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The Wild Hunt The Godless Saint – Book One a novel Thomas Galvin

Copyright The Wild Hunt – The Godless Saint, Book One is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2013 Thomas Galvin. All rights reserved. Cover image Copyright © CoverYear CoverArtist Cover design by A Wiswell Design http://awiswell.com/ Published by St. Troy Press Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced to a retrieval system, transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher, except as allowed by law. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized

electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. This book is made available to you without restrictive Digital Rights Management, and your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Review Copy This is an unedited preview copy. Not for distribution or sale.

Author's Note Thank you for being one of the beta readers for the first Godless Saint novel. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it. This is the preview edition, which is only for my very best friends (all several hundred of you). It's not the final edition; that will be published after I get feedback from all of you. I'm not looking for copyeditors right now. Instead, I just want to know what you think of this story, The Wild Hunt, and the world of the Godless Saint. I'd love to hear from you, so please send your thoughts to: [email protected] -thomas

And it shall come to pass in the last days, saith God, I will pour out of my Spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams … And I will shew wonders in heaven above, and signs in the earth beneath; blood, and fire, and vapour of smoke. - Acts 2:17,19, King James Version

December 16th

Chapter One By the roadside stood a decrepit man, hunched over and leaning heavily on his traveler’s staff. He was wrapped tightly in a cloak of midnight blue, and a wide brimmed hat hid his face. A beard the color of storm clouds reached to his stomach. On his left hip was tied a bag filled with stone runes, and on his right hung a yellowed stierhorn. A pair of ravens sat, one on each shoulder, and a pair of old dogs lay at his feet. In his left hand he clutched a worn book filled with songs, melodies that could shape the world. Lightning split the sky and he raised his face toward the heavens. He had but one eye; the remaining socket was empty, hollow, and black. His face was lined and worn. The ravens took flight, traveling in ever widening circles through the dark sky overhead. He tracked their progress eagerly. Suddenly they changed course, flying as fast as wing allowed toward the heart of the great forest. They called out, their cawing hoarse and raucous. The old man smiled. He placed the old book of rhyme in the pocket of his cloak and reached for the horn tied to his belt. He brought is up to his lips and drew a great breath, filling his lungs with the crisp night air, and let

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forth a single great trumpet. The sound pierced the night and echoed from the hills. Lightning flashed impossibly bright and thunder roared unbearably loud. For a moment the old man was hidden, veiled by impenetrable light. The maelstrom passed and the man stood transformed. He was clothed in a swirling black cloak lined with the pelts of frost giants, and was shod in thick boots made from the skins of those he had slain. His staff was a great oaken spear, so heavy that a grown man could scarcely lift it. It was carved with ancient sigils and tipped with a blade of the purest gold. A Warrior’s Knot hung from his neck, held in place by a thick golden chain, and a heavy golden ring adorned his right hand. His head was crowned with a helmet carved of bone, and two great antlers protruded from either side. The hollow of his taken eye was filled with a brilliant ruby. Twin wolves, ravenous and feral, crouched before him, their snarls echoing in the night. Smoke curled from their nostrils and their eyes shone with infernal light. His name, spoken only in hushed whispers, was Wotan. He was the Wanderer, the Lord of the Hunt and the Leader of Souls. A gray steed emerged from the shadows, an impossible beast with eight legs and feet shod in iron. Wotan climbed astride and urged his stallion forward. Sparks flew as ferrous hooves struck the earth. Wotan let out a terrible cry, a warning and a challenge and a call to arms. From the distance came a sound like thunder. On fierce black stallions they rode, great stags which shook the very earth in their passing. Fire burned in their eyes and smoke trailed from their mouths. The hounds of hell ran alongside, with wiry fur as black as pitch and slavering fangs like great knives flashing. The howled and barked and growled, a sound to terrify the soul. A congress of ravens accompanied them, drifting along on the bitter wind. They were the eyes and ears of the Huntsmen, their shrill cries drawing the fell troop inexorably toward their prey. Ancient hunters they were, the souls of the damned held captive by the Rider of the Storm. Some were overtaken by the Hunt and joined their company on threat of death. Others took saddle gladly, their bloodlust finding good company among the forsaken horde. But they were captives all, bound for time and eternity to this infernal guard. 5

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They were dressed in heavy furs, and wooden masks carved in the visage of terrible creatures hid their faces. In their hands they carried corroded sickles flecked with dried blood, or spears with shafts of mistletoe and tips of iron. Some bore longbows, the staves made of yew and the strings woven from the sinews of those overtaken. Rusted chains dragged the ground behind them, rattling and clanging, a tumult to wake the dead. Miranda DuBois ran through the night. The demons followed after her. *** My name is Caden Lyndsey, and I can see the future. That isn’t as much fun as it sounds. I can’t tell you who’s going to win the Super Bowl, or what this week’s lottery numbers are. I couldn’t pick a stock to save my life. That stuff is governed by chance, and impenetrable to my visions. I can only see things once a choice has been made, once a human mind has decided to put a plan into action. And even then, I can only see it when the consequences of that choice are dramatic enough to ripple out through the Aether. That ham sandwich you’re going to eat for lunch, or that fight you’re going to have with your spouse? None of my business, and no offense, but not important enough to trigger my gift. But a murder? That might catch my attention. Chaos and ruin? More likely. Wholesale slaughter? Now you’re talking. Oh, and there’s one more thing, one thing that’s almost certain to make me stand up and pay attention. Magic. Not your garden variety magic. Not the kind of magic that most people encounter, the kind of magic that blows a lightbulb when a guy gets angry or teleports your keys into your sock drawer when you’re frazzled. I’m talking the real deal, big time, in your face, wish-fulfilling, reality-warping magic, the kind of stuff H.P. Lovecraft and J.R.R. Tolkien wrote about. The kind of magic that could get somebody killed.

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Like Dr. Matthew Warren’s fascination with, and patronage of, the Norse God Wotan. I knew a lot of details, the same way you just kind of know things in a dream. I knew that Matthew Warren was some kind of academic, a college professor or a librarian, and I knew that he was involved in the Neopagan movement. I knew that Miranda pronounced her last name like the French would, Doo-Bwah, and that she ran a bed and breakfast with her Aunt of Grandmother, Ethel. I knew that they all lived near Mirrormont, Washington. And I knew that they were all going to die. Unless, of course, I could do something to stop it. I rubbed my temple. The visions were getting easier to deal with. I barely had a headache this time, and I hadn’t had blood come out of my nose (or my ears) in weeks. But they were still disorienting, and it took me a moment to remember where I was. A shotgun barked, and the wall in front of me sprayed shards. Oh, right. The demon and the shotgun. Demons aren’t supposed to use shotguns. Burning sulfur summoned from the Dark Below? Sure. Barbed chains and rusty hooks? Classic. Hell, even a big ass kitchen knife? It worked for that guy in the Shatner mask in Halloween. But they don’t use guns. Guns are too modern, too Michael Bay. What’s the point of being a spirit of darkness and hate if you’re just gonna pull a gun and shoot at your enemy? No one respects tradition anymore. I was crouched behind my Jeep, at the dead end of an alley. It had rained earlier, and the pavement was still wet, which meant the seat of my jeans were soaking. Next to me, huddled in a ball, rocking slowly, and whispering “it’s only a dream” to herself, was a twentysomething Pakistani girl named Aseelah. We’d met twenty-four hours ago. So far, it had been the worst day of her life.

