Without the animal’s speed, she’d have to work to catch them. She slipped into the dead vampire’s cloak, wondering why the wolf had chosen this moment to be shy.
The answer came to her from the back of her head, as if the wolf sensed her curiosity. Her mind flashed back to last night’s hail of silver gunfire and blades, suggesting the animal had recoiled from the onslaught of those implements. They couldn’t kill her, no, but the agony they brought was pure, debilitating.
Her head ached from the almost-change, feeling like she had just swallowed nine flagons of spiced wine. A spiked pain throbbed behind her eyes. Her legs rocked as she tried to stand.
In this moment, the familiar one stood more of a chance than she might’ve liked.
Elisabeth crossed an arm over her bruised rib cage and shuffled on, hoping that she could find a way to surprise him still.
The Mountain Pass
Garrick stopped long enough to light the lantern. The vampires had killed their horses, but never thought to demolish their equipment. Only one lamp had survived their violent emancipation, but it was all they needed.
The inside of the light used a round burner and circular wick, allowing the flame to be stoked by a steady gust of air. It intensified the light source and encased them within a cylindrical orange perimeter.
“You’re easy enough to spot beneath the sun with all that silver,” Timothy said. “Why not make things easier for our enemies at night as well?”
“Keep japing. It’s all very helpful as we try to navigate out of here,” Garrick said.
Sebastian’s shoulder ached beneath the makeshift bandage. The last thing he needed was this bickering. Maybe those who died back in Freywald had been the lucky ones after all.
“Let’s just extinguish this,” Garrick said and dangled the lantern against the kid’s nose, “and walk around with our arms outstretched. I am certain we can feel our way to safety.”
“Shut your mouths and stay sharp,” Sebastian whispered, so tired his words were nearly impotent.
Timothy huffed a response but Garrick shoved him the moment his lips parted. “You’re a know-it-all. You think you could’ve saved the lives of the men we lost, right?” He paused for dramatic effect. As soon as Timothy opened his mouth to speak, the hunter was already talking over him. “I’m not relinquishing command. You agreed to my leadership and nothing has changed. As for your concern? The varcolac hear as well as they see and smell. This light doesn’t tilt the scales one way or the other.”
“Don’t tell me you’re fine with this?” Timothy said, looking now to Sebastian for backup.
“Shut it, kid.” Sebastian’s feet scraped the forest bed as he rushed off to catch the hunter and the retreating light.
Timothy believed himself better than this line of work, and that was the root of the problem. That he was correct certainly didn’t help. The kid earned a living at thief-taking because London afforded no better options. The city had never recovered from the sprawling fire that consumed much of it, and Sebastian delighted in making the kid, and his like-minded brethren, feel guilty about that. The fire’s origin was a topic of debate, but many believed the catalyst was a bonfire loaded with rebellious texts and scrolls.
The very ones Timothy clung to for guidance.
London liked saying that the fire was John Locke’s fault. Timothy countered with the argument that the city got what it deserved for rejecting Locke’s pleas for societal betterment. To Sebastian, the blame didn’t matter. He preferred to deal with the aftereffects. There were plagues far worse than the bubonic one. Thievery was the epidemic no one spoke of, and it forged the need for his profession.
The difference between Timothy and Sebastian was simple. The old man had been happy to step into the role whereas Timothy saw it as a stepping-stone to something better.
“Where are you leading us?” Timothy said once he was caught up to the light. It was a more practical question, at least.
Sebastian could almost hear Garrick’s eyes roll from the front of the party.
“Away from here,” he said.
“Away? Your determination to kill Raven has left you, then?”
“No, but my motivation to continue with the two of you has.”
It was Sebastian’s turn to take offense. He walked side-by-side with Garrick, despite his raw shoulder wound gnawing away at his able body. “Don’t be a bloody half-wit. If you’re unhappy with what happened on that mountain, you’ve no right to blame us. We did as you said. It was the kid and I who brought the big wolf down and killed him proper. Your quarrel was with Ritter…”
“Aye,” Timothy said. “And you shot him dead. So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that Raven will be ready the next time I set out to kill her.”
“There is every possibility in the world that she is dead,” Sebastian said. “Those injuries…”
“…will heal. The varcolac do not wither and die like we do.”
“We are in retreat then?” Timothy sounded relieved.
Garrick said nothing. Their march was punctuated by breaking branches and rustling animals moving outside their drum of light.
“You have fulfilled your roles,” he said after an arduous length of silence. “We head for the nearest city where I will arrange for you both to be paid. That way, pup can go on pretending he’s changing the world by reading books that tell him how to think.”
Sebastian was glad for this news, but the incompleteness of the job left him unfulfilled. This was the first time he’d be paid for failing.
Behind him, Timothy chewed on his thumbnail, which he did when at his most pensive. “If Raven is alive,” he said, “she may come for us, yes?”
“Of course. That is why we hurry. If she reaches full strength, we won’t stand a chance. The element of surprise is no longer with us and she will take more than our lives for all the ways we have wronged her.”
“How do we stand our ground when we are on hers?” Timothy asked.
