It was a symbiotic dance, unknowable, unbelievable, unthinkable. And perfect.
And now the moon sent spidery tendrils that wrapped around my ankles, tugging ever so slightly, keeping me off balance.
But I couldn’t leave.
Not yet.
I had to see her again.
Madeline, the writer. The human who had been marked by my cousin.
I knew now that I should have been watching her more closely. From the moment I first saw her, I had been able to smell her, had almost been able to taste her dreams. I should have been at her side, protecting her from the very danger I had invited.
I should be with her tonight when the moon sang, strong and sweet and insistent. When she came back to the cabin and lay in her bed, eyes closed, vision focused on another world.
But she had slammed the door closed before I could convince her to invite me in. And now I hugged the wall outside her door, like the wretched beast I truly was, ashamed of the desire that sang through my veins. Ashamed because I knew now it wasn’t all about the harvest.
I wondered what it would be like to hold her in my arms, to kiss her. Humans were so different from Darklings. My own kind were all muscle and bone, every inch of flesh lean from hours of flight, from the physical demands of transforming from one beast to another, from the constant movement, since we never slept.
But human women were soft and pliant, their flesh inviting—almost demanding—that you pull them closer.
At that moment, the door swung open.
As always, when Maddie stepped outside, the world around her suddenly turned submissive. The wind shivered through the trees with a softer note, the snow flurries cleared a path, etched with paisley patterns. Even the moon herself peeked through sullen clouds and cast a path of silvery light.
If ever there was a magical creature, it was her.
A sigh echoed through my chest, came out in a gentle puff of frost.
She glanced in my direction, though I crouched hidden and invisible in velvet blue shadows. I longed to reach out and pull her into the Land of Dreams, to hold her in my arms and kiss her as she fell asleep.
But of course, she didn’t see me. I was invisible after all.
And even if she had, she wouldn’t have come to me willingly.
I was a monster, a nightmare; the stuff of legend and myth.
And she was formed from mortal flesh and blood.
Behind me, Sage shivered in the cold pocket of human architecture, no shelter from the wind. I could tell that her every fiber and muscle longed to spring from this cursed porch and shout through snow-drifted skies. She wanted to soar over rooftops, listening for the right timbre and cadence, for the human so filled with poetry that even his dreams would be lyrical.
She wanted to hunt. Now.
But I couldn’t leave, I clung to the cottage wall like a lovesick suitor. We both knew that this certainly wasn’t the first time I’d taken a fancy to a human woman. Elspeth was evidence of that. A part of me knew that I needed to remember these were the fields of harvest, there were no mates hidden here.
There were no more Lilies waiting for me.
“We must leave, brother,” my sister whispered when the clouds rolled across the sky, hiding the sweet moon and muffling her song. Now my muscles were beginning to ache.
“Soon,” I growled in response.
Human language becomes difficult when the full moon sits upon her throne—circle of heavenly light, surrounded tonight by a blue halo.
Already Maddie was shuffling down the walk with her boy and dog, claiming all the moonlight for herself, calling it to follow her like a wayward child.
“Even Elspeth has left for the Hunt,” Sage said as she spread her wings, then shook the snow from their folds.
I glanced at her with raised brow. “She’s not sleeping?”
“No. The house is empty, save Driscoll, who lies tangled in his own dreams.”
“Where is she?” I lifted my head, thankfully distracted from Maddie, and took a long sip of crisp, cold air.
“Your daughter changed her scent, some mingling of crushed rose petals and clover.”
I spread my wings, pushed away from the porch and sailed into the low sky, still drinking in the flavors of night. Finally I nodded. “I found her scent,” I said. “A few streets away. Surrounded by humans, I think.”
Sage was at my side then, wings eager to push past me. Still she forced herself to stay. “Aye. She has a right to hunt, you know.”
Silver eyes watched me, a challenge in their depths.
“She’s of the age and you must allow her this, brother.”
“It doesn’t mean that I have to enjoy it,” I answered.
We were passing Maddie and her boy, flying high above them. She glanced up at us, seemed to search the sky for our shapes, unable to discern the difference between wing and cloud. Together Sage and I continued on our journey, over the rooftops, above the trees, always looking down at the humans that drifted in small huddles over snowy sidewalks, leaving a trail of prints in the soft white powder. They would be so easy to track tonight, so easy to hunt.
“Remember the cold,” I warned Sage as we hovered above Elspeth and the crowd she traveled with. “Humans can’t be out in it too long. If you harvest someone outside you must shelter them with a Veil and then make sure they are awake and moving before you leave them.”
“I know.” She smiled.
“You’re sure Thane and his clan are gone?” I asked.
She was just about to depart. The moon’s song latched about her limbs, pulling her. Meanwhile, music wafted from a nearby hilltop, and I could tell it was making it hard for her to concentrate. My sister had always loved musicians.
“Sage?”
She glanced at me. “Aye. Sienna, River, Thane. I searched the village for their scents while you were in that human’s cottage. All three are gone. I’m certain.”
“Go,” I said then, remembering the many hunts we had shared before I came to Ticonderoga Falls. “Hunt ’til you be full! I will see you on the morrow.”
