by Bryan Davis
Elam guided Listener’s hand back to Dikaios. “I see you found Enoch’s spyglass,” he said, touching its metal casing. “I once had it, but it fell from a bridge into a deep chasm.”
“I found it in a strange bag.” She ran her fingers through the horse’s mane. “The bag was hanging from a branch high in a tree.”
Elam looked up at the sky. “Very interesting.”
Abraham patted Dikaios’s flank. “I have no doubt of your swiftness, good horse, but you are lacking your sire’s wings. The only easy route into or out of this land is by air. Even the shadow people have to attach themselves to large birds in order to cross the surrounding mountains, and they cannot escape by way of the river. We call it Twin Falls River, because it enters this valley by a steep waterfall and exits in a similar fashion, and, with the exception of eclipse nights, we guard that exit. So far they have been able to attack our village only in small raiding parties. If they could move en masse at night, we would not be able to fend them off.”
“I don’t think we have a choice.” Elam brushed the shadowed ferns with his shoe. “We’d better get moving.”
A dark hand shot up from the ground and grabbed Listener’s ankle. She shrieked and tried to pull free, but it held fast. Abraham dove headfirst onto the ground, grabbed a human-shaped shadow, and wrestled it away from her. He then leaped to his feet, holding the shadow by its throat with its arms and legs flailing underneath. “Foul fiend!” Abraham growled. “I ought to—”
Another shriek sounded, this time from Paili. A dark form dragged her feetfirst toward the forest. She grasped for ferns and dug her fingernails across the ground, but to no avail.
Acacia pointed at a tree in the kidnapper’s path and shouted, “Ignite!” Instantly a raging flame shot up the trunk. The shadow squealed. It released Paili and writhed in the ferns like a shriveling slug.
Abraham leaped ahead and kicked the shadow against the flaming tree, then, with an angry grunt, he threw the other one into the blaze. Purple sparks flew. Popping sounds and dying squeals filled the air. Like roaches skittering across a floor, dozens of shadows rippled along the ferns and scurried into the forest as light from the fire spread across the glade.
Acacia grabbed a hefty stick from the ground and lifted it high. “Flames! Come to my firebrand!” The end of the stick ignited with a bright orange flame. She passed it to Abraham and snatched up another stick that ignited the moment she touched it. “Lead us to safety!”
Waving his arm toward the sound of rushing water, Abraham shouted, “Follow me to the river!” He wrapped Paili in her cloak, scooped her up, and sprinted along a narrow path through the forest, swinging the burning stick back and forth as if cutting the underbrush with a machete. Seconds later, he burst into the open where a wide strip of beach sand bordered a swiftly flowing river. Chunks of ice floated in the churning current, knocking into each other as they tumbled along.
Two dragons, one white and one purple, stood at the edge of the water in the relative safety of the moon’s light. Abraham dropped the flaming stick and whistled a “mount up” command at Albatross. As soon as the white dragon lowered his head, Abraham climbed his neck and set Paili in the second of two chairs attached to the dragon’s back. His hands flying, he strapped her in with a leather belt. He then took a breath and placed a hand on her cold cheek. “Peace, little child. All is well.”
He leaped down to the soft sand, and, as Angel led the others out of the forest, another firebrand in her grip, Abraham barked out commands. “Angel, you will fly Albatross, and we will try to fit Acacia in with you. Candle and Listener will take Grackle.”
While Candle and Listener clambered up the purple dragon’s neck, Angel hustled up the white dragon’s. When she reached the top, she stood with one foot on her seat and one on the dragon’s neck, her hands on her hips. “And you, Father?”
“I will guide the warrior chief out of this valley.”
“But what of Adam’s Marsh and the truce zone?”
“We will try to ascend the trail to the northern highlands.”
“But the avalanche! You will have to—”
“No time to argue!” He pointed at the edge of the forest. A sea of shadows emerged, crawling rapidly toward them. He slapped Grackle’s flank. “Fly!”
With a mighty leap and beat of his wings, Grackle launched into the air. Abraham reached for Acacia. “Come. You will take Angel’s seat. She is able to sit higher on the dragon’s neck.”