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The demon’s shotgun barked, and the window over my head shattered. Chips of glass showered down on us. “Come on!” I shouted. “I just had this thing fixed!” I shook bits of glass out of my shirt. The shotgun fired again, and the rear passenger tire exploded. The Jeep rattled and lurched toward the ground. The demon had fired three times. Boom! Chick-clack! Four. Boom! Chick-clack! Five shots. The demon should be out of ammo. I jumped to my feet. Aseelah grabbed for me, but I pulled out of her grasp. “All right,” I said as I came around the Jeep, “I’ve-” Boom! The demon fired, right at my face. It must have been a tactical shotgun. Eight, nine rounds, not five. Damn it. The shotgun pellets met some invisible resistance, and the air around me rippled, like a stone had been dropped into a pond. The lead balls stopped a quarter of an inch from my face, hung in the air for a moment, and fell to the ground. The demon stared at me. She was attractive, or at least the body she’d hijacked was. Blonde, miniskirt, letterman’s jacket. But I opened my senses the the Aether, let the magic whisper to me, and I saw her for what she really was. Her hair was brittle, broken. Her teeth, rotted, cracked. Her skin, leathery, covered in sores. And her eyes were empty black pools. “Shit,” the demon muttered. “Sorry,” I said with a smile. I waved my hand. The Aether leapt to my command, and the shotgun ripped free of the demon’s claws. It landed at the far end of the alley, twenty yards away. The demon shrieked and came at me, fingers hooked like claws, ready to gouge my eyes out. Again I raised my hand, and again the Aether answered. 8

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This time, the spell I wove didn’t create a shield or summon an invisible force. This spell was older, more powerful, more violent. This spell was an evocation of divine wrath, of righteous anger, of holy retribution. Only I didn’t have any gods backing me up, so the spell was fueled by my own wrath, and focused by the lens of my own sense of justice. The flames that I summoned, which should have been a pure, brilliant white, were tinged with shades of blue. The Aether swirled around my hand like sapphire lightning bugs, formed into a lance, and raced across the alley. The fire slammed into the demon, knocking her ass over teakettle and slamming her into the ground. The fire burned away her disguise, and for a moment you didn’t need magic to see what she really was. But the illusion reformed, and the demon gathered herself to attack once more. She howled like a banshee getting fed feet-first through a wood chipper and threw herself at my face. I stepped aside, and she flew right past me, over the Jeep’s hood, and crashed into the wall blocking off that end of the alley. Aseelah screamed. Honestly, I couldn’t blame her. The demon growled. I jumped over the hook, Dukes of Hazard style, and slammed my hand down on the circle of salt I had poured onto the ground fifteen minutes ago. The Aether rushed through my body. Blue-white fire raced along the salt, forming a burning azure cage. The demon realized she had been tricked, and screamed. She pounded her fists against an invisible barrier. She hurled profanities and blasphemies and salacious allegations about my sexual preferences. She threatened to eat my eyes and boil my reproductive organs and flay my skin. But it was all bluster. She was trapped, and I had won. I extended my hand to Aseelah. “It’s all right. She can’t hurt us, not as long as she’s trapped inside the ward.”

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The demon said something about introducing me to Satan’s spiked love muscle, but I didn’t catch the details. Aseelah, still shaking, stared at her. “Can she break out of there?” “Eventually,” I said. “The salt will hold the spell in place for a while, but it’ll only last so long.” “So, um, what do we do when she’s free?” The demon suggested Aseelah might enjoy ministering to her Prophet while submerged neck-deep in filth, but I had a better idea. I held out my hand and whispered, “come out of here.” “Go fuck yourself,” the demon spat. “Come out of here,” I repeated. The demon pounded both fists. The invisible barrier rippled, and sounded like someone banging on Plexiglas. “Come out of here,” I said. This time, the Aether answered me, and my voice echoed in the tiny alley. the demon choked and fell back against the ward. “Come out of her,” I said, again and again. I closed my eyes and reached out with my mind, searching for the demon inside of the girl. No… no… there. I grabbed the unclean spirit and seized it with my will. The demon screamed and fell to the ground. “Come out of here,” I said, using it as a mantra. Demons are ugly, nasty creatures, but they’re just spirits of air and smoke, and they can’t really do anything… unless they get a body. The mechanics are different from person to person–a secret sin, a personal weakness, an honest-to-god deal with the Devil–but once a demon gets a body, they can wreak all kinds of havoc… and they won’t leave unless you make them. Problem is, demons are like rock bands; before they check out of a hotel, they like to trash the place. They’ll stuff towels down the toilet, piss on the carpets, and set the curtains on fire. And they’ll kill whoever they possessed. 10

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I’ve never seen a victim of possession survive an exorcism. Ever. From the moment the demon enters a person’s body, that person is as good as dead. But I wasn’t willing to accept that, and I’d been trying to perfect a ritual that would force a demon out without killing the host in the process. My current plan was to bind the demon, to subjugate it to my will and force it not to hurt the girl on the way out. I saw the demon in my mind, and in my mind I wrapped it in thick, heavy chains made of blue and white light. I wrapped it tight, binding its arms and legs, gagging it, locking it up tight, and then I pushed that thought into the Aether, making it real. “Come out of her.” The girl’s mouth opened, and smoke, tinged with sullen red embers, began to pour out. I locked down my mental grasp on the demon. “Come out of her.” The girl began to shake. I wound the chains tighter. “Come out of her.” The girl screamed. The girl, not the demon. A wounded, painful, baleful cry. Skeletal fingers, burning red, came out of the girl’s mouth. Her lips stretched wide. Her jaw cracked, shattered. Blood sprayed. The demon escaped her body and stood before us, a creature of ash and fire. Skeletal wings hung off its back. It crouched, a caged animal. “I’ll see you in hell,” the thing hissed. “No,” I said, “you won’t.” I knelt down and touched the salt. The ward containing the demon flickered and died. The demon howled, triumphant, and lunged for Aseelah. Aseelah screamed, and covered her face. I held out my hand and summoned my fire. The demon burned, and wafted away like smoke on the wind.

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I knelt next to the girl the demon has possessed and touched her neck. Nothing. “God damn it,” I whispered. A few moments later, Aseelah placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “She’s in a better place.” “Of course she is,” I said, even though it was a lie. I stood up, brushed off my knees, gathered myself. “All right, gimme the lamp,” I said. “I don’t know what you’re taking about.” Aseelah said. I turned to face her, slowly. “Look, you just saw the thing that’s been hunting you. You saw what it did to that girl. And we both heard it say that it wanted the Jinn. Do you think they’re gonna stop coming? Do you think you’re safe? Because if you do, if you think you can handle the next shotgun toting mean girl from hell, then by all means. I have somewhere to be, anyway. But if you don’t, if you’re finally starting to realize that you’re in over your head, if you’re finally ready to admit that summoning occult forces for help on your math test or to get Timmy to ask you to the prom is a bad idea, then give me the goddamned lamp.” “Oh,” she said, reaching into her purse, “you mean the medallion. Here.” She tossed me a bronze coin, a bit larger than a silver dollar, inscribed with various Arabic charters. “Jinn don’t live in lamps, you know.” I put the medallion in my pocket. It would stay with me until I had the chance to stash it in the Vault. “I didn’t know that, actually.” “That’s a cultural stereotype.” “Mm hmm.” “Really, it’s almost kind of racist.” I stared at her again. “You’re welcome, by the way. For not letting the ravening hellspawn eat your soul.”

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“Oh. Um, thanks.” She kicked the ground, and looked at the blonde girl. “What about her?” “The police will find her. Autopsy will show she died of a heart attack.” I’m sorry, I thought. Behind me, the Jeep’s radiator exploded. Damn it. I’d just had that thing fixed.

