To The Dogs (Dave Carver Book 2)

by Andrew Dudek

  April looked down at me. I recognized the look in her eyes: I’d seen similar expressions on the faces of the vampires in the camps. It was the look of someone who looked at a human being, but saw only a lump of flesh and meat and bone. It was the look of a torturer.

  Her eyes flicked between Amy and me for the space of a few heartbeats. Her lips were set and the wrinkles in her forehead looked deeper than ever. She sighed. “I’m sorry, Dave,” she said. Then she waved a hand at me, and every nerve in my body came to life in a blizzard of pain.

  It was a vibrant wave that started in the crown of my skull and resounded in every corner of my body. My bones hurt. My muscles screamed. My skin felt like it was on fire. I wanted to curl up in a ball, hoping that a smaller target would mean a smaller amount of pain. I wanted to writhe around like a bass on the deck of a fishing boat. I wanted to get up and run, just leave Amy to her fate. But I couldn’t do any of those things. Even if I wasn’t still paralyzed by the spell that April had learned from some Czech pervert, I doubted I’d be able to coax any motion out of my body. The pain was too intense.

  The hold loosened, just enough for my vocal cords to work. I tried to scream, but all that came out were a series of long, pathetic grunts and whines. I’d like to say I took it stoically, maybe a single manly tear, but I can’t. Lightning bolt after lightning bolt struck my nerves, and I whined like a dying dog.

  And then the pain stopped. Just like that. It felt like a bucket of cold water over my head after days in a desert. Like seeing an old friend after years in solitary. I laughed. Hushed, choked sounds somewhere between sobs and giggles escaped my throat.

  “You see what I did to him in fifteen minutes?” April said. Distantly, part of me thought, No way that was only fifteen minutes. Fifteen hours, maybe. “Imagine what I could do in an hour. Or a day. He’ll go insane. Do you want to be responsible for that? Do you want that to be your last act on earth, driving a good man to madness?”

  “Leave him alone,” Amy said. “Please. This is between us. Just let him go.”

  “I can’t, unfortunately. This is the only way.”

  “You’re insane, you know that? Have you seen what that thing does? Do you remember what it did to Sage and the others? Nothing good can come from it running around.”

  April’s focus shifted, and I was aware that I could speak again. “Hear, hear,” I muttered. They both ignored me.

  “I’m not crazy,” April said. “And I’m not evil. I’m a pragmatist, Miss Vernon. I regret that it’s necessary, but it is.”

  So that’s what this was about. I mean, I’d known that obviously, but April’s torture spell had driven everything but pain out of my mind. My mental facilities were slowly coming back, and I forced myself to an all-fours position, on my hands and knees.

  Amy had been in this cabin for hours now. And she’d held out. Hours. Pretty damned heroic, if you asked me. I’d die before I let myself be beaten in minutes.

  “Hey,” I murmured, my voice so quiet I could barely hear myself. Both women turned to look at me, though, so I guessed I was getting through. “Don’t give up, yeah? Keep fighting.” Then, a little louder, I snarled, “Is this the best you got, April? I spent months in Guyana, being tortured by professionals. You should think about signing up for a class or two at Vampire University—they’ve got a lot of great torture programs. You could really learn a thing or—AIEEE!”

  My little tough talk train was derailed by a wave of more phantom pain. I screamed. This time I screamed out loud.

  “Dave, no!” Amy’s voice was distant through the fog of the pain.

  I gritted my teeth. That helped a bit. It still took everything I had, but I managed to choke out, “You had the right idea, sweetheart. Don’t give her what she wants, right?”

  There was a long hesitation, but Amy answered, “Right.” She sounded sure. She sounded confident. She sounded like she’d let me continue to be tortured.

  Lucky me.

  April was quiet for a long moment. “So be it,” she finally said.

  Pain hit again, harder and faster than before. Againandagainandagain, the pain hammered into me like a jackhammer with a branded iron on the end. Overandoverandover, it jabbed into my skin like a heavy metal drumbeat played with scythes. It hurt.

  It hurt a lot.

