Whispers of War

A Vesik Anthology

Eric R. Asher

Copyright © 2014, 2015, 2016 by Eric R. Asher

Kindle Edition

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

www.daysgonebad.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Edited by Laura Matheson, Amy Cameron, and Vicki Rose

Cover design by Indie Solutions by Murphy Rae

Books by Eric R. Asher

The Steamborn Series

Steamborn

Steamforged

Steamsworn

Vesik, The Series:
(Recommended for Ages 17+)

Days Gone Bad

Wolves and the River of Stone

Winter’s Demon

This Broken World

Destroyer Rising

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Books by Eric R. Asher

Whispers of War

Black Friday

Year’s End

When Destiny Calls

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

About the Author

Whispers of War

A Vesik Short Story

Eric R. Asher

Midsummer. The banks of the Missouri River.

“How much farther?” The kid turned “farther” into a moan as if I was dragging him through the ninth circle of hell.

I smiled in the evening shadows as I pushed a pine branch out of my path, waited a heartbeat, and let it snap back into the kid’s chest. He yelped and cursed. “Watch yourself, Roach. It won’t always be a tree jumping out at you.”

Much grumbling ensued.

“Almost there, kid. We’ll camp around the next bend.”

“I just asked if we were there yet.”

“You ask that more than my four year old did when we had nothing but a horse and carriage for days of travel.”

The kid blew out a breath and stomped on a helpless sapling. “Yeah? And? Now we don’t even have horses. We’re tromping around god knows what hole in the middle of Missouri in the dead of summer with the nonstop babbling of that damned river and, just to spice things up, now I have tree sap in my eyebrows. I have so many damned mosquito bites I can’t even tell where the ticks have buried themselves!”

“Nonsense, we’re at least in mid-eastern Missouri by now.”

A stream of profanity escaped the kid’s mouth. I stayed silent, smiling, as we prepped a small clearing for camp, gathering wood for a lean-to and a fire. Winter would wrap itself around Missouri soon, but the kid was used to Alaskan winters. Everything felt like summer to him.

“You’ve heard the rumors,” I said, brushing a tick off my arm and into the campfire. “Someone’s making a stand in the Midwest against Pinkerton’s damned army of necromancers. Stop whining and eat your sugar, Roach.”

“Stories, old man,” he said as he slid another flaming black marshmallow off a burned branch and let the limb fall back into the dwindling heat. “Stories.”

“Better hope not, Roach. If we don’t find allies in this, we’re dead.”

He responded, but I let the kid’s words slide past me without a second thought while I studied the deep scars on the backs of my knuckles. Time and a thick layer of gray hair might hide them, but their cause was never far from my mind. Neither was the fury. The stars shone over the Missouri River. I took a deep breath in a modest effort to ignore the kid.

I sighed again and watched him smash a white gooey mass of marshmallow onto a graham cracker. I took in a lungful of the smoky char and shook my head when he offered me a stack of goo. I pulled out a square of hardtack and soaked one edge in a steaming cup of bitter coffee.

The kid blinked. “Don’t like s’mores.” He muttered and shook his head. “Not right.”

I smiled and took a little bite off the slightly softened edge of my sheet-iron cracker. The kid’s voice was a little high. I wondered if he’d be alive long enough for his voice to deepen and take on the gravelly undertones of an old man, like me. The minutes marched by, filled with the growing symphony of crickets and owls and the fresh popping of a damp log on the campfire. The scent of the nearby river mingled with burnt sugar, dark coffee, and the damp flames of our makeshift grill. And the kid’s muttering—can’t forget that.

When the boy finally grew quiet again, I stared at him over the fire until he looked up. His light, gray-blue eyes were an echo of my own, though we weren’t related by blood. I used to have dark blond hair like his, but my own had gone to gray, and then some.

“If it’s Zola?” I said. “This could be the turning point. The end of this ridiculous war.”

The kid blew out a puff of air. “Yeah? You ever even met her? She’s more legend than man … er, woman.” His eyes flicked from mine, to the fire, and back. “Or are you just going to hide in the shadows like you always do?”

“Roach,” I said without emotion.

He shivered like someone was walking over his grave. The kid was dangerously close to calling me a coward. Was a time I would have struck a man down for less. He knew it. I knew it. Thankfully I’d gained a little patience over the years. I started to smile, slowly, baring my teeth until a sharp crack of wood pierced the night.

My head jerked to the right as I held my hand up for silence and tipped a rusty bucket of dirt over the small campfire. The flames disappeared with a weak hiss of protest, the moisture and soil robbing them of life.

The kid pulled a camo ski mask over his face as he hit the ground. His black 9 mm was aimed at the tree line before I even came out of a crouch. Sometimes a bullet worked just as well as an incantation. Some’d even say it was the smart way to go, considering the less desirable side effects of necromancy. Touching something with necromancy means knowing it, knowing it like it was the little voice in your head you’ve talked to since you could crawl. Like you lived its life, shared its victories, its crimes, its good deeds, its darkest impulses.

All the younger necromancers carry guns these days. Hell, it’s a good choice. Like an antipsychotic, helping them survive the madness of just being a necromancer. Me, I don’t carry a gun.

My fingers danced over my hands and forearms. Tiny strands of silver power gathered around my fingertips. A yellow glow began to intertwine with the silver, tracing jagged edges of scars and sending waves of warmth and static bursts over my skin. Forbidden in every way, the soul I insulated my power with to deaden the side effects of necromancy was not mine. I’d consumed my own in a war I still struggled to escape. Such a tiny yellow glow wrapping its way around those silver strands, a glow that would have me damned by every magistrate on Earth.

“More than one,” the camouflaged lump said in a voice no louder than the soft breeze around me.

“Stop!” I said, power distorting the air around us.

A form stepped into the moonlight and drew back its hood. She was small in stature, with a gray cloak resting across her shoulders. Her stance was tight, ramrod straight, right hand gripping a knobby old cane, and left hidden in the dim moonlight shadows. I couldn’t see any immediate sign of weapons on her. She only wore some sort of rope belt cinched at her waist. Even in shadow, authority rolled off the woman.

I took two more steps forward and froze when I recognized the little black woman standing in the clearing. I almost forgot to tell the kid not to shoot, though he wouldn’t have been able to hit her anyway.

“Balls, you old scalawag!” I said, letting the silver power drain back into my scars. “You couldn’t just say hello?”

Her laugh was quiet and she shook her head slowly, the tight braid on her head brushing her shoulders. Tiny bits of metal woven into her hair tinkled and whispered. Her eyes were intense, unwavering, and I knew they were just as dark in the daylight. Zola’s gaze was slightly sunken below her forehead and peered out above sallow cheeks. It was only after staring at her for a few more moments in disbelief that I realized she was on edge, ready to defend herself. I turned my palms out and relaxed my shoulders. She inclined her head ever so slightly before she closed the distance in a few quick steps and patted my arm.

“What brings you out this way, Zola?” I asked, giving her a significant look. “I hear there’s trouble in the Midwest, no?”

A choked gargle rose at the sound of her name. The kid climbed back to his feet, waved, mumbled, and finally holstered his gun.

“Yes, Ah’m headed back to Saint Louis. Unfinished business with Damian, my idiot student.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You took on a new one?”

The old Cajun gave one quick, sharp, nod.

“And he’s an idiot?”

“Compared to you?” she said as she poked me in the chest. A small smile cracked her solemn expression. It also gave me the distinct impression her student wasn’t an idiot. Her voice still held that Old South accent. Hearing it was almost like seeing an old friend. Hell, that was it exactly.

“What are you doing on the river?” I asked, gesturing toward the rushing darkness.

“Ah hope you’re not getting senile.” She paused and raised an eyebrow. “You showed me the old ley lines along the river almost a hundred fifty years ago. Work better than any damn compass, Ah believe you said.”

I turned at the sound of laughter, catching a brief flash in the woods behind the kid. Power surged through my skin with barely a thought. Zola squeezed my arm and shook her head.

“Peace, Old Man. They’re friends,” she said before releasing my arm. Old Man. She said it like it was my name and, in many ways, I guess it was.

I pulled my eyes away from the flicker of silver wings in the shadows and focused on Zola. The same wrinkles still framed her eyes, the same rough skin born of a lifetime in the fields, the same laugh lines. She hadn’t aged a day since I’d seen her last, almost two hundred years ago. My fists relaxed as I pondered that little fact. I knew why she hadn’t aged, not many people did. It’s no wonder she didn’t cast stones in my direction.

“Friends. Didn’t figure you had many of those,” I said.

“Ah don’t have much need for them, not human ones anyway.” She gave me a knowing look as her eyes trailed up from my black jeans to the short gray mop on my head. She lingered on my face, where I knew the scars weren’t so well hidden. A beard could only hide so much.

“Ah’m afraid I may have brought you a bit of trouble this evening.”

“Yeah, like the kid couldn’t find enough on his own?”

I shot a glare at Roach as he scratched his arm and stared at the pitch-black tree line.

“Someone’s been following me. Ah tried to track it down, but seems something else is hiding it.”

“Vampires?”

“Probably.”

“With a necromancer?”

She nodded, silent.

A pair of silver white wings flashed out of the woods and a small fairy, no more than five or six inches tall, landed on Zola’s shoulder. The voice was deep, and could have easily come from a human. “Six zombies, full bodied. Three vampires. We can’t find the necromancer.”

“Take the zombies down,” Zola said, her casual tone would have been utterly chilling to most people. It got my blood pumping. “The vampires will come for me. The necromancer will come with them. They’ll be his shields, no doubt.”

The fairy gave a nod and zipped toward the tree line, meeting another pair of wings before vanishing into the night.

I shuffled forward a step. “Please, allow me,” I said.

“Oh? Ah was never one to dishonor a gentleman,” she said, her smile as sharp as her sarcasm. My mouth twitched and she waved me off. “Sure sure, Old Man. Ah’ll wait right behind you. Just tell me when your ass needs saving.”

The kid laughed quietly and I heard the safety click off his gun. A few more clicks. Make that guns.

We heard the groans first. You’d think necromancers would be just fine with zombies, but I hate the damned things. A chill ran up my spine before a surge of adrenaline chased it off. Zombies aren’t quiet creatures. Some powered by auras and a skilled necromancer, some by ley lines, a few by soularts—a hot mess of forbidden magic. Didn’t matter if the zombie didn’t have a head, or lungs, the things could all groan, and their groans seemed to shake the earth.

But it wasn’t zombies coming out of the woods. Two vampires walked into the clearing, casual as if they were out for an evening stroll. The first was tall, blond, ripped, and reminded me of the cover of a dime romance novel. He faded back into the woods before I realized what was happening. The small Asian vampire beside him moved fast. I’d never seen such speed from a vampire. His leathers blurred into a brown haze as he moved on the kid.

I didn’t even get to shout a warning.

The kid’s aura flared. I knew his Sight was seeking out the most vital parts of the vampires’ hearts. The report of his guns shattered the night. Three shots and the Asian vampire slumped to the ground. The kid never missed. I didn’t realize how fast the vampire had been until I saw how close he’d gotten to the kid. Roach was on his feet before the vamp stopped twitching. One gun fell to the ground and he drew the gleaming barrel of a fifty-caliber monstrosity. If the other guns shattered the night, the next four shots obliterated it.

Chunks of the blond vampire and bark erupted at the tree line. The blond fell to his knees just inside a circle of moonlight. A quarter of his head gone, but the kid didn’t take any chances. One more shot to the heart and the only sound left was a ringing in my ears.

“Oh my,” Zola said.