Acacia shook her head. “I will stay with you. Without a light, you will never survive.”
Abraham stared at her determined face. Who was he to argue with the Oracle? “Is there anything else we need to know before we send them off?”
“Yes.” Acacia looked up at Grackle as he circled above. “Just before I left the Bridgelands, Enoch told me that the bones must be spread over your birthing garden immediately, and I will burn them at the appropriate time.”
Angel dropped heavily to her dragon riding chair. “Burn the bones?”
“Enoch’s word is never to be doubted,” Abraham said. He let out a shrill whistle and slapped Albatross on the flank. “We need a shield, my good dragon. You know what to do.”
Albatross beat his wings and rose into the air. As soon as he climbed to the tops of the trees, Angel guided him into a sharp turn, and he swooped toward the ground. A stream of ice gushed from his mouth and splashed against the beach, coating the strip between the forest and the river in a sheet of white.
His wings pulling madly against the air, Albatross swung upward and headed for the sky. As the two dragons shrank in the distance, their silhouettes flew across Pegasus, their dark wings flapping gently as they each carried two riders to safety.
“The ice will keep the shadows at bay,” Abraham said, “but not for long.” Heaving a sigh, he turned to Acacia. “I must say, your talent will be very useful in our battles.”
“The shadow people are merely pawns.” Acacia lifted her hand and whispered, “Give me light.” A small fire erupted in her palm, a yellow blossom with flaming tongues for petals. “Your real enemy won’t be frightened by my talents.”
Abraham looked back at the forest. The shadows began to slither across the ice, so many, they looked like a slick of burnt cooking oil sliding their way. “Come,” he said. “We will have to ford the river at a place I know. The shadow people on the other side likely are unaware of our presence. It will be a cold and dangerous crossing, but I am not willing to face ten thousand shadows, even with the Oracle’s talents in our arsenal.”
Chapter 2
Unwelcome Visitors
“Ghosts and Ghouls Terrorize City!” Billy read the newspaper headline as he jogged toward his house. With swirling snow dancing all around, he halted a few steps before reaching the front porch and made a slow turn, scanning the deserted two-lane street and each nearby yard. With a few inches of snow painting the neighborhood white, spotting one of the dark hairy “ghouls” would be easier than it had been last night when several prowled the area.
These “Caitiff,” as his father had called them, were the ugliest men he had ever seen. Earlier, when he viewed them from afar in the second circle of Hades, they had been hideous enough. Closer encounters proved that they smelled worse than they looked.
As his gaze passed by a rainwater drain at the side of the street, he noticed a dark splotch covering a bare spot on the pavement, the spilled blood of one of those freaks. His father had nailed it with his AR15, but the bullet in its chest only scared the apelike beast away. Now, gooey fluids lay in a black puddle that even snow wouldn’t touch.
With no sign of new predators lurking, Billy scrambled up the snow-covered porch steps, unlocked the knob and deadbolt with separate keys, and breezed inside. The draft kicked up an envelope on the floor and carried it to the stairwell to the left.
After refastening the locks, he kicked off his boots and unzipped his thick jacket, revealing a navy blue “West Virginia” sweatshirt that over
lapped his jeans’ waistband. He checked the pistol in the jacket’s inner pocket. Still secure. With a quick swipe, he snatched up the envelope and read the handwritten name on the front—Jared Bannister, Personal.
He turned it over. Sealed. No return address anywhere. Someone must have stuck it through the mail slot while he was at the Foleys’ house. He squinted at the handwriting. With its elegant swirls, it seemed familiar, but who would drop off a message for his father? Dad was still home, so why wouldn’t the delivery person knock on the door to make sure he got it?
He put the envelope in his back pocket and scanned the front page of the paper. A photo caught his attention, one of the “ghouls,” a thin, hairy man with vampire-like fangs overlapping his bottom lip. He glanced up from the paper. He couldn’t read while walking, at least not for a few more days. With the newly rebuilt house still unfamiliar, he had to check where he was going to keep from banging into anything. He nodded at the configuration—stairs in front on the left, foyer and kitchen straight ahead, family room to the right.
