The Children and the Blood

by Megan Joel Peterson

  “Monsters,” Ashley whispered.

  Spider nodded. “Pretty much.”

  Ashley turned away. He’d not looked like anything. The man who killed her father. Alone of all the others around him, he’d just… Nothing had been there.

  She wondered, had someone seen him glow, if things might have gone differently. They would’ve had more warning. And her father and everyone else wouldn’t have died.

  Silence fell over the van. Outside the window, billboards for attractions near the Smoky Mountains swept past, while cars with license plates from all around the country sped by.

  Her eyes tracked the vehicles. None of the people looked like anything. Not like the man in the hotel or the ones from the alley. And accordingly, they could just be human.

  Or they could be like him.

  “You okay?” Spider asked quietly.

  Ashley glanced at her, not certain what to say.

  “It’s a lot to take in,” the girl said.

  Wordlessly, Ashley nodded and then returned her gaze to the window. Her father had probably known what the men who attacked them were. Or would have, had they not used guns or been tucked behind the grass. And maybe from a distance, he couldn’t tell anything about the ones by the barn and the ranch house. Maybe the smoke even obscured the grayish feeling around them.

  Or something.

  More memories tumbled in. The farmhands patrolling at night. Coyotes, they’d said. The times her father went away. Business. Animals never liked them. No one ever came to visit from out of town. It’d all been so normal.

  And every moment of it had been a lie.

  She couldn’t decide whether to be angry. The feelings were all lost in a soup of confusion and overwhelming amounts of information, any piece of which would make a psychiatrist label her as insane. Everyone she’d known had lied to her. Deliberately. Repeatedly. Every single day.

  Until it killed them.

  They’d had no warning. But they would have. If they’d told her. If they’d said, hey, there are wizards out there. Mean ones. They want us dead. Don’t shout for help if you see the barn on fire. It might be them.

  And then nobody would have died.

  Water splattered on her hands and she flinched, realizing she was crying. Trembling, she swiped her eyes, anger emerging at the tears where it couldn’t at the rest of reality, and she glanced to Spider.

  The girl was carefully engrossed in her study of the world on the opposite side of the van.

  Blinking hard, Ashley turned back to the window and focused on fighting the urge to cry.

  Eight years of lying. Of making her believe everything was happy and normal and safe. Sure, her mother and grandparents had died in a tragic Christmastime fire. But it’d been an accident. Not something that was still hunting them after nearly a decade.

  Or something that would come back and kill her eight-year-old sister, the one person that had been spared last time.

  Anger struggled back out of the confusion, and started to build. They’d never told her anything. How could people who’d said they loved her spend every day living a lie?

  “Hey,” Bus said.

  She looked up, still shaking. In the rearview mirror, his eyes flicked between her and the road, and from below the seat, he drew out an old towel.

  “Rip this up,” he said, handing it back to her.

  Taking it from him, her brow furrowed in confusion. Old grease stains marred the faded red terry cloth, and threads hung from the frayed sides.

  “It helps,” he explained. “Trust me.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw a smile pull at Spider’s lips, though the girl never looked her way. Gripping the towel, she hesitated a moment, and then ripped it in two.

  Her brow twitched down in faint incredulity. He was kind of right.

  Swallowing hard, she shredded the towel, clutching it and yanking it to pieces, and then shredding the remnants as well. Threads fell like red snow on the dogs, who woke and looked up at her with confusion before choosing to go back to sleep.

  And slowly, she poured the anger into the ragged bits of towel till nothing but thin strips, fibers and numbly confused, quivery feelings remained.

  Her gaze rose to Bus. He winked at her in the rearview mirror.

  “Thanks,” she said quietly.

  He grinned. “Anytime, kiddo.”

  She brushed the tattered shreds on her lap into a small pile, and then paused uncertainly.

  “Here,” Spider said, pulling a plastic grocery bag from the pouch on the back of Carter’s seat. Ashley dumped the handful of fabric inside, and Spider bundled it up, not letting any of the threads escape. The girl gave her a small smile and then put the bag away.

