Crimson Wind (8 page)

She thought of her sister, Tris, with her two girls and her brother, Kyle, with his stepsons and her parents—

They would have been like wheat under the thresher when the creatures overran the house.

Hard shudders ran through her. They were dead. They had to be. But then she remembered Jim. Had the witch made it to the house? If anyone could have, it would be him. He’d fought the blue goblins—these creatures couldn’t be any worse.

If he
had
made it, there was hope. Which meant she had to stop wallowing and get her shit together before they were all slaughtered.

Spurred by the thought, she climbed out and rinsed off in the shower, then dressed and combed her hair before tossing clothes and an emergency kit into her duffel. She added a bag of M&M’s and a couple of Gatorades.

She straightened and grabbed a pair of sunglasses from her top drawer. She shoved her cell phone into her pocket and hooked the glasses in the neck of her shirt before glancing in the mirror. Thanks to Scooter’s healing, she no longer looked like a refugee from a Nazi death camp. Which was something. After all, she’d been awake for all of a few hours and was already over the day’s quota on near-death experiences. She could hardly wait to see what happened next.

She did not have long to wait. When she got to the lobby inside the main entrance to Horngate, she found Oz waiting for her. He was about a mile past pissed off.

“You were leaving without saying a word to me?” he demanded, folding his arms across his broad chest in front of the door.

He was tall, with wide, muscular shoulders and sun-streaked dark blond hair. With his square jaw and dimpled cheeks, he looked like an all-American frat boy. He was, in a word, gorgeous, though not Max’s type. She liked her men wiry and dark like Alexander—

She yanked her mind away from that thought and scowled at Oz.

“I’m in a hurry,” she told him. “My family is in trouble. I don’t have time to waste. Or is there something specific you needed to talk about?”

His mouth rimmed white as his lips pinched together. He looked up as if praying for patience and took a deep breath. He looked down at her again and spoke with a slow deliberation that told Max just how furious he was. “We’re friends. You haven’t seen your family in thirty years. They’re not only going to be a little surprised that you’re alive and haven’t been in contact for three decades, but the notion that you’re also a supernatural creature might startle them just a little bit. Add in the fact that they are under magical attack, and I thought I might wish you good luck. You might need it. And friendship aside, as Sunspear Prime, I thought I might check in with your plans for the Blades while you’re gone. I don’t think I’m being unreasonable, expecting you might take a minute to give me the time of day.”

She winced. “Sorry,” she said, rubbing a hand over the back of her neck. “The last few hours have been a little tougher than I expected, and I’m not thinking all that clearly. Thank you. I appreciate having all the luck I can get. As for my Blades, Niko’s in charge. Hopefully there won’t be any trouble before I get back, but you’ve got the angels. They’re worth a small army by themselves.”

He relaxed fractionally at her apology. “What about Alexander? He’s going with you? I don’t like it.”

“I’m not exactly jumping up and down either, but those are Giselle’s orders. She doesn’t want him here if I’m not here.”

“She’s got the angels to keep him in check.”

Max lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Yeah, well, she thinks he and I have some issues to work out. If we can’t, I’m supposed to make sure he doesn’t come back.”

He scowled. “Issues?”

Max suppressed a sigh. She and Oz had been flirting with each other for years, but it had never been more than a little fun for her. She doubted he had deep feelings for her, but men didn’t like other men peeing in their territory. She grimaced. In that metaphor, she was their handy fire hydrant.

“That’s right,” she said.

He stood there waiting for more. She wasn’t in the mood to give it.

“I’ve got to go. I’ll see you soon. Call me if you need me.”

She stepped adroitly around him. He spun and caught her arm. She stopped and looked up at him, her expression icy. He didn’t back down.

“I deserve better than that,” he said through gritted teeth. “You know I do.”

She sighed. “Look. I’ve had a bad time of it already today, and mostly I want to hit someone. You’re the one in front of me, so you’re getting it.”

Oz’s expression thawed slightly. “All right. Be careful. Call me if things go sideways.”

“Sure,” she said, but if—
when
—the shit hit the fan, she doubted there would be time for help to arrive. He knew it as well as she did. “I’d better go.”

