Touched With Sight (15 page)

“
That's because they're—
males
.” Hypocrite. “They're stronger. It's called
sexual
—” she gave the iron links a hard tug, pretending the links were his neck “—
dimorphism
.” The chain broke with a loud snap and the lock fell to the grass. She rubbed her stinging palms on her jeans.

“
Is that the only gender difference in your species?”

“
No.” She looked him square in the eyes. “Males are more aggressive. More violent. Less likely to take crap from some mouthy witch who can't even cast a spell on one lousy iron lock.”

“
You're uppity tonight,” he remarked. “Has the blood-lust infected your brain?”

She bit back a comment about him needing to jump in a lake, afraid that he would retort with another less-than-pure comment about her attitude. Without another word, she walked through the gate. She felt cold. At first she thought it was fear but no, it really was the cold. She could feel the heat from the fire ward seeping away. She pulled her jacket back on and didn't mention it, although she suspected he was laughing at her.

The graves were quiet, silent, and perfectly still. She could see statues of angels on the larger monuments. The moonlight cast strange shadows on their faces, turning the cherubic smiles into demonic, ill-intentioned sneers. In the back she could see the mausoleums, swathed in fog.

The witch whistled. Sudden movement. She jumped and the hairs on her neck prickled as she took a cautious step closer. No danger. Just the witch's familiar. Catherine was surprised to see her here; the witch hadn't had her earlier. Had he told her to meet them ahead of time? Catherine looked at her again, more closely. She was holding a struggling sparrow in her jaws.

“A little small,” the witch remarked, taking the bird, “But it'll do.” He held it in his fist, with the thumb underneath the throat to keep the little sharp beak from pecking. Catherine had never been a sparrow before, but it would have been hard to mistake that frantic, high-pitched cheeping for anything other than a distress call.

“
Do for what?” Catherine asked, staring at the bird. The little black eyes seemed to seek out her own, as if it understood what she was and was begging her to help it. She looked up at him sharply, her anxiety increasing as she saw the wall in his face. “You won't hurt it.”

He said nothing.

“You
won't
,” she repeated.

“
We were originally going with a hawk,” he said. “But Graymalkin thought that might offend you.”

She was floored by the name and then realized he was referring to his familiar. “Offend me?”

“It's a sacrifice, shifter mine.” He slipped a sideways glance in her direction. “We're going to summon a shade. They can only speak when fresh blood is spilled before them.”

“
That's horrible,” she choked.

“
Is it?” He met her eyes. “Strange, coming from you.”

“
It shouldn't. I happen to love animals,” she snapped, “And believe me, that little sparrow's death upsets me a lot more than yours would.”

“
Shades are bound to a powerful magic that forces them to always speak the truth when blood is spilled. You might stop your grousing and thank me, shifter mine. You could ask it what happened to that friend of yours. Isn't closure what you've been wanting all this time?”

David. Her heart knocked against her chest and she looked away, resentful that in a short amount of time he had surmised exactly which buttons to press in order to make her squirm.

“Shut up, you bastard.”

“
Do you think you're the first to lose a loved one to this war?” he asked. “You aren't.”

“
You
have?”

His eyes, dark and intense, bored into hers. “Yes,” he said shortly, before turning his back on her, rendering her momentarily speechless.

There was a single shade in the older part of the cemetery, which was a little less-maintained than the foregrounds. Its shadowy form misted through the various crumbling edifices, although it halted as they approached, appearing to study them through the eyeless hood.

Catherine hung back. There was a foul taste in her mouth, like dry cotton.

“They don't bite.” The word, carried by the breeze, seemed to be coming right next to her ear.

“
They don't need to. They can feed off auras.”

“
Could it be that you're afraid?” The witch produced his silver knife, giving it a little wave in her direction.

She didn't respond. Yes, yes, she was afraid. There were some forces one didn't mess with.

“This one is quite weak. Don't cut yourself and it will have no reason to come after you.” He slit the bird's throat, so that blood spilled and steamed on the ground.

“
I accept your offering,” the shade said, falling upon the blood before it could completely soak into the soil. Its voice sounded like the leaves of the willows rasping around them. Catherine took a step back in disgust. The shade looked up from the feast and seemed to sigh longingly, like a human too stuffed with junk food to enjoy a fine meal. “What do you wish to know?”

Apparently the witch was used to the sight and sound of shades because his face registered no change. “I want to know what is happening among the Otherkind.”

A furious hissing noise sounded. Catherine realized it was the sound of the shade laughing. “The knowledge must be requested in the form of a question.”

“
Why are so many Others disappearing so quickly?” He paused, drawing in a deep breath, and asked, “Is there going to be another Great War?”

Another hissing noise rising this time to a deafening crescendo that made her fall to her knees.

“
In trials of ir'n and silver fain

“
The dead will rise and walk again

“
The blesséd few that touch the light

“
Will aid the war against the night.

“ But one by one they all will die

“
Without a cause to rule them by

“
As Darkness spreads across the land

“
He'll wield the oceans in his hand.

