by Karen Chance
The electricity had come back on when the wards had failed, causing the landscape lighting to click on. The co-ziness of the golden light was in stark contrast with the angry silver streaking through the sky. It cast odd patterns of brightness into the gloom, allowing me to see other assorted horrors slinking past, giving us a wide berth as they moved toward the house. Louis-Cesare’s face stared down at me, a pale oval against the darkness, and called out something. But his voice was swallowed by the downpour, and I didn’t have time to worry about it because the creature attacked.
It was like facing three opponents instead of one. Leathery wings batted me in the face with the force of solid punches, claws ripped at my skin, and that vicious beak tore into the ground right beside me, carving a furrow in the earth where I’d been standing a half second before. I lashed out, but it moved with liquid speed, vampire quick, and my knife only bit into a small section of wing. It flexed its talons and its long, whipping tail, a piercing scream of defiance issuing from its throat.
I quickly realized that it was faster than I was. It seemed impossible—only master vampires could usually make that claim—but there was no doubt about it. I got a hand on it once, but the rain and the slick texture of its flesh made it as slippery as oiled glass and I couldn’t keep hold. Within seconds, it became a moot point as I was forced to give up all thoughts of attack. It took everything I could do to avoid being shredded by those ferocious claws or impaled by that razor-sharp beak.
My predicament wasn’t helped by the fact that the creature’s clawed feet churned up the dirt of Radu’s once-manicured yard, mixing with the rain to create a slippery, treacherous surface. Its greater weight gave it an advantage in keeping balance, one I didn’t have, especially not in bare feet. I swerved out of the way of a darting claw and slid in the mud, ending up right beneath its underbelly. Its tail snaked out, coils whipping around my neck, immovable as granite.
I took the only chance I had and slashed upward, hitting what felt like a bulging wineskin—a leathery exterior over a soft center. A flood of blood and ropy intestines drenched me in a sticky, sickening mass. I tried to fight my way free, but the creature wasn’t dead yet, and it intended to take me with it—the coils of that deadly tail tightened until I couldn’t breathe at all.
I slashed at it with the knife, finally managing to hack the tail in two and to draw a shaky breath when the coils slipped off. But although I was free, there was nowhere to go. The only way to avoid that deadly beak was to stay out of its way, and there was only one chance to do that.
The huge body had sagged over me. I widened the slit and crawled inside the split cavity, burrowing upward. I couldn’t see, and trying to breathe was once more impossible. I fought blindly, the knife going ahead of me, ripping through everything in its path. I felt it in my arms when I hit bone, and pushed upward in a single heave. Ribs popped, flesh parted and the creature fell, its writhing jostling me this way and that, its screeches muffled by its own body.
Its movements finally slowed, but I had lost my grip on the knife in the upheaval. I began tearing at the tissue surrounding me with my hands. I was almost out of time—I had to breathe soon or suffocate—but I would likely be blind for a moment when I pulled out because of all the blood. I had to be sure the thing was in no shape for one final attack at that point, or I’d be as vulnerable as it was now.
I grabbed at anything, ripping and clawing, but my strength wasn’t up to par and without the knife I couldn’t do much damage. The body had stilled around me, and my lungs were burning in my chest, screaming at me to take the risk, to get out while I still had enough strength. I started moving backward, and then realized I had a new problem: the thing had collapsed onto its belly, closing the wound and cutting off the only exit I had. I pushed and fought from inside, but the leathery skin was impervious to all attempt to break through it. It stretched, but held, and my efforts were growing feeble as the burning in my chest spread weakness throughout my body.
One of my searching hands encountered something soft that had a familiar resiliency. Biting it open, I smashed my face against the cavity, and inhaled. I’d been right—the creature’s lung had retained enough air for one breath, and despite being damp and fetid, it was sweet in my lungs.
