Righteous Eight: An Urban Fantasy Adventure (Words of Power Book 4)

by VK Fox

  Everest was shaking. Dahl pushed up from under his heap of blankets into the frigid air. “Hey, Everest, what’s wrong? Come here.” Dahl tried to gather him closer, awkward in the tiny bed. Everest’s skin was goosebumps all over.

  “I had a dream you were dead.” His voice slid over the words like ice. Dahl worked to smother a groan. Not an immediate get-out-of-bed crisis then. Fitz was well, the babies were well, they were not being attacked—but Everest needed him. Again.

  “It must have been a frightening dream.” Everest leaned against his chest, breath rapid and fluttery. If Dahl could get him talking, he’d work it out of his system. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  “I was trying to look at the future, but things were so unclear. It’s all jumbled, like Dali instead of DaVinci. Sometimes I can’t make heads or tails of it. I wanted to see something familiar, so I looked at you and… there was nothing—an empty place where you used to be. I knew you were gone. You’d been gone for a long time.”

  “It sounds like you experienced these things deeply.” Dahl’s voice was sleep-clotted and clumsy. “I’m here and you’re safe. Do you need anything?” Soothing voice. Familiar words.

  “Just this. Talk to me for a few minutes. Gods, Adam, I don’t know why it hit me so hard. I can’t describe the feeling.”

  It shouldn’t have hurt so much. Everest was tired and panicking and he slipped up. Of course, Adam used to comfort him. Don’t say anything. He was going to get your name wrong eventually.

  “Dahl.” Fuck. Well, never mind, move along. “It’s going to be fine. You’ll feel better soon.”

  “What?”

  “In a few minutes the feeling will pass. It always does.”

  Everest turned to face him, eyebrows drawn together. “No, I mean what about Dahl?”

  Dahl forced his eyes open and tried to read Everest’s expression in the washed-out light, pulse accelerating. What was he trying to say?

  Everest’s voice caught, “Adam?”

  “Just stop.”

  “What’s wrong?” Everest’s breath was speeding up again.

  “Stop.” Reactionary volume punctuated Dahl’s command.

  “Adam, please. You’re scaring me.”

  Dahl was on his feet. Everest was on the floor along with the blankets. He hadn’t meant to shove, but there was no other way out of the tiny bed, and he couldn’t be there anymore. Shit. Fuck. What was even happening? Everest was hugging his knees and starting to hyperventilate. Get it together.

  A long time ago, Dahl had learned the facts of life were all about how much people could wring from you before they skipped away whistling. His choices for vulnerability were bury it or crush it. After beating self-preservation into submission, Dahl had dug a hiding place instead of a grave. Everest’s love had soaked into his soul and the layers of insulating scar tissue were thinner, but the foreign landscape was raw and terrifying, studded with hidden craters Dahl had no fucking clue how to navigate.

  Concentrating on his toes, Dahl relaxed each muscle group in turn. Everest wouldn’t do something this fucked up on purpose. His love was complicated, but it was real. Whatever was happening wasn’t his fault.

  Forcing one foot in front of the other, Dahl closed the distance again and knelt beside Everest. He shoved aside the repellent churning in his stomach and put an arm around Everest’s trembling shoulders.

  “Hey, I’m so sorry I reacted badly, it was shitty. I’m here—lean on me.”

  “Are you alright?” Everest’s voice was very small.

  Oh, God. “Yes, don’t worry about me. May I ask you a few more questions? Help distract you?”

  “Yes.” Everest was starting to relax against him, head on shoulder. Dahl’s mouth tasted salty and his pulse was pounding like shots had been fired.

  “Fitz?” It wasn’t really a question, but Dahl could not make his mouth say, Does the name Fitz mean anything to you?

  “What about him?”

  Dahl clung to that recognition. “Let’s talk about Fitz. It’ll help calm you.”

  Everest’s voice started small but quickly warmed. “I’m glad he’s sleeping tonight. I think he’s close to a growth spurt. Maybe that has something to do with it. Have you noticed how his shoes are harder to put on? We’ll need new ones soon. Hopefully what he has will last while we’re here though. How far are we from the nearest town?”