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December 17th

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Chapter Two I arrived in Mirrormont, Washington, the following afternoon. The town was small, but only about five miles from the larger city of Issaquah. The houses were nestled in trees and spaced far apart, and I got the sense that everybody here was comfortable, but not quite rich. The DuBois’ bed and breakfast was an old white house with a wraparound porch on both levels and a side yard that had been converted into a parking lot. It felt like the house might have originally been built to accommodate multiple families, or multiple generations of the same family. A tasteful sign announced its presence from the road, and the fact that there was a vacancy. I parked in the stop farthest from the door, grabbed my duffel bag, and rang the bell. “One moment,” a voice sang from inside. A short woman, white-haired and plump, opened the door a few seconds later. Her eyes were bright green, and almost mischievous. “Mrs. DuBois?” I asked. “That’s right,” she said, “but please, call me Ethel. And you must be Mr. Lyndsey.” “That’s right. And it’s Caden.” 16

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“Welcome to Mirrormont, Caden,” she said, stepping aside and ushering me in. The inside of the house was stately without being stuffy. Hardwood floors and clean white walls, artwork that was clearly mass produced by nicer than you’d find at Walmart, and plenty of comfortablelooking chairs, sofas, and love seats. A staircase guarded by a carved railing led to the second floor. “Miranda!” Ethel called out, making me jump. “Come and help Caden to his room.” Miranda appeared at the top of the stairs, and I did a double take. It was still strange to see something from one of my visions in the flesh. But that wasn’t the only reason I was surprised. Miranda was beautiful, absolutely stunning. She was tall, five-ten at least, maybe a little more, and she was dressed in nice blue jeans and a red sweater over a white collared shirt. Her bright, fiery red hair hung over her shoulders and down her back in thick curls, and her eyes were the same sparkling green as her grandmother’s. Miranda smiled at me as she came down the stairs, and my heart nearly broke. Not because of her ineffable beauty or anything like that. I’m not that sappy, and I don’t write romance novels. No, my heart broke because she looked like a genuinely nice person, and I suddenly remembered that her life was in danger. That’s how I live, surrounded by people who will die if I screw up. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?” Ethel asked, smiling with faux-innocence. “Grandmother,” Miranda said. “And she’s single!” “Grandmother!” Ethel chuckled to herself and tottered off toward the kitchen. “Caden,” Miranda said, holding out her hand. I felt a tiny shock when I touched her skin. Not static electricity, but a latent Aetheric charge. She wasn’t a magic user, but she had potential. Interesting. “Nice to meet you.” “Likewise.” 17

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“I’m sorry about my Grandmother. She’s desperate to marry me off before I turn into an old maid.” “Well, time has clearly ravaged you, so you better hop on that.” Miranda laughed. “Come on, I’ll show you your room. Do you need help with your bag?” “No thanks, I’ve got it.” I grabbed the duffel and slung it over my shoulder. Miranda led me upstairs. “Here you are,” she said, “first door on the left. There’s a bathroom attached to your room, and another one across the hall. My room is all the way at the end of the hall on the left, if you need anything, and my Grandmother is across from me.” “Got it,” I said, walking into the room. It was small but not cramped. The bed was complimented by a love seat against one wall, a writing desk, and an armchair. A pair of double doors led out to the wraparound porch. “The porch goes all the way around to my room,” Miranda said. “I sleep with a rolling pin, so don’t get any ideas.” Her eyes gleamed when she spoke. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said. “I hope I’m not bothering you guys, being here around Christmas.” “Honestly,” Miranda said, leaning against the doorway, “it’s kind of a relief. We get a pretty steady stream of people looking to visit one of the parks, but it drops right off between Christmas and New Year’s. We do meals here, too, and that’s always busy, but having you here for a couple of weeks will definitely help make ends meet.” “Good,” I said, depositing my bag at the foot of the bed. “I really hate imposing on people.” “Grandma said you’re working on a book?” Miranda asked. “Yeah,” I said. “I’m working on a thing about Norse mythology.” That story, I hoped, would explain some of the weirder behavior they might see over the next few days, like my stacks of books or pads filled with hastily-scrawled runes. “Master’s thesis?” Miranda asked. 18

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“No,” I said. “I was pre-law, but I dropped out when …” My voice trailed off. “Yeah,” Miranda said. “I was pre-med, but when my parents died I dropped out to help Grandma run the B&B.” “I’m sorry,” I said. Miranda shrugged. “It’s okay. It was a few of years ago. I don’t really … well, I do miss them, but …” “You’re used to it?” I asked softly. “Yeah,” Miranda said, just as softly, looking past me and out the window. “You’ve lost someone too?” “Yeah.” I knelt down and opened my bag. “I’m sorry.” “It’s okay,” I said. “It was a few years ago.” Thankfully Miranda changed the subject. “So Grandma says you like to hike?” “Yeah,” I said. “I like to get out and clear my head sometimes.” “Well you’re really in the right place for that. There are a bunch of trails nearby. I can show you if you want.” “I’d like that, thanks.” “Well,” Miranda said, pushing off the doorway, “I’ll let you get settled in. You missed lunch, but I can whip something up if you’re hungry.” “No, thanks,” I said, smiling. “I ate on the way over.” “Suit yourself. Dinner is at six, breakfast is from seven until ten, and lunch is from noon to two.” “Got it,” I said. “Thanks.” “I’ll be around if you need anything,” Miranda said, then shut the door behind herself. I put my clothes in the dresser and my books on the desk, then took a small black box out of the duffel and set it on the bed. The police 19

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scanner was about the size of a paperback novel. The surface was smooth black plastic, marred only by the power button on the front. There were no dials or switches; the whole thing was controlled by my laptop. I plugged it in and hooked it up, then played around until I picked up the local police band. My visions aren’t perfect. They always come true–unless I stop them–but they aren’t always detailed, or even literal. I knew about Matthew Warren and Wotan and Miranda, but I wasn’t yet clear on how they were connected or where exactly everything was going to play out. The police scanner would help me keep track of anything happening in Mirrormont, particularly anything involving explosions or mass murder. You’d be amazed how much of my life revolves around explosions and mass murder. But I wouldn’t be in my bedroom or in front of my laptop all the time, so I browsed around a few of the local news sites, too. There was some kind of pie festival tomorrow, a holiday party at the Mirrormont Community Association, and a couple of warnings to get your cars off the road so the snow plows could do their jobs. Two of sites offered to send you a text message if anything important happened, so I gave them my phone number and hoped they’d let me know if a spectral Viking in a horned helmet charged down main street on an eight legged horse killing people with a spear the size of a telephone pole. That was the kind of thing that would warrant a text message, right? I looked at the clock, turned off and stowed the police scanner, locked my laptop, and left my room. “Going hiking?” Miranda called when my hand was on the door. “No, I’m heading to the one of the colleges.” “What for?” “I’m hoping to catch one of the professors. He’s a sociologist, and I want to talk to him about the parallels between modern religious thought and some of the Norse cultic practices.” Miranda raised her eyebrows. “You must be amazing at parties.” I gave her what I hoped was a wry smile. “You should see me try to dance.” 20

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“Who are you going to see?” “Guy named Matthew Warren. You know him?” “Nope. Where’s he teach?” “Green River Community.” “Oh, yeah, no, I went to U Washington.” Huh. I still didn’t know why Miranda was being pulled into all of this. My first thought had been casual contact, like being in one of his classes or something, but apparently there was some other connection. “I’m probably going to miss dinner,” I said. “That’s too bad,” Miranda said. “Grandma is making meatloaf. The entire town shows up when she makes meatloaf. It’s that good.” “Maybe there’ll be leftovers,” I said. “Don’t count on it,” Miranda said, her eyes still shimmering. “The sacrifices I make for my work,” I said, and headed out the Jeep. *** I don’t know how private investigators found people before Google. I suppose I could have wandered around town, gaining people’s trust and hoping that one of them had heard of the mysterious Norse college professor, but that would involve talking to people, and talking to people is second only to being dipped in honey and fed to fire ants on my list of things I hate to do. But Google? Google is magic. I just typed in his name, and there was his bio, right on the Green River Community College web site. My phone even gave me turn-by-turn directions. I pulled into the parking lot twenty minutes later. It was the last day of classes before Winter Break, and the campus was mostly deserted. There was a nice big map at the entrance, and I parked just outside the building where Dr. Warren was holding his lecture, according to the syllabus summoned from the eldritch depths of the Internet. It only took me a few minutes of wandering to find the right room.