“We make for the city of Constanta on the Black Sea. The Order of Osiris has an outpost there. Not even Raven will follow us beyond those walls.”
“Is that what you call yourselves?” Sebastian said.
“It is, and I will tell you no more.”
“After all the secrecy, I’m surprised to hear you mention it so casually is all.”
Garrick quickened his gait, leaving the thief-takers trailing at the edge of the lantern light.
A blocky shape grew from the shadows in the distance. In the past, when their unit had been at full strength, Garrick would’ve ordered them to fan out and ready their muskets while taking a perimeter around it. As they got closer and the light brought it into focus, they found a singed and broken foundation of wood.
Sebastian’s hand curled around the flintlock’s handle. This was too obvious for an ambush. The sinister nature of the scene had him expecting an attack, but he wouldn’t leave things to chance.
They passed the cooked structure and found another, and then another. An entire village put to flame, leaving smoldered ruins that the forest would soon swallow like curling body hair covering a scar.
“What happened to those who lived here?” Sebastian asked.
“Red hoods, most likely. Fed off this village for as long as they could and then put it to torch to hide what happened.”
“Where are the bodies then,” Timothy said, peering into a doorway.
Theirs was the only sound as they traveled a dirty path between two destroyed homes.
“Not even animals tread here,” Sebastian said. The foliage growing around them was completely unmolested.
“And if they were left for dead, why don’t I see any remains?” Timothy poked his head into a nearby building with shattered windows. “Not a one.”
“For once, I agree with you,” Garrick said. “It’s best we continue on. There’s nothing here that can be salvaged.”
They made their way through what remained of the village, h
urrying as though its oppressive silence could somehow hurt them.
Once they were free of it, Garrick dipped his lantern to the ground to highlight curious tracks that tamped down through overgrowth. A trail headed away from here that could only have been made by wheels.
“Maybe the bodies were carted out of here,” he said.
“A wagon,” Sebastian said. “Someone loaded whatever could be salvaged and headed out. These tracks are sunken…a pile of bodies might weigh that much.”
“So could basic thievery,” Timothy said.
“You saw ruined bed frames and dressers back there, kid. What you didn’t see was bodies.”
“The vampires were looking for bodies,” Garrick said. “We know that much.”
“They wouldn’t find them if they were buried,” Timothy said.
“A burial.” Garrick slapped his thigh. “This place is ravaged. Russians and Ottomans clashing over the right to call this land theirs. You might be a problem solver in the classroom, but the civility you know doesn’t extend out here. No one’s burying the dead when the living are being slaughtered.”
“What then?”
“Bloody bodies are a treat for vampires.”
Sebastian had heard stories about men who drank from others, but always from the mouths of tavern lushingtons, and only once their brains were at their soggiest. After months of tracking humans who became wolves, he could barely accept that notion.
Now this.
This wasn’t a journey so much as a heated nightmare: a world where people burst into flames from sunlight while wolfmen roamed the gloom.
They followed the wagon trail single file, each of them weapon-held.
“We may be able to fortify here,” Garrick said of a rock formation at the trail’s end. It was a mine adit fortified by thick wood propped overhead to provide access into the shaft. Wagon tracks led off alongside the mountain.
Even if they hid for the night, daybreak didn’t guarantee safety. At least they stood more of a chance when they could see their surroundings beyond a limited cone of lantern orange.
Garrick stepped into the adit and his gun hand waved for them to follow. It was swallowed then by encroaching dark. Sebastian went next, and Timothy brought up the rear. The ground offered a gradual slope; their boots kicked up a flurry of cave dust that stung their eyes.
The air was cool but humidity dogged them all the way down. Sebastian’s collar was drenched and itching, completely soaked through.
“Look,” Garrick said. The lantern light showed a row of extinguished torches lining the path, each bolted into the earthen walls by metal sconces.
Sebastian mopped his forehead with the back of his hand. His skin was slippery, a rising fever extracting the last of his strength.
The mine spiraled down along the cave wall and they hugged it with caution. Loll too much and the drop would prove fatal.
Sebastian wanted help, but his stubbornness and dignity prevented the request. Asking for assistance was an admission of weakness. He couldn’t be this ailed by a simple dagger, not when he’d suffered so much worse over the years.
Yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about the inevitable. Was his time at an end? Maybe not today, but soon? And what to show for it? A legacy of memories, truly. Whichever ones Timothy chose to carry. There’d be no one else to tell his story, and the world would continue on as though he’d never lived.
The chamber echoed as it carried them below. In Sebastian’s sweaty haze, he became convinced they were marching straight into hell. That dying here could be for the best. He’d be in the company of others, at least. It bested the lonely alternative: croaking back home while the Piccadilly Tavern patrons were none-the-wiser. They wouldn’t give a piss until his rotting body stank worse than the vomit-lined floors.
They’ll tell my story night-after-night in drunken jest. ‘Poor sod upstairs shit himself when his heart gave out…we found him spilt across the floor with his knickers beneath his muddy arse.’
My legacy.
Sebastian’s steps became shambles. His shoulder throbbed again, irritated by the flow of sweat. His eyes rolled as the thoughts behind them swam in a hazy lullaby that was both inviting and familiar.
