Authors: J.A. Pitts
They walked hand in hand past the outbuildings, northward through the battle zone. She wanted to take him to the clearing she’d found. The energy was nice there, peaceful.
He stopped her halfway across the field, where the battle was fiercest. “There are spirits here,” he said to her, his voice full of joy. “Can you feel them?”
She paused, letting his hand drop. “We lost good people here.”
It took him a second to notice she’d stopped.
He turned, his face impassive. “And their loss will feed you, help you grow into your own.”
“I don’t know,” she said, images warring in her head. Bob died here. Chloe and all the others. A pain throbbed in the back of her skull. Her thoughts were muddled. “This doesn’t feel right.”
He cupped her cheek with his hand. “Do not fear, dear one. You will be transformed.”
A glow flared from his hand, red and violent. For a brief moment she made to pull away.
“Shh,” he whispered. “Be calm.”
She shook, as if with a seizure. Her breath fogged between them in stuttering gasps. After a minute the pace lessoned, and she grew calm once again.
He lowered his arm. “There now, all better?”
She smiled at him. Why had she been concerned? His eyes were so amazing, the depths of them held secrets she’d only dreamed of.
He took the first of the sleeping bags and opened it, laying it with the protected side down, but he let the fleece be exposed to the falling snow.
“The spirits of the dead provide a different form of energy, a different flavor of magic,” he said. “Blood is quicker, hotter, filled with the raw energy of life. The essence of the dead is colder, harder.”
He was talking to himself
, she thought. He did not look at her. “Magic fueled by the spirits of the dead is hard, longer lasting, but brittle. Blood magic is powerful, explosive.”
She looked around, amazed at the possibilities. He knew so much, was willing to show her so much. She was honored and awed.
“Let us begin the ceremony,” he said to her, smiling. “Make yourself ready for me.”
She nodded and knelt on the sleeping bag—removing her clothing. The night air sent shivers through her body, and her skin grew taught in the cold. It was so cold her nipples ached when she removed her bra, exposing herself to the elements. He removed several silk ties from his pack and knelt beside her, taking one wrist. “With this bond, I link us, body and soul.”
She let him tie her once more, only this time the knots were different. On one hand he used very few lengths of silk and tied her in a way that allowed her the ability to move and react to his touch. That is not how the game had been played before, and she realized that this was significant.
The magic he wove flashed around them in muted colors of pain. She gasped at his first touch and arched her back to the sky at his kiss. When he made love to her, she gave herself to him, relinquishing her fear.
After he’d finished he climbed off her and stood naked with his arms raised to the sky, a supplicant to a frozen god.
“Come to me, brothers and sisters,” he said, pulling the spirits around them. “Come to me and bind her, make her mine now and forever.”
Trisha began to buck as the spirits of the fallen pressed upon her, smothering her in their longing. When she stopped moving, he wove a final spell, painting a rune of binding on her with blood and semen. The silk ties that had bound her faded into her, leaving her body marked with their passing.
“Rise,” he commanded her. “Rise and do my bidding.”
Trisha gasped, one long, clean breath; then she rose, her mind a fog of need and desire. She had to please him, needed to please him. His touch would release her, allow the shuddering orgasm to flood over her and shatter the world.
“Get dressed,” he urged her, putting on his own clothes. “Time is short and there is much yet to do before the sun next rises.”
As she dressed he took out his cell phone and made a call. He described the breach in the protective barrier and bade them hurry. Trisha watched him, her mind filled with the buzzing of honeybees.
They abandoned everything but his pack as they made their way to the house. “I need an item within,” he said to her. “You have described it to me, a ring with a green stone.”
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve seen it several times.”
“Bring that to me. Nothing else matters. No one in that house must stand in your way. If they do, kill them.” He handed her a knife, and she stepped toward the house.
“And the children?” She looked at him.
“Bring them,” he said. “We’ll keep them safe.”
Half a dozen bundled figures approached the house across the long swathe of white between the house and the road. Four large vehicles idled behind them on the distant road.
She stood quietly, gripping the blade in her hand.
Get the ring; get the children
. She waited for Justin to tell her when to go. Only his word mattered now. Only he could help her get the power she needs to keep them all safe.
The largest of the newcomers broke away from the rest and crossed to one of the power poles that ran out to the main grid. He carried a large axe. She just stood there as the tock-tock of chopping echoed across the farm.
Why does no one hear that?
she wondered, bemused. They shouldn’t be doing that. Jimmy wasn’t going to like it. She should be worried, maybe do something to stop the man with the axe, but Justin had said to wait, so she waited.
With a loud pop the pole buckled and fell, dragging power lines with it. Two lines snapped away from the house and danced along the ground like snakes spitting lightning. “Now,” he said, motioning for the intruders to move toward the house. “Trisha is to retrieve the ring. No one else is to touch it, do you understand?”
The first figure threw his hood back and nodded. He was a rakish man with thinning hair and pointed ears. “We understand,” the elf said. “And we honor our bargain.”
Some of them snapped on headlamps and drew blades before sprinting to the dark house. Trisha gripped her knife and jogged after them. She knew where to get the ring. Jimmy kept it in a box on the mantle these days. There was no need for blades. This was a safe place. She paused, glancing back at Justin.
“Bring the children,” he called. “They are in danger here. Let no one stand in your way.”
She turned back toward the house.
Get the ring; protect the children
. Somewhere in her mind she warred with herself. This was not right. But Justin was so insistent. He would keep them all safe. Make it so she could be strong. She ran to the house, ran to stay ahead of the nagging doubt and fear.
Sixty-two
A
nezka woke with a start. “
S
tay still,”
G
unther said from the doorway. She could see him, a shadow among shadows.
