Dance of the Gods (5 page)

“How?”

“It happens.” Maybe in his world the sky was rosy pink and love was forever. “People get dissatisfied, feelings change. Added to it my mother was sick of the life, the things that took my father away. She wanted normal, and it was her mistake she'd married someone who'd never give it to her. So she was busy picking fights with my father, and he was busy ignoring her and working with my brother.”

Which would mean, Larkin thought, that no one was paying attention to her. Poor little lamb.

“So I was always after my father to train me, too, or trying to do some of the stuff my brother was doing.”

“My younger brother trailed after me like a shadow when we were children. This is the same in all worlds, I suppose.”

“Bug you? Bother you?” she amended.

“Oh, drove me mad some of the time. Others, I didn't mind so much. If he was close by, it was easier to devil him. And others yet, well, it wasn't so bad as company.”

“So pretty much the same as with me and my brother. Then this one day they were down in the training area—a space most people would have a family room.” But you had to have a family to rate a family room. “We had equipment—weights, a pommel horse, uneven bars, rings. One whole wall was mirrored.”

She could still see it, perfectly, and the way they'd reflected her father and her brother, so close together, while she'd been off to the side. And alone.

“I watched them in the mirrors; they didn't know I was there. My father was giving Mick—my brother—a rash of grief because Mick just couldn't get this move. Back flip,” she murmured, “dive, shoulder roll, throw the stake into the target. Mick just couldn't get it, and my father was dead set he would. Finally, Mick got pissy himself, and he threw the stake across the room.”

It had almost brushed her fingers, she remembered. As if it had been meant for her hand.

“It rolled right to me. I knew I could do it. I just wanted to show my father I could do it. I just wanted him to look at me. So I did. I called his name: ‘Watch me, Daddy,' and I did it, the way I'd watched him do it over and over trying to get Mick to understand the rhythm.”

She closed her eyes a moment because she could still see herself, still feel it in her. As if the world had stopped, and only she was in motion for those few seconds.

“Hit the heart. Mostly luck, but I hit the heart. I was so happy. Look what I did! Mick's eyes just about fell out of
his head, then…there was this little smile in them—just a little. I didn't know what it meant then, I thought he'd just gotten a kick out what I did, because we mostly got along pretty well. My father didn't say anything, not for a few seconds—seemed like an hour—and I thought he was going to yell at me.”

“For doing something well?”

“Getting in the way. And, not yell, really. He never raised his voice; that's all about control. I figured he was going to tell me to go back up with my mother. You know, dismiss me. But he didn't. He told Mick to go upstairs, and it was just him and me. Just me and my father, and he was finally looking at me.”

“He must have been very proud, very pleased.”

“Hell no.” Her laugh was short and without any humor. “He was disappointed. That's what I saw when he finally looked at me. He was disappointed that it was me and not Mick. Now he was stuck with me.”

“Surely he…” Larkin trailed off when she turned her head, met his eyes. “I'm sorry. Sorry his lack of vision hurt you.”

“Can't change what you are.” Another lesson she'd learned hard. “So he trained me, and Mick got to play baseball. That was the smile. Relief, joy. Mick, he'd never wanted what my father wanted for him. He's got more of my mother in him. When she left, filed for divorce, I mean, she took Mick, and I stayed with my father. I got what I wanted, more or less.”

She stiffened when Larkin put an arm around her shoulders, but when she would have shifted away he tightened his grip in the comfort of a one-armed hug. “I don't know your father or your brother, but I do know I'd rather be here with you than either of them. You fight like an avenging angel. And you smell good.”

He surprised a laugh out of her, a genuine laugh, and with it, she relaxed against the wet rock, with his arm around her shoulders.

O
n the cliffs, the circle was cast. Now and again,
there was the sound of a car passing on the road below. But no one walked here, or snapped their pictures, or stood on his headland.

Perhaps, Hoyt thought, the gods did what they could.

