by Ann Gimpel
Closing his eyes, Luke sought Gaia again, begged for her protection—and her wisdom. He thought he felt…something from the amulet, but he could have been imaging it.
The things that had been his parents roared their fury from the far side of the fire pit and reached out with spectral arms. Tamra made another run for Ma and he dragged her back. Nerves on edge, frayed like old rope, he finally turned away since he couldn’t bear to look at what had become of his parents anymore. Tamra tried to talk to him, but he shushed her. He didn’t want to disrupt what had become an internal litany as he pleaded with Gaia for help.
Hours passed. Luke paid out the wood, a bit at a time. Just enough to keep their feeble fire from going out entirely. Could it last through till dawn? That was looking less and less likely. Fear for his other sisters nagged him, but he reasoned if Ma and Pa were here, they weren’t at the Waverlys’ farm, so Marta and Lilly should be safe. He added them to his prayers as a hedge against a phalanx of unknowns.
Luke cast a desperate eye about for something else to burn, but didn’t see anything. Tamra had used up the straw to get the fire going. Only a couple of chunks of wood remained, and it was still black as pitch beyond where Ma and Pa had planted themselves.
“We’re runnin’ out,” Tamra whispered, clutching his arm and pointing to the few remaining shards of wood.
The husks of his parents leaned closer, their mouths curved in feral grins. They’re practically salivating. They’ve figured out there’s not enough wood. Soon as the fire wanes, they’ll be on us. Luke cursed himself for a fool, anger flaring. All his prayers had done was keep him from coming up with a real solution.
“Luke.” Tamra twisted and stabbed a grimy finger in front of her. “What’s that?”
An odd light, all colors, and yet no color he could name, oozed through the rocks at the rear of the cave. “I don’t know,” he muttered. As he stared, mesmerized, the other-worldly glow grew to such a brilliance it hurt his eyes. The amulet, still clutched in his hand, warmed and began to throb.
The fire made a wet, gurgling noise and guttered. Like a hunting dog on red alert, his father jumped the pit, grabbed Tamra, and hauled her toward the mouth of the cave. His sister wailed piteously, writhing and kicking in Pa’s grasp.
“No!” Luke cried. “Noooooo…” He lunged after the pair, grabbed Tamra’s feet, and yanked as hard as he could. Tam screamed louder. Luke kept on tugging. As Ma lowered her face for the kiss that would steal Tamra’s soul, the amulet turned red hot against his skin. The brightness coming from the rear of the cave pulsed with energy.
The light was so intense, Luke had to shut his eyes. When he pried them open, Ma and Pa were gone. The cave was empty except for him and Tamra, who was dangling from his hands and still screaming. Repositioning his sister, he cradled her against him. “Ssssh, hush,” he murmured over and over.
“I wet myself,” she sobbed, face buried against him.
“Never mind. I would’ve too, if it’d been me.”
“Put me down.”
A burnt smell, different from the fire pit, rose and he realized it was his own flesh, scored where the amulet rested against it. He rubbed at his breastbone, but that made it hurt.
“They’re gone,” Tamra mumbled from somewhere behind him. “You saved us, Luke.” She was still snuffling, but seemed in control of herself again.
Luke started for the back of the cave, ready to sit out what remained of the night. He’d just settled himself against a damp, curving wall when an unpleasant thought struck. “The wraiths. We ran them off here, so they’ve likely gone after Marta and Lilly.” He recognized the ring of truth as soon as the words were out. The curious light in the cave brightened, almost as if it agreed.
“If Ma and Pa are truly gone,” Tamra sounded much less scared than she had earlier, “we might could take the horse.”
Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? “Great idea.” Luke realized he should have taken the horse when he went after Aethelred—not that it would have altered the outcome. But Abel was a plow horse. No one ever rode him, so it hadn’t even occurred to Luke.
He pushed heavily to his feet. “Let’s go get Abel. We’ll toss a blanket over him. Fact, bring that one.” He pointed to hers wadded in a heap.
Nodding, she scrambled up. “Think it’s safe?” she murmured and peered at the odd light, still suffusing the cave with its comforting warmth.
“Truth?”
