Huntress, Black Dawn, Witchlight

by L. J. Smith

  “You can’t,” he said flatly.

  “Watch me.”

  She climbed up. It was as easy as she’d thought; plenty of good finger-and toeholds.

  When she pulled herself up onto the ledge beside him, he shrugged, but there was reluctant respect in his eyes.

  “You’re quick,” he said. “Here.” He held out the leather bag.

  But Maggie was simply staring. This close, the feeling of familiarity was overwhelming.

  It was you in my dream, she thought. Not just somebody like you.

  She recognized everything about him. That supple, smoothly muscled body, and the way he had of standing as if he were filled with tightly leashed tension. That dark hair with the tiny waves springing out where it got unruly. That taut, grim face, those high cheekbones, that willful mouth.

  And especially the eyes. Those fearless, black-lashed yellow eyes that seemed to hold endless layers of clear brilliance. That were windows on the fiercely intelligent mind behind them.

  The only difference was the expression. In the dream, he had been anxious and tender. Here, he seemed joyless and bitter…and cold. As if his entire being were coated with a very thin layer of ice.

  But it was you, Maggie thought. Not just somebody like you, because I don’t think there is anybody like you.

  Still lost in her memories, she said, “I’m Maggie Neely. What’s your name?”

  He looked taken aback. The golden eyes widened, then narrowed. “How dare you ask?” he rapped out. He sounded quite natural saying “How dare you,” although Maggie didn’t think she’d ever heard anybody say it outside of a movie.

  “I had a dream about you,” Maggie said. “At least—it wasn’t me having the dream; it was more as if it was sent to me.” She was remembering details now. “You kept telling me that I had to do something….”

  “I don’t give a damn about your dreams,” the boy said shortly. “Now, do you want the water or not?”

  Maggie remembered how thirsty she was. She reached out for the leather bag eagerly.

  He held onto it, not releasing it to her. “There’s only enough for one,” he said, still brusque. “Drink it here.”

  Maggie blinked. The bag did feel disappointingly slack in her grip. She tugged at it a little and heard a faint slosh.

  “Cady needs some, too. She’s sick.”

  “She’s more than sick. She’s almost gone. There’s no point in wasting any on her.”

  I can’t believe I’m hearing this again, Maggie thought. He’s just like Jeanne.

  She tugged at the bag harder. “If I want to share with her, that’s my business, right? Why should it matter to you?”

  “Because it’s stupid. There’s only enough for one.”

  “Look—”

  “You’re not afraid of me, are you?” he said abruptly. The brilliant yellow eyes were fixed on her as if he could read her thoughts.

  It was strange, but she wasn’t afraid, not exactly. Or, she was afraid, but something inside her was making her go on in spite of her fear.

  “Anyway, it’s my water,” he said. “And I say there’s only enough for one. You were stupid to try and protect her before, when you could have gotten away. Now you have to forget about her.”

  Maggie had the oddest feeling that she was being tested. But there was no time to figure out for what, or why.

  “Fine. It’s your water,” she said, making her voice just as clipped as his. “And there’s only enough for one.” She pulled at the bag harder, and this time he let go of it.

  Maggie turned from him, looked down at the boulders where Cady was lying. She judged the distance carefully, noting the way one boulder formed a cradle.

  Easy shot. It’ll rebound and wedge in that crack, she thought. She extended her arm to drop the bag.

  “Wait!” The voice was harsh and explosive—and even more harsh was the iron grip that clamped on her wrist.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” the boy said angrily, and Maggie found herself looking into fierce yellow eyes.

  CHAPTER 8

  “What are you doing?” he repeated ferociously. His grip was hurting her.

  “I’m throwing the water bag down there,” Maggie said. But she was thinking, He’s so strong. Stronger than anybody I’ve ever met. He could break my wrist without even trying.

  “I know that! Why?”

