He sighed, running his hands through his hair. “I did, but there’s been a difficulty—” He stopped and looked past me, his eyes lighting on each of my companions and lingering a moment longer on Yejun.
In a faraway voice I immediately distrusted, he said, “I know what I need.”
“Oh no. No, no, no.” I backed away, silently calling my dogs away.
“I have had enough of this,” announced Amber, the whine replaced by new resolution. Nod backed up, confused, and she stalked past him, past me, and flung out a hand at the Fiddler.
“You. Stop, you. Don’t distract AT with scary things until she’s cleaned him up. She distracts easily. So please, shut up until nobody is bleeding all over the place.” Her hand trembled.
The Fiddler blinked at her, then bowed. “Of course.”
“It’s hardly all over the place,” said Yejun, looking at his hands. “You really need to relax.”
“Look, once you’re not bleeding, I can try to explain what it’s like to be around you. All the gnashing of teeth and the longing to knock you down and tear your throat out—” She shook her head and kept her hand up as if she could push the thoughts away.
“That isn’t how you feel when I’m not bleeding? Wow, I must be losing my touch,” said Yejun. He settled on the edge of the fountain and looked at me. Then he plunged both of his hands into the water, wincing.
“What if that sign says, “Contaminated water?” asked Brynn sweetly.
“It’s fine,” I said crisply, pulling what I needed from the first aid kit and advancing on Yejun. Maybe the Fiddler would wander off while I worked. “It smells like it came straight out of a filtered spring. Do you want to dunk your head, too?”
He looked up at me, his black hair catching on the scab. “Ah. I’d rather not. Dunkings aren’t really my thing.” His dark eyes didn’t change, but I recognized the tension that ran through his frame. I felt the same way when somebody wanted to take me by the hand.
“Okay,” I said, letting it go. “This may hurt more, then.” I positioned myself in front of him and started swiping at the cut with one of the antiseptic wipes I’d pulled from the kit. It was slow, delicate work, made distracting by just how close he was. He kept his gaze on my collarbone, but there was something disturbingly intimate in the way he looked at the curve of my clavicle, like any minute he was going to trace it with a finger.
I bit my lip and pulled trapped hair and grime away from the cut. It was long and wide and shallow, left by the brick that had fallen as he’d torn apart the layers between the endless hallway and the city. Somehow, he’d managed to make sure nobody else got hurt. As I finished cleaning away the nastiness, a drop of blood trickled from the cut.
Amber hissed and Nod growled, body-blocking her. I ignored them as I fumbled a bandage open and used it to hide the cut. “You’ll probably have a scar for a while,” I told Yejun. “I’m not stitching you up, though.”
He gave me a lazy smile that made me feel warm all over. “Doctor AT,” he murmured. Hastily, I looked down at his hands, taking one to examine the injury there. His fingers curled under mine, then held still.
The wounds were odd. There was a raw spot on both the palm and the back of each hand, but the hands themselves seemed fine. “It’s like a pair of burns. Does this hurt a lot?”
“Not right now,” he admitted quietly. “Some, when I’m not so distracted.”
I froze, and he twisted his head so he could see my face under my mop of hair. I shook my head and bent to get some gauze. “I don’t understand you.”
“Well, when a boy and a girl of a certain age—” he began lightly.
I began wrapping gauze around his left hand, without much gentleness. “I get it. I get that. And believe me, I appreciate that you’re not treating me like I’m twelve. But I don’t know why sometimes you seem like you hate me and sometimes you’re—” I stopped and tucked the gauze under itself, staring down at the white cotton against the gold of his skin.
He pulled his hand out of my grip and gave me his other one. “You were nasty first,” he pointed out. “Who likes being treated like something disgusting left under the couch?”
I raised my eyes to his face, trying to guess what was behind his dark eyes. “Is that really why?”
He met my gaze and shrugged. “Not really. I’m used to it, at least from everybody interesting.”
He’d said something important, something worth thinking about, but I couldn’t concentrate on it. I looked down and started wrapping the next hand. “It’s not like you need an excuse. I’m sorry I asked.”
