by Jane Kindred
Gagging, Rhea threw her arm over her mouth and nose. Her vision blurred and doubled as something—shambled was the only word for it—up the stairs from below. The hair rose on the back of her neck. She wanted to turn around, desperate not to have some hulking thing behind her she couldn’t see, but the dizziness was too intense.
“He’s a bit unpleasant, I admit,” said Dressler. A bit? “But he’s intensely loyal. Kurt served under me in the war, and he died doing it. But I learned how to use the Old Ways to bring him back.”
“Kurt” shambled into view, a bloated, gray obscenity in the shape of a man, with putrescent flesh that looked as though it might slough off at any moment. From the dizziness and the sensation of cold in her bones, she recognized the dark presence from her dream. Rhea’s stomach rebelled, and she lurched forward over the pew and vomited up her lovely Christmas Eve dinner. Which somehow managed not to smell anywhere near as awful as Kurt.
As she huddled, dry heaving, with her head between her legs, something sharp pricked her finger. She couldn’t remember when the pepper spray canister had fallen out of her hand. Let him have the damn blood. She was going to die of vomiting if that nasty thing came any closer.
Dressler’s blurry image wavered before Rhea, wrapping the Holy Lance carefully in a scarlet cloth. “Kurt will stay here and keep you company for a bit.”
Rhea gagged out the word no, but he ignored her.
“I need to take care of some things, and I don’t want to have to worry about where you are while I’m doing them. But once my business is handled, I’ll use the spell to send Kurt back to his grave. And your sister should be back to her eternally optimistic self by daybreak. She really is charming, isn’t she?” Dressler’s blurry face smiled—probably. “Thank you so much for your little gift. It means the world to me.” His footsteps sounded on the floor as he headed for the door. “Oh, and keep in mind, Kurt can be rather irritable. Try not to provoke him.”
Rhea tried to swear at him, but she only got as far as “fuh.” She had to get some distance between this thing and herself. She swayed to her feet, and Theia rose with her automatically. Rhea grabbed her hand and lurched toward the door, but the thing moved faster than it looked like it ought to be able to—hell, it didn’t look like it ought to be able to move at all—and stood between them and the doorway.
“Look, Kurgh—” Rhea put her hand over her mouth and swallowed bile, focusing on the floor to try to keep it down. Against the leg of the pew across from her, the keychain with her pepper spray canister lay just two feet away. It must have slid across the aisle when she dropped it. She let go of Theia’s hand and took a wavering step toward it. The creature didn’t move. Rhea dove for the canister and caught herself against the pew before aiming the pepper spray at Kurt and squeezing the trigger.
The thing let out a bellow of outrage that Rhea could only describe as the sound of decaying flesh trying to swear. It lunged for her, and its clammy, putrid hand went around her throat.
The ground swayed beneath her, the chapel floor tilting like the tarmac in her dreams, and the candles lighting the altar seemed to go out. She was no longer in the chapel but in some nightmare-scape. Blighted, misshapen trees loomed and swayed around her in a foul wind, something scrabbling through their branches. And something was crawling in the creature’s mouth. The dead maw opened, and roaches swarmed from it, down Kurt’s cheeks and along his arms toward her.
She tried to scream, but no sound came out. And then the hand dropped from her throat, and she was back in the chapel, stumbling backward. The creature had turned toward the doorway. Someone stood in it. She couldn’t focus on the figure, but something bright and metallic flashed in the figure’s hand as the dead thing charged forward with that same inhuman, pulpy growl. The shiny metal swung and went clean through its neck. Kurt’s rotten head tumbled onto the floor and rolled under a pew, one of the eyes sliding out of the socket with a wet sound.
Chapter 23
Rhea’s vision cleared. “Leo?”
He stood holding the axe that had decapitated the thing, dressed in leather and furs and homespun flax, his hair long, two plaits braided at his temples, like Leo in Viking cosplay. “I am his vördr.”
Damn, how many of him were there? “What’s a...vorther?”
“The warden of his soul,” said Leo. “The guardian. You and the other damsel are not harmed?”
