I found what I was seeking on the far left table: a small ornate box of red-hued wood with a brass lock, the key protruding from it as if waiting for the right person to turn it. My senses jumped as I picked it up and examined it. The carvings that decorated it were almost feminine looking in the way that they seemed to flow and connect to each other in a graceful dance of symbols. I opened the box and peered inside. Strands of fiber like spider webs stretched from the lid to the bottom, flexing as the lid pulled back but never breaking. It looked as if an entire colony of spiders had made their home in this thing and decided never to leave. I shut the box and pocketed the key.
I should have left right then, but my curiosity got the better of me and I walked over to the statue. It was the likeness of a man done in beige stone. He was taller than I had first thought, being at least seven-feet tall upon closer inspection. He was powerfully built, looking like an ancient warrior with lean muscles and hands that looked like they were a second away from reaching out, grabbing you by the throat, and squeezing the life from your body. The color of the material made me instinctively think of an Aztec or possibly Native American hunter, but the sculpted clothes it wore and the dual broadswords strapped to his back harkened back to old Europe. Someone had put a lot of love into creating this, and now it sat moldering away in this hi-tech basement. It didn’t seem right.
My hand reached out to brush away some of the dust that had collected on its shoulder. As my skin brushed lightly against the stone, a jolt like an arc of electricity ran up my arm and rebounded through me from my head to my feet. I recoiled as my breath caught and my heart raced. The eyes, though they were closed, seemed to take on the same watchfulness that I had imagined in the deer’s head upstairs. But unlike my paranoia from before I thought I recognized this feeling, this foreign entity. Was there something trapped in this house? In this statue?
“Frank!” Simon called down to me, the sound weak from distance and my fixation on the statue.
Feeling a strange sense of regret, I turned from the statue and walked to the stairs.
The gunshot that rang out a moment later forced me into a run.
24
The barking of dogs and yelling of men carried in to me through the open doorway. Another gunshot split the air as if in punctuation. Two more shots answered it, and I realized Simon was returning fire.
Crouching low, I ran to the side of the door and peered out. Setting the box down, I pulled my gun free of its holster and scanned the surrounding trees. Movement pulled my gaze to the front. A wildly barking dog bounded through the underbrush. Off to the right, the whiplash movement of a tree branch and a glimpse of pale skin in the predawn grayness. I dove backward as a bullet tore through the molding of the doorjamb. Dust and splinters rained down on me and littered the floor. The shield tattoo sprang to life with an urgent itching sensation under my skin, though it was still weakened from my encounter with Christian. The house wards responded to the threat, attempting to clamp down and turn this place into a fortress, but it couldn’t seal itself with me this close to the doorway.
“Frank!” Simon yelled. I couldn’t see them from my vantage point, but I knew he and Lily were pinned down behind the car off to my left beside the house.
I pressed myself against the wall and tried to focus. A round slammed into the window, the bullet-resistant glass registering a quarter-sized area of pulverized glass where it struck with cracks radiating outward like roots. They were using high-powered rifles, single-shot bolt action by the frequency of the shots. There were two, maybe three of them out there, and they had brought their dog. A quick play of my senses over the grounds showed me that Simon, Lily, and I were the only paras out here.
I breathed deeply, leaned out the front, and fired at the tree where the man had been a moment before. Three quick shots that blasted bark off of trees but did little else. Grabbing up the box, I switched positions to the other side of the door. Two shots banged into the façade of the house as I ran through their view. Muzzle flashes revealed their positions. I spun and fired two shots at the spot that was almost straight on from the doorway, and then tracked left to a form huddled next to a tree reloading his rifle. In a single burning moment of clarity I knew that if I fired I would kill him. I could practically see the bullet leaving the barrel of my gun, following it on its path as it took the man in the side of the head, just above the ear. Blood and bone fragments would spurt out and shower the ground from the entrance wound, but there would be no exit for the bullet. The hollow point would bury itself in his brain matter and flatten out, the liquid in its tip spilling uselessly into a human body that wouldn’t be affected by blessed salt water.
A human body.
I adjusted my aim and fired. The bullet plowed harmlessly into the ground at his feet. Swearing loudly, he ducked behind the tree. Simon followed my lead and started laying down cover fire. With the box tucked under my arm I dove out the door firing wildly behind me to keep their heads down.
“Get those damn twisters!” A voice bellowed, cutting through the accumulated gunfire that echoed between the trees.
The voice made me hesitate. Twister was slang for spell twisters, which in itself was slang for magic users, but I hadn’t heard that particular invective used in years. Perhaps it was still in fashion on the human side of the border.
Simon’s ammo ran dry. My tattoo blazed under my shirt as a shot sounded from behind me. The bullet took me in the shoulder, the slug smashing into the energy of my shield and erupting in an explosion of blue and gold sparks. The force of the blow continued into me, though, as the kinetic energy dispersed along my back spinning me to the ground. I twisted to land on my back, keeping the box I held safe like a mother protecting her child.
