“Elizabeth, do something. Please.” Tears ran down Sandra’s cheeks.
Elizabeth cocked her head and placed her fingers against her throat, taking her pulse once more. Already, it was back to normal. Just before they closed the back door of the van, Elizabeth met Sandra’s gaze and shook her head, giving her the only response she ever would. Leaving the crowd and all the excitement, she entered her dorm building. At her suite, another Mountie stood waiting, writing in his notebook. He looked up at Elizabeth.
“I’m sorry, but this is a crime scene,” he said, watching Elizabeth with a bored expression.
“This is my dorm room,” Elizabeth answered.
“You’re Elizabeth Chambers?”
“That’s right.”
He pushed the door open and motioned inside with his hand. “Come on in, Miss Chambers.”
“Thank you.” She brushed past him.
The little living room was a mess. Her and Sandra’s things had been scattered about in their search.
“You found the drugs?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes we did, thank you,” the officer answered.
“Good.”
“I’m going to have to take your statement.”
The officer motioned to the couch, and Elizabeth sat down and placed her hands in her lap. “Whatever I can do to help.”
The Mountie sat down on a chair across from her. He paused, holding his notebook in his lap and watching her face intently. “Your friend is in a great deal of trouble, you know. There was a considerable amount of marijuana.”
“You’ll have to call her parents,” Elizabeth said. “I can give you their phone number. They’ll want to know about this. They’ll be worried.”
The officer nodded. “You understand Northern Lights will probably expel her. Some people, maybe a lot of people, are going to be very angry with you.”
Elizabeth met his gaze and held it. “People can be whatever they want, but a sinner is still a sinner.”
The officer’s eyes tightened just for a moment, but then he flipped his notebook open. As she began making her statement, Elizabeth wondered how long all this would take. After all, she still had to study.
Chapter 5
Just after six in the evening, Cassie watched her best friend, Ginny, pull up in her old green pickup truck. Even inside, Cassie could hear country music from the truck’s radio. She opened the front door and waited. Ginny squealed as she jumped out of the cab, her brown eyes shining with excitement as she rushed to embrace Cassie.
There was a chill in the air this evening, so Cassie wore blue jeans and a hoodie, as did Ginny, but their outfits were about all they had in common. Ginny was pretty but in a wholesome girl-next-door kind of way, not at all the flamboyant punk rocker Cassie had become. Ginny rarely wore much makeup, never dressed provocatively, and was in dire need of a fashion makeover. Where Cassie had short hair with pink highlights, Ginny’s hair was long and brown with the bangs perpetually hovering over her eyes. Boys noticed Cassie first but approached Ginny more often; after all, she was the less threatening one. Tonight, her face looked freshly scrubbed with just a touch of makeup—way less than Cassie was wearing.
Hearing Ginny’s arrival, Alice and her husband, Rupert, Hudson Hope’s fire marshal, came out to say hello. While Cassie was certain Rupert was just being friendly, Alice was being nosy.
“So, who else is going to be at this party?” Alice asked.
Ginny opened her mouth to answer, but Cassie cut her off. “Not Mom.”
Alice frowned, her face flushing. “Seriously. What time do you expect to be back?”
Cassie climbed into the passenger’s seat of Ginny’s cab and pulled the door shut. She rolled down the window. “Not Mom,” she repeated.
Ginny, looking embarrassed, climbed back behind the driver’s seat and leaned past Cassie. “We’ll be back before midnight. It’s just a bunch of our friends—the usual suspects.”
Cassie shook her head and looked away.
Rupert, standing next to Alice, slipped his arm around his wife’s waist. “Don’t let the fire get too large.”
Ginny backed up onto the street, and Cassie flashed her sister the most fake smile she could before looking away quickly. In minutes, they were out of town and driving west along Highway 29, approaching the suspension bridge that crossed the Peace River. She noticed Ginny glancing at her, a look of expectation on her face.
“What?”
“I said, Lee’s going to be there.”
Cassie fidgeted in her seat. “How’s he been?”
“You guys don’t talk?”
“Couple of emails. It’s… awkward.”
