Witch of the Midnight Blade

by Kris Austen Radcliffe

  No—it came from deep inside, so fast I didn’t realize it had risen to the surface until the words escaped my mouth.

  Daniel blinked. I was pretty sure his seers were telling him I was serious. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  The mostly-invisible Seraphim picked up Metus by the collar and slammed him against the frozen ground.

  “Fuck you.” He’d allowed me to be dragged into the trees so that some mega-corporation could catch two French assholes.

  I would never trust him again. Never.

  “Del…”

  “You’re a selfish motherfucker,” I yelled. “What about Marcus and Harold, huh? The other one almost shot Harold in the head.”

  The Seraphim stripped Metus’s gun just as another bullet whizzed by.

  Daniel bent his head as if listening. “Timor’s moving!” he called. “Deal with him or he’ll kill you!”

  The shimmer ran by.

  “We won’t allow a Seraphim to hurt you,” Daniel said.

  “Stab wouldn’t hurt me, either!” I screamed. “Mrs. K is dead! Nax might as well be! And the only one of those vanishing douchebags who understood that I’m not their Del Parrish was kidnapped by one of you!”

  I pushed off the ground. I needed to get away from these people. From their manipulations. From their tech and their soldiers and their damned Tsar’s ring. I just needed to go. To find my family.

  A bullet whizzed by my head.

  I turned around. “I’m not part of your stupid ancient war!” I yelled. I was certainly part of the war. But not their war. “Leave me alone!”

  A bright, blinding flash blasted from the trees nearby. A crash followed, and yelling.

  “Timor’s down,” Daniel said.

  So one psycho wouldn’t be shooting at me. How special.

  Daniel climbed onto Metus’s back. “Stay down,” he said.

  I ran back to the bus. Marcus was sitting up, and Harold was in the back, gathering Leif’s left-behind weapons.

  “Help me with these,” he said.

  I grabbed Mrs. K’s crocheted lap blanket. “Fuck off,” I said. I wanted something, anything, that wasn’t associated with this craziness.

  The little metal emblem Erik had given her bounced into the aisle.

  “It’s a Legion insignia.” Marcus touched the similar dragons he wore around his neck.

  “One of the staff gave it to her before we left Paradise Homes.” I picked it up and stuffed it into my pocket, then stretched out my hand. “Give me the ring.”

  I wasn’t going to walk away without some way to hide myself from Fates.

  Marcus slowly looked toward the back of the bus. “You need to go with her,” he said.

  Harold shouldered one of the bags I’d used to carry my dad’s camping supplies. “I got all his weapons.” He had Leif’s big gun in his other hand. “I am not leaving you behind,” he said.

  “I don’t want any more help from Fates,” I said.

  “We are all safer now,” Marcus muttered, as if it mattered.

  Outside, the Seraphim dragged the other now-unconscious brother out onto the road.

  “Give me the goddamned ring, Marcus,” I said.

  He pulled it off his finger and set it on my palm, but he wasn’t watching me. He stared at the Seraphim. “My brother has not yet realized who it is under that mask.”

  I pocketed the ring. I probably had a three-, maybe four-hour walk back to Aurora, and should probably take some water or something.

  Harold swung the gun around. “Do I need to be worried?”

  Let them worry. I wrapped Mrs. K’s blanket around my shoulders and pushed by so I could get the water and a granola bar.

  Timor had shot three holes clean through the back wall of the bus and now little beams of sunlight hit the cooler like Hollywood spotlights. I popped it open and stuffed the three remaining granola bars in my pockets.

  Up front, Marcus and Harold peered out the window.

  Harold stepped toward the bus’s door as if he could stop the Seraphim from entering—or me from exiting.

  “Get out of my way,” I called. I was done with their bullshit.

  Harold held up his hand, then touched his lips.

  “Yes,” Marcus said. “We need to be worried.”

  Chapter Ten

  Outside, the Seraphim dropped the unconscious Timor on top of the also-unconscious Metus as if stacking wood for a nice, raging Fate bonfire. He ignored Daniel.

  “Leif said a Seraphim named Tony or something took all their tech to Praesagio Industries,” I said. Tony was likely the Seraphim outside beating the shit out of Metus and Timor.

