Filled with a righteous anger, Nash drove his foot into the ground, and the lightning bolt hit Carman in her stomach. Still she flew at him, so Nash had to duck and roll left to pass under the ceremonial blade. She cried at him like a bird, the force of the screech piercing his ears and sending him to the ground.
“Get up!” Darcy demanded from behind him as a crossbow bolt flew into Carman’s shoulder. The witch seethed at the silver and wood burning in her shoulder as she reached over and yanked it out. At an uttered word, it disintegrated into horrible flies that swarmed Nash and Darcy, biting at them.
The sound of a loud gunshot stopped the Hunters and the witch as they fought, causing them to look over to where Derrick was coughing on the ground, struggling for breath. Dother was lying on his back a few feet away, laughing as he looked at the hole in his stomach. His black cap had fallen off his head, revealing a unsightly head, unevenly covered in rough patches of scalp and lanky black hair. His eyes were the color of cemetery dirt, leaking at the corners. Dother’s scared lips split to reveal his shark-like smile as he pulled himself to a crouch, stalking Derrick like a cat on all fours while the young messenger still fumbled on the ground.
Carman turned back to Nash, putting on a sad smile. “See how pitiful you look against us? Just give up already. It’ll be quicker that way.”
As Dother leapt in for the kill, he was kicked out of the air by Chen, who had backed in to save Derrick. He still fought with a relentless and violent Dian, who left Chen’s arms and body badly cut and bruised. As Nash, Darcy, and Carman all watched, Chen managed to twist one of the knives out of Dian’s hands.
“It looks like we’re doing okay,” said Nash.
Carman ignored him, throwing a hand up in fury. Several yards behind her, the necrogolem had formed enough and now stood at her command. With her other hand, Carman wrote a word in the air with her finger, speaking some long dead language as she did.
Just as Chen plunged his stolen weapon into Dian—who only smiled broadly—hands and arms shot out of the ground around him, pulling him down. Behind him, Dother stood up again and brushed his shirt off, not minding the hole in his torso as he looked around for Derrick.
Chen fought his way out of the dead hands, but Dian bashed him over the head with the hilt of the dirty butcher knife, and Chen fell backward, barely staying conscious. Dian raised his murderous weapon above the Asian man. Nash stomped and shot R.I.G.G. at Dian, while Darcy released an arrow without hesitation. But they were blocked by Carman and a host of crows that seemed to come from and return to an invisible realm.
The two young Hunters watched helplessly as Chen was about to be killed. Then a raving madman holding a sword above his head came into their vision.
“Have faith, my friend!” Priest bellowed. Dian turned at the last moment, raising his butcher’s knife to avert the mad Hunter’s blow. Priest’s sword simply shattered the ill cared for blade, its momentum carrying it well beyond the knife and through Dian’s neck, all the way behind Priest again.
Carman screeched as her son’s red head fell to the ground, a host of crows, flies, and vulturous insects writhing in the air or on the ground around her feet. Nash brought R.I.G.G. up to fire, but she was gone, appearing in a chaotic cloud of black carrion and bugs in front of the necrogolem.
Priest stopped to help Chen back to his feet. The two nodded at each other; bloodied and broken, but their faith rekindled. Together, they ran to where Dother had bitten deeply into Derrick’s shoulder. Chen pulled the horrid creature off of the young messenger, twisting Dother in midair before letting him land roughly on the ground. As the black-eyed, black-souled son of a witch stood, hissing and baring claw and tooth at Chen, a sword sliced cleanly through his neck from behind.
There was not a moment to celebrate as a guttural roar broke both from Carman’s lips and the necrogolem’s hundreds of dead mouths.
“How could you?” cried the witch. “How were you able to kill them? My sons cannot die!”
The necrogolem, now an embodiment of Carman’s rage, lumbered forward, shaking the earth with each forceful step.
Darcy jumped and cried out a little as a hand grabbed her shoulder, but it was only Maurie.
“Help me girl,” said the old woman. “Help me stand.”
