by Lee Roland
He ignored it.
“Don’t make this difficult, Ms. Pallas. I can—”
“Do nothing—not without a fight. Are you prepared for the consequences? Tana’s got to find out sooner or later.”
Maeve gave him the sweetest smile she could manage. The threat of Tana’s power had saved her ass many times—in an Elder without armored cars and automatic weapons. If Flor was going to work a miracle, it had better come soon. Talk time was over. Violence came next.
Erik’s face hardened, and he crossed his arms. Mistake. Hard to draw guns like that, even with a shoulder holster.
Before he blinked, Maeve had the .38 leveled at his chest. “Stand still, Erik.”
Chapter Twelve
Maeve half expected to fire a single round and die a heartbeat later, but the black troops didn’t react when she drew the gun. She risked a quick glance past Erik. They all stood glassy-eyed and frozen in time. Flor’s soft chant sounded behind her.
Erik kept his eyes on her—or on the .38.
“Keep your hands out, away from your guns.”
“I see I’ve underestimated you—again.” He sounded more amused than angry.
Now what? Shoot him and hope Flor’s spell would hold until they drove past the troops. She should. He tried to kill Raymond. The sound of a fast-moving vehicle came from the Elder side of the bridge. More troops?
Not this time. A black stretch limo skidded to a stop at the armored cars. The limo’s passenger door popped open, and Claire stepped out. Platinum blonde, mini-skirt, stunning beauty, high heels clicked on the pavement as Maeve’s mother, the woman who abandoned her at birth, marched toward them. She stopped and glared at Erik.
“Erik, didn’t we discuss this situation?” She spoke in a soft voice so heavy with power she might have been a dragon. Maeve’s mom was one badass witch. Maeve squashed an instant surge of pride.
“You discussed it, Claire. I don’t remember saying anything. That’s how I usually handle threats.”
Maeve had to give Erik points on that. Not many men could face the wrath of an Elder witch of Claire’s magnitude.
But this was Maeve’s game, Maeve’s friends, and Maeve’s life. It was her show, and she’d be damned if she’d let Claire, who cared for nothing except herself, steal it.
“Hello, Mother,” she said, “How nice to see you. You’re looking extremely…bleached today.”
Claire ignored her—and the fact that Maeve had a pistol pointed at a man standing less than three feet from her. Close enough to spatter blood on her fine clothes if she pulled the trigger.
“Very well, Claire.” Bitter rage filled his voice. “We can discuss it later. We seem to have reached an impasse here.” He focused on Maeve. “Are you going to shoot me?
“That’s one option.” Maeve considered it. Impasse. For him, maybe. She should shoot him for Raymond’s suffering if nothing else. She lowered the pistol but kept it at her side.
“Will you release my men?” he asked.
A surprise. He had actually noticed it, despite a gun pointed point blank at his chest. Maeve didn’t want to, but she also didn’t know the limits of Flor’s spell—or her power. If the little witch gave too much, it would kill her as quickly as any gun.
“Flor?” Maeve called.
Erik’s men relaxed. They shuffled and stared around them, obviously confused about what had happened.
Having won a minor skirmish—or at least she thought she won—Maeve decided to press on. “Now, this road and bridge. What’s wrong with—”
Maeve gazed at the Troll Bridge. Only granite piers remained, like tombstones protruding from the water. The stone blocks carried from Ireland to America before Columbus sailed lay scattered in the spring green trees on both sides of the river. They’d been there long enough for grass to grow over them. The sprites had taught Maeve to swim in the river. She’d lie under the ancient bridge span on sweet summer days while craggy-faced Old Troll told her stories of medieval knights in armor. Old Troll, like Flor, was the last of his race. Ancient and wise, he had guarded the bridge since they built the first road through the mountains to the world outside Elder.
Unbidden, witch-sight shimmered around Maeve, and a spell came into view. It swirled around the new bridge like translucent morning mist. Light, subtle, it had a veil of platinum blonde. Claire had warded the new bridge to protect it. Old Troll and the water sprites were probably pissed enough to tear it down if she hadn’t.
