Bitter Night (2 page)

Fuck. She grabbed her change and the Coke cup and went to fill it. She leaned her hip against a bolted-down chair and studied the floor until her burgers were ready. No danger here. No danger here. She repeated it to herself, hoping Todd would feel it and believe. When he plopped the two grocery-size sacks on the counter, she grabbed them without a word and strode out the door.

In a few minutes she was back on the freeway. With effort she put Todd from her mind and began eating. The burgers were hot, greasy, and tasty. She gobbled one after another. The magic in her body sped up her metabolism so that she required around twenty to thirty thousand calories on a normal day. That was if nothing tried to kill her, if she didn’t have to pick up a car and throw it, if she didn’t have to run fifty miles in a couple of hours ...in short, if she didn’t have to use the spells that made her what she now was’a Shadowblade.

In forging a coven, a witch created warriors to serve and protect her. Some took their power from the sun, the dark poisoning them. Some took their power from shadows, the sun’even reflected from the moon’burning their flesh. Sunspears and Shadowblades. Max was Giselle’s Shadowblade Prime’leader of the thirteen Blades in her crew. Oz was her Sunspear counterpart.

She sighed, finishing the last of the burgers and fiddling with the stereo. Guns N’ Roses’s “Mr. Brownstone” began pumping through the speakers. Max turned it up so that she couldn’t hear anything else. She had a bad feeling that in the next few days, she was going to need a whole lot of calories. This trip was going to be nothing but trouble.

SHE PULLED INTO JULIAN JUST BEFORE 2 A.M. IT NESTLED in the desert mountains northeast of San Diego. It was small and dusty’there hadn’t been a lot of rain this year. The moon had gone down and Max had the windows open. In the distance she could smell the salt brine blowing up from the Pacific Ocean. Overlaying it were the scents of pine, juniper, and oak, along with the hot tang of apples and grapes from nearby orchards. Signs all over the small town invited visitors to come to Harvest Days and the Grape Stomp Fiesta.

Max had turned off her stereo and lights as she came to the city limits and began driving slowly through town. She sifted through the air and eventually found a hint of what she was looking for’the earthy, metallic flavor of the Uncanny, and the creamy, caustic flavor of the Divine. It’s not that the two couldn’t be found together’she was Uncanny and Giselle was Divine. The basic division between the two was that Uncanny beings lacked the ability to cast spells or share their magic in any way. The Divine could. The obvious conclusion was that a witch was here with her Shadowblades and whatever other pets she might have in tow. And they had killed someone. Why? was the question. And what did it have to do with Giselle?

She followed the trail to the other side of town. When she turned north on Farmer Road, the smell of magic billowed suddenly and her hackles rose, cold sliding like oil down her spine. Giselle was right. Something big had happened here’maybe was still happening.

It was time to get out and and go on foot. Max slowed and eased off onto a dirt lane, rolling across an irrigation creek and parking behind a mounding blackberry tangle on the fringe of an apple orchard. She killed the motor and donned her hat again before quietly lifting herself out the window. She reached for and grabbed her cell phone, thumbing it off before tucking it into a roomy thigh pocket on her black fatigues. Next she opened the back door and popped up the bench seat. Beneath it was a small armory of weapons and ammo that included guns and steel knives, flash bombs and grenades, bags of herbs and salt, knives of rowan, hazel, willow, and silver, and a collection of charms. Max ignored most of it, opting for the pistol-grip sawed-off shotgun. It was lousy for distances, but most fights were up close and personal, and it would make enemies of most stripes’magical or human’think twice. She loaded it and shoved a handful of shells into her front pocket before pushing the seat back down and shutting the door.

She turned, letting her senses unravel across the night like a gossamer spiderweb, collecting every last scent, sound, taste, and texture. Nightbirds sang and an owl hooted. She heard the yip of coyotes and the deep bark of angry dogs. A horse whinnied and a calf bawled. Somewhere close, something scritched in the dirt. She cataloged the sounds, sifting through them for anything that didn’t belong. But there was nothing. Max swiveled her head, sniffing. The stench of magic overwhelmed almost everything, even the tang of the orchard and the wet, green smell of the irrigation ditch.