Darcy shook her head. “You need to rest. You passed out just a little while ago.”
Before them, Priest and Chen were flung aside as the giant horror bent down and brushed the earth with the back of those things that passed for hands.
“Don’t you coddle me, young lady. Just get me up already.”
“What are you going to do?”
Maurie looked over to where Priest was trying to stand, without success. Nash fired his hunting rifle three times into the necrogolem without effect, stormstepping every time he stopped to reload.
“I’m going to give that witch a piece of my mind.”
Priest finally stood and, looking grim, ran forward to hack at the necrogolem’s leg. Chen tackled him out of the way just before the monstrosity’s huge fist shattered the ground where he had stood. Behind them, Derrick was unloading R.I.G.G. 2 into the giant hand, but it didn’t seem to do anything to the bodies.
“Die here!” cried Carman. “Your blood will be compensation for their end!”
“Shut up, you old crone!” cried Maurie, surprising everyone. She passed Nash without a word and came to stand in front of the necrogolem, which roared at her, pushing the stench of the dead farther into the destroyed field.
Maurie raised her hands which, along with her arms and even the veins in her cheeks, became black. The necrogolem raised a hand to smash her, and Priest reached forward involuntarily. He pushed himself up and ran for her.
As the necrogolem’s fist came down, Maurie touched both hands to its leg, whispering things that she had never had the chance to say in all her years—ancient words she had never wanted to say. Priest made it to her just as the golem crumbled over the top of them, a new and huge shockwave of dust flowing over the field.
Carman cried out as she felt the pure power of that old woman’s Death Touch carry through the magic that she used to control the giant Construct. The witch watched as the corpses in her puppet’s leg slowly turned black as the plague.
“Impossible,” she told herself, for the bodies were already dead. Now blood ran in their veins. How could this old Huntress have used the Death Touch against the necrogolem?
Whether possible or impossible, the blackness spread over the bodies of the golem, falling like flies as Nash, Darcy, Chen and Derrick all cried out for those two who they had seen crushed. They were forced to abandon their places and retreat as the blackened bodies continued to fall, lest they too become a victim of Maurie’s power.
It was minutes before anyone attempted to come back to the pile of corpses. Carman was nowhere to be found, but the Hunters couldn’t force themselves to take joy in the victory.
“He found his faith once more, after losing,” said Chen to no one. “How many can say they are that fortunate?”
“Why did she do that?” asked Darcy. “We could have killed the golem another way.”
“Maybe,” said Nash, patting her on the shoulder awkwardly. “But it was moving faster than before, and Carman wasn’t toying with us anymore. She meant to kill.”
“Still…,” Darcy’s voiced trailed off before she began to speak. They all stood there in dumb silence, out of a mix of respect and sadness.
“Wait,” said Derrick. He pointed with the arm not messed up by Dother’s teeth, a smile breaking his dirty face in two. “There’s Priest!”
And, indeed, from the right of all the dead bodies, Priest did limp toward them, carrying Maurie with a great grimace.
“You’re not dead!” Chen exclaimed, rushing forward to help lower Maurie to the ground.
“Most people would say, ‘you’re a
live,’ Chen. ‘You’re not dead,’ sounds as if you wanted me dead in the first place.”
The two men clapped each other on the shoulder, grinning wearily. Then their attention turned to Maurie, and the sudden high spirits dimmed a little.
Maurie lay deathly still, looking almost as if she didn’t breathe. Pale blue veins covered her face and arms, and she looked as if she’d lost weight in dozens of pounds in that one moment of defiance against Carman. She looked as if the life was leaking from her as they watched.
“Will she be alright?” Darcy asked.
Priest shook his head regretfully. “I don’t know, lass. I surely hope she does.”
Several silent moments later, Derrick and Nash offered to try and find the horses again. As tired and defeated as they were, they couldn’t rest. The morning had become noon, and noon had come and gone during their battle with Carman and her sons. The full moon was only a night away. Drakauragh needed them now, and they would not stop until they got there.
