I pushed out a breath. “It usually isn’t. But today, there’s something going on, and . . . well . . . the bad guys know I have a brother.”
Jack leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “How much trouble are you in?”
I faked a smile. “No more than I can handle,” I said lightly, hoping it was true. “But can you go somewhere else for a day or two? I can pay for it,” I added quickly. At this rate, I was going to need to start taking a lot of freelance jobs.
Jack shook his head. “It’s not that . . . I don’t like this, Scarlett. Shouldn’t you just go to the police?”
I almost laughed. “That . . . would not be a good idea at this time, no.”
“So quit,” he said, like it was the easiest solution in the world. “Get another job. We can help you, if it’s about money—”
“It’s not that.” I actually considered the idea for a second, but of course it was hopeless. Nulls were valuable. I needed to be under someone’s protection, and I was never going to get a better offer than I had here. This was my home. “I can’t quit, Jack.”
“Why not?”
“It’s complicated.”
He stood up then, pacing away to look out the window. I waited him out. Finally, he turned around and looked at me. “Do you really think they’d come after me?” Fear hit his face. “Or Juliet? The kids?”
I considered telling him about Noah then. I really did. But that kind of confirmation could be dangerous down the road, especially if Noah recovered and we needed to press him. “It’s not a chance I’m willing to take. Will you go somewhere?”
“Fine. I’ll call in sick for tomorrow, and drive up to San Jose to join Juliet. But . . . I need to think about this whole thing, Scarlett. About”—he hesitated for a moment, obviously upset, then pushed on—“about whether you have a place in the kids’ lives, if you’re gonna keep doing what you’re doing.”
My heart sank, but . . . wasn’t this exactly what’d I’d expected? Jack had a family now. They needed him more than I did. “I understand, Jack. Really, I do.”
I got up, the cereal forgotten, and headed toward the front door. Then a thought surfaced from way in the back of my mind, and I turned around again. “Hey . . . do you remember any of our grandparents?”
Jack looked surprised. “A little. Why?”
“Just something I’ve been thinking about lately. Grandma Rose lived the longest, right?” She had been our mother’s mother.
“Yeah, she died just before Mom and Dad. But she and Mom hadn’t talked for a long time before that.”
I nodded. “I remember how upset Mom was, but do you know why they stopped talking?”
“Uh . . .” He looked at the ceiling, his eyes going distant. “No, I guess I don’t. I remember Mom screaming at her on the phone once, when I was supposed to be in bed. She was mad that Grandma had never told her about something.” He shrugged. “I never got the details.” He spread his hands, not saying it. And now they’re all gone.
“Okay . . . thanks, Jack.”
“Goodbye, Scarbo.”
He sounded oddly formal, and I knew what it meant. Fighting back tears, I added, “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I left the condo wondering when I’d next see my brother.
Chapter 33
After I left Jack’s house, I checked in with Kirsten, who got a little snappish as she told me that she had calls out everywhere and was working on it, Scarlett. It wasn’t that she couldn’t find information; there were apparently hundreds of different stories about the Wild Hunt, in English alone. The problem was sifting through and figuring out what was real and what was classic Old World misdirection. I asked after Owen, and she paused and said, “Actually, he’s been a lot of help. He seems . . . invested.”
“They killed his grandfather in front of him,” I pointed out.
“Yeah. Hey, what about your contacts?” Kirsten said suddenly. “Aren’t there nulls or someone you can ask about the Wild Hunt?”
Huh. I hadn’t really considered that. I had already left a message for Lex asking her to talk to Maven, but I’d need to wait until after sundown to hear back, and it sounded like whatever was happening would start at nightfall. But I did know a few other people. “I’ll make some calls,” I promised Kirsten.
We agreed to meet in another two hours to pool our findings. As soon as I hung up, I opened an e-mail on my phone.
It’s hard to reach out in the Old World, because it’s so much like Fight Club, and because it’s not organized into governments or anything. There are no embassies, no tourism boards. It’s sort of a feudal-system-meets-the-Wild-West kind of scenario, which makes it hard to communicate in the modern world. You can’t just google “nulls in Japan” and get anywhere.
