Because at that moment, we swooped down from the sky, each of us grabbing one of her arms. Then we flew off with her, her screams burrowing through the fog-drenched sky and finally ending somewhere in the ever deep forest.
I loomed over the cringing human, let my shape grow and darken until I was nearly twice her size. Then I growled, teeth glittering in the midnight gloom. Fear seeped from her pores like stale sweat and urine. She tried to run, but I just laughed; then I tossed out a small Veil like a lasso and used it to pull her back. Her protests came in a flurry of incomprehensible words. Meanwhile, River watched the two of us from the shadows, every inch of him submissive, just as he should be. He backed away, a step at a time, giving me room as I needed it, all the while not daring to take his eyes off me.
He knew that soon I would tire of this game and the feeding would begin.
Finally an oppressive hush fell over the forest as the human submitted, lying down in forest gloom. She glanced at the two of us, then lowered her head, as if she didn’t want to know what was going to happen next.
“Sleep,” I said.
Her eyes closed. Then, taking turns, River and I both ate our fill. It wasn’t until much later—when the woman curled in a fetal position on the forest floor, when her limbs were frozen and her thoughts were growing more cloudy with each shallow breath—that River pulled away with great reluctance.
And he allowed me to take the kill that was rightfully mine.
We stepped from the woodland copse, masking the rotted sour stench of death that clung to our hands and mouths. This kill had gone better than the last. No sound had leaked out. I made sure of it this time. Now, a human vessel of steel and glass lumbered over a hill toward us, engine rolling into gear with a deep bear-like growl. Narrow beams of light shot toward me and I instinctively raised one arm to shield the glare.
The lights flashed, pain-bright waves of heat. I closed my eyes as the beams steadily approached, growing stronger.
Even the darkness has been corrupted by these humans.
Then I felt something moving through silken-black shadow, faceless. It wore a mask, but I could smell it.
Ash was somewhere among the humans back in the village, hunting Madeline MacFaddin, the woman that bore my mark.
Fair and square, she would be mine again before this night ended.
I gripped a nearby sapling and gave a little shrug, shaking my human skin back into place—stretching out the folds that had tangled while climbing up that last bramble-covered hill, mending the tear that hung loose on my hip. I gulped a mouthful of fresh mountain air, clear and sweet. Just a little bit stronger and then I’d be able to steal all of Ash’s humans, whether they wore his mark or not.
I chuckled.
Cousin Ash had been too weak today; he hadn’t been able to break through my Veil.
He wasn’t near as strong as he used to be. The stories from home had painted him almost invincible, but that wasn’t true. I’d seen and felt his wound for myself, knew exactly where it was. Wouldn’t take much to fight him. All I needed was a proper Veil or just the right enchantment. One well-placed blow. He’d fall then, crash and burn like only a Darkling can. Sizzle all the way across the night sky, a streak of meteor light. A bright bit of flotsam in the sunless heavens.
Then, at that moment, I would take the deed to Ticonderoga Falls.
I’d steal it before anyone else could claim it.
Chapter 54
A Perfect Home
Thane:
The village of Ticonderoga Falls spread before me now, street after street of wooden houses, all with lights glowing and doors open. A new journey led me from house to house. I grinned behind the mask that hid my face, the taste of the forest lingering in my throat, the remnants of that gluttonous feast back at the Driscoll mansion still surging through my belly. I ran testy fingers over my arm, wounded by the werebeast not that long ago. Now, it was completely healed.
Together River and I clambered up the steps to a screened-in porch. There we knocked and huddled, shivering in the wind. We were posing as a pair of six-year-old boys. All alone. Much too young to be out on a night like this without a chaperone.
The door swung open and a young man stood silhouetted in the doorway.
I lifted my head, then sniffed. What I wanted was inside. I chattered my teeth together as I stammered a weak, “Trick or treat.” Then I followed it with a sneeze.
A young woman appeared on the porch, shaking her head.