Shivering as he strolled past the family room, he slowed to look at the fireplace. The flames had dwindled to a few finger-tall orange tongues. Still glancing at the paper every few seconds, he ambled into the room and across the morning glow radiating through the front window. He grabbed the fireplace poker and, after rekindling the flames with a quick stir, studied the crackling logs, now not much more than ashen heaps. He’d have to get more wood soon, but the stack outside was still green and damp, much harder to ignite, especially without his fire breathing ability.
He passed his tongue along the roof of his mouth. No scales. No evidence of the dragon trait that had both hurt and helped him over the past couple of years. He looked at the ring on his index finger. A white gem mounted in the center stared back at him, the symbol he wore that proved what he had been and what he was now. He curled his fingers into a fist. It was all good. Being fully human was worth it.
Monique bolted into the family room and grabbed his hand. “Play checkers with me!” she shouted, her black mop of hair bouncing with her child-sized leaps.
Billy dropped the poker, scooped her up with one arm, and hustled her away from the window. Someone had opened the blinds. With daylight streaming in, it wasn’t safe for her to be there. Faking a smile, he slowed his pace as he quick-marched toward the back of the house. “But we played fifteen times last night! Aren’t you tired of it yet?”
With an impish grin lifting her lovely Asian features, Monique shook her head. “You’re ahead eight to seven. I need to catch up.”
Billy set her down and mussed her hair. “Get Stacey or Beck to play. They’re upstairs with Mom. Or maybe Larry will play with you. I fixed his transmitter. He should be good to go.”
Monique pouted. “Larry’s no fun. I never win.”
“Yeah. Supercomputers are like that. All brains and no compassion.”
She locked her arms tightly across her chest, covering her green sweatshirt. “I wish Red would come home. She would play with me.”
“Dad’s supposed to hear from Walter or Ashley this morning. Maybe they’ll give us an update on when Karen’s coming home.”
Monique clapped her hands. “Good!”
He followed Monique back to the stairs. When she had scampered out of sight to the upper floor, he marched back to the family room window and snapped the blinds closed. He’d have to remember to talk to the girls about security again. Until every Caitiff was dead, no children were safe.
Billy strode into the kitchen and laid the newspaper on the table in front of his father. “Same kind of freaks we got last night,” he said, tapping a finger on the photo. He then pulled out the envelope and propped it on the newspaper so that Jared Bannister faced his father. “This was in the foyer,” Billy said.
His father set down a steaming cup of coffee and tilted the envelope. With a Glock in a shoulder holster wrapped around his broad, sweater-clad chest and a scoped rifle leaning against the wall behind him, he seemed ready for a war.
His reddish-brown eyebrows dipped low. “This is Irene’s handwriting.”
Billy nodded. That made sense. Bonnie’s mother would have familiar handwriting. It was a lot like Bonnie’s.
His father flipped open the folded contents and read out loud. “A dark knight is coming quickly. The old plans are again in effect.” His brow suddenly furrowed, and a familiar spark flashed in his eyes.
“A dark knight?” Billy repeated. “But the slayers are gone.”
His father stared at the words, saying nothing.
After a few seconds, Billy added, “Aren’t they?”
“Devin’s henchman, Palin, is gone, but …” He folded the note and handed it to Billy. “Please burn this for me.”
Billy took the page and wadded it up. “What did she mean by the old plans?”
“I think I know, but I’m not certain.” As he looked at Billy, he stroked his chin. “Did you speak to your mother before you came in here?”
Billy sat in one of the seven empty chairs that surrounded the oval table and shook his head. His mother had asked him to check on Walter’s sister, Shelly, while her parents were out of town, heading for Montana to meet with Walter. Everything was fine, of course. Shelly was too old to be a target of the Caitiff. Still, she was planning to come over to spend the night, just in case. “I didn’t look for Mom when I got back.” He squeezed the wad of paper in his fist. “Why?”
“The presence of a slayer is always bad news.” His father leaned back and looked into the hallway, then slid his chair closer. “But there is more bad news.”
Billy tightened his jaw and gazed into his father’s deep brown eyes. “Okay. I’m ready. I think.”
