Bitter Night

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  He glanced up again. Fire rimmed the rectangular opening above, and even as he watched, molten rock dribbled down along the wall.

  “How are we going to get past that?”

  “With luck. Come on. We don’t want to get struck by another magic wave. We won’t have anything to hang on to.”

  Max started up. She climbed easily, moving like a spider. Alexander did his best to follow her path, but soon his fingers and toes were raw and he shook with the ferocity of his concentration.

  The closer they came to the opening, the more intense the heat grew. The air rippled and Alexander longed for a drink of water. Still Max did not slow down. Finally, just fifteen feet from the top, she crawled into a steel conduit, then reached down to help him inside.

  She leaned back out and looked up, then retreated back to Alexander. She sat down and started pulling on her socks and boots. He followed suit.

  “This leads down the hill to Skunk Creek. There’s a splice about halfway that goes to the greenhouses. It’s not far, maybe a half mile. There’s an access shaft at the intersection and hopefully we can get out. If not, we’ll go all the way to the creek and hope the angelfire doesn’t burn water, too.”

  “I do not think this is normal angelfire,” Alexander said. “The fires south of San Diego were not this hot. The rocks did not melt there. I believe this is Xaphan’s battle fire’otherwise it probably would not hurt another angel like Tutresiel.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “It may very well burn water.”

  “Aren’t you a bright ray of sunshine?”

  Alexander shrugged. “Tell me to walk into the battle fire and I will.” He was not sure why he said it. She had not questioned his loyalty since they had arrived at Horngate. But the sharp taste of her doubt lingered, and he wanted to kill it permanently, though he knew trust was earned, not claimed.

  She looked at him. Her eyes narrowed. “I know. You don’t have to convince me. Now let’s go before they turn the mountain into gravel, and hope to hell that this tunnel hasn’t collapsed.”

  They could stand hunched over. Max led the way in a clumsy jog. She’d gone only a hundred feet when she stopped. The pipe sagged pregnantly downward, leaving a gap less than a foot high and not much wider to fit through. Max shook her head and drew a harsh breath. She crouched, bending low to look beneath. She straightened and reached her hands under, pulling upward. Metal creaked. Her muscles bunched and corded, but there was no more give. She let go.

  “That will have to do.”

  She lay on her stomach and started to crawl through. Her shoulders were a tight fit, but she squirmed along with a few choice curses.

  Then the mountain shook again with a sound like thunder. A wave of power rushed up the tunnel and slammed Alexander in the back. His head banged against the curve of the steel pipe, and his vision fogged momentarily. Instinct made him grab Max’s feet. He lunged backward, dragging her out of the hole. A second later the steel conduit shimmered blue and the bulge in the pipe sank with a groan to seal the tunnel. It started to flatten and the two scrambled backward, hands pressing into the now spongy surface of the corrugated-steel floor.

  “Get on your feet,” Max said, pulling Alexander up. “Keep your feet moving or you’ll end up stuck.”

  As it was, when the magic wave passed, the sole of his boot was tightly embedded in the steel. It took a hard yank to pull it free, and some of the metal came with it.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  “I guess we walk into the fire.”

  “There is no other way?”

  “If that stone finished its fall down the shaft, it sealed the hallway below. The only way left open is up.”

  She pushed past him in the strangled space of the pipe. Alexander caught her arm. She stopped and eyed him narrowly. “You got a problem?”

  “Aside from the fact that we are about to die? No. But I want to say thank you before it is too late.”

  “For?”

  “Letting me in. Trusting me. It means a lot. If the tables were turned, I do not think I would have been so generous.”

  “Some would call me stupid. You would, in fact.”

  He smiled fleetingly, then sobered. “Try not to get killed.”

  “Likewise, I’m sure.” She started to pull away, then turned back. “Fuck it,” she muttered.

  She reached up and pulled his head down, kissing him hard. He wrapped his arms tight around her, snatching her close. The kiss was almost brutal in its need. Teeth ground against teeth, and their tongues devoured each other. The taste of her made his gut twist with a violent hunger.

  As quickly as it had begun, it was over. Max pushed away and Alexander let her go reluctantly. “I thought you did not mess around with the men in your coven,” he rasped, his heart thundering in his chest.

  Max touched her fingers to her swollen lips. “Call it ...a last request. Even condemned prisoners are allowed that much, right? Now’let’s go jump into the fire.”

  He shook his head, following her. “If we get out of this alive, you and I are going to find a quiet room and lock the door for a week or two.”

  She laughed, and the sound rang down the conduit. He was not sure if it was because he had suggested they might survive, or because she found the idea of being with him amusing.

  20

  MAX RETURNED TO THE MOUTH OF THE CONDUIT. The heat was hotter now and burled down the shaft in fierce waves. Flames crackled and popped with fierce energy. She looked up quickly, then ducked back inside, her skin ruddy. Her brow furrowed and her mouth pursed, then she shook her head.

  “It’s too late to go up. We’ll be cooked. We have to try going back down and hope we can get through.”