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The lecture hall was a modest size and had stadium seating. Only ten or eleven people were in attendance. At the front of the room giant projection screen displayed a picture of a Christmas tree. An old fashioned Christmas tree, the kind that was decorated with candles and chestnuts rather than LEDs and ornaments. A table on the side of the room held a stack of cookies and some kind of steaming drink, a ladle, and a stack of red Solo cups. I really didn’t miss college. I slid into a seat in the far back, hidden in modest shadows, and watched. Doctor Warren stood at the front of the room. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a light blue, button-down shirt tucked into his jeans, and he wore a pair of weathered hiking boots. His hair was dark, his eyes seemed intelligent, and a three-day beard covered a strong jawline. His hands looked rough and calloused. Everything about him indicated a man that was comfortable working outdoors. “Even the Christmas tree,” Warren said, “was stolen from the Pagans. Evergreen trees, wreaths, garlands, they were all used to symbolize eternal life well before the Christians came to town. And that’s true of the Egyptians, the Hebrews … almost every culture in the world recognized that there was something special about trees, some kind of secret power.” Well that was an interesting lecture. Maybe if I stayed through the end he would reveal his nefarious plans. “The Pagans believed that trees were alive, that they actually has souls. They would talk to them, commune with them, even worship them. And even in Christian times, trees were first brought inside because the magic they contained was thought to ward off the Devil.” He clicked something in his pocket and the screen changed, now showing a giant oak tree. “This is Jove’s Tree,” Warren said. “Or, as it was originally called, Thor’s Oak. German Pagans held this tree as sacred. They would gather around it to worship, to celebrate, to feast … very similar to the role it plays in Christmas celebrations today.” Another click and the screen showed an angry guy in a funny hat taking an axe to Thor’s Oak. “This is Saint Boniface, a Christian Evangelist. Legend says that he cut down Thor’s Oak because it 22

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honored the wrong God. But Christianity already had a fine tradition of borrowing our–their traditions. The idea was to wrap Pagan religion in Christian trappings, to make the transition to the ‘right’ religion easier. So when Boniface cut down Thor’s tree, he replaced it with something else. Anyone want to guess what?” “A Christmas tree?” A guy in the front row asked. “That’s right,” Warren said. “Specifically an evergreen, because it had a triangular shape, representing the Christian Trinity, and because it pointed toward the sky, where the Christian God was thought to live.” The screen changed to show an elaborate tree, the branches reaching up and wrapping back around, forming a semi-circle, and the roots mirroring the image. Nine globes hung from the tree. “To the Pagans, the oak tree represented Yggdrasil, the World Tree. When it became a Christian symbol, the references was changed to the Tree of Life.” The screen switched to a similar, but less elaborate, mirrored tree. The design looked like a Celtic tattoo I’d seen once. “Christmas itself stemmed from Saturnalia, a Roman feast, and even earlier from the festival called Yule,” Warren said. “Yule was a Germanic feast, beginning right around the end of our calendar year and lasting about two months. It was a time dedicated to the ‘Yulebeings,’ to the Pagan gods, particularly Wotan or, as he was sometimes called, Jolnir. It was thought that Yule corresponded with the running of Wotan’s Wild Hunt.” The screen changed again, showing spectral riders running through the air. A chill ran down my spine as more pieces of my vision came into focus. Warren was a Pagan, and apparently a well-informed one, too. Teaching comparative religion was a logical outlet for his beliefs, and he apparently wasn’t shy about teaching, or at least alluding to, his more esoteric practices, either. And if this was one of his sacred times, if he was planning to celebrate a festival to Wotan around the time the Wild Hunt was expected … “King Haakon the First of Norway was the one who began transforming Yule into the Christmas we know today. Haakon became a Christian before he arrived, but he hid his religion in order to be accepted by the people there. But he slowly introduced laws

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that made Yule more and more Christian, and eventually used the festival as a means of preaching his Gospel.” The screen changed again, to clip art of a Christmas tree, captioned with a big red banner that said Happy Solstice! “And that’s it for the year, folks,” Warren said. “Enjoy your holiday, get some rest, and I’ll see most of you next semester.” The class broke, and the students started streaming out of the lecture hall. I watched Dr. Warren pack up his belongings, stowing them in a worn leather satchel. He looked like a hippie, not like someone who was about to bring the wrath of the Viking god of ass kicking down on Mirrormont. After saying goodbye to a few of his students, Warren exited the lecture hall. I slipped out of my seat and followed him, all the way to his office on the fifth floor. He dug into his bag, looking for his keys. “Great lecture, Dr. Warren,” I said. I looked at him, really looked, but my vision didn’t change. There were no demons inside of him. “Thanks,” he said, “but please, call me Matt.” He turned around. “Oh, I’m sorry. I … you aren’t in my class, are you?” “No,” I said. “But I’d like to talk to you about your lecture, if you have a moment.” Warren sighed. He jammed his hand back into the bag and pulled out a piece of paper, which he handed to me. The top of it read, in big, black letters, “Formal Complaint.” “Um, what?” I asked. “If you’re pissed off that I’m preaching false doctrine or leading innocent minds into temptation or being mean to Little Baby Jesus, that’s the paper you want to fill out and give to the dean. I frame them after he stamps Rejected on the top and mails it to me.” I blinked. “Um, no, that’s not it. I’m not hear to complain about your lecture. I just want to talk about it.” Now it was Warren’s turn to be confused. “Oh. Sorry. I, well, I get a lot of complaints from the home school crowd, especially around Christmas and Easter. I just kind of assumed.” “No problem.” 24

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Warren unlocked his door and stepped inside. “Please, come in.” I did, and saw another vision. Not a prophetic vision. A female vision. A girl was waiting inside, sitting in Warren’s chair with her feet up on the desk. She was beautiful in an unapproachable, almost dangerous way, with raven-dark hair, a tan complexion, and jeans so tight that she probably needed help getting into them. I looked at her through the Aether, but she wasn’t carrying an unclean spirit around either. The girl was reading a book and glanced up when Warren entered the room. “Hello Matthew,” she purred. “Who’s your friend?” “Just someone interested in my lecture.” “Did you give him the complaint form?” Warren laughed. “That’s not what he’s here for.” The girl raised her eyebrows. “Well. That’s surprising.” She slid out of Warren’s chair, displaying an almost feline grace, the easy, fluid movements of a predator. She stretched her hands up high and arched her back, which was absolutely fascinating to watch, and her sweater lifted high enough to reveal a diamond with a small silver chain in her navel. “Madeline West,” she said, holding out her hand. I shook it, and sparks leapt between us. The girl was a magic user. Warren coughed. “Madeline is, well, we don’t actually have TAs here, but she’s helping me with an independent research project.” “I’ll bet she is.” Madeline bit her lip and looked at me like I was a particularly interesting mouse, then turned and kissed Warren on the cheek. “You boys have fun. I’ll see you tonight.” She practically glided across the floor and out the door, leaving it open behind her. “She’s cute,” I said. Warren walked around his desk and sat down, looking for all the world like an emperor on his throne. “She’s an adult. So, about my lecture?” 25

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I took a moment to center myself. I hate confrontations like this. I never know how to approach the conversation. Do I try to build rapport and show the man logically why summoning the patron deity of murder is a bad idea? Do I show him my power, try to frighten him into abandoning his mad quest? Do I steal his car keys so he can’t make it to the ritual on time? “Look,” I said, “this isn’t really about the lecture.” “Oh, I know exactly what this is about.” Warren gestured, and the door behind me slammed shut. The lights dimmed, and in the partial shadows, Warren looked like a demon, smug, content, and ready to devour his next victim.