He did touch my collarbone then, poking me with a single finger. “Cut it out.”
“Cut what out?” I shivered.
“Pushing everybody away.”
“I don’t want to talk about this now,” I said stiffly. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“All right,” he said calmly. “What are you doing after we get done with this place?”
Focusing hard on his hand, I said, “Going back to my father’s house, where I belong.”
“You’re right,” he whispered. “I don’t understand. Tell me more.”
I glanced up involuntarily. The compassion in his expression hurt. “I—”
“Come on, come on, come on,” Amber called loudly. “Did you run out of gauze? Tuck that scrap in if that’s all you’ve got, it’ll do.”
“Shhh, dreamchild,” said the Fiddler. “This is exactly what I’m looking for. This connection. This bridge.”
“Hey, Amber?” Yejun raised his voice and pulled his hand out of mine, finishing the wrapping on his own. “What would happen to you if I pulled the sun out from behind the clouds?”
“You can’t do that,” she said scornfully. “Not the real sun.”
“Whatever passes for the sun here was enough to send you into hiding yesterday, eh? Just something to think about.”
I stuffed the remaining supplies back into the kit and snapped the lid shut before rounding on the Fiddler. My face burned and my hands were cold and I didn’t want to look at any of my companions.
“Who the hell are you? Why are you messing things up? What do you want?” I sounded angry. Maybe I was, a little. I couldn’t tell, my emotions were in such a turmoil.
“I thought I told you when we met before?” The Fiddler peered closely at me. “I’m sure it was you. I am the Fiddler and I’m looking for something that I must reclaim. A song. It’s turned out to be more complicated than I thought. But I’ve figured it out. You can help.”
“We’re a little busy right now,” I told him icily.
Yejun’s fingers brushed my arm and I jumped away from him, moving to the far side of the group. Being close to him made it so hard to think. It made me want to give up responsibility and do whatever I felt like.
Brynn asked, “How can we help, sir? If we can, we will.”
The Fiddler bestowed a dazzling smile on her. “Each of you is a note.” He played a jerky, discordant series of notes on his violin. “If I can tune you properly, you will be exactly what I need.”
Amber stared at him. “That’s gibberish. And creepy, too.”
Brynn held up a hand toward Amber, frowning. “It’s wrong, at least. You don’t tune notes, you tune instruments.”
“Oh?” The Fiddler’s smile became vague. “It’s hard to use this language, it’s true. Frankly, I’m not even used to talking. And translating from the music to your words perhaps requires more of an education in your language than I’ve had. But let me see.” He tapped his bow against his chin, and the violin he called Arabet played a little trill of notes on her own. “The connections between your group may allow me to unpin the song I seek from the world. The mortal-born have a gift for ending things that is sympathetic and remarkable, but I can’t use it unless it’s been, yes, tuned to understand value.” He gave Brynn an apologetic look.
I shook my head furiously. “We have to find the Horn of the Wild Hunt. Unless that’s what you’re looking for, you’re going
to have to—”
“Not looking for it, exactly,” he interrupted. “I know where it is. And I know now you are seeking it. My challenge is to reach it and detach its song from the world.”
My mouth snapped shut. For a moment, all of us gazed at him in silence.
Then Brynn said, “But it has a role. I mean, from what Tia said, even if the Wild Hunt is corrupted, we still need something in that position. If you take the Horn, that’d be destroying the Wild Hunt, not just rebooting them, right?”
The Fiddler frowned. “I don’t... I believe you refer to the way the world itself has grown to depend on the artifact? Yes. That is why the song is so hard to reclaim. The weight of a world is quite an anchor. The Horn was never meant for such work.. Though, because of the song it carries, it has adapted and grown under the load.” He grinned wryly. “I should have expected that even here, the power of song would be contagious. But you see how you can help.”
“Not a clue, man,” said Yejun. “Sorry. You’re still talking crazy.”
“Reclaim?” asked Brynn, talking over him. “It was yours originally? You brought it here? How come?”