His father spun a cell phone on the table. “Remember Walter mentioning the Methuselah girl, the Oracle of Fire?”
“Yeah. Sapphira. He told me a lot more about her later.”
“Well, she called while you were out. She said …” He paused. Letting out a sigh, he turned and looked out the window, seeming to drift away into his thoughts.
Billy resisted the urge to drum his fingers. No sense in making Dad hurry. After so many centuries as a human, a few extra minutes to come up with exactly the right words probably seemed like nothing to him. Besides, if Sapphira called, she and the others were probably fine.
He followed his father’s gaze. Outside, the mountains of West Virginia created a wintry backdrop, with bare trees poking through blankets of white. Snow had come early this year, forcing everyone to stay cooped up inside, another reason to feel antsy. With long-dead relatives suddenly showing up at people’s doorsteps and hairy beasts chasing children through the streets, who wouldn’t be scared spitless?
A knock sounded at the door. Billy sprang to his feet and withdrew his gun. His father snatched the rifle from the wall, and they hustled together toward the front of the house. Billy took his usual position five steps up the stairwell and shouted into the bedrooms above. “Mom! Girls! Warning protocol!” He braced his pistol in both hands and aimed at the door. Now would have been a great time for his danger-sensing ability, but no use wishing for that to return. “Is it one of the ghouls?”
His father looked out the peephole. “Neither ghost nor ghoul!” He flung the door open, allowing a tall, gray-haired man and a teenaged girl to shuffle in, then closed it to ward off the snow that followed in their wake.
Bundled in heavy, ankle-length coats, the visitors brushed off thin layers of snow. The girl pulled down a hood, revealing light brown braids with blond highlights. “I apologize for my abrupt arrival,” the man said in a dignified British accent as he shook more snow from his gray hair.
“Sir Patrick!” Billy stuffed the gun into his pocket and rushed to the door, extending his hand. “It’s great to see you!”
Patrick enfolded Billy in a tight embrace. “A mere handshake is insufficient, dear William.”
Billy relished Patrick’s strong, lanky arms. The hug felt like one of Profess
or Hamilton’s—warm, hearty, and genuine. To have the late professor stroll through the door would have been even better, but since that was no longer possible, Sir Patrick would do.
“We took an earlier flight,” Patrick said, pulling back from Billy, “and my cell phone battery needs recharging, so I was unable to call.” He shifted to Billy’s father, and the two embraced for a brief moment before Patrick touched the girl’s head with a gloved hand. “Of course, Shiloh needs no introduction.”
Offering a friendly nod, Billy smiled at her. With those shining blue eyes, she looked so much like Bonnie her smile in return made his heart ache. He reached for her coat. “Here. Let me get that for you.”
As she let the sleeves slide down her arms, Shiloh spoke in an accent that mimicked her father’s. “Thank you so much. You’re such a gentleman.”
A flush warmed Billy’s cheeks. As he hung Shiloh’s coat in a side closet, he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She smoothed out the red blazer over her white, button-down blouse. With new jeans and walking shoes, she really looked sharp.
While Jared took Patrick’s coat, Billy looked out the window at the side of the door. “Sir Barlow’s out there.”
“He is, indeed,” Patrick said, reaching for the doorknob. “He was engaged in a conversation with the cab driver before we stopped. They were in the midst of exchanging war stories, so we left the two of them to collect the luggage.”
As soon as he opened the door, a burly man with a thick mustache barreled in, carrying a lengthy box over his shoulder. Dressed in a red woolen sweater and thick knee britches that held a sword and scabbard at his hip, Sir Barlow set his gaze on Billy, his eyes twinkling. “I believe your expression here is, ‘Santa Claus is coming to town.’ But I’ll wager he and his hoofed transports never carried packages such as this.”
Billy leaned over to look outside again. A taxi cab lurched ahead, its tires sliding in the snow briefly before it roared away. Everything seemed clear. After hauling three suitcases in from the porch and sliding them next to the closet, he turned and shouted upstairs. “Mom! It’s okay! Sirs Patrick and Barlow are here, and Shiloh, too!”
