Authors: Carrie Vaughn
Right. Then at least for now, it didn’t happen. I tried to stand, but pain shot through my guts and ribs. Breathing still hurt; I settled back.
Several soldiers paced up the hallway and stopped to crouch in defensive positions, their rifles aimed at us. I just looked at them. Didn’t beg, didn’t plead, didn’t yell for them to stand down. Just looked. Surely they could see that it was over.
The one closest to me lowered his rifle first. The other four followed. Then they waited.
Colonel Stafford and Ben came up behind them. When I saw Ben, tears finally blurred my vision. He met my gaze, and I tried to tell him everything without speaking. I wasn’t sure I could speak.
He gave my anguish back to me with his gaze, which I felt like a hand on my arm. His expression tightened, full of worry. But he didn’t rush. Turning to Stafford, he spoke a few words.
The colonel nodded and spoke to his men. “Stand down. Back off and wait at the doorway.”
The soldiers retreated, walking backward, unable to turn away from the tableau we presented: two people bent in despair, two ravaged bodies, a hallway spattered in blood.
Ben came to us first. I watched him, as if I could draw him forward with my eyes. He touched my shoulder, then Tyler’s, and bent his face to my hair. His breath tingled on my scalp, and I melted against him, relieved. I could finally let go. We were going to be all right.
“You’re hurt,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Mostly bruised, I think. Maybe broken ribs.”
“Can you stand?”
We’d have to get out of here sometime, I supposed. Tyler’s expression had settled into a mask. The sadness hadn’t gone away. He seemed so tired.
Holding Ben’s arm, I started to pull myself to my feet, but sharp pains rippled across my ribs. I hissed and doubled over, and both Ben and Tyler were at my sides, grabbing me to keep me from falling. They settled me against the wall instead. Yeah, bastard had broken something.
“What the hell did you do?” Ben asked.
“She went up against Vanderman,” Tyler said.
“You did what?” Then Ben rolled his eyes as though that didn’t surprise him.
“I had to,” I said. “He was trying to break into that room.” I called to Stafford, who was still hanging
back. “Colonel, there are a couple of people in there, they might need help.” My lungs ran out of breath, my voice choked, and I started coughing.
Stafford looked like he wanted to argue, but he went to the broken door, called to the women inside, and after they answered, he shoved into the room. One more problem taken care of.
Ben and Tyler sat against the wall on either side of me. I leaned against Ben and let myself heal. Werewolf healing was fast, but never fast enough when you were in the middle of it.
“Walters saved me,” I said. “Right at the end. He got Vanderman away from me. I think he would have been okay. If we could have kept him safe, he would have been okay.” I shook my head.
Ben kissed the top of my head, and I sighed.
I would have liked to have said that it was all over. But I expected there’d be a lot of excuses, finger-pointing, and rationalizing. Maybe for Tyler this would never be over. He’d have Walters, Vanderman, Gordon, and all the guys from his unit living in his memory for the rest of his life. He’d be asking himself how he was the one who got out alive. This moment might have felt like a victory. But it was a Pyrrhic victory. We were left with a lot of pieces to pick up.
Stafford returned to the hallway. The room’s occupants were two women in fatigues, looking impossibly young and tiny. They glanced at the bodies, glanced at us, then hurried up the hallway and
to the door. Two more hatch marks on the victory column. Were we even yet?
The colonel just stared at us.
Tyler pushed himself to his feet, stood at straight, formal attention, and saluted. He held his hand to his forehead in that salute for a long time while Stafford stared at him, apparently at a loss. My Wolf would have bristled under that gaze, accepted the challenge, and tried to throw it back to him. Tyler kept his gaze down. He stayed submissive, acknowledging that Stafford was the one in charge. Most people wouldn’t recognize the body language. Stafford may not have recognized it as lupine body language. But he recognized it as military.
He returned the salute, and Tyler dropped his hand.