This is exactly what I’m looking for, he’d said, as I’d stood so close to Yejun. Loudly, I said, “If you know where the Horn is, Tia doesn’t need me after all. That’s great.”
Brynn’s head whipped around toward me. “What are you talking about?”
“Look, you guys stay here and talk to the crazy Fiddler. I’m going to go scout around. I’ll leave Heart here for now to keep an eye on things.” I backed away, babbling nonsense in my hurry to get away. He wanted me close to Yejun for entirely his own reasons; he’d reacted too much like my father would have. I couldn’t stay.
Yejun looked away, up at the sky, as if he didn’t care. It was Amber who caught Brynn by the arm, who met my eyes like she understood and said, just loud enough for her voice to reach me, “Don’t go too far. Being alone isn’t going to help.”
I shrugged. “I’ve got Nod and Grim.” Then I darted away around a corner. I’d go as far as I had to, far enough that I stopped wishing for things I just couldn’t have.
-sixteen-
What I want you to do, my father said, is go out there and be one of them. You’re cute. You can use that. They’ll never know what hit ‘em.
I was the guide at Halloween. I was the bait in the junior high. I was the sweet face of treachery. And the Fiddler, whatever he was, wanted me to get closer to others, too. My whole world reeled as I jogged, then ran, away from the plaza. I had no place to go. I just had to get away. And if the Fiddler came after me, like my father eventually would, I’d fight him. I would. He wasn’t my father, after all. He was just a weird guy with a stone violin. He couldn’t know what he was getting into with me.
I wasn’t thinking very clearly. I ran as fast as I could, Grim and Nod beside me. I was distantly aware of Heart’s anxiety, a pale shadow of my own. I’d left her behind so the others wouldn’t stop me from leaving. I could call her to me whenever I needed to. And I would, once I—
Once I what?
I had no idea. Was I giving up, running until I escaped this horrible empty city? Was I scouting, like I’d said?
I slowed down. Scouting didn’t work at high speed.
Was I trying to find the Horn on my own, to prove that I could do it without them?
But I was going the wrong way. Again.
I wished I could find Tia and talk to her. Maybe she’d scold me or maybe she’d stroke my hair, but she’d help somehow. She’d tell me if I was being selfish, or just stupid. And even if I didn’t take her advice, she’d be there, untouchable, and I wouldn’t be so lonely.
The distant roar of the motorcycle circling the city came closer.
That was a way I could help without being near my companions. I’d led the Hunt to more interesting prey before. If they were looking for us now, on steel horses, I could distract them and lead them away. And if the roar was something else, well, that was information, too.
I moved toward the sound. The tall, soulless buildings became smaller. Some of them looked very much like houses, although each one was a shade of burnt roses. My stomach gnawed at me, reminding me I hadn’t eaten for hours. Was there invisible food for invisible ghosts? Would that be better than nothing? I could go a long time without food, but I hated the feeling. My father had tried a lot of things to take my dogs away.
The temptation to search for food in one of the buildings was almost overwhelming. I was really hungry, and I remembered Amber’s warning against going inside. It enticed rather than frightened me.
But then I went around a corner, past a picket fence painted damask, and the roaring of the motorcycle was much louder. That gave me something else to think about.
Just one. I could handle just one, no matter what it was. When it rolled around the corner, I stood in the middle of the road with my legs braced, Nod and Grim sitting alertly beside me.
The bike, blood red with black trim, fought like it had a mind of its own as the rider brought it to a halt. But he stroked it once and whatever spirit it had died away. I found myself stroking Grim’s ears in sympathy. He pressed against my leg.
Then the rider leaned back and raised the visor on his helmet. It was Ion, the First Hunstman. For a long moment we looked at each other. His dark eyes were cruel and proud, and his mouth was curved like the grin of a shark.
“Found you,” he said.
“I wasn’t hiding,” I pointed out.
“You ran very well before,” he observed.
“I had people to protect then.”
“Ah, yes. The humans. We’ll get to them later,” he said, and a trickle of cold fear twisted in my stomach.