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Chapter Three I summoned my ward, and the Aether settled around me. Just in time, too, because Warren twisted his fingers into some sort of magic knot, whispered a word in a language that predated German by a few hundred years, and unleashed the Aether upon me. The force was all but invisible, just a ripple in the air, but it hit me like a wrecking ball. The Aether slammed into my ward, sending shimmering shockwaves racing through the air, and slammed into me, hurling me through the closed office door. The wood exploded, and I shot across the hallway, crashing into the wall on the far side. I hit with enough force to crack the drywall and leave a man-sized indentation. Warren waved his hand, and his desk slid out of the way. He came forward, unbuttoning his shirt as he walked. His entire body appeared to be tattooed, covered in dirty blue runes and knots. He dropped his shirt on the floor, raised his hands, palms toward the sky, and began to chant. Screw that. I thrust my hand forward and unleashed my own telekinetic attack. The force of my mind crashed into him, smashing

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him into the ceiling. I released the spell, letting him fall back to the floor. I stood up, cracked my neck, and stretched out my hand. The Aether swirled around me, and a glowing ball of blue-white fire appeared in my palm. “Bigot,” Warren spat. Blood dripped from his mouth and onto the floor. “Excuse me?” “We have freedom in this country! And you have no right to take that freedom away!” “Yeah, okay,” I said, “I’ll let the Tea Party know.” I unleashed the Aether, and a glowing beam of pure force lashed out. Warren slashed the air with his hand. His attack hit me, throwing me off balance and sending my own attack wide. My spell carved a hole in the floor and wall. I threw another telekinetic attack, but Warren dodged to the side. He crouched and glared at me, then held out his hand and hissed in Old German. The Aether rippled, but I couldn’t see what effect his spell was having … Until a freaking spear, flying of its own accord, ripped through the wall and leapt into Warren’s hands. The thing was at least six feet long, and the last foot of it was all blade. The shaft was a deep red, and carved in a spiral, and the blade appeared to be made of bronze, with silver filigree. “Nice stick,” I said. “Overcompensating for something?” Warren snarled. I threw a blast of Aether at him, but Warren slashed the air with his spear. The blade burst into flames. The blade and the Aether clashed, and the explosion threw both us us to the opposite ends of the hallway. I gathered the Aether for another attack. Warren got to one knee and hurled his spear.

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It was a lazy throw, with hardly any momentum behind it, but the spear streaked toward me like a missile. I abandoned my attack and dove down the connecting hallway, around a corner and out of the spear’s reach. Of course, the freaking thing turned the corner and came right at me. God damned enchanted weapons. I raised a fast ward. The spear slammed into the barrier, and red fire rippled through the ward. The spear clattered to the ground, quivered, then leapt into the air, disappearing around the corner. I rounded the corner myself, gathering the energy for a spell. The spear was already back in Warren’s hands. His eyes were furious, mad, and he even had a little bit of spittle in the corner of his mouth. He screamed, brandished the spear, and charged. Not so good with the strategy, this one. I unleashed my spell, and the blue-white fire of the Aether leapt toward him. Warren slashed with his spear, trying to block the assault, but I wasn’t aiming for him. I was aiming about three feet in front of him. The Aether blasted a five-foot hole in the floor. Warren saw it, but he was running at a dead sprint and had no chance at stopping in time. He pinwheeled his arms and arched his back, trying to maintain his balance, but eventually physics won and he tipped over the edge. He hit the ground below with a crunch that I probably shouldn’t have enjoyed as much as I did. I pulled the Aether into me, strengthening my bones and muscles, and leapt into the hole. The Aether protected me as I landed, allowing my body to absorb the impact with ease. Warren wasn’t so lucky. He lay in a heap, his spear a few feet out of reach. He was trying to push himself up, but he was hurt, moving gingerly and favoring his right shoulder. “This doesn’t have to be ugly,” I said. “We will not bow down before you,” Warren said through gritted teeth. He reached for his spear, which began to rattle on the floor.

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I threw a blast of Aether at it, knocking it further away and interrupting Warren’s mental control over it. The spear itself, however, was undamaged. It’s damn near impossible to damage a properly enchanted artifact; the Aether makes it too strong. Warren looked hard at the spear, then turned his bitter eyes toward me. “We will not cease our worship.” “I don’t give a rat’s ass who you worship,” I said. “I’m trying to stop you from killing anybody.” Warren blinked. “Killing? Who said anything about killing people?” My mouth moved, but no sounds came out. It took me a moment to reboot my brain. “You just tried to kill me. With a magic spear.” “You are a threat to us. We bear no ill will toward any outside of our Circle, unless they bear ill will toward us.” “Holy hell,” I said, and leaned up against the wall. The fight had taken a lot out of me. “You don’t know, do you?” “What are you talking about?” Warren, too, leaned up against the wall, but he was still sitting on the floor. That didn’t seem like such a bad idea, actually. “I’m talking about your Solstice ritual. Your sacrifice to Wotan.” “We don’t do human sacrifice, Caden,” Warren said. He leaned his head against the wall. “Jesus, you watch too many movies.” “That isn’t going to stop the Wild Hunt from ravaging Mirrormont.” Warren sat bolt upright. “What?” “The Wild Hunt. Your ritual is going to summon Wotan, and he’s going to lead the Wild Hunt through Mirrormont. That’s why I came here. To stop you from unleashing a horde of demon Vikings on rural Washington.” A mad gleam filled Warren’s eyes. “Lord Wotan will appear to us?” “Yeah. And kill dozens of people. Maybe hundreds.” Including Miranda DuBois. “And the Wild Hunt will ride forth?”

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“Yes. See also: hundreds dead.” He grinned at me like a man who heard a burning bush tell him to murder his son. “It’s going to work!” His hand shot out, and the spear leapt to him. I formed a shield in front of me, just in time to block his strike. Warren lashed out, slashing and swinging with his spear, filling the hallway with ripples. Each strike drove another red hot needle into my skull. He drove me back, almost to the window, then hit me with a blast of telekinetic energy that hurled me out the fourth floor window. *** I landed on the cold, hard ground. The Aether protected me, but the air was still driven from my lungs. Hell. That hadn’t gone well at all. I hadn’t exactly expected Warren to cave in and agree to stop trying to invoke the German god of slaughter, but I hadn’t expected my confrontation to encourage him, either. Warren had gone from a nut case to a nut case with conviction because of our little talk. But at least he had a magic spear. That would probably make everything easier. The door to Warren’s building was locked, but that wasn’t a problem. I reached into my pocket and took out a key, the only key I ever needed. The Thieves’ Key. It was plain, like one of the blanks they use to duplicate a house key, and made of iron. The head of the key was inlaid with a golden sigil, and golden trim ran along its edge. It shimmered when it made contact with my skin. The seal belonged to Surgat, which the Grimoire of Honorius describes as “he who opens all locks.” Honorius was written sometime in the thirteenth century by a group of magicians who decided, for some reason, to create a compendium of all of their knowledge. It was a Solomonic text, and the sigils it contained were all vaguely Hebrew-looking. The Key is an example of mechanical or charm magic, a token created by and imbued with certain magical properties. The Sigil

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was constructed not to summon Surgat, but to channel his energies. Surgat is able to open all locks, and so is the Key. A conjurer would be able to open a lock by summoning Surgat, by tapping into his energies, or by recreating the effect of his energies by manipulating the Aether, but with the Thieves’ Key, that work was already done. I just touched the sigil and the Key itself transformed my will into a working spell. As a general rule I don’t like keeping artifacts on me; all of the other charms I’d collected lived in my Vault, safe from greedy hands and evil hearts. But the Key was so relatively harmless–and so damn useful–that I made an exception. When the key glowed it would open any lock. Literally any lock. The door to a house, the ignition on a car, even one of those card swipe machines that some colleges used to lock the dorms. I slid the Key into the door to the academic building. The Key glowed and reshaped itself, passing easily into the keyhole and opening the door. The alarm panel next to the door started flashing red, and I pushed the Key into the panel’s face. It blinked and fizzled a few times, then turned green. I climbed the steps to the fifth floor. A janitor stood at the end of the hallway, holding a mop, and staring at the destruction with an open jaw. “Evening,” I said, nodding to him. Warren was nowhere to be seen, which meant it was time for a little detective work. I stepped into Warren’s office. Most of what I found was boring: papers that needed to be graded, minutes from the Faculty Senate, lecture notes, and a copy of the student newspaper. But I hit the jackpot at the bottom of the pile: a credit card bill, with Matthew Warren’s phone number and home address. I snapped a photo with my cell phone, tossed everything back more or less where I found it, and headed back outside. So now I knew where Warren lived. If only I knew where his cult was meeting. It was almost eight by the time I got back to the DuBois’, well past dinner time. I should have grabbed a bacon, egg, and cheese on the