“At ease,” the colonel said, and Tyler relaxed a fraction. “What happened here?”
“Sir,” Tyler said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Sergeant Vanderman and Sergeant Walters aren’t going to be causing any more trouble.”
“And what about you?”
“I’d like to request a discharge, sir.”
I expected Stafford to argue, to at least get huffy, to rant at the little bit of his world attempting to slip out of his control. But he didn’t. He studied Tyler for a long moment, lips pursed, as if he wanted to say something but the words had stuck. Then he touched Tyler’s arm, a quick, sympathetic pat, and turned away.
“Stick around for debriefing. All three of you,” Stafford said over his shoulder as he continued on to lock down the floor.
My phone chose that moment to play “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.” I answered.
Cormac said, “I need help. Now.”
“W
HAT’S GOING
on? What’s happening?” I pressed my hand to my opposite ear and walked a few feet away to get some privacy.
“Franklin found himself some very weird ancient magic. He finished casting his spell and this blizzard is just getting started.”
I had stopped questioning this sort of thing a long time ago. Weird ancient magic, check. Even worse blizzard, check. I wanted to go home and take a hot bath.
“Right. But can we stop him?”
“We can neutralize the spell, but we have to hit every Speedy Mart in town to do it. I can’t do it alone.”
That was a pretty big thing for him to admit.
Denver and the surrounding suburbs had thirteen Speedy Marts. Cormac had visited them all over the last week. Normally, getting to all of them would sound doable. Crazy, but doable. But now?
“Cormac, we’re in Colorado Springs in the middle of a blizzard. How the hell are we supposed to get to Denver?”
“I don’t know. Hijack a snowplow or something.”
“Not helpful,” I said. “How much time do we have?”
“A couple of hours before it’s too late to break the spell.”
“Let me call you back in ten minutes,” I said.
“I’m serious, Kitty. We don’t have time to screw around.”
A snarl burred at the back of my throat. “Ten minutes.” I hung up.
Cormac wouldn’t exaggerate. He was talking the worst blizzard ever. A Katrina level of destruction blizzard. I couldn’t imagine. That was the point. Hundred-mile-an-hour winds, subzero temperatures, a dozen feet of snow crashing through roofs, no power, no heat, and having it last for a week or more.
“What’s wrong?” Ben said when I rejoined the group.
“The Franklin situation’s blowing up. Cormac needs us back in Denver.”
Ben blinked in disbelief. “He knows there’s a blizzard on, right?”
“He suggested stealing a snowplow.”
Another moment passed while Ben considered. “He’s not doing anything that’s going to break his parole, is he?”
That question wasn’t highest on my list of current concerns.
“Can I help? What can I do to help?” Tyler asked. Guy needed a mission.
“Think you can get the army to issue us a Humvee?” I said, mostly joking.
Tyler glanced at Stafford, who was down the hall, conversing with a medical crew that had arrived to help clean up the mess. They were loading Walters and Vanderman into body bags. The place was becoming crowded, lots of people in uniform taking orders from the colonel, ducking in and out of rooms, clearing debris. Someone should call Dr. Shumacher to let her know what happened.
“The base is still under lockdown,” Tyler said. “He may not let us out at all.”
Who was I kidding? He probably wouldn’t even let us out of the building, much less out of Fort Carson. But I’d never know unless I asked. The worst he could do was say no.
I walked over to the colonel, hands laced behind my back, trying to look harmless. The slight limp probably didn’t hurt.
“Colonel Stafford?”
He turned and glared, but didn’t tell me to go away.
“I know you want us to stick around, but I really have to get back to Denver. I’ve got a friend who needs help. I’ll come right back as soon as I can, but
Tyler says that with the base under lockdown nobody can leave. I
really
need to leave.”
If possible, his frown deepened. More than stern, though, he looked tired. He disguised the shadows under his eyes with sheer willpower. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in keeping the lockdown in effect. But you can’t drive to Denver in this weather. You might as well stay.”