  “Three hours.”

  “So it would be a day trip if we need more supplies.”

  “Yes, and that’s counting on clear roads. Also, I’m sure Billy would have something to say about going out of camp for something as frivolous as shoes in the North Dakota winter.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Everest nestled against his shoulder. They sat in silence for minutes until steady breathing replaced the sharp, rapid bids for air and Everest relaxed fully against him.

  If this persisted there was no way around discussing it, but perhaps it would wear off. Could it be an undocumented side effect? A mental break? Maybe he was even still asleep or something and only appeared to be awake? Dahl gently helped Everest to his feet.

  “Are you ready to grab a few hours of sleep before an exciting breakfast of oatmeal?”

  Everest ghosted a smile. “You’d think that, since Jane’s parents knew there were several couples coming to stay, they would have purchased a few double beds.”

  “I’m trying not to take it as commentary.” Dahl steered Everest back to his bunk. They stood there, studying each other.

  “What’s wrong?” Everest’s brows creased over mismatched eyes.

  Dahl cleared his throat. “Nothing. I’m tired, but I’m glad you woke me.”

  “You sound strange.”

  “Do I?”

  “Not like yourself.”

  “You’re tired.”

  “You’re afraid.”

  “Yes.”

  “Of what?”

  “Tomorrow—” Dahl’s voice choked off.

  Everest’s frown deepened.

  Dahl cleared his throat. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” He stalled out halfway to a kiss. Everest was exploring him with mismatched eyes. What did he even see? “I’m going to get some air. I’ll be back in soon. You good to help Fitz if he wakes?”

  “Yes. Breakfast tomorrow?”

  Dahl forced a smile. “Can’t wait.”

  Watery, overcast light grayed the snow crunching under their boots. More precipitation was on the way, and it would ruin any clues about the freakhogs’ origins. Really, this inspection should have been done as soon as the attack was over, but there was just no way. Ian would have stolidly refused, Jane was conveniently indisposed, Everest and Blue had both been running labor and delivery the entire night, and Dahl had reached a level of exhaustion where hallucinating was becoming a real possibility. That would have left Zack and Megan with one snowmobile and no backup, so if they both went hot, hilarity would ensue. Images of Megan laughing off Zack’s casual carnage at the Rio flashed through his mind. The Slaughters required a moral compass.

  Dahl finished yawning into his elbow. At six o’clock in the morning, he was lucky to drag Ian out of bed. He couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t wait any longer, and above all, he could not be in the room when Everest woke. He clutched a thermos of abominable instant coffee, trailing after Ian and Billy Davis who were following the snow tracks. Ian had confirmed with his owl friend that nothing was amiss in the forest this morning, but they’d come geared for action: AR-15s on rifle straps, Joyeuse ice-green with afterglow at his hip, and trauma kit in the snowmobile’s tow-behind sled.

  After riding a few miles out from camp, they parked and continued on foot, conducting closer inspection. Dahl snapped a picture of freakhog tracks with Blue’s Polaroid. Not an ideal field camera, but they didn’t have the equipment for a dark room.

  The gap between Ian and Billy grew as Ian lingered and Billy trundled ahead. Dahl pitched his voice in a way that hopefully conveyed how much he didn’t want t
o be overheard. “Hey, Dad? Hold up a sec.”

  “Sure, sweet boy. What’s on your mind?”

  The silence stretched out. How could he explain this? The words were surreal. “Last night, after the freakhog attack, things went strange.” Ian studied him with intense focus. They were standing on the edge of the killing ground, the snow tinged pink. A dozen yards away, frozen hunks of freakhogs lay on white-dappled red where Dahl had butchered them. He cleared his throat and continued. “Everest was confused about some details of his life.” If he said it out loud it couldn’t ever not be true. A ridiculous idea—his admission didn’t control reality—but he was drowning. These next words would expel the air from his lungs and let the water in so that he’d never breathe air again. Dahl’s voice was rough in his throat. “He called me Adam.”

  Ian’s brow wrinkled. “Did he say the wrong name? Maybe he was tired and got mixed up.”