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way home. I turned around to head back to the Jeep, so I could get some food. And stopped. My senses weren’t exactly open, but my fight with Warren had left me a bit more sensitive than usual. That was why I could feel the ley line, pulsing and humming maybe a hundred yards away from the bed and breakfast. I opened up my senses fully and, sure enough, a column of blue-white light coursed through the ground, heading into the forest. My stomach grumbled. “Shut up,” I said. “We’ll eat after we save the world.” I followed the ley line for about five minutes before I detected the skin-tingling energy of another line. I looked around, but the second line was still concealed by the trees. Another dozen yards later I felt a third ley line. I walked into a clearing five minutes later. The glade was nearly fifty feet across, ringed with residual energies so bright that almost hurt to look at. Energy arced up from five points around the perimeter, connecting them and forming a pentagram in the air. Above, energy fell from the sky in a shower of golden sparks. At the center of the clearing, at the dead center of the pentagram, lay a stone circle, filled with the ashes of ritual fires. And the three ley lines–all three–intersected right in the middle. Jesus. That’s why Miranda was going to be dragged into this. The ritual was going to happen right in her back yard.

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December 18th

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Chapter Four It turns out I absolutely hate bed and breakfasts. Or however you make that plural. Beds and breakfasts? Beds and breakfast? I don’t know. Anyway, I travel a lot. I’m almost constantly on the road, and I think I spent a grand total of fifteen days at home in the previous year. The rest of the time, at least when I wasn’t blowing things up with my brain, was spent in my Jeep or in a hotel. That word “hotel” is key. I like hotels. Nice, generic, antiseptic, impersonal hotels. I spend a lot of time alone, and I’ve kind of forgotten how to do the whole people thing. That means I don’t like the guy at the front desk greeting me by name, I don’t like people fussing over me, and I don’t like people taking care of me. Especially when that someone is a fire-haired, emerald-eyed, twentysomething year old woman. The DuBois residence had a giant dining room that looked like it had originally been divided in two. The room held ten four-tops, each one of them covered by a subtly-pattered cloth. The writing desk in my room was barely big enough for my laptop, let alone my old and

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dusty books, so I claimed the table farthest in the back, near the windows, and settled in to do some research. Warren’s group was called the Asatru, which roughly means “faith of the Aesir.” There was actually a not-for-profit operating under a similar name, the Asatru Alliance, but as far as I could tell, they had no interest in causing mass, supernatural slaughter. Miranda appeared next to me. “Morning Caden,” she said, smiling. “Sorry we missed you last night.” “Me, too,” I said. “My interview with Dr. Warren took some interesting turns, and I ended up staying on campus pretty late.” “Well I hope you got some useful information.” I chuckled, mostly to myself. “Yeah, I learned a lot.” “So what can I get you for breakfast?” Miranda asked. I blinked. “Huh?” She laughed. “This is a bed and breakfast, you know. The bed is the thing you slept in last night, and the breakfast is the thing I’m going to cook you right now.” “I, um, that’s okay. I mean thanks and all, but you don’t have to cook for me.” “Caden, that’s what we do here. It’s what keeps us in business.” She gestured to the tables behind her, which were quickly filling up. “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It’s more reliable income than the boarding, actually.” “Yeah, I get that, it just seems … I kind of know you, you know?” “And?” “And I don’t like having people I know do things for me.” “That’s … well, I never got around to taking a psychology course, but I’m pretty sure there’s a name for that. Probably a big, long, Latin-ey sounding name.” “It just seems … subservient.”

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She raised her eyebrow and twisted her lip into something that I couldn’t distinguish between a frown and a grin. “You think I’m subservient?” “What? No, I–” “You think just because I’m not some high-powered attorney I’m not making a real contribution to society?” “I didn’t–” “Maybe I should just dress up in a Slave Leia costume and chain myself to the first guy who offers me a job?” “Where did this conversation go wrong?” “Because I chose to work here. I chose to set aside my plans in order to help my Grandmother, who doesn’t have another soul in the world to depend on. And if that makes me subservient–” “It doesn’t. It totally doesn’t. Farthest thing from my mind.” “Good. So what would you like for breakfast?” “Um, eggs? And bacon? Maybe on an English muffin? With some cheese?” “A fine choice. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” “Kinda,” I muttered. Miranda winked at me, turned on her heel, and disappeared into the kitchen. I glimpsed Ethel through the door, wearing an apron covered in cartoon pigs, cooking up a storm and singing to herself. Remember how a little while ago I imprisoned a demon with some chalk and banished it from our plane through sheer willpower? I like to remind myself of stuff like that from time to time, just to keep things like this from ruining my self-esteem. Anyway, research. I found Warren’s house on Street View. It was an old Victorian that had probably been in the family for generations. I didn’t need to do a stakeout–thankfully, because a stakeout is even less exciting that hitting up Google to answer all of your mystery’s questions–but I might end up there anyway, and I wanted to have a feel for the neighborhood. Warren lived about halfway between the 40

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campus and the B&B, in a slightly more urban, slightly less wooded part of Washington. Having located my prey, I cracked open my first book on Norse mythology. I wasn’t looking for anything specific, just general information on the Germanic Pantheon, the main players and their attested personalities, rituals, spells, and powers. The thing that I noticed, almost immediately, was that the Norse gods were kind of schizophrenic. Wotan was the god of knowledge and the Hunt, a scholar and a killer, a sage and a monster. He was just as likely to bless you with visions as skin you with a bloodcrusted, iron knife. That kind of duality isn’t uncommon, really. When people invent gods they imprint a little of their own personality into them. No one is always long in thought and slow of temper, just like no one is always on the warpath, driven by an unquenchable thirst for blood. The gods are just us, writ large, and they reflect our best and our worst. Hell, the Jehovah of the Old Testament and the Abba of the New are entirely different characters, and the savior who told his disciples to turn the other cheek doesn’t have a whole lot in common with the rider on the white horse who slays anyone refusing to bend their knee. Trust me. I’ve met them. This duality of the gods was a pain in the ass to anyone who wanted to summon one. You might think you’re getting a god who gives out gold coins and bacon but end up meeting a god who skins men alive because they wash with their right hand instead of their left. I was working under the assumption that Warren and his cult really were trying to summon the “pluck out your own eye to gain knowledge” Wotan and not the “carry a spear the size of a tree and blanket my bed with the skins of virgins” Wotan. That moderated my response some. What they were doing was foolish and potentially deadly, not just for themselves but everyone around them, but I wasn’t going to drop the hammer on them because they made a mistake. At least, not unless I had to. If push came to shove, if the only way to save this town–if the only way to save Miranda–was to take them out, well … I already had trouble sleeping at night. One more

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nightmare wasn’t going to ruin me. But hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. Hopefully I’d figure out a way to– “Caden?” Miranda said. She dropped the bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich next to me, and the plate rattled around on the table. “Thanks Miranda, this looks–” “There’s a prostitute here to see you,” she said, then walked away. Her voice could have corroded steel. “What are you … oh hell,” I said. Madeline West was standing in the doorway, occupying a patch of light like a cat sunning herself. She was dressed, for certain values of the word, in knee-high leather boots, a scarf that I was pretty sure she had mistakenly tried to turn into a dress, and a shirt that made tissue paper seem substantial. She must have been freezing on the way over, a fact attested to in part by what was going on beneath her flimsy top. Her raven hair hung down in front of her shoulders, and her lips were stained some shade of reddish purple. She glided toward me, her hips swaying with every step. Jesus Goddamned Christ. I couldn’t help but stare at her, and I wasn’t alone. Every single eye in the room focused on her. Every man looked like he was ten seconds away from a heart attack and every woman looked like the was a hair’s breadth from pulling a knife. Madeline was beautiful, there was no doubt about it, but I hadn’t realized that she was so intensely sexual. She looked like she wanted to devour someone alive–and make him enjoy every second of it. She nibbled on her bottom lip and fluttered her eyelashes, then sat down in front of me, making a big show of crossing her legs. No, she didn’t want to devour someone, she wanted to devour me. “Hello Caden,” she murmured, a less-than-innocent grin playing over her lips. “Ma, Madeline,” I said. The temperature had gone up ten degrees. I was surprised the windows hadn’t fogged over. Every man there had turned around completely to stare at Madeline, ignoring whoever else they were with, wife, coworker, or friend.