The kid holstered his guns and propped his foot up on the remains of the Asian vampire. “Just lead bullets, in case you were wondering,” he said with a smirk.

Zola glanced at me and I nodded.

“Roach is a good gun.”

“Ah’d heard if you caused enough trauma you could kill a vampire like that. Never seen it, though.”

“You have to cut their aura off from the blood supply,” I said. “It’s all tied to the heart and brain, but it’s still best to burn the bodies. They can recover from some outrageous damage.”

Zola nodded.

I felt a surge of power move through the air around us. The dead vampire reached up and snapped the kid’s left forearm. Roach went from beaming smile to utter agony in a heartbeat. He stumbled backward and barely got his right arm up to block a kick from the mangled vampire. The way the kid went down, I just hoped nothing important was broken. As I moved forward, the kid’s eyes glazed over and I felt his power trickle through the field. His aura flared black as his necromancy touched the vampire. He stiffened and grimaced as he got to know more than he ever wanted to about our dead friend.

The vampire stumbled away, trailing blood and viscera, following whatever order the kid had just given it.

Enough, it was time to end this. A third vampire still lurked in the woods.

“Damn,” the kid said between groans. “There’s another necro here. That thing’s a zombie.”

Good, good. He was okay. But now we had two vampiric zombies, one necromancer, and another vampire lurker. I figured they were zombies when the blond managed to crawl away with the amount of damage it had taken. They’d be back as soon as their creator realized he’d lost control of one of them.

“Ah can help, if you’d like,” Zola said.

I couldn’t stop a smile as I spat on the ground. “They’ll come back. They want the defenseless old woman.” Zola snorted as the kid brushed himself off, cradling his left forearm. He rolled his right shoulder, and vanished into the shadows of a fallen tree.

Dead vampires attacking necromancers. Attacking us! I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity, and the sound rolled out of me like a thunderclap. The echo was rivaled only by the ring of gunshots. Our guests were already back.

Power shifted and instinct took over. Ten thousand needles tore through my skin. A cloak of darkness rolled up from the ground as shards of bone and slivers of artifacts slid through my skin and locked side by side. I watched bits of iron and earth and rust pull together like a fluid, crawling up my legs and body like a growing decay. Blood dripped from the fresh wounds to mingle with and darken the power gathering around me.

Someone cursed in the shadows as my body altered and visible power settled over me like tendrils of living darkness, ink dripping into water, a body armored in decaying bark. I moved, and the sound was like cartilage snapping a hundred times over as tiny bits of the macabre mosaic covering my body slid and popped over each other.

The only voice I heard clearly was one of the fairies. “So it’s true.”

I smiled, half drunk on the power around me as two vampiric zombies focused on Zola. They were broken and battered, but could move fast, faster than they should have been able to. That meant the other necro had them enthralled. I opened my mouth to speak and only a deep groan came out, reverberating across the field and catching our attackers’ attention. They didn’t hesitate. The small Asian vampire in brown leathers moved first, but it was the nearly headless vampire that leapt at me.

A lot of necromancers get finicky about using their powers, too afraid to deal with the side effects or risk a soulart. I was too old to give a crap about that kind of risk anymore. That, and I’d gotten damn good at insulating myself with soularts.

Dell fired four quick shots, and then fell back when I moved.

My aura surged forward. It felt like my own hands wrapping around the blond’s neck, my own fingers digging into his skull and twisting his head, pulling the neck further than it was ever meant to stretch. The head came off with a snap and I slammed it into the Asian vampire with a hollow thud and shower of gore. The zombie didn’t scream, just grunted as his compatriot’s head struck him like a cannonball. A flicker of thought and power tore the spinal column from the headless vampire. Not even the necromancer would be able to raise the vampiric zombie again.

My laughter shook the battlefield and I felt my lips peel back into a grin as power caressed my aura. So easy. It would be so easy to give in to that power. Ride it, use it, and destroy … everything.

I didn’t see Zola move. Didn’t sense the power she must have gathered. All I heard was the final whisper of an incantation, “…eversiotto.” All I saw was the flash of lightning that tore across the field and obliterated the top third of the Asian vampire.

I blinked, trying to rid myself of the afterimages marching across my vision. The pause gave me time to collect myself, pull back from the precipice I swore I’d never cross again.

A third vampire with dark hair and a weak chin stopped dead behind the ruined bodies of his allies. He glanced from the bodies, to me, and then locked his eyes on Zola. His teeth were blinding as he snarled and stepped toward her.

I reached for him with my power, ready to eviscerate him, and found nothing. Human. The necromancer masked himself as a vampire. There was no dead aura for me to twist and destroy. He raised a cloaked arm in my direction without taking his eyes from Zola. I couldn’t hear the incantation that followed, but it didn’t matter. I waited to see what was going to happen, a savage grin curling my lips.

“Impadda.” I said, though no one would be able to understand it. A half sphere of energy snapped up in front of me, flowing like melted glass and blazing with the blackened colors of my aura. A jagged yellow bolt of power ripped across it in a thundering flash of sparks.

I blinked the spots away in time to see more flashes of light deeper in the woods. A low voice echoed inside my head. He’s a necromancer. Careful Old Man. If I knew how to talk back at the voice in my head, I would have. It wasn’t Zola. One of the fairies, maybe? Two zombies shambled out of the woods behind the necromancer. I saw a flash of silver as a seven-foot fairy dashed behind each in quick succession. They fell to the ground in pieces. The fairy’s sword struck out at the necromancer, but the man shrugged it off with another flash of sparks and power. The fairy glared at the necromancer, hatred palpable in the air between the two.

I strained my focus, pulling back on my power enough to allow coherent speech. “Roach.”

So fast. The gunshot. A spray of blood. The black cloak spiraled to the ground with the shot’s energy. A tornado of power erupted from the necromancer, flattening and splintering the trees around him, tossing the fairy into the tree line, and then silence reigned.

“He’s gone,” Zola said.

I walked to the small patch of fallen trees to see for myself. She was right, of course. He was gone. I let my power fade, let a thousand bloody things slide back beneath my skin. “Interesting trick he has.”

Zola cursed loud and fast, a contrast to her usual slow speech. “It was Zachariah,” she spat. “He was always good with zombies.”

“Zachariah.” The name was bitter on my tongue.

“One of Philip’s ilk, as insane as his master,” Zola said. Her voice was flat, dead, and I thought I might know why.

“So it’s true?”

She nodded.

“Sorry girl.”

Philip had been Zola’s lover for decades, well over a century. I’d heard rumors he’d died, but those rumors had clearly been wrong. I didn’t want to press her for details. Death is a constant companion for necromancers, but that doesn’t mean we want to talk about our old scars.

“So, introduce me,” she said as she gestured to the kid.

“Come over and say hi, Roach,” I said.

“My bloody name is Dell,” he grumbled as he picked up a gun from the grass and clicked his safeties on. He sighed and tucked the face mask under his bad arm.

“Eat your sugar, Roach.”

He stared at me for a moment and blinked once before shaking his head. He had a mouthful of chocolate a moment later.

“Ah guess we all have our coping tricks.” Zola laughed, held out her hand, and shook Dell’s. His eyes widened a bit as she almost fractured the bones in his hand.

He swallowed and said, “You’re really … I mean, Zola?”

“God forbid there be two of me.”

I laughed, but the kid just glanced between us a few times. He let go of her hand and took a step back. Dell was appropriately cowed, and I felt a small glimmer of pride as he actually bowed to my old friend.

There were voices near the tree line. Two seven-foot fairies appeared at the edge of the field, one still in the shadows, the other with his back to us. I watched as the hidden figure seemed to glow without lighting the woods around him and snapped into the small five-inch size I used to think all fairies were. The remaining fairy held up his hand before he turned toward us.

He wore a suit of armor, deep brown leather with whorls of silver metal worked into it. It took me a minute to realize that the metal formed wards. Some were shields, others I didn’t recognize. I’d never seen a more intricate piece of armor, and started to feel uneasy, even as the fairy sheathed the shimmering blade in his right hand.

I was surprised when he held out that same hand and shook mine a moment later. Straight black hair fell over his shoulders, framing the sharp angles of his face and the black ice in his slanted eyes. The fairy’s voice was a deep rumble. I’d never heard anything like it, as if my feet were hearing more through the vibrations than my ears. “I hope your travels find you well, Wasteland Guardian.”

My eyes narrowed as the fairy smiled, released my hand, and turned to Zola. “Give Cara my best. I do hope she finds herself well.”

“Dell, may I see your arm?” The kid glanced between the fairy, me, and Zola. Zola nodded once, and a small smile raised the fairy’s lips. “You are quite a marksman, son. Friend of my friend, be well so you may help us again.” He wrapped both his hands around the break in the kid’s arm. Dell grimaced and the fairy said, “Socius Sanation.” A flash of light bathed the group for a brief moment and Dell grunted.

The fairy stepped backward as the light faded. He nodded once to Dell, and vanished into a black swirl with a crack of thunder. Only a thin sparkle of fairy dust remained.

“My arm’s fixed.” The kid stared at it, flexed his arm, and stared at it some more. I’d been healed by the Fae before, and it was an experience, but I’d never seen a Fae vanish like that.

I turned to stare at the void where the fairy had been standing and gestured after him. “How did he …?”

Zola shook her head. “Don’t ask. That’s one of Cara’s old friends. You remember her, don’t you?”

I nodded. Scary, scary, beautiful old fairy woman. She’d helped stop me once, when things were bad. She was fierce and, if I’m being honest, scary as hell. I couldn’t help but like the old girl, but she ran with some powerful Fae. It was generally a good idea to stay away from powerful Fae, if you enjoyed life as a biped.

“That was Glenn you just met.” Zola’s eyes shifted quickly to focus on my left eye, then my right as I cursed. Glenn, the nickname of the Fae King. Bloody hell.

“And you felt no need to warn me?” I stared at the shadows where Glenn had disappeared and cursed, fluidly and at great length.

“You seem more yourself tonight, Old Man. Much more than the last time I saw you.”

I breathed out through a harsh laugh at Zola’s quick change of topic. I knew what I’d been the last time I’d seen her. I’d been a monster. Mindless, brutal, I’d been consumed by rage and fury, a walking shade of death. The name for it flickered across the back of my mind, but I wouldn’t grant it the power of a name. Not that night. Instead, I nodded. “Those days are done and gone.”

“I hope so,” she said, sliding one arm around my side and leaning her head on my shoulder. “You’ll always be the best of them. Ah just …” she said, and then stopped. She was not one to be at a loss for words. The silence stretched uncomfortably across her face before she closed her eyes.

“Did you bring it?” I asked.

She nodded as she stepped away and pulled the gray hilt of an old Scottish claymore from her belt. There was only a hole where you’d expect the blade to be. Zola held it out and I grabbed one of the quatrefoils to take it from her.

“Incredible,” I said as my fingers traced the small holes that spiraled up the grip. “I haven’t seen one of these in a thousand years.”

“Is it safe?” Zola asked.

“It’s from the Fae?”

“Yes,” she said.

I turned and walked past our extinguished campfire. It wasn’t long before I stood on the shore of the river. Zola and Dell’s footsteps echoed behind me. The river and the hoot of an owl were the only other noises I noticed as I turned the focus in my hands.

“Only way to be sure,” I said. “Stand back.”

I waited for them to reach the tree line before I nodded to myself. Aural blades were a lost art, but they hadn’t been lost all that long to those of us with a good memory. I held the hilt out in front of me, angled over the waters, and forced my aura into the circle of my thumb and forefinger.