“What have you done?” Shaking, Maeve almost raised the gun and pointed it at Claire. How could she? Was her mother not part of the blood of Elder?
“I do what I feel is best for Elder.” Claire’s face had an expression of hammered indifference.
Slow, deliberate, Maeve walked back to the middle of the new bridge.
The world grew silent around her, holding its breath, waiting. She gazed across to the old bridge site again. Three heads popped up from the water, then immediately went under. Something stirred in heavy shadows under trees at the river’s edge.
Sacrilege, desecration, the asphalt and concrete beneath her feet defiled the earth. Could an inept witch like herself break Claire’s spell? If she did, what would change? They weren’t helpless, Old Troll and the sprites. Let them decide what to do.
Maeve drew a deep breath. She knew what she needed. A sacrifice…blood…usually hers. All she had was the gun. Shoot herself? No way.
She dropped to her knees, the concrete bashing her kneecaps, tearing through the denim to scrape her skin. As usual, she dispensed with the formalities. No incantations, no prayers.
“Inaras,” she whispered. “Mother, help me now, and I swear on my life, I’ll cure Elder of this disease or die and rejoin you to fight again—and again if need be.”
Maeve opened herself to magic, and it slammed into her. This time it snatched her breath away. She gasped under its weight. She spread her hand flat on the pavement. Taking the gun by the barrel, she drew a deep breath, raised it high, and brought it down to smash the end of her little finger.
Pain spiked the finger and howled its way up her arm in a mindless charge. It flashed in her eyes, blinding her for an instant, and then faded to knife-edge jolts, marching in step with her heartbeat. Blood bubbled from the ruined fingernail and dripped on the concrete.
Maeve knelt alone in a silent, tormented haze. The world around her ceased to exist. Nothing touched her in the heart of her own enchantment. She had not woven a witch’s spell of words and incantations. She had created it from loneliness, longing, and love of home. She’d drawn from the soul, the magic of Elder.
“Maeve.”
Who called?
Something spiraled down threads of magic and into the world. Cloaked in psychic energy, it swelled like a thunderhead, boiling with power and heavy with rage.
Maeve recognized it. She’d felt a tiny portion of it when she cast her disastrous spell to heal Raymond in Garden City. It could be no other. The ageless cycle of seasons, life, death and rebirth, maiden, mother and crone—Inaras.
The Elemental who had not graced the world with her presence in the living memory of Elder hovered over Maeve like an avalanche. The slightest noise, a leaf falling from a tree, a pebble bumped by a mouse, would send it on its inexorable path.
Whimpering in terror, Maeve still on her knees, lowered her head to the asphalt in homage. What had she done? Had the Inaras come to destroy them all? Time stopped and began again with the Elemental’s words.
“Well done, Sky Daughter.”
In an instant, between one breath and the next, Inaras disappeared. Light flickered around Maeve in multi-colored ribbons as the haze departed, and she came back to the world. She knelt on the edge of a precipice, looking down at the black water of the river and two pickup trucks crushed by fallen asphalt and concrete. Half the bridge, from her knees to the far bank away from Elder, had collapsed while she bowed before the Earth Mother.
Maeve groaned with dismay—and pain, since Inaras hadn
’t been kind enough to heal her finger. All she wanted was to break Claire’s spell and let Old Troll do the fun stuff. Instead, she did Garden City and Brighton again.
Hands caught her arms and lifted her to her feet. Flor and Erik. Flor’s face had an awed expression. Erik’s face was a mask. He picked up her gun from the pavement where she’d released it after damaging her finger. In a strange, courteous gesture, slipped it into the holster at her back. His hand lingered on her arm, not tight, but he squeezed enough that she knew he was there.
Claire stalked up to them a mask of fury on her face. “Well, you’re back,” she said, “and destructive as ever.”
“Not as ever, Mother,” Maeve told her. “I have to tell you, I’ve gotten much better at it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Maeve swayed for a moment and leaned against Flor. Erik was there, but she didn’t want to touch him. What she wanted was to push the terrifying memory of Inaras as far away as possible. The Elemental’s kind words did not eliminate the proximity and enormous scythe of her power.