“And I will see you. May your harvest be both rich and deep.”
Then we parted ways.
But even when she flew away, something nagged at me, gentle and soft, like the pull of a toddler on my cloak. Some strange fragrance was circling through the town that I hadn’t noticed before, an odor of smoke and wet cut wood. Those two smells didn’t go together. Most likely it was some game or activity the humans were engaged in, some part of their holiday celebration.
Wet wood doesn’t burn. Only humans would be that foolish.
Chapter 51
To Be Human
Elspeth:
A mask clung to my face, held in place by a thin rubber string that stretched around the back of my head. I peered through almond-shaped openings, every breath stained with the heavy stench of plastic and my own sweat. Jake took my arm as I climbed the stairs. My balance, my sense of smell, my vision, everything was off.
But I was having so much fun.
Somewhere along the way, we had merged with another group, all younger children, all dressed as comic-book heroes, and now we converged on a long, narrow porch.
Waiting for the door to open.
This is what it’s like, I thought. To be human. You never sneak into someone’s home or trick them into inviting you inside. You stand outside and politely knock until they answer. And then—no enchantments involved—if they want to, they might let you inside. Although tonight was different. Tonight, if the homeowners didn’t open the door and offer candy, which I had already discovered was sinfully delicious, then they might have to pay a price.
Earlier, Jake and I and two of the younger boys had strung toilet paper through the branches of the trees when a homeowner refused to open his door. Now the paper hung like soggy garlands, ripping in places where the snow had fallen.
“Open your bag,” Jake reminded me, giving me a gentle nudge toward the door. It stood open no
w, revealing an elderly woman with bowed stance. She raked withered fingers through a basket that crinkled with colorful bits of cellophane. “It’s Miss Ballard. She gives out homemade fudge. See if you can get two pieces.”
I stumbled forward. I could smell the unanswered dreams of a lifetime wafting from the woman—the husband and children that she never had, the holidays spent alone, the cat that died two months ago from feline leukemia. Tabby.
Sorrow poured from the woman as she reached into her basket and pulled out a carefully wrapped piece of candy, then dropped it into my bag. At that moment, I lowered my mask, leaned forward and touched her hand.
“I’m sorry about Tabby,” I whispered.
Tears formed in Miss Ballard’s eyes. She nodded. “Me too.” Then she reached into the basket and slipped a second piece of candy in my bag.
“No, I don’t—”
“Maybe you don’t want it, but he does,” the old woman said, looking at Jake with a grin. “He always tries to get more. Every year since he was four years old.”
“Now, Miss Ballard, don’t go making fun of me,” Jake said. “You know you make the best fudge in the world.”
“In the universe,” she corrected him with a wag of her finger. “Here.” She handed him two squares, neatly wrapped in pink cellophane. “And don’t you forget our deal.”
“I won’t.” He peeled back the plastic and took a bite as we shuffled down the stairs behind a steady line of trick-or-treaters.
“What’s your deal?” I asked as I stuffed my hands in my pockets, pretending that I needed to stay warm. His first piece of fudge was already gone.
“She gives me two pieces of fudge and I shovel her walk ’til spring.”
“Is it a good trade?”
“For sure.” He glanced at the rest of their group. Hunter was showing off for some teenage girls, taking sips from a flask he kept tucked inside his coat. “By the way, you need to fix your tattoo before we get to the next house.”
A small wave of panic thundered in my gut. “What do you mean?”
He leaned nearer so no one else could hear. “It’s supposed to be on your left hand, but when you just held your bag open, it was on your right hand. I don’t think anyone else noticed—”
“That’s—that’s just silly. Tattoos don’t move.”
“I know.” He was staring into my eyes now, making it hard for me to concentrate. “So either put it back where it was or here.” He pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and handed them to me. “Put these on and it won’t matter. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
I took the gloves and slid them on. He was right, I had accidentally switched the tattoo from one hand to the other. I swallowed nervously, then glanced over at Hunter. He was turning mean now, shoving another boy and swearing.
“He didn’t see anything,” Jake said.
“Didn’t see what?” Hunter staggered back toward us then, a roguish look in his eyes.
I wanted to cast a Veil and escape, but at the same time, I didn’t want to leave Jake. No boy back home had ever walked this close to me before or talked to me like he did.
“This,” Jake said then and he leaned down and kissed me on the cheek.
“Oh, ho! So that’s how it is!” Hunter said.
I flushed and lost control of my disguise. I could feel my skin darkening, heat spreading down my body. The snow around us began to melt and Jake’s eyes widened slightly—but only a tiny bit. It was as if he already knew what I was.
“I’ve never seen anyone blush like that before,” he told me in a dusky whisper.
“Why, you little weasel,” Hunter said then as he clapped Jake on the shoulder. “Hooking up with my girl when my back was turned.” His words slurred and a grin curved his cheek, then he turned back to the rest of the crowd. “Apparently I’m free for the evening. Now which one of you ladies would like an escort?”
Three teenage girls giggled.
Hunter slid his arm around the waist of the prettiest one. “Come on,” he said. “It’s time we got this party started. Who thinks it’s time for some Halloween mischief?”