  It was like being in a wave pool, if the water in the pool was nerve-shredding acid. I’d get hit by a blast of pain, then a momentary break, then another blast. Each blast felt like it was stripping the flesh from the bone. My eyes watered. My tongue swelled up. I tried to convince myself that I was getting used to it. I don’t know if it was true or not—but I was able to convince myself to think of it as slipping into a hot bathtub. It didn’t make it any more pleasant, but I was able to detach myself from the pain. If your brain isn’t with your body, the torture can only do so much.

  There’s a limit to how long that can last—eventually the body breaks down and the mind follows—and I knew that, too, but for some time, I could disassociate from the pain and blot it out.

  The bathtub image wasn’t perfect—the pain was too sharp, too hot to be considered anything other than fire—but it was the first one to come to mind, so I swam into it. I let my mind float free in the heat, soapy and uninhibited, for I don’t even know how long. A long time, I’d guess. Hours, probably. I slowly changed the illusion to keep myself from getting complacent and coming crashing back to the painful reality. A few rubber duckies had joined me in the tub, along with a soft washcloth, and a naked Amy and an amorous Scarlett Johansson.

  And all the while the pain slowly fried my nervous system.

  Amy was rubbing the soapy washcloth down my back while Scarlett rubbed my feet when my head was jerked out of the tub as if someone had grabbed hold of a handful of damp hair and yanked. The pain was gone. I lay on the floor of the cabin in the fetal position and I realized I could hear voices.

  “…did you say, Rainier?” April was saying.

  The Southern accent of the mercenary answered, “We got incoming, if our watchdog’s right. Eight people. Two shape-shifters. The rest human. Two of ‘em have swords. Two more are some kinda witches. The other two ain’t really threats: just human girls with no magic power.”

  “Do me a favor,” April said. “Let me decide who’s a threat. Don’t do any thinking for yourself. You’ll overexert. What kind of shape-shifters?”

  “Wolves, I’m betting. Werewolves.”

  Would you look at that? My friends were coming. The werewolves had to have been Paul Ellis and Harrison. The guys with the swords were Rob and Earl. One of the so-called “witches” was probably Dallas, though I didn’t know who the second could be. I’d held on long enough, and the cavalry was riding.

  Aprilena Strain sounded nonplussed. “They got here faster than I’d anticipated. It doesn’t matter. Kill them all.”

  Chapter 32

  I put everything I had into breaking the hold. Every single bit of willpower, until I thought I’d have a coronary. I had to stop her, before Cerberus and Rainier killed my friends. I gritted my metaphorical teeth and pushed with my mind.

  I didn't get anywhere.

  The stranglehold that April had on my body had come back with renewed strength, and I could do nothing but watch. I was on my side, curled up, with my head faced towards the open door. I could see Rainier standing on the porch. My swordbelt was slung across his chest like a bandolier. The hilt of May’s sword rose above his left shoulder. My hunting knife was strapped to his hip, opposite a big pistol. He held the rifle in his hands—he pulled back the lever (click-clack) that chambered a round, gave a cocky grin, and strode out of the cabin.

  Beyond the edge of the porch, a wall of gray-black fire, five or six feet tall, danced, casting twisty shadows in all directions. Cerberus stood in the meadow, looking out over the fire, all three heads roaring like dinosaurs challenging a rival. Rainier lifted the rifle to his shoulder and aimed out beyond the fire. April nodded to me and strode out of t
he cabin. She raised a hand and a ball of black fire burst from the wall of flame, hit a tree along the perimeter of the meadow, and exploded in a hail of black sparks and wood shrapnel.

  A volley of smaller green fireballs erupted from inside the forest. A dozen of the tiny firecrackers smashed into Cerberus’ chest and knocked the hellhound off its feet. Green flames singed black fur. It howled in rage and pain, rolled around in the grass to extinguish the fire, then went to its feet, the patches of scorched fur smoking. It growled. The hellhound’s hatred was palpable, raising the temperature of the broiling meadow another ten degrees. It recognized the attacks from Dallas, but it didn’t bound out into the woods to face the wizard.

  The hellhound was a bit of a coward. It was afraid of taking Dallas in a straight fight, especially when the wizard had backup in a couple of swords. The injuries it had sustained while on the mortal plane must have been substantial. It probably couldn’t take many more fights like the one that Dallas had given it.