  She leaned out over the lip of the opening. “The rock fell. Not quite all the way to the bottom. It looks like there might be a gap we can get through. We’ll have to hurry. If there’s another magic strike, we’ll lose our handholds and pancake on the bottom.” She started to pull back inside, then stopped. “Wait a second. Look at that.”

  Alexander came to look past her. A gray-green film covered the bottom of the shaft. It shimmered and rippled like water. Slowly it rose. It was the shield. As they watched, a drop of molten stone dropped down the shaft. It hit the magic screen, and this time the surface did not falter or pucker.

  “Selange must be helping Giselle,” Max said. “It’s handling the heat better than when it started, which means ...Change of plan,” she said with sudden energy.

  “We are going up after all,” Alexander finished.

  “The shield should cool the rock enough to climb. Leave your boots on. We’re close enough we should make it easily enough. Get ready.”

  The thin shell of magic rose higher. It pushed up through the mountain, rising up through the bottom of the conduit. It was cold and it stung as it swept up and over their heads. As soon as it passed, Max climbed out into the shaft.

  The shield had cooled the rock considerably, and in just moments the two Shadowblades clambered up out of the shaft and into an apocalyptic wasteland.

  They stood on a mountain above the U-shaped river valley that held the greenhouses and a collection of barns and pastures. A hundred yards downslope Alexander could see the fissure gaping like a mouth above the underground hall. The field of bubbled and black rock spread out from beneath their feet, covering an area the size of three football fields. Xaphan’s battle fire had melted the stone, and the molten rock had run and pooled like liquid wax. Above it the shield rose some three feet, coming to just above Alexander’s knees. Already it was tattering, as if the two witches were struggling to hold it. Acrid smoke drifted lethargically over the ground. All around on the receding ridges, forest fires raged, orange flames leaping from crown to crown. Overhead, lightning flashed as a dry summer storm rolled in. It was like standing in the middle of an active volcano.

  A sound like clashing swords drew Alexander’s attention. It was the angel of the sword’Tutresiel. His wings wer
e silver, each feather metallic and sharp. Every beat clattered. Like Xaphan, he was albino white with crimson eyes, but his hair was matte black and hung to his shoulders. The blade of the sword he wielded was at least seven feet long and shone with an incandescent white witchlight.

  The two angels squared off just thirty yards on the downslope side. The two circled each other in the air. Xaphan’s wings blazed with orange and blue flames that trailed through the night like streamers. Max turned, her expression tense.

  “Over there,” she said, pointing ahead, then sprinted across the hillside.

  Her Shadowblades and a group of Sunspears waited in a cluster of towering boulders. A tall, broad-shouldered Spear leaped forward to wrap Max in a hard hug’Giselle’s Sunspear Prime. He was soot-stained, and streaks of blood marked his arms and chest. His shirt had been slashed to ribbons. Despite that, he radiated strength and command.

  “Max’it’s about time you showed up. We thought maybe you took off for Machu Picchu and left us to play with the angels by ourselves.” He yanked her to the side as his glance fell on Alexander. His voice dropped into a threatening growl. “Who’s this?”

  The two stared hard at each other, and Alexander could feel the brutal power of the Sunspear Prime. He bristled, his teeth baring.

  “Relax, Oz. He’s one of mine. His name is Alexander.”

  That did not alleviate the other man’s suspicion, but he reluctantly turned his attention back to Max, who had slid out of his grasp.

  “How bad is it down below?”

  Alexander noticed that the whites of his eyes were turning gray, and black threads embroidered the underside of his skin, stitching up from the collar of his shirt and across his face. He was a Sunspear and the night was poisoning him’all of them. He had another hour at most before he dropped dead. It would worsen much more quickly if he had to draw on any of his spells.

  “Part of the hall collapsed. It took the circle and star with it,” she said, the words clipped. Even as Alexander watched, she was pulling inward, going deep. It was like watching her strip away a human skin and let the beast inside out. It was beautiful and terrifying, because whatever minuscule sense of personal safety she carried with her disappeared with that vestige of humanity. “Aulne Rouge’s witch Selange is down there. She’s helping Giselle with the shield. They won’t be able to hold it long with the angels going at it the way they are. We need to stop them.”

  “We’ve thrown everything we have at them. Guns, RPGs, arrows, even a damned flamethrower. Nothing fazes them,” Niko said, looking haggard. “The fuckers don’t even notice.”

  “What about the voodoo artillery?”

  Alexander frowned. Voodoo artillery? Practitioners of the craft did not often consort with witches.

  “It isn’t real voodoo. It’s what she calls magic weapons.”

  He looked down in surprise at Akemi. The small Asian woman was as dirty and bloodstained as everyone else. She met his surprised glance and looked back at Max.

  “She trusts you,” she said softly. “She wouldn’t let you walk behind her if she didn’t. Don’t even think about screwing her over or I’ll stick a knife in your ear.”

  Akemi stepped away and Alexander did not doubt the threat was real.

