Hoarfrost (Blood of Cain Book 2)

by J. L. Murray

  "Frankie." In the silence of the room, I made my head turn toward Dekker. He was looking hard at me, something brittle behind his eyes. "I know what you're thinking," he said.

  "Maybe I was thinking about unicorns."

  "Come on, Frankie. Don't do this."

  "I haven't done anything," I said, but I had to look away from him. "I guess we should get some sleep."

  "I'm not leaving," he said. "If that's what you're thinking."

  "You're just going to camp out in my room the whole time we're here?" I said. "Because why? You think I'm going to jump in front of a train? Slit my wrists? Jump off a cliff? Try to make it stick?" I remembered my dream. Ome, the cowboy with two faces, said, Whoever claimed to wake you up. Was it just a dream? But I dismissed that idea as fast as I considered it. Yes, it was just a dream.

  "Don't lie to me." Dekker stood up quickly and cast his gaze toward the window. He looked back to me, surprised. "Did you hear something just now?"

  "No," I said. "And I'm not lying. I'm not going to kill myself. But if something happens while we're here, I can't stop it. We're here to do a job, right?" But Dekker wasn't listening. He'd gone to the window and wiped the mist off the glass with his hand, crying out and stumbling backward when he saw what was on the other side.

  An owl, the biggest I'd ever seen, wings spread from one side of the window to the other, flapping slightly to stay suspended in the air, its piercing eyes somehow flashing bright in the darkness. It didn't made a sound, it didn't even blink. It looked at us through the glass for a moment, as if assessing us. Then, without a sound, it dropped out of the sky. I joined Dekker at the window and watched as it caught the air below and soared toward the beach, disappearing into the dark night.

  Dekker and I didn't move. I don't think either of us even breathed for a very long time.

  "I'm going to stay," he said after a while.

  "Okay, sounds good," I said.

  I'd barely closed my eyes when I felt a slight rocking, as if I were on a boat, and for a moment I thought the motel was crashing into the sea, the dilapidated wood finally rotted in the salt air and I was going to die wrapped in Dekker's arms. But I didn't panic. I was calm. And softly I spoke a word: "Finally."

  But the slow rocking continued and the walls didn't collapse, Dekker and I weren't crushed by a heaving roof. In fact I couldn't even feel Dekker beside me anymore. I smelled old cigarettes and greasy food far past its prime, industrial cleaner, and bubble gum.

  "Is she alive?" said a hoarse, imploring voice.

  "Be patient," said another, softer. "It is not easy, and we are yet far away."

  I opened my eyes. And then I did panic a little. I sat up straight in my chair – a chair, and not the bed I'd lain down in – and tried manically to process where I was.

  "Am I on a fucking Greyhound bus?" I said to no one in particular.

  "It was necessary for you to come," said a man sitting next to me. I turned to look at him, my heart in my throat. Was I going crazy? He blinked at me calmly with black eyes. He had long, shining ebony hair that ran down the back of his faded denim jacket. He was Native American, with an old, weathered face, wrinkled kindly around the eyes, and a strangely long and pointed nose. A scruffy gray dog lay at his feet, wrapped in a therapy dog vest. The dog eyed me hungrily and growled.

  "What the fuck is this? Am I dreaming again?"

  "She's a motherfucking sharp one, ain't she?" said the hoarse voice I'd heard before. But the Native American man's mouth hadn't moved. I looked around for the source, but all the passengers seemed to be dead asleep, their heads bobbing in rhythm to the rocking of the bus. The dog had stopped growling and panted up at me, his mouth curled as though he were laughing.

  "We should have met long ago, Frankie Mourning, and I apologize for my lateness." The man was talking, and the dog cocked an ear, as if listening. There was something definitely weird about the dog. There was something weird about all of it.

  "What's happening?" I said, unable to keep the fear from my voice. "Who the fuck are you?"

  "You're not going crazy, if that's what you're thinking," said the man. "At least not yet. You may consider me a representative."

  "Of what, the League of Denim?" I said.

  The dog made a strange noise, something like laughter. The air around it shimmered and for a moment another animal took his place. An animal too large, too wild to be here, with bristling fur and long, shining teeth that flashed in the dim light as he laughed. But then the image disappeared and all that remained was a mangy dog in a red vest.

