Twilight Crossing

by Susan Krinard

  “Is anyone hurt?” she asked, trying to look past him at the wagons.

  “Only the soldier who was wounded before,” he said. He flashed her an utterly unexpected grin. “The raiders are gone, and they won’t be returning.”

  “I have to see my godfather. Councilman Parks.”

  “Of course. I’ll take you.”

  “That won’t be—”

  She didn’t get a chance to finish. He looped his arm around her shoulder, half supporting her, and led her out from under the trees. There was no remaining sign of the raiders, except for a few abandoned weapons and broken earth where Opiri and half-bloods had struggled.

  The night had grown dark, but her escort’s steps were sure, and someone had lit lanterns by the wagons. Her godfather appeared before she reached the nearest wagon, his eyes filled with alarm. Her savior let go of her.

  “Jamie?” Amos said. “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” she said. “I think I have this man to thank for that.”

  She turned, but the Rider was gone.

  “Come and sit down,” Amos said. “Our escorts have sent the raiders running, but they want us to remain together.”

  Peering into the darkness, Jamie tried to make out the newcomers. “How many have come?” she asked.

  “Four,” he said, guiding her to the nearest wagon.

  “Almost evenly matched,” she said.

  “The Riders seem to be very good fighters, as promised,” Amos said. “They didn’t even use their rifles.” He helped her sit beside the wagon. “I’ll get you something to drink.”

  “You have other work to do, Amos,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I’ll be fine.”

  He crouched beside her. “You should never have spoken up as you did.”

  “It was worth a try,” she said.

  “You know better than anyone what they could have done to you,” Amos said, cupping her cheek in his hand. “And in spite of your one experience with an Opir, you’re still naive about so many things. I should never have let you come along.”

  “How many times have we discussed this, Amos?” she asked. “It’s not just because of my mother. I’m a scientist, and I can’t hide forever. Too much of the outside world is still unknown to us, and someone has to keep a record of what we experience and observe. Whatever I learn will help us at the Conclave, and afterward. I believe in this peace.”

  Amos sighed. “I know. But promise me that you won’t do anything so foolish again.”

  She smiled unevenly. “I promise.”

  With a slow shake of his head, Amos rose and walked away. Jamie released her breath. She wasn’t sure if she’d been truthful with her godfather. How could she be sure what circumstances would arise on their journey? Sometimes even a scientist had to take risks.

  For her, even stepping outside the Enclave had been a kind of risk. She’d hidden herself away in her parents’ lab since her father’s death, avoiding all contact with the world outside the Enclave, missing even the most average social experiences most other young women her age took for granted.

  Amos had called her naive, and maybe she was. But she had hope for the Conclave because of the words her mother had written in her journal—and because of what she had learned in the laboratory. A secret she believed might make all the difference at the meeting.

  If she could present it at just the right time.

  Rubbing her arms against the chill night air, Jamie found herself looking for her rescuer again. She caught a glimpse of him speaking to his fellow Riders, all four of them dressed in the same shearling coats tanned the color of wheat and with the wool side turned inward. He was tall and stood confidently, with an athlete’s bearing, and the other men listened attentively.

  He must be the leader, Jamie thought. And judging by the rugged, competent looks of the other Riders, that would mean something.

  But he was also a half-breed. Half-Opiri, needing blood to survive. Expecting to take donations from the delegation to nourish him and his followers over the long weeks.

  Her turn to donate would come, too. But she wouldn’t think about that yet. For now she could honestly say to herself that this half-blood didn’t frighten her. He was living proof that not all Opiri were violent hunters.

  She reached inside her jacket to touch each of the two hidden pockets, one containing her notebook, the other her mother’s journal. She pulled out her notebook and drew a quick sketch of the Rider, trying to catch the firmness of his profile and the way his mouth curved up at the corners when he smiled at something one of his men had said.

  About six-three, she wrote beside the sketch. Lean and agile, but well-muscled. Darketan, with Opir teeth, human features and ability to walk in daylight. Hair dark auburn, eyes gray with violet tint; purple indicates Opir blood. Small scar above left eyebrow.

  And handsome, she thought, her pencil hovering above the page. She couldn’t write that in her notebook.

  She woke from her thoughts when the half-blood broke away from his men, clearly looking for someone, and stopped when he found Greg. The two men began to speak softly, Greg gesturing with obvious irritation.

  Tucking her notebook away, Jamie inched her way toward Greg and the Rider leader. She was able to get close to them without leaving the partial cover of the wagon, and knelt beside the rear wheel to listen.

  “...so late,” Greg was saying, his voice pitched high. “Do you have any idea what they could have done to us?”

  “I can only apologize again,” the Rider said in a steady voice. “It was very bad timing on our part.”

  “And will you be ready the next time?”

  A tense silence fell between the two men. Jamie stared at the Rider’s profile. Moonlight rested on the planes of his face and shadowed his pale eyes.

  Be careful, Greg, she thought. The Riders might be completely neutral, allied with no one group or race, but instinct told her that this Rider wouldn’t suffer fools gladly. And Greg was acting like a fool.