It bought me some time, but not much, and my limbs still felt like they were moving through molasses. Then my hand closed around something long and sharp and hard, and I gripped it like the lifeline it was, even though the blade cut into my palm. I was trying to turn it, to get a cutting edge against that damnable hide, when a gaping hole was slashed in the darkness. A cascade of water droplets blew in on me, wetting my face, and I gasped in a great lungful of the cold, clean scent of rain.
“Dorina!” I was hauled from the bloody cavern, my body making a squelching sound as it tore free. “Dorina!” Blood was in my ears; I could barely hear, but the sound of Louis-Cesare’s voice got through somehow. I pried open my eyes, blinking God knew what aside, and he caught me in a fierce embrace. His saber arm was crimsoned to the shoulder, and his other hand was gloved with gore. I’d never been so happy to see anyone.
“I’m okay,” I croaked, wondering if it was true as the world spun around me. I felt myself being lifted. One second we were by the carcass, the next beside the house. Louis-Cesare pressed me against the stucco, gripped my face in one large, muddy hand and kissed me. I fought free after a moment, gasping for air, trying to keep the heavy mass of hair dripping down his bare shoulders from suffocating me. “Not the time!” I choked.
“Est-ce que vous êtes folle?” His voice was harsh.
“No more so than you,” I gasped, spitting out something squashy that I didn’t look at too closely. “And considering everything, I really think you can use the familiar.”
“I told you that I was coming—” For some reason, he was shaking.
I had a bad taste in my mouth. I spat and it was red, but I didn’t think the blood was mine. “What? Did you think one little bird was going to do me in?” The liquid fatigue in my muscles forced me to lean against the house to keep from falling over. I took a deep, shuddering breath. “Hell, that was just a warm-up.”
Louis-Cesare muttered something I didn’t catch. Probably just as well. I ran a trembling hand over myself to check that all my parts were still there. I appeared to be okay, other than for assorted claw marks. The only ones that worried me were those on my abused shoulders. They were bad enough to limit my movement.
I tried to step out of the circle of Louis-Cesare’s arms—we were under an overhang from the roof, and considering that I was soaked with bird goo, I preferred to stand in the rain. But he tightened his grip and glared at me. “You are not going anywhere!”
“Oh, okay. You’re going to round up Radu’s little horrors and guard him from whatever has already slunk into the house, and get the wards up all by yourself?” I gestured at the shadowy landscape, where all that exotic foliage was rustling menacingly. Some of that was due to the rain, but not all.
“I will do what I must.” Despite his mud-splattered skin and the fact that the waterlogged towel was drooping dangerously, he managed to make it dignified.
I bit back a smile and a very inappropriate comment. “I can take care of myself.”
His jaw clenched. “As you did a moment ago?”
I opened my hand and showed him the knife I still clutched. “Yeah.”
Louis-Cesare stared at it for a long moment, expressionless. “You’re hurt,” he finally protested.
I brushed a piece of intestine off my shoulder. “It’s hurt worse.”
“You can assist Radu—”
“I know jack about wards,” I said flatly. “I know a lot about killing things. You and ’Du get the wards up around the pen, and make sure they recognize me. I’ll do the rest.”
No answer, just the interlacing of warm, strong fingers with my own. The knife was tugged from my grip. I let it go—I needed something bigger anyway.
“Louis-Cesare…”
“No!”
“Louis-Cesare,” I repeated quietly. “Look at me. I’m covered in blood and entrails. I just gutted a creature that would send most people into gibbering fits. And speaking of fits… well, let’s not. The point is, I can take care of myself.” I took a breath. “I’m not Christine.”
I braced for anger about my prying. What I got instead was a look so far from anything I’d expected that it took a second for me to recognize it: the quiet, professional assessment of a colleague. “I will send you assistance,” he finally said, “and once the perimeter wards are up, I will return to help you.” A sword was pressed into my hand.
I nodded. “Deal.” I glanced down and couldn’t help but smile just a little. “And Louis-Cesare—get some pants on.”
Geoffrey joined me a few moments later, as I was tying up something I’d fished out of the bushes. It was mostly tail and claws and a lot of bumpy protrusions. I’d eyed them with concern, but apparently they were just cosmetic, because nothing spurted or oozed out at me.