  "Coyote likes you," said the man. "He doesn't show just anyone who he is."

  I swallowed hard, watching the dog, watching the man. "What are you?" I said. "Are you one of them? One of Lilith's kids?" The old man laughed loudly, honking through his nose. I shook my head as the dog started laughing again, too. "It's finally happened," I said, "I've gone off the deep end."

  The old man stopped laughing and his face went somber. "I assure you," he said, his voice a whisper, "that all of this is very, very real." I looked down at the dog, who was still laughing. It looked up at me and I saw the great wild animal I'd seen shimmering before.

  "I'd personally love it if this were all one big hallucinatory fantasy," said the dog – Coyote, the man called him. "But if wishes were bat shit, we'd all be drowning in guano."

  "Jesus Christ," I murmured.

  "We are not exactly your average passersby," said the old man, rubbing his long nose. "Coyote is not really a therapy dog."

  "No shit," I said. "What the fuck is this? Are you the ones after Abel? The ones the wraiths are afraid of?"

  "Abel's creeps? Abel wouldn't see us coming if we gave him a detailed schedule of his own ass kicking," said Coyote. And for a moment, I forgot it was crazy to be talking to a dog and I laughed.

  "We are very old, Frankie," said the old man. "We're mostly retired, but we do take an occasional stroll about the countryside. And we have our special interests."

  "And I'm one of those interests?" I said.

  "You might say that," said the man.

  "You might say you're our only interest," said Coyote. "You might say that you're the only thing that matters right now."

  "You are still sleeping, curled against your lover," said the man. "And yet, you sit here, talking to us in Indianapolis."

  "We passed Indianapolis ages ago," said Coyote. "You're getting senile."

  "It doesn't matter where we are," said the man, "only that you believe in us."

  "Fuck no, I don't believe in you," I said. "I don't know what you heard about me, but I'm a powder keg of fucked-uppedness that was bound to crack one day." I made an exploding sound with my mouth. "Y'all are just part of whatever shitty fantasy my head is making up right now. Just like that other guy."

  "You think this is a shitty fantasy?" said Coyote. "You should have seen the last motel we stayed at."

  "What other guy?" said the man. "Has someone else found you?"

  "That wasn't real either," I said. "He had two faces."

  "You talked to Ometeotl?" said Coyote. "Which face did you like better?"

  "The pretty one," I said, and he laughed.

  "This is real, Frankie," said the man, growing irritated. "You are here, with us. And I am trying to warn you of what's to come."

  "What's to come is easy," I said. "I show up. I kill some people. I probably freak out a little because I'm charming that way. Maybe I die, maybe I don't. Then I wake up again. Is that about right?"

  An old woman with wispy white hair stirred in the seat in front of me. She turned around, her hands raised above her aged face, a tangle of red yarn between her fingers. "Oh, you will die, Frankie Mourning," she said with an accent of some sort, cackling, smiling through several missing teeth. "Your thread's cut so many times that some parts are nothing but wisps. You were easy to find, my girl. I only had to look for the thread that looked like it'd been through a wood chipper."

  "Quiet, Atropos," hissed
the old man. "You're going to scare her."

  "It’s Moira, old man. Or shall I tell her who you are? Besides, she's not going to scare easy. Look at her. Spine of stone, this one. If she spoke to Ome without pissing all over herself, she can certainly talk to me."

  "Sit down, you old bat," said Coyote. "We're trying to be civilized here."

  "That never got your people very far," said the old woman, Moira. The old man glared at her, opened his mouth, wider than it should go, and screamed at her, a short, spirited shout. The air shimmered around him, his long nose becoming a beak, his sleek hair becoming black and iridescent feathers, flapping his wings until Moira turned around and fiddled with her yarn. I blinked and the old man was back, smiling benignly at me.

  "I am Mr. Corvid," he said.

  "Raven," I said. "You're a raven."

  "I told you she was a bright one," said Coyote.

  "You said that sarcastically," I said. "Okay, this is really weird, and I'm probably crazy, but you have my attention. How about you just tell me what the fuck you want? Because at any moment I might start drooling or foaming at the mouth."

