Gods old and dark

by Holly Lisle

  Cat Creek

  Lauren waited until eight before she dropped by to pick up Pete. The storm had finally blown over, and stars and the edge of a crescent moon threw shadows across his driveway; she turned in, gravel crunching beneath her tires, and killed the lights. Jake slept in his car seat in the back, buzzing softly with that little-guy snore that Lauren loved.

  Pete had been watching for her. He jogged down the stairs before she even had a chance to turn the engine off, opened the passenger door, and slid into the seat. While he fastened his seat belt, he said, "I wish we had other backup. I don't feel like I'm enough to protect you and Jake while you're working. I can't do what Molly can do. And there's so much at stake. If we lose you, we lose everything."

  "We aren't going to lose me. We go in quiet to a random point, do what we have to do, and get back here fast. We've done this before. It's always gone fine."

  "It only takes one slip. Just one. If the rest of the Sentinels knew about you and Molly and your mission, they could provide a full backup; some of them are damned good in tight spots."

  By that he mostly meant Eric. But Lauren could not forget, or forgive, that Eric had been glad to see Molly dead. She could not forget that Eric's father had taken part in the murder of her parents. The mission then—her parents' mission—had been the same as the mission now, and Lauren didn't think the Sentinels had gotten any more willing to tolerate dissension in the ranks, or independent initiatives.

  They had their reasons.

  But she had hers, too.

  "No. I don't want Jake and me to have any unfortunate accidents."

  "Neither do I." Pete sighed. "I still wish we had backup. But you're right. We can't count on the Sentinels' coming down on the right side in this." He shrugged. "Let's just go do it, then."

  They drove out beyond the range of the Cat Creek Sentinels' territory and parked in a sort of no-man's-land in the Sandhills—a place remote enough that none of the Sentinel territories at the moment covered it. There, Lauren set up a big mirror, leaning it against a tree. While Pete unpacked the back of Lauren's old Dodge Caravan—a replacement for her previous car, which had died a few months earlier—and moved Jake into the little drag-behind Lauren had devised for taking him with her while he was sleeping, Lauren started building the gate.

  Proximity to Pete distracted her. I want, she thought. I want, I want…and I'm ashamed of being weak enough to want.

  She stared into the mirror, into her reflection's eyes, and she reached out for the energy that connected all the worlds to each other. After a moment, she got the green flash that signaled connection. She relaxed her mind and her body, and focused on a place that would be out of the way of all traffic—distant, far downworld, vibrantly alive. She needed a place that was already working to her advantage and the Night Watch's disadvantage, a live world untainted by their death magic that would serve as her best ally.

  She didn't know which world she connected to, and she didn't care. Getting a world at random was part of her protection, part of what would keep her and Pete safe long enough to get in, do what they had to do, and get back out. In the green fire that shimmered in the depths of the mirror, images began to resolve. A broad, sunny plain, flowers and tall grasses blowing in a breeze. In the distance in one direction, low, rolling hills. As she turned the image, she caught more hills, more plain, and finally, forest. No sign of habitation, no indication of the presence of intelligent life anywhere nearby.

  She was getting good at finding remote areas.

  She told Pete, "Got it."

  He brought the few tools and weapons the two of them would need, and dragged Jake and his little travois behind him.

  They each slung a weapon by its strap over one shoulder. The weapons had been devised by Molly; they wouldn't work on Earth, but anywhere downworld they would be powerful and, because Molly had made them, would cause only limited magical repercussions. Lauren took the tool bag, slung it over her other shoulder, and then took Pete's hand, shivering at his touch. He led through the mirror, pressing into the green fire confidently, but with his weapon readied. Lauren, holding Pete's hand and dragging Jake behind her, came next. She had a hard time concentrating on what she needed to do on the other side of the gate—the path between the worlds vibrated through her blood and her bones and comforted her and sang to her of her own immortality. With that power and joy suffusing her, keeping her mind on preparing a magical shield to activate the second she stepped into the next world was as hard as balancing a deck of playing cards into a pyramid.

  She kept her focus only by reminding herself that outside of the fire road she and Jake and Pete were still painfully mortal.

  When she slipped into the other world, she felt, as always, a sharp pang of loss. But she recovered quickly, and focused her will, and created around herself and Jake and Pete a tight, hard shield—a faintly glowing sphere of magic that would keep out most attacks. She damped down the glow until it was invisible; no sense calling attention to the three of them. She didn't think anyone or anything was in the area, but she had to act as if enemies were all around her.

  Pete crouched over the sleeping Jake, weapon still at ready, and said, "Go ahead. I've got us covered."

  Lauren dropped to her hands and knees and closed her eyes. The tall grasses brushed her face and tickled her nose, the scent of crushed greenery rose up from the ground beneath her, and the sharp edges of the leaves and stems beneath her palms kept her from directly touching the rich, dark soil beneath. But she could feel the power of the place. She moved herself into a state of deep focus, probing with her mind for something solid deep within the earth.

