“I believe the Hag gave the intruder Prime a hailstone in return for her sacrifice in feeding the Hag fresh blood. I want it. Toward that end, I will issue a challenge at Conclave. The Prime trespassed in my territory, and it is my right. Instead of the usual contest of arms, I will choose one of endurance. The winning witch will take possession of the losing Shadowblade.”
She rested the tips of her fingers together, her lips pursing. “I can be very creative with pain. I do not think this Prime will last long beneath my ministrations. But no matter how long she holds on, you must hold out longer. Do not fail me, Alexander.”
“And if she has given the hailstone to her witch?”
“She will still be useful to me. I will make her tell us her witch’s weaknesses, and you will hunt her down and retrieve the hailstone.” Selange’s lips clamped together a moment, her eyes flattening. “This is no mean magic, Alexander. The Cailleach Bheur are old creatures and their magic is very powerful. With the hailstone and staff, I may be able to keep us free of entanglements.”
“Entanglements?” Alexander repeated warily, holding himself tightly reined. He wanted straight answers. He wanted to know just what exactly the angel’s message had contained and who had sent it.
“If you prefer, you can call it...indentured servitude,” Selange clarified softly. Then she stood. “Come now. We don’t want to be late.”
3
MAX DROVE INTO SAN DIEGO BEFORE SUNRISE, but she did not try to find the warehouse where Giselle was waiting with her mobile village of light and dark sealed RVs, cars, and tractor trailers. The witch had come fully prepared for things to go south. Even at a Conclave where everyone was supposed to be on their best behavior, trouble could swiftly erupt. And it often did. If any of Giselle’s people were injured, if they had to run, they had everything on hand they’d need’a doctor and two nurses, a hospital truck, a fully stocked restaurant truck, and motels on wheels.
Max pulled off into a strip mall housing Mysterious Galaxy Books, a Starbucks, a chiropractor, and a McDonald’s. The sky was already starting to turn pink. Her stomach growled as she pushed open the door of the Tahoe, and she eyed the Starbucks longingly, then gave a reluctant shake of her head. Even a flicker of sun and she’d be charcoal. Maybe she should have gone to the warehouse. But she needed to think before she came face-to-face with Giselle. The cold of the hailstone burned through her pocket into her thigh. Freedom.
Mechanically, she went to the rear of her vehicle and popped open the door. Filling the cargo area was a light-sealed steel box about four feet deep, five feet wide and a little over four feet tall. Inside was a memory foam cushion, a stash of powerbars, beef jerky, Gatorade and water, an iPod, a couple of pillows, a copy of a David Sedaris book, and a change of clothes. The back panel slid up about eighteen inches, and Max wedged herself underneath, pulling shut the Tahoe’s rear door with her foot as she did. Then she let the box door slide down and flipped the latches that kept anyone from the outside from opening it.
She squirmed around in the narrow space, ripping open a powerbar and devouring it before guzzling an orange Gatorade. Three more bars quickly followed. Once the edge was off her hunger, she dug in her pocket for her cell phone. She hadn’t turned it on since Julian. She stared at it a moment, then hit the power button and punched in Giselle’s speed dial.
The witch picked up on the first ring. “Where are you? What happened?” she demanded.
“San Diego somewhere. I was seen.”
Giselle’s silence was livid. “Are you all right?”
The question was sharp. Max’s mouth twisted. It wasn’t personal. Giselle didn’t want her prizewinning pit bull getting hurt right before the Conclave.
“Fine.”
“What happened there?”
Max sketched out the events of the night, leaving out the part where she fed the Hag and where she didn’t kill Alexander and get away clean.
For long moments, Giselle said nothing. Then: “I’ll have Oz send someone to pick you up. Where are you?”
Max was tempted to just let them find her by the tracking GPS in her phone and Tahoe, but she swallowed her defiance. There wasn’t anything to win at the moment, and her compulsion spells spiked her hard, demanding she return to Giselle’s side as quickly as possible. “Off the 805 on Claremont. A strip mall.”
Before Giselle could say anything else, Max flipped her phone shut. She drew a breath, smelling the lovely greasy smells of McDonald’s sausage-and-egg McMuffins overlaid with coffee from Starbucks. Her mouth watered. She tore open another powerbar and chewed it mechanically.