  Cerberus was afraid.

  Which meant we could hurt it. Seriously hurt it.

  Another explosion burst out of the firewall. In the woods, someone screamed in pain. April laughed, the mercenary fired off another shot into the trees, and Cerberus howled. A moment later, the hellhound’s unearthly call was answered by a pair of howls with a more terrestrial, if no less frightening, origins: the long, mournful calls of hunting werewolves.

  More green fire tore through the wall, leaving dozens of tiny holes in April’s fire-shield. Some of the sparks hit the walls of the cabin, forcing Rainier to retreat for cover. April waved a disdainful hand and any fire that had come within her vicinity shriveled and evaporated into green smoke.

  She looked at the mercenary, on his belly like a snake. “What am I paying you for? Handle this.”

  Rainier gulped, stood, shouldered his rifle, and began to climb. I saw him through the window of the cabin as he pushed himself to the roof. A moment later the rifle fire began again.

  I’ve seen my share of battlefields, and they aren’t neat and orderly. My friends weren’t arranged like pieces on a chessboard, all stacked and organized. No, they’d be running around, keeping their heads down to avoid the gun-and-spell-fire. They’d be scared. They’d be using tree-trunks as cover. Not a perfect solution: April had already demonstrated that she could break those without much effort, but it was what they had.

  A gunshot was followed by a mocking laugh. Rainier must have hit a target. I felt sick. My friends were out there fighting for their lives—for my life—and I was trapped, letting them down.

  Rainier dropped from the roof like a monkey, smoke rising from the barrel of his rifle. He wiped his sweaty forehead and laughed. “It’s hotter than the devil’s asshole out there.”

  “What are you doing?” April asked. Her tone was frosty.

  “Just need more ammo.” He picked up a belt laden with bullets. “Don’t worry, though, I got this. I already bagged me one of them wolves.”

  “It’s dead?”

  “Sure ain’t movin'.”

  They talked for another moment after that, but I didn’t hear much. White noise filled my head as the importance of what they’d said dawned. One of the wolves…Paul or…Harrison…was dead. Harrison was a kid, who hadn’t begun to figure out his place in the world. And Paul…well, he was a full-grown werewolf, true, but he worked in a bank, for god’s sake. He wasn’t part of this life. Neither of them deserved to end up a hunting trophy.

  April ran down from the porch, waving a hand to deflect an incoming barrage of Dallas’s green spell-fire. Rainier wiped his head again, and stepped out onto the porch

  “Hey, Johnny Reb.” The words were out of my mouth before I remembered I wasn’t supposed to be able to move, much less talk. “What’s your name?”

  The merc looked down at me oddly.

  “Thaddeus,” he said. He spoke carefully, like he wasn’t sure the cabin wasn’t wired to explode as I talked. “Tad Rainier. Why?”

  “No real reason. I just like to remember the name of every human I kill.”

  For a moment, there was silence in the cabin. Rainier glanced at Amy, who looked to be semi-conscious. He grimaced, and I could see burned skin on one forearm. His eyes flicked around the room, as if looking for something I could use as a weapon. Seeing nothing, his confidence came back.

  “Well, good luck with that,” he said, still looking somewhat nervous. “I’m gonna see if I can get that other wolf.”

  When I was sure the coast was clear, I experimented with moving my arms. The limbs seemed slow and unresponsive, but I could move. Magic requires concentration, I remembered May once telling me. Maybe April’s concentration was too diverted with the battle to spare any towards keeping me locked in place with the spell. Pushing my luck, I climbed to all fours and crawled towards the bed, where Amy was Leashed.

  She moaned a little and rolled her head on her shoulder. I could move, and I figured I could get out of the cabin if I wanted to, but I couldn’t leave without Amy. I pulled myself to my feet—the wooden floorboards creaked, and I winced, but the noise of the battle outside was loud enough that it drowned out the creaks and moans of the cabin’s protestations—and bent over the bed to examine Amy.

  The slashes were many, and deep. She’d lost a lot of blood, obviously, which I guessed accounted for why she was so out of it. I gave the Leash an experimental tug. It moved against the headboard, but it wouldn’t budge from its spot.

