by D. J. Butler
Mab laughed a silvery string of bell-like notes. “Very good, Marked Woman.” The Queen of the Shadowless Palace beckoned forward one of her Rangers, a chestnut-haired youth with a bushy squirrel’s tail. “Take her to the Thracian Mare.”
Jane inclined her head politely and then poured the bead back into its vial. “Your Majesty.”
“Ride well.”
“Enjoy your conversation with the Legate.”
Jane followed Squirrel through the Outer Bounds. She wouldn’t have admitted it to Mab, but she was grateful for the guide—without it, she’d have spent hours, no doubt, waiting for her ka to recuperate so she could find her way, and then waited hours more at the gate to be able to pass through. In that time, who knows who or what might have come through into the Outer Bounds chasing her? Instead, she slugged calmly through the maze of stairwells, bridges, corridors and chambers with her saddlebags slung over her shoulder, letting her ka heal along with her indomitable body, while Squirrel chucked his teeth together and looked at her repeatedly over his slender shoulder.
Through the mirror-gate to which the fairy led her, Jane peered and saw that the Bearers of the Sword had gone. That was enough for her—she nodded to Squirrel, incanted her transition spell and slipped back into the sorghum fields outside Dodge City, Kansas.
She stepped from the rear view mirror of the destroyed deputies’ car. The mirror was no longer attached to the body of the vehicle, but lay on the side of the road alone. For that matter, there was no longer a body of the car—just smaller and larger fragments of wreckage.
The same was true of Fine Cuts, Inc., Jane saw as she walked towards it. The enormous swords of Heaven’s enforcers had smashed it to rubble and left it burning. Fire was beginning to spread to the adjacent fields, too, and in the distance, Jane heard the wailing sirens of emergency response vehicles.
Jane stopped at the edge of the pocked parking lot and whistled.
After two seconds’ delay, the Mare cantered around the back of the plant, baring its predators’ teeth at her and whinnying in something that almost sounded like pleasure.
Jane whinnied back and patted the dangerous, violent animal on its face. The horse’s flanks were bloody, so Jane left the saddlebags on her own shoulder, took the Mare by the reins and started to lead it down the highway.
“Good girl,” she said.
With a guttural coughing, the Dodge van rattled out from the other side of the plant, shocks taking a beating as the driver gunned it over the craters. At the edge of the highway, Jane and the van met, and the rock and rollers braked.
Jane was careful not to be too obvious about it, but she let her gun hand drift down and idle not far from the butt of the pistol.
Jim slid the van door open from the inside. Within, Jane saw Mike and Eddie in front and the wizard, Adrian, in back, squinting at her suspiciously through his sorcerous monocle. Twitch must be flying around under her own power, Jane guessed.
Jim scooted back and made room on the middle seat beside him. He gestured at it invitingly and arched an eyebrow. He looked a bit like his father, Azazel, she thought. But he looked a lot like Jacob. He looked just like Jacob might have looked, if Jacob had ever had the chance to grow up.
Eddie cranked down the window. The guitar player smiled, but in an I-don’t-trust-you-much sort of way, and he kept his hands out of sight. Jane remembered his pistol and paid attention.
“Thanks,” she said. “I’d be more trouble than I’m worth.”
“I doubt that,” Eddie said, in a voice that sounded like he believed her totally. “You want a lift? We might owe you.”
Jane shook her head. “I ride alone. Hadn’t you heard?”
Eddie nodded. “Still, Jim has this thing for taking in strays. He likes people with problems. Especially the damnation sort of problem.”
Jane frowned. She could hear the sirens closer now. “I don’t know whether I’m damned or not. We didn’t have damnation when I was a kid, so I don’t know where I stand. My big problem isn’t that at all—”
“Your big problem is you can’t die,” Eddie cut her off.
“Chingado.”
“Bullseye,” she said.
Eddie nodded. “Take care of yourself.” He ground his window back up again, Jim nodded, and then they were in motion, rolling onto the highway and away.
Above the taillights of the Dodge, she could make out two birds flying away. One was Twitch, a white-winged raptor with a silver horse’s tail; the other was a large black crow.
“Come on, girl.” Jane turned and led her mount into the sorghum fields. She didn’t have the strength of ka to put together any useful wards, and she could see the lights of the police cars and fire trucks now. She’d feel better after a couple of hours of light walking, and then she’d put together appropriate spells for traveling.
The Thracian Mare neighed a slight protest.
“Don’t worry, he’ll be back,” Jane acknowledged. “The crow will always be back.”
***
About the Author
D.J. Butler (Dave) is a novelist living in the Rocky Mountain northwest. His training is in law, and he worked as a securities lawyer at a major international firm and inhouse at two multinational semiconductor manufacturers before taking up writing fiction. He is a lover of language and languages, a guitarist and self-recorder, and a serious reader. He is married to a powerful and clever woman and together they have three devious children.
Dave writes fantasy, science fiction, space opera, steampunk, cyberpunk, superhero, alternate history, dystopian fiction, horror and related genres for all audiences. His novels Crecheling and City of the Saints are available from WordFire Press, and his middle reader steampunk adventure series, The Extraordinary Journeys of Clockwork Charlie, launches soon with the novel The Kidnap Plot (Knopf, 2016).
Read about all of Dave’s fiction projects at http://davidjohnbutler.com.