  Marcus took Harold’s hand. “That’s Antonius,” he said, as if the name alone would call down real angels from the heavens above.

  Harold pinched his lips and slowly shook his head.

  Antonius was clearly yet another elaborate knot in the massive tapestry that was life-as-a-Fate. Or life as an immortal. Or maybe he was another surprise guest at the immortal cocktail party, but unlike me, he’d already done all his networking. Where I stood alone and confused next to the punch bowl, Antonius out there was mingling with the best of the guests.

  I really needed to get away from the Fates and all their immortal schmoozing.

  Thing was, where there was one Seraphim, there was likely the others. “Are his buddies here?”

  Marcus held up his hand. “No.” He looked up at Harold. “We need to keep him occupied until his ride arrives.”

  Harold nodded. “They stayed out of the EMP zone, didn’t they?”

  Marcus slowly nodded.

  “Who?” I asked before I realized the obvious: Praesagio Industries, and not their friendly science toys for kids ages eight-to-twelve division, either.

  “But that suit rode it out, huh?” Harold asked.

  Marcus nodded again.

  “I want one,” Harold said.

  I rolled my eyes. “Kill Janus and you can have his. He stole it from someone named Kai.”

  Marcus continued to stare at the Seraphim. “Kai wasn’t Legion,” he said.

  More with their Legion business. “When is this Legion of yours going to save the day?” Because I was sick of the alt-world angel bullshit.

  Harold groaned. “Have some respect, Del,” he said.

  Sure thing, Mr. Fate-Legion-spouse, I thought. At least I had the “respect” not to say it out loud.

  Marcus closed his eyes and pressed on his forehead. “I need a healer.”

  Harold’s focus shifted from the Seraphim to Marcus. He touched his husband’s forehead and cheek as if checking for a fever. “Stay here.”

  Marcus pointed over his shoulder at me. “You, too.”

  “Why?” I tightened Mrs. K’s blanket around my shoulders. Even being on the bus—even with Nax and Marcus using it as a pillow—it still smelled more like little old Russian lady than it did like big manly men. Her favorite scent of yellow roses clung to the yarn, as did the vinyl of her chair.

  And I hated all of them more for destroying what was left of her life.

  “She died in glory and strength,” Marcus said. “She died protecting her family.” He glanced toward me.

  Family.

  “Get out of my way.” I pushed by Harold.

  Tony the Seraphim stood between Daniel and the pile of evil Fates. Patterns roamed his suit in little winter camo herds of ice blue and straw yellow. He was wiry and thin, like Harold, but a bit shorter, and had the strong shoulders and the inverted-triangle build of a swimmer.

  Unlike Leif, he hadn’t been stripped of his weapons, but instead of a huge gun on his back, he carried a smaller rifle-looking weapon and a baton. Knives circled his left thigh, and a holstered handgun sat on his right. Two of those hound-killing discs clung to his shoulders, and the winter camo of his suit hiccupped a bit when it jumped from his arm to the weapons.

  Were Daniel and the Seraphim yelling at each other? I didn’t hear anything. The Seraphim hadn’t retracted his
hood, and Daniel stood with his hands at his sides but with a posture that said he wanted to cross his arms and hug himself.

  I almost asked how Antonius and Daniel knew each other. Almost. Then I remembered I didn’t care anymore.

  “Stay on the bus, Del,” Marcus said.

  I yanked on the handle and opened the door.

  The Seraphim whipped around. “Philadelphia Parrish!” he boomed. “Return to the bus!”

  “Your boss kidnapped Nax and forced Leif to follow him into Janus’s little Final Countdown plan,” I yelled. “He’s evil, so you and the rest of his suited-up toadies can suck it, Seraphim boy! I’m leaving.”

  Daniel held his face as flat as Addy had when she was deep in her evil monologue. “Leave her alone, Antonius.”

  The Seraphim pointed at Daniel. “Be quiet, Adrestia.”