Something his mum had sang during his formative memories?
Awareness was gone, replaced only by that growing melody. It floated up through the darkness and soothed his ears like cool velvet draped across a sun-chapped neck, massaging his mind until it was the only thing in there.
Only the pacifying sound of that voice.
A serenade for his mortality.
Garrick stopped and Sebastian felt Timothy’s arms take gentle hold of him, encouraging his halt. The hunter peered over the ledge into the dark fog.
“What is that?” Timothy said.
“Singing.” Garrick was unable to mask his bafflement.
What followed next cast them all in stunned silence.
The sound of laughter echoed below.
***
“Wake up.”
Elisabeth awoke with a gasp, wondering for a moment where she was.
That’s right…
She arranged herself into a sitting position and adjusted the rancid red cloak so that it once again covered the length of her body. She’d looted both vampires of everything that might be useful, knowing that this terrain would be unforgiving for a human being. The seared and loose boots that enclosed her feet were rough and over-spaced, but as she wiggled her toes, she remained grateful that she didn’t have to continue on bare feet.
Getting down that mountain had taken more than just time. Her body had only recently pulled itself back together, and she unbottled every last drop of strength in order to reach the forest and keep moving. Her enemies were out here somewhere, but her human legs flared as if to say she wouldn’t be catching them tonight.
Once she reconciled that setback, she gathered a few downed branches and arranged them into a crude framework, drawing on what little she recalled from her childhood in Iasi. She and her cousin, Sanda, had once built a hideaway when they were girls no older than eight. Both of them, determined to skirt responsibilities of laundry and house tending, had retreated into the forest to hide for what felt like an entire summer, but might’ve only been a day or two. Time grew more abstract the longer you weathered it.
Using the spare cloak she’d taken atop Nightfall, a breezy hole punctured through one side from where she’d punched the vampire’s heart free, Elisabeth was able to mimic what Sanda and she had done then: build a narrow shelter to escape the elements. It wasn’t enough to make her forget the warmth of her wolf’s mane, but it kept the wind off her while affording just enough comfort so she could steal some shivery sleep.
She crawled out into the dark air, in search of the voice that had awakened her.
As vulnerable as she felt out here, human Elisabeth retained some of the wolf’s perceptions. That at least made it easy to spot the woman standing between two trees.
A mane of golden curls glowed, despite the onyx black of night. A brilliant and familiar sight, it prompted Elisabeth to bow her head and avert her stare.
“My queen…”
“No. Look upon me with companionship.” Alina stood encased in gold and black armor that preserved her champagne-glass figure. It instilled regality and authority, despite her contradicting words.
As such, Elisabeth didn’t feel comfortable looking. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been in the presence of Her Grace. This reunion should’ve been ceremonious. Under different circumstances, it would’ve been that and more. Tonight, the informality of it felt like insubordination.
“Stop it, huntress.” The queen’s voice was disarming. She stepped to Elisabeth and the earth trembled around her boot falls. This was more than a woman standing here. It was a force of nature. Darkness. Trails of despair rippled behind her like a cape. Alina brought famine, debauchery and disaster to every corner of the world. It came in many different ways, but it was almost
always because of her.
“I have failed everyone,” Elisabeth said. The emotion that consumed her couldn’t be helped or hidden. She despised herself for showing Alina her throat. The huntress shouldn’t ever be weak, and though she was in the process of abandoning that life, it was impossible to abstain from her sense of duty while looking into Her Majesty’s sparkling opal eyes.
Alina sought to assuage that swirling sense of pity. “I am here for you. Not the other way around. Do not say what you think you should. Speak to me as a friend.”
The queen’s fingers reached out and slid across Elisabeth’s jawline scars, her tongue clicking with pity as she turned the battered head left and then right, lifting Elisabeth’s chin high to survey the damage dealt to her favorite soldier.
Elisabeth’s tensions eased at the touch.
“That’s better,” Alina said, wearing a consolatory look. “I cannot imagine what you’ve been though.” Her hands slid onto Elisabeth’s shoulders and gave a gentle shake—a slight effort to snap her back to her senses, or at least assess the possibility of that happening. “The wolf is hurt. She bore the brunt of the punishment so that you wouldn’t have to.”
Elisabeth could only nod. Giving herself over to the animal should’ve been a reflex, something done without thought. Even now, she encouraged the beast to take control of her body, but the wolf no longer listened. If not for the lingering abilities that stayed with her as a human: sight and hearing, a marked uptick in strength, she would’ve thought the creature had abandoned her entirely. Elisabeth’s every effort to reach her was fruitless, her thoughts resonating like a single raindrop falling into the ocean.
Did the wolf even know she called for her?
“You cannot push her like this,” Alina said. “The wolf must feel comfortable inside of you once more. Your body heals but your mind is fractured. You could’ve died back there, and you’ve allowed that fact to change you. Scare you.”
I wish I was dead.
Alina eased Elisabeth into her arms, sensing her misery. Her ivory touch traced down her back, becoming a sweltering and muscular embrace.
DEVIL’S ROW Page 7