“You should jump his bones, you know? Before he joins the army and goes away forever.”
Cassie cocked her head and grimaced at Ginny, who started giggling. Ginny giggled a lot. It was one of those things Cassie loved about her.
“The town virgin is giving me sex advice?”
“Hey, girl.” Ginny turned her attention back to the highway. “You’ve been gone a long time. Things change.”
“Really? So, you’re no longer a virgin. Who?”
Ginny looked uncomfortable. “There’s way more to sex than just… intercourse.”
Cassie turned in her seat and considered Ginny’s profile. “There is, is there? Tell me all about it, then.”
Ginny’s face turned a darker shade of red. “Me and Darryl have been hanging out a lot. He’s gonna be there tonight.”
“Darryl? Darryl Higgins?”
“He’s changed. Started lifting weights, doing that P90X stuff. He lost a lot of weight.”
“Didn’t Darryl spend prom night playing World of Warcraft?”
“Don’t be such a bitch.”
Cassie laughed. “Okay, okay, honey; maybe he has changed. So, what have you two kids been doing? Freaky Kama Sutra stuff?”
“You know, hanging out, couple of dates. He’s really sweet.”
“And you’re getting all hot and bothered together.”
“We’ve been… you know… doing stuff.”
“Naked stuff, Ginny Shevchuk? Does your mother know?”
Ginny glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. “You should talk.” She fiddled with the radio, picking another station. “I hate this song.”
“Don’t change the subject, you little Ukrainian skank.”
“Hello, pot,” Ginny said with a smirk.
Cassie shrugged. “True enough, I suppose. Of course, I’m not a good girl, like you.”
“You know, Darryl wants to work for Rupert. He wants to become a volunteer.”
“Not much of a career as a volunteer firefighter in a town that rarely has any fires.”
“I didn’t say he only wants to do that.”
“Hey,” said Cassie as she glanced out the passenger window. “Who am I to make fun of other people’s life choices?”
The silence in the cab was long and pronounced, impossible to ignore. Up ahead, Cassie saw the huge gray pillars of the Peace River Suspension Bridge and heard the rushing waters. The road narrowed as they drove across the bridge. On the opposite bank, the ground rose in a series of thickly forested hills. To their right, less than a kilometer away, sat the Peace Canyon Dam. On either side of the dam, the banks rose up—brown, rocky, and steep. A waterfall, only ten feet wide, poured out of one of the banks, cascading into the river below. Ginny’s father worked at the dam, and so had Cassie’s.
“You going back to Vancouver?” Ginny asked, finally breaking the silence.
The dam and the river disappeared behind them, swallowed by woodland. “I don’t think I can. The university was pretty mad at me.”
“You really break a beer bottle against some dude’s head?”
“Somebody had to. Nobody else was going to stop him.”
“Why?”
Cassie shrugged. “Probably too frightened to get involved. Dude was scary looking. Tattoos, muscles, big gut.”
“And?”
&nb
sp; “And when I told him to put my friend down, he called me a cunt and told me to mind my own business.”
“And?”
Cassie raised her eyebrows. “And cunt is a really mean thing to call somebody, you know. Hurt my feelings.”
Ginny snorted.
“So, I took my beer bottle and broke it against his head. He fell and dropped my friend. There was a little blood. Next thing I know, the cops show up and put me in handcuffs. Hardly seems fair.”
“That’s some messed-up shit.” Ginny shook her head. “They should have given you a medal.”
“Well… there might have been more than just a little blood. Maybe a lot. Dude needed something like ten stitches. With luck, the next girl will think twice before accepting a beer from Scarface.”
“Your sister went apeshit, didn’t she?”
“It hasn’t been fun.”
The two girls were silent. The only sound was the radio.
“What now? You don’t belong here. Not in Hudson’s Hope. It’s just not you. It’s never been you. This place is just… it’s just too…”
“I know. But maybe something—maybe fate—doesn’t want me to leave. Maybe I should set my sights lower, expect less.”
Ginny’s eyebrows scrunched together, and she glared at Cassie. “Maybe you should stop being such a stupid cunt, grow up, and get the hell out of here for good this time.”