A streak of brown and black fur bolted from the tree line and came at me, its teeth bared, saliva flecking its muzzle. I knew I didn’t have time to run for it; by the time I was on my feet it would be on me. I brought the gun to bear on it, watching with focused intensity as it lowered its head for the final leap. Suddenly it skidded to a halt some five feet away from me. Its ears, which had been flattened to its head as it ran, were now up and swiveled forward, and its tail hung limp and lifeless behind it. A hiss came from behind me, the sound deep and threatening. I turned to see Simon leaning out from behind the car, his own fangs bared in challenge and his eyes alight with a deep red glow. The dog, seeing a predator much greater than itself, turned and ran, its tail tucked neatly between its legs.
Scrabbling to my feet before the hunters regained their wits, I crouch-ran to join Simon and Lily at the rear bumper of the car. Three bullets had created neat little holes in the door panels of the passenger side, but the engine looked to be untouched. Lily was lying flat on the ground, a look of pure disdain on her face as Simon kept her pinned down between himself and the car with a hand on her shoulder. A red-spattered hole had ruined the right shoulder of his shirt.
Dropping the box beside me, I scanned the trees beyond down the sight of my gun. In the distance I could hear the dog whining and a man muttering exasperatedly. “You okay?” I asked Simon.
“Sure,” he answered distractedly. “Standard ammo fully jacketed. It went straight through. There are three of them out there, plus the dog. Two are still out in front of us but I lost track of the third.”
I swung around. “Probably trying to circle behind us, pin us in with crossfire.”
Lily coughed up some dust and said, “I’m fine by the way.”
“Cover me,” Simon said, and edged his way to the side.
Turning forward once again, I fired blindly out into the forest. Five shots in quick succession moving from right to left and hitting nothing but bark and air as far as I could tell. Simon fired randomly as he broke cover and ran for the protective embrace of the underbrush. A rifle cracked and a bullet tore into the ground at Simon’s feet, dirt spraying and grabbing at his ankles. He disappeared in a flurry of broken branches and trampled weeds.
“There!�
� Lily cried, pointing behind me.
My gaze automatically tracked to where she was pointing, and my periphery registered movement low to the ground. The black steel of a rifle barrel pushed its way through the dark green of a broad-leafed bush. The pistol was suddenly too slow and heavy as I brought it up. But somehow, impossibly, I got the sight lined up before he got his own shot off. I squeezed the trigger.
Click.
Empty.
I was going to die under the scope of a deer hunter, I thought serenely, how embarrassing.
Even from this distance I could see the ghost of a smile creep across the bearded man’s face. His finger tightened, and my heart leapt in my chest as his firing pin found its own empty chamber. A moment of confusion, and the man pulled the trigger again. Nothing. Eyes widening in panic, he got to his knees and started fishing around for ammo.
With a savage snarl I bolted across the open space leaving Lily in the dirt. Had my mind been clear I would have hesitated at leaving her unguarded and exposing my back with two more men still in the woods. But neither of those things mattered to me as I sprinted towards the bearded man, still fumbling in his myriad of pouches for a bullet.
I dropped my empty weapon as I leapt over a small gathering of bushes. The man tossed his rifle to the side and dug out a small knife, flicking it open with his thumb. The knowledge that I had my own knife swam briefly to the surface of my mind, but I discarded it just as quickly. This guy may have been good with a hunting rifle, but I was betting he had never done more than gut something that was already dead with that knife.
He had the look of a dyed-in-the-wool survivalist: unkempt dark brown hair that merged with a scraggly beard, intense eyes that took in their surroundings and judged their usefulness, and a large body that looked to have been earned through a life of hard physical work. Those eyes that had just moments ago had me in the crosshairs now flittered about nervously looking for a means of escape.
“I’ll s-skewer you, ya damn t-t-twister!” he yelled in a high and unconvincing voice. Knife held stiffly to the side, he rushed forward.
He came in hard and fast, first a thrust at my stomach and then a backhanded swipe up towards my face. I dodged left and then back to avoid them, the blade a flickering mirror in the darkness cast by the canopy. I kept my hands open with palms open at chest height in a grappler’s defense. He feigned a kick at my legs and came in high with the knife aiming at my throat. Ducking under the blow, I slammed an open palm into his stomach as hard as I could. The breath exploded out of him in a long gust and he staggered forward. I let his momentum carry him past me, came up behind him, and aimed a kick at the back of his right knee. He yelped in pain and fell to his knees. The knife flickered out as he slashed out blindly in an effort to keep me away. A quick kick to the back of his hand sent the knife spinning out into the bushes. I moved in quickly wrapping my left arm around his throat and tying up his right arm. He struggled weakly at the lock, clawing at my arm and trying to get a grip on my fingers. Without a weapon in his hands he was powerless.
“Do you surrender?” I asked calmly. He continued struggling for a moment, but he quickly ran out of steam. When I repeated the question he grudgingly acquiesced. I released the hold I had on him and grabbed him by the back of his collar. “Get up slowly and put your hands on your head.” I picked up his discarded rifle. “Try anything and I’ll club you with your own gun. I’ll bet the deer and rabbits around here would love to see that. Got it?” He only nodded as he struggled to his feet and laced his fingers behind his head.