“Yes, I’m wantin’ the truth.” Tamra drew herself tall, a solemn light in her eyes.
“I don’t know how safe it is,” he swallowed hard, “but we may be Marta and Lilly’s only chance.” He hesitated. “There’s something in this cave taking care of us. Let’s hope it follows us out of here.” He took Tamra’s hand. “Come on.”
It was very dark outside the cave. And cold. At least it had stopped raining. A slender thread of the multi-hued light floated out of the cave and wrapped itself around the two of them. Its soft glow was welcome, and Luke led the way to the moss-coated shed where Abel was tethered without stumbling.
Clucking softly to the horse, Luke tossed the blanket onto his broad back. He untied Abel’s halter, and then boosted Tamra up. She ducked to avoid the low-hanging roofline of the shed. Luke led the horse out, vaulted onto its back, and turned its head toward the Waverlys’ farm. They bounced unpleasantly once he whipped Abel into a ragged trot. When he looked down, Luke was surprised to find his free hand still attached to Aethelred’s amulet.
A lighter gray painted the far horizon and pink streaks formed, pale as seashells. “Hurry,” Luke urged, gripping Abel with his knees. “Hurry.” Tamra’s small body, rigid with determination, pushed against him. He stared down the deserted road, willing the Waverlys’ farm to appear.
The glowing rope unwound itself and stretched outward into a straight line.
“I think it means for us to walk from here,” Luke muttered, not understanding how he could possibly know that, but knowing it all the same. He wrapped his arm around Tamra and jumped down.
“Abel’s leaving,” Tamra whispered urgently.
“It’s all right. He knows the way home.” Luke looked around nervously and followed the ghostly light’s trail with his sister clinging to his side. The amulet warmed again in his hand. He clutched it so hard it cut into his flesh, and blood trickled down his palm.
The road turned a sharp bend. Light shone from the windows of the Waverlys’ rambling, two-story farmhouse. Folks used lanterns sparingly because it took a lot of work to render the fat to fuel them. Did all that light mean Ma and Pa were somewhere close? The fine hairs on the back of Luke’s neck stood on end and he combed the dark for any sign of the wraiths.
Tamra gasped, “Luke! Look there,” and clung even tighter to his hand.
Outlined in the light of the coming day, Ma and Pa grinned at them. They weren’t as…solid as they’d been in the dark of the cave, but they leered and beckoned, calling for their four children. “Blood knows its own,” Ma crooned, her voice simple and terrible. “I birthed you all. Come to me.” The farmhouse door opened, and then thudded shut. Luke heard raised voices inside and understood one of his sisters had tried to go to Ma, but had been pulled back. His parents shambled toward the farmhouse, their eyes glistening brightly.
“Go,” he hissed at Tamra. “Run onto the porch and go inside.” He placed his body between his sister and his parents. Acid curdled his empty stomach and tears stung his eyes. He wanted Pa to be, well, his Pa again. And Ma… She’d fed him, cared for him… How could she have turned into the atrocity advancing across the yard?
Tamra’s footsteps pounded as she raced for the porch and safety. Another slam of the door told him she was in the Waverlys’ capable hands. With the glowing rope of light in place around him, and apprehension chewing a hole in his guts, Luke faced the wraiths. “You shall leave here,” he called out sternly, except it wasn’t his voice. Someone else spoke through him. It terrified him, but that didn’t matter. What
did was sudden understanding he’d been picked to kill the wraiths that had been his parents—or be killed trying.
His head whirled sickly, but power humming through him kept him on his feet. Things became disjointed after that. Pa leapt toward the porch. Before Luke could react, Ma jumped him and he had to push her chill weight off himself again and again. Then it was Pa he grappled with, and then Ma again. In a distant corner of his mind, Luke wondered which was worse: killing his parents or letting them kill him. He struggled to his feet for the hundredth time, or maybe it was the thousandth. He’d lost count. His head pounded and his heart ached as if he’d been stabbed.
The amulet was hot, blazing hot, and the shimmering cord tightened about him. Fire erupted from his outstretched hands, but his parents—and something else he couldn’t quite make out—were finally fading, scattering in the light pouring off him. In moments they would be gone. “Ma, Pa,” he moaned, surprised to hear his own voice. “I love you. I’m sorry, so sorry…”
Something constricted his throat and the other voice took over his vocal chords again. “You are banished from the light,” it shouted. “You shall not return. Not ever.”