“It's so clear today.” Moira looked skyward. “Barely a cloud.”

“So clear, you can see across the water all the way to
Gaillimh.
”

“Galway.” Glenna stood, gathering strength and courage. “I've always wanted to go there, to see the bay. To wander along Shop Street.”

“And so we will.” Hoyt took her hand now. “After Samhain. Now we look, and we find. You're sure of the location where we'll send any if we can transport?”

Glenna nodded. “I'd better be.” She took Moira's hand in turn. “Focus,” she told her. “And say the words.”

She felt it from Hoyt, that first low rumble of power, the
reaching out. Glenna pushed toward it, pulling Moira with her.

“On this day and in this hour, I call upon the sacred power of Morrigan the goddess and pray she grant to us her grace and prowess. In your name, Mother, we seek the sight, ask you to guide us into the light.”

“Lady,” Hoyt spoke. “Show us those held beneath this ground, against their will. Help us find what is lost.”

“Blind the beasts that seek to kill.” Moira struggled to focus as the air began to swirl around her. “That no innocents will pay the cost.”

“Goddess and Mother,” they said together, “our power unite, to bring into day what is trapped in the night. Now we seek, and now we see. As we will, so mote it be.”

Darkness and shadows and dank air, fetid with the foulness of death and decay. Now a shimmer of light, glimmers of shapes in the shadows. There was the sound of weeping, so harsh, so human, and the moans and gibbering of those who had no tears left to shed.

They floated through the maze of tunnels, felt the cold as if their bodies walked there. And even the mind shuddered at what they saw.

Cages, stacked three deep, four high, jammed into a cave washed in a sickly green light. But their minds saw through the gloom of it, to the blood pooled on the floor, to the faces of the terrified and the mad. Even as they watched, a vampire unlocked one of the cages, dragged the woman inside it out. The sound she made was a kind of keening, and her eyes seemed already dead.

“Lora's bored,” it said as it pulled her across the filthy floor by the hair. “She wants something to play with.”

In one of the cages, a man began to beat the bars and scream. “You bastards! You bastards!”

The tear that spilled down Glenna's cheek was cold.

“Hoyt.”

“We'll try. Him, the one who's shouting. He's strong, and it may help. See him. See nothing else.”

Because she needed the words as well as the sight, Glenna began to chant. Moira's voice joined her.

And the ground trembled.

 

L
arkin was singing. Something about a black-haired
maid from Dara. Blair didn't mind listening; he had a clear, easy voice. The sort, she thought, of a man used to raising it in a pub, or while he walked the fields. And it was calming to have the tune, the steady roar of the sea, and the warm beam of the sun.

Added to it, the simple companionship was a change for her. Usually when she waited, she waited alone.

“You wouldn't have the little thing? The little thing with the music in it with you?”

“No. Sorry. Next time I get a chance, I'm buying myself a pair of those Oakley Thumps, got the MP3 player built in. Sunglasses.” She mimed the shape of them over her face—and it occurred to her Larkin would look damn hot wearing a pair himself. “With the little thing with the music inside them.”

“You can wear the music?” His whole face lit up. “What a world of miracles this is.”

“I don't know about miracles, but it's jammed with technology. Wish I'd thought to bring the player along.” Music would be easier than all this conversation. She was used to waiting alone, damn it. Not hanging around with a companion, exchanging small talk and life stories.

It was making her itchy.

“Well, that's all right. Be nice if I had my pipe.”

“Pipe.” She turned her head. Couldn't quite fit the idea of a pipe with that gilded Irish god face. “You smoke a pipe?”

“Smoke? No, no.” He laughed, shifted his weight as he lifted his hands in front of his mouth, wiggled his fingers. “Play. The pipe. Now and again.”

“Oh, okay.” His eyes were the color of good, dark honey.
Might look hot in a pair of Oakleys, she mused, but it would be a shame to put lenses over those eyes. “That works.”

“Do you play anything? Musically?”