“We’re going to need more rope,” I told him, “a lot more. I found some in a gardener’s shed, but there has to be a hundred of these things roaming around, and ’Du doesn’t want us to kill any more than we have to.”
“I will bear that in mind,” he replied, and stabbed me.
I saw the blade coming. Unlike my own, deliberately dulled versions, he was using a nice, shiny one that gleamed like a beacon in the dim garden light. But I wasn’t quite fast enough to completely avoid it. It bit into the fleshy part of my side instead of hitting my heart, not that that improved my mood any. “You’re the traitor!” I said stupidly, stumbling backward.
“You should have died in San Francisco,” he said furiously. I tripped over a garden hose and fell against a birdbath, while barely avoiding being skewered again. As it was, I lost the sword, which went flying out of my hand like a silver arrow. Either Geoffrey was faster than he had any right to be at his age, or I was slowing down. Either way, not good.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I told him, and threw a heavy earthenware pot, complete with hibiscus, at his head. He dodged and snarled. It looked really odd on that usually stoic face.
“Or at dinner—how did you know not to eat?” he demanded. He seemed highly incensed that I’d been so hard to kill.
“You poisoned Stinky!” Okay, now I was pissed. I drove the plinth from the stone birdbath into his gut, hard enough to make him fall to his knees retching. I looked around for the basin, which would hopefully be heavy enough to finish him, but in the few seconds it took me to locate it, Geoffrey was gone. His knee prints in the dirt were still there, rapidly filling with water, but there was no sign of the vamp himself.
“The freak ate from your plate—it was intended for you!” He fell on me out of the branches of a dripping bottlebrush tree, knife flailing, but I skipped back. One swipe of his weapon ripped a gash in the peasant top, but missed my skin. I had a second to be glad it was Radu’s wardrobe being decimated this time, instead of mine, while Geoffrey went sprawling in the mud. Then he was up and coming at me again.
I brought up the basin like a shield, hearing the scrape of the knife on stone, then slammed it into his face and leapt back, skirting a trellis that ran along one side of the house. It created a small, very dark arbor, shadowed by grapevines as big around as my wrist. Something snatched at me from the foliage. I got a quick impression of a scaly body, a naked tail and a sharp snout with needle-thin canines. I retrieved my sword, which was still quivering from landing point first in the ground, and poked at it. It retreated, chittering in displeasure. Unfortunately, I didn’t think Geoffrey would be so easy to deter. After attacking me, he’d have to kill me, or Mircea would rip him to pieces.
I scanned the garden, sword in hand, but didn’t see him. The inside of the arbor was like a dark wound beside the brighter stucco—I couldn’t see inside it, and the rain and the ominous rustling of the vines meant that there was little chance of hearing him. If he was even in there.
I glanced around, but there weren’t many other hiding places in the immediate vicinity. The palm trio was still smoking, despite the downpour, and was no longer in a position to hide much of anything. The graveled path to the front was clear, and the nearest vineyard didn’t start for a couple dozen yards.
I saw something move among the vines, a black ripple that darted between rows, silent and dangerous. Slipping quietly on the wet earth, I moved out of the ring of lights circling the house and into the darker reaches beyond. It wasn’t as dark as I would have liked—the lightning had grown worse, flashing silver strobes across the landscape—but it was better than remaining silhouetted against the floodlit stucco, practically begging to be attacked.
The air quivered like something stretched beyond bearable tension as I slowly crossed the yard, closing in on whatever was hiding in the vines. These weren’t nearly as large as the venerable specimens in the arbor, which looked like the conquistadores themselves might have planted them. But they were mature enough to give decent cover. It wasn’t until I was almost on top of my prey that I realized what it was.