He nodded and stepped back. Max hesitated. She sucked at good-byes. She’d rather just make her escape without having to see anybody. “Take care of yourself,” she said lamely, and brushed her fingers across his shoulder before heading out into the night. He didn’t follow. Not that he would. Darkness poisoned Sunspears. They only ventured into the night for very good reasons, like the covenstead being under attack.

Outside, the mountain looked like a wasteland. The ground was rippled and charred black where Xaphan’s battle fire had struck. The stone had run and pooled, and what was left of the trees were ominous black skeletons. The moon was shining, and blisters instantly rose on Max’s exposed skin. Sunshine was deadly to Shadowblades. The less powerful ones would melt into goo; the more powerful would simply burst into flame. Even the reflected light of the moon was painful, the full moon particularly so. She slid on her sunglasses and felt a wave of itchiness spread across her eyes as they healed.

She jogged down the ridge to the valley. The grass here was parched and it crunched beneath her boots, but the ground had not burned. A dozen cars and trucks were parked in a flat dirt lot near the river. Across it were the greenhouses. They remained intact after the battle, but all the plants within had shriveled and died. Horngate had a reputation for growing some of the finest organic fruits and vegetables in the Pacific Northwest. It was the covenstead’s cover—no one thought of witches when they saw the place. Everyone saw hippie organic farmers, which fit perfectly with their location outside the granola city of Missoula.

She stopped when she saw the truck that was waiting for her. It was a red crew-cab Chevy. There were scratches in the hood from where blackberry brambles had scraped it. Hidden beneath the shell on the back was a light- and dark-sealed steel box. It was about four feet tall and five feet deep and as wide as the bed of the truck. It was a safety retreat for Shadowblades and Sunspears caught out at the wrong time of the day or night. Alexander was leaning against the driver’s side, flipping the keys around his forefinger. Niko and Tyler waited beside him. They were all watching her like they expected her to fall apart or blow up.

Max swallowed the rock that had risen in her throat. Of course. They didn’t have many vehicles to spare, and her Tahoe had been blown up. It made sense to use Akemi’s truck. Akemi wasn’t going to need it. She’d been killed in the battle with the angels. Still, it hurt. Max had hardly had a chance to grieve for the men and women who’d died. She hadn’t wanted to think about it and had instead focused all her attention on rebuilding the covenstead and fighting off Scooter’s dream attacks. Now she was going to be wrapped in Akemi’s scent.

She strode forward, keeping the emotion from her face. She eyed Alexander. He didn’t look nearly as bad as Niko and Tyler. The bruises on his face were healing quickly, and his cuts were fading to pink. Soon they’d vanish. She met his eyes. He was staring back at her with a hooded gaze. Her mouth tightened. This was going to be a fun trip.

“Time to get on the road.” She held out her hand for the keys.

He shook his head. “I am driving. You can sleep, since word is you have not been doing a lot of that lately.”

There was accusation in his voice that made her want to punch him. It wasn’t his business. She didn’t need a nanny.

She scraped her teeth over her lower lip, wondering if it was worth the time or energy to take him down a peg. She glanced at Tyler and Niko, who both looked ready to back him up against any protests she might make. Apparently, they were not so much against Alexander that they wouldn’t join forces against her.

Not being stupid, Max chose not to argue. “Sounds good,” she said, and went around to the passenger door and climbed in.

Niko and Tyler followed her.

“Do you think she’s sick or something?” Tyler asked Niko. “Or maybe someone has taken possession of her body? I’ve never seen our Max agree to anything that quick, except maybe food.”

Niko frowned and examined Max’s face closely. He leaned through the window and lightly tapped a knuckle against her forehead. “Can you prove you’re Max?”

“Step away from the truck, or I’ll cut your balls off and roast ’em on a stick.”

Niko glanced at Tyler. “Sounds like her.”

“I don’t know. Usually she’s more creative. Roasting them on a stick? Very cliché.”

They both looked expectantly at Max. She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll cut them off and make earrings out of them. I might even let you wear them sometimes. Once we drill holes in your pretty little ears.”

“Still pretty weak,” Tyler said doubtfully.

“Very.”