After that, saying anything became a struggle because the magical cord cut off his wind and the stench of his own burning flesh filled his nostrils, gagging him. Gasping for air, he collapsed in the wet mud of the yard.
— •●• —
When Luke came back to himself, he lay on a sofa in the Waverlys’ familiar front room. Aethelred bent over him, wrapping soft bandages around his hands. “You came after all,” Luke said weakly.
“That I did,” the wizard replied. “You called for the goddess and she sent me to help things along. Hold still now so I can finish with your hands. One was burnt nigh on down to bone.”
“Are they gone?” Luke was almost afraid to ask, but he had to know.
“Yes,” Aethelred replied, and a savage note chimed beneath that one word. “You did it, lad. They’ll not be bothering any of us, not ever again.” The wizard hunkered down and looked right into Luke’s eyes. The amulet was back around his neck and this time his piercing gaze didn’t hurt. “I am sorry they are lost to you, but we saved your kin from the half-life of the damned. There couldn’t be a better outcome.”
“Others,” Luke croaked. “There must be other wraiths.” He looked blearily at the wizard. It was hard to think because his brain felt swaddled in wool.
“Yes, there are other undead, but they’re not your kin. It makes a difference. Once you’re better, we can…”
“Can we see him?” Tear-stained voices interrupted the wizard.
Aethelred frowned against his white beard. “Those sisters of yours have been nattering on ever since I carried you in here and laid you down.”
Footsteps clattered on wooden risers. In a flurry of long hair, wet cheeks, stroking hands, and soft words, his sisters surrounded him.
“All right,” Luke said gruffly. “I really am all right. No need to fuss so.” He disentangled himself from the bevy of embraces, afraid he’d cry.
Recognition of something wrong sank slowly into his befuddled brain and his eyes widened. “Tamra, where’s Tamra?” He staggered to his feet and stared stupidly at the corners of the room as if she might crawl out from under a piece of furniture.
Joad Waverly moved in front of Luke and placed gnarled, work-stained hands on his shoulders. “It was my fault,” he said. “I wouldn’t let her in.”
“But I heard the door…” Luke began.
“Yes, and I slammed it. I’m sorry, son.” Joad’s nostrils flared. “Tamra’d been out of doors in the dark with…with what was left of your folks. Couldn’t risk it.” He shook his head sharply. “I had Clare and your other sisters to think of.” The big man let go of Luke and turned away.
Luke sat down hard because his legs shook so violently they refused to hold him upright. The tears he’d fought against earlier rose hot and bitter. Anguish roiled through him and he sobbed helplessly, beyond caring if it made him look weak. Marta and Lilly hovered, trying to stand in for the father and mother all of them had lost.
“Once you’re a bit better, you’ll be coming with me.” Aethelred spoke as if it were fact.
Throat thick, Luke swiped ineffectually at his streaming eyes with a bandaged hand. “I can’t,” he croaked, devastated his littlest sister, the one he’d sworn to protect, was lost to him. “I’ve got to take care of them.” He gestured toward Marta and Lilly wedged on either side of him.
“Where would you be taking him?” Joad asked, and pushed a hand through his thick, dark hair streaked with gray. His brown eyes caught the wizard’s gaze and held it.
“To my school.”
Joad nodded. Exchanging glances with his wife, he blew out a sharp breath. “Me and Clare, we thought as much when we saw all them lights out in the yard. We’ll look after the girls and both farms till Luke can get back here. Least we can do.”
Shaking long, gray hair out of her lined face, Clare echoed, “Yes, it’s the least we can do.”
“I couldn’t let you,” Luke protested. “My family’s my responsibility.”
“Go, son,” Joad said. “Soon as you’re strong enough. Things will be all right here.”
A strange understanding mingled with Luke’s grief. It was so foreign, it took him a few moments to realize he wanted to learn about magic, needed to learn, just like he needed to eat and breathe. Whatever he’d wakened in the cave called to him, sang to him, dared him to pluck the strings holding his inner knowledge captive.