  Hesitantly, Ashley looked around. “Thanks,” she said again.

  Spider just shrugged and went back to watching the road. Bus smiled and kept driving. Samson rested, ignoring everything. And Carter never said a word.

  Still confused and aching, Ashley turned back to the window. But unlike before, the feeling wasn’t quite the same.

  She wasn’t alone. Even if they didn’t know what she was – could never know what she was – there were still four bizarre people with guns who were helping her. It wasn’t perfect, or honest in the least, but if she just focused on that, she could almost think she’d be okay.

  Chapter Twelve

  They drove on through the Appalachian Mountains. Billboards for breweries, wax museums and resorts crowded every available space on the roadside, while souvenir shops clustered at the fringes of towns and cars from everywhere filled the interstate.

  And then Bus turned off the highway, and gradually the clutter disappeared.

  Following a course Ashley couldn’t have retraced if she tried, the old man navigated off the state roads and into the mountains themselves. Houses dotted the valleys between steep hillsides, and cattle clung to the slopes like mountain goats. Eventually, concrete gave way to asphalt, and then to gravel that roared beneath the tires. Trees rushed past only a couple feet from the window, and rusted chain-link fences in the woods were the only sign someone lived nearby.

  Gravel became dirt. The chain-link fences ended. The van climbed over slopes and down gullies, and nothing but trees could be seen on either side.

  A groan behind her made Ashley turn. On the bench seat, Samson grimaced but didn’t wake. The past few hours hadn’t been good to him. Sweat dotted his forehead, and his skin looked gray. He’d been growing steadily worse for some time, and the others had long since fallen silent, doing what they could to allow him to sleep.

  Her brow furrowing, she shifted back to the front, not knowing what to do. Without more than the rudimentary medical care the others were able to provide, he wasn’t going to get better. And from the looks of their surroundings, hospitals probably weren’t a possibility.

  She glanced around worriedly. Carter’s gaze was locked on the window, and he’d hardly spoken since leaving Shen’s. With a face colder than normal, Spider watched the middle distance and gave no sign of noticing the others in the van. But she’d stopped looking behind her an hour ago, and fingered the gun in her lap as though finding solace there.

  The van stopped. Startled, Ashley looked up. Trees and underbrush filled the space in front of them, while the dirt track serving as a road continued through the forest to their left.

  Spider threw open the door, and the other men did the same. Hurriedly, Ashley clambered out at the girl’s impatient motion, stepping aside just in time for Carter to climb in and hoist Samson from the seat. Hefting the young man’s bulk, Carter grimaced and then gratefully accepted Bus’ assistance when he got Samson shifted toward the door.

  Groaning, the young man woke. “You don’t need–”

  “Shut up,” Bus told him.

  Between them, the older men shouldered Samson’s weight and started into the forest, leaving Ashley and Spider behind.

  Swiftly, the girl grabbed the bags from beneath the seats and tossed them t
o Ashley, who caught them awkwardly. Slamming the door behind her, Spider retrieved a few of the bags, shouldered them quickly, and then jerked her head at Ashley.

  “Come on,” she said, starting after the others.

  With the dogs beside her, Ashley followed.

  In moments, the van was lost to view, and only forest surrounded them. Straight ruts beneath the bushes gave proof a road had once cut through the woods, though saplings and underbrush had taken its place. The afternoon sun streamed down and shifted as the leaves moved in the breeze. Broken branches crunched beneath their feet, and leaves wet with spring rains swiped their legs. Fallen logs rotting in the undergrowth lay across the invisible path the others walked, and all around, birds called and darted from tree to tree.

  Carter paused and whistled shortly, sounding nearly like a bird himself. Alarmed, Ashley looked at him, but the others just kept moving. Brow furrowing, she glanced around. Nothing in the forest had changed.

  Warily, she continued walking.