  How did Antonius miss the hitch in Daniel’s voice? The pain? “Daniel’s driving, you moron,” I yelled. “That’s not Addy anymore.” I waved my arms around. I suppose I was trying to point, or mimic, or something, but I looked crazy. I felt crazy. “Her—his—shoulders have returned to their Daniel-in-charge shape.” Or tightness. Or maybe it was his throbbing neck muscles. I couldn’t quite describe the difference in his stance, but the person in charge of that body wasn’t the scared, murderous French woman who’d woken up after the EMP.

  And he’s clearly freaking out because you’re here, I thought. The Seraphim looked at me, then at Daniel, then back at me. He visibly sighed. “Get back on the bus. The Assassin’s Daughter will be here shortly.”

  “There’s an Assassin’s Daughter now?” I shouted. “Isn’t that Addy?” I pointed at Daniel. “Because I so enjoyed talking to Addy earlier.”

  “This is why I told you to leave Del alone, Antonius,” Daniel said.

  “Yeah!” I kicked at a rock. “Leave the angry normal woman alone!”

  Antonius pointed at Daniel. “You are not Daniel.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Hey, Daniel, maybe you should do the Clark Kent glasses thing.” I mimed taking off glasses and striking a superhero pose.

  The Seraphim named Antonius pointed at me. “You are as crazy here as you were at home.”

  “Fuck you.” I gave him the finger. “I hope you’re pretty under that hood, because you sure are stupid.”

  He whipped around. Even with the hood still over his face, it was clear I’d crossed a line.

  I should have kept my mouth shut. I should have smashed all my frustration and fear and anger and God knows what back down into my belly like a good girl and dealt with the end of the world like a hero.

  He took a step toward me. “Philadelphia Parrish, you are under arrest.”

  Harold walked down the bus steps and somehow kept from making the door squeak, or the metal groan. He carried Leif’s huge gun pointed downward, but still ready. “Del,” he said with a nod.

  He inhaled once and turned to the Seraphim. “You and I never met in this timeline,” he said. “But I know the stories. I know who you are, or who you were, at least here. I know you were Legion. I know you were as much a part of the Draki Prime’s lives as I am now. And this,” he nodded toward me, “with her, and him,” he nodded toward Daniel, “is not what I would have expected from the man who was Daniel’s husband.”

  “Wait, what?” No wonder Daniel was acting weird. “You were married to Daniel and you can’t tell when he’s driving that body?” How the hell did he get to be a Seraphim?

  “Daniel died the same in my timeline as he did here.” Antonius the Seraphim stood perfectly still. “I’m more concerned about Marcus.”

  Great. A Fate love triangle. “I’m more concerned about Nax and Leif and the people of this timeline than I am about your sad game of immortal bed hopping,” I yelled. “So fuck off! All of you.”

  They could all go sit in a sharing circle and talk about their damned hook-ups and summer vacations without me.

  Antonius’s suit shifted fully to powered-down gunmetal gray. His hood cycled off his face and into the back of his suit.

  He was cute in a skinny-guy kind of way, with big otter-brown eyes and otter-brown hair. He honestly didn’t look like he’d hurt a bug, much less me.

  The look he gave Daniel carried the same unearthed pain I’d seen so many times on the faces of my dad’s tribal clients—ancestral murders, terror, decimation. The pain of a person who understood the real fabric of human history.

  He wasn’t angry. He was traumatized.

  The immortal guy who looked like he should be sharing lab equipment with me in our freshman 101 Chemistry class had lived multiple lifetimes of trauma.

  A part of me wanted to give him a hug. The same part that made me follow the old Fate out into the snow at Paradise Homes. The same part that put me between Mrs. K and all the bad of the world. The same goddamned part that told me to help Alt-me bring a spaceship into orbit.

  I was a fucking tool. That was all. My need to save puppies fit into just the right slots, and ever since this started, I had been someone—or something—else’s tool.

  “Antonius,” Daniel breathed.

  “I am not him,” Antonius said. “Your Antonius. I am, but I am not.”

  Daniel squeezed his own elbows. “I am not your Daniel, obviously.”

  Antonius’s lip curled up for a small grin. “Obviously.” He glanced back at Harold.

  He was not good at keeping his facial features from revealing his emotions.

  Why did I care? I didn’t care. I wouldn’t care. No more rabid puppies biting my hands.