It took her another ten minutes to will herself to pull the hailstone from her pocket. It lumped there, a seed of winter in the increasing heat, unmelting and unchanging. At last Max drew it out, turning it in her fingers. It did not look like much of anything. A lump of white ice. But it smelled of Divine magic. Max closed her hand on it, slumping down so she could lean her head against the wall of the box.
Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. It couldn’t be real. This chance. This hope. To finally get back at Giselle and be free.
When the time is right, swallow it. Know what you want. You will have it. She sucked in a breath and it sounded like a sob. Her hands fisted on her bent knees as she knocked her head back against the steel wall of the box.
Max’s mind ranged helplessly back over that night. Thirty years ago and she remembered it with crystal clarity. It was a warm Thursday night in September and she was writing a paper for her wildlife-biology class. Her friend and roommate Giselle teased her away from her homework. Just for a few hours. You’re almost done anyway. I’m bored. What followed was a bountiful mix of drinks’Thursdays were two for one at Mr. B’s, a local bar. Harvey Wallbanger. Tequila Sunrise. Singapore Sling. Colorado Bulldog. Long Island Iced Tea. And dancing. Wild and fierce. Then came the questions. Hypotheticals. Ridiculous. Make-believe. What if you didn’t have to die? What if you didn’t have to grow old and saggy and blotchy? What if you never got weak or sick? What if you could climb like a cat? What if you could run fast as a wolf? What if you could smell and hear like a bat? Would you want to? Would you say yes? Would you?
Sure.
And then …
Max woke up months later, no longer human.
She was in a strange bed in a windowless room and she couldn’t remember anything about how she got there. The lights were too bright and her body was wasted. Giselle was there. Smiling. So pleased. Bouncing like an eight-year-old girl on her birthday. She made no sense. Did you know you have witch blood? Not much. But some. I thought so. It made it harder than I thought. Took longer. But I gave you all I promised and more.
And more.
Shackles of magic. A body and mind that weren’t right. Weren’t human. She’d been made a Shadowblade’a witch’s warrior powered by the elemental magic of the dark. She could never stand in the light of the sun again’even moonlight would hurt her. She tried to run away, but that meant pain. But she tried. Nearly four months the first time, ten the second, an entire year the third. Each time she crawled back, her body ravaged by the fight, reeled in by an invisible tether. Each time Giselle took her back to her altar of pain. To punish, to enhance, to wind the bindings tighter. When Max was weak, when she’d gone past the limits of herself, she could no longer resist. It made it too easy for Giselle. She stopped running.
Giselle was puzzled by Max’s anger and betrayal. But you said yes. I asked.
Max swiped away her tears, her mouth twisting bitterly. “I said yes to the impossible’a faery tale. Not slavery,” she muttered to herself in the hot silence of the steel box.
But since becoming a Shadowblade, she’d made herself an expert in faery tales, poring over them, learning all she could. Because as it turned out, they were all too real. And the fact was, faery tales were full of na├»ve idiots doing stupid things because they didn’t know better. In faery tales, being stupid was a crime with a life
time sentence.
She opened her hand, turning the hailstone in her fingers. She knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted to break the magical ties that bound her to Giselle’s will. And then she wanted to kill the witch. Slowly and painfully. Max wanted Giselle to suffer the way she had suffered over the years, knowing there would be no mercy. Eye for an eye. Justice.
Could it happen? Was this chunk of ice enough to win her freedom after thirty years? She swallowed, ravenous hope clawing through her. With rigid fingers she shoved the hailstone back into her front pocket.
She couldn’t think about it. Doing so made her compulsion spells claw at her. It felt as if her flesh were being flayed from her bones. Max closed her eyes and tried to let herself drift into sleep, but the spells weren’t fooled. Then, too, the fire of unexpected hope was like a fist punching a dead heart to life. She didn’t know when she’d be able to sleep again.
Less than an hour had gone by when she heard a key fitting into the driver’s door.
“It’s me, Lise,” came the careless voice of Oz’s second-in-command. The Tahoe shivered slightly as she got in. “You’ve got Giselle climbing the walls. Should be a good show when we get back. I’ve got popcorn in the microwave and front-row seats. Try not to disappoint, won’t you?”