“Me? No. Never had time to learn. Unless you count beating out a tattoo on vampires.” She mimed again—it seemed they did a lot of charades between them—punching her fists in the air.

“Well now, your sword sings, that's for certain.” He gave her a friendly little shoulder bump. “Don't know as I've heard the like of it. And this would be a fine place for a battle, I'm thinking.” He tapped fingers rhythmically on the hilt of his sword. “The sea, the rocks, the bright sun. Aye, a fine spot.”

“Sure, if you like not having an escape route, or losing your footing on slick rocks. Drowning.”

He gave her a pitying look and a sigh. “You're not considering the atmosphere, the dramatic tone of it all. Can vampires drown?” he wondered.

“Not so much. They…Did you feel that?” She pushed off the rock as the ground under her vibrated.

“I did. Maybe the spell's breaking down.” He drew his sword, scanned the cliff wall. “Maybe the caves behind it will appear now.”

“If they do, you're not going in. You gave your word.”

“I keep my word.” Irritation flickered over his face. This was the soldier now, she noted, and not the pipe-playing farmer. “But if one of them sticks its head out, just a bit…Do you see anything? I'm not seeing anything different than it was.”

“No, nothing. Maybe it's the magic trio on the cliffs. Seems like they've had enough time to do something.” She kept her hand on the stake in her belt as she worked her way as far toward the crashing surf as she dared. “Can't see from here. Can you, like, be a bird? Like a hawk or something? Take a look up there?”

“I can, of course. I don't like to leave you alone down here.”

Irritation rippled down her spine. Here she was explaining herself again. “I'm in the sun, vamps can't come out. Besides, I've worked alone for a long time. Let's get a status report on magic time. I don't like not knowing where we stand.”

He could do it quickly, he thought. He could be up and back in a matter of minutes. And from the sky, he could see her, and anything that came at her, as well as the group on the cliffs.

So he passed Blair his sword and thought of the hawk. Of its shape, of its vision, and of its heart. The light shimmered into him, over him. In that change, as arms became wings, as lips formed a beak, as talons sprang and curled, there was a sudden and breathless pain.

Then freedom.

He soared up, a gold hawk that took the air, and circled once over Blair with a cry like triumph.

“Wow.” She stared up, watching his flight, the sheer power and majesty of it. She'd seen him change before, had ridden on his back when he'd taken the shape of a horse into battle. And still, she was dumbstruck.

“That is so sexy.”

While the ground continued to shake, she gripped Larkin's sword, drew her own. And with the sea roaring at her back, faced the blank wall of the cliff.

Overhead, the hawk swept through the air over the cliffs. He could see keenly enough to pick out individual blades of grass, the petals of the rugged wildflowers that forced their way through fissures in rock to seek the sun. He saw the long ribbon of the road, the wide plate of the sea, and all the way to where the land met it again.

The hawk yearned to fly, and to hunt. The man inside it pitted his will against that yearning even as he skimmed the sky.

He could see them below, his cousin, the witch and the sorcerer, hands linked as they stood on the quaking ground. There was light, wild and white, in them, around them, a
spinning circle that rose up in a tower to shake the air even as the ground.

The wind caught at him, plucked at his wings like greedy fingers. In it he could hear their voices, blended together as one, and could feel their power, a hot stream that washed the whirling air.

Then that wind slapped at him, and sent him into a rolling, spinning dive.

Blair heard the hawk cry, saw it spiral. Her heart rolled up into her throat, lodged there as Larkin tumbled through the air. It stayed there, a hot, hard ball even as the hawk sheered up, wings spread. Then dived to land gracefully at her feet.

For a moment, she saw the melding of them, hawk and man. Then Larkin stood facing her, his breathing labored, his face pale.

“What the hell was that? What the hell happened? I thought you were going to splat. Your nose is bleeding.”