“Damsel?” Rhea gave him a dubious look. “No, we’re fine. At least, I think she’s fine.” Theia still stood motionless in the aisle. Rhea took her hand and sat her on the pew by the door.
The stench had lessened considerably, and Rhea was no longer gagging. Kurt’s body was dissolving into some kind of nasty sludge.
“Thanks for stepping in when you did, though. I’m not sure what that thing was doing to me.”
“Rotting your brain, I should think.” Leo’s vördr wiped the blade of the axe on his sleeve and set it in the loop on his belt. The long hair and those little braids were kind of sexy. As was the thick kohl lining his eyes. “A draugr’s purpose is to drive one mad.”
“Well, thanks for not letting it rot my brain.” She grimaced at the now gelatinous pile of goo that was left of the draugr. “I suppose we’d better clean this up somehow. And I kind of made a mess in front of the altar.” She wasn’t a practicing Catholic, but she wasn’t feeling too good about desecrating a church.
“You must get your sister home. I will see to this.”
Rhea was in no mood to argue. “Whatever you say.” She prodded Theia up once more and stepped around the draugr goo but paused outside the door. “If you’re the hugr’s guardian, why are you here? Is the Hunt nearby?”
Leo’s vördr regarded her, a sort of hidden smile behind the crystalline blue gaze, though his expression didn’t change. “It was not the hugr I said I watched over. I am the warden of his soul. And what is dear to it.”
“Oh.” The word made her unreasonably warm. She couldn’t meet those intense eyes of his any longer. Rhea mumbled her thanks again and hurried Theia out. “I don’t know how much of this you’re going to remember tomorrow,” Rhea murmured as they walked down the drive, “but you can keep that ‘dear’ comment to yourself, if you know what’s good for you.”
Once they reached the car, she guzzled a bottle of water she’d left in the pocket behind the seat, gargling and spitting out the last of it onto the roadside to get the nasty taste out of her mouth.
Theia’s silence was unnerving as Rhea drove toward home, and Rhea rambled to fill in the awkwardness and keep herself awake. When she pulled into the parking lot, Leo stood on the landing in the open door of her apartment.
He scowled as she got out of the car. “Where did you go?” He paused when he saw Theia in the passenger seat and his accusatory expression turned puzzled. “Is that your sister?”
“She’s in a trance,” said Rhea. “Help me get her inside.”
Leo moved quickly down the stairs to open the car door and scoop Theia up.
Rhea swallowed an irrational twinge of jealousy at the sight of Theia in Leo’s arms. “She can walk, actually, but sure, that’ll work.”
He took Theia inside and set her on the couch. At least he hadn’t put her in Rhea’s bed. Rhea groaned inwardly, immediately feeling guilty about begrudging Theia anything. There was no telling what that creep had done to her.
“What happened?” Leo lifted one of Theia’s eyelids to peer at her. “Who put her in a trance?”
“Well, you’re not going to believe this. Or maybe you will. Maybe you’ll say ‘I told you so.’ But Brock Dressler kidnapped her to get me to meet him. It turns out he’s a full-on Nazi, as in actual World War II German Nazi—or at least he claims to be—and he wanted my blood. He says the trance is supposed to wear off by daybreak.”
Leo looked baffled. “Who the hell is Brock Dre
ssler?”
“Jesus. Are we doing this again? We went through this the other night. The Nazi you punched. Sorry—that Leo the Dull punched.”
“Oh. No, I remember him. I remember punching him, anyway. Or I remember him punching him.” Leo slumped onto the couch next to Theia and brushed his hand through his unkempt hair in a way that seemed to belong wholly to the other Leo. “It’s exhausting trying to keep this straight. Thank the gods I won’t have to try to figure out if I’m remembering my own life anymore.” He didn’t seem to notice her frown. “So why would this Nazi want your blood? And how did you manage to get away from him without giving it to him?”