Cassie barked in laughter and punched Ginny in the shoulder, hard. “Maybe I should. Maybe I’ll join the army, too, and follow Lee around. What’s the term—camp follower? That wouldn’t be too sad, now, would it?”
“It’s always an option, at least the army part. I don’t know about following Lee around. I think you should just ball the shit out of him and get over him already.”
Cassie grinned. “I am over Lee already. He’s good people, but him and me? It just wasn’t meant to be.”
“If you say so.” At that moment, Ginny squealed and cranked up the music. “Ooh! I love this song.”
Cassie stared at the forests on either side of the highway as they drove. The truck’s crappy speakers vibrated. Is the army an option?
“So,” said Cassie. “Have you given Darryl a blowjob yet?”
The two of them sent peals of laughter pouring out of the truck’s cab.
Chapter 6
“Mistress, wyverns approach.”
Maelhrandia glanced up from where she lounged on cushions in her study, an Illthori tome open before her. The boggart was panting, spit drooling from his wide jaws. Clearly, he had been running. Boggarts were good soldiers, but running within her keep was difficult for them with their cloven hooves—especially on stairs.
“A wyvern? Why? There should be no visitors.”
“Dozens of wyverns, Mistress,” panted the guard.
Was her keep under attack? Which of her sisters would dare come against her with wyverns—Horlastia? But a moment later, realization dropped over her like a death shroud. There was only one person who could possibly be arriving unannounced with dozens of wyverns: her mother, the queen of the fae seelie.
She leapt to her feet, ran past the guard, and headed for the stairs to the top of her tower. Never before had her mother deigned to visit Maelhrandia. In truth, her mother rarely left her fortress; she had too many enemies—as well as conniving daughters—each scheming for the crown. But Maelhrandia was no ambitious fool. She restricted her plots to her sisters. Her mother had sat upon the Bane Throne for hundreds of cycles—her power amongst the fae seelie was legendary. There was no good reason for her mother to come to the Tarloth Delta. Maelhrandia was twelfth in line and, sadly, of no great importance within the fae seelie court. She oversaw a minor holdfast filled with sad, miserable Redcap subjects rotting away in an overgrown jungle.
The spies! Her mother’s visit must be because of the intrusion. What had the prisoner confessed to?
Did her mother blame her? The intrusion wasn’t Maelhrandia’s fault. Besides, she’d discovered their pathetic attempts to spy upon her and had ambushed them, teaching them the price to be paid for spying upon the fae seelie. What more could she have done?
She ran out onto the circular stone summit of her keep’s tower, high above her covered garden, her pulse racing. To the east, the sun had yet to fully set, and its dying light burned along the horizon. Squinting, she searched the sky.
There. The boggart guard hadn’t been exaggerating: to the west were dozens of wyverns, flying in formation, a magnificent flotilla of the prodigiously expensive Dragonlings. She had been right. This could only be her mother.
One of the wyverns descended toward her tower. It was the largest, most magnificent creature she had ever seen, even larger than Gazekiller. On the massive back of this glorious winged beast sat a diminutive, white-haired rider dressed entirely in crimson-and-black dragon-scale armor, a blood-red cloak flapping in the wind behind her. On her brow, she wore the Spider Crown, set with the multicolored Cavern Stones of the four destroyed dwarven realms. Her mother: Tuatha De Taelinor, Queen of the Fae Seelie Court, Mistress of Spiders, Ruler of all faerum.
The wyvern’s giant wings beat the air, creating a storm that whipped Maelhrandia’s gown about her legs, threatening to push her back off the edge of her tower. She gripped her gown tightly closed with one hand and dropped to her knee, lowering her head and averting her eyes. The wyvern shrieked, its cry echoing across the sky. Her mother made no attempt to dismount.
“Daughter. I would see the ruins of our past, the intersection of the ley lines, this… invasion point. You will follow and meet me there. Prepare yourself for battle.”
Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. Did her mother blame her? “Yes, Mother. At once.”
“Do you keep gwyllgi here?”
“Yes, Mother. I breed a modest pack… for hunting.”
