Bitter Night

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  “Fuck,” she said aloud, dragging one hand through her hair.

  “What is it?” Alexander asked quickly.

  She gave him a sideways glance. “Nothing,” she replied shortly, then reached for the stereo, turning on the CD player. Instantly the cab of the truck filled with a slow, mournful jazz song. Max’s lip curled and she turned it off. She and Akemi did not share tastes in music.

  Her fingers flexed on the steering wheel. Alexander said nothing so loudly it made her jaw hurt. Suddenly they came up on the Pala Road exit. Max veered off, barely slowing as she spun the truck around east on Pala Road, running the stop sign in the process. She followed the curves past farmland and through the town of Pala, then through more farmland until they reached mountains. She rolled her window down, tasting smoke. An Uncanny wind was blowing and smoke choked the moon and stars. The fire had to be huge. What had the angel said? A gift, a threat, and a promise. But for whom? Giselle? Other witches?

  Suddenly she hit the brakes and pulled over, gravel and dust spinning into the air. She turned to face Alexander.

  “It’s time to fish or cut bait. You can get out right here and go back to Selange or go wherever the hell you want. I don’t give a shit. Or if you want, you can stay with me and join my Shadowblades. But if you do decide to stay, then I have to be able to trust you like one of my own. I’ll need your word.”

  In the world of witches, too many times a man’s word was a flimsy thing. Still, it was all Max owned, and it was all she could ask of Alexander. He didn’t even own the clothes on his back.

  “Well? I don’t have time to waste. What’s it going to be?”

  11

  ALEXANDER SAT STUNNED. SHE HAD SUGGESTED before that he could just leave, and he had not taken her seriously. How could he? He was a wealth of information for Giselle. Not just about Selange, but many things he had learned in the last hundred years. Letting him go was’He almost laughed. Stupid. He kept using that word when it came to Max, but she was not stupid. Nor was this some sort of test. If there was one thing he had learned in the last thirty hours, it was that she did not have the patience to lie. This was a real offer.

  “I told you, Selange will not want me back, except to make sure I keep my mouth shut. And I am made to serve a coven,” he said, playing for time as he tried to sort out his thoughts. What did he want to do? He could go back to Selange. Telling her about the angel’s visit to Giselle might buy him some goodwill, though not much. Better if he brought back Max like a trophy to lay at her feet. He looked at her. He was not going to do that.

  “That answer doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence, Slick. If the only reason you want to stay is because you’ve got nowhere else to go, then I don’t want you.”

  “I do not even know you. You hate your witch and you are reckless beyond measure. Why should I stay?”

  “You don’t have to convince me. I couldn’t agree more. So take a walk. Now. Get out.”

  She watched him, her eyes implacable. And the one thing that Alexander knew for sure in that moment was that he did not want to leave. He thought of Giselle’s tears when she realized the extent of Max’s injuries, and he remembered the fierce loyalty of her Shadowblades as they fought for her life. Then there was Max’s promise to the angel’I owe you. He wondered what Giselle had said about that. Yet, despite the danger such a promise presented, she had not punished Max or killed her, as any other witch would have done.

  What it all came down to was that the people surrounding Max were tainted with her sense of what was right. They fought for her and for each other, because they cared about each other, and because Max gave them all everything she had and expected the same from them. None wanted to come up short. Alexander found that he was no different.

  He met Max’s hard gaze. Her eyes were shuttered. Even as he watched, he could see her withdrawing inside of herself to that place she had gone during the Conclave challenge. It was so deep and so armored that it was almost like she was not there at all. Something in him twisted sharply. He did not want to let her go there. It was a cold, bleak place, but more than that, when she was there, she became more reckless. She needed him’for tonight at least’to watch her back, and whether she knew it or not, to pull her back from the edge of reason.

  “I want to stay with you.” He stressed the last word slightly.

  Max scowled. Something hot and angry rippled over her expression and vanished. The seconds ticked past. Alexander waited. Would she kick him out anyway?

  She sat rigid, staring out over the hood of the truck. Her throat jerked as she swallowed hard. She gave a little shake of her head, then put the truck in gear and pulled back onto the road. She never said a word.

  Alexander chewed the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. He watched the mountains speed by, smoke lying in their folds like clouds. If he was really committed to Max ...and Giselle ...then he had to go all the way. No secrets.

  “The angel visited Selange just before the Conclave,” he said abruptly into the silence. “He gave her a similar scroll. I do not know what it said, but Selange was not pleased to receive it. She was worried. She sent Sunspears to find the Hag and her staff. And she made the challenge to get your hailstone. She said that with the Hag, the staff, and the hailstone, she might be able to avoid ΓÇÿindentured servitude.’ Her words.”

  When Max did not reply, he glanced at her to gauge her reaction. Her mouth had twisted down and her hands whitened on the steering wheel. “All right,” she said flatly. “Anything else I should know?”