About five years ago, however, my former mentor and fellow null (and, as it turned out, psycho hosebeast), Olivia, had made a concentrated effort to find other nulls. I never really got all the details, but she managed to dig up five more of us: two in Europe, one in Japan, one in Russia, and Jameson, who was now dead. It was one of the only useful, non-evil things she’d ever done, and I’d inherited all the contact information after her death.
I didn’t have much of a relationship with most of them—we had all needed to pledge loyalty to some faction or another, which made us wary of each other. But years ago, when Olivia was threatening Jack, I’d gotten desperate. I’d sent him to spend a few days with a Scottish null named Rhys.
I hadn’t actually spoken to Rhys on the phone since then, but we sent the occasional e-mail just to check in and . . . well, make sure the other was still alive. Mostly it was him making sure I was still alive. He had the most normal life of any null I’d ever heard of: he was in his forties, and he and his wife had adopted a couple of children, now in their early teens. Rhys lived in a fairly small town that didn’t have much of an Old World presence, so he worked a day job as a carpenter and only did null stuff when called upon. I got the impression from him that this rarely happened, partly because there were no werewolves in the British Isles.
Because of the Luparii.
He was obviously the right person to ask about this. I did the math, determined that it was only early evening there, and placed the call. I would have called either way, but at least I didn’t have to apologize for waking him up.
The phone rang twice, and as soon as I said hello, a thick Scottish brogue said, “Scarlett Bernard, lass, what’s the matter now? Are ye sending Jack my way again?”
That gave me pause. “Hi, Rhys. Why do you think something’s the matter?”
“Oh, because ye only call when ye world’s fallen in. What is it this time?”
I’d been planning to ease in with some small talk, but hey. “The Wild Hunt,” I said, as evenly as I could manage.
There was a long silence, and I checked the phone’s screen to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. “Rhys?”
“Aye. I’m here.”
“Do you know anything about it, besides the Grimm brothers’ folklore and the stuff on the Wikipedia page?”
“I know it’s very old, and that it doesn’t happen anymore, for which we should all be bleedin’ grateful,” he said.
“Um . . . it’s happening here, in LA. Tonight, I think.”
He chuckled. “Someone is pulling your leg, lass. The spell for the Wild Hunt’s been lost since—”
“Rhys, the Luparii are here,” I interrupted. “I’m told they found the scroll.”
Another long silence. Then, in a shaken voice, he said, “That’s impossible.”
I told him about Karl Schmidt and his flight from Europe.
“The Wild Hunt in the modern world?” Rhys said, sounding amazed. In an Oh no, we’re all going to die kind of way that made my stomach twist.
“Why? What is it? There are hundreds of different stories, and we can’t figure out which are real.”
He sighed. “It’s a spell—a very, very old spell, likely predating Chri
stianity. It transforms a group of riders and their hounds into spectral warriors.”
“Spectral warriors?” I repeated, because . . . come on.
“Aye. I know how it sounds. But the Wild Hunt was how witches went to war against other Old World groups, including other witches. My own great-great-grandmother claimed she heard the Wild Hunt go by once. She had nightmares about the blowin’ of the horn and the bayin’ of the hounds, to her dying day. It’s evil magic, lass.”
“I thought magic wasn’t inherently good or evil,” I said.
“Maybe it isn’t,” he amended, “but this particular spell is evil. It alters a group of witches so that they canna be killed or harmed. The full spell changes their hounds and horses and everything, so the riders are able to pass through structures and kill anyone with ties to magic.”
Wait, that wasn’t what I was expecting. “Not humans?”
“No. Humans can’t even see it without special ointment. Only witches, werewolves, and vampires can see the Hunt, and only they can fall victim to it. And it doesn’t affect the physical world, other than the bodies of its victims. You say the Luparii came to Los Angeles to recover the scroll?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“All right.” Relief had crept into his voice. “You should still be okay . . . so long as they don’t get the sword as well.”