He was right. We’d barely gotten here in Ben’s sedan as it was. I had no other argument, except to clasp my hands to my chest and look up at him with my big brown eyes while begging,
Please?
Even my dignity had bounds.
I crossed my arms. “What if I told you that this blizzard isn’t natural? That it’s the product of a magical spell designed to cause millions of dollars in damage and plunge the region into chaos. I know how to stop it, but I have to get to Denver to do it.”
He crossed his arms back at me, and stared at me down his nose. “I’d say you were crazy.” But the thing was—he was still listening.
“You know that werewolves exist, right?” I said. “You ever think about what else is out there? If werewolves are real, what else must be real?”
“Actually, Ms. Norville, I’ve been trying not to think too hard about that.”
I hid a smile. I understood the impulse. “I really have to get to Denver. You can talk to my friend and
he’ll explain the whole deal, if you want. Dr. Shumacher could probably back us up.”
He considered me for an even longer moment. In my mind, a clock was ticking—I needed to call Cormac back. By this time, Ben and Tyler had inched over to listen in. Tyler’s brow was arched, possibly in amazement. Ben was just smiling.
Then Stafford said, “So you came down here to try and help my men before chasing down this other situation?”
“Yes,” I said. Of course I did.
“Sir,” Tyler said, stepping forward to interrupt. “If you have a Humvee with chains you can spare, I can drive it.”
Tyler was bigger than Stafford, who might have been that fit earlier in his life. So it was strange seeing Tyler defer to him—he still stood at military attention, but his shoulders slouched, just a little, and his gaze was down. I held my breath.
“Are you going to be okay, Sergeant?” Stafford asked.
Tyler glanced at me, and nodded. “Sir. For a little while, I think so, sir.”
So. Stafford let us go.
I
CALLED
Cormac while we waited for Tyler to find our Humvee with tire chains. We were in the glass-fronted lobby of the hospital. Ben was grinning wide enough to split his face.
“What?” I said while I waited for Cormac to pick up.
“You’re awesome, you know that?” he said. “You just talked an army colonel into loaning you a Humvee.”
“It was that or try to steal one, right?” I said. I tried to be happy, but I was getting tired. “And I couldn’t talk Vanderman into anything.”
Cormac answered before Ben could say anything to that.
“Hey,” I said. “What did I tell you? Ten minutes.”
“It’s been twenty,” he said.
“Whatever. We found a ride. We’re on our way. Now what’s going on at Speedy Mart? What do we have to do?”
He paused while he adjusted the phone. At least that was what it sounded like. “He’s using them to anchor power. Each one is a focal point in a ritual, and he strings them together in a kind of circuit. He can extend the effect of the ritual over an entire region that way—a hundred miles in every direction. But if we can neutralize each location, we can stop this.”
“Right, cool, and how do we do that?” I imagined it involved burning incense, sprinkling some sort of concoction, or chanting. The usual stuff.
“There’s a symbol, the
gromoviti znaci
, the thunder mark. People in Slavic countries used to carve it into their doorframes to protect against lightning
strikes. Franklin’s power is associated with the weather because he’s invoking thunder gods, gods of storms. But that’s his problem—he’s not limiting himself to a particular magical tradition or set of symbols. He’s invoking as many as he can, thinking it will gain him more power. That’s why I had trouble identifying the magic, because it’s a mishmash of different systems. He’s using the power outside of its cultural contexts. The Norse god Thor doesn’t correspond exactly with the Slavic Perun, or the Hindu Indra, or the Yoruban Shango, or Sumerian Ishkur. They’re all thunder gods but they mean different things to their respective cultures. Some of these gods were meant to combat chaos, not cause it.”
He’d slipped into full-on lecture mode. I’d never heard him speak more than a couple of sentences together at a time. It almost freaked me out more than the blizzard. “Cormac, where the hell did you learn all this? You never used to talk like this.”