“Good. Have your servants bring them as well.”
“I live to obey, Mother.”
The wyvern shrieked once more as its wings pounded at the air, creating another storm that battered Maelhrandia as it rose once more. Only now did Maelhrandia dare raise her eyes. In a moment, her mother was gone, winging south toward the place of power. All the other wyverns—ridden by her mother’s legendary stormguards—followed her. Down below, in the covered garden, she felt Gazekiller’s rage through the mind-tether and tasted his bloodlust. Her mount barely tolerated wyverns at the best of times and would have perceived the giant wyvern’s cries as a direct challenge. She’d have to make sure she maintained an iron grip on the mind-tether; otherwise, Gazekiller might attack and kill her mother’s mount. Basilisks and wyverns did not mix well, and Gazekiller—that majestic beast—would be unimpressed by the size of the alpha Dragonling.
Two of her boggart guardsmen waited near the stairs, literally shaking with terror, their huge fish eyes wide. “Prepare my mount,” Maelhrandia ordered, brushing past them. “And have the gwyllgi brought to the ruins.”
Maelhrandia stared in the direction of the ruins, where the wyverns could just be made out, circling over the jungle. She walked along the edge of a sword right now. The slightest mistake would be her last.
* * *
Gazekiller navigated the thick jungle terrain, not impeded at all by the grasping brush. Upon his back, in a hollow between two of the spikes that ran down his dorsal spine, sat Maelhrandia, leaning forward against his scaled neck, perfectly at ease with his odd eight-legged gait. They rode together so well that both basilisk and fae seelie rider could have been a single entity. The basilisk wore no saddle; he would never have tolerated such an insult. Gazekiller was no mere wyvern or Heart-stag, no domesticated beast of burden. He was unbridled raw majesty and power, teeth and claw—prideful, the ultimate apex predator. He was controllable only through the mind-tether Maelhrandia had cast at the moment of his hatching—but the power of magic only went so far. Gazekiller would obey her, carry her, and hunt with her, but ever he remained his own master. She never pushed the limits of her bond or forgot that her m
ount was king in the jungle, master of his own realm—as she was master of the shadows.
She had prepared for battle. Her armor was tanned Bunyip hide, thick enough to turn most blades while still remaining sufficiently supple to allow unbridled movement. Over the priceless armor, she wore her favorite campaign cloak, Transerradina cloth trimmed with the golden fur of a griffin she had slain herself. She had armed herself with her dwarven-forged fighting knife and nothing else. She carried no sword, wore no bow. Such base tools were beneath her. Maelhrandia was a mage-scout, perhaps the finest among her people. She was the knife in the shadows.
She could smell the wyverns before she saw them; so could Gazekiller. The basilisk, angered by the presence of so many of the flying Dragonlings, pawed long deep tracks in the earth, glaring in hatred at them. She drew in magic, reinforcing the mind-tether. If Gazekiller went rogue and attacked her mother’s stormguards, Maelhrandia would suffer an agonizing death, princess of the fae seelie or not. Through the brush ahead, she saw the clearing and the ancient stone ruins—as well as a handful of wyverns. Overhead, the majority of her mother’s stormguards still remained airborne, flying circles over the jungle on the backs of their wyverns. The boggart guardsmen she had left at the ruins stood back in the trees, far from the dismounted stormguards that protected her mother. At the sight of Gazekiller, they dropped to their knees and placed their heads against the ground.
Maelhrandia dismounted, landing lithely. She placed a small hand against the scaled head of the agitated basilisk, sensing his anger building, his indignation at the presence of these flying creatures in his realm. Gazekiller burned with the need to teach them a lesson—teach them why they should fear the jungle. She smiled, her heart filling with love.
Peace, mighty one, she communicated through the mind-tether. You shall kill this day, I promise you, but not these Dragonlings. We shall tolerate their presence just this once.
In reply, Gazekiller snapped his jaws in anger in the direction of the closest wyvern, startling the Dragonling as well as the nearby stormguards, who fingered the hilts of their swords while keeping a wary eye on the basilisk.
Starlight (The Dark Elf War Book 1) Page 4