Oh, shit. “About that,” I began.
“Scarlett,” he groaned. “Don’t tell me they have Durendal too?”
“Okay, I won’t . . . unless Durendal is a magic glowing sword that can cut through anything?”
There was another long silence, and then I heard voices in the background—children and an adult woman. She must have asked who he was talking to, because he said, “Hang on a minute, lass,” and then the phone was muffled. I had a bad feeling I needed to prioritize my questions.
When Rhys came back, I hurried to say, “Rhys, wouldn’t nulls be able to undo the Wild Hunt magic?”
“I don’t rightfully know. The Wild Hunt spell predates us. But listen to me: I can’t help ye with this no more.”
That brought me up short. “What? Why not?”
“This is Scotland, girl!” he said defensively. “The Luparii have eyes and ears here.”
“I thought they were in France.” Dashiell had also said Portugal and Romania, but I wanted separate confirmation.
Rhys groaned. “Their headquarters are in France, but they have outposts in England, Germany, Romania, and Portugal,” he said. “They need room out in the country to train the dogs. They know about me, but they think I’m nothing, just a low-power null who picks up the occasional vampire job. If I get on their radar . . . I’ve got kids, Scarlett.”
I closed my eyes. “Rhys, can you just tell me—”
“I can’t. All I’ll say, and I say it with the best of wishes for ye: get out of Los Angeles. Wherever the Wild Hunt is, don’t be there.”
And he hung up the phone. I looked at it for a minute in amazement.
Well . . . shit.
Chapter 34
Kirsten hadn’t wanted me to come to her house, not that I could blame her. Her place is warded all to hell against intruders, and if I stopped by she’d have to redo all her defenses. Her daughter with Hayne, Ophelia, was at the house too, and the last thing I wanted was to put a toddler in danger.
We could have crashed Dashiell’s place, but Kirsten had apparently just redone all the wards there, too. Being a null is a pain in the ass sometimes. She and I debated it for a bit before deciding to meet somewhere non-warded.
Kirsten had suggested a place called the Los Angeles River Visitor Center, which turned out to be a sort of half-park, half-museum just northeast of Dodger Stadium. It consisted of fancy Spanish Mission–style grounds with rooms for conferences and a few exhibits on the history of the LA River. Mostly, it seemed like a really pretty place to have staged wedding photos or catch Pokémon or something.
But I had to admit, it was pretty, all wrought-iron fences and fountains and creeping ivy on stucco walls. As Shadow and I walked in—she probably wasn’t allowed in there, but I’d wait for someone to yell at me—I saw a handful of people wandering around taking photos or chatting next to a large map of the LA River. For the most part, though, the place was pretty empty. Apparently, this was not a popular destination if there wasn’t a wedding, which was probably why Kirsten had picked it.
I’d texted Kirsten upon arriving, and she’d replied that she would meet me in a little side alcove.
“You’re early,” she said with a frown as Shadow and I rounded the corner.
“I took your advice and called a null in Europe,” I explained. “I have a little new information.”
“Oh goody,” she said with a brittle smile. “More information.” She led me down an open-air corridor to a small building entrance. “One of my witches volunteers for the River Center,” she said over her shoulder, pulling the exterior door open. We went through a short, wide hallway to an unmarked door. Kirsten knocked five times, and I heard a bolt slide over.
Owen’s face appeared in the crack. “Scarlett!” He swung the door wide. Then, to my surprise, he threw his arms around me for a moment. Almost immediately, he ducked away, embarrassed. “I’m glad you guys made it,” he mumbled. The bargest trotted over to him and inclined her head so he could scratch at her favorite spot, behind her furry ear. He obliged.
“Um, thanks,” I said, feeling a little guilty. I hadn’t really thought about it at the time, but it must have been really scary for Owen, to escape the Luparii’s clutches and then watch his would-be rescuers walk right into a Luparii trap.