They followed the red serpent as it slithered through the wolves’ den, eyesight slowly adjusting to see more than just the scarlet line in front of them. A great, breathing heat blew into their faces and sucked at their hair from deep inside the cave. There were other tunnels that branched off, of course, but not many, and the serpent never turned into any of them. Most were silent, but a few rang with the drip, drip sound of water collecting in underground chambers.
There was a howl from a side tunnel, causing the three young Hunters to startle. They stood there frozen, like a child caught sneaking into the kitchen at night, heartbeats hammering on their eardrums.
It was only after several moments, when no wolves appeared, that Charlie realized Aisling had grabbed onto his arm. She didn’t let go as he kept moving forward, shivering with a fear that was real.
Out of the corner of his eye, Charlie saw Lisa’s cocked eyebrow. Her arms were crossed.
“What?” he mouthed.
Lisa just shook her head and stepped in front of him. To keep up with the witch’s snake, of course.
Charlie bit back a sigh.
They had been moving forward for so long that when the snake did change course, they almost didn’t see it. It sped back the way they had come, forcing the Hunters to run after it.
They understood what it meant, the snake retreating so fast. Aisling felt like she was suffocating, struggling to keep any air in her lungs. All that they could do was try and run as quietly as possible.
The snake made a sharp turn left, and they followed. It kept on going into the darkness, disappearing. Charlie and Lisa gasped as their feet plunged into cold water, Aisling yelped. They slid on the wet, moss-covered stone and fell completely under water.
It took all of Charlie’s willpower not to shout as he came back up for air. He clamped a hand over Aisling’s mouth as a scream of her own almost escaped her lips. Looking around with his Sight, Charlie saw that Lisa had come up for air and was holding her own mouth closed, shivering.
The snake floated between all of them, silently as something like muted thunder came from the main tunnel. Three large wolves stopped at the entrance to their little cave-pool, red eyes gleaming in the darkness, noses taking in great whiffs of the air. The wolves growled, and the three Hunters forced themselves to go all the way under, feeling as if their eyeballs might freeze in the frigid water.
After twenty seconds of waiting—a very long time under water—Aisling kicked off the stone floor to come up for air, but Charlie pulled her down by the arm. Her fingers pried at his, but he held fast.
His eyes closed, Charlie was seeing not under the water, but from the viewpoint of one of the wolves as they searched the tunnel for clues. The wolf growled, looking at the black surface of the small pool in the dark.
Beside him, Lisa began to move. Charlie grabbed her arm too, struggling to hold the girls down as he waited for the wolves to move. He understood the need for air, as his own lungs—unused to being underwater—burned. His head was light, but he wasn’t sure if it was the lack of air or the splitting of consciousness that came with his use of the Sight.
An air bubble escaped Lisa’s mouth. It emerged on the pool’s surface, just barely noticed as a drop of water fell from a stalactite above and caused the water to form new ripples. The wolf snarled, placing a paw into the chamber. Charlie’s grip on Lisa’s and Aisling’s arms tightened.
The other two wolves snapped, catching the scent of the dead sentry wolf blowing in from outside. Minds on their fallen pack mate, all three wolves loped to the cave entrance.
Lisa swatted and punched at Charlie, ineffectual under water, but he waited until the wolves could see the sunlight from the entrance. Only then did he open his eyes, pushing himself off of the bottom of the pool. He pulled Lisa and Aisling up with him, although they didn’t need the help.
The only thing that kept Lisa from slapping him was her need for air, which she inhaled in gulps. Coughing, she yelled at him. “What is your problem, Charlie Sulliva—”
He clamped a hand over her mouth. “There were wolves, Lisa!” he whispered harshly. “I was making sure they didn’t see us, not that you were being much help! Maybe if you trusted me a little—”
“Trust you? How the heck are we supposed to trust you when you never tell us what it is you see with those stupid eyes of yours!”