  “Because it’s easier than carrying it down in my teeth,” Maggie said. But that wasn’t the real reason, of course. The truth was that she needed to get temptation out of the way. She was so thirsty that it was a kind of madness, and she was afraid of what she would do if she held onto this cool, sloshing water bag much longer.

  He was staring at her with those startling eyes, as if he were trying to pry his way into her brain. And Maggie had the odd feeling that he’d succeeded, at least far enough that he knew the real reason she was doing this.

  “You are an idiot,” he said slowly, with cold wonder. “You should listen to your body; it’s telling you what it needs. You can’t ignore thirst. You can’t deny it.”

  “Yes, you can,” Maggie said flatly. Her wrist was going numb. If this went on, she was going to drop the bag involuntarily, and in the wrong place.

  “You can’t,” he said, somehow making the words into an angry hiss. “I should know.”

  Then he showed her his teeth.

  Maggie should have been prepared.

  Jeanne had told her. Vampires and witches and shapeshifters, she’d said. And Sylvia was a witch, and Bern had been a shapeshifter.

  This boy was a vampire.

  The strange thing was that, unlike Bern, he didn’t get uglier when he changed. His face seemed paler and finer, like something chiseled in ice. His golden eyes burned brighter, framed by lashes that looked even blacker in contrast. His pupils opened and seemed to hold a darkness that could swallow a person up.

  But it was the mouth that had changed the most. It looked even more willful, disdainful, and sullen—and it was drawn up into a sneer to display the fangs.

  Impressive fangs. Long, translucent white, tapering into delicate points. Shaped like a cat’s canines, with a sheen on them like jewels. Not yellowing tusks like Bern’s, but delicate instruments of death.

  What amazed Maggie was that although he looked completely different from anything she’d seen before, completely abnormal, he also looked completely natural. This was another kind of creature, just like a human or a bear, with as much right to live as either of them.

  Which didn’t mean she wasn’t scared. But she was frightened in a new way, a way ready for action.

  She was ready to fight, if fighting became necessary. She’d already changed that much since entering this valley: fear now made her not panicked but hyper alert.

  If I have to defend myself I need both hands. And it’s better not to let him see I’m scared.

  “Maybe you can’t ignore your kind of thirst,” she said, and was pleased that her voice didn’t wobble. “But I’m fine. Except that you’re hurting my wrist. Can you please let go?”

  For just an instant, the brilliant yellow eyes flared even brighter, and she wondered if he was going to attack her. But then his eyelids lowered, black lashes veiling the brightness. He let go of her wrist.

  Maggie’s arm sagged, and the leather bag dropped from her suddenly nerveless fingers. It landed safely at her feet. She rubbed her hand.

  And didn’t look up a moment later, when he said with a kind of quiet hostility, “Aren’t you afraid of me?”

  “Yes.” It was true. And it wasn’t just because he was a vampire or because he had a power that could send blue death twenty feet away. It was because of him, of the way he was. He was scary enough in and of himself.

  “But what good is it, being afraid?” Maggie said, still rubbing her hand. “If you’re going to try to hurt me, I’ll fight back. And so far, you haven’t tried to hurt me. You’ve only helped me.”

  “I told you, I didn’t do it for
you. And you’ll never survive if you keep on being insane like this.”

  “Insane like what?” Now she did look up, to see that his eyes were burning dark gold and his fangs were gone. His mouth simply looked scornful and aristocratic.

  “Trusting people,” he said, as if it should have been obvious. “Taking care of people. Don’t you know that only the strong ones make it? Weak people are deadweight—and if you try to help them, they’ll drag you down with them.”

  Maggie had an answer for that. “Cady isn’t weak,” she said flatly. “She’s sick. She’ll get better—if she gets the chance. And if we don’t take care of each other, what’s going to happen to all of us?”

  He looked exasperated, and for a few minutes they stared at each other in mutual frustration.

  Then Maggie bent and picked up the bag again. “I’d better give it to her now. I’ll bring your canteen back.”

  “Wait.” His voice was abrupt and cold, unfriendly. But this time he didn’t grab her.