We walked back out towards the house. The man’s head turned slightly as we passed my pistol lying dust-covered and useless on the ground. I grabbed it up, slung the rifle over my shoulder, and went about reloading. A low sob escaped the bulky man as I slapped the magazine into place. His shoulders shook slightly and he seemed to get smaller before my eyes.
Ahead of us in the clearing, Simon was tying up the two others. The dog sat at his feet, tail wagging and tongue lolling as if Simon were the doggie messiah. When he was done, he gave the dog a quick rub behind the ears. Lily was still sitting behind the car. She was looking at the box I had taken from the basement with undisguised curiosity. She reached out a finger to touch it.
“Hey!” I yelled to her, freezing her in place. “Stop that.”
The man in front of me cringed. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, sniffling. “I can’t help it. I don’t want to die.” His shoulders shook in a fresh wave of grief.
A smile curled my lips as I realized he thought I was reprimanding him for crying. “Oh, now I’m a sir, am I?” I said, amused. “A minute ago you were going to stick me for being a twister. Tell me, oh-bearded-one, when did you have this epiphany? Was it before or after I had you in a choke hold?”
“Please don’t kill me,” he stuttered. “I have a wife and son. His name’s Gregory and he’s two years old.”
I sighed. “You’re babbling. Now sit down and put your hands behind your back while my partner here ties you up like he did your friends.”
“Anything you say, sir, just—”
“Karl!” one of the other men shouted at him. “Will you shut the hell up? You sound like a goddamn sissy!”
I looked from the man who spoke to Simon. “My, aren’t we the tolerant bunch?” My gaze fixed on the man who spoke, drifted to the sullen looking man with the downcast eyes to his right, and then back. Bright blue eyes full of loathing stared back. He was clean-shaven, the hair on his head a bare dusting of stubble on his scalp. He was younger than Karl—who looked older because of the ratty beard he wore but was probably around forty—and his friend beside him was younger still, a kid who probably couldn’t even drive yet. “I’m guessing you’re the leader,” I said to buzzcut. “You got a name?”
“Yeah, twister, I got a name,” he said with a sneer. His massive neck bulged and his shoulders flexed as he tried to free himself from his restraints, but Simon had tied those knots good and they weren’t coming loose. After a minute he gave up. From his size and the style he wore his hair I was tempted to say he was military. But then I thought about the hunting gear and the half-assed way they attacked us. Three guys with scoped rifles firing from cover and they couldn’t hit us? It screamed amateur, and all those muscles made me think of a weight-lifter with something to prove. More to the point, it said that this guy wanted to be military but just couldn’t cut it for one reason or another.
“You want to tell me what it is and what you’re doing out here?”
Buzzcut stared straight ahead and resigned himself to silence.
I sighed and moved over to the teenager next to him. “What about you, kid? You willing to tell me your name?”
He looked up and I saw the bruising around his right eye for the first time. I shot Simon a quizzical look, but he simply shrugged in response. The kid opened his mouth to speak, but buzzcut jumped in.
“You leave my brother alone, freak.” Turning to his brother, he said, “Don’t tell him your name or else they can put a spell on you.” The boy’s eyes went wide and he went back to staring at the ground.
“Oh God,” Karl mumbled. “They know my name.” He started chanting it over and over like a mantra as he rocked himself further into the fetal position.
Karl was a worthless gibbering wreck and buzzcut’s brother was too scared to speak. Perfect. I sat down in front of buzzcut and matched his stare. “Listen, we’re not spell casters, so you don’t have to worry about your names.” He snorted. “But I don’t really care what your names are. I do, however want to know why you attacked us the way you did.”
“We knew what you were, that’s why.” He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Saw you two freaks bringing a little girl out to this place. Well it don’t take a genius to figure out what you’re planning, sick bastards.” He looked over at where Lily was standing, and then quickly away as a shudder swept through him. He tried to hide it and failed. They may have come here to save her from
some imagined threat, but some part of their human brains recognized what she was, what was inside her, and wanted nothing but to get away from it.
“How did you know what we are?” I asked casually, just a couple of buddies shooting the breeze.
The kid spoke up then, quiet, still not looking up. “The dog found your scent. She didn’t like it, so we followed to see what had gotten her all worked up.”
I looked to the dog sitting at Simon’s feet, big doggie grin on her face. “She seems okay with it now.”
“Stupid mutt,” buzzcut snarled. Hatred bubbled in his blood like a cauldron. He sat straighter and spat at me, the wad of phlegm landing just beside me. “We know what your kind are planning. It’s all over the news. Well this time we’ll be ready. Maybe you ain’t a twister, but we’ll do you the same we do them: tie you to a stake and light it up!”
“Matt…please,” the kid strained. “You’ll make it worse.”
Matt continued his rant unabated. Sweat broke out on his forehead and the vein in his temple throbbed as he spewed his vitriol for all to hear. In my mind I had visions of a street-side preacher, eyes full of fire and fury, spilling the same seeds of destruction to be carried on the wind and find root in anyone willing to listen. They had been around since the Vampire War and, to a lesser extent, for thousands of years before that. But it had seemed to be getting better over the last dozen years.
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