  “Down!” someone shouted. In one swift movement, they dove beneath the level of the shield. Alexander was slower, and Niko swept his legs from beneath him, dropping him hard.

  The two angels had tired of circling and had closed on one another. Xaphan erupted with a burst of fire, more potent than the flames of a jet engine. It blasted like a laser at Tutresiel, who smashed the column with his sword. When he did, the magic exploded like a nuclear bomb. Azure light coruscated away in every direction. It burned like acid, and Alexander’s skin was suddenly covered with blisters and weeping sores. A powerful wind scoured the ruined mountainside, scraping his ulcerated skin and filling the air with ash. It was bitter and cold and smelled of sulfur and ozone. Alexander clutched at the ground to keep from being blown away.

  The earth trembled and lurched and a high-pitched screech rose from deep inside the mountain. It knifed through Alexander’s skull and he slammed his palms to his ears. His companions did the same.

  It let up after twenty seconds, and the ground settled with a series of quivering shudders. Alexander stood as the others did, too. His skin was rough and red, the wounds healing quickly. Alexander’s stomach clenched. All that power and the bastards were not even trying to hurt Horngate or its defenders.

  “Shield’s gone,” someone said.

  There was no way to tell if it had shattered or contracted below the level of the ground.

  “We have to stop them now,” Max said. “Or there won’t be anything left of Horngate.”

  “Brilliant idea,” mocked Lise, a shotgun propped on her shoulder. “Wish we’d thought of it earlier.” She yawned exaggeratedly, the black threads beneath her skin thickening even as Alexander watched. Pain was etched in grooves around her mouth and eyes. “If you’ve got a plan, let’s hear it. It’s past time for my nap.”

  “I need to talk to them.”

  Dead silence followed, and a rapid exchange of incredulous looks. Alexander sympathized. It sounded like a joke.

  Tyler spoke first. “Are we supposed to laugh?”

  Max just shook her head. “We’re going to divide into two groups and hit them simultaneously.” She looked at Alexander. “Can you swipe the sword with that Jedi mind trick of yours?” She accompanied the question with a wiggle of her fingers near her eyes.

  Slowly he nodded. “I have to be close’within four feet. And it would help if he was distracted and I was not.”

  She looked at Oz, who stood with his arms crossed, his jaw jutting. “You’re serious. You want to try to talk to them.” His voice was even, but a dangerous thread of contempt twined the words. His eyes were hot and hard as he stared at her, and Alexander felt a sudden thrust of jealousy.

  “I think I might be able to convince them to stop. And we can’t beat them by force.”

  “You think you might be able to convince them? You don’t inspire a lot of faith. It sounds like a suicide mission.”

  “It might be,” Max agreed. “But it might work, too. Unless you have another idea that has a snowball’s chance in hell of working? Because standing around here with our thumbs up our asses looks like it might get us killed, too.”

  Oz’s expression tightened, his eyes narrowing to slits. The muscles in his shoulders bunched as if he was working hard to restrain himself. Alexander could sympathize. Finally Oz gave a slight shake of his head. “No.”

  “All right, then let’s go before you Sunspears drop dead,” she said.

  Despite her cold words, there was concern in the look she turned on him. He made a wry face of understanding. Something moved between them. It was the silent, charged communication of long familiarity. Alexander resisted a nearly overwhelming urge to step between them. That would not win him any points with Max.

  She divided them up, and Alexander found himself on a team with Niko, Akemi, Lise, and Oz. They were joined by five more Shadowblades and three other Sunspears. The rest were to go with Max.

  “Do any of our weapons slow them down at all?” she asked Oz.

  “Pisses them off mostly. They don’t seem to have an aversion to iron, salt, rowan’pretty much anything we have to throw at them. Mistletoe worked a little on Xaphan’s fire, but we used it all. None of the voodoo artillery worked worth a damn. We hit them with RPGs and it knocked them ass over teakettle, but they came flying back like nothing happened.”

  “Do you have any RPGs left?”

  “A few.”

  “Then use them on Tutresiel. Get him on the ground and Alexander close enough to get the sword out of his hand.” She swiveled her head to look at Alexander. “I don’t suppose you have any idea how to kill an angel?”

  He shook his head. “They all have an Achilles’ heel somewhere, but each one is different, and as far
as I know, all the lore says that only angels can kill angels. Undoubtedly the Guardians can as well, but they are not exactly on our side tonight.”

  “All right. Then we do what we can. Get his sword away from him and try to tangle him up for a few minutes.”

  “And Xaphan? How will you get at him?” Alexander asked suspiciously.

  Oz gave him a sharp look, then turned expectantly to Max.

  She shrugged. “I’m going to get his attention. I think he’ll talk to me. After all, I owe him a debt.”

  “You what?” Oz demanded. “Are you out of your fucking mind? There is no way I’m letting you near him. He’ll make a puppet out of you.”

  “No, he won’t,” Max said in a cold, metallic voice. It brooked no argument. “You’ve got sixty seconds to get ready and then we move out.”