“He said it would make him immortal. Or heal the consequences of the relic he used to try to make himself immortal. I’m not sure whether it was supposed to add to the immortality part. But I didn’t get away. He stabbed my finger.” The adrenaline that had been keeping her going abruptly deserted her as she held out the insulted finger, and she wobbled on her feet.
Leo leaped up. “Älskling, I’m sorry. You should be sitting down.” He led her to the couch, and Rhea sank onto it gratefully. Leo examined her finger prick. “That’s it? He abducted your sister and put her in a trance just to poke your fingertip?”
“Maybe he was testing my blood sugar level.” Rhea laughed at the absurdity, and the tiredness made the laugh sound a little hysterical.
Leo frowned. “Why didn’t you wake me? Why would you go off on your own to face some lunatic?”
“He said he’d hurt Theia if I didn’t come alone.” Rhea jumped up again. “Dammit, I forgot. I have to warn your hugr. I think Dressler’s going to do something to him.”
Leo’s face was stony. “He’s not my hugr. Why is it your responsibility what happens to him? Can’t he take care of himself?”
“He needs to know what he’s up against. It’s my fault Dressler has some kind of power over him.” Rhea headed for the door, but Leo stepped in front of her with his arms folded. “Get out of my way, Leo.”
“You’re not going anywhere except back to bed. You can barely keep your eyes open.”
“Don’t tell me what I’m going to do.”
“You would rather be with him, is that it?”
Rhea growled in frustration. “When are you going to stop being so damned competitive with your own freaking soul?”
After staring her down for a moment longer, Leo sighed and stepped aside. “Do what you want, then, but you’re on your own. Somebody needs to stay here to watch over your sister.”
Even though the intent was to be spiteful and sabotage her efforts to save his hugr, she couldn’t help but be touched by his concern for Theia. “No, you’re right. Thank you, Leo. I’ll be back as soon as I find him and give him the message.”
Leo stared openmouthed as she went out. He obviously hadn’t expected her to call his bluff.
Getting back into the car right now was the last thing she wanted to do, but whether he wanted to acknowledge his hugr or not, Leo’s life hung in the balance. And Rhea was the reason he was vulnerable.
Rhea waited after starting the engine, hoping to see the wolf-dog nearby. No such luck. She figured she’d drive the same stretch of highway where she’d seen the Hunt before, and if she didn’t find it there, she’d go back to the paddock.
But after driving for almost an hour, her plan seemed a little less certain. She was bone tired, and there was no sign of the Hunt and no sign of that stupid road she was sure she’d turned down last night—or two nights ago, technically, since it was now Christmas morning. She was about to give up when her phone rang. Thank the goddess for psychic sisters. It was exactly the person she needed.
“Phoebe. I was just about to call you.”
“Is Theia with you?” Phoebe’s voice was raspy with sleep and worry. “I got up to get some water, and she wasn’t in her room, and her car is gone—”
“She’s fine, just got into a tiny fender bender. She’s asleep at my place.”
“Your place? Where are you?”
“I’m on Dry Creek near Boynton Pass, and I could use some magical help from you and Rafe.”
“Magical? Right now?”
“The deadline for saving Leo’s soul got moved up, and I need to know how to find a wraith.”
“What do you mean you need to find Rafe?” Phoebe was still half-asleep.
“Not Rafe, a wraith.” A shuffling noise followed before Rafe apparently took over the phone.
“Hey, Rhea. What’s up?”
“I need to find the Wild Hunt. I thought maybe you’d know how to seek out a wraith since you can command shades.”
“I can command them, but I don’t, generally. I prefer to respect their autonomy. But a wraith is different. They’re something between living and dead. Cursed souls. I assume it would require a special ritual to summon one, and I’m afraid it’s not one I’m familiar with.”
But Rhea had accidentally summoned one before.
“I think I might know how to do that, actually. Do you have any idea where I would find pristine snow?”
“Pristine snow? I guess it would have to be somewhere no one’s been since the snow fell. Probably just about any hiking trail, since it’s not light out yet and the last snowfall was just a few hours ago.”
“Perfect, thanks.”
“Do you need any help?”