Another limo arrived, black and bulky as the one that had brought Claire. As it approached, the troops shuffled and drew closer together. They held their guns tight against their bodies like slender shields.
Claire’s face tightened.
Erik shifted a little, then stilled.
Nothing in her life prepared Maeve for what emerged from the limo. A man…maybe. Two arms, two legs, but white and bloated like a dead fish. Even the clothes covering his corpulent body were white. He waddled up to them, milky jowls fluttering like he breathed into a white paper bag to cure the hiccups. Only his eyes seemed alive—tiny, black, pig eyes set deep in a bulging face.
“There you are, my dear,” he said to Claire. “You should have waited for me. I wanted to greet her, too.” He stepped up to Maeve.
She stepped back and bumped into Erik’s bulk.
The dead fish held out his hand and wiggled chalky fingers at Maeve. He exuded a scent she couldn’t place, but she fought down the urge to gag anyway. She held up her crushed bleeding fingertip. Excellent excuse. She would run for the river if he touched her.
“You’re hurt,” he gasped. His voice fluttered like his jowls. “You must come to the house so we can attend your wound. We mustn’t allow you to get infected.”
Pain and nausea vied for control of Maeve’s body and confusion stalked her mind. “Thanks, but I need to see Tana,” she said. “She’ll take care of it.” She couldn’t help it, she had to know. “Who are you?”
“Oh my dear, has no one told you?” His smile showed perfect white teeth. “Since your dear mother consented to be my wife, I’m your stepfather—Aubrey Sethos.”
Eyes wide, speechless, Maeve stared at Claire. Claire, the centerfold pin-up, high priestess of haute couture, married to…whatever he, or it, was. She swallowed and turned her attention back to Sethos. “Uh…n-n-nice to meet you,” she said.
He didn’t seem fazed by her reaction. “I see you’ve met my son Erik. He’s the Commander of our security forces.”
Erik? Security forces? Maeve glanced over her shoulder. “Yeah, I guess I have. Met him.”
Erik smiled. Not a real smile, just a slight widening of his mouth.
“I must go now,” Sethos said. “I have meetings. I’ll see you later, and we’ll have time to talk. You must come and visit us often while you’re here.” He waddled away. When he got halfway to the limo, he turned and said, “Claire? My dear will you ride home with me.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Claire said. That beautiful face showed no sign of compassion. She focused on Maeve. “I want you to tell Tana this wasn’t my fault.”
“Okay.” Maeve shrugged. That wouldn’t cost her anything, and she really didn’t know who was responsible. Well, the broken bridge. That was her fault. She would swallow her pain, her bitter hurt and…no! She couldn’t stand it. Resentment and spite seized her.
“Claire?”
“What?” Claire’s voice was flat as the pavement they stood on. She stood poised to deflect any magical attack Maeve might throw at her.
“Do you actually get in bed with him?”
Erik shook in silent laughter. Flor turned her face away.
Claire’s eyes narrowed, and she gave Maeve a cold, level look. “You think it’s worse than fucking your way through every truck stop in the country.”
“You’re telling me being a whore is inherited?”
“I’m telling you it’s none of your business.” Claire whirled and marched away. It reminded Maeve how she’d entered the scene. Maeve hurried and caught up with her.
“Look,” she said. “I think you came to rescue me. Why don’t we go to Tana’s together and—”
“It’s out of Tana’s hands.”
“Claire?” Sethos called from the limo.
“Okay,” Maeve said softly. She glanced at Erik. “Do you need to be rescued?”
For the first time in Maeve’s life, Claire stared directly into her eyes.
“I’m not the one in trouble, Maeve.” She went to join her husband.
The limo backed up and was gone before Maeve realized…damn, damn. Aubrey Sethos had said not a word about the bridge’s destruction, although it spread out before him like a scene from a disaster movie. To Maeve, what the world outside called weird was a part of growing up in Elder. Aubrey Sethos defied classification by any standard.