“Like I’m supposed to tell you under water, ‘Hey, Lisa, there are wolves up there, just wait a sec, okay?’ I did what I could!”
“Uh, guys?” Aisling said timidly. She flinched as they both turned on her. “The snake is moving again.”
The three of them clambered out of the pool, chasing after the red line racing on the ground. They took some small comfort in the warm air breathing out of the cave as the winter chilled their wet bones for the second time in the last two days. Their sopping clothes would have slowed them down, but paranoia drove them faster now. It was unlikely they would be able to avoid any more wolves like that a second time, and they were torn between rushing into danger and sitting there, waiting for it to come to them. Their minds frenzied and driven on by the snake, they chose the former.
Three howls went up from outside the cave, announcing the death of the sentry. A hundred more echoed it from everywhere inside the wolves’ den. The snake, and the Hunters following it, moved with greater urgency.
The sound of fur and claw rustled around them from every direction. Lisa looked over her shoulder involuntarily.
“There are so many! I thought they had all left!”
“God help us,” Aisling cried, sounding on the border of hysteria.
The snake turned left, and they slammed into the tunnel wall there, pushing off from it to keep going faster. This new passage was twisted and felt wrong, the air hot and smelling of something horrible. Charlie could only hope it would hide their scent from the wolves, which were surely behind them now.
They turned and turned again, now crouching down while they ran since Charlie hit his head on a lowered ceiling. Sounds of pursuit came from behind them, now unmistakable. The snapping of taut, feral jaws, claws scratching stone, and howling and barking. So much howling and barking.
Aisling ran into the back of someone—Charlie or Lisa, she couldn’t tell. Her senses jumbled for a moment, clearing slowly as her eyes registered a dimly lit chamber, and her nose wrinkled at mixed smells of hay, blood, and the smell of someone who hadn’t bathed in far too long.
She peeked over the shoulders of Charlie and Lisa as they stood there, unmoving. She wanted to ask what it was, but her eyes finally settled on a pale, tattooed figure kneeling on the ground like a wild man.
Lisa took a step forward, breathing heavily, a name barely forming on her lips.
Chapter 7: The Alpha’s Trap
The oblong floor of the cell was covered in a thin layer of dust. There was a hole in the floor, black and empty to th
e naked eye.
A track of small footprints led away from the hole where Dräng had crawled out and begun to run. They ended at the door to the cell, where someone had grabbed the little monster by the neck.
A different pair of prints led out of the dusty cell, out of the old, unused dungeon of Hunter’s Key and into the lobby.
The main foyer of the Key was empty, and strangely calm and tranquil. That peace was slowly defusing around the newcomer, a little boy in clothes that might’ve been rich and clean, a century or so before. The air in the Key almost rumbled as the old protective wards began to wake and stir.
“Hello?” asked Elizabeth from the top of the stairs. Her expression was confused but reassuring as she quickly descended the steps. “How did you get in?” she asked kindly.
“You’re lost,” said the little boy.
Elizabeth frowned. “You—you mean you’re lost?”
“You’re lost.”
“What’s your name?” she asked, reaching the bottom of the stairs. She reached out to him. “Do you know where your parents live? Did you get lost in the woods?”
“No,” said the boy, frowning. “You are lost.”
As Elizabeth tried to understand, the little boy—Dub—took her hand with his pudgy, dirty one. Her eyes clouded over with inky blackness, and Elizabeth Witherington fell to the ground.
Warned by the tension running through the house, Loch burst through the doors that led to the Library. He had a phone rammed against his ear, saying, “I don’t care if you have their phone numbers, just get Fish and Dink up here, now! Elizabeth!” he cried as Dub stood there, smiling softly over her.
A stained-glass window broke above them as a gargoyle freefell into the room—the very same that had protected the newly christened and young Monster Hunters just a month before.
Still in the air, it plunged toward Dub, and the youngest son of Carman reached up for the gargoyle like a child wanting to be picked up.
Charlie Sullivan and the Monster Hunters: Witch Moon Page 14
