when others faltered.
Kalos raised an eyebrow. The dog let out a small whine. This wasn’t a popular opinion, out here in the shack. They’d been looking for the Tributary for who knows how long, staking their dreams on its existence.
A needle in a stack of needles in a needle factory.
And here I had come knocking on their door, just as the clock ticked down. A wondrous stroke of good fortune. Except for one thing: I didn’t share their vision.
Argos cleared his throat and opened his snout. Then he shut it and lay down on the table.
“And your plans are better, I presume?” I said, finally breaking the awkward silence.
“When you water a seed long enough, something wondrous springs from the ashes, Ruby.”
A warm smile spread across the former half-demon’s face. “The water can help us finish my destiny.”
“Which is?” I seemed to recall something about bridging the mortal and supernatural worlds. And helping create some sort of goddess. My brow furrowed. “Where’s that chick you had a crush on? Naomi?”
“Nadia,” Kalos said. “The water at the source can help make her a goddess. Heal the world.”
I groaned. That was it. What a load of crap. I seemed to recall Nadia shooting at us, pissed at Kalos for not turning her into a creature of essence. That ship, however, had long since sailed.
Peering at him suspiciously, I asked, “What’d you end up doing with all those artifacts?”
“Took them to the alchemist,” Kalos said, a pained look in his eyes. Breaking a promise to someone you once loved was a bitch. Twenty-two years ago, we’d tracked down five artifacts of untold power chronicled in the rather appropriately titled Journal of Annihilation. If one person controlled them all, they’d be able to control all the essence in the world.
I’m sure MagiTekk would’ve collectively creamed their corporate suits at the prospect if they’d have been around at that point. But an old lover of Kalos’s—a powerful witch who he’d saved from the frozen wilds 3,000 years prior—had appropriated the artifacts, eager to assume goddess-like power for herself. To save the world from destruction, he’d had to kill her.
“And then?” I asked, having a good idea where this led.
“Melted them all down. Woden’s Spear, too.” Kalos looked at me. “Nadia took the distilled essence.”
“Jesus.”
“She’s only an eighth of a goddess. Maybe a quarter.”
“Oh, is that all?” I asked. I’d seen what happened when people chased god-like power. Even when it was under the auspices of fixing the world or doing good, it always went wrong. Like hell was I going to let Kalos use the source to juice up his girlfriend.
I decided to drop the subject.
“And Gunnar?” Kalos’s dapper vampire friend.
“He lives alone in the mountains.” Kalos’s voice fell. “He spent a long time in the Boise Internment Camp. Never quite the same after that.”
“Join the club.” I pulled from the whiskey. “Except I feel fine.”
“Not everyone’s made of Teflon,” Kalos said with a sad smile. The computer finished processing some data and emitted a chime. From the live footage, it seemed he had repositioned a satellite to get a view of the entrance to the Fae Plains.
“That’s not good,” I said, stating the obvious. Kalos tapped a few keys, zooming in the feed.
A shambling army encroached on a rotting wooden entrance.
And one man stood before them, firing into the mouth of the abyss.
Colton Roark.
13
Kalos brushed dirt from his black hair as we sprinted across the desert. Rain sprinkled down from the gray sky, lightning cracking on the flat horizon. His .45 flashed as he adjusted his white t-shirt.
He glanced over, breathing heavily. “You look deep in thought.”
“Not really.” He shrugged and gave me one of those looks like he didn’t believe me. “You told me once that I could be anything I wanted.”
“Doesn’t sound like me,” Kalos said with a wry grin. “But at least you chose something you’re good at.”
“A killer.”
“Could be worse.” His legs churned in the desert dust. Argos sped ahead, outpacing us both. The entrance to the Fae Plains was about a mile to the north. Roark didn’t look like he had that type of time.
“How so?”
“You could be unemployed.”
There was a fierce howl in the distance that was most definitely not coyotes. More like…
“Vanished,” Kalos said, no fear in his voice.
“Which means there’s a demon somewhere.”
“Hopefully not nearby.”
I took the shotgun off my back and racked it, the sharp noise slicing over the rainy desert. We ran in somber silence over the cracked earth. The desert had an infinite nature, like a Mobius strip. Each step brought us closer to our destination, but the endless horizon never moved. It made it feel like we were running in place.
“You told me you were sorry,” I said, peering into the rain for movement. Still no sign of Roark.
“I really think you have the wrong man, Ruby,” Kalos said, pretending to draw down with the .45 as he ran. “You’ll ruin my reputation, you keep up with these falsehoods.”
“Right before I was about to die on those butcher shop stairs,” I said. “You did. For bringing me into your world.”