A figure stepped out of the vines, wreathed in shadow, its face only a pale smudge through sheets of rain. My hair was plastered to my skin, my tunic heavy and waterlogged, but around the newcomer a bright pennant of hair lifted on a gust of breeze. Eyes clear as water met mine. I gripped my sword tighter and thought some very rude things. Fey. Perfect, just perfect. Then the attack came, blindingly fast and unbelievably strong, and I didn’t have time to think at all.
My sword was struck aside in the first rush, and went spinning off across the vineyard. It had to have gone fifty yards, and in the dark among the dense planting, I’d never find it. Something slashed through my sleeve and I jumped back, behind a vine that suddenly leapt off its row to slither around my feet, dumping me in the mud. I rolled aside and something silver flashed down, quick as the lightning and just as deadly, missing me by maybe a millimeter.
And then everything stopped. “Heidar!” The voice was shrill. “What do you think you’re doing? Stop it right now!”
I sat up, and although mud and blood and a few bird entrails that I must have missed fell into my eyes, I didn’t need sight to recognize that voice. “Claire!”
“Dory—where are you? Freaking rain! It’s after nine in the morning and I can’t see shit.”
I got to my feet and eyed the very abashed-looking Fey in front of me. Lightning flashed, showing me blond hair and pale blue eyes. Not the one I’d been dreading, then. Claire burst through a gap in the vines and reinforced that impression by smacking him on the shoulder. He had to be six feet five and was surprisingly well muscled for a Fey, but he cringed slightly.
“What did I tell you?” Claire was furious, and in characteristic fashion, she decided to set him straight before bothering with the pleasantries. I leaned back against a fence post and waited it out. Luckily for Radu’s future harvest, the vine kept its leaves to itself.
A few minutes later she wound down enough that I managed to insert a sentence into the tirade. “I’ve been looking for you,” I offered mildly.
Claire’s forehead unknotted slightly. “I knew you would. I was only gone a couple of days, but the damned Fey timeline isn’t in sync with ours and… anyway, I hope you didn’t worry.”
I thought back over the last month, to the sleepless nights and the restless days, to the fights and the calls and the threats and the beatings, and I smiled. “A little.”
“I’m really sorry, Dory, but you won’t believe everything that’s—” She caught me peering at her face and grabbed her nose, looking mortified. “Oh, God! Am I morphing? Tell me I’m not morphing!”
“Uh. No. Are you supposed to be?”
“Only in Faerie, so far.” Claire looked relieved. “Don’t stare at me like that! It freaks me out.”
“Sorry. I just… aren’t you supposed to have pointy ears or something?”
“Vulcans! Vulca
ns have pointy ears. Do I look like an alien to you?”
“No, but you never looked much like a Fey, either.”
“I would like to apologize for my mistake, lady,” Heidar said, jumping in during the nanosecond pause in the conversation. He’d obviously been around Claire for a while. “I was under the impression that you were a vampire.”
“I get that a lot,” I said kindly. “I’m Dory.”
The Fey brightened. “Is this where I introduce myself?” he whispered in a loud aside to Claire, who looked horrified.
“Oh, God.”
“I have been practicing,” Heidar informed me proudly, then launched into a recital of what had to be fifty names, most with explanations.
“Never ask them their names,” Claire advised as Heidar rattled on. “Just. Don’t.”
“Okay. It seems you’ve been busy.” I poked her in the middle. “Anything in there I should know about?”
She blanched. It made her freckles stand out like spots on white paper. “How did you hear about that?”
“Are you kidding me? So far, I had that runt Kyle—”
“I hate him. I hate all vamps. That complete toad, Michael—”
“—tell me you were pregnant by a vamp—”
“—kidnapped me and—Kyle said what?”
“—and then a member of the Domi shows up and informs me—”
“The Domi sent someone here?”
“—that you’re actually pregnant by the late king of the Fey.”
“Late?!” Heidar squeaked.
I stopped and looked at him. His hair was miraculously still mostly dry, despite the downpour. Claire’s, on the other hand, was as wet as mine, frizzing and straggling around her face like a dead animal pelt. It was hard to believe they were both half-Fey.