But now we were both obviously desperate to change the subject. “Uh, what’s going on here?” I said, looking around. The room turned out to be a surprisingly plush-looking conference space, with one of those superlong tables. Three-quarters of it was covered in papers and books, many of which looked old and kind of crumbly. Oh. This was why she’d made the joke about more information.
“Owen has been helping me with research,” Kirsten said simply.
“Where did you get all this?”
“Most of it was from my collection, but some of it came from Owen’s grandfather.” Kirsten gestured at on old-timey trunk lying open at the foot of the conference table.
“You took it from the crime scene?”
“Remember how I was helping my grandfather move?” Owen put in. “I’d already moved his trunk of Luparii stuff. I just went back over to the nursing home this morning and picked it up.”
“Smart,” I said.
Owen’s face fell a little. “Yeah, well, I think they were glad to get rid of his stuff. Make way for someone else.”
“You were saying about talking to another null?” Kirsten reminded me.
“Yeah! Rhys. He knew a little bit about the Wild Hunt spell, like the name of the stupid magical sword,” I offered. “‘Durendal.’ Don’t ask me how to spell it.”
“No need,” Kirsten said, sifting through one of the stacks. This one looked like regular computer printouts. “I’ve heard that before. Here.” She picked up a page. “Durendal was a sword of legend in France. Mostly known for belonging to Roland, one of Charlemagne’s famous knights.” She shrugged. “I haven’t seen it connected to the Wild Hunt, but there were rumors that Roland was a witch.”
“Well, according to Rhys, to run the Wild Hunt you need the sword and a magic scroll. Maybe that’s something we can use.”
“I read about a scroll,” Kirsten began, but her phone buzzed. She frowned down at the screen. “Hang on, Will is here. Let me go get him.”
When she left the room, I turned to Owen, determined to try again. I had my own shit going on, but this kid had been through a lot. “How are you holding up?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It’s just . . . surreal, you know?”
So far that day, I had seen two people die, made out with my best friend, and said goodbye to my brother, possibly forever. And that was just toda
y. “Believe it or not,” I told Owen, “I kind of do.” I let a moment of silence pass before adding cautiously, “It’s good of you to help us with this.”
He focused on petting Shadow, avoiding eye contact. “The way I see it is, stopping the Luparii is the only way I get my life back. I won’t be safe until they’re dead or gone.”
There was something he wasn’t saying. “So it’s not about revenge?”
“That’s the thing.” He looked at me then, and I realized that his brown eyes were terrified. “I’m from a long line of murderers and torturers,” he said quietly. “What if I like it?”
That brought me up short, but only for a moment. “Magical specialty isn’t the same thing as destiny, kid. I know a boundary witch who could tell you all about that.”
His eyes widened, but Will and Kirsten came through the door before he could respond.
Will looked worried and haggard, wearing the same clothes as the day before. “How is Jesse’s brother?” he asked me.
I held up my phone. “Jesse just texted. The doctors are putting him in a medically induced coma until the swelling goes down. They won’t know anything else for a bit.” I looked at Kirsten. “Is Hayne coming?” I asked.
She shook her head. “He’s staying with Ophelia,” she said shortly. “This is it until Dashiell wakes up for the night.”
“Okay.” I couldn’t exactly blame her for wanting her husband to protect her kid. Besides, if what Rhys told me was true, they’d be safer together—away from anything supernatural.
“Tell Will what you told us,” Kirsten instructed me.
“Right. I called my null friend in Scotland,” I began, and this time I walked them through the whole conversation.
Will looked surprised. “Hang on,” he said. “You’re telling me the world’s most powerful witch magic has been locked up for the last fifty years in an attic in Long Beach?”
“That’s what I said,” I exclaimed.
“Has the spell always been with the Luparii?” Will asked. “I mean, they didn’t actually invent it, did they?”
Owen and Kirsten shook their heads. “I’ve been speaking with my aunt about the scroll Owen mentioned,” Kirsten said. “It’s fallen into the hands of any number of people over the centuries—it was even in Sweden at one point—which is partly why the spell is called different things in different countries.”
Shadow Hunt Page 19