  The terrain rolled around them as the minutes passed. Samson hung limply between Carter and Bus, silent and gray. Spider had taken the lead, and now looked torn between the desire to go faster and the realization the others could only move with so much speed.

  Men in camouflage rose from the underbrush, guns in their hands.

  Heart in her throat, Ashley came to a halt and scrambled desperately after the stupid, useless magical fires that would get her shot.

  The others stopped, and Spider turned to the armed men, relief in her eyes.

  “All accounted for?” Carter asked.

  “Every one,” one of the men answered.

  Bus and Carter shifted Samson’s weight from their shoulders as several of the armed men hurried over to hoist the young man between them.

  “I’m fine,” Samson protested groggily.

  Ignoring him, the men took off through the forest. As they passed, Spider glanced back to Carter questioningly.

  He jerked his chin at her.

  She followed Samson without a word.

  Dumbstruck, Ashley stared at the men. Camouflage covered them from head to toe, complete with leafy branches woven into the jackets and hats they wore. All manner of shotguns and rifles hung from their shoulders, and handguns were holstered at their sides. In the bushes behind them, more dogs waited, eyeing Tala and Mischa but too well trained to move.

  And each of them felt like Carter, Spider and the rest. Cripples, they’d said. The ones with magic missing.

  “What happened?” asked the man who’d originally spoken.

  “Shenandoah’s dead,” Carter said.

  The man grimaced and behind him, a few others looked away. For a moment, the man didn’t move, the muscles in his jaw clenching. Then he drew a breath. “And who’s this?”

  Carter glanced at her. “This is Ashe.” He paused so briefly, she barely registered the thoughtfulness that flashed over his face. “New friend we picked up in Utah. One who emptied a gun at the ferals who got Shen, and helped save Samson’s life.”

  She struggled not to look uncomfortable as the man’s eyebrows rose appreciatively. “Well,” he said. “Nice to meet you, Ashe. Name’s Jericho.”

  “Hi,” she said.

  “He’s in charge around here,” Bus chimed in.

  Trying not to be impolite, she restrained the urge to look around the empty forest, but Jericho seemed to see it anyway. Chuckling, he gestured in the direction Samson had been taken. “How ‘bout we get on with the tour, eh? Van back that way?”

  The last was directed at Bus, who nodded.

  “We’ll take care of it,” Jericho said.

  With a glance to the others, he twitched his head and then started walking as the armed men headed back into the cover of the trees, their camouflage making them disappear almost immediately.

  The dogs still at her side, she followed Carter toward the next ridge. Bus dropped back to walk with her, and he grinned as he took most of the bags from her shoulders.

  “What did Carter mean, all accounted for?” she asked quietly.

  The old man hesitated, as though deciding what to say. Or, she realized, whether to respond at all. Finally, he bent his head near to hers.

  “It’s code. Not all our people sided with us. Some went to the wizards for protection. But some of the wizards are ferals, and so to continue protecting their own asses, those cripples now try to infiltrate our hideouts and turn over their own kind to be killed. The Abbey’s pretty hidden, but they still get an influx of folks from time to time. Carter was just checking. If Jericho thought somebody around here might be a traitor, he would’ve said something different. ‘Each and every one’ means there could be trouble, so keep an eye out. ‘All of them’ means we’ve been compromised. ‘Every one’ means everything’s fine.”

  “How do you keep that straight?” she asked, baffled.

  “You get used to it.”

  She paused. “You’re talking about sellouts.”

  He glanced at her, seeming surprised she knew the term.

  “I overheard the others at Wood’s,” she explained. “They thought I might be one.”

  His expression cleared and his grin returned. “That was then, kiddo. But yeah, sellouts.”

  Biting her lip, she kept walking.

  Another hill rose ahead. Shifting the bag higher on her shoulder, she climbed tiredly and then blinked as she reached the top. A fence ran along the base of the slope. Barbed wire coiled across the tall chain-link barrier, the length of which stretched far into the forest on either side. The portion directly below them held a gate, set on runners and tied with a padlock and chains.

