Obsidian Wings (7 page)

“You doing okay, Lex?” Lex was dragging, and whether she’d
admit it or not, in need of some rest. Rune was taking the girl to her house,
having already convinced Lex to stay with her until the twins returned home.
But first they were going to check on Gunnar.

Somehow, she’d come to care about a ghoul. A
ghoul.

“I guess,” Lex said. Then, “What would it mean to be a
demon?”

 “I don’t know. Maybe we can do some research.”

Lex snorted. “Yeah. I’ll google support groups for demons.”

“Kelic’s an idiot, baby.”

Lex shrugged. “Maybe he’s not. I could be anything.” She
paused. “Or nothing.”

“Doesn’t matter what you label yourself. You’re pretty
amazing.”

“I don’t know one member of Shiv Crew who isn’t special,”
Lex said, smiling. “So I suppose you’re right.”

“I’m glad you’re back, Lex.”

“How are you doing after…” Lex gestured. “Z.”

Rune’s breath caught. “I’m devastated. Full of regret.
Grieving. But I’m dealing with it.”

“You’re getting stronger.”

“I am.”

“When you manage to wade through such deep shit, what choice
do you have, right?”

“If it doesn’t kill you…”

“Yeah.”

When they arrived at Wormwood, Rune pulled three Baby Ruth
candy bars from the glove box. “I’ll be quick,” she told Lex. “You want to come
with me or wait in the car?”

Lex stared through the windshield toward the gated
graveyard, which was lit with infrequently placed lampposts. “I’ll wait. Say hi
to the ghoul for me.”

Gunnar the Ghoul stood just inside the gates, his hands
clasped behind his back.

He was dressed all in black, except for a faded, once white
shirt beneath a tattered vest. His topcoat was long, reaching the tops of his
muddy black boots. He’d even found a battered stovepipe hat somewhere and had
placed it atop his mass of tangled black hair.

As soon as he saw her, he bowed. “Your Highness.”

“Hi, sexy.”

They stood silently, watching each other. She noticed he’d
taken what appeared to be a scrap of white satin and tied it into a bow around
a length of his long, frizzy hair.

It made her smile.

But just for a moment.

“COS is planning to sacrifice the twins to call a demon,
Gunnar. What can you tell me?”

“I know the church is full of trickery, Your Horror, but I
do not believe they are dark enough to call the demons.”

“I’m not worried about their lack of skill. I’m worried
about the twins dying. I need help.”

“I have feelers out. I have heard nothing that will help
you.” He looked at the ground. “I am sorry.”

She sighed. “How are you, Gunnar?”

“I am old, Your Magnanimousness.”

She walked a step away to lean against an old, gnarled tree.
“I brought you some candy, Grandpa.”

His dark eyes gleamed. “I will accept your gifts.”

“You’ve done a lot for me. The least I can do is bring you
chocolate.”

He snatched the bars from her, his fingers trembling with
eagerness. He closed his eyes and took one long sniff of the wrapped bars
before putting them away in his pockets. “You have done much for me as well.”

She folded her arms and grinned. “Like what?”

“You destroyed the mad vampire. He was going to take over
Wormwood and then I—as well as the others who call Wormwood home—would have
been forced to live with torments and tortures as the master slowly took over.”
He shuddered delicately, then pursed his thin lips when she raised an eyebrow
at his melodrama. “Scoff if you must, but I am not an admirer of torture. Not
my own, anyway. People who enjoy it are a touch…demented.” He bowed slightly.
“No offense.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Damn you, Gunnar.”

He placed his long fingers over his heart. “What did I say?”

She rolled her eyes and strode back to the gates. “If you hear
so much as a
hint
of information about the twins, let me know.”

“Of course.”

She left him with his Baby Ruth candy bars, her heart
lighter because she’d given a dusty old ghoul some joy.

She checked her phone on the way home, her stomach
tightening when she thought of the berserker on the mountain with the birds.