  “I’m leaving,” I said.

  “Del,” Daniel called. “Please. I apologize. If I’d told you what was coming, Metus and Timor would have read more than your terror. This was the only way to bring them in.” He pointed at Addy’s unconscious brothers. “They’re dangerous.”

  “And the health of your new body depends on their safety,” Antonius said to Daniel.

  More Fate weirdness. “You all are entangled,” I said. “Like particles.” My little brother Elijah was big into all the nifty physics things he could find and loved to explain stuff as much as he loved his games. He’d spent an entire hour explaining “spooky action at a distance” and how it meant that we’d all have faster-than-light space travel and insta-communicating “ansibles” and flying saucers any day now because of quantum entanglement.

  Instead we ended up with blisters between timelines and otter-eyed boys who should be dead.

  “Do you know where my family is?” I asked. I probably shouldn’t have. Marko-turned-Janus had been pretty clear with his threats back when he’d stolen Stab.

  Thing was, I didn’t want to be entangled with these people anymore. I wanted to stop being a pawn in whatever game the universe was playing.

  I was tired.

  Mr. Handsome Otter-eyed Daniel’s Husband thought for a moment.

  He knew where my family was. He just couldn’t decide if he wanted to tell me or not.

  “They’re in a hotel in Cheyenne, Wyoming,” Daniel said.

  Antonius nodded. “What is left of FEMA is currently recruiting your father to head up the civilian governance of what will soon be known as the Cheyenne Refugee and Resettlement Station.” He looked toward Daniel. “That’s what we called it in our timeline.”

  Cheyenne wasn’t that far away and didn’t require a trip through the mountains. “Are they safe?”

  “At the moment,” Daniel said. “Yes.”

  “In my timeline, they were safe until the dragons became aware of the camp’s proximity to the Dracae’s home,” Antonius said.

  “Not helping,” Harold snapped.

  He was looking at me, not Antonius. I squeezed his elbow. “I don’t think I have the energy to be frightened anymore,” I said.

  “You need to come in,” Antonius said.

  “So you can arrest me?” I stepped away from the bus.

  Five black SUVs roared down the road and straight toward us.

  Chapter Eleven
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br />   The SUVs screamed utilitarian FBI or cop or maybe CIA. Even the rims were black. But they weren’t government, or if they were, they were only government-by-proxy.

  The first SUV screeched to a halt in front of the bus. A woman in a violet-blue jacket rolled out of the passenger door. She stood about my height, and had my build, too. But unlike the warmer tones to my skin and hair, this woman’s black ponytail was as icy as her blue eyes.

  She held her gun down and to the side, but ready, like FBI.

  Several other people exited the SUVs, all in the same violet-blue jackets as the woman. No patches, no identification other than they moved like federal agents.

  “You are Philadelphia Parrish.” The woman did not ask. She declared in much the same way as Daniel declared all sorts of future-seeing declarations.

  She had to be another Fate.

  I raised my hands. “Yes.”

  She holstered her gun. “I want the War Babies in separate vehicles,” she yelled to the other scurrying agents. “Prime Fate protocols, people! Keep them knocked out.”

  Then she did the same weird looking at the inside of her corneas thing all the other Fates did. “Daniel and Marcus need medical attention. Check Harold.” Then to me, “We’ve already retrieved Irena Karanova’s body.”

  Of course they had. “Thank you.” I kept my hands in the air, just in case.

  This was the cop division of the planet’s most powerful corporation—a bunch of nondescript Fates and probably Shifters all wearing lovely violet jackets while they shackled other, nastier Fates and Shifters. “Shouldn’t you all be fighting dragons?” I asked.

  My mouth just wouldn’t stop being flippant. Or dumb. They’d just come to our rescue.

  Not that I wanted to be rescued.

  Though honestly, they could have come before the Fate named Timor started shooting at us. Or before that obnoxious EMP destroyed the bus.

  They could have talked to the dragon instead of us. They could have stopped Marko—Janus—from taking my sword.

  The woman extended her hand. “Cordelia Palatini-Sut,” she said.

  She must be the “Assassin’s Daughter,” whatever that meant. I wasn’t going to ask.