“You’re only supposed to hunt down corruptive souls,” I said sharply. “What happened?”
He shrugged, his riding gear creaking. “Who is to judge whether a soul is corrupting Creation?” He paused, then added, “Me, that’s who. There are certain signs, you know, in every soul. Besides, the Horn hungers, and once it has been fed sufficiently, all will be pure once again. And we will be free of the shackles of Creation.” The motorcycle growled and again he stilled it.
I gaped at him, then said, “Right, so you’re just evil.” I sighed. “Well, I know the type.”
“You don’t need to worry,” he assured me. “You have a different destiny.”
“Oh, right, yes, tell me more.” I wondered if I could just take him out right now. It’d hurt, it might even kill me, but it’d be a service to the world.
He just comes back again, my mother whispered in my memory. She was talking about my father, but it was probably true here, too. A short-term solution, then. A solution to the problem of me.
“You’ve done it once already.” Ion gestured at me, his fingers spread. “You led us to our prey, sent it running before you. Your dogs are marvelous. They belong with us.”
The cold trickle of fear became an icicle of terror slamming down my spine. “No,” I managed. “I’m not working for you and you can’t take them. This is stupid, really—”
“Can’t I?” he murmured. “But each of the Hunt was once part of another. Blood and name and shadow, all ripped away in service of the Horn.”
I backed away a step, then turned and fled, driving my dogs ahead of me.
As I pounded down the pavement, past the odd houses, the motorcycle roared to life again behind me, angry and full of bile. I ran from him, casting around as we fled for anything I could lead him to, any way to buy time, distract him from what he’d said. Anything.
But I was a stranger in the city and it offered no assistance. If anybody wandered there other than my friends, they hid away when the Hunt rode. Or maybe it really was empty. I tried to make my way into twisty little streets where I’d have a size advantage at hiding and escaping. But the problem with twisty little streets is that so often they go nowhere. I turned into a dead end, where six tall linked houses crowded a cul de sac, and the Huntsman followed
behind.
Don’t go inside the buildings, Amber had said, but I was desperate. I ran to the center building and tried to open the locked door. Then I threw myself at the door, trying to break it down.
The doors of the other houses opened, and the other Huntsmen stepped out. They walked down the stairs, synchronized reflections of each other. Ion dismounted his bike and grabbed my collar. I turned on him and Nod and Grim and I fought him. We fought and Heart came running to join in and we did our best to kill him. He had flesh like any man, and when we tore it, he bled. He had power like a celestial to knit himself together again, but we were many and quick and savage and desperate.
But when he fell beneath our teeth and claws, the other members of the Hunt were still there. Three of them caught me, held me so I couldn’t move. Once again dismounting his bike, Ion came toward me. I knew I’d killed him, I remembered his throat in my teeth. But his body was gone and there he was, opening his arms wide.
The door behind me opened and Alastor stepped out. He clicked his tongue. “I did try to keep you away, Annalise. Still, I think your father will be pleased.” He moved to one side, straightened his sleeves, and started picking something out of his teeth.
Somewhere else in the city a horn blew, the Horn blew. The clarion sound rolled out across the city, swelling, getting louder. It reached fingers inside my heart. And I could do nothing as my dogs at first became confused, then terrified. Heart howled and snapped at her own flanks, while Nod dug frantically at the concrete, leaving bloody smears from his torn feet. Grim whined, his tail between his legs, licking Heart until she bit him, then rolling on his back and waiting to be kicked.
Ion brought his fists together slowly. One by one, my dogs slunk over to cower at his feet, and one by one, I felt the power I’d invested in them return to me. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop calling on them as they changed. Heart’s scarlet fur became the color of blood and Nod’s teeth lengthened and Grim’s soft brown eyes became savage. He looked at me and looked away again, as if he didn’t recognize me.
He looked up at Ion and growled, and I felt a tiny flicker of savage, violent hope. But Ion’s hand settled onto his head and, like the motorcycle, he stilled.
Wolf Interval (Senyaza Series Book 3) Page 16
