Ruby Callaway: The Complete Collection

by D. N. Erikson

  “It’ll have to be,” Argos said, sniffing the container’s lip. “Time is of the…essence.”

  He shook his head and groaned at his own bad joke before heading off perpendicular to the path. Nettles and thorns scratched at my dress as I followed, dribbling the blood behind us.

  “Not so much,” he said with a snarl. “We can’t get more.”

  “Well, we could.”

  He let out his best menacing growl in response, and I tipped the pouch a little more upright, slowing the fall to a drizzle. Every few steps I would lift it up completely before continuing the pour.

  It’s amazing how long a quart-sized container lasts under careful rationing. By the time I was shaking the last drops from its bottom folds, my face was covered in welts from what must have been miles of shrubbery.

  Light emerged on the opposite side of the forest, shining through the dense pines.

  I pointed. “I’m not going crazy.”

  “To the best of my knowledge, no,” Argos said, a quizzical tenor in his voice.

  “So you see the shop?” The general store stood a stone’s throw away through the trees, facing another, better-maintained road into the city. Puzzles and gears clicked in my head. With supplies, we could formulate a better plan than Argos waiting as bait and me pouncing with the spear from above as the wolf closed in.

  Sometimes reading books comes in handy.

  “I do not believe it’s a mirage.” The dog took a few steps forward. “It appears we traveled farther than expected.”

  “You’re the one who insisted on that.”

  “And look at the benefits,” Argos said, puffing out his chest like he’d planned it all along. He threw his head over his shoulder and looked back, as if to say coming?

  I wrinkled my nose and dutifully traipsed behind him, happy to be free from the forest. When we popped out on the road—grass ground down to dust from all the traffic—I made a mental note of our path.

  The dog was too busy thinking himself a tactical genius of Napoleonic proportions. Too bad we hadn’t even scored a victory yet, let alone won the war.

  All we’d done thus far was flee.

  His claws pitter-pattered against the sturdy wooden stairs. He waited by the entrance, tail wagging steadily.

  “Let me do the talking,” I said as I reached for the handle.

  “Do you ever let anyone else?”

  I stuck out my tongue and swung the heavy oak open, narrowly missing the tip of his nose. The smell of dried meats, oats and burlap hit my nose as I entered the shop.

  A woman, not old but not young, either, glanced up from the counter. Spectacles dangled from a worn chain around her neck. She gave me a nonplussed once-over but no greeting, returning to the crinkled newspaper spread out before her.

  “Is it okay if my dog comes in, ma’am?” I asked.

  She didn’t look up. “Depends, really.”

  “On what?”

  “I don’t want him talkin’ and scaring the shit out of my customers.”

  I stared at her, mouth agape, frozen in place before a wooden display rack of cured jerky. My mouth wrinkled and twisted, but I couldn’t find a good retort, so I just looked stupidly ahead until she sighed.

  “Goodness, child, I’m trying to read here.”

  Finally I said, “But there’s no one else here.”

  “Well shit, you’re more perceptive than I thought.” When she shook her head, the spectacles waved back and forth like a pendulum. “And by that I mean essence help us all.”

  Argos growled on the other side of the door, asking to be let in. I shuffled over and obliged, the border collie shooting through the narrowest of cracks. His ears were on end.

  “This is what happens when I let you do the talking,” he said.

  “Don’t worry,” the shopkeeper said. “You’re both idiots. Might as well be carrying signs with big old targets on your back.”

  The dog barked twice and the woman waved him off.

  “This one, though,” the woman said, giving me a throwaway glance, “She has potential. If she doesn’t stab herself with that damn spear.”

  I glanced down at the wooden shaft. “How’d you know?”

  “I’d be a terrible Seer if I didn’t notice the essence and aura trails you lot are giving off. Might as well be a signal fire smoking in the distance.” She rustled the paper and finally gave us her full attention. “Speaking of which.”

  Her face assumed an even sterner expression. I wanted to jump into one of the massive sacks of grain and hide beneath the dried kernels.