There was a crash in the kitchen. Anezka scrambled from the bed and pulled two blades from between the mattress and box springs. She’d hidden these a week ago, two short swords she’d smuggled out of the barn. Never know when trouble would show up.
She slid up behind Gunther, pushing the handle of one blade into his hand.
He grasped it with a grunt. “I won’t ask why you have swords in your room.”
“Good,” she said. “A girl’s gotta keep some secrets.”
He reached back and squeezed her arm. “On three. Just don’t stick a friendly.” He counted and threw the door open, lunging into the hall.
The house was in chaos. People with headlamps were moving forward, like Navy SEALs. They were throwing books from shelves and knocking over cabinets. Deidre shouted as sounds of fighting erupted from her bedroom.
From the front of the house the children began to shriek.
Gunther rushed ahead of her, toward the children. An assailant darted out of the bathroom to their left, knocking into Gunther, who bellowed in pain. Anezka saw the flash of a blade as it slashed across Gunther’s abdomen and he fell to the floor.
“Gunther!” Anezka yelled, leaping over him to swing at the assailant. “Eat that, bitch,” she screamed when the blade connected with muscle and bone. Whoever it was stumbled forward, their headlamp falling to the ground, splashing Gunther in a broad beam of light. He lay on the ground, his hands at his sides. The hall was slick with blood.
“Go,” he grunted.
She hesitated. “Don’t die!” she ordered, and turned after the invaders.
Anezka screamed as she ran over broken glass, several pieces cutting into her tender feet. She stumbled against the wall.
They’d broken the mirrors.
She pulled a large piece of glass from her foot, and stumbled onward, ignoring the throbbing pain with each step.
They were fleeing the house. She loped through the kitchen. The last of the attackers ran ahead, knocking aside the kitchen table and chairs—scattering them in front of her. She dodged a chair and threw herself forward, catching them by the legs.
They hit the ground hard.
Anezka scrambled forward, stabbing downward with her short sword. The hooded figure grunted as the blade pushed through the thick muscles of the back, only to be stopped by the tile floor beneath them.
Anezka jerked the hood off the man as she stood, pulling her sword out of the kicking body.
“Move, people,” a voice echoed from the outside the house.
Justin’s voice.
She stepped over the dying man and flung the door open. “Justin!” She shouted and limped out onto the deck. “Show yourself, coward!”
Five individuals were running across the snow-covered grounds. They carried the children. Jai Li was fighting the man who carried her, battering him with her fists, ripping his hood off and biting him. He cuffed her once, and she went limp. Trisha carried one of the twins, and a woman with long, flowing black hair carried the other.
“Trisha,” she called, and the woman slowed for an instant. But then the other woman passed her, and Trisha moved again, keeping up with the other twin. She never looked back.
That made no sense.
The deck was icy and treacherous, but Anezka didn’t slow down. She jumped the last two steps, shouting. “Justin!”
One of the figures skidded to a halt thirty feet away. “Anezka? Is that you, lover?” Justin called back. “How did I miss you here?”
She stalked out into the yard wearing only Gunther’s shirt. The cold of the snow numbed her feet, dulling the pain of the cuts. “Come back and face me,” she sang out. “You candy-ass piece of shit.”
Justin laughed at her. “Another day, lover,” he called and sprinted away.
She chased after him, punishing her wounded feet on the ice and snow. They had vehicles waiting, big four-wheel-drive trucks. Trisha’s car sat across the drive, its doors opened, abandoned.
Each truck had a driver, and the engines idled. Trisha and the others bundled the children inside one of the vehicles, and three pulled away. A fourth vehicle waited. Justin reached the final vehicle, and a hulking brute stepped out. He had a club in his hand, and the ground shook as he ran back toward her.
“Ignis,” Justin called out, and Anezka fell to her knees, the blood in her body burning, boiling.
She rolled in the snow, losing the sword, and another voice roared into the night. Jimmy came sprinting across the grounds. He slowed, fired a shotgun, and sprinted forward again. The blast rocked the huge man.
Justin climbed in the last truck, and they drove away.
Jimmy fired a second blast from the shotgun into the oncoming brute, but it only slowed him. Anezka screamed in frustration, rolling to her feet once again.
She ran forward, impotent rage coursing through her body. She’d never catch the truck. She looked toward Trisha’s abandoned car. Maybe she could catch Justin.
Unfortunately, whoever the big guy was, two shotgun blasts weren’t enough to stop him. Jimmy was staggered back by a glancing blow of the huge club. The shotgun flew from his hands as he fell.
She abandoned the hope of catching Justin in that instant, ran forward, and snatched up the shotgun. The brute smashed his club on the ground, barely missing Jimmy, who rolled to the side at the last possible moment. He was dazed and couldn’t avoid the club for long.
Anezka knew this gun. It belonged to her. The stock was carved with runes that kept it working, even when magic disrupted other mechanical tools.
She pumped the shotgun and fired, swearing at the top of her lungs.
The blast staggered the brute. She fired again and again. Jimmy scrambled away, as the hulking attacker turned his attention to Anezka.
“Come on, motherfucker,” she yelled, pumping the shotgun and firing again. He went down to one knee, dropping his club. Anezka fired over and over, walking forward, until the shotgun clicked on an empty chamber.
“I think he’s dead,” Jimmy said, pushing himself to a sitting position. “You can stop shooting him now.”
Anezka turned to him and held out a hand. “Just making sure, boss. Can’t tell with some of these bastards.”
Jimmy took her hand, levering himself up onto his feet. He wobbled a little, but had his wits about him. Glancing blow, after all.