  Walking up to it, Jericho undid the lock and then rolled away the gate, stepping aside and gesturing grandiosely for them to continue once he was done. Bus chuckled at the motion.

  Ashley swallowed nervously as she followed the others through. Behind her, Jericho refastened the chain and then came after them, letting Carter and Bus lead the way as the grassy path widened and became a dirt strip between the trees. The track twisted erratically, curving to the left for a hundred yards and then turning right without any apparent reason. Laughter filtered through the air and confusedly, Ashley looked to the others, but the men just kept walking as though the serpentine pathway and ghostly sounds were normal.

  And then they came around another turn, the track expanded and turned to gravel, and Ashley’s steps faltered.

  Log cabins crowded next to mobile homes beneath the trees, and everywhere she looked, birdcages hung. The path branched off into smaller walkways that wound between homes scattered like toy blocks in every available space. Vegetable gardens clustered near each house, and chickens ambled at the edges of the dirt patches. Dogs wandered everywhere, and cats slept on the porches in warm patches of late afternoon light.

  And the people. There were so many people, each like the others. Cripples. Dozens upon dozens of them.

  Children ran between the houses, filling the air with their laughter. Adults worked around them, hanging laundry, planting in the gardens or repairing their homes. Others sat on their steps, chatting with neighbors. Everywhere she looked, people were living and working as though being secluded in the middle of a forest was the most natural thing in the world.

  But then, it probably wasn’t any less natural than being stuck on a farm for eight years and never even thinking of leaving.

  With difficulty, she pushed the thought away, the sentiment feeling dark and angry in this bright place.

  “Welcome to the Abbey,” Carter said, a corner of his mouth rising in a grin.

  She tried to smile, and then jumped as Jericho clapped her on the shoulder. “Come on,” he said, striding past her. “Knowing Magnolia, she’s probably gotten a space set up for you already.”

  “His wife,” Bus supplied as he followed the other man.

  Uncertain what to think, she started after them, watching the dogs and birdcages. People called greetings and waved to Carter and Bus as
they passed, while Spider and the men who took Samson were nowhere to be seen.

  “You alright?” Carter asked quietly, falling back to walk by her side.

  Feeling overwhelmed, she managed a nod.

  “The wizards who hurt your family won’t find you here. And even if they tried, they’d run into a hell of a lot more than they bargained for.”

  She hesitated.

  “What?” he asked, seeing her expression.

  “Blood,” she said uncomfortably. “The man who killed my dad. He was a Blood. The wizards were just working for him.”

  He paused. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded.

  Carter echoed the motion, but his attention didn’t seem to be with her anymore. They kept walking.

  A few hundred feet from the entrance, Jericho left the gravel track and started across a small yard toward a log cabin. Brightly painted cages hung along the porch eaves, and songbirds chirped inside. As they approached, the front door opened and a woman stepped out, a birdseed canister in her hand. Her eyes lit up as she saw them, and swiftly she set down the container. Grabbing up her multicolored skirts, she hurried down the stairs, and embraced Carter and Bus happily.

  “I wasn’t sure how long you’d be!” she exclaimed, pushing away from them and grinning. “Knowing Jericho, I figured you’d be talking for hours before he let you get away.”

  Her husband gave her a dry look, though it didn’t quite hide his smile.

  “And who’s this?” she continued, turning to Ashley.

  “Maggie, meet Ashe,” Jericho told her. “Ashe, my wife Magnolia.”

  The woman smiled warmly, but after a heartbeat, an understanding look came into her eyes.

  “Well, I’ve got about a million things to take care of, so if you guys don’t need anything, how about I show Ashe where we’ve got for her to stay? Melody and her husband have some extra room for the two of you, and Blue’s inside with Samson and Spider, so unless there’s anything else…?” A smile pulled at Magnolia’s lips as the men shook their heads. “Then we’ll see you at dinner.”