  Instead I said, “That’s why we came.”

  “For supplies,” the woman strode out from behind the counter. Somehow, she seemed shorter. “To interrupt Pearl’s reading and bring a werewolf sniffing around her place of business.”

  “Uh, well, we didn’t know you were, um, what you were.”

  “Of course not.” Pearl ran her hands through her tangled black hair, grumbling to herself. “That would be setting expectations far too high.”

  She disappeared into a back area separated only by thin strands of fabric. I heard her rustle and root around, sounding like a cook preparing dinner. Argos and I shared a glance but said nothing. Her rebukes had shamed us both into temporary silence.

  Two minutes later, Pearl emerged with a large iron trap, its teeth glittering with menacing glee. She threw it down on the counter. The iron almost seemed capable of shaking the sturdy structure to its foundations.

  “For your werewolf problem. Set it in the woods like so.” She fearlessly opened up the jaws until there was a click. “Don’t put your hand in it.” Pearl looked down at the ground. “Or paw.”

  Then, without warning, she picked up a nearby stick and pressed the center. The teeth closed with terminal velocity, snapping shut with a sound loud enough to crush my bones through vibration alone.

  “It’s something,” Pearl said, giving me a nod as I recovered.

  “But how’d you know—”

  “About the wolf?” Pearl walked around the other end of the counter. “Same way I know your name is Ruby.”

  Magical intuition. That would be nice to have.

  Any powers would be nice to have. Although she had said, in the beginning, that I had…potential. Which was death by faint praise, if I’d ever heard it.

  I propped the spear against the counter and reached over to pick up the steel trap.

  “And just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I thought you’re helping us.”

  “Like hell I’m some sort of charity for little wayward creatures trying to get themselves killed.” She folded her arms and gave me that stern look of hers. “You have plenty of gold.”

  “Of course you’d know that,” I said beneath my breath as I fished within the folds of my dress. I removed the coins. “How much is it?”

  “You’ll need something to keep him from smelling you, too.”

  “And how much will that be?”

  “Oh, I’ll tell you when.”

  I kept counting until she held up her hand. It turned out that werewolf hunting got pretty expensive. I handed the money over and examined the bundle of goods I would have to carry out.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have a sleeve for the spear,” I said. I jingled the pouch and gave her a smirk, just in case she thought I was looking for a handout.

  “See, you’re catching on,” she said, disappearing into the back room once again. “Hell, you two might just survive the hour.”

  Survival.

  What a comforting thought.

  8

  Argos was of no help setting the trap in the forest, grumbling the entire time about the Seer’s lack of confidence in his untapped abilities. I would’ve told him to shut up, but it was probably better that way—the poor dog was liable to be swallowed by the iron’s mighty jaws without the benefits of opposable thumbs.

  I surveyed my handiwork from a thick copse of bushes. I half expected the trap
to snap shut on its own, but found that it stayed put, camouflaged beneath the foliage.

  I’d even thought to add water to the now-empty blood pouch, dumping the diluted contents into the center. But now, I wondered if that would be too deliberate and obvious—a sign that something was afoot. Blood droplets and then, suddenly, a geyser?

  Pearl might have been right. Maybe we were both idiots.

  The leaves shook, and I reached over to pat the shaking dog.

  “It’ll be okay,” I said in a low tone.

  “He’ll die.”

  “We’re all going to live.”

  “I told him it was dumb to bother the wolf. I told him—”

  I grasped the fur around the scruff of his neck as a branch snapped in the distance. He swallowed his words, and I crouched, scraping my hands along the ground for Woden’s Spear. My heart pounded within my ears, blood flooding to my head like an intoxicating narcotic.

  My eyes narrowed, searching for movement, breath catching in my throat from the thrill of the hunt. I watched through the mesh of leaves as Albin strode forward, following our manmade path. The taste of victory touched my tongue.

  We’d done it. His long fingers passed over the bloodied branches, broad shoulders swinging through the forest with a hunter’s confidence. I felt the imperfections in the shaft press into my palm.