Claire had enough power to stop her spell before Inaras dropped in. Why hadn’t she? She probably didn’t think her incompetent daughter could gather enough magic to do anything other than make a fool of herself.
Maeve returned to where Flor glared at Erik. The dart gun on his hip hadn’t escaped Raymond’s lover. When she reached them, Erik gently grasped her wounded hand.
He raised the crushed finger to his mouth—a feather touch. When he released it, a single drop of blood remained on his lip. “I’ll see you again,” he said. He walked away to join his men.
Maeve stared after him. Inaras save her, he was such a dangerous, evil man.
“Don’t.” Flor hissed. “Don’t think about it. Don’t wonder, don’t fantasize! If you do it with him, he’ll strangle you when he comes.”
“Flor!”
The little witch sighed. “Sorry.”
“Hey. I know a psychopath when I see one. Come on. Let’s go home.”
Home. Armored cars and guns wiped away any thoughts of leaving. And she’d made an extravagant promise to a being only a step below God.
As Maeve climbed into the truck, Erik’s men called to others across the river. Apparently, they ran the wrong way when the bridge broke apart. They shook their heads and gestured toward the water. How could they see or know about Troll and the water sprites? Like the rest of the non-magical world they should be blind.
One other thing caught her eye as they drove past the armored cars. A young man, blond, handsome enough to be considered beautiful, watched them until Erik stepped between. Had she seen him before? Yes, at the motel in New Mexico. He’d warned her. She needed to find him later.
Chapter Fourteen
Flor drove and Maeve leaned against Raymond holding her injured hand close. “Why didn’t you heal this time?” he asked.
“I don’t know. What was it like? I was lost in the spell and didn’t see or hear anything.”
Flor laughed, releasing the wheel to clap her hands. “It was incredible. Everything happened in slow motion, like a movie. The pavement and concrete crackled like tiny firecrackers. It broke into football-sized pieces and crumbled. It fractured at your knees and worked its way toward the other bank. I wish you’d seen the guys there run.”
“Noisy?”
“Oh, yes. Like an earthquake. I tried to go to you and pull you back, but I couldn’t move. None of us could. Something, someone, held us like the spell I used on the soldiers.”
Maeve heard an odd note in Flor’s voice. “What is it, Flor?”
“I shouldn’t ask…”
“What? I thought we were friends.”
Flor sat silent for a moment, as if struggling to find words. “You weren’t alone out there, were you? I didn’t see anything, but I felt it, a kind of force.”
“Inaras,” Maeve whispered.
“Your Elemental? She came?”
“In person.”
“Maeve, things have changed in Elder,” Raymond spoke with a cautious tone.
“Why, Raymond, I’d never have guessed that.” Maeve hoped she didn’t sound too sarcastic.
In Maeve’s memory, Elder never changed. Population 365 humans, and no one knew how many other assorted creatures. Three miles through, the gap and the mountains opened into the valley. She could see it all from the hill. Main Street, three cross streets, a few stores, a garage and gas station clustered at the Town Square. With wood frame houses on side streets, most built before 1940, Elder appeared as a picture book, rural, small town America.
Flor slowed the truck. A six-foot chain-link fence crowned with razor wire stretched across the road. It curved into the forest, a deadly necklace poised to cut Elder’s jugular vein. More armed men, dressed in black, guarded the gate.
“Let me out, Raymond,” Maeve said.
“No.” Raymond didn’t budge.
Flor stopped the truck. “Let her out, Raymond. We agreed. This is hers.”
He blinked, then opened the door.
Maeve ignored the guards and walked to the gate. From that point on the hill, she could see the town below, and the valley beyond. The town itself seemed the same in the distance, but anyone entering had to run a course between two obscenities.
On her left, a trailer park covered Blackthorn Meadow. Like tin coffins lined up for mass burial, trailers were wedged side-by-side and end-to-end. Worn metal boxes with sagging steps and cardboard taped over broken windows, few seemed inhabited. They’d been there a while and blighted the ground where unicorns once taught Maeve the flowers’ names. Beside the trailers were several long buildings in far better condition, probably barracks for the troops.