The smell of coffee curled through the cracks of the box, making Max’s mouth water. Trust Lise to taunt her with it. “Sometimes you’re a real bitch,” she said, eyeing a Gatorade with loathing.
“Mostly I’m a real bitch,” Lise replied with perfect equanimity as she turned the engine over and backed the Tahoe out. “Gotta be what you’re good at, right? Just like you’re a hard-ass with authority issues and a knack for scaring the shit out of people.”
Max grinned. “I don’t scare you. Rabid bears with grenades don’t scare you.”
“On the contrary. I’ve had to change my panties more than once after seeing you in action. I’m just glad you’re on our side.”
They took a sharp corner and Max braced herself against the steel. On our side. That was the hard part about killing Giselle’what would happen to everyone else who lived in Horngate? It was easy to say they’d all get along fine’join other covensteads or live free like most everybody else, but the truth was that joining a covenstead was no easy task, and most wouldn’t know what to do with themselves without a witch to serve. That was the part Max wasn’t sure she could live with, and it made her want to kill Giselle even more, if that was possible. The witch had done this to her. She’d chained Max with magic, then reinforced it with razor-wire bindings of loyalty and friendship.
Horngate was small, made up only of the twenty-two coven witches and their families, the Sunspears and Shadowblades, and a handful of others. It was situated in the unforgiving mountains west of Missoula, Montana, and spread across ten square miles of Rocky Mountain forest, though Giselle’s territory ran south to Pocatello, east to Ennis, north to the Highline, and west to Kellogg, Idaho. As an elemental witch, Giselle drew magic from the powerful geological forces at work below the stone skin of the mountains. Most of the minor witches who served in the coven were also elementals, though a few practiced Glyph magic, which used symbols such as numbers, words, pictures, gestures, and so forth to generate and harness magic. There were no flesh mages in Horngate’they didn’t have much to work with in Montana. The populace was too sparse.
The main hall of the covenstead was an underground fortress where Giselle lived with her Sunspears and Shadowblades. Most everyone else had built cabins in the surrounding mountains, close enough to be summoned quickly, far enough to gain a little privacy. Most of the witches and their families worked in the Keep or in the massive greenhouses that provided a steady income to Horngate. Through the year, they grew every manner of vegetable and fruit and sold them throughout the Pacific Northwest. Thanks to magic, the greenhouses were lush and productive, their produce in heavy demand. That business provided a stable income’enough so that the IRS didn’t look at them twice. A few witches and family members worked in Missoula or Hamilton. Two were surgeons, five more were nurses, one was a farrier, one was a machinist, and two were teachers. But the bulk of Horngate’s wealth came from magical services that Giselle sold at exorbitant prices. There was never a shortage of willing buyers.
To Max, Horngate was a sanctuary’a wild, fierce Eden for predators like her. She didn’t know when, but it had become the place she thought of as home. If she destroyed Giselle, she’d destroy Horngate. If she didn’t kill Giselle, if she only broke the bindings that held her prisoner, it wouldn’t be enough. Giselle would hunt her to the end of the world. Max closed her eyes. She’d be forced to kill the hunters who came for her’Lise and Oz and the rest. Her hate flared white-hot and her earlier sense of hopefulness wilted. Her fingers curled into claws. Damn the witch-bitch!
The increasingly strong smell of the ocean and diesel fumes told Max they were driving into the warehouse district along the docks. The Tahoe turned this way and that, bumped over some railroad tracks and along a rutted road, then stopped. Max heard the sound of a metal door rolling up, and then they rolled forward. The door rumbled closed with a clang, and Lise drove a little farther, then put the Tahoe in park and shut it off. Max was already unlatching her light-sealed box. She slid the door up just as Lise popped the hatch.
Max wriggled out and levered herself upright. Lise was already walking away, heading for the kitchen tractor trailer affectionately dubbed the Garbage Pit. Max stretched, cracking her back. “Save me some coffee.”
Lise waved dismissively. “Like you need the caffeine.”