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Madeline laid a hand on my arm and electricity shot from my toes to my scalp. “Warren asked me to stop by,” she said. “He thinks you two got off on the wrong foot, and he wanted me to see if I could,” she shimmied her shoulders, “massage your fears away.” “That, that seems reasonable.” Like I said, I didn’t think Warren was the bad guy. The demon that was using him to claw its way back into our reality was the enemy. I was sure he and I could come to some kind of agreement. “In fact,” Madeline purred, “we were wondering if you’d like to join us. The experience is,” she closed her eyes and shuddered, “incredible.” “I … I think I’d like that,” I heard myself say. What could it hurt, right? Knowledge is power and all that. And if I was around when they conducted their ritual, and something went wrong … Madeline slid closer. She leaned forward, which did wonders for her neckline, and whispered in my ear. “That’s good, Caden. Because Warren asked me to be your,” she pulled the lobe of my ear with her teeth, then let it go, “tutor.” My heart pounded. Sweat beaded up on my brow. I wanted, more than anything in the world, for Madeline to take me under her wing. Or under anything else she wanted to lay on me. She was incredible, the most beautiful creature I had ever seen, the most desirable woman alive. I looked at the other men, staring at my woman, and venom rose up inside of me. How dare they look at her? How dare they sully her with their dirty eyes? I could see them undressing her with their minds, imagining all of the filthy things they wanted to do with her, to her, things that only I– Son of a bitch. She was mind whammying me. I pulled away from Madeline and wrenched my mind out of the gutter. The problem with mental magic is that when it works, you usually don’t know that it’s working. The part of you that would figure it out is the part targeted by the magic, and unless you have a

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really strong sense of who you are–and a metric ass-ton of luck– you’ll never realize that you’ve been targeted. And even that realization isn’t enough to break the spell, any more than realizing you’re having a heart attack makes the chest pain stop. But it does give you a chance, a slim window of opportunity, to fight back. I opened my vision to the Aether, expecting to see some tentaclefaced abomination riding around inside of Madeline, but all I saw was an aura, a cloud of Aetheric energy swirling around her body. The aura diffused through the room, condensing around each of the men. But it also flowed down through her hand and snaked up my arm, shimmering tendrils of manipulative light. They crawled up me like beautiful, deadly vines, wound around my head like a halo or a crown, and plunged into my skull, writhing their way into my brain. Counter magic is hard. If you know what you’re going to face and can prepare ahead of time, if you need a spell the break a veil maybe, that’s one thing. But when your opponent can literally throw anything at you, when you have to think on your feet and craft a spell from nothing, it can be subtle and tricky. Counter magic works kind of like opposing waves. When two peaks slam into each other their energy gets combined, temporarily making a single wave that’s as tall as the two of them put together. But when a peak and a valley meet, their respective energies cancel each other out, temporarily making calm, smooth water. To counter a spell you have to understand what kind of magic it is, what kind of energy is powering it, and then throw its exact opposite at it. Like I said, tricky, subtle, and hard as hell. But its doable. My magical power isn’t based on a grimoire or an ancient faith, it’s based on feeling. I internalize what a spell feels like, then I manipulate the Aether to reproduce that effect. Essentially, I’ve reversed engineered all of the spells I can cast. And that skill was key in counter magic. The spell Madeline was weaving, the spell that was making me putty in her hands and making sure that no man in the room was going to have sex with his wife for a month, was a perversion of love, a pure and selfish want,

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unthinking desire. I figured she was channeling the energy of Freyja, the Norse goddess of that same emotion. Instead of unthinking desire, I filled my mind with cold, rational calculation. Instead of selfish need, I contemplated self-sacrifice. Instead of want, I thought of restraint. I let my mind dwell, for a fraction of a second, on the things Madeline was trying to take away from me, and then I breathed those thoughts to life. “No,” I whispered, closing my eyes and slamming my mind closed. A ward, a ward of temperance and freedom and discipline, rose up around my mind. The tendrils were instantly severed. They jerked away from me and thrashed in the air, and I could almost hear them shrieking. Madeline glared at me like I had called her a dirty name. “Sorry sweetheart,” I said. “Nice try with the roofies, but I just wouldn’t respect myself in the morning.” She jumped to her feet, overturning the chair behind her. “You fucking idiot,” she spat. “Technically, I’d be a fucking idiot if I, you know, fu–” “You’re going to regret this,” she interrupted. I scrunched up the corner of my mouth. “Uh huh. If there’s one thing missing in my life, it’s crazy chicks with golden mind snakes and daddy issues. Have you ever–” “I wanted to make this easy for you. I was even going to make it fun. But believe me, Caden Lyndsey, one way or another we are going to see our Lord, and if you won’t help us–” “If you’re not with us, you’re against us?” “If you’re not with us,” Madeline said, sneering at me, “you’d better pray Wotan doesn’t lower himself to notice you.” “You don’t get it, do you Madeline? I’m not worried about Wotan seeing me. Wotan should be pissing himself because I noticed him.” Madeline’s face went slack, and she stood up straight, looking at me like an unbelievably defiant child. Which, to be fair, is kind of a common reaction. “You’re going to die,” she said, shaking her head. “Your insolence–” 45

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“Is my most charming quality,” I said, flashing her my best smile. “All the ladies say so. You know, the ones that haven’t been driven mad by a Teutonic god-monster.” “We’ll see, Caden, we’ll see. And you will regret the day you refused Lord Wotan’s generous offer.” She turned at walked away, every eye stuck to her like a magnet. It’s amazing how many people feel the need to offer “friendship” on behalf of their deity, and how quick they are to threaten wrath when you say no. Awkward silence filled the room as men turned back to their meals and their wives. Utensils clinked against china, and a couple of brave souls tried to start up conversations, but the aftermath of Madeline’s psychic assault hung in the air as thick as her sensuality. Miranda emerged from the kitchen bearing a coffee pot, stopped in the doorway, and tried to figure out what exactly was going on. She shook her head and came back over to my table. “Coffee?” she asked. She still had a note of agitation in her voice. “No, thanks,” I said. “So who’s the trollop?” “That,” I said, sitting back and running my hand through my hair, “is Madeline West.” “And she’s–” “Matthew Warren’s lover,” I said. Miranda’s eyebrows shot up. “But she’s …” “Eighteen? A student? Terrifying? Yeah.” “So why did she come here?” “Dr. Warren thought I may have … misunderstood some of what he was trying to explain to me. He thought I might have a clearer understanding of his faith if I saw them practicing, so he invited me to one of their rituals.” “Wait,” Miranda said, “his faith? Like, he’s actually some kind of a, a …?” 46

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“The word is Pagan, and yeah, he’s a dyed in the wool, tree hugging, Solstice observing Pagan.” “That’s … distinctly weird,” Miranda said. She picked up my coffee cup and filled it mechanically. “That’s actually a thing? Like, in two thousand and ten?” “Yep. More common than you’d think.” “So are you going to go?” Miranda asked. I was, of course, but not because Madeline invited me. And that knowledge wouldn’t do Miranda any good. “No, I think I’ve got all the information I need. I prefer my creepy anachronistic religions in books, not in my face.” “What about them?” Miranda asked, looking around the room. Every man in the place was red-faced and sweating. “Are they all right?” “Yeah, they’ll be okay.” “What happened to them?” “I … don’t think Madeline was wearing a bra.” Miranda shook her head. “Men. Let me know if you need anything.” “Thanks,” I said and went back to my books. Madeline’s spell was low-level, and the residual energy quickly cleared. Conversation resumed, for the most part, though a lot of men were getting very icy looks from very upset wives. It wasn’t the guys’ fault, and not in a lame “I had to stare at her tits, that’s the way I’m wired” way, but in a “some voodoo strumpet hexed my brain and bewitched my penis” way. But the odds of being able to explain that in a concise, convincing manner was low, so I kept my opinions to myself. In a way, Madeline’s advances were almost a comfort. My visions tend to draw me toward legitimately bad people, people who want raw power and are willing to trample pretty much anyone underfoot in their quest to get it. Until now the Norse cult had seemed more like children who had found a loaded gun. The fact that they were willing to wave that gun around, to threaten me and endanger the people around me with it, made me feel a lot better about the almost inevitable confrontation.