“It’s too cold to let those boys stand outside, Hank. Bring them in the house. Would you two like some hot cocoa?”
“Yes, ma’am,” River answered with a smile. He clapped his hands together, as if trying to keep them warm.
“Come in.” The young man held the door open for both of us.
This was the seventh home River and I had approached since our feast in the wood. With each meal, my plan had grown until now I was certain it would succeed.
Just a few more houses like this one and then everything would be set in place.
River sat on a vintage horsehair sofa, sipping hot chocolate, always keeping one eye fixed on me. Just like he should. An old clock ticked on the mantel, a hypnotic rhythm, pendulum swinging back and forth inside a polished case of wood and glass. Everything inside the home sparkled—the wood floors, the silver teaspoons, the chandeliers.
It was a perfect home.
But one dream remained unanswered here, flitting about like a butterfly too fragile to grasp. This young couple had always wanted a child of their own, but so far—
I nodded at River, granting him permission to do as he wished. Then I walked toward the kitchen, where the human woman was frosting cookies. I heard the sizzle of a Veil as soon as I turned my back, knew that River was already leaning over the young man and conjuring up a dream.
But dreams come and go, I mused as I stared at the woman, who stood with her back to me. I changed my shape to imitate that of her sleeping husband, altered it only slightly—broadened his shoulders, deepened the blue of his eyes, erased the scar on his cheek. Then I put one hand gently on the woman’s waist and pulled her to me, kissing her neck.
She giggled and leaned into my embrace, whispered, “Hank, what about the boys in the next room?”
“They just left.”
“Really? I didn’t hear them leave.” She turned to face me, her eyes widening for a second, then her gaze ran over my body. She grinned.
“Quiet as little mice. I think it was your cocoa.” I slid my arms around her, untied her apron. Then I kissed her shoulder, her neck, her lips, my desire growing. I took her hand in mine, gave her a shy smile.
“Come on.” I tugged her hand ever so gently, leading her toward the bedroom.
She followed me with nary an enchantment.
Dreams come and go, I thought as I ran my tongue over her salty skin. But this was the dream of a lifetime. If it turned out the way I hoped, then it would grant me everything I had ever wished for—an empire of my own, just like the one Cousin Ash had. In fact, it was no longer just my cousin’s empire that I longed to possess.
To that end, I was building myself an army tonight as I journeyed from bedroom to bedroom, an army of half-breeds just like Elspeth, who could walk through doors and windows without an invitation.
With this newborn army at my side, I could claim any village. In fact, I could take every city on this entire mountain if I wanted.
Chapter 55
Cavern of Light
Maddie:
I waited with the other parents at the curb. An occasional car swiveled past on slippery streets, washing us in brief splashes of light, almost like a freeze-action strobe. Each time, my eyes would readjust to the darkness and I would search the near horizon of stair, porch and open door until I recognized the small shape of my son, outlined in the dim silver moonlight, walking back to me.
Flashlight in hand, I carved the darkness, forged the path from one house to the next. Along the way I lost co
unt of the houses, couldn’t remember if we had visited six or sixteen or sixty, my toes numb from the cold, frost curling around my face with each breath. Meanwhile, Tucker couldn’t hold in his excitement. He practiced his rap imitation of “trick or treat,” repeated it over and over as we tramped through the slushy snow, until his words echoed in my ears.
He stood fifty yards away now. Bathed in the yellow light of an open door.
Samwise pressed against me as if he wanted to keep me warm, staring after Tucker with longing eyes. The dog would yip whenever my son went inside a house, would pull at the leash each time the boy dipped out of sight.
“Good boy,” I said, leaning down to stroke Samwise on the head.
The snow eddied around us in mesmerizing patterns, sticking to my eyelashes and my hood. Strange weather. I couldn’t remember the last time it had snowed this early in the mountains.
Maybe they caused it, those shape-shifting chupacabras.