  Albin paused, standing upright.

  The stench of whatever masking salve Pearl had sold us rose in my nostrils. It seemed ludicrous that this cross between unwashed linens and mud would obscure our scent. I waited for the inevitable—for the wolf’s eyes to slowly turn toward our hiding spot, a cool sapphire gleam accompanied by a knowing smirk.

  Instead, almost too quick to savor the moment, he hit the trap. Its iron maw snapped around his ankle with a decisive crack, splintering bone and sinew as the ancient wolf crumpled to the ground.

  His feral howl was almost enough to make me lose my nerve, but I pushed down my fear, unleashing a war cry as I charged from the underbrush. Startled, Albin twisted over to face me.

  The spear tore through his shoulder, eliciting another pained cry. His free hand whirled around, smashing me in the back. I stumbled forward, trying to maintain my grip on the spear. Succeeding, I unfortunately sacrificed my balance and flew into the dirt.

  I heard the ominous sound of the trap being dragged, bones continuing to break as Albin willed himself forward. Stabbing the spear into the ground, I pushed myself upward and wheeled around to face my wounded foe. Blood streamed from his torn shoulder, his leg askew beneath him.

  I held out the spear, warning him to stay away.

  “The fight is yours, print shop girl,” he said, blood dripping from his fang-like teeth. “Finish it.”

  Something held me back. His growling and pained yelps seemed overexaggerated, too loud. Or maybe it was merely fear keeping me from lunging at the alpha wolf. I scanned the forest with my peripheral vision, some latent intuition shouting about an unseen danger.

  Then I heard Argos bark, shrill and irritated. A rustle burst through the swirl of noises, and I spun, slashing blindly at the dark forest. The spear’s razor sharp edge caught a man—one of the watchmen from the night before, I realized—directly in the throat. Blood erupted from his neck, and he dropped his sword, falling to his knees.

  “It is even more powerful than I imagined.” Albin’s voice was tinged with lust.

  And, more worrisome, the boldness of a victor, not someone broken and bleeding in a trap.

  More branches snapped, sounds cascading toward me from every direction, encircling me like a wheel’s spokes. I should’ve known that Albin wouldn’t hunt a demon alone. As constable, he had considerable resources at his fingertips.

  And as an alpha wolf, he had even more.

  Argos yelped, an enemy closing in on him.

  I caught a flash to the right of the dead man. A gun, aimed at my head. I hurled the spear, its balance suddenly perfect. The pistol fired harmlessly into the air as the legendary weapon plunged through his abdomen.

  I fumbled for my own double-barreled flintlock pistol, the walls of the forest closing like a hangman’s noose.

  A punch caught me in the back of the head, buffeting me to the ground. I still fought, clamoring for the pistol, desperate to load the silver bullets inside. A boot crashed down on my leg, stopping my scramble. Rough hands pressed me face down in the dirt, as I listened to the men greedily rip Woden’s Spear from their dead companion’s still-warm corpse.

  I inhaled pine needles and green leaves, trying to shake myself free. Somewhere nearby, Argos continued to whine until he was finally silenced by a massive kick to the gut. Then it was just a momentary whimper.

  Somehow, that was worse.

  Albin let out a mighty groan as his associates freed him from the vicious trap. His unsteady gait rattled my way, anger emanating from every awkward step. The leaves stopped crackling, and I knew the wolf was looming over me, ready to deliver the coup de grâce.

  “Very impressive for a print shop girl.” A minor gasp of pain accompanied the words. It gave me satisfaction that he was trying to hide it.

  “Let me up and I’ll finish the job.” I squirmed and kicked, barely moving beneath the weight of his lackeys.

  “Where is the demon?” These words dripped venom.

  “I won’t tell you anything.”

  “The dog has sworn the same oath, apparently,” Albin said. He wheezed as he crouched over. I could see his mangled leg with the eye that wasn’t pushed into the dirt. “Perhaps I even believe you.”

  “You should.” Although, to be honest, I suspected I would perform poorly when torture became more than a threat.