Magic slid over her skin like a sticky web, stinging and caressing at once. It was like a runway beacon pointing the way. She slung her shotgun over her shoulder, her right hand wrapping the grip and holding it ready before her. Just in case. She glanced around one more time, then slid like a shadow under the orchard canopy, following the magic.

She broke into a ground-eating jog, zigzagging between the squat trees. Adrenaline pumped through her. Her arms flexed and her stomach tightened, her muscles rolling beneath her skin. She loved this feeling. She felt powerful’like she could pick up the world on her back, like there was nothing she couldn’t do. As much as she hated to admit it’and she’d die before she ever told Giselle’being a Shadowblade was better than any other high she could imagine. It was better than being the soft, weak human girl she’d been. Now she was fast, strong, and capable. She didn’t wander through her life scared of anything’not roller coasters, not jumping out of airplanes, not the big bad monster in the closet or under the bed. She’d met monsters; she’d killed them. If she could have this feeling of being the hunter and never having to cower helpless’if she could have that without Giselle and without the horrors that went with serving the witch-bitch, then Max would never want anything else. It would be every Christmas and birthday present wrapped into one.

She covered the sloping ground quickly, pausing here and there to test the air and listen. About a mile along, she picked up the first scent of blood. She stopped and dropped to a crouch beside a knobby tree trunk. The coppery flavor marked the blood as human, and there was a lot of it. Enough to cut through the stench of magic. There was Uncanny blood, too. The smell tingled at the back of her throat, tasting hot and corrosive. She didn’t recognize it. She scowled, something angry rising hot and hard in her. Suddenly she started running. Someone might be alive. Giselle could be wrong.

A mile farther in, she topped a rise. Between the trees she could glimpse a set of buildings on a hill beyond the orchard. Even from here she could see the lavender witchlight flickering through the trees. The smell of blood was stronger, and there was something else’something wet, cold, and bleak, like winter wind over a frozen lake. It was Divine.

Max crept closer, clinging close to the tree row. She paused every hundred yards to scan the trees and listen, but there was nothing. Everything was silent except for dogs barking some distance away. The din was unrelenting. Dogs knew the stench of magic when they smelled it.

She knew when she stepped into the chaos zone. They used to be called faery circles, but faeries weren’t the only cause. The zones were places where magic had exploded out of control. Maybe a spell ruptured, maybe a circle couldn’t contain the conjuring, or a ritual had gone haywire. It wouldn’t be safe until the magic dissipated, which could be a few seconds or a few centuries.

Max strode inside without hesitation. The protection spells Giselle had carved into her bones and flesh protected her from most malevolent magics. A little wild magic just cleared her sinuses.

Inside, there were no natural sounds: no nightbirds, no crickets, no mosquitoes, nothing. The barks of the dogs snuffed out like blown birthday candles. Currents of thorny magic twisted in the warm, still air. She jerked as a high shrieking sound wrapped her skull and sent darts of pain down her nerves. She shook her head, crouching low as she jogged forward. When she came to the treeline, she dropped and crawled beneath a John Deere tractor, concealing herself in the shadows of a massive tire.

A nimbus of lavender witchlight surrounded a two-story, red-steel-roofed farmhouse. A white, crushed-gravel drive led down to the road beween lofty, smooth-skinned English walnut trees. It circled the house, corralling a close-clipped lawn dotted with bushes and flowers and a large gazebo covered by climbing roses and grapevines. Behind it was a barn-style garage with a matching redsteel roof that looked big enough to hold six cars. On the other side of the house was a pool. Max could smell the chlorine. A brass-and-iron sign above the steps leading up to the rustic veranda said JULIAN SPRINGS ORCHARDS.

From her vantage point, Max could see four human bodies sprawled on the white gravel. One woman, three men. Trails of blood on the ground indicated they’d been dragged there. There was nothing to say who had done it, nor was there any evidence of ritual in the killing.

A sudden squabbling gabbled up loudly from the other side of the house. Growls and whimpers were followed by a snarling and loud cursing. Max couldn’t make out the words. She was pretty sure they weren’t speaking any language she knew. Then suddenly the shrieking sound erupted again. It bored into Max’s eardrums, made hypersensitive by Giselle’s spells. Max pressed her palms against her ears until it stopped.