He might trust them, but she didn’t.

Not even a little bit.

When she arrived home his truck was sitting dark and silent
in front of her house, and he was waiting for her.

“Just point me to the spare room and take care of your man,”
Lex said, climbing from the car. “I won’t make a peep.”

Rune led her up the walk to the front door, glancing at
Strad’s truck as he slammed his door and leaned against the hood. She could
feel his stare, heavy and dark, on her body.

“Come in,” she told him. “I need to help Lex get settled.”

He didn’t move. “I’ll wait for you.”

But fifteen minutes later when she came out, he was gone,
and Sam Cruikshank was on her porch.

She pulled her cell from her pocket and read the text Strad
had sent her.

Got emergency call. Be back soon.

Dammit.

She stared at Cruikshank. “Why are you here?”

“You know why, Rune.”

“Do you understand the danger you’re in? Are you really as
stupid as you seem to be?”

He only smiled, his teeth gleaming in the dimness of the
porch light. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Then you
are
stupid. Because you should be very
afraid of me.”

He took a step closer. “You’re afraid of you.”

It wasn’t good that she’d been hurt too much in the recent
days. It wasn’t good that she’d managed some sort of control over her monster
and had held him in an unbreakable chokehold. Her monster wanted loose, and
that wasn’t
good.

Not for Sam Cruikshank, anyway.

She dropped her fangs.

At that moment, Lex opened the door and stuck her head out.
“Rune?”

“I’m here, Lex.”

“That’s not the berserker, is it?”

“Nope. This is Cruikshank. He was just leaving.”

Lex nodded. “Is Strad coming back?”

“Yes.”

“Come say goodnight when he does. I want to see that you’re
okay.”

“We will.”

Lex shot a frowning glance at the reporter and withdrew,
shutting the door softly.

“Leave,” Rune told him, “while you’re still able to leave.”

He studied her solemnly. “You want what I can give you.”

She shrugged. “Maybe some part of me does. But I’m not
taking it. So get the fuck out of here before I rip your arms off.”

Finally, a glimmer of fear showed in his face. He took a
step back. “You need some time. I expected that. But I will be back.”

If she hadn’t known him, she would have thought him
harmless. His blue dress shirt was tucked neatly into his belted trousers,
everything pressed to within an inch of its life. His hair was perfectly
styled, deliberate in its casual messiness. He
looked
like he wrote for
a newspaper.

He did not look like he should be naked, passionate, and
handing out pain.

“You don’t want to die, Cruikshank. Please.” She softened
her voice, knowing he heard the threat of menace running through it. “Leave me
alone.”

“No, Rune. I won’t.” He smiled ruefully. “I can’t.”

And he walked away.

“What the fuck?” she murmured.

She never heard a car start up, and had no idea where he’d
parked. Maybe he lived with the rest of the freaks in the Moor. She was going
to have to make it her business to find out more about Sam Cruikshank.

Soon as she got time.

She leaned against the wall, listening to the boisterous
sounds of the drunk and disorderly coming from nearby bars. A few houses down a
woman cursed her man. The sudden, sharp tinkle of breaking glass and the
barking of a dog followed.

“Oh, the sweet music of the Moor,” she muttered, and turned
to go back inside to wait for the berserker.

Then she paused, sniffing as her nose caught the subtle
scent of bird shifters. Her body reacted before her mind did, and she shot out
her claws and dropped her fangs as she spun around to face the threat.

“Whoa,” Cree Stark said, holding up her hands. “I just want
to talk.”

Rune straightened from her crouch but left her fangs and
claws out. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Cree crossed her arms. She was dressed in black. Even her
strange, changing hair was hidden by a black watch cap. Her hands were covered
with black gloves, and Rune caught sight of a sheath buckled at her side.

“I know,” Cree said, “that you don’t like me.”

“I’d like you fine in a nice stir fry with some spicy ginger
sauce.”