The wards etched into the old metal burst into brilliant life and I smiled as the blade shot six feet into the air. I swept the blade into the edge of the river, and watched as it cleaved a small boulder in two. One half tumbled out of sight into the deeper shallows.

I released the blade, and it snapped out of existence.

“It is magnificent,” I said, turning to Zola.

Dell stared at me slack jawed.

“Good,” Zola said, holding out her hand. “Damian thinks you’re borrowing it and will be sending a gift as thanks. Just … just make sure it’s safe to use.”

“I’m doing what?” I asked. “And what kind of gift should I send? Wouldn’t it be easier to tell him I’m testing the thing?”

Zola shrugged. “He eats all the time. Send him food. Ah’m sure he can find a use for that.”

I glanced at Dell. “I can relate.”

Dell narrowed his eyes as he took another bite of chocolate.

“Ah hope to see you again,” Zola said.

I frowned. “Why did you say that? What’s wrong?”

“They’re going to talk, Zachariah and the other necromancers. They’ll know you’re not some crusty old legend.”

I shook my head. “They won’t know that ’til they meet me.”

She nodded once and glanced at the stars. “Will you come fight with us? When we need you?”

“That’s why we’re here, Zola. When you need us, we’ll both be there.” I hugged my old friend. “You’ll not be rid of me this century.”

She laughed as we said goodbye.

Epilogue

A few weeks later. Death’s Door. Saint Charles, Missouri.

“Bubbles! NO!” Damian watched the cu sith’s furry butt vanish into the enormous hole in the wall in the back of the shop. The pups were up to his waist and had enlarged their den to an alarming degree.

Foster laughed from his perch on the old grandfather clock. “Come on, Damian. You have to admit, that was pretty funny.”

“It was an entire bag of Oreos.”

“And hilarious.”

Damian smiled at the small fairy, and it felt good. He hadn’t smiled much in the short time since Stones River. The cost had been too high. Now Nixie was back in Europe, and Damian missed her like all hell. In the end, he just felt better smiling again.

The bell jingled on the front door, so he abandoned the Oreos to their subterranean fate.

“Anything going out today?” the postman asked, holding out a stack of envelopes.

Damian shook his head.

The postman nodded and turned to leave when Damian started thumbing through the mail.

The last envelope was thicker than the others, and a bit stiff. It didn’t have a return address. Damian looked at the postmark: Columbia, Missouri. He frowned and started peeling it open, wondering who the immaculate, looping handwriting belonged to.

There was a small note that said only “Thank you.” Behind it was a gift card, and upon closer examination Damian said, “Holy shit.”

“What is it?” Foster asked.

“Two fifty dollar gift cards to Auntie Anne’s.”

“Holy shit!” he said.

“I’ll meet you at the car.” Damian flipped the sign on the front window to Closed.

“We should take some to Sam,” Foster said. “Or eat it all ourselves. That works too.”

Damian opened the back door and Foster swooped out ahead of him. There was a clatter of pony-sized claws behind them, and Damian turned to find Bubbles and Peanut staring at him. Bubbles started panting.

“Wait here. And try not to eat the entire shop.”

Bubbles sucked in her tongue and chuffed at him before walking away indignantly.

Damian and Foster made their escape.

Black Friday

A Vesik Short Story

Eric R. Asher

Damian’s Christmas List

1.   Foster & Aideen – Lightsaber? Yes, definitely. And so much fudge.

2.   Sam – a solemn promise not to make her punch herself using my necromancy. For a year. Maybe six months. Eh, a week.

3.   Zola – Ribbon candy. Or that awful horehound stuff.

4.   Dad & Mom – New welcome mat. Like Carter had with the fangs, but with vampire fangs.

5.   Cara – Pfff, whiskey.

6.   Frank – Fire extinguisher for his jerky.

7.   Edgar – Sunglasses, hahaha. Maybe not. Might kill me.

8.   Old Man – A sense of humor. Will definitely kill me.

9.   Dell – 1 pound peanut butter cup. Better make it two.

10.  Vicky – Stuffed panda.

11.  Nixie – It needs to be good, but I’m done thinking right now. What’s next?

Chimichangas. I should finish the list, but chimichangas.

I looked out across the sea of people and cringed. Flashes of leather and fur and cries of children pummeled my senses. Someone tripped me and I fell face-first onto the marble battlefield. I softened the blow with my forearm, barely keeping my precious cargo out of the filth. I picked myself up, wincing at the pain in my arm and grinding my teeth.

“You okay?” Foster asked.

I glanced at the fairy hovering over my shoulder, wishing he’d draw the sword sheathed between his black and white atlas moth wings to cut a bloody path out of this hall of horrors.

“Uh, Damian? You’re looking at me kind of funny.”

A third box went down, caught in the clutches of some small creature whose coat seemed stitched from blood and marshmallows, and then a fourth vanished. Only one remained. I shouted, letting the battle cry echo around me as I dove for the last box of ribbon candy. “It is not this day!”

One of my pink-clad foes leapt away from me. I heard her venom-filled whispers. “What’s wrong with that guy, Mommy?”

“He’s probably off his medication like your Uncle Norbert, dear.”

I ignored the taunts of my enemies and their irritated parents as the slick cellophane crinkled beneath my fingers, and raised my prize in victory.

With conquest firmly gripped between my fingertips, I raised the precious cargo clutched in my other hand, and stuffed half the Auntie Anne’s pretzel into my mouth.

“Victory is sweet,” I said around a mouthful of glorious dough.

“It’s a cinnamon and sugar pretzel you nut,” Foster muttered.

“You don’t understand.” I paid for the ribbon candy and turned back to Foster as we walked away. “You don’t show up to a gift exchange without ribbon candy for Zola. It could end in blood.”

“She’s a little more reasonable than that,” Foster said.

“Oh really? Ask Sam about the Great Candy Shortage.”

“What?”

“It’s a thing. Two years in a row we couldn’t find this stuff.” I shook the box. “Two holidays of grumpy Zola. You’ve never seen such horror.”

“I just watched you dive through a crowd of people for a box of candy.”

“It sounds kind of stupid when you put it like that.”

“Indeed.”

I looked back at the battlefield, the conquered people still waiting in lines … the screaming kids … and the vacant display of ribbon candy. I took another bite of pretzel and looked at Foster. “I hate Black Friday.”

“Then why … why do you drag me out here every year?”

I shrugged. “Tradition.” I tore a little piece of cinnamon sugar dough off for him and smiled. “And pretzels.”

Year’s End

A Vesik Short Story

Eric R. Asher

Sam narrowed her gaze and scratched Jasper behind his eyes. The gray furball purred and swelled and nestled into our parents’ couch beside her and the presents stacked precariously on the armrest.

“Take it back,” she said.

“Fine,” I said. “Fine. I promise not to use my necromancy to make you punch yourself in the face for two weeks.”

“Children,” Mom said, raising an eyebrow while sitting a small steaming teacup and saucer on the coffee table.

“She started it,” Foster said, picking up a coffee stirrer and dropping it into the very alcoholic bourbon and cider.

“Oh you little bug.” Sam growled.

Foster flexed his wings and took a long pull on the straw before wincing away. “Holy hell.”

“Bug spray,” Sam said.

Aideen took a sip and smacked her lips. “It’s quite nice. Is that butter I taste, Andi?”

Mom nodded and settled herself onto the loveseat beside Dad. He put his arm around her and shifted a small stack of presents with his foot.

“Alright,” Frank said as he stepped around the snoring cu siths by the fireplace. He set a platter of cookies and chocolate covered bacon on the coffee table.

“Dear god,” Foster said. “There’s no fudge, you heathen.”

“I got it.” I looked toward the kitchen and smiled. Vicky hummed along with the Christmas music, batting Shiawase’s hand away when he tried to help.

“Maybe don’t put that by Foster,” Mom said. “He has quite the reputation.”

“A deserved reputation,” Aideen said after taking another sip of cider.

“Thank you, Vesiks,” Shiawase said. “I am honored to be at your gathering.” He bowed slightly before sitting on the floor by the coffee table.

“We can bring in a chair from the kitchen,” Dad said.

“Unnecessary, but thank you for the offer.”

The room shook. Glasses rattled in the cabinets and Foster steadied the small pyramid of fudge.

“Is he actually coming?” Sam asked.

The stone above the fireplace shifted, two black pockets forming above the mantle before pale green fires lit in each. A rap came at the patio door a moment later.

“Aeros,” I said. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“I have not seen a Christmas like this in many years,” the Old God said. “I thank you for having me.”

Sam blipped over to the door and slid it open, leaving Jasper to tumble into the depression her butt had left in the cushion. The furball growled and righted himself.

Zola grunted as Sam’s hug threatened to fracture things best not fractured.

“It’s good to see you too, girl. It’s good to see you too.”

Zola offered me a smile as she made her way around the room, finally dragging a kitchen chair over between me and the snoring cu siths. Vicky followed Sam back to the couch and snatched a wide-eyed Jasper off the coffee table, his mouth stuffed with fudge.

“What a pig,” Foster said through a mouthful of chocolate.

“Fairies,” Aeros’s face muttered from the stone fireplace.

Dad stared at the rocky visage, but it didn’t seem to phase Mom at all.

“Pig,” Foster said again.

“He’s a dragon, not a pig,” Vicky said, hopping up to sit between Sam and me, barely leaving room for Frank to squeeze in. “Is it time for presents now?”

It was the kind of night that I would never forget, filled with family and food and the stories we’d probably retell until we were all dead and buried. I was pretty sure that wouldn’t stop some of us. Hell, look at Shiawase for that matter.

After a time, the wrapping paper sat in mountainous chaos across the room, leaving Foster and Aideen to question what they would do with a new lightsaber, Zola with a mouthful of horehound candy, a vampire welcome mat for Mom and Dad, and a fire extinguisher for Frank’s jerky.

I pulled the ribbon of the last present and tossed the tissue paper away. Inside waited a black T-shirt with a vampire’s skull on it. I smiled at Vicky. “Thanks, Kid.”

She kept her arms wrapped tight around the giant spherical stuffed panda bear we’d gotten her.

“Best Christmas ever?” I asked.

She hesitated, and then nodded.

“A toast,” Dad said. “To the friends who couldn’t be here, the friends we’ve lost, and the family we’ve gained. Here’s to the new year. May it be a peaceful one.” Dad raised his cup, and we all followed.

Cheers.

When Destiny Calls

A Vesik Novelette

Eric R. Asher

CHAPTER ONE

If it were a ringing phone, I might have answered it. Instead, I watched the dim golden glow swell and recede around my wood beaded bracelet in the shadows of the old house. I wasn’t sure how long it had been since Koda had given it to me, but what had once seemed an honor felt more like a leash as time passed.

The glow faded as quickly as it had started. When it began anew, I couldn’t ignore it. The ancient wood felt cool when I picked it up and slid it over my wrist, wincing as it caught and pulled at the fresh bandages on my arm.

You are wounded, Elizabeth Faith Wayne. Cornelius is a great mentor, but the art of the blood mages is taking its toll.

“I’m fine,” I said aloud once I reached the hallway, knowing he’d already heard my thoughts before I’d so much as uttered a word. “And don’t call me that. My name is Beth. Where should we meet?”

We need not meet if you do not wish it.

“It’s four in the morning, Koda. If you didn’t want to meet, you wouldn’t be calling me at four in the morning.”

Silence followed my steps through the shadowed house, though some part of me knew he wore a smug smile.

“Meet me in the woods behind Ashley’s house,” I said.

After a brief hesitation, the voice that was everywhere and nowhere said, I thought Cornelius advised against that.