  “This fire was supposed to be a gift for Selange. My guess is it will allow her to expand her territory by getting rid of the witches south and east of her territory. There has long been friction there. It will also give her an influx of power as she collects the magic from the panic and deaths. And one thing more. The angel said he would come for Selange’s answer on the new moon.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No.”

  “Why would Selange get a gift and Giselle a threat?” Max wondered aloud. “It doesn’t make sense. And if they really did burn out Old Home’” She broke off like she had said too much.

  “Old Home?” he asked.

  She hesitated. “Old Home is an ally of Horngate. Just before the Conclave, it went silent. Alton, Old Home’s witch, was in a panic. Giselle believes it might have been destroyed because of what was in the scroll. She thinks Alton got one, too.”

  Max knew more, he could tell. She spoke carefully as if paring down the facts. “Did all the scrolls say the same thing?” he wondered aloud. “And can whoever sent them be trusted?”

  She glanced at him sharply and opened her mouth, then shut it and stared back out at the road. They made the rest of the journey in silence, the smoke thickening the closer they came to Julian. Without asking, Alexander knew that must be where they were going. Either Giselle wanted the Hag and her staff for her own use, or she did not want to let Selange have her. But Selange had sent her Sunspears to Julian the morning before the Conclave.

  “Do you think she is still there?” he asked, more to break the silence than to hear the answer.

  Max made no effort to pretend she did not know what he was talking about. “The Hag? Maybe. Probably. I’d bet on her.”

  “Selange will not give up. My’Her Shadowblades will be on the hunt if her Sunspears failed to capture the Hag.”

  “Then we’ll have to be careful.”

  She said nothing more.

  By the time they reached Julian, the smoke was so thick they could no longer see more than twenty yards in front of the truck. Ash floated thickly in the air. It was as if a volcano had erupted, or hell had opened a door into Southern California. An unnatural wind gusted, buffeting the truck. It smelled of the Divine.

  Max drove through town, pulling off in a dirt lane and parking behind a mass of tangled blackberries on the edge of an irrigation ditch. She got out, opening the rear door and flipping up the seat. She pulled out a second .45 in a hip holster
and belted it on, fastening it to her thigh with a Velcro strap, then reached for the pistol-grip shotgun she had been carrying that first night. Alexander came around the front of the truck.

  “Take your pick,” Max told him, slinging a bandolier filled with flashbombs and iron-shapnel grenades over her shoulder before stepping out of the way.

  Alexander hesitated a bare instant. She was not playing games; she had taken him at his word and chosen to trust him to watch her back. He could not imagine doing the same in her position. He would not have turned his back on her, much less given her a weapon.

  He took out a MAC-10 and looped the strap over his shoulder, then grabbed a .45 and buckled it around his hips. He tucked a combat knife into his waistband at the small of his back and slid a folding knife into his borrowed boot. He straightened and turned. Max was already moving toward the trees. He hurried to catch up with her.

  The smoke and magic in the air overwhelmed all other scents. Ash and dirt whirled on the wind, clogging Alexander’s nose and eyes. Max seemed hardly to notice. She flowed over the ground like a shadow. Her head swiveled back and forth, but never in Alexander’s direction, as if she trusted him to guard and defend her flank. He wondered what she would do if he decided to attack her after all. It was an idle thought. He had made his choice. But that did not diminish the miracle of the trust she placed in him.

  He stayed twenty feet behind her, ranging back and forth, camouflaging himself in the shadows of the trees and the writhing curls of smoke unwinding along the ground. The wild magic of the chaos zone had vanished, leaving only small, lingering pockets of malevolence and dreams. Alexander skirted them easily. They could not harm him, but they were distracting.

  He could not afford distraction. If Max was right and the Hag had not yet been found, his Shadowblades would have returned to continue the search. The same ones that had tried to kill him the previous night.

  He knew without a doubt that had Max lost the challenge, her Shadowblades would never have gone hunting her, except as a rescue mission. They would have died before hurting her. Compared to her, he was a failure as a Prime. The knowledge irritated him. What could he have done better?

  The ground was soft and his boots left deep tracks in the loam. But Alexander was not worried about what might be tracking them. The real danger was ahead.

  Max held up a warning hand and Alexander dropped into a crouch, straining to hear. The only sound was the sough of the wind in the trees and the drone of helicopters and airplanes to the south. At last Max started to move again. Alexander closed the distance between them by half. Selange’s Shadowblades were here somewhere. He could feel it.

  They finally emerged from the skirts of the apple orchard. Before them was a tractor and beyond it the ashen remains of the house. Little was left besides a black hole in the ground and some debris that had been blown clear when Thor had detonated the house. Beyond was the pool enclosure, and to the far right of it, the small grotto that was home to the Hag. Max squatted at the front of the tractor. Alexander followed suit.

  “If they are not here, then they have found her,” he said. “Selange would not have given up.” The wind shredded the words, but Max nodded once to let him know she had heard.

  They sat watching for fifteen minutes. Max never even turned her head, much less fidgeted. At last she glanced up. The moon was nothing more than a smudge of light behind the smoke. There was only a few hours of darkness left. She looked at him over her shoulder.