I glanced quickly at the woman standing beside me, wondering for a second if I had accidentally spoken out loud. The woman just stared straight ahead, arms bundled in a small blanket.
Okay, maybe they did cause the snow. But why?
The door opened then, revealing a cavern of light and bowls of candy that lured the children closer. Black papier-mâché cats and a row of glowing pumpkins and cutout ghosts that stuck to the windows. A faery tale come to life.
All the children disappeared inside the tiny cottage with green shutters and picket fence. Samwise tugged at the leash, whining, straining for the house—
They could be inside, they could want my boy.
I suddenly dropped the leash, let the dog gallop up the path. I trotted behind him, remembering images of that dead body in the woods, the two strange puncture wounds in the neck, looking like all the life had been mysteriously drained out. My hood flopped down and my left foot slid as I ran, but Samwise was already up the stairs, barreling across the small porch, heading for the open door.
Let Tucker be okay, let all this be my imagination, I can handle that, I just can’t have anything happen to him, he’s all I have left—
Samwise was through the door now, his deep bark sounding inside the house.
A middle-aged woman appeared in the rectangle of yellow light, a startled look on her face. I was taking the stairs two at a time, hoping I didn’t fall. A chorus of laughter, of children, all the notes high and clear and happy, met me at the door.
Inside, Samwise was chasing the children around the living room, bounding and laughing with them, big smile on his face, probably because he had found his boy.
My boy. He was leading the pack, around and around, giggling and screaming on a Halloween sugar high, all of them trying to escape from the “wolf” that had just burst through the front door. The little girls were holding their bags of candy high, as if these were the most precious things in the world and obviously what the dog was after.
I sagged against the door frame, ashamed and relieved.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
The homeowner tried to smile while watching the dog, making sure he didn’t break the chintz porcelain that decorated every table and shelf.
“Come, Samwise,” I said, holding out my hand. The dog padded over to me reluctantly. “I’m sorry, really,” I repeated, even though I wasn’t.
Tucker was safe and that was all I really cared about.
“New game plan,” I said as I clutched Tucker’s hand. We were blocks away from the house where I had embarrassed myself. We were now separated from that last group of skeletons, Harry Potters and princesses, and trudged along on our own path. I couldn’t help glancing behind us from time to time, wondering if someone was following us. But I never saw anyone.
Meanwhile, heat seemed to radiate down from the sky, just enough to keep me from shivering. I noted that I now wore my jacket open and the hood down. Part of me kept thinking about Ash, standing on the porch, demanding a promise.
Surely, Kate was right. He had just wanted to make sure we were safe.
I wished I knew more about him, more about the creatures in the woods.
I walked Tucker to the door of the next house, pulled my iPhone out of a pocket while he did a rapper spiel for the homeowners. I scrolled through my e-mails: spam, overdue credit card bill, message from Kate, more spam, invitation to speak, endorsement request, message from my agent, overdue car payment—
I paused, flicked open the message from my agent. Like all his correspondence, it was brief.
Fantastic! I need more, ASAP. Talked with three editors today. Showed them what you sent. One of them is offering a three-book deal. How soon can you get us the first fifty pages? We’re thinking a novel this time, not graphic. She’s talking six figures for all three books, based on your previous sales figures, but we need it like yesterday so she can squeeze the first one into next year’s lineup—
My heart skipped a beat.
Six figures.
A couple of years ago I wouldn’t have gotten excited over that amount, but everything was different now.
Now I needed it. Desperately. Immediately.
Chapter 56
Moon Magic
Ash:
Fog licked the edges of the forest, met the drifting snow, merged with the villagescape, reminding me of the mountains in Europe, two hundred years ago. I missed the Old World—when humans had whispered legends about me, telling their children dark faery tales just before they drifted off to sleep.
It had been the time of dreams.
And now the scent of moss and juniper sharpened in the frost-filled air. Wearing a skin of dappled shadow and snow, I followed Maddie down a narrow street. I was nearly invisible. If she happened to turn around, I would have looked like a blank spot in the landscape.