  “The Councilman’s goddaughter was forced to go to that barbarian,” Greg said, fists clenched. “He could have sucked her dry, or worse.”

  Light played on the Rider’s lower lip as the corner twitched upward. “She’s obviously a brave young woman. Have you spoken to her?”

  Greg’s jaw bunched. “I was just on my way to see her.”

  “Then I won’t hold you up any longer.” The Rider stepped gracefully aside, gesturing for Greg to walk past him. Jamie ducked under the wagon and crouched there, breathing a little fast.

  Greg stalked away, but Jamie continued to watch the Rider as he scanned the camp and set off again with long, ground-eating strides. Jamie scooted out from under the wagon and followed him at a discreet distance.

  Her godfather was talking with the two medics, Akesha and Don, when the Rider found him. Amos broke off with a reassuring smile and gave the half-blood his full attention. Jamie joined her friends, pretending to listen to their excited retelling of the attack as she focused on the other conversation.

  “Didn’t realize I was talking to the wrong man,” the Rider said as he shook her godfather’s hand. “The Senator gave me the impression that he was in charge here.”

  “He would,” Amos said with a slight smile. “But it doesn’t matter. It would be difficult to stand on ceremony over such a long journey.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way,” the Rider said, releasing Parks’s hand. “I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself. My name is Timon, of the Kestrel Band.”

  “Timon,” Amos acknowledged. “Needless to say, I’m very pleased to meet you. There’s no danger of the raiders returning?”

  “None.” Timon glanced around him. “I’m told there were only minor injuries. Is there anything else we should know about?”

  “It’s all under con
trol, thanks to your men. And I want to express my gratitude for what you did for my goddaughter.”

  Timon made a dismissive gesture with a gloved hand. “I did nothing but help her up after the raiders fled. She’s a brave young woman.”

  “I wish I could send her back.”

  “Why?” Timon asked, cocking his head.

  Jamie tensed, but she missed her godfather’s next words when Don raised his voice to relate some particularly exciting moment of the battle between raiders and Riders.

  “No one can be spared to take her back to your Enclave,” Timon said when she could hear him again. “But she’ll be all right. There are four of us now, and we expect three others to join us before we reach old San Jose.”

  “Rest assured that I won’t be doubting or questioning your judgment,” Amos said. “We’re in your hands.”

  “Thank you, Councilman,” Timon said, inclining his head in acknowledgment. “Given what’s happened, I think we should wait for dawn before we set out...allow your people plenty of time to sort through their experience today. They’ll be better prepared for the next occurrence, if there is one.”

  The next occurrence, Jamie thought. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t been warned. The volunteers had been drilled a hundred times. But it was one thing to imagine and another to experience.

  Timon obviously knew that.

  Jamie mumbled something to Akesha and Don and retreated back to the wagon. Its solidity, and the medical and laboratory equipment it carried, gave her comfort. People were building a small fire, and she observed the activity with a strange lassitude, as if it were happening in some other universe. She watched the other Riders move easily through the temporary camp as if it belonged to them. They had probably been in hundreds of such camps before, guiding and escorting travelers between Enclaves and colonies and even Citadels.

  “You should be with the others.”

  Timon settled into a crouch beside her...he smelled of warm sheepskin and horse and something subtle but deeply pleasant. He smiled at her, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that took her aback.

  “You shouldn’t be alone right now,” he said.

  “There’s nothing wrong with me,” Jamie said, her heartbeat quickening. “After all, you said I would be all—”

  She broke off, realizing what she’d been about to reveal. She didn’t stop soon enough. Leather creaked as Timon shifted, and she felt rather than heard the rumble of amusement in his throat.

  “I knew you were listening,” he said. “You’re not very good at hiding.”

  Her skin felt hot, and she barely prevented herself from raising her hands to her cheeks. “I’m sorry I eavesdropped,” she said.

  “No, you’re not,” he said. “What made you so interested in hearing what we were discussing?”

  She swallowed her unease. “I’ve never met a half-blood before,” she said.

  Dark eyebrows lifted. “You live in an Enclave with dhampir agents, and you’ve never met one?”

  “I’ve seen them, of course. But I never had any reason to be near them. And you’re not a dhampir.”

  “No,” he said. “I’m a Darketan. My mother was an Opir, and my father was human. With dhampires, it’s the opposite.”

  “I know that.” She felt hotter than ever. “I don’t know much about the Riders,” she said in a rush, “but you aren’t all Darketans, are you?”

  “We have a few dhampires,” he said. “Does that make a difference?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You’re just curious.”

  “I’m a scientist,” she said, as if that would explain everything. “I’m on this expedition to learn.”

  “What kind of scientist?” he asked.

  “Biologist, among other disciplines,” she said. “My mission is to observe as objectively as possible.”

  “Then you have no stake in the outcome of the Conclave?”

  “Of course I do. I believe in what it stands for, what it will mean if it succeeds.”

  “I’d always heard that the San Francisco Enclave has had very poor relationships with the nearest Opiri communities.”

  “No Enclave has suffered more from the war than ours. We provided blood-serfs to the Opir Citadel Erebus for many years before it became impossible to continue. They have not accepted the change gracefully.”