I wasn’t sure if the old ghost was trying to annoy me, or only expressing a genuine curiosity. Either way, I wasn’t indulging him. Not tonight.

“The woods, Koda. Down by the river.”

He said no more. Occasionally the old ghost revealed how perceptive he could be, even if he hadn’t been in my head.

CHAPTER TWO

I stole Ashley’s bunny slippers and stopped by the bathroom to check my bandages. The bandage caught on a scab as I unwrapped it. I winced at the sudden, sharp burn. Pain is a fact of life as a blood mage’s apprentice. A thin trail of blood seeped from the edge of my wound. I twisted my arm, checking the lines and patterns of the cut.

The older cuts were only pale scars now, and some had vanished entirely. Cornelius told me a spell well-executed will heal the deepest cut. I thought he’d meant magic could heal the channels carved into my flesh. I should have realized it was just some philosophical rambling. It’s an odd thing, looking at your own lacerated flesh with a sense of satisfaction. The pattern of the spell healing in my arm had set a powerful protection around Ashley’s home that Cornelius himself would be proud of.

I looked up and met my own gaze in the shadowed mirror. I thought I’d see a change in myself one day, some sign of the darkness that lived inside me, but my hair stayed a light brown and my hazel eyes were unchanged. I rewrapped my left arm, remembering the day I learned what I truly was, able to call power with blood.

Cornelius taught you well.

“I thought you were done talking,” I whispered.

Cornelius had always been a strict teacher. Some seven years now I’d trained with him near Austin, but it was in the last three that things had changed. He’d grown remote, and the more distant he’d become, the more intense our training became. He’d tell me the way things were going with the world as he bandaged me. I hadn’t much believed him until I’d walked into a group of water witches unannounced near Walter E Long Lake. It seemed like a chance encounter at the time, but now I’m not so sure.

I moved to Saint Louis after that for a time, until the war with Ezekiel began. Cornelius sent me back to Austin before the real fighting started. I still hadn’t forgiven him for that, not really. What good are powers you never use?

Something moved down the hallway, toward Ashley’s room. Low to the ground and hissing as it went by. “Shut up, Crumb Catcher,” I hissed back at Ashley’s devil cat.

I pulled a jacket off the couch. It wasn’t winter yet in Saint Charles, but since I’d moved back from Austin, everything felt like bone-chilling cold. A light, early frost crunched beneath my feet as I made my way out the back door, silently sliding the patio door closed.

My breath fogged as the cold replaced the warm air in my lungs. It was odd staying with Ashley’s coven. I never thought a group of green witches would welcome a blood mage’s apprentice into their fold. I’d been raised by a green family, but still … a spell cast in blood was darker than anything in the green.

The woods closed around me, sheltering me from starlight and the unnerving sense of watching eyes. I’d learned to trust my instincts, and the feeling of being watched probably meant some of the River Pack wolves were nearby. They’d kept a close eye on Ashley and the coven since necromancers attacked the priestess in her home.

Carter, their old Alpha, had died battling the Destroyer, and that child … Koda had told me what’s to become of her. That poor, innocent thing is destined to become the Destroyer, destined to wear the mantle of a demon.

“She is not so innocent anymore.”

I narrowed my eyes as my fingernails bit into my palms. He stood before me as any mortal would, though his flesh was golden and somewhat translucent, and his legs seemed more like vapors where they met the ground. The river churned behind him, where a small rapid crashed and bubbled in the quiet night. I couldn’t smell the mildew that time of year, a humid mix of rot and life. I could only smell the cold.

“She is a child, Koda.”

“She was a child.” The ghost ran his hand across the oversized prayer beads hanging around his neck. He wore the same hooded cloak I’d always seen him in. “You shared her name once, Elizabeth, and perhaps that is why it affects you so. Her name is Vicky now, and if we do not help Vesik, the mantle of the Destroyer will devour her.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“I have something for you to deliver to Damian Valdis Vesik.”

“He’s bug nuts, Koda.”

The old ghost laughed. “I will not offer you an argument there. He slew Azzazoth, faced Prosperine, and stood upon the fields of Gettysburg at the side of Leviticus Aureus. He is nothing if not mad, but he would do anything to protect his friends, and he will lay down his life if it means giving that child so much as a moment’s peace.”

I didn’t speak—it was not so much that he’d said something dire, as that was rather a usual thing for Koda—I’d never seen the old ghost laugh.

“Vesik has set a terribly dangerous event into motion with his victory over Ezekiel and the breaking of one of the Seals.”

“How long until he breaks another Seal?” I asked. “Is he going to invite the dark-touched over for tea?”

Koda inclined his head a fraction. “There are few who have lived at any point in time with the power to stop what is coming, and even less that would care to.”

“The dark-touched?” I asked.

Koda nodded. “The Seal that stands between the prison of the dark-touched and this realm has fallen. Creatures of the Abyss will cross over, and this world will face an enemy unlike any of recent memory.”

“There has to be a way to stop it. To restore the Seal?”

“No. We can only fight them.” Koda flexed his fingers and met my eyes. “I cannot fight them, but Vesik can. He is a light in the Abyss, Elizabeth. With the Seal broken, we are to witness the return of the dark-touched, but hope is not lost so easily. Get the book to Vesik. Tell him to unite it with the Black Book. Then he will have the Book that Bleeds, and the rest is out of our hands.”

“Did you find Camazotz?”

Koda sighed and glanced at the shadowed canopy of autumn leaves above us. “Yes.”

I waited, and then waited some more before he finally met my eyes.

“He considers the truce with Faerie broken after one of his children died in the battle with the basilisk.”

“Christ …”

“Hold tight to your hope. He does not consider the breaking of the truce to be an act of war. It is a wise move. I do not believe him powerful enough to defeat Faerie, and in this way he courts favor with Gwynn Ap Nudd.”

Another madman, I thought to myself.

“Do not speak those words aloud, Elizabeth. Never speak them aloud.”

I nodded.

“Camazotz will join with us eventually, I believe. I am afraid he may allow much bloodshed before revealing his true alliances. He is not known for subtlety when making a point.”

Koda gestured and an ancient tome appeared in his grasp. Wisps of golden power bent and floated and spiraled away. He held it out to me and I took it. The book felt warm, and the wisps of power dissipated when Koda released his grip on it.

I turned it over in my hands. Some faded gilt lettering adorned the leather cover. I frowned, unable to place the lettering with anything I’d seen before. They were closer to runes than actual words.

“They are indeed,” Koda said.

I glanced up at him. It was so easy to forget how much of my mind he could hear.

“Get the book to Vesik, Elizabeth. No matter the cost. He may well be the last bastion between this world and darkness. Camazotz could be a great ally, but if I have learned anything in this life, it is the simple fact nothing is guaranteed.”

I hefted the book and held it out slightly. “Why can’t you take it yourself?”

Koda shook his head. “The Watchers and the Society of Flame know I’ve been meddling with Damian. They cannot know he has the book.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I have known him since he was a child, Elizabeth. That man has been through more horrors and battles than even the priestess has told you of. The sacrifices he has made, the damnation he accepted to save his sister, and the fact he is the seventh son of …” Koda trailed off and glanced over his shoulder. “The wolves still guard the woods here.”

It didn’t seem like a question, but I nodded.

“That is a good thing. I must take my leave, but we will meet again, Elizabeth.”

Koda seemed to step backwards and fade at the same time. Then he was gone. I turned to the river and watched the small waves and ripples crash into the gravelly shore.

At first it seemed a large fish had nearly breached the surface, but the bubble of water continued to rise until it reached past my head. As the water receded, a figure more stunning than any mere mortal stood before me.

I slid Koda’s bracelet off my wrist and dropped it into my pocket. “It’s good to see you again, Euphemia. Did you hear?”

The dark-haired woman nodded, her waist-length hair shifting in the moonlight and brushing the surface of the river.

“Are you going to tell Nixie?”

“We have chased rumors of that book for many months, Beth.” Her voice was musical, like the timbre of chimes carried on the wind. “I must tell her.”

“Won’t Damian tell her anyway? Why go around him?”

“It is not my intention to deceive him. Things are … complicated with our courts. If there is any hope we will prevail against the Queen, we must have the best information at any time. It was hard not to reveal myself to an old friend, but I do not wish for Koda to be put at risk.”

“Euphemia … be careful.”

“Always, my friend. I came here to deliver a warning. Be wary of any undines outside of myself or Nixie. The Queen has sent assassins across the sea, and they have struck down a great many allies. Take care of your witch.” Her gaze lingered on my bandages. “Will you still not let me heal your wounds?”

“No, I used them to cast a protection spell over the coven’s home. I need to let these heal on their own to keep the spell strong.”

“If you are certain.”

I smiled, nodded, and watched Euphemia’s skin pale and grow translucent before she vanished into the waters once more.

I crawled back into bed. The heavy book fit neatly beneath my pillow. It wasn’t terribly comfortable, but I wasn’t overly concerned with sleep. I stared at the black ceiling for what seemed the entire night. In the morning, I’d walk into Damian’s shop, Death’s Door.

CHAPTER THREE

I watched the images roll by on the morning news. They were back where Gettysburg used to be, where the Fae city that consumed the eastern seaboard had first risen. Seeing those Fae towers where cities used to be was something I might never get used to. I turned the volume up when they panned to a suit with what looked to be fifty microphones in front of him.

“Rest assured, we have the situation fully in hand. Our reconnaissance has shown no expansion or aggression from these new immigrants.”

I snorted. ‘Immigrants.’ What a jerk.

One of the reporters barked out a question. “What do you make of the people who don’t show up on film?”

“Unfounded rumors. Please, only questions in your turn.” He nodded to another reporter.

A small woman stood up. “I was at the bridge where the man calling himself Ezekiel murdered a dozen people before a giant squid attacked us.”

“A giant squid?” I said. “Honey, you need to let go of that denial.”

She didn’t pause to let the suit respond. “I’ve seen the people in the cities. They say you tried to bomb them. The people that don’t show up on film, I’ve seen them.”

A riot of sound went up. I couldn’t make out the words, but the suit finally called for silence. “Ma’am, I can’t say what you saw, or what you think you saw, but our armed forces are more than capable of handling any crisis inside our own borders. You need to calm down and—”

“There are millions of dead Americans who would disagree with you, Mister Secretary.”

I watched, somewhat impressed, as the woman threw her microphone to the ground and stomped away. Feedback squealed over the speakers before a tech silenced the feed.

The suit was good. He was damn good. He didn’t so much as bat an eye. The feed shrunk to the corner of the television while the main image returned to the newsroom. “We’re having some technical difficulties at the conference, but in the studio with us today is Professor Amos Brown. He has a rather … unique idea about the sightings from around the world. Professor?”

“Thank you. I’d like to propose that we are dealing with creatures that have coexisted with us for millennia. What you may refer to as fairies.”

“The fair folk?” the anchorwoman asked, not bothering to hide the exasperation in her voice. “As in fairy tales?”

“Indeed, but in their most sinister of forms. Footage has appeared showing missiles entering that city’s airspace, and then vanishing.”

“That could be easily faked.” The anchor’s mood had gone from exasperated to bored.

“Perhaps, but you need to consider the other possibilities. If you cannot kill them with bombs, you must kill them with iron. And what I’m proposing—”

“Breakfast!”

I was pretty sure it was the third or fourth time someone had shouted breakfast. Don’t get me wrong, it smelled good, but when you hadn’t slept for the entire night, breakfast didn’t really seem like the greatest motivator to get out of bed.