As soon as the noise died, she crawled out from under the tractor and ran down the low hill to the driveway. She carried the shotgun in front of her, her finger resting lightly on the trigger. She stopped at the first body. She wanted to be clinical and detached. She didn’t want to care for strangers who’d never even had a chance. She didn’t know them and she sure as hell couldn’t help them. But as she surveyed their wounds, anger and horror crashed together like locomotives inside her chest. Max gasped, hot tears burning in her eyes as an unexpected need to find them vengeance swamped her. She knuckled her eyes and examined the bodies, not letting herself look away.

The first corpse had been a young man, maybe in his early twenties. His chest had been ripped open. His ribs were a mangled mess, and his entrails were gone. There was a smell of shit and urine and rotting meat. His legs had been gnawed on and one of his arms was missing. His eyes were open and staring, his mouth wide-open, his tongue protruding. Around his neck he wore a gold chain with a peace sign pendant.

The other three victims were in much the same condition, although the woman had been chewed on more than the other two. Her legs were twisted and splintered, and most of the flesh had been chewed off them. Both her arms were gone.

Max’s fury flamed as she looked at the woman. She was wearing shreds of a pink nightgown, like she’d been snuggled in bed when she was attacked. She was hardly a woman’maybe just into college. On her wrist was a butterfly-tattoo bracelet in blues and purples.

The anger twisted and dug hard claws into Max. She drew a sharp breath. They were all so innocent and so horribly ruined. It made her want to kill someone’find them vengeance. Her mouth drew into a tense line. At least these four had been permitted to die. It could have been worse. She tried to take comfort in the thought, but it was elusive. She wiped more tears from her cheeks and ordered herself to be done with crying over crap she couldn’t change.

She stood slowly, her jaw hardening. Someone was going to pay, she promised herself.

She let the predator in her rise, animal instincts flattening human concerns. Her head dropped and turned as she searched the yard eagerly. It was time to hunt. She jogged to a corner of the house. Bushes provided her with cover as she edged into the backyard. There was no one here. She loped across the lawn, hunching down and staying close to the house. At the other corner she stopped and peered around.

A small swarm of wizened redcaps were milling around the edge of a charm circle, its boundary glowing lavender witchlight to match the nimbus above the house. There were thirteen of the creatures, or had been. Three lay dead. The remaining ones were growling and yipping at one another, pushing and shoving and tearing with their hooked claws and orange teeth. One was chewing on a human arm like it was a turkey leg. Others were garlanded with the intestines of the four murdered people on the driveway.

It took all that Max had not to blow the little beasts away with her shotgun. She wanted to’oh, how she wanted to make them suffer. Her hands clenched. But more was going on here than a simple murder, and it would be beyond stupid to rush in without knowing what. She gritted her teeth, her lips pulling back in a snarl, and scanned the scene again.

Inside the charm circle lay something human-size, though Max couldn’t make out what it was through the gyrating little bodies. The one thing she knew for sure was that the vicious little redcaps were Uncanny, and whatever was inside that circle was Divine.

She needed to get closer. She inched back out of the bushes, then skimmed back around the garage. She skirted the hedge dividing the orchard from the back of the yard, stooping to keep out of sight. The hedge intersected the weathered wood fence that hid the large swimming pool. Max vaulted silently over the five-foot fence, landing in a crouch amid the thickly perfumed camellias and geraniums on the other side.

The pool was a rectangle of inky black surrounded by a wide patio-walkway. Nothing moved here. Max picked her way out onto the sidewalk. She hurried up to the opposite end, careful not to knock into any of the tables or chairs littering the poolside. The charm circle was opposite the gate. Slowly she eased up the latch at the top, letting the gate drift open a bare inch.

The redcaps and their prey were only thirty feet away beneath the spreading branches of an oak tree. Now Max could see inside the circle. On the ground, huddled in on herself, was a bony, old woman. No, not a woman. A Hag. Her thin, angular face was almost cobalt, her long hair white as the grass that grows in darkness. She was dressed in rags, her long, thin limbs poking out at sharp angles. She was weeping black tears, and a sound like several mouths whispering came from her lips as she watched the snarling redcaps.