Her voice was tinny to his ears so he shook his head as if to clear it. “Not surprising.” He swiped at the blood. “Something's happening up there, something very big from the feel of it. The light damn near blinded me, and the wind's a bloody wicked one. I couldn't tell, not for certain, if they're in trouble. But I think we'd best go up and make certain.”

“Okay.” She started to hand him his sword, and the ground heaved. Off-balance, she pitched forward. He managed to catch her, but the momentum threw him back against the rock, and nearly sent both of them into the water.

“Sorry, sorry.” But it was brace against him or fall. “You hurt?”

“Knocked the bleeding breath out of me again is all.”

The next spume of surf soaked them both. “Screw this. We'd better get out of here.”

“I'm for that. Steady now.”

They linked their arms around each other's waists,
struggling to stay upright. Rock and sod began to spill down the cliff face, making the idea of climbing up it again unappealing if not impossible.

“I can get us up to the others,” he told her. “You'll just have to hold on, and I'll—”

He broke off as the wall itself began to waver, to change. To open.

“Well now,” he murmured, “what have we here?”

“Spell broke down, or was broken down. Could be trouble.”

“I'm hoping.”

“Right there with you.”

Even as he spoke, they rushed out. Big and burly, and armed with swords.

“How can they—”

“Not vamps.” Blair pushed away from Larkin, planted her feet. She figured the quaking ground was as much a problem for the enemy as it was for her and Larkin. “Fight now, explain later.”

She swung her sword up, blocked the first blow. The force rippled down her arm even as the ground buckled under her feet. She used it, going down, blocking again as she snatched one of the stakes out of her belt.

She jammed it through his leg. He stumbled, howled, and she came up with her sword.

One down, she thought, and refused the pity. She pivoted, nearly went down as the ground came up, and clashed steel with the one who sprang behind her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Larkin taking on two at once. “Bear claw!” she shouted.

“There's an idea.” His arm thickened, lengthened. With the keen black claws that curled out, he swiped even as his sword swung in his other hand.

They were holding their own, Blair thought, but no more than that. There was no room to maneuver, not when a wrong step could have them tumbling into the sea.

Bashed on the rocks, swept away. Worse than the sword.
Still, they couldn't climb, not now. There was no choice but to stand and fight.

She fell, rolled, and the sword plunged into the rocky ground an inch from her face. She kicked up, pumping hard, and sent her opponent into the sea.

Too many of them, too many, she thought as she gained her feet and staggered. But it could be worse. It could…

The light changed, dimmed. With the false twilight came the first splatters of rain.

“Christ, Jesus Christ. She's bringing the dark.”

With it, vampires began to slink out of the cave. The sea, and a hard, drowning death suddenly seemed the better alternative.

Calculating quickly, she sent fire rippling down her blade. They could block them with fire, hold some back, destroy others. But too many would get through.

“We can't win this, Larkin. Make like a hawk, get to the others. Get them out of here. I'll hold them off as long as I can.”

“Don't be foolish. Get on.” He threw her his sword. “Hold on.”

He changed, but it wasn't a hawk that stood beside her. The dragon's gold wings spread, and as it reared back, its tail sliced down the first that came out of the caves.

She didn't think, just leaped on its back, locking her legs around its serpentine body. She sliced out to the left, hacking at one that charged. Then she was rising up, streaming through the gloom and the mist.

And she couldn't help it, couldn't stop it. She let out a wild cry of sheer delight, throwing back her head as she stabbed the swords into the sky. And set them both to flame.

The wind rushed by her, and the ground rushed away. She sheathed one sword so that she could run a hand over the dragon. The scales, glimmering gold, felt like polished jewels, sun-warmed and smooth. Looking down, she saw earth and sea, and swirling pockets of mists that blanketed the jaws of the rocks.

Then she saw, on the high cliff, three figures sprawled on the tough, wet grass.

“Get down there. Get down there fast!” She knew he could hear and understand her, in any form, but she might have saved her breath.

The rush of speed slapped her back as he arrowed toward the ground. She was jumping off even as he landed, and began to change back.