A blank spot. How appropriate.
I shouldn’t have been following her. She bore the mark of another. But Thane had been exiled and it certainly wouldn’t be the first time I had broken the rules. Nor the last.
The snow crunched beneath her feet and a cloud of frost surrounded her. The boy and the dog frolicked at Maddie’s side, distracted by the promise of adventure and bite-sized treasures neatly wrapped in plastic.
None of them could see what I saw.
Madeline was encompassed by transparent cogs and circles, every one of them spinning and sparking, an organic legion of ideas that blossomed from the mists. All of her thoughts were being built and fashioned from the ether, fog swirling in tempestuous roiling eddies, patterns that morphed and growled, a womb of cloud and idea that was giving birth as she walked. White spirals, curling tendrils, fog merging with the canvas of imagination—
I drew even closer, watching in awe.
The moon cast down silver beams, touching her, setting the machinery that surrounded her on fire, making it luminescent. It even transformed her skin, making her glow as if filled with stardust. Every move of her hands, every word from her lips caused the great sprockets to turn and twirl and twist.
Moon magic.
On a night like this, anything could happen.
Chapter 57
Shadow-Cast Landscape
Elspeth:
The snow layered in drifts along the edges of the houses and against the cars. Leaves, soggy and heavy, muddled to the ground, broken mementos of the narrow bridge between summer and winter. I pretended that the cold bothered me, like it did the other girls. I stamped my feet, made my nose and cheeks turn red, and kept my hands inside the gloves Jake had given me. So far we had spray painted a barn, let the air out of several car tires and filled mailboxes with gravel.
And now we were playing hide-and-seek in the village cemetery, jumping out and scaring other children that scurried past, all clasping precious bags of candy with white-knuckled fists. Hunter tried to get our group to steal candy from the passing kids, but Jake refused. It was the only time he stood up to Hunter and I wasn’t sure what was going to happen.
Hunter backed down.
I crouched beside Jake now, snow turning his pale hair a frosty white.
The sky shifted above us, black and gray and blue, twisting patterns of cloud and moon. And song.
No, not song. Something else.
I closed my eyes, tried to focus on this new sound that drifted through the night sky. “Do you hear that?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
“What?”
I lifted my head, certain I could hear someone calling my name, far away. It was my name, certainly it was, soft as the snow, but growing stronger.
“What do you hear?” Jake asked again.
Then I realized what it was and why he couldn’t hear it. None of the humans could hear it. It was the Legend, rippling through the heavens, twisting its way between the branches, circling ever downward toward the earth. But it was suddenly different tonight.
For the first time I could hear my own name in its midst.
A wrought-iron fence guarded the tiny cemetery, corralled all the tombstones and withered flowers, kept them safe from the gnarled oaks that grew on the perimeter, twisted branches weaving in the October wind, casting shadows that traveled across crypt and tomb. Hunter left his hiding place, sauntered forward to the center of the old churchyard like a vengeful ghost. Flask raised above his head, he called out to his followers.
“Time for a contest,” he announced. The others gathered around him, though Jake and I stood at a distance. “Split up into teams, see how many kids you can get to join your group. Then we’ll all meet over at the old junkyard in an hour for a bonfire.”
Some of the younger kids cheered at this point. The older ones kept silent. They seemed to knew what was coming.
“The winner will be the one with the most followers. He’ll get to choose this year’s dare. Better get goin’!” His gaze met Jake’s. “And you know I plan to win this year, so be ready.”
The crowd broke up into clusters, all whispering and excited.
I didn’t want to leave. Not yet. I meandered through the shadow-cast landscape of weathered stone and tarnished angels, searching. Jake watched me silently for a few moments, then he pulled out a flashlight and handed it to me. Together we walked, side by side, fog curling between the gravestones as I swept the light across the names carved in marble. Finally, I paused to run my fingers along the top of one of the tombstones.
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