Thoughts on breakfast quickly crashed back into the lump beneath my pillow, and the newscast was of a far lesser concern. I slid the leather-bound tome out of its hiding place and dropped it into my purse by the nightstand. My nerves shivered at the thought of carrying that thing around. Koda didn’t really tell me what was in it, but his level of secrecy told me enough.

I pulled my hair back and snapped a rubber band over it. I threw on a long sleeved T-shirt that covered my bandages and a pair of khaki cargo pants. It took a minute to find another T-shirt that fit my mood. I snagged my go-to, emblazoned with the phrase “99 problems but a witch ain’t one” and strode out to breakfast with the coven.

Ashley stood by the waffle iron we’d gotten her as a birthday present, churning out gigantic Belgian waffles. Four more witches sat around the table, waving and saying good morning as I stepped into the little square kitchen.

“Light breakfast?” I asked.

Ashley glanced over her shoulder and nodded. “I’m not going to starve all of you while you’re staying with me.”

“You cook like the necromancer is coming for breakfast.” The cavernous voice spoke from just behind me, and sent a frisson of surprise up my spine. I spun to find a black man standing there, a tower of a man with a finely cut jawline.

“Alan!” I said, surprised to see the werewolf inside. My thoughts turned darker. “Was that … err … were you on duty last night?” I’d almost said more than I’d wanted to in front of the other witches. None of them seemed to take notice. Maybe they were just being polite, or maybe they didn’t suspect I was keeping things from them.

“I was, yes. Koda suggested I join you all for breakfast.”

“He did, huh?”

“Indeed.”

“You can see him too?” Mallory asked. I didn’t know Mallory very well. I didn’t know any of them outside of Ashley very well, if I was being honest with myself. She poured a circle of syrup over her waffle, not even bothering to fill in all the squares before looking up at Alan.

“I can,” he said. “Since Gettysburg, some ghosts are as plain as any of you to us.”

“Because Damian’s part of the pack now?” Ashley asked.

Alan nodded. “That’s Hugh’s suspicion, yes.” Hugh was a name I knew, the Alpha of the River Pack.

Ashley pulled another waffle off the iron. She sliced one quarter off and handed it to me on a plate before she handed the rest to Alan. “Eat up, you look like you’re fading away.”

I glanced up at the werewolf. Whatever he looked like, he sure as hell wasn’t fading away. “Did you still need those candles from the Double D, Ashley?”

She hesitated as she went to unplug the waffle iron. “I do, yes. Would you mind picking them up for me?”

Clearly I’d been as subtle as a dropped vase. “Sure. I needed some amber anyway.”

“I would be happy to walk with you, if you would like,” Alan said.

“Don’t you have to watch over the poor, helpless coven?” Ashley asked.

Alan let out a low laugh. “We’re smart enough to know you are not helpless, priestess. We’re also the kind to protect our friends, especially when we have failed in the past. You won’t be unguarded.”

Mallory squeaked and her fork clattered against her plate when something slammed against the patio door. It released a bark that shook the air around us.

Ashley gave Alan a small smile. “I appreciate it. Would you mind walking Peanut back to Damian’s?”

“Was he out there all night?” Alan asked, his brow furrowed.

Ashley nodded.

“How did I not hear him? Or smell him?”

“Pretty much any odd thing with that pooch can be written up to being a cu sith,” Ashley said. Peanut smashed his black nose onto the glass and smeared it across the entire width of the door with a squeak.

Alan slid the door open as Peanut crouched down and wiggled his furry green butt. Peanut’s tail snapped backwards like a whip, an impossibly long, braided whip, before the cu sith launched himself at Alan’s chest. The impact made a hollow thump.

Most people would have been knocked flat, but Alan barely took a step backwards. He ruffled the bristly fur all across the cu sith’s back while Peanut’s black paws clawed at Alan’s chest and a wide pink tongue slathered Alan’s face.

“What’s he doing here?” Alan asked, slowly letting Peanut back down to the floor.

“Damian’s just as overprotective as you lot,” Ashley said. “Peanut’s been here most nights since everyone returned from Gettysburg.”

“That’s been months.”

“We still don’t know what’s going to happen,” Ashley said. “No one’s heard anything from Camazotz. Edgar doesn’t think we can face the dark-touched without him, or at least not without a ‘learning curve.’ Everything else seems like idle threats and promises. Hern is supposedly at war with all of Glenn’s supporters, but where is he? He isn’t in the ruins of Falias on the eastern seaboard. All this, and how can the Fae possibly avoid a war with the commoners? They’ve already attacked Falias.”

I felt awful not telling Ashley what Koda had said, but I trusted Cornelius, and Cornelius trusted Koda. It still felt like some small betrayal.

“You’re worried?” Alan asked.

Ashley wiped down the waffle iron and tossed a paper towel into the trash. “Of course I’m worried. I’m worried about you, and the pack, and the coven, and Damian … He doesn’t seem the same since Gettysburg.”

“He’s …” Alan hesitated. “He’s planning. Damian is working on something, Ashley. A plan I doubt very much he wishes to involve you in.”

She sighed and crossed her arms. “That does make me feel a little better, I guess. He told you about the voices, and the visions?”

The table grew silent. Everyone stared at Ashley. She didn’t talk much about the goings-on outside of the coven, even though they all knew it could affect them. The entire world could see the Fae now, and while some people were terrified by the situation and the creatures they’d been living side by side with, others felt all Fae should die.

Alan rubbed his close-cropped hair, then looked at his hand and frowned. “Dammit, Peanut. That’s sticky.”

The cu sith just panted and nudged Alan’s thigh.

Alan turned his gaze back to Ashley. “Yes, I’ve heard about it. People wiser than me say we’re safe around him, and I have to believe that.”

Ashley turned back to the sink and began washing a mixing bowl. “I do too,” she said quietly.

“We can go as soon as you finish your waffle,” Alan said before he stuffed a huge bite into his own mouth.

I turned back to my plate. I didn’t feel hungry, but I needed to keep my energy up if I was going to heal the slashes across my arms.

CHAPTER FOUR

Walking in the cold wasn’t exactly my first choice, but I needed the air. Training with Cornelius lately had been more like researching a term paper in college than any kind of physical exertion. I know he tried to give my arms enough time to heal between sessions, but I really didn’t care to study the alliance between the blood mages and the Society of Flame any longer.

I stopped walking along the riverbank when Peanut darted in front of me and stopped abruptly. Only then did I realize we’d pulled ahead of Alan.

“You okay?” I asked.

He nodded and finished fumbling with something on his belt. “Koda wanted me to be sure you had these.” He held out a thin wooden box, two inches by six inches at the most. “I think some of the water witches may be tipping the old ghost off more than you would expect.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, taking the box between my index finger and thumb.

“Open it.”

I frowned and slid the bronze clasp to the side. The hinges were silent, revealing a black velvet tray with four thin, diamond-shaped blades. My father had raised me as an archer before he died, and the closest thing I could compare these blades to was the tip of a broad-head arrow. Each bore enough markings and etchings to leave almost none of the original surface metal behind.

“What are they?”

“They’re from Euphemia.”

Well, I guess we know who’s been talking to Koda, I thought to myself. “Am I supposed to mount them on an arrow?”

Alan shook his head. “Use them with your arts. They’re primarily meant to destroy undines, but Euphemia believes they will be powerful against any Fae.”

“I’m supposed to use them to cut?”

“That’s my understanding, yes.”

I sighed and closed the box. “Great, cutting myself with an enchanted Fae metal.” My complaints turned to incoherent grumbling as I stomped off down the riverbank.

“I thought you’d be a bit more appreciative of having a weapon to fight the undines,” Alan said. “They are nearly indestructible creatures.”

“I can kill things with a few spoken words and my blood, Alan. I don’t consider much to be indestructible.” I paused and patted my pocket, considering how unappreciative I sounded. “Sorry, and thank you for bringing them.”

“No need to apologize,” he said, stepping around me and hopping up the bank. He offered his hand. I took it after a moment’s pause. Before I’d met Alan and some of the others in the River Pack, I’d thought werewolves were all instinct and aggression. They could still be violent, and vicious, no doubt, but there was a peacefulness among the River Pack that surprised me.

“Why not just give them to me directly,” I asked. “Seems kind of roundabout to have you do it.”

“I suspect that has to do more with the politics of Faerie than anything else.”

We walked toward the old buildings and parking lots of Main Street. I’d heard it referred to as a time capsule, and I could see why. The old brick and cobblestones made it feel like you’d stepped back in time. If I had to guess, people who wanted to visit the past forgot that toilet paper wasn’t invented until the 1850s.

Something with a large and loud engine pulled around the corner. One of the massive transport vehicles we’d been seeing more and more of since the battle at Gettysburg bounced off the smooth asphalt and up onto the cobblestone street. The mild scent of the river fled before the churning onslaught of diesel fumes.

Seeing the National Guard strewn across this tourist trap made me twitchy. Main Street was a place for families and friends to gather and shop and eat, not a place for armored Humvees and soldiers carrying enough ordinance to level a building.

“I don’t like seeing that,” Alan said, as though he’d read my mind. His eyes tracked one of the personnel carriers.

I only grunted in response.

Alan raised an eyebrow and glanced at me.

One of the Humvees slowed, and two soldiers stared at us. I scratched absently at Peanut’s ruff before I realized it was probably Peanut they were staring at. They sped up a moment later, their tires bouncing across the cobblestones of Main Street.

While our president promised a decisive response to the horrors on the eastern seaboard, they soon came to realize they were hopelessly unprepared for that fight. Instead, he ordered the deployment of the military to every known location where Fae had been sighted. At least the government had been smart enough, or perhaps scared enough, not to enter the Fae city that had replaced a huge swath of the northeastern United States.

We crossed the rest of the parking lot and waited on the old stone curb. When the convoy passed, Death’s Door stood plain for all to see.

“I hope Sam’s not here,” I said, thinking of Damian’s vampire sister.

“Why’s that?” Alan asked as he led the way across the cobblestones.

“Vampires scare the hell out of me.”

A deep, rumbling laugh echoed out of Alan’s chest. “Sam scares most who meet her. Those who aren’t frightened of her are often frightened of her brother. Neither of them would ever harm a friend of Ashley’s. You must know that.”

Alan’s words were comforting, but I was still glad he was with me. I knew the stories of necromancers, and Cornelius said Damian was even more powerful than those old legends, like he was something else entirely.

I glanced up at the sign above the front door. Before the Fae were revealed in the aftermath of Gettysburg, it used to say something about souvenirs and gems to those without the Sight. Now the hidden sign spoke a new truth about our world. Established 1877, Potions, Spells, Grimoires, and Spirit Boards circled the gothic, interlaced Ds of the logo.

I shook my head and reached out for the aged brass handles, the paint worn around them. I tried to hide the deep breath I took before pulling the wavy glass open and stepping inside.

If there was one thing I loved immediately about Death’s Door, it was the smell. I took another deep breath, but this time I used it to take in the scent of candle wax, incense, old books, and … burnt popcorn? Someone shouted in the back room.

“It’s on fire, you idiot! Put it out!”

“Oh my god, I’m on fire!”

CHAPTER FIVE

Peanut chuffed at my side, unfazed at the sudden cries for water and a burn ward. He trotted forward, down an aisle filled with touristy souvenirs and feathers.

“Was that the door?” A much more reasonable voice asked.

“I don’t know! I’m on fire!”

The more reasonable voice, delicate and feminine said, “Damian, please, I’ve seen you much more on fire than that.”

The saloon-style doors swung open and revealed a fairy standing at least seven feet tall. Her armor chimed and slithered over her shoulders as her wings cleared the swinging door.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her gaze focused on me. Her eyes trailed to Alan and lit up immediately.