A chorus of cheers and hoots rang around us.
Meanwhile, a sliver of fear ran through me as I wondered how quickly I would be able to get away. If the rest of them somehow realized who and what I was. If they suddenly turned and attacked.
Chapter 52
Honey Wine and Starlight
Joe Wimbledon:
I climbed out of my Toyota Sequoia, then reclaimed a bag of groceries from the backseat, all the while thinking about Rachel, my wife. She had left yesterday to stay with her sister in Bakersfield, couldn’t bear to be here for another hunt. She’d endured twenty-one, total, since we’d gotten married and I’d convinced her to move to Ticonderoga Falls. As far as she was concerned, that was twenty-one too many. I remembered grinning indulgently as she packed up the Subaru Outback in a hurry, as if the full moon was a boogeyman that had crept up on her when her back was turned.
I understood.
But I always missed her when she was out of town. Our double bed was too big, the house was too cold, even my clothes didn’t seem to fit right when she was gone. And now the snow was drifting down, settling in the low places, turning the back mountain roads slick and dangerous. Rachel wouldn’t want to come home until the snow melted.
I had a feeling this snow was going to stick.
Meanwhile, the Hunt was beginning sooner than I had expected. I could already hear the Legend overhead, chittering through the treetops, scratching holes in the sky, folding reality. It circled above me, stronger than usual, words that seemed to drop from the sky, mixing with the snowflakes: poison, trickery, death. I could feel the Darklings coming closer—everything felt different this year. More dangerous. I sensed something in the air, serpentine and thorny. I limped up the wooden stairs, leaves tumbling from trees, whispers and chants ringing in the chill wind, breeze slicing me with frost. I jumbled a handful of keys, tried to slide the right one in the lock and missed, just as something black slipped from the bushes on the side of the porch. From the corner of my eye, I saw a long shadow, heard a moan. I jostled the groceries from one arm to the other, refused to look behind me.
“I got the mark,” I said. “Can’t take another.”
“Yes, you can.” A voice spoke behind me, silver and silken, as the shadow took form and substance. I heard the porch creak beneath its weight.
“No.” I still fumbled with my keys. “ ’Sides, you’re not invited in. Just run along and play with somebody else now.”
“I’d rather stay here.” It was a female, her scent like honey wine and starlight.
“Already told ya, no. Got me a deal with Mr. Ash, so you just go ’way. Right now. Scat.”
“I’ll go if you sing it. Let me hear you sing.”
My key was in the lock and I shoved the door open with my shoulder.
“I don’t need ta sing to no one. Move along. Get.” I didn’t look back, just thrust my body in the door, swung it shut behind me in a fluid movement and latched it. Then I rushed from window to window, latching each and every one, finishing off with the basement door. No way I was going down there now, not with the moon already full and bright in the sky. I should have gone down earlier. If my ferret hadn’t gotten sick and needed to go the vet, I would have. Would have locked the outside cellar door too, and all those narrow basement windows that no human could ever slide through.
They could slide through, though. If they were invited.
I opened the fridge, pulled out a Coors, popped the cap and took a deep slug.
Then I hitched my way into the back parlor and tossed some logs and kindling in the fireplace, scratched a match, watched the whole mess turn into flame. The heat didn’t seem to penetrate, couldn’t thaw the chill that poured in every glass orifice that faced the outer world. I thought about the groceries still sitting on the kitchen table, the sandwich that I had Agnes over at the Steak & Ale make me special. But my app
etite was gone now. All I wanted was another beer.
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 53
All Alone
Thane:
River and I crouched in a tangle of greenery, our bellies full and the both of us still wanting more. Sienna had sauntered off on her own not long ago, weary of our company. So my brother and I were at the edge of town now, hunkered down outside the Steak & Ale. We watched a human woman through the windows as she wiped a wet bar cloth across a counter, mopping up spilled beer and gravy—she was all alone now. Her last customer had walked out almost an hour ago and the pub was empty, save pockets of shadows and the cold wind that whistled whenever she got too close to the windows.
She lugged the last dirty dishes off to the kitchen. Meanwhile, the wind moaned through the poplars that stood like sentinels around the building. Their shadows bled in the windows, tossing and tumbling in the breeze.
She paused in the kitchen doorway, looking toward the bank of windows. I listened to her thoughts, grinning.
She could tell something felt different tonight, but of course, she couldn’t figure out what. Right now all she wanted was a soak in a hot tub, followed by a glass of wine and that new novel she’d picked up yesterday. She shrugged on her jacket. Snow flurries had caked the roads with white, slippery powder. She wasn’t looking forward to the drive home.
So my brother and I stayed hidden in silver shadows. We left the poplars that lined the building, flew up into the high branches of a ponderosa pine. Even from here we could smell her—ripe and plump and as ready for harvest as she would ever get. Another year and her dreams would evaporate, but tonight they were still effervescent and childlike.
As always, River waited for my signal.
Together we stared at the front door.
Then it swung open and the woman—Agnes Miller, that was her name, sure enough—stepped outside. She pulled the door closed behind her, stuck a key in the lock, ready to bolt it shut.
But she never did.
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