“I feel it too, lad.” Weariness creased Aethelred’s forehead, yet his eyes shone with hope. “It won’t go away. You have no choice after tonight. The call, it comes to each of us in its own fashion. The way your magic found you, well, it was harsher than most…” He sighed, his dark eyes full of warmth as they rested on Luke. “Rest now. There’s time yet before we must leave.”
Luke’s eyelids felt suddenly heavy and he let them close. The warmth stealing about him was probably Aethelred’s doing, but he didn’t fight it. Burned, weary, and heart sore he called up images of his parents and sister. Once he’d bid them farewell, he let the wizard’s spell carry him away.
Chapter One
Overland Stage Route, East of Salt Lake City
1861
An unmistakable stench of spoiled meat, mixed with fresh excrement, wafted into the stagecoach. Abigail Ruskin knew that smell. She covered her nose with her handkerchief, but it was just as saturated with dust and grime as everything else and she sneezed. The coach swayed alarmingly; she thrust the heavy leather window curtain aside so she could see how just bad things were outside. Usually wraiths left you alone in the daytime—but not always. There’d been a time when they had, but dark magic fueled them these days, even darker than when they’d just been shades of the dead.
“Damn!” The word escaped despite her effort to stifle it.
“What is it, Miss Abby?”
“Nothing dear.” Abigail patted Carolyn Giraud’s hand. She was only twelve, and there was no need to alarm her about the wraiths. Without magic, Carolyn wouldn’t be able to see them anyway—at least not as anything but gray shadows. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t stop them from killing her.
“I want to look.” Carolyn craned her neck, but Abigail slammed the curtain back into place. “I really did want to see.” Petulance rode beneath the girl’s words, reminding Abigail just how privileged and spoiled she was. “My parents employ you. You have no right to tell me no.” Pain blossomed in Abigail’s arm, and she realized the girl had pinched her…hard.
“Now, now. We’ll have none of that, young lady.” It took all her forbearance not to haul off and slap her young charge.
Abigail settled Carolyn firmly back into her seat and pushed the girl’s blonde hair out of her blue-gray eyes, arranging it behind her shoulders. Curves were just starting to show beneath layers of finely woven woolen clothing. Maybe incipient womanhood was responsible for the gir
l’s foul temper and near inability to follow directions.
“Naught to look at,” Abigail said, rubbing her arm. “I must have been half-asleep when I pulled that curtain aside. I’m sure we’ll be on the other side of this mountain range in no time and in Salt Lake tomorrow or the day after that.” Unless the wraiths decide to attack. That could push our schedule back quite a bit. She arranged her mouth in an approximation of a smile to settle her anger. Boning from her stays poked uncomfortably into her sides. Abigail did what she could to alleviate the pressure, which wasn’t much with the man sitting across from her staring.
“I don’t like you.” Carolyn crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the floor.
Abigail blew out an exasperated breath. It had been clear from the first day of their long journey from New York City Carolyn’s parents denied her nothing. Gifted magicians in Abigail’s Coven, they’d hired her through the Coven network to chaperone their only child cross-country to their new family home in Utah Territory. The journey had been quite an odyssey; they’d traveled by train—three different rail lines—to St. Joseph, Missouri, and then gotten on the Overland Stage.
If the goddess kept a kind eye out, the elder Girauds would have their little darling back in short order. Good thing too, or else I’d kill her. Abigail’s instructions had also included providing tutelage in the magical arts, which was probably why the elder Girauds hired her and not some non-Coven-linked governess. She’d tried, but Carolyn had absolutely zero aptitude, not even enough ability to light a candle. Strange, given how powerful her parents were, but not unheard of since witchcraft didn’t follow genetic patterns of inheritance.
Abigail shook her head; she wasn’t looking forward to being the one to tell the Girauds their daughter didn’t even have a future as a hedge witch, let alone a mage. In truth, she was surprised they hadn’t already figured that out on their own.
“Like me or no, you’ll be rid of me soon enough.” Abigail aimed for a cheerful tone. “I’m certain your folks will be delighted to be reunited with you.” Definitely a child only a parent could love.