  One of Dallas’s green fireballs burst through the open door. It hit the black sheet that was mounted over the window, which promptly caught fire. Sparks leapt out of the burning sheet and landed on the floor. I yelped and slapped at the sparks with my hands, putting the fire out and burning little star-shaped marks in my palms.

  The fire spread from the sheet to the wall of the cabin. Shit! I had maybe a few minutes before the whole damned building was alight, and I needed to get out of there.

  Wait.

  I had an idea. A bad idea, maybe, but an idea.

  I stripped off my T-shirt, and ripped it in half. I wrapped the two halves of the cotton around my hands. That would afford some protection—not much, but some. Then I headed towards the wall of the cabin. I coughed as I swallowed some of the green smoke, wondering what kind of carcinogens there’d be in magic fire-smoke, and grabbed the top of the window.

  April or Rainier or somebody had nailed a two-by-four to the top of the window frame, then tacked the black sheet to the board. The sheet was easy enough to remove, but it was brilliantly aflame now, and even with the cotton around my hands, I could feel my skin burning. I yanked the sheet down, brought it over to the bed, and tossed it onto the chain of the Leash.

  I wasn’t sure it would work. The Leash of Cerberus was a powerful magical artifact. The green spell-fire was ammunition that Dallas was whipping up on the fly. There was no real reason that the one would overpower the other. But it was the only option I had. I slapped at the fire, doing my best to make sure that none of the sparks landed on Amy’s unconscious form. A few got through, leaving star-shaped marks on her shoulders and chest, but I protected her from the worst of it. The flames heated up the metal of the Leash, causing it to glow a strange green color. Somewhere outside, audible, even over the roar of the battle, Cerberus howled.

  Fire purifies. I don’t know why, any more than I know why silver disrupts enchantments or why the sun charbroils vampires. Fire purifies. It’s the only surefire way to kill a supe—fire kills everything. It doesn’t discriminate. It destroys everything, up to and including demonic energy.

  The Leash of Cerberus was no exception. It didn’t break under the heat of the fire, but the magic was snapped. The iron collars broke open, releasing Amy’s wrists.

  I picked her up in a fireman’s carry, and bore her out of the cabin door.

  Outside, the heat from the wall of fire was even more intense. I studied it for a moment before deciding there wasn’t any way I was getting through the perimeter to
where my friends were. Not while the firewall was still up. Not while April was still keeping the spell running.

  I carried Amy around the side of the cabin, keeping close to the building so that we weren't spotted by Rainier or April. About twenty yards behind the cabin there was a large boulder. After a moment, when I was sure it was clear, I carried Amy to the rock and hid her in its shadow. I crouched down next to her and pushed her shoulder.

  “Hey, wake up,” I said.

  She moaned and her eyelids fluttered, then opened. She smiled a little. “Hi, Dave,” she said.

  “Morning. We’re out of the cabin, Aim. Hang here for now, but try and stay conscious. I’m gonna see if I can take out our friend April. We’re almost home free.”

  She nodded, and to my astonishment, pushed herself into a seated position. After a moment, she nodded, cleared her head, and brought her hands up. And then she…well, not disappeared exactly, but it took me a moment to understand the difference. My eyes, even though they knew exactly where she was, passed over her as if she wasn’t there. I was impressed. An old friend of mine had known a trick like that, but Nate had had to use an enchanted crystal to pull it off. Here was Amy, pulling off the same ability, without so much as a magic wand and while bleeding profusely.

  I figured she’d be fine. Now I just had to make sure I’d be okay.

  Smoke was billowing out of the cabin in earnest now, and I remembered that Rainier had been using it as a tree-stand. Even totally focused on the battle, you’d have to be an idiot not to realize the building you were standing on was burning up under your feet, and I suspected that Rainier wasn’t a total idiot.

  My suspicions were confirmed as I crept back towards the burning cabin.

  Click-clack.

  The distinctive sound of the rifle chambering a round. Rainier was standing in a patch of dirt, about thirty feet south of the cabin, staring at the green flames that were leaping out of the door and windows. Periodically, he’d spin around with the rifle as if he was looking for a new target. I picked up a rock as I snuck up on him.