“Five warriors will oppose his reign

“
And overthrow the Shadow Thane

“
They come from sides both dark and light

“
The realm the mortals call “twilight.”

“A magus crowned with boughs of fire

“
Will rise like Phoenix from his pyre

“
A beast of shadows touched with sight

“
Will Claim a Dark One as her knight

“The next, a prophet doomed to fail,

“
Will find her powers to avail

“
The final: one mere mortal man

“
Who bears the mark upon his hand.

“The circle closes round these few

“
Made sacred by the bonds they hew

“
But if one fails then so shall all

“
Bring death to those of Evenfall.”

A riddle. That poor bird had been sacrificed for a stupid riddle. And yet…beast of shadows, Shadow Thane—hadn't she heard those exact words before, whispered in her dreams?

“
What about David?” Catherine asked. “What happened to David? David Tran? The shifter?”

The shade shook its head and pointed at her.

“No,” the witch said coldly.

“
What?” Catherine looked from him to the witch; puzzled, anxious, and afraid.

“
It demands your blood as the price.”

“
That's all?” She held out her hand. “Give me the knife. I'll do it.”

“
They thrive off blood. Especially blood with magic in it. Whose side do you think it's on?”

“
It knows what happened to David. You said so! Give. Me. The knife!”

The witch held it out of reach. “Or so it says. It might very well say anything for blood.”

“You just told me they never lie,” Catherine pointed out. “So who's lying? You—or it?”

He hesitated. Only for a few seconds, but long enough for her to grow fangs and bite her wrist. “No!” he said, grabbing for her. Too slowly. “Don't—”

She let the blood fall, meeting his eyes as the the scarlet cascade soaked the icy ground.

“
You foolish savage.” The words were laced with contempt and dread. “You've no idea what kind of a bargain you've just entered.”

Catherine turned to the shade and asked urgently, “Is David still alive?”

“One week before his blood was spilled; and one week hence his heart has stilled.”

“
No!” she said. Impossible. They couldn't have killed him. “No, he can't be dead.” But there was no denying the truth. The Slayers didn't take survivors, and Shades didn't lie.

“
Catherine!”

The shade lunged forward, far more tangible than before, and the hissing rose to the volume of a raging wind swirling with snowdrifts in a place so cold the ground never had time to completely thaw. It permeated the deepest, darkest caverns of her heart, filling her with a primal fear that overrode the innate terrors of every animal. She was paralyzed.

It knocked her against the icy ground and her head cracked against one of the tombstones, causing bursts of light to go off in her eyes like sparklers. Her vision cleared and then she screamed. The shade loomed over her, lowering its hooded face to her wrist. Her eyes widened and she scrambled backwards, cradling her wounded hand to her chest.

The thing seemed to be grinning, although she couldn't say how she knew that it was. “Your friend was right, shiftling.” She scrambled backwards with her good hand and felt the icy chill of a tombstone through her jacket. “What you gave was merely an advance. It's time to pay in full.”

“Stay away from her.”

Over the tombstone, the witch was standing with one hand on the granite, a menacing expression distorting his delicate features, turning them inhuman; lethal. An orb of fire hovered inches above his palm, not quite touching his skin. The light it radiated was so bright that the shadows of the tombs around them were thrown into relief. From the depths of the hood, she could see eyes; red and menacing, with a cat-like pupil that shifted and pulsed.

Catherine was breathing hard, pressed up against the grave. Every breath sent a frozen cloud rising towards the starry sky. The stone was as cold as a block of ice and she found herself thinking that she could easily die here tonight and that this wasn't at all what she had expected.

“
How unexpected,” the shade said, cracking a laugh like a splitting tree branch. The sound made Catherine flinch. “What a disgusting display of weakness.”

The witch had gone unexpectedly pale.

“Yes,” came the knowing response. “You know, don't you? What once was had, forever lost; thy fate is destined, thy love star-crossed. Start digging, boy. You'll be in the grave soon enough.”

Hissing with laughter, the shade closed the distance it had put between them. Someone screamed in a blood-curling, girlish voice—and with a start, Catherine realized that someone was her. The witch released the ball in his hand which splatted into the shade's chest. It was pushed several feet backwards, before disappearing in a black wisp too thick to be smoke or vapor.

Catherine got to her feet, cold, wet, and streaked with mud. “G-goddess,” she stammered.

“
You never enter into a blood contract with a shade,” the witch said, in an icy voice that was far more terrifying than yelling, “They'll drain you of blood and magic until you're a dried-out husk!”

She took a step backwards. “You could have warned me.”

“I did.” His words could have frozen entire oceans.

“
That was a taunt, not a warning.”

He grabbed her by the upper arms. “Listen to me,” there was a tight, controlled nature to his voice that reminded her of a rubber band about to snap.

“Yes?”

“
If I ever have to do something like that again …”

“
Yes?”

“
I won't.” And he released her, roughly enough that she was pushed back.

…
But you already have, she nearly said.

She threw a final look over her shoulder as they left the cemetery and the inscription caught her eye.
Peace to thy shade and endless rest
. Someone had blacked out the final word in what looked like sharpie. That simple act of desecration suddenly seemed symbolic.