  “What?”

  “Follow me.” He gave the order briefly and turned without pausing to see if she obeyed. It was clear that he expected people to obey him, without questions. “Bring the bag,” he said, without looking over his shoulder.

  Maggie hesitated an instant, glancing down at Cady. But the hollow was protected by the overhanging boulders; Cady would be all right there for a few minutes.

  She followed the boy. The narrow path that wound around the mountain was rough and primitive, interrupted by bands of broken, razor-sharp slate. She had to pick her way carefully around them.

  In front of her, the boy turned toward the rock suddenly and disappeared. When Maggie caught up, she saw the cave.

  The entrance was small, hardly more than a crack, and even Maggie had to stoop and go in sideways. But inside it opened into a snug little enclosure that smelled of dampness and cool rock.

  Almost no light filtered in from the outside world. Maggie blinked, trying to adjust to the near-darkness, when there was a sound like a match strike and a smell of sulphur. A tiny flame was born, and Maggie saw the boy lighting some kind of crude stone lamp that had been carved out of the cave wall itself. He glanced back at her and his eyes flashed gold.

  But Maggie was gasping, looking around her. The light of the little flame threw a mass of shifting, confusing shadows everywhere, but it also picked out threads of sparkling quartz in the rock. The small cave had become a place of enchantment.

  And at the boy’s feet was something that glittered silver. In the hush of the still air, Maggie could hear the liquid, bell-like sound of water dripping.

  “It’s a pool,” the boy said. “Spring fed. The water’s cold, but it’s good.”

  Water. Something like pure lust overcame Maggie. She took three steps forward, ignoring the boy completely, and then her legs collapsed. She cupped a hand in the pool, felt the coolness encompass it to the wrist, and brought it out as if she were holding liquid diamond in her palm.

  She’d never tasted anything as good as that water. No Coke she’d drunk on the hottest day of summer could compare with it. It ran through her dry mouth and down her parched throat—and then it seemed to spread all through her, sparkling through her body, soothing and reviving her. A sort of crystal clearness entered her brain. She drank and drank in a state of pure bliss.

  And then, when she was in the even more blissful state of being not thirsty anymore, she plunged the leather bag under the surface to fill it.

  “What’s that for?” But there was a certain resignation in the boy’s voice.

  “Cady. I have to get back to her.” Maggie sat back on her heels and looked at him. The light danced and flickered around him, glinting bronze off his dark hair, casting half his face in shadow.

  “Thank you,” she said, quietly, but in a voice that shook slightly. “I think you probably saved my life again.”

  “You were really thirsty.”

  “Yeah.” She stood up.

  “But when you thought there wasn’t enough water, you were going to give it to her.” He couldn’t seem to get over the concept.

  “Yeah.”

  “Even if it meant you dying?”

  “I didn’t die,” Maggie pointed out. “And I wasn’t planning to. But—yeah, I guess, if there wasn’t any other choice.” She saw him staring at her in utter bewilderment. “I took responsibility for her,” she said, trying to explain. “It’s like when you take in a cat, or—or it’s like being a queen or something. If you say you’re going to be responsible for your subjects, you are. You owe them afterward.”

  Something glimmered in his golden eyes, just for a moment. It could have been a dagger point of anger or just a spark of astonishment. There was a silence.

  “It’s not that weird, people taking care of each other,” Maggie said, looking at his shadowed face. “Doesn’t anybody do it here?”

  He gave a short laugh. “Hardly,” he said dryly. “The nobles know how to take care of themselves. And the slaves have to fight each other to survive.” He added abruptly, “All of which you should know. But of course you’re not from here. You’re from Outside.”

  “I didn’t know if you knew about Outside,” Maggie said.

  “There isn’t supposed to be any contact. There wasn’t for about five hundred years. But when my—when the old king died, they opened the pass again and started bringing in slaves from the outside world. New blood.” He said it simply and matter-of-factly.