“Aideen,” he said with a nod. “Is Damian … okay?”

“Fine, fine,” she said as something crashed and glass shattered in the backroom.

The male voice, which at that point I assumed was a high pitched Damian, shouted a string of obscenities that grew ever louder. “We needed a new microwave anyway. You know that damn thing burned a chimichanga? How do you burn a frozen chimichanga?”

The saloon style doors swung open again to reveal a six and a half foot tall man with a smoking shirt sleeve. If I didn’t know how crazy he was, I’d think the scruffy, thin, gray-eyed necromancer was just a dork. I might actually admit that fact to someone if I didn’t know how scary he was.

Damian flopped onto the stool behind the counter.

“Please excuse our dramatic host,” the fairy said, turning to me again.

“You’re Aideen, right?” I asked, hoping I’d heard Alan correctly and wasn’t offending the seven-foot tall armored fairy.

“I am,” she said with a nod.

“You’re … full sized.”

A warm, white glow that emitted no luminescence enveloped the fairy before she snapped into a much smaller size.

“We have found it to be helpful keeping the tourists in line.”

“And it’s good for business,” Damian said.

Aideen sighed. “Can we help you find anything?”

“I’m actually here to see Damian. I have something from … a friend.”

The smoldering-sleeved necromancer perked up and leaned forward on the counter. “And you needed a werewolf bodyguard to bring it here?”

“Need is a strong word,” I said.

“Ouch,” Alan said, casting me a small smile.

“Ha!” Damian said, glancing at my bandages. “You’re …” He narrowed his eyes. “Beth, right? Elizabeth?”

“Just Beth, yes.”

Some thought seemed to darken his brow. I wanted to ask him what it was, but I didn’t want to pry. The guy’s bug nuts. I didn’t want to make him angry.

He shook his head. “Well, what is it?”

I glanced at Aideen. I didn’t know much about the fairy, and saying the wrong thing in front of the wrong person seemed like a good way to get yourself killed these days.

I nodded twice. “It’s a book.”

Damian’s gaze shot from me to the other two. “Let’s go upstairs. We’ll have a bit more privacy.”

“I will keep watch over the store,” Aideen said. A hurt look flashed across her face, and I wondered why.

Peanut trotted along behind Damian while the necromancer quickly rubbed the cu sith’s head. “He’s a lot more calm than Bubbles, usually. That’s the one you really need to—”

The saloon style doors flew open, and the other cu sith charged through, trampling Damian before leaping into the air. I watched Bubbles sail into Alan’s arms, landing with her paws around his neck. He grunted and spat trying to get away from an enormous pink tongue.

Damian regained his feet a second before the cu sith charged back at him, knocking him into the wall before vanishing into the back room again.

I couldn’t stop a sharp laugh, and that gave me pause. How could anyone take this klutzy shopkeep seriously when he stumbled around and managed to set himself on fire with a microwave? But he was a demon slayer, a deathspeaker who may have signed our death warrants by breaking a Seal.

“No respect,” Damian muttered as he stood up and brushed himself off. He stuck his head over the top of the door and nodded. “Alright, they’re both back in their hole.”

“How far under the shop have they dug?” Alan asked.

“Straight to hell, I think.”

“What?” I asked, following the group into the back. We passed an old grandfather clock that clicked in the relative silence. Something scratched at the walls, but I couldn’t see what.

Damian led the way past some shelves, pointing to a jagged hole in the wall. “They carved out a den. It’s …”

“Huge,” Alan said. “At least the building didn’t collapse yet.”

Damian flashed the werewolf a grin. “So optimistic with that ‘yet,’ Alan. Come on.” He started up a staircase, turned at a landing by the back door, and we followed him the rest of the way up the carpeted steps.

“So, what did Koda send you over here with?”

I only half heard his question. We had crested the top of the stairs by the time he finished asking it, and I stood at the end of a library that ran from one end of the building to the other. There wasn’t so much as an inch of space at the top of the shelves. The scent of old paper overpowered the room.

Damian and Alan made their way down to a low table surrounded by large, dark leather chairs. I took one slow step after another. I recognized some of the books, modern works on the history of wiccans, but others … others were bound in leather and flesh and deeply carved with runes I didn’t recognize.

A book of shadows caught my eye. It was an ancient thing, hundreds of years old. I knew it without reading it, as if it spoke to me. I started to reach for it, barely catching myself before my fingers touched it.

“Beth?” Damian asked.

When I met his eyes, I had the feeling that wasn’t the first time he’d said my name. “Sorry. I just … you have more books on witches than I expected.”

He squinted and nodded. “I think we have about two hundred and sixty of them now. You’re welcome to borrow them, outside of a few of the more dangerous volumes.”

I didn’t understand his offer. He knew I was close to Ashley’s coven, but why make that offer? Some of those books were worth thousands of dollars, and that was just the ones I recognized. What was his angle?

I realized I’d been silent too long again. I hurried down the aisle and said, “Thank you. That’s very generous.” I dropped into one of the open chairs, surprised at how far I sank.

“Good for naps,” Alan said, stretching his legs out with a lazy smile.

Damian gave a solemn nod. “You’ve learned my most secret of secrets. You can never leave here alive.”

“Just ignore him,” Alan said. “He has a terrible sense of humor.”

I gave the werewolf a somewhat nervous smile and unfolded my purse. The book slid out easily.

Damian cursed when the golden light exploded into the dimly lit nook. “What did you bring into this house?” He held up his hand as if asking for silence.

“Oh, not that thing,” Alan said as Damian pulled a brown, shriveled something off the shelf.

He held it in his palm and reached out to me.

“What is it?”

“A silence charm. No one will hear us.”

“What’s it made out of?” I asked. It felt fleshy against my palm, and it took everything I had not to snatch my hand back.

Alan took my left hand and the world became a muted silence.

“No one can hear us now,” Damian said. “Tell me, what is this?” He nodded at the book.

I didn’t understand why it was glowing again. “Koda said it’s the Book of Blood.” Damian reached for it with his free hand, and then stopped.

“To unlock the Book that Bleeds?” he asked, his eyebrows raised. “That’s a lost text. That book is legend. It can’t be real. It was mentioned in the Black Book, but I never thought … the Book of Blood … it’s like a key or something, right?”

“Yes,” I said. No one spoke for a moment. I broke the awkward silence. “Koda said to unite it with the Black Book. That’s all I know.”

Damian spun around to face the wall. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t focus on him. Reality seemed to bend away from the necromancer, forcing my gaze to Alan or even the shelves of books beside us. I had to lean forward to keep my hand against that ghastly charm.

When he turned back to us, a darkness laid in his hand unlike anything I’d felt before.

“That’s it?” I asked.

He nodded and ran his hand over the rough leather. I wanted to look away from the unholy thing. My skin tried to crawl away with my resolve when the necromancer set the book on the table and leaned back.

Was he trying to make me lean over that terrible thing? That blight upon our reality that cast its own pall over the room? I frowned, unable to stop myself.

“I’m sorry,” he said, leaning forward again and shifting the book to the opposite edge of the table. “I didn’t realize how much it was bothering you.”

I let go of Alan’s hand so I could hold out the warm, golden book. Damian gently took it from my hand and gasped. The golden glow swelled and brightened until the necromancer shouted, dropped the book, and the silence charm. He grimaced and held his head, whispering “quiet” over and over again.

Sound came rushing back to my ears.

Alan stood at his side in a heartbeat, seeming ready for anything. “Are you okay? Is it the souls?”

“Souls?” I asked.

“You don’t have to tell her that,” Damian said through gritted teeth.

Alan continued as though Damian hadn’t spoken a word. “The souls of those who died at Gettysburg attacked Vicky, the little ghost.” He paused and narrowed his eyes. “Attacked may be the wrong word, but they swarmed her. Damian took them away.”

“How do you ‘take’ them …” I trailed off and stared at the necromancer.

“Yeah,” he said. “I have some extra voices in my head now. Sometimes it’s worse than others.” He cringed and took a deep breath.

“Better?” Alan asked.

Damian blew out a breath. “Yes, thanks.” He turned his attention back to the Black Book, and the Book of Blood. “No sense waiting.”

Before either of us could so much as protest, he snatched up the Book of Blood and slammed it onto the Black Book. I expected something dramatic, a flare, fireworks, an explosion, something. Instead, the Book of Blood slowly sank into the Black Book, and instead of the gory, rough leather and pervasive sense of darkness, a nightmare sat in its place.

“By the …” Alan’s voice trailed off. We all stared at the leather tome. It wasn’t black, it wasn’t golden, it was a mottled, scaled mess that dripped a constant thread of blood.

Damian picked it up, wincing like he expected a blow. Horror warred with fascination as he cracked the book open. Pages flipped, and nothing came screaming out to kill us. I suppose Koda would have warned me if it was that dangerous, but he was from a different time, and had different ways of teaching.

“The Book that Bleeds … bleeds?” Damian said.

I watched the trail of blood drip from the book, but it left no stain on the carpet, or the table, or even the necromancer himself. “That’s the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Damian’s stare turned hard. “I’ve seen it before.” He looked at Alan and then back to the book. “It’s like Vicky in Cromlech Glen, when she was first … when she …”

He didn’t have to say it. We knew the story of the child who was becoming the Destroyer.

Damian flipped through the pages. “There’s more text than there was before.” He flipped through another chunk of the book. “Timewalkers? There’s a chapter on the Burning Lands. This isn’t even the same book anymore.” He turned the pages more and more frantically. “I need to find Koda.” He slumped into his chair and seemed to bury himself in those pages, muttering exclamations and shuffling through a pile of aged manuscripts on the shelf beside him, comparing notes and gods know what else.

“Come,” Alan said. “He will be busy for a great deal of time.”

The werewolf led me to the staircase. I glanced back at the necromancer once. If I thought he was barking mad before, now I was sure of it. He was driven to protect his friends, and I could understand that.

CHAPTER SIX

Alan led the way back to the front of the shop. I glanced at the hole to the cu sith’s den, fairly certain I could fit the entirety of myself into it. Aideen waited on the counter by the register. The bell on the front door chimed and an unremarkable man walked in, notable only for his three piece suit and the bowler perched on his head. He wrung his hands together, his eyes darting from the shelves, to us, and back again.

When the visitor looked away, Aideen flashed into her full-sized form. “Edgar?”

When the man turned around he took a deep breath, pausing to compose himself. “Is Damian in?”

“Yes, he’s upstairs. You could have called, you know? I’ll let him know you’re here.” She turned back to us. “Alan, Beth, be safe out there.”

Alan shuffled me toward the door, exchanging a nod with the man who almost seemed familiar now, but I couldn’t place him. It wasn’t until we were back on the cobblestones, angling down toward the riverbank that I said, “That was Edgar the Watcher!”

“I believe he prefers just Edgar,” Alan said, “but yes, that was him.”

I wondered what he was doing there. “I thought all the Watchers were sent east, no? To watch over the Fae city and treat with the military?”

Alan nodded slowly. “Some Watchers can step into the Warded Ways and travel here in a flash, Beth.”

I watched the cobblestones go by beneath my feet. I’d heard that other beings could walk the Ways, even though I’d been taught that only Fae could walk them. I slowed as I crossed a rebuilt section of the street.

Alan looked behind us, and followed my gaze.

“This is where Damian and Ashley’s fight with the blood mage was caught on camera.” My fingers traced the frayed edge of the bandage on my left arm and I shivered. “Way to put us all in the hot seat, jackass.”

“The mage, you mean?”

I looked up at the werewolf. “Yes, the blood mage. The world’s going to think we’re all completely psychotic nutjobs.”