  “No, Dad, that’s what I thought, but he argued with me about it. He wouldn’t believe that I wasn’t.” Dahl swallowed a lump. “I thought it might be a side effect. Have you ever been confused about things after you dream? Is there a time afterwards when… anything like that?”

  “Hey, it’s going to be okay.” Ian’s huge hand was on his shoulder. Solid. Reassuring. “Yesterday was long and crazy. Just because it’s never happened to me doesn’t mean it’s something terrible. Olive used to have memory trouble, right? Perhaps it’s like that.”

  Olive’s name hurt, but Dahl could take it standing now. It had been months since her death, but in many ways it felt much longer. She would laugh her ass off at their motley crew of try-hard heroes right before joining them and fighting her heart out. Oh, and she’d say I told you so. Dahl and Everest? She’d called that shit long before either of them had.

  Dahl pulled himself out of the aching past back to the distressing present. “I don’t know. He’s never had this issue before and it’s odd all of a sudden, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll work with him today.” Ian’s voice was like aloe. “I’ll talk to him about his visions and match them to mine. It will give me a chance to see what he’s thinking. Let’s start with that.”

  “Hey, guys! Found something!” Billy’s shout came from far on the other side of the killing ground, and Dahl latched on to the distraction. About two hundred yards up ahead, Billy had taken a knee by a patch of white snow. From a distance it looked like nothing special, but as Dahl closed he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Every set of freakhog paw prints originated from a single point next to where Billy was kneeling—like an underground spring of monsters welling through the frozen earth. The snow was depressed in a five-foot, elongated butterfly shape—symmetrical along one axis only.

  Crouching next to Billy, Dahl tried for another angle. What could possibly make a mark like this? How had the extranatural creatures come into the world at this point? He snapped another photo and traced the imprint with his hand. One side was spoiled by tracks—like the freakhogs had erupted here and ran off in a single-minded direction, pulled inexorably towards a point in Camp Nowhere, their path arrow-straight with none of the meandering or indecision of curious animals.

  Billy stood and shook himself. “Well, I don’t like it.”

  “No, neither do I.” Dahl stood next to him and finished his coffee. “This must be the point of origin, but I don’t know exactly what that means. Ian?”

  “I haven’t seen tracks like this. Animals don’t really act this way. You see here?” He pointed a thick finger to the messy area where the track appeared. “The deep gouges in the snow and flattered spaces: it’s like they were climbing out of a pit, but here.” Ian gestured to the neatly organized tracks only five feet distant. “They are running—moving with purpose.”

  Dahl walked around the area in a slow circle. “There are no ritual trappings, no physical evidence left behind.”

  Billy was speaking again. “No, I mean seeing something familiar and innocent in this kind of a situation. It gives me the creeps.”

  Dahl regarded him, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, Dahl went to stand beside Billy at the bottom of the butterfly. The change in perspective lit a spark in his mind. Memories of laying on his back in the Virginia snow, waving his arms and legs, flooded in. “It’s a snow angel.” Dahl shivered, despite himself. “Someone was laying in the snow.”

  Billy shrugged. “Well, I guess it’s more like a snow devil if you include the horns.” he pointed at twin marks above the head. “Do you boys have what you need here? If it’s all the same, I’d rather get back.”

  Dahl nodded, and they trudged in the snowmobile’s direction. Ian caught Dahl by the sleeve, detaining him for a few seconds. “It’s going to be okay, Dahl. I’ll check back in with you later.”

  Dahl’s voice was almost steady. “Yes. Dad?” Ian turned to him with tired eyes. “Thanks for this… for always helping me.”

  Ian’s smile was warm, even if his eyes were sad. They strolled back to the snowmobiles arm in arm.

  Chapter Nine

  “Did Fitz sleep better with the circle around him?” Ian’s voice was soft and at the end of Everest’s audio register—it thrummed through the air like a cello.