  "You're not crazy," said Mr. Corvid again.

  "Yet," said Coyote. "Just look at Moira if you want to see crazy. Lost both her sisters and now it's just her and that fucking yarn."

  "I'm not crazy, I'm eccentric," said Moira, without turning around.

  "Her hearing's still fine, " said Coyote.

  "Frankie," said Mr. Corvid, "I brought you here to warn you."

  "Let me guess, I'm going to have to make a choice?"

  Mr. Corvid glanced at Coyote and the two exchanged a look before they looked back at me. "Someone has ripped the fabric of the world," said Mr. Corvid. "And as people are fond of saying, all Hell is about to break loose."

  "Cain," I said. "Cain did it, right? When he set Lilith's children free. And now someone is going to set the world on fire and everyone in it. Sound about right?"

  "See?" said Coyote. "She knows more than we do."

  "It doesn't matter how it happens," said Mr. Corvid. "All that matters is you."

  "What the fuck am I going to do about it?"

  "You're going to fix it, you idiot," said Coyote. "You're the only one who can fix the rips in the world. Sew them up, tight as a drum, before something worse than Lilith's demons escape."

  "Or it will destroy the world?" I said. "That's it? Just another monster?"

  "You sound disappointed," said Coyote.

  "How am I supposed to fix the rips in the world?" I said. "I can barely take care of myself, and now all you weirdos are telling me I'm in charge of saving the world. You might want a second opinion."

  "She doesn't know what she is yet," Moira called from her seat.

  "The old lady's right," said Coyote. "Maybe she's not the right one."

  "She is," said Mr. Corvid. "I've seen it. I've seen what she can do in my dreams. I watched her. She closed up one of the holes. She is already fixing the universe."

  "Not fast enough," said Coyote.

  "The holes," I said. "You mean where I killed the monster? Lilith's kid, the one who ruined my life?"

  "Your life would be shit anyway," said Coyote. "Look at us. We used to be gods."

  "Gods?" I said. "Again with the gods. That's what the other guy said, too."

  "Quiet, Coyote!" said Mr. Corvid. Then, kindly, "There are a great many people looking for you, Frankie Mourning. We just had the good fortune to find you in the beginning."

  "The good fortune to find old Moira, he means! I told him where you were."

  "Do we have to bring her along?" Coyote said, bobbing his head toward the old woman.

  "I made a promise," said Mr. Corvid, but sounded like he regretted it. "Listen, Frankie, we don't have a lot of time. There are things on the other side of the veil that must not wriggle through."

  "From the Darkness?" I said.

  "That's what some call it," he said. "But there really isn't a name for what sort of place it is. We all worked together once. Just that one time. We banded together to banish the dark things of the universe. And if they are able to come back, if they are free again, I don't know what will happen."

  "Who else is looking for me? And who are you all? I mean, who are you really?"

  "I told you I used to be a god," said Coyote. "You don't believe me?"

  "Gods," I said. "Like, real gods. Odin and Thor and shit?"

  "Those posers," said Coyote. "We're the real heroes of the stories. Not some bullshit all-knowing asshole handing out lightning bolts. A bunch of different assholes doing much stupider shit."

  "Not all survived," said Mr. Corvid. "And not all are willing to come forward."

  "Cowards," said Moira. "They all turned yellow the moment their powers ran out."

  "What about you?" I said, looking at Mr. Corvid. "You said you brought me here. So you still have power."

  "A little," he said. "Some old followers here and there. I get by. But to be honest, you did most of the work."

  "Because I'm the Walker of Worlds?" I said dramatically. "Come on. This is all bullshit, right?" I looked from Coyote to Mr. Corvid, but their expressions were completely serious and I sighed. "So there will be others. Are you going to help me, or just disrupt my beauty sleep with more warnings?"

  "We cannot help, exactly," said Mr. Corvid. "None of us are strong anymore. You are the one with the power now, Frankie. The moment you were born, I felt infinitely weaker, as did we all. It's a constant evolution, no energy is wasted. That includes magic."