  “Scout the perimeter. I’m going to find the Hag.”

  She turned and trotted away, her shotgun ready in her hand. Alexander caught himself before he could follow, though every instinct told him she should not go alone. Instead he did as ordered and went the other way.

  There was little enough cover left. The house was gone, and with it the bushes and trees that had grown in its shadow. The lack forced Alexander to take a longer, more circuitous route than he wished, knowing that Max had taken a direct line to the grotto.

  He came around the back side of the pool enclosure and leaped over the fence. He dropped down in the bushes, painfully aware of the crackling shuffle of the leaves as he landed. He froze, listening. He heard nothing. Slowly he eased out of the garden bed and out along the sidewalk. He padded across to the other side and crouched again by the brick barbecue.

  The hairs on his neck rose. The wind gusted. Now he could smell them. So close. Alexander slid to the fence and peered over. Max stood between the grotto and the remains of the house. Five Shadowblades surrounded her, each of them pointing a gun.

  “Move and you die, bitch,” Brynna said. “I thought I killed you.” She took a step closer. “Never mind. I’ll make sure you die this time. I owe you for that knock on the head.” Eagerness sharpened the viciousness in her voice.

  “Selange wants her,” Thor said in his Texan drawl.

  “I want her,” Brynna pouted. “Selange doesn’t even have to know. All she really wants is the Hag and her staff anyway.”

  Alexander did not wait to hear more. Max’s face told him all he needed to know. She was not going down without a fight. He backed away from the fence and ran to the other end of the pool enclosure, just around the corner from the Hag’s grotto. He vaulted the clapboard fence. His feet touched down at the same moment he pulled his combat knife from his waistband. There was no time for finesse. He was running full tilt as he leaped over the grotto pool. A rock humped up behind Max. Alexander dug to a halt behind it even as he snatched Max’s hair in his fist and yanked her back. She tried to catch herself, but the rock confused her feet. She sagged against Alexander’s chest. He held her in place with an iron arm, the point of his knife’her knife’jabbing sharply into her neck.

  “Do not move,” he warned. He looked at his stunned Shadowblades, giving a predatory smile. “Nobody’s killing this bitch but Selange.”

  With that, he pulled back and clubbed the hilt of the knife against the side of Max’s head. He felt her skull give and she slid boneless from his arms. He let her fall, never taking his eyes off the surrounding Shadow-blades. Would they try to kill him? He was not sure, but Cleo looked faintly abashed, and Thor’s face could not seem to decide between a smile and a scowl.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Brynna demanded. “You are no longer Selange’s Prime. In fact, you’re not one of us at all. Take him,” she ordered, gesturing at Thor.

  “But I am one of you,” Alexander said, sliding his knife back into his waistband. He spoke more to the others than to Brynna; she was not going to listen to anything he had to say.

  “I have been with Selange more than a hundred years. She made me. I am hers forever. I certainly do not belong to some child-witch who has barely come into her powers. Did you think Selange truly cut me loose?” He shook his head, sneering. “Surely you know how devious she is. It was all show to get me inside her enemy’s coven and bring back this trash.” He nudged Max with his boot, glancing back up at his audience. Were they buying it?

  “Someone had better bind her before she wakes. Make it solid.” He looked mockingly at Brynna. “If that is all right with you, Brynna, since you seem to be handing out orders tonight. Did Selange make you Prime instead of Marcus?”

  She flushed. “He put me in charge tonight. He had other things to do.” She spun around and looked at the others. “Tie her up. Tie them both up. We’ll let Selange decide if he’s telling the truth.”

  They used riot cuffs on Alexander’s and Max’s wrists and ankles, then ringed each of them from head to toe with a series of heavy-duty cable ties spaced every two to three inches. Taking charge of Alexander, Brynna tightened the ties so they gouged deep into his flesh. Trussed this way, neither prisoner could leverage enough strength to break free. Bound like mummies, neither could they walk.

  Thor put Alexander over his shoulder and Cleo hoisted up Max, who remained unconscious.

  “Dump them in the van and keep an eye on them,” Brynna ordered. “The rest of you
, look for the Hag. We leave in an hour. If you don’t find her this time, there’s going to be payback. I’m not taking the blame for failing, I promise.”

  Alexander snorted. If she kept that up, she’d soon find herself with a bullet in her brain.

  Just beside the driveway, a firebreak road looped out around the property, tracing the edge of the orchard. Two gray box vans were parked there. Thor yanked open the rear doors of the first one. There was a bench seat behind the driver’s seat, and the rest of the back was open. Thor slid Alexander inside, more gently than expected. Cleo tossed Max in beside him. Her head thudded loudly on the floorboards.

  The minutes ticked by slowly. Neither Cleo nor Thor spoke as they stood watch. About a half hour later, Max woke. She did not move nor open her eyes, but Alexander heard the shift in her breathing and felt a purposeful tension hum through her body. He waited for her to speak, to condemn his betrayal. She said nothing. She did not have to; he knew. Waste of skin.