  Palms flat on the soft earth, mind focused on the bedrock that lay far beneath, she hollowed out a sphere, and within that sphere created another gate much like the one through which she had reached this world, but tiny, no bigger than a clenched fist. And through that gate, she fed her love for her world, for the people who inhabited it, for life. She fed her hope, her will to survive, her dreams of honor and peace and compassion. Only this time, she did not direct the other end of the gate back to Earth. Instead, she reached farther, upworld from Earth, into the poisoned, frozen death that had only half a century before been the living world of Kerras.

  Stone was no rarity on Kerras; that and ice were all that remained. Nevertheless, she buried the other end of her gate deep. She could make no physical changes to the world of Kerras. It was upworld of Earth, her world of origin, and her sole power in Kerras lay in her ability to open gates there. She felt through the world for a natural stone foundation—a bubble in bedrock—and within the bubble she anchored the other end of her gate.

  She created shields around both ends of the gate, little bits of deception that would hide them from those capable of seeing magic. Her shields could not protect the gates from those who already knew where to look, but they would be enough to hide them away from casual observation. That was the best she could do.

  She rose out of her trance state to find Pete scanning the skies with a frantic expression on his face and his weapon braced against his shoulder.

  "We have company," he said.

  CHAPTER 3

  Somewhere Downworld

  PETE STARED THROUGH THE SKY at the dark winged shapes that dotted the sun. A dozen of them, he thought. Not more than that. But he knew the shapes, recognized what was coming from the chill of evil and the wet-leather flapping of massive wings.

  Rrôn. Giant, intelligent, evil—they were the source of Earth legends about dragons, one of the motivating forces behind the Night Watch, and they had access to magic and power humans couldn't even imagine.

  "Get us out of here fast," he told Lauren.

  She didn't argue—she started putting a gate together and he started shooting. With the rrôn, a first strike would be the only strike he got.

  He fired steadily into the cluster heading toward them, and had the satisfaction of seeing one fall from the sky in an uncontrolled plummet. The others spl
it off, moving out of range and circling around. He could see that they would surround him and Lauren and the sleeping Jake in just a moment, and he would be helpless.

  "Gate?" he said, still firing, hoping for a lucky shot."

  "Problems," Lauren said. "Something on the other end is…looking at us. Blocking me."

  "You can't make a gate?"

  "Should have made it first."

  "Yes."

  Lauren didn't say anything.

  Pete got another one, which left ten, still too many. Now they'd completed their circle, and Pete saw them turn inward.

  "If you can't get the gate, get the gun," he said. He felt like throwing up.

  "Got it," Lauren said, and pushed her back to his, and he heard the click as she flipped off the safety on her weapon. So. They were stuck. Committed to finish this.

  "This isn't the way I wanted to die."

  He could feel the recoil of her weapon through the steady slam of her right shoulder against his back. "Got one," she said, but there was no satisfaction in her voice. And she added, "This isn't the way I wanted to die, either. Keep shooting. Jake deserves better than this."

  "Fuck. We all deserve better than this."

  The rrôn had been spiraling just out of range—except, apparently, for the one Lauren had hit—but then one shrieked and all of them turned and started inward. Coming fast.

  Pete sprayed the magic-edged bullets in an arc, willing them to hit all the rrôn, willing all the monsters to fall at once. But the rrôn had their own magic, and none were falling.

  "God, get us out of this," he whispered.

  "Shit! A gate!" Lauren said, and at the same instant that she said it, black thunderheads billowed out of nowhere, right over their heads, and ripped out from where he and Lauren stood as if they were speeding from the center of a dropped H-bomb. The rrôn kept coming, but they weren't gliding anymore with wings set. They were fighting whirlwinds. Lightning smashed the ground all around Lauren and Pete, and slammed into some of the rrôn, tearing them apart like rag dolls and dropping them from the sky, and thunder roared and raindrops the size of baseballs tore across the field, flattening the grasses and flowers.

  But in the tiny circle where Lauren and Pete and Jake were, it stayed dry. Pete got in a good shot, and killed another of the rrôn, and a voice that sounded like more of the thunder, but with words, bellowed, "Good. Good. Kill them all, the miserable bastards."

  Pete turned his head just enough to see a man who had to be nearly seven feet tall, with bright red hair, wearing a black T-shirt and jeans and a carpenter's belt, standing just behind him, grinning.

  "You did okay, by damn," the stranger said. "But we'll get these motherless flying pigs in a hurry, and then we'll all go home."

  And the big man turned his back on Pete and roared into the wind, a wordless bellow filled with fury and elation, and the lightning struck harder, and the thunder shook the world, and the rrôn dropped like shattered stones.

  The storm did not abate.

  The big man looked at them and said, "We should probably get out of here. If those found you, others might, too."