Alan studied my bandages for a time before we started walking again. “Maybe not completely, but one does wonder at the mental state you need to be in to damage yourself so profoundly.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I wasn’t actually a cutter, although I’d known cutters that were far more balanced than I was … Damn werewolf.

“I’ve offended you.”

I released a humorless laugh. “No, no, it’s fine. It’s just … blood is a requirement of the arts, you know? It’s a way to include a piece of yourself in every spell, every incantation. Your entire body is like that, when you shift.”

The werewolf took a deep breath. “I never thought of it like that. Our bodies are certainly broken and damaged by the shift, but we heal quickly. Our tolerance for pain is substantial. I’ve heard that’s not the same for all shapeshifters.”

Alan frowned slightly, his boot scuffing the curb as we started down the steeper hill toward the river. The grass held on to its green tint in places, but fall closed in around us. Soon it would be brown and dead.

I froze when we hit the riverbank. “Did you see that?”

“See what?” he asked, sweeping his gaze along the riverbank.

“There.” I pointed to a wake in the water. A wake without a boat, without a splash.

“Probably an old catfish,” Alan said. “They get fairly massive in these parts.”

I started walking again, boots crunching on the gravel. I pulled my jacket tighter, but I couldn’t stop glancing over my shoulder as we headed back toward Ashley’s. We walked for several minutes before the silence broke.

“Beth,” Alan whispered. “You were right. I’ve seen the ripple numerous times. It’s moving against the river, and it’s following us. Trade me places.”

I casually bent down to check the laces on my boots. When I stood again, Alan walked between me and the river, and I palmed my dagger.

He turned to me. “I can’t let it follow us further.”

Did he mean to Ashley’s? Or just along the river? Or … I didn’t get a chance to speak before Alan’s forearms rippled, and the werewolf lunged into the water with his claws extended.

The water separated. I backpedaled when the river swallowed the wolf.

“Alan!” I regained enough of my senses to step toward the water and try to pull Alan back out, but not enough sense to realize that was the last thing I should do.

The bubbling current split and rose into a geyser. A face full of jagged, sharp teeth, set in a delicate face flowed toward me. The undine cocked her head to the side and a half-sphere of water rose behind her. A raging werewolf shifted and struck as best he could, but all in vain.

“Koda tries so hard to hide things,” she said, her voice as gentle as Euphemia, but her words a stark order. “Give me the book, child, and your friend may live.”

I suspected she meant ‘may’ as in ‘might,’ and the sudden anger curled my hands into fists around my dagger. The sharp point against my skin reminded me that it wasn’t the daggers I should wield against this Fae …

I dropped the dagger to the sand. “Please, don’t hurt him.”

“He has perhaps a minute left. If he does not drown, I will crush the life from him while you watch. Give me the book.”

I didn’t know this water witch. I considered telling her that Damian had the book. He’s better equipped for battling these creatures as it was, but that’s when Euphemia’s words came tumbling back to me.

“The Queen has sent assassins across the sea …”

I met the witch’s gaze. She was a predator. I didn’t get any of the warmth I’d come to expect in Euphemia’s eyes. This witch was the Queen’s. She was here to kill me, and possibly my friends and Koda’s allies. Alan was going to die. I was going to die.

The werewolf’s struggles lessened, and I steeled my mind.

“Please, stop! Take my dagger!” I kicked the dagger towards her, and her eyes tracked the glint of gray metal as it splashed into the shallows.

“You are a fool to leave yourself unarmed.” She turned her eyes back to me.

The thin blade felt rough and frigid between my fingers. It sliced cleanly through my bandage and the flesh beneath, freeing my scars and releasing my power in a crimson curtain. I didn’t need to speak words anymore. Cornelius had taught me well.

I dragged my fingers through the slick blood on my left arm, catching them on the edge of my cut. My hand formed a claw, and I twisted my forearm in the air. I felt the ley lines respond, a rush I can barely put into words. It was a spasm of ecstasy and pain and a splash of power so strong I knew I had no real control over it. I could barely move it, guide it, but that was enough.

A geyser erupted around and through the water witch, rocketing some fifty feet into the air with a roar unlike any I’d heard before. A dark cackle fractured into an insane laughter, coming from nowhere and everywhere as the river caught fire. Beneath that torrent of water and flame, an undine screamed. A musical cry of agony that set my very bones on edge.

I twisted my hand and drew it in a sharp, horizontal line. The geyser fell away to reveal a half-drowned werewolf with his hands around the water witch’s throat. “You should have killed me, assassin.”

The undine cried out. “What have you done to me?!” Alan dragged her from the water and slammed her into the bank, her watery flesh as solid as my own. She wrenched her head around to find me standing on the shore. I’m sure I wore a look as dumbfounded as hers.

I glanced down at the bloodied edge of the blade in my hand. Something whispered in the back of my mind. That dark voice … or had it been Koda? It said to cut the undine, and I listened.

A quick snap of my wrist sent the blade spinning into the undine’s neck. I watched with a morbid curiosity as her skin turned gray and the scream died in her throat. Slowly, painfully, the gray crawled up and over her face before it slid down her body. When it finished, the assassin looked more like a dirty marble sculpture than anything that had lived so recently.

Alan leaned back, raising his arms into the sky and roaring like an avalanche of fur and bone. He struck. The undine shattered into fragments no larger than my hand, peppering the riverbank and the shallows.

The werewolf’s breathing began to even out. He turned away from me, exposing his massive, muscled back. His shredded shirt hung low around his jeans. Alan’s pants looked distressed, but they held fast as he turned back to me.

I bent down and picked up a piece of the undine’s stone-like face. I liked how it was terror that held her eye open wide. One of the Queen’s assassins, sent to kill whoever held the Book of Blood? I had some questions for Koda.

“Are you okay?” Alan’s voice was more growl than words, but I could still understand him nonetheless.

“I am. Are you?”

The chunks of stone around us melted, slowly vanishing into the river and staining the dry riverbank. The flesh seemed to change from stone to gel in my hand before it became as fluid as water, and dripped to my feet.

Alan took a deep breath. I shivered when the ley lines fluxed around us and his features returned to normal. His fur fell away, carried off by the current. I’d never been so close to a shifting wolf before. The rush of power … if one could harness that. I closed my eyes and threw the thought away. Harnessing a shifter’s power would probably kill them.

“I have to see my pack about this, Beth.”

I opened my eyes. Two pectorals seeming carved from dark stone stood in front of me.

He cursed at the drowned, cracked phone he pulled out of his pocket.

“I need to find Cornelius,” I said.

He nodded. “I’m going back to Death’s Door first. Damian needs to know what happened here. I can go with you if you’d like, after that.”

The thought of keeping my werewolf bodyguard close by didn’t sound like a terrible idea, but he needed to warn his pack, and I needed to see Cornelius. I shook my head. “I’ll catch a cab. You warn the pack.”

“What of your arm?”

The old familiar sting of a fresh cut wasn’t something I noticed much any more, but the latest cut, the deep slash from the Fae blade, didn’t hurt at all. I twisted my arm up and glanced at the separation of flesh. It wasn’t as deep as I’d expected, and it almost seemed to be closing up. It should have been bleeding more. A lot more.

“It’s okay.” I leaned down and let the river wash away the worst of the blood.

“That’s not the cleanest water …”

“What are you, my mom?”

“No, I suppose not. Keep an eye on it for an infection.”

I smirked at the werewolf. “Will do.”

“Be safe, Beth.”

“I will.” I ran my hand across the slim case of metal blades stashed in my pocket.

Alan took three steps before he paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

The werewolf walked away and disappeared into the old brick architecture of Main Street, Saint Charles.

CHAPTER SEVEN

It was a lot harder to find a taxi in Saint Charles than I’d expected. I waited on the curb of a busy intersection for almost ten minutes before giving up and calling for a cab instead, and that was after spending fifteen minutes locating the blades I’d thrown at our would-be assassin. I had to give the cabbie credit for letting me take the last of the gauze out of his first aid kit along with some sanitizing wipes.

The cabbie barreled down the cobblestone street while I rubbed my arm down with alcohol wipes and winced at the sting before I wrapped it up. Stupid Alan and his stupid infection talk. We hit modern asphalt after a few harrowing turns and the taxi swept into the old park where I’d been meeting Cornelius.

I opened the door and paused. “Can you wait for a minute? I just want to make sure my friend is here.”

“No problem.” The man gave me a kind smile, not the glazed, lifeless indifference I was so used to seeing in other cities.

I’d barely even turned around when I recognized Cornelius’s old leather hat near the river. I leaned back into the car. “He’s here. Thanks again.” I handed him my fare and an extra ten.

The car rumbled off into the distance as I made my way down to the river. The sun slid behind a bank of clouds, casting an eerie shadow over the old log on the bank and the man beside it.

“Was that you?” he asked before he’d so much as glanced at me. “I felt the shift in the lines, but you never really know. With Damian around … that boy can sling enough power to distort most any line.”

“It was me.”

He turned toward me, the stiff brim on his leather hat shielding him from the intermittent bursts of sunlight. That old hat had almost as many wrinkles and laugh lines as Cornelius himself. His lips pulled up into a smile and he motioned to the log.

“Come, child,” Cornelius said. He patted the log. It was not unlike the fallen tree near our training grounds that I’d come to think of as my desk. I sat down beside the old blood mage and he patted my knee. “I felt a violent pull on the ley lines, the kind made with blood, and metal.”

I nodded and took a deep breath. “One of the undine assassins attacked me and Alan.”

“The werewolf?”

“Yes.”

“You are unharmed?” He waved his hand as if to dismiss the thought. “What happened?”

I told him of the rise in the waves like the wake of a speedboat, the sharp bite of the blades, and the unholy laughter that seemed to echo from nowhere and everywhere. He looked at me with kind eyes and understanding. It seemed odd for a blood mage to be so kind. I imagine it might be how my grandfather would look if I’d ever gotten the chance to meet him. “Now, tell me what happened. In detail.”

I told him everything. How Koda’s blades worked, what happened when Damian unlocked the Black Book, how we nearly lost Alan, and how the assassin died. By the end, I was breathless and ready to listen to the slow cadence of my old teacher.

“I think I know what those blades are, Elizabeth. The laughter you heard …” He looked away, studying the river before turning back to me. Cornelius gave me a slow nod, as though he’d made his mind up about something he didn’t wish to speak of. “Some call him our patron saint. Some call him a devil. His actions became the root of our power.”

“What do you mean?”

Cornelius rubbed his knees and leaned back into a fork in the fallen log. “One of the devils in the Burning Lands forged a great weapon from blood and bone and souls. He used it to slay another of his own kind, breaking one of the Seals between our world and theirs. It is through that fallen Seal, bound in blood, that our powers flow.”

“I thought Damian was the only one to break a Seal, no?”

Cornelius shook his head and peeled a piece of bark off the log. “This was a very long time ago, Elizabeth. Perhaps Hugh was alive then, and Camazotz, but I doubt very much that anyone else we know was.

“Koda?”

Cornelius smiled and flicked the chunk of bark in his hand into the river’s edge. “Koda is old, and rather dead, but no. The Seal fell some ten thousand years past.”

I squinted at Cornelius as I thought about Hugh. The pack Alpha didn’t look much over forty, or a well-preserved fifty. “Hugh?”

“He has aged … well.”

If I’d learned anything since becoming aware of the supernatural world, it was the simple fact my experience up to that point didn’t mean squat. Accepting the fact I’d barely scratched the surface of the world in what I’d thought had been a well-traveled, well-informed life, took quite a bit longer.