“I was sorry. If I hadn’t come into the print shop, then you wouldn’t have been down in that cellar.” Kalos shrugged, his t-shirt clinging to his skin. “But I guess things worked out in the end. Because the world wouldn’t be here without you.”
The Vanished howled on the horizon, reminding me of Roark’s fate. I redoubled my pace, trying to urge my legs to go faster. We’d be too late to save him. No way he had held off the horde alone, with only his pistol.
I said, “What does your code say to do when someone’s inflicted with demon bloodlust?” Such was your fate if you were bitten by the Vanished. An unpleasant descent into madness, if there ever was one.
“I haven’t lived by the code in a long time, Ruby.” Kalos shot me a glance. “Because I’m no longer half-demon.”
“Fair enough.”
A gun barked on the horizon. I finally saw a thick ring of bodies in the gray afternoon light. Something was holding them back, keeping them from launching an all-out attack. Their master lay in wait somewhere nearby.
I racked the shotgun and aimed, shredding three of the Vanished with MagiTekk’s lethal ammo. A few turned and snarled, noticing our presence. Kalos’s .45 barked.
The wisps carved a path through the rain. I cleared out some bodies, sprinting through the gap in their tight racks. I ducked beneath an outstretched arm, firing at a woman brandishing an umbrella.
Safely on the inside of the circle, I gasped, recognizing the short-sleeved polo shirt in the mud. Roark was slumped against a rotten wooden support beam that was jutting out of the desert. The recent rain had revealed the buried entrance.
“No.” I broke into a dead run, howls pounding at my ears. “No, no, no, no.”
Throat dry, I slid to a halt next to his body and touched his face. The sad blue eyes were closed forever, the brown hair matted by dust and tumbleweeds. His arm bled—a gash from a knife or a switchblade. A few other minor wounds were visible through his torn clothing.
The pistol laid silently by his side.
“You can’t die, you son of a bitch.” Bringing my lips to his ear, I said, “Goddamnit, Colton Roark, you can’t do this.”
Cold fingers touched my arm, and I recoiled with a surprised scream. I heard a soft chuckle that sounded like a rusty piece of machinery due to his parched throat.
“I thought you only liked me for my looks, Ruby.” Roark’s head turned slightly, the slivers of his blue eyes visible. “But now I know for sure.”
Kalos stomped through the mud, looking no worse for wear. He said, “We need to get him up.”
“Can you stand?”
Roark grimaced and said, “I’ve been out here since yesterday.”
Roark’s eyes flickered shut before I could respond.
“The dog is drunk and Mom doesn’t care,” I said with a small smile, shaking him.
“You remembered that. Wow.” His eyes didn’t open.
“You remember telling me?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “Time loop?”
I patted his hand. He winced and said, “Come on, that hurts.”
Well, that wouldn’t do in a fight—so I did the only thing I could think of.
I took the second-to-last booster shot out of my pocket and jammed it right in his neck—straight to the source.
14
The booster shot may have worked, b
ut it didn’t fix a far bigger problem: the mob of soulless acolytes who wanted to tear us limb from limb. Staring out at the army, I wondered how Kalos and I had even managed to cut through. Because my intuition sure as hell wasn’t charting a course back out of this mess.
The Vanished snarled around us in the downpour, forming a jagged circle. I backed up, bumping into Roark and Kalos. Together, we formed a little triangular island in the middle of some very precarious seas.
Soccer moms, construction workers—normal people turned into soulless husks. Harvested to sate a demon’s bloodlust, only continuing to faithfully serve their master.
An ear-piercing shriek from the unseen master caused the minions to answer with an equally horrible caterwaul. Wincing like I’d just bit a lemon, I considered firing the shotgun next to my ear to deafen myself.
“Odessa,” Kalos said, the remnants of a demonic growl tinging his voice. “She wants the map.”
“You know her?” I asked. “Could’ve told us.”
“She’s been following us. Harcourt’s blasting the Tributary details to every media outlet finally let her zero in.”
“But she can’t know I have the actual map.”
“She’ll find out,” Kalos said as the ring of soulless bodies tightened around us. They were close enough now to see their empty eyes. Totally subservient to their demoness master. “Must be her lucky day.”
“At least someone’s getting lucky.” I racked and raised the shotgun. For Vanished, these specimens were surprisingly tame. The wisps trickled through the thin gaps in their ranks, flowing across the wet, sunburnt plains. Their blood red hue told me that Odessa was nearby, pulling her minions’ strings.
“They aren’t moving,” Roark said. “Why aren’t they moving?”
“Why didn’t they kill you?”
An answer came, traveling on the stormy winds. The sound didn’t so much rush through the air as become part of its very fabric.
“Bait,” Odessa’s imperial voice announced. “The attractive one was bait.”
Ruby Callaway: The Complete Collection Page 45