A quick gleam of anger, there and gone, showed in Cree’s
dark eyes. “Personally, I don’t like you, either. But I have some information
you need.”

Rune’s stomach knotted. “What information?”

“Can we go inside and talk?”

“No.”

Cree shifted from one foot to the other. “Fine. It’s about
Strad Matheson.”

“Yeah?”

“Can you put those away?” Cree gestured at Rune’s claws. “If
I want to fight, I’ll be sure to let you know. Right now, I need to talk.”

She seemed sincere. Worried, even.

Rune retracted her claws and fangs and took a deep breath.
She really didn’t want bad news about the fucking berserker. “What about
Strad?”

“He’s too good for you,” Cree said, crossing her arms.

“If you’ve got something important to say, spit it out. If
not, get the fuck away from me.”

The tall bird curled her lip. “You’re a real bitch, aren’t
you?”

“Fuck you,” Rune said. She wasn’t in the mood to cater to a
pissy bird. Disgusted, she turned to go inside. To hell with Cree Stark.

The bird was on her in two seconds, her huge body bearing
Rune to the porch floor even as she shoved something sharp and deadly through
Rune’s back.

Into her heart.

Fuck.

Almost immediately, she was incapacitated. It was bad that
she had a weakness. It was worse that the whole fucking world had learned what
that weakness was.

She wanted to cry out, wanted to fight, but she had nothing.

“Don’t ever give her your back, Rune.”

She should have listened to the berserker.

“You staked me,” she whispered.

“I splintered you,” Cree corrected, her breath warm on
Rune’s neck. “A long sliver of obsidian, in case you’re interested. I’ve been
informed that a staking won’t kill you. It will, however, make you weak as a
fucking newborn.”

Rune’s cheekbone scraped painfully on the rough concrete as
Cree grabbed her ankle and dragged her off the porch.

Once at the side of the house, Cree undressed and stuffed
her black clothing and shoes into a mesh bag she’d brought with her. “Strad,”
she said, “thinks he can trust us. He thinks we have honor, at least amongst
ourselves. If you’re one of us, you’re going to be honored—maybe—by us. But
I’ll tell you a little secret. Strad isn’t one of us.”

No shit,
Rune wanted to say. But she couldn’t talk.

Cree looped the string of the bag around Rune’s neck, and
then, she shifted.

Sharp talons ripped into her clothes, and then into her
skin, as Cree lifted her from the ground. The almost soothing sounds of her
wings,
whoosh whooshing
through the air, accompanied the roar of wind
through her ears. The bird soared with her held securely in the grip of her
giant claws, taking her away.

Away.

Far below, she caught the bright shine of headlights on her
street. She imagined the vehicle was being driven by the berserker as he
headed, oblivious and impatient, back to her house.

And then she could think of nothing but pain as the splinter
of obsidian sat solidly in her heart, reminding her with a black sadness of the
mad master, Nicolas Llodra.

Each moment seemed to last for an excruciating hour, but in
reality it wasn’t more than ten minutes before Cree set her down in the nest on
Spikemoss Mountain.

And just that quickly, Rune was in the territory of the
birds.

It was a whole new world.

An inadvertent cry of pain left her as Cree dumped her on
the hard ground. She wouldn’t stay down forever, and when she was able, she was
sending Cree Stark to hell.

“I’m going to tear your wings off and feed them to you,” she
said, as Cree paused to stare down at her. Her voice was rusty and weak, but it
was there.

Birds pressed forward, their eyes glittering with curiosity.
Lights on tall poles tried to push back the gloom, but the area was darkened by
shadows caused by something more sinister than mere night.

She expected at any time the haunting strains of banjos
would begin to duel.

“Who’s that?” a young voice asked.

He was quickly shushed.

Cree ignored them all. “I don’t see you getting out of this
alive, Alexander. I’m sorry for that, but…” She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t
see it.”

“My crew will tear this place apart.”