Max stretched, wishing she could follow. Her body had already burned through the powerbars and Gatorade, and the smells of garlic and fresh bread wafting through the air made her stomach cramp. Instead she glanced around the warehouse, taking its measure with a quick examination. It was windowless and sealed against light and dark. Witchlights illuminated the interior’even the darkness of a warehouse did bad things to Sunspears. The hospital semi was parked next to the far wall, and beside it, Giselle’s RV. The Garbage Pit was slotted in next to it, and another couple of smaller RVs and a half dozen cars and trucks were parked haphazardly about on the concrete. It was a gypsy village, ready to roll at a moment’s notice.
“Max. I want you. Now.”
Giselle stood in the doorway of her RV, her voice echoing off the corrugated-steel walls of the warehouse. She didn’t look like much. But then neither did black-widow spiders. She was beautiful and delicate like those spindly museum chairs that are useless for sitting and porcelain cups that break the moment anyone picks one up. She had straight chestnut hair hanging to her waist and was wearing blousy cotton pants with a halter top. She looked as weak and helpless as a baby lamb. Max snorted. A lamb with a streak of Jack the Ripper running through her.
The witch turned and went inside. Max followed her up the narrow steps. Inside, the RV was like a small, luxurious apartment. The cabinets were cherrywood and the floors covered in thick wool rugs. A small kitchen was on the left and a sitting room on the right. The walls were slid out to make it spacious. Giselle sat in a red leather chair with wooden-clawed feet. She curled her feet up under her, weaving her tanned fingers primly together. Max remained standing.
Giselle wasted no time. “Tell me again.”
Max repeated her report, ignoring the cold of the hailstone radiating down her thigh from her pocket. She should have hidden it in the Tahoe, but she couldn’t bring herself to be separated from it.
“How did you get caught?” Giselle’s voice was accusing. She glared at Max, her hair lifting and curling on invisible currents. Max eyed it with a smirk of victory. Sure, it was childish, but she took what she could get, and needling Giselle always made her day. The witch noticed Max’s look, and her hair smoothed into a starched silk curtain.
“When I broke the charm circle on the Hag, the magic burst attracted some attention. I took a hit and couldn’t get under cover fast enough.” Max shrugged. “I fi
gured you’d prefer that to the Hag falling into the wrong hands, right?”
Giselle leveled a suspicious look at her. “You were thinking of what I wanted?”
“Yeah, well, she didn’t seem to be all that happy being trapped and tortured.”
Giselle sighed. “Thirty years and you still can’t get past it,” she muttered, recognizing the dig for what it was.
Anger rippled hot through Max. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Which did you want me to get past? Being turned into a mutant freak by my best friend? Being enslaved by her? Or maybe all those hours of torture on your altar while you chained me tighter? Oh, yeah, I can see where you would think I could just forget all about that. After all, it’s only blood under the bridge, right? Hardly worth thinking about.”
“Max, I need you. I don’t think anyone has ever made a stronger Shadowblade than you. Whether you know it or not, you’re very precious. If you wouldn’t resist my magic so strongly, I wouldn’t have to drive you out of your head with pain before I can start working on you.”
“Must be all my fault then,” Max said acidly.
“You know, it’s not like you didn’t benefit from becoming a Shadowblade. You’re stronger, faster, you’ll never grow old, you don’t get sick, and you’re hard to kill. And I pay you very well. Most people would kill to be you.”
Max felt her face contort. She willed her muscles to relax, feeling her usual mask sliding back into place. She took a breath. One more.
“Don’t act like you’ve done me any favors. You screwed me over and you still are. Not giving me a choice is called rape and slavery.”
There was a pause. Giselle lifted her chin, meeting Max’s hot gaze squarely. “I couldn’t have bound you if you hadn’t agreed.”
“I never agreed to this.” An old argument. Max was tired of it. “Are we done here? I’m hungry.”
“Not yet. What is your impression of what happened in Julian?”
Max forced herself to shift gears away from her anger. It served no purpose at the moment. “Someone sent the redcaps after the Hag, and I don’t think it was the territory witch’her Blades were on cleanup. Whoever was behind it has to have balls of brass if half the rumors about Selange are true.”
Bitter Night: A Horngate Witches Book Page 5