Max looked at Alexander. “Can we go now?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a mock salute. He turned the engine over and put the truck in reverse.

Max looked at Niko and Tyler. “Try to keep everyone alive while I’m gone.”

“Aw, Mom, do we have to?” Tyler asked. “I was planning a trip to Vegas by way of the Bahamas.”

“Remind me to kick your ass when I get back.”

“Make sure you make it back,” he said, the humor fading from his expression, “and I will.”

“With you two waiting for me, why would I ever want to stay away?”

“Hey, I have good idea. Just for something new, why don’t you mix it up a little and try not to be too stupid on this trip?” Niko said.

“Stupid? I thought I was audacious and brave, spunky even.”

“Spunky?” Tyler repeated. “Audacious and brave I can buy. But spunky? That’s like calling Godzilla a little bit accident-prone.”

Max shrugged. “Poor Godzilla—she gets such a bad rap. Tell you what, I’ll only be as brave and audacious as I have to be,” she said, and she waved as Alexander drove away.

She sat back in her seat, listening to the sounds of the night through the open window. The smell of Akemi rose up around her, undispelled by the night air blowing through the window. It was a musky, sweet scent, like oolong tea and beeswax. There was a hint of pepper to it, too, and a tang of old sweat.

Max swallowed the sudden knot in her throat and stared out the window, trying to ignore the memories of her dead friend and her fears for her family.

They wound through mountains on the nameless dirt road that led away from covenstead. A short distance from Lolo Creek Road, they drove under the arch of antlers that marked the entrance of Horngate. Max’s attention snagged on a gleam of metal up high on the rimrock. Tutresiel perched barefoot on top of a thin finger of basalt. The top couldn’t have been more than a few inches square. He crouched there with preternatural stillness, his wings furled around him, his elbows resting on his knees.

Suddenly he leaped up into the air and dove down at the truck. He swooped past her window, his wings flared and silent. The sweet and caustic scent of Divine magic washed through the cab as he winged upward and disappeared over the ridge.

“What the hell?” Alexander said, slamming on the brakes and glaring after the angel.

“I don’t know,” Max said, but in the palm of her hand was a tiny curled feather, an inch long and a half-inch wide. It was made of silver, and she had no doubt it had been plucked from his wings. Her fingers closed around it. The edges were sharp, and she loosened her grip as it cut into her skin. A flash of cold seared her palm, and she snapped her fingers open.

The feather was gone, and where it had cut, a scar remained. She rubbed the thin white slice in astonishment. She was a Shadowblade—she didn’t scar. She didn’t take tattoos, and her ears wouldn’t hold a piercing. And yet ….. Beneath the scar, she felt a rigidness. She flexed her hand. There was no restriction in her movement and no pain. Still, she was certain the feather had sunk inside.

Her hand curled into a fist. It was the second time in the last few hours that someone had given her a gift. She knew Scooter’s came with strings. What the hell had Tutresiel given her? And just when was the surprise going to jump out of the closet and clobber her over the head?

She sighed, tilting her head back against the seat.

“You okay?”

She looked at Alexander. “Don’t I look it?” Her voice was sharper than she meant it to be, but she was on edge. He put her on edge.

He faced back to the road, his expression granite. “You have been looking a bit like the walking dead lately. Though you appear to have made a remarkable recovery today.”

“Thanks to Scooter.”

“Scooter,” he repeated, his lip curling with distaste.

“Yeah,” she said.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Her instant response was no. But it melted to ash on the tip of her tongue. They were going to be stuck together for the next few days. Might as well try to get along. Telling him about Scooter might ease the tension between them. Or piss him off more. But what the hell? The truth was, as much as she’d kept Alexander at arm’s length the last four weeks, he was the one she wanted to talk to. In fact, she
wanted
to do a lot with him, and most of it was a really bad idea. But talking—that much was safe enough.

“He’s been pretty irritated that I haven’t come to see him. So a few weeks ago, he started trying to drag me off whenever I went to sleep. It was killing me, so this morning I decided I’d better put a stop to it, and I went to see him.”

He turned his head to look at her, his brows raised. “You remember who I am, right? You have not wanted to share the same air for weeks, much less talk to me.”