  And he put a hand to the slender metal hoop that Lauren had brought through as part of her kit, and spun a gate through it. "Women and children first," he said, and picked up the travois that contained the still-sleeping Jake—how did kids do that?—and pushed Jake and Lauren through. "You next. I'll clean this up and follow behind."

  "Who are you?" Pete asked.

  "Later. Not here. We need to get away from this place before we draw more attention to what she's done here."

  And he put a hand on Pete's back, and without being ready to leave, Pete was suddenly falling between the worlds, racing through the music of the universes, through the light and the joy and the comfort, and tripping out the mirror on the other side to sprawl on his face on the floor of Lauren's foyer.

  It was still night in Cat Creek.

  "Pete," Lauren whispered. Pete got to his feet, moving out of the way of the mirror so the big stranger wouldn't step on him as he came through. He put an arm around Lauren and waited, watching the mirror, but it stayed dark. The stranger didn't come through, and after a few minutes, Pete realized he wasn't going to.

  He turned and wrapped his arms around Lauren. "We're still alive."

  "How? Who was he? How did he find us?"

  "I don't know. He said he'd tell us when he got here. But he isn't coming."

  "No," she said.

  In the distance, they heard thunder chuckle—a soft, almost comforting sound.

  Pete buried his face in Lauren's hair and pulled her closer. "Doesn't matter. What matters is we're still alive." He was shaky from his near brush with death, and so was she. He could feel her trembling.

  He kissed her once, lightly, and she responded, running her fingers through his hair, pressing her lips to his with a passion and a hunger that shook him. Tonight. Maybe tonight, at last, she'd put her ghosts behind her. Maybe tonight, finally, she could let go of her past and just hang on to the present, and to him.

  He slid a hand down to the small of her back and pulled her body tight against his. She was lean, strong; she felt warm and vibrant, and his body said, "Yes. Now."

  And then he felt her pull away. The same thing he felt every time, usually sooner rather than later, but there it was again. He let her go and stepped back.

  "What?" he said, expecting to hear again, "I'm not ready for this" or "It's been too soon." It was going on three years, but she refused to see it that way.

  Instead, she glanced over at Jake, asleep in the travois. "We're going to have to go get my van," she said. "It's out in the Sandhills somewhere. I'm not even exactly sure where."

  Pete stared at her, not comprehending for a moment. And then swore softly. "We didn't leave from here."

  "No, we didn't."

  "Oh, shit. And my car is at my apartment. So is the squad car."

  "Yes."

  "And the only car seat for Jake is in the van."

  "Yes, it is."

  "Son of a bitch." This might have been the night. This time he might have been able to get past that barrier that she kept up all the time. Maybe their near brush with death would have let him get close enough to her that she could put the Sainted Dead Husband behind her and let herself love him—love the living man beside her and start living in the present again.

  But he wasn't going to get to find out, because she was right. They did have to get the van back. Fast. They couldn't afford the questions that its absence would create. As long as Lauren had to hide what she was doing from the Sentinels—as long as she had reason to fear the people who were supposed to be her allies—keeping up appearances was going to be of paramount importance.

  It was more important than the two of them and his possible shot at getting her into bed with him, at winning her over to his love for her and, no sense kidding himself, his lust.

  "Yeah," he said. "I guess I'll run home and get my car. You'll have to strap Jake into the middle seat in the back. I hate doing that, but this hour of the night at least traffic will be light. Stay here. I'll be back in just a few minutes."

  He started to walk out the front door and realized Lauren had a big white pickup truck sitting in her driveway.

  "Lauren," he said, "where did that come from?"

  A van was driving down the street from the edge of town. A bit faster than the speed limit would allow, Pete thought, but not dangerously fast. He watched it roll under a streetlight, and thought that it looked just like Lauren's van: black, with wood sides, square headlights, some paint peeling off the hood. Same year, same model. And it slowed before it reached her house, and at the driveway stopped. And turned in.

  It was too dark to make out the driver, but Pete was pretty sure he knew who it was. Was absolutely certain there was no way to get that van from out in the Sandhills where it had been to Lauren's house in Cat Creek in the few minutes that had passed, too, no matter how fast the driver had push
ed the van.

  "Our man of mystery is back," Pete said, his voice sounding flat and wary in his own ears. "Driving your van. So I guess we don't have to worry about how to get it back here."

  Lauren came over to look. "White truck must be his."

  "I guess," Pete said. "It'll certainly give your neighbors something to talk about."

  Lauren sighed. Her neighbors on either side of her house were elderly and more than a little interested in her activities. Pity soap operas weren't on television twenty-four hours a day, Pete thought; that would give her some peace. "Oh, Lord. They'll be hanging over the fences for sure. Maybe I can tell people he's my cousin."

  "Maybe," Pete said, doubtful. Lauren looked nothing like the big redheaded man. "Maybe you can tell them he's a distant cousin."