  “Then why are you so sure the other Opiri want peace as much as you do?”

  With an effort, she held his gaze. “You must know why we humans have hope. Opiri across the West have had to adapt to the lack of serfs as a source of regular blood. Many Citadels have gone from feudal societies where the strongest rule, to communities where resources are shared rather than fought over.” She looked away. “You, surely, have seen this yourself in your travels?”

  Timon shrugged. “I’ve seen every possible way that humans and Opiri have adapted. That doesn’t mean that a change this massive will be easy.”

  “I understand that you Riders don’t care if a lasting peace is achieved.”

  “We’ve been hired to act as security at the Conclave. Our neutrality can’t be in question, but it’s to our benefit if things go smoothly.” He studied her face from the tip of her chin to the crown of her head. “How often have you been outside the Enclave?”

  “What did my godfather say about me?”

  “That you have little experience with the outside world. He’d like me to keep an eye on you.”

  “I don’t need anyone to take charge of me.”

  He laughed, his white teeth gleaming. “It’s no imposition, Ms. McCullough,” he said lightly, removing his gloves. “Some things are worth looking at more closely.”

  Is he flirting with me? she thought in confusion. “What do you see now?” she asked, far bolder than she meant to be.

  “Fishing for compliments?” He grinned. “You must know you’re beautiful.”

  Oh, God. “I...” she stammered. “I wasn’t—”

  “Hasn’t anyone ever teased you before?” He grew sober. “Maybe you don’t even know it. I’ll tell you something else about yourself—you’re a brave woman. But that doesn’t mean what happened didn’t have an effect.” He took her hand, and Jamie realized that her fingers were trembling.

  “That’s why you shouldn’t be alone,” Timon said, his thumb stroking the back of her hand.

  She jerked free, alarmed by his touch. “When are you going to need us to donate blood?” she burst out. “I need time... I mean, you should warn people beforehand, so they have a chance to...”

  She trailed off, deeply embarrassed. Timon looked at her in silence for a long time, as if weighing her words for some hidden meaning. “Are you afraid of me, Ms. McCullough?” he asked.

  “No!” Jamie folded her arms across her chest. “Why should I be?”

  With a soft sigh, Timon extended his hand again. “You’d better come with me,” he said.

  A cool breeze whispered past her ear, lifting a strand of dark brown hair. “Really, I’m—” she began.

  “You’re cold. You need the company of your own kind.”

  He squeezed her arm, the slightest pressure of reassurance. Jamie allowed him to pull her to her feet. Her initial unease at the contact had already begun to fade. In fact, the pressure of his fingers felt like something solid to cling to in a world that had lost its moorings.

  Before she knew it, she was among the people already settled around the fire. They made room for her, and somehow a warm blanket found its way over her back. Timon’s hands pressed into her shoulders briefly.

  “Get plenty of rest,” he said, his breath caressing her cheek. And then, as before, he was simply gone, and she was left bewildered and feeling not at all objective.

  I’ve just met him, she thought as someone passed her a
handful of hard crackers. I don’t know anything about him.

  Except that he was handsome and strong and brave—much braver than she could ever be—and that he’d taken care of her as if she were a friend.

  When the others finally spread out their bedrolls to sleep, she pulled out her notebook.

  He asked me if I was afraid of him, she wrote.

  I don’t know.

  She closed the notebook and lay down on her bedroll. Before she closed her eyes, she saw Timon again, watching her from the other side of the fire. His gaze was the image she carried with her into sleep.

  And into her dreams.

  Chapter 3

  At first light, Timon and his Riders gathered their charges and started south on the well-worn track parallel to old Route 101. The highway itself was buckled and pierced by shrubs and small trees, making travel over the old asphalt difficult.

  The pace was slow, as Timon had expected. The horses drawing the three wagons moved at a deliberate pace, since the delegation had only one set of replacement animals for each, and the people walking their mounts beside the wagons were just as slow. It was better that way; Timon wanted them fit for the entire journey, not worn at the end of it.

  He had been riding beside Councilman Parks for some distance, learning all he could about the delegation and the San Francisco Enclave. In all his time as a Rider, he’d never been part of an escort for the coastal Enclave, perhaps because the humans there kept largely to themselves.

  Like Jamie McCullough.

  Timon fell back, reining his horse toward the rear of the caravan. She rode quietly beside one of the middle wagons, constantly scanning the low, oak-studded hills and the marshes alongside the southern stretch of San Francisco Bay, occasionally jotting in her small notebook.

  Keeping his distance, Timon considered what was wrong with him. From the moment he and Jamie had met beneath the oak, when he had helped her to her feet and looked into her wide blue eyes, he had felt a shock of attraction. It hadn’t seemed to be such an odd reaction at the time; she was stunningly lovely in spite of her seeming lack of awareness of her own attractiveness. Her dark, wavy hair hung past her shoulders, though she had worn it in a severe ponytail or braid since their first encounter; her face was a near-perfect oval, with full lips and slightly arched brows that ideally suited the shape of her eyes. She was petite, but her body was curved in all the right places, and she moved with a natural grace.