  "The moment I was born," I repeated, remembering Ome in my dream, a naked baby with black wings. This couldn't be real. Just a dream. But I wasn't so sure anymore. "You're saying that I sucked the power out of a bunch of gods. That's the craziest shit I've heard all night, and I've been talking to a dog."

  "Woof," said Coyote, and winked at me.

  "Many are expecting you," said Mr. Corvid. "We just didn't know who you were or where you would be."

  "My parents were a scam artist preacher and a crazy religious zealot," I said. "You expect me to believe that I'm, what? Some sort of prophecy?"

  "Jesus was born to a virgin and a carpenter," said Mr. Corvid. "And look how he turned out."

  "No," I said. "This is crazy. This is not what I want. Not at all."

  "What do you want?" said Mr. Corvid. "Do you want to live in the world? Because without you, no one can live, not really. The dark things will take away joy, they will rain terror down on everyone. And not even the gods will be safe. Is that what you want?"

  "No," I said. "I just thought..."

  "She wants an ending," called Moira. "It used to be death she wanted. But now she wants something else. Something bigger. Something impossible."

  "You want a happily-ever-after, is that it?" said Coyote. "Sister, no one gets a happily-ever-after. Especially not us."

  "Fuck off," I said. "I never asked for shit."

  "But you did," Moira called, singsong. "You whispered it into your pillow, into your tears, into your soul. You never stop praying, even if you don't mean to. And sometimes, we hear you. You want a life, you poor girl. You want to run away with the lying man and have beautiful babies together."

  "I do not want babies," I said.

  "And yet, you will have to die over and over, my poor, sweet girl. You have so much farther to go. And the road is not made for such as us. We cannot take the road, but must wade through the briars and the mud and the shit to where we are needed."

  "And where is that?" I said, watching the old woman's white hair vibrate with the bus.

  "To redemption," she said. "To justice, to decimation, to utter annihilation. To whatever it is you are searching for. But never, my girl, to happiness."

  "You have to die," said Mr. Corvid. "That's how you close the veil. You have to die a hundred deaths. And then you can rest."

  "You have to die," agreed Coyote, with sympathy this time. "Life's a bitch and then you die. Some more than others. You most of all."r />
  "So I have to die? That's it?" I said.

  "That is everything," said Mr. Corvid.

  "The more you die, the more you lose," said Moira.

  "And the longer it takes, the less of you there will be to go around," said Coyote.

  "So I just have to jump, like the last time," I said. "All I have to do is fall."

  "And take whatever wriggled out along with you," said Coyote. "And if you find Lilith, slit her throat. This is all her fucking fault. It's always Lilith's fault."

  "The other one," I said. "He told me that if I killed her monsters, I was going to make things worse. Is that true? How could it be worse than the world burning up?"

  "There are...differing theories," said Mr. Corvid.

  "Differing theories about what?" I said, looking from the dog to the man and back again.

  "About you," said Coyote. "We don't exactly know what's going to happen."

  "Are you fucking kidding me?" I said. "You're just guessing?"

  "We know some things," said Mr. Corvid. "Bits and pieces. And we know where it all ends. But the middle is a little iffy. No one knows for sure, Frankie, until it happens. But we do know one thing. You're at the center of it all. You're going to decide the fates of everyone.”

  The old woman turned around, peering at me from between the seats. "You won't see us again for some time. It's on your shoulders for now. We'll see you down the road."

  "Down the road?" I said. "But I need your help. I can't do this alone."

  "You're not alone," said Coyote. "You have your ravens."

  "We'll see you here," said the old woman, pointing to a knot in her yarn. She wiggled her fingers and the knot split apart as if someone cut it with invisible scissors. "Whoops," said Moira. "Guess you die then, too."

  SEVEN

  I woke to a cold bed and whistling from the bathroom. Blearily, I squinted through the glaring sunlight streaming through the window. The drapes were opened wide. I blinked, getting my bearings. A dream, just a weird, fucked up dream. I sat up, my heart still racing, then noticed something tangled in my fingers and I looked down and froze. A small tangle of red yarn. Suppressing a scream, I tried to throw the yarn on the floor, but as it fell from my fingers, it separated, becoming a hundred red threads, wisps of scarlet floating to the floor. I stared at the fuzz that blended into the carpet and blinked.