And now the whole world was adjusting to the fact they had only a partial knowledge of their world, an incomplete picture of a complex system of creatures and gods and monsters hiding behind the thinnest of veils.

I looked up at Cornelius. “How’s the east?”

“The Fae or the commoners?”

“Both?”

Cornelius nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It is a delicate balance at best. The fact our government did not try to bomb them off the face of the earth a second time was certainly a good decision.”

“Can they really fight the Fae?”

Cornelius twirled another piece of bark between his fingers before snapping it in two. “No, Elizabeth. If they managed to harm the city, the Fae Court could unite.”

“The courts are about as far from united as they could possibly be,” I said. “They’re split between Gwynn Ap Nudd and Hern, and there are even more divisions among the water witches.”

“You are not wrong, but a common enemy—an enemy from outside the courts—is all it would take. There are greater things at play than a war with the commoners, and too much to exploit, for either side to throw wide the gates of the Abyss.”

I stared at Cornelius. “The Fae don’t have that kind of power.”

“Perhaps not, or perhaps not yet. What they do have is Damian.”

I frowned and gave a sharp shake of my head. “Damian would never help them. That would kill his friends, and his family, and his sister. He broke the rules to save his sister. You told me that.”

Cornelius laughed and stripped another piece of bark off the log. “Elizabeth, I told you that before I knew what he was, what he could become. The Fae will do everything they can to manipulate him. If I know Glenn … if I know Gwynn Ap Nudd, he has known longer than us all. It is likely why Cara and Foster and Aideen are living in his very home.”

“They live at his shop.”

“A technicality.” He looked out across the river and inhaled before turning back to me. “Gwynn Ap Nudd has been sighted around Falias. Word is the Fae are moving to restore the buildings and take up residence in the ruins.”

I didn’t know the fairies well enough to make a judgement call on Cornelius’s claims. It seemed possible, as manipulative as the Fae could be, but I’d heard the stories of Foster and Damian’s friendship.

I leaned forward and spoke quietly, as though the river itself may hear us. “Have you told him? Or any of them?”

Cornelius barked out a laugh. “Gods no, Elizabeth.” He spread his arms before resting his hand on my shoulder. “We must know our limits. If the Fae King heard of my suspicions, and those suspicions were correct, I have no illusions of what would happen to me. I would vanish from this realm with little more than a shout.”

“Unless you saw them coming.”

“Perhaps, Elizabeth. Perhaps you are right, and perhaps I would let them take me. I have lived a very long time. I fought at Gettysburg almost two centuries ago, and I watched that nightmare reborn not so long as a year ago.”

We sat there for a while, watching the water go by. I remembered the look on Aideen’s face when Damian took us to the library. I thought he might have his own suspicions about the Fae.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ashley struck her trainer with a vicious forward kick. Even through his pads he went down, collapsing into the grass.

“Exactly!” he said, strangely excited for someone who had been struck so hard. “Exactly like that.”

Ashley’s hair had half escaped the ponytail she’d pulled it into. I loved the auburn color of it in the fading sun. Sweat caught the orange glow of the sky as she bent down to help her trainer up.

“That’s enough for today,” she said.

“As you wish,” her trainer said when he regained his feet. They bowed to each other before he left.

He vanished into the side yard without so much as a hello or goodbye for me. I didn’t know his name. Ashley said it wasn’t important, so I left it alone.

I don’t like secrets, even if I do have plenty of my own.

“Do you want to spar?” Ashley asked.

I leaned away and smiled. “I just got done killing an undine with the help of a werewolf.”

“What?!”

I told her the story as we walked back toward the house. We sat down at the kitchen table once she had a glass of water and some boiled chicken. She wanted her entire coven in fighting shape, and while she lost some sisters because of that very desire, the rest of us just didn’t want to eat boiled chicken every day.

“Why are you looking at my chicken like that?” Ashley asked.

I smiled. “No reason.”

She inhaled and exhaled through her nose. It was a sigh more than anything else. “Koda found Camazotz … does Damian know?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t really think to ask him.” That made me think of the shop, and the man I’d seen walking in as I’d left. “Edgar showed up at Damian’s shop as I was leaving.”

“Oh, did you get the candles?”

“No, I’m sorry. It slipped my mind completely!”

Ashley nodded and chewed on another bite of chicken. “Edgar can do that to a person.”

I didn’t mention how frazzled the Watcher seemed. I didn’t want Ashley to worry about Damian and run off to help her friend. That man knew how to get his head stuck in a hornet’s nest, and I didn’t want to see her dragged down with him.

“I’ll find out eventually, you know?”

I blinked and stared at Ashley.

“You’re leaving out part of the story. Your nose twitches when you do that.”

“I … what?”

She smiled and stood up to clear her plate. “I know you’re only looking out for us, Beth, for the coven as a whole I mean. Just don’t hold anything back that could get us killed, okay?”

Her silverware rang against the sides of the deep sink before she turned around and kissed the top of my head. “We’ll be celebrating Samhain soon. I’m afraid it won’t be much of a celebration with the breaking of one of the Seals.”

CHAPTER NINE

You deal with enough craziness in one day, sometimes you just need a drink. I sat on a corner stool on the highest floor of the Trailhead Brewery, watching the happy, the drunk, and the terrified people shuffle through the bar.

The world seemed brighter than ever to some, the veil peeled back and a world of magical creatures exposed for all to see. Others behaved as I feared everyone would, rallying to fight against the Fae and all who support them, calling them evil and constructs of the Devil. A small group of guardsmen huddled in the corner.

“Anything else, hon?”

I raised my eyes to the server. “A round for the guardsmen on me. Don’t tell them who it’s from.”

“Sure, hon.”

She walked away, and I went back to the half-full glass of amber beer in front of me. My foster father had been in the military. He told me horrible tales of war and death. I’d asked to hear them, so it served me right, but I’d never be able to forget them, or that distant look in his eyes.

“Edgar said I could probably find you here.”

I glanced up and froze. Samantha Vesik stood before me. She was Damian’s sister, yes, and close with the new vampire lord. I had a healthy fear of anything that should be dead and wasn’t. Samantha stood impossibly still, so much so that her hair only moved when someone walked behind her. It’s something you see the old vampires do, and it’s the creepiest damned thing you can imagine.

All she did in the time I spent staring at her was raise an eyebrow. “May I?” She broke the stillness and gestured to the empty stool across the table.

“Sure, whatever you like, I mean …” I took a deep breath.

“Why did you give that book to Damian?”

I flinched like she’d struck me. “What do you mean? Did he send you here?”

Sam blew out a sharp breath. “No. I suspect he’d think I was putting myself in mortal danger, talking to a blood mage.”

I looked around the room after she said it. Eyes scanning for any hint of recognition on anyone’s face.

“No one heard me. Don’t worry. I want you to answer me very honestly.” She leaned in, slowly, purposefully. Were those fangs I saw? I shivered, and I swear she smiled.

“What?” I asked. It came out in a harsh whisper, far harsher than I’d meant it. “Just … what?”

“Did Koda give you that book? You swear it was the old ghost? You aren’t here with some outside agenda to break our alliance with the Fae and bring Hell down on my brother?”

I stared at the vampire, stunned. She was here to look out for her brother? She wasn’t here to turn me into her own personal blood bank? I shook my head. That was a stupid thought. If she’d come to kill me, it wouldn’t be in public. In fact, I doubt I’d be thinking for myself at this point. I wasn’t immune to a vampire’s aura.

“Hi Sam,” the server said, flopping down onto the stool beside the vampire. “Get you anything?”

“Maker’s Mark. Neat.”

“Sure thing.”

As quickly as she’d come, the server vanished into the crowd around the bar.

“What?” Sam asked, brushing her raven hair back before I realized I was frowning at her.

I looked down and took a long, deep gulp of beer before I met her eyes again. “You’re just here because you’re worried about Damian.” It may have been a statement, but I meant it as a question.

Sam smiled without baring her teeth. “Damian may be an overprotective sibling, but he’s not the only one.”

“But you’re a vampire.”

“I’ve seen vampires die. I’ve seen necromancers die. I’ve seen immortals die. Everything can die, Elizabeth, of that I have no doubt.”

It wasn’t until that moment I realized I’d misjudged Samantha Vesik. Her temper wasn’t the barely contained bloodlust I’d imagined. I nodded and said, “Koda of the Society of Flame gave me that book with strict instructions to tell no one but Damian.”

“You told Alan.”

“Technically Damian told Alan. I wouldn’t go against Koda’s orders for anything. He knows some very scary people.”

Samantha let a slow smile bare her teeth. “Don’t we all.”

The server zipped by, sliding Samantha’s drink to her in one smooth motion. The vampire caught it and inhaled deeply through her nose.

“Military family?” She asked before taking a sip from her glass.

She caught me off guard with that one. “What?” My heart rate spiked at the realization that the vampire had knowledge of my personal life.

“Relax, girl. You’re strung tighter than my mom when she realized I’m a vampire.” She took another sip of her drink.

I narrowed my eyes. “What else has Ashley told you?”

Samantha sucked in her lips and seemed to be hiding a smile. “She may have mentioned the fact you aren’t very fond of vampires.”

“Oh. My. God! I’m going to kill her. Did she set this up? With you coming here to scare my socks off? Was this her idea? Unbelievable. You just …” I slammed the rest of my beer and growled.

Samantha wore a smile fit for a cat before she shook her head. “No, it wasn’t her. It was me. I’m sorry. Damian was rambling about the book and how it came from Koda. I don’t think he’d even bothered to verify it actually was from Koda. He can be reckless, you know? You know about Vicky?” Sam took a deeper drink from her glass. “I don’t want to see him get hurt. I don’t want to see either of them hurt.”

I only nodded.

“You know he’s planning to go after the devil that bound her?”

“What?” I said. “He means to cross over?”

“Yes. He can be … stubborn.”

When our server came by again, Samantha handed her a hundred dollar bill. “For both of us. Keep the change.”

“Of course,” the server said. “Tell Vik hello for me.”

Samantha gave the server a weak smile before turning back to me. “When we face the dark-touched, and my family puts their lives on the line, where will the blood mages stand?”

I blinked at the vampire. She changed topics quickly. I wondered if she was always like that, or if she was in a hurry. “You mean with the Fae?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t speak for Cornelius, but I know he has loyalties to Damian’s master, Zola.”

“They go back a ways,” Samantha said. “That’s my understanding. Zola is not someone many people would be crazy enough to cross. Where do you stand, Elizabeth?”

I thought about that. What she was asking, and what my answer might really mean. An alliance with the Fae could mean a conflict with the commoners, if not a war. An alliance with the wrong Fae could be just as deadly, forcing us into being a target of beings far more powerful than me or Cornelius.

I raised my eyes to Samantha’s. “I’ll stand with Cornelius, so we’ll be playing for the same team.”

The vampire seemed to relax. “That’s a relief. I’m glad you’re being honest with me.”

I frowned slightly, wondering how she could know how honest I was being.

“I can hear your heart,” Samantha said, answering the question I hadn’t asked aloud.

At that, I was ready to leave the vampire’s company. I stood up and adjusted my bandages. “Thanks for the drink, Samantha.”

“Call me Sam. It’s what my friends call me.”

“Sam.”

About the Author

Eric is a former bookseller, guitarist, and comic seller currently living in Saint Louis, Missouri. A lifelong enthusiast of books, music, toys, and games, he discovered a love for the written word after being dragged to the library by his parents at a young age. When he is not writing, you can usually find him reading, gaming, or buried beneath a small avalanche of Transformers. For more about Eric, see: www.ericrasher.com