  Modifying his voice to match, he tried to respond without spooking the congregation of birds. “He did, thank you.” Everest stifled a yawn. He’d only had a few hours of sleep, but they were uninterrupted. This morning his love had brought breakfast and sat on the edge of his bed, joking and warm, while they ate together and their son slept late. It was almost like being home. “It would have been a stressful complication if Fitz was upset last night.”

  Ian beamed at the small praise from where he stood, relaxed in the fresh orange sunshine, little black birds perched around the edges of his cupped hands. They gobbled peanut butter and millet he had raided from the pantry. More timid members of the flock picked over the frosted ground, searching for fallen food.

  “I’m happy to do it, any time. Dahl used to need that too when he was small. It feels good to be able to help again.” Ian wasn’t watching his reaction; he was beaming like the sunrise at the songbird’s antics. Without glancing at Everest, he switched to a high chirping warble and the birds hopped around, responding in kind between beakfuls of food.

  Everest snapped and unsnapped the last closure on his coat. Ian’s unguarded emotional intimacy put a crack in armor already worn by months of steady kindness. Heart sore and restless, a few more bitter fragments crumbled somewhere deep inside.

  Ian had never apologized, never pretended he could have acted in any way other than keeping Jane’s secret while Adam died. On the few occasions they’d spoken of it, sorrow and empathy saturated his voice and he made no attempt to justify or bargain. Ian believed Jane’s wish for secrecy was the paramount good. When Everest was furious, he seethed about Ian’s simplemindedness. When he was less furious, he anguished over Ian’s purity. It all led to one hollow truth: Adam was dead.

  Everest remembered the sound of Adam’s heart monitor flatlining, smoothing his gray silk tie when he lay in the casket, rolling over in the middle of the night to a cold, empty stretch of bed. Time blunted the memories so they bruised instead of shredded, but there was a fresh, insidious edge now, and Everest didn’t know what to make of it.

  The name Ian used was troubling, but not as disturbing as last night. Dahl. Remembering was like trying to hold onto water. Why was this one name so hard? Everest fingered the white gold ring on a leather cord around his neck. Dahl had given him the ring, hadn’t he? Adam never had—the man held the concept of physical symbols of commitment in low regard. The memory of his love slipping him the band and signing think about it had a sleepy quality: not quite like him, not quite like now. But the ring was real, so it must have happened. That made sense, didn’t it?

  How long had Everest been standing here? Why was he thinking about this? Pushing the hair out of his eyes, he focused on the birds.

  “Did you find anything meaningful in your dreams l
ast night?” Everest’s voice was loud in the open field. A few ground squirrels scurried to join the growing flock. Ian’s shadow antlers pierced the frosty air, putting him well over eight feet in stature.

  “Perhaps. One moment.” Ian was clicking and chirping to a particularly bold squirrel who scolded from a few centimeters past arm’s reach. “Fitz slept well last night? You didn’t go for a walk?”

  Everest creased his brow. “After delivering two babies and fighting an extranatural battle in the subzero weather?”

  “This little one says there was a child in the snow.” Ian cautiously laid a mound of seed on the ground and took a step back, averting his eyes and angling his body away as the squirrel approached with halting steps before rushing forward to stuff its cheeks.

  “Could he have mistaken one of us? The team in the field when the freakhogs were closing?”

  “Maybe.” Ian was still frowning. “But my gut says no. The child was singing—he’s speaking of it like a bird song, not like human noises. There’s something we don’t understand here.”

  Everest turned the idea over in his mind and tried to stifle a shudder. “Tell me what you dreamed.”

  Ian went still and his broad shoulders slumped. “I dreamed all the snow had turned to sand. I dreamed the footprints of the dead dogged our trail as we rushed towards battle. I dreamed of a path to a house on chicken feet, standing in a twisted garden. Did you look at the future last night?”

  Ian’s face was shadow-cloaked despite the sunshine, like he stood behind tinted glass. Everest couldn’t read his features. An intense, uncanny picture assembled behind his eyes. What had gone wrong? Was this a dream? None of it was as real as it should be, and he could see the red sand like blood flecks in the piles of glittering white snow. Wake up, wake up. Everest clenched his fists hard. They seemed solid. The pinching in his hands did nothing to bring consciousness.