  “No matter. Kalos will come to me.” He raised his nose to the wind and drew in deeply. “Perhaps he already comes.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

  “We shall see,” Albin said, running the spear’s tip over his outstretched palm. I didn’t know much about its lineage, but anything belonging to a Norse god was probably better kept away from a power-hungry wolf. “The full moon is near, print shop girl.”

  I thought that would mark the end of our time together, but he remained crouched. His labored breathing tickled my skin as he bent over to speak into my ear. “And I have two openings in my army.”

  “I’d hardly call that an army,” I said, wishing I could roll away from his hot breath.

  “Perhaps you would rather call it a pack.”

  I shivered at the word. “I would rather you just stopped talking.”

  “The demon will answer to me once the transformation is complete.” I could almost hear the gears clicking into place within his malevolent mind. “Irony.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He will help me free my masters from the prison where he sent them.” His lips almost touched my ear now. “And, I believe, so will you.”

  Before I could scream or ask what that meant, I heard a snarl.

  And then I felt Albin’s jaws clamp around my neck, digging deep into my flesh.

  9

  Kalos

  Fuck.

  I pushed the tatters of the ragged linen shirt up my forearms, trying to cool off. A night sweat clung to my skin, the consequence of feverish dreams that I’d sooner forget. The faint scent of smoke still hung everywhere: my clothes, nose, even my mouth. I spat on the dry ground and rose creakily to my feet.

  Reality flashed by in a blur, causing the room to spin.

  Argos. The spear. Ruby.

  Albin.

  They’d gone to hunt for Albin. To kill Albin.

  Idiots.

  I lurched forward, ready to pursue them into the dark night. Instead, I promptly pitched face-first into a musty haystack, strands of dried grass going up my nose. I sneezed loudly and coughed as pain surged through the festering wound.

  Morning. They’d left in the morning.

  If they’d succeeding in killing the old bastard, they would’ve returned by now. The thought ma
de me sink deeper into the pile of hay.

  Everything was gone, swallowed by Albin’s dark vortex. I had awoken a sleeping monster. Now my friends reaped the consequences.

  No, that was a little overdramatic. Albin was formidable, but he was no Marrack. Hardly an unslayable king or god-killer.

  Just a werewolf.

  And only one friend was out there. Rebecca—Ruby, rather—I hardly knew. But I felt something worse regarding her fate: responsible. Guilty, even. The dog was smart enough to know better.

  She didn’t know just how futile trying to kill Albin would be.

  With a plaintive groan, I rolled over, managing to free myself from the hay. I crawled about the decrepit barn, my mind working in fragments. She had brought a kit. Emergency supplies. I searched the ground like a drunk in pursuit of another drink.

  I didn’t have to look far. The kit sat nestled in the corner of the opposing stall. Its dented metal exterior beckoned me closer, the thirty-foot gap resembling miles.

  It was amazing I hadn’t died on the walk out here.

  And I would die—everyone would die—if I stayed. Demon-wolf nipped at the corners of my mind, spurring me forward. The metal casing rattled as I shook the contents out. I peered at the haul through bleary eyes, trying to make sense of the vials.

  One caught my attention: a neatly labeled number with the word essence.

  I tore the cork stopper from the top and drank the viscous fluid. My veins pulsed, and I felt a new energy settle within my bones. Magical power in its pure and fundamental state. Dangerous to imbibe in significant quantities. As a retrieval specialist, I’d melted down more than my fair share of magical artifacts—and creatures—for the essence within. Tasted its powers many times.

  I no longer partook, due to the threat of severe psychosis and megalomania.

  But, the shape I was in, I had a better chance of dropping dead from fatigue or blood loss than grappling with any bouts of insanity. Besides, the dose was too small for severe side effects. The only real danger was that it allowed me to move at all. In my state, even walking was potentially lethal.

  “Both you assholes should’ve just run,” I said to myself as I limped out of the crumbling barn. But the two of them had tried to save me—and, rather predictably, failed. And now I owed them the same courtesy.