  Mountain men, Maggie thought. For years there had been rumors about the Cascades, about men who lived in hidden places among the glaciers and preyed on climbers. Men or monsters. There were always hikers who claimed to have seen Bigfoot.

  And maybe they had—or maybe they’d seen a shapeshifter like Bern.

  “And you think that’s okay,” she said out loud. “Grabbing people from the outside world and dragging them in here to be slaves.”

  “Not people. Humans. Humans are vermin; they’re not intelligent.” He said it in that same dispassionate tone, looking right at her.

  “Are you crazy?” Maggie’s fists were clenched; her head was lowered. Stomping time. She glared up at him through narrowed lashes. “You’re talking to a human right now. Am I intelligent or not?”

  “You’re a slave without any manners,” he said curtly. “And the law says I could kill you for the way you’re talking to me.”

  His voice was so cold, so arrogant…but Maggie was starting not to believe it.

  That couldn’t be all there was to him. Because he was the boy in her dream.

  The gentle, compassionate boy who’d looked at her with a flame of love behind his yellow eyes, and who’d held her with such tender intensity, his heart beating against hers, his breath on her cheek. That boy had been real—and even if it didn’t make any sense, Maggie was somehow certain of it. And no matter how cold and arrogant this one seemed, they had to be part of each other.

  It didn’t make her less afraid of this one, exactly. But it made her more determined to ignore her fear.

  “In my dream,” she said deliberately, advancing a step on him, “you cared about at least one human. You wanted to take care of me.”

  “You shouldn’t even be allowed to dream about me,” he said. His voice was as tense and grim as ever, but as Maggie got closer to him, looking directly up into his face, he did something that amazed her. He fell back a step.

  “Why not? Because I’m a slave? I’m a person.” She took another step forward, still looking at him challengingly. “And I don’t believe that you’re as bad as you say you are. I think I saw what you were really like in my dream.”

  “You’re crazy,” he said. He didn’t back up any farther; there was nowhere left to go. But his whole body was taut. “Why should I want to take care of you?” he added in a cold and contemptuous voice. “What’s so special about you?”

  It was a good question, and for a moment Maggie was shaken. Tears sprang to her eyes.

  “I don’t know,
” she said honestly. “I’m nobody special. There isn’t any reason for you to care about me. But it doesn’t matter. You saved my life when Bern was going to kill me, and you gave me water when you knew I needed it. You can talk all you want, but those are the facts. Maybe you just care about everybody, underneath. Or—”

  She never finished the last sentence.

  As she had been speaking to him, she was doing something she always did, that was instinctive to her when she felt some strong emotion. She had done it with P.J. and with Jeanne and with Cady.

  She reached out toward him. And although she was only dimly aware that he was pulling his hands back to avoid her, she adjusted automatically, catching his wrists….

  And that was when she lost her voice and what she was saying flew out of her head. Because something happened. Something that she couldn’t explain, that was stranger than secret kingdoms or vampires or witchcraft.

  It happened just as her fingers closed on his hands. It was the first time they had touched like that, bare skin to bare skin. When he had grabbed her wrist before, her jacket sleeve had been in between them.

  It started as an almost painful jolt, a pulsating thrill that zigged up her arm and then swept through her body. Maggie gasped, but somehow she couldn’t let go of his hand. Like someone being electrocuted, she was frozen in place.

  The blue fire, she thought wildly. He’s doing the same thing to me that he did to Bern.

  But the next instant she knew that he wasn’t. This wasn’t the savage energy that had killed Bern, and it wasn’t anything the boy was doing to her. It was something being done to both of them, by some incredibly powerful source outside either of them.

  And it was trying…to open a channel. That was the only way Maggie could describe it. It was blazing a path open in her mind, and connecting it to his.

  She felt as if she had turned around and unexpectedly found herself facing another person’s soul. A soul that was hanging there, without protection, already in helpless communication with hers.

  It was by far the most intense thing that had ever happened to her. Maggie gasped again, seeing stars, and then her legs melted and she fell forward.