“No, I think I’ve got this. Tell Phoebe not to worry about Theia. I’ll bring her back in the morning.”
Boynton Canyon Trail was just up the road. Rhea parked at the trailhead and grabbed the fish-scaling knife out of the glove compartment—rescued from the wreckage of her shop—and gave it a scrub with her hand sanitizer. It would have to do.
The snow-covered trail was as pristine as she could have hoped for. Rhea chose a spot where the snow was thick enough to qualify as a “bank” and crouched to pull up her legging, steeling herself for the cut. She watched her breath fog in the air. Damn, it was cold out here. And absolutely beautiful. Snow blanketed the surrounding scrub brush and the branches of the cottonwood trees in a lacy rime that made her feel like she was in a fairy realm.
She took a deep breath and put the edge of the blade to the tattoo. Here went nothing. Rhea made a shallow nick, just enough to get the blood dripping.
The first drop struck the snow, and then a second, but nothing happened. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was expecting. Maybe she needed to be touching the—Rhea swallowed. Something was watching her.
She clutched her keys, standing slowly. A pair of eyes glowed at her through the snow-laced trees, low to the ground. Maybe it was a coyote. She didn’t want to have to pepper spray a coyote. It moved between the low branches, and Rhea held her breath, but as it emerged from the brush onto the trail some yards ahead of her, she saw the curled-over tail. Rhea heaved a sigh of relief and hurried after the fylgja.
Snow clouds hung low around the sandstone formations up ahead, wispy forms moving like mist, increasing the otherworldly aura of the place—as well as the chill. Rhea had forgotten to wear gloves. She put her hands in her pockets and hurried on. The wolf-dog had disappeared around a turn of the trail.
“If you’ve come to persuade me to return to the skin, you have wasted your time.”
Rhea nearly jumped out of hers. Not two feet in front of her, “Gunnar” sat mounted on his spectral horse.
She shivered and found her voice. “I came to warn you. That ‘sad little braggart’ you thought was so inconsequential? He’s coming after you with a piece of the Holy Lance.”
“No weapon can harm me. I am made of spirit, not flesh.”
“Apparently, this one can. It’s imbued with your líkamr’s blood—and mine—and he means to use it to steal your immortality.”
Gunnar smiled. “I appreciate the warning, but I have things well in h
and.” Gunnar held his hand down to her as a distant hunting horn sounded. “Would you like to see?”
“Would I like to—?” Rhea let out a squeal of surprise when he clasped her arm and hoisted her in the air to toss her onto the horse behind him.
“Hold fast to me” was the only warning she got before the phantom mare thundered into the frigid air.
Rhea shrieked, throwing her arms around Gunnar and clinging tight as they galloped over nothing but currents, charging into the mist. The clouds shifted and swirled into the roiling, surf-like thunderheads she’d seen the Hunt ride in on before, and the ghostly horde appeared before them, cowboy-Viking wraiths shouting war cries and spectral hounds baying eagerly, on the scent of their prey.
Gunnar spurred his horse onward to take the lead, and in the pale, predawn light, Rhea saw the object of their pursuit. As they thundered onto the desert floor, the hunting party had effectively herded him into the box canyon—a human rider on an ordinary horse. Gunnar’s horse touched ground and galloped toward him, and the hunted man turned his mount to face them.
Brock Dressler’s pretentious smile greeted them as if he were out for a morning ride.
Rhea grabbed Gunnar’s arm. “It’s a trap.”
He ignored her warning and dismounted, drawing his sword as he advanced. “Pray to your gods, mortal, for today you meet them.”
“I’m well prepared.” Dressler dismounted and drew his own weapon, the gold gleaming in the soft ruby glow of imminent dawn. “Though I’m not so certain you are.”
Rhea leaned forward, clinging to the phantom’s mane. “Don’t let him touch you with it!”
Dressler glanced in her direction, evidently surprised to see her there. “I suppose I might have saved myself the time and trouble of luring you if I’d factored in the intensity of your devotion. Could have just collected what I needed from you here, eh?”