“Strad was already here. He asked his questions of the
scepters, and he left satisfied. He won’t be coming back.” She crouched down
beside Rune and pulled the bag of clothing over her head.

“This is going to end badly for you,” Rune said. There was
no doubt in her mind that it was true.

Cree hesitated, then she gave a small shrug and stood.
“Maybe. But I can’t do a damn thing about it now.”

Rune managed to turn from her side to her back, a simple enough
action that would have been impossible when her father had staked her. The
splinter wasn’t as incapacitating as the blade had been.

“Wait,” she said, when Cree started to leave. “Why?”

Cree surprised her by actually answering. “I pay what I owe.
I have no choice. Your fate is out of my hands now.”

And after the cryptic words that gave Rune no real answers,
she hurried away.

The place was silent, eerily so. That silence was broken
only by the shuffling feet of the curious shifters and the distant sounds of
animals sharing the woods and hollows with the birds.

She closed her eyes when a wave of pain rushed over her, and
when it receded enough for her to breathe again, she opened her eyes to find
Fin Lynch standing quietly over her.

“Dude,” she murmured. “This is not cool.”

“Some invincible monster,” he said, but his voice was
gentle. “I’m sorry, Rune Alexander. The birds stick together, and Cree…” He
shook his head. “She’s my
resp
—”

“Step away, Fin,” a male voice interrupted.

Fin stepped away.

Rune knew that voice. Knew it, and hated it. “Bach Horner,”
she said, her voice as full of contempt as the pain would allow. She wasn’t
surprised COS was in cahoots with the birds.

She was furious, though.

But then…

The twins. If the birds were hiding COS, the twins were
there as well.
Oh please let me see the twins.

Suddenly, she was grateful as hell that she’d been abducted
by the bird. She was exactly where she needed to be.

But if she didn’t find a way to get the obsidian splinter
out of her heart, she wasn’t going to be worth a damn to anyone.

“Rune Alexander,” Bach Horner, or Black Horror, as she had
nicknamed him, said. “We meet again.” He was dressed in a suit, as he’d been
the last time she’d seen him.

“Asshole.”

“Classy.” He crossed his arms and studied her in silence for
a long, humiliating moment.

She’d survived a lot of shit. She’d made the monsters and
the humans fear her. She had silver claws and fangs, as well as magic and
mystery in the addictive blood running through her veins.

But there she lay, helpless and weak, while her enemy stood
inches from her body.

“It amazes me, really,” he said, as two of his men flanked
him. He paused, and when she remained silent, he continued. “Amazes me that one
such as you could be taken down so easily.”

“It’s because she’s more trusting than she’ll admit to
being,” Cree said, her voice slightly mocking as it floated from the knot of
onlookers. “She gave me her back. I took it.”

“You’re probably wondering what I want with you,” he said,
ignoring Cree.

Yeah, she wondered.

“Ask,” he went on. “Ask, if you want to know. Otherwise, my
men are going to throw you in your cage and you can just wait and see.” He
gestured at her. “So ask.”

She flinched as she tried to pull air into her burning
lungs. A cold sweat popped out on her body, a sweat of not only pain, but fear.

Hateful, fucking fear.

“Fuck you, buddy,” she said.

Someone in the knot of watching birds gave a snorting laugh,
quickly cut off and half disguised as a cough.

Horner glared. “As you wish.” He leaned forward. “I’m going
to enjoy every second of owning you. Every second.”

She stared at him, but didn’t really see him. She went into
the darkness of her mind, then went deeper still, to where her monster lived.

I am my monster and my monster is me.

Come out and play, motherfucker.

She wanted Horner’s throat. She wanted to drop her fangs and
tear into his flesh and feel his hot, evil blood splashing into her mouth.

So with everything she had, everything she was and had ever
been, she fought the obsidian splinter.

She called her monster.

But her monster didn’t answer.

She was well and truly caught, staked and helpless and at
the wicked mercy of COS and the fucking birds.