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Madeline hadn’t come in here blasting holes in walls and shattering things with her brain, but in a way the spell she had woven was even more insidious. At least when a mage comes in loud, when they set off the fireworks and turn on the special effects, you have the option of fighting back. What they’re doing might be evil, but there’s still something honest about it. Let’s face off in the middle of the street and may the best man win. The magic Madeline has used was designed to take your options away, to steal your will and mold your actions into the shape the conjurer desires. It wasn’t just an assault, it was a corruption, a violation of who and what you really are. I didn’t like it when someone tried to light me on fire, but I liked being manipulated even less. A chill ran down my spine, and I cast a nervous glance around the room. Damn it, I didn’t mean I wanted someone to set me on fire, but there was definitely some kind of magic happening in the room. I opened my vision and saw thick black fog, heavier than smoke and harder to see through. It rolled in beneath the doors and climbed up the outside of the house, seeping in through the windows. The black fog rolled across the floor. No one else could see the spectral mist, but they could feel its effects. People started shivering, rubbing their arms, and looking around in confusion. Ice-cold fire raced up my leg when the fog touched my feet. I shot out of my chair and raised my arms, as if I could block the phantasmal attack with my hands. Everyone in the dining room stared at me. Then their faces clouded over. Then they started coughing. Then they grabbed their throats, choking, as the black mist stole the life from their bodies.

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Chapter Five The black fog rose up from the floor in writhing columns and seized the diners like a Kraken’s clawed tentacle. The mist bound their chests, wrapped around their throats, and shoved itself into their mouths. The diners gagged and grabbed their throats, and one by one they began to fall to their knees. I didn’t have the time to cast a proper counter spell. It’s desperately hard to think when you can’t breathe. Your body panics, your basest, most primal survival instincts taking over, and there’s only room in your head for one single through: air. I wouldn’t be able to calm myself to properly feel the spell if I was choking, and I wouldn’t be able to lay down counter magic if I was unconscious. Instead of counter magic, I threw up a quick and dirty ward. I grabbed the salt shaker off the table–and the three tables closest to me–ripped the tops off, poured a small circle around myself, then knelt down and released my will into the sodium. Blue fire rippled around me, cutting off the spell in an instant. But I couldn’t ward the entire dining room, let alone the entire house. I was fine, but the people around me were going to die.

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Miranda pushed open the kitchen door, a tray of food in her arms. Her jaw fell open when she saw what was happening, and the dishes clattered the the floor. “Caden?” she asked. “There’s a … gas leak or something! Stay out of the room!” The tendrils were already snaking along the floor, eager to ensnare her. Miranda stared at me, dumbfounded. The black mist flowed toward her. “Shut the door!” I hollered. She finally slammed the door closed. It wouldn’t stop the deadly fog, but it might at least slow it down. The mist was coming from outside, primarily through the front door and windows. Madeline–or whoever as doing this–was probably out on the front lawn. I gathered my energy and screamed, thrusting my hand toward the front door. A column of brilliant light leapt from my hand, scattering the salt and breaking the ward but also carving a path through the black fog. It recoiled from the light like a thing burned, pooling and stacking up in the corners of the room. I raced through the path, threw the door open, and ran outside. Madeline had added a long fur coat to her ensemble and leaned against a tree across the street, but she wasn’t the one working the choking magic. The malefactor stood on the sidewalk in front of the bed and breakfast. Her clothes were as black as her hair, and her skin as pale as snow. The expression on her face was one of manic, ferocious glee. She stood awkwardly, like a scarecrow, her knees knocked and her arms bent at odd angles by her side. Her palms faced me, and black mist streamed out from between her fingers, rolled across the grass, and seeped into the house. “Caden,” she said. Her voice was strained, like she as lifting an incredible weight. She smiled, but her teeth were gritted together. “How’s the air?” “Rancid,” I said. “You should cross your legs.” And then I hit her with a blast of blue-white fire. The light slammed into the Littlest Goth, knocking her ass over teakettle and out into the street. Her concentration broken, the black fog quickly evaporated into nothingness.

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“Sandra!” Madeline yelled. She pushed away from the tree and flung her coat aside. “You son of a bitch!” she screamed at me. Sandra rolled onto her stomach and fought back to her feet, snarling at me. She muttered something beneath her breath, an angry, guttural chant, and black fog began to swirl around her outstretched right hand. “I know, why don’t you keep trying the exact same trick that didn’t work last time?” I said, then threw another blast of light her way. This one was more focused, more controlled, and it slammed into Sandra’s hand, dissipating the spectral mist and cracking her metacarpal. She howled and cradled her paw beneath her opposite arm. Madeline charged toward me, golden energy forming a shroud around her. The energy gathered around her hands and became flame. Real flame, visible flame, not some subtle effect in the Aether. She was actually trying to beat me to death with flaming fists. “I deserve this,” I said under my breath. “I watch too many Kung Fu movies. This is karma biting me in the ass.” The spell I cast to counter her Flaming Fists of Death was similar to a ward, just more … aggressive. I gathered the Aether around my right fist, bathing my hand in pulsing sapphire power. My will transformed the Aether into raw physical force, something that would act on physical objects rather than spiritual energies. Madeline ran toward me, ready to hit me with a Phoenix Rising Tiger Uppercut of Doom or whatever. She shriek like a banshee getting fed through a wood chipper and aimed a punch right at my jaw. I went down to one knee and drove my fist into the ground, releasing all of the considerable Aetheric energy I had collected. The air around me shimmered and shook, and blue-white fire spilled out onto the ground around me, forming a circle about three feet in diameter. The fire rose up into a hallow column with me at its center. Madeline screamed and tried to punch through the fire.

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I pulled my fist from the ground and flung my hand toward the sky, releasing the spell. The azure energy held itself together for a fraction of a second, contracted, then exploded outward. The forces lashed Madeline, tossing her away like a rag doll. Sandra was caught up by the wave, too, and thrown all the way across the street. The energy faded as the circle expanded, fading to transparency and dissipating altogether by the time it reached the sidewalk. Madeline and Sandra looked up at me, pure hatred in their eyes. “Run along,” I said, “before I get angry.” The girls looked like they were considering another assault, but Madeline evidently listened to her better angels. She grabbed Sandra’s arm–which made Sandra wince–and pulled her away. “This isn’t over,” Madeline shouted at me once they were half a block away. I cracked the knuckles on my right hand with my thumb. “I didn’t think it was.” *** I do realize that I just beat up a couple of girls, and no, I’m not proud of it. But I’m also not embarrassed by it. Sandra’s hell cloud would have killed more than a dozen people, and even Madeline manifested some pretty serious power in her last attempt to take me out. I’m a big guy, and pretty strong, but here’s the thing: when people start throwing magic around, that doesn’t mean jack. A three hundred pound power lifter would get his ass kicked by a ninety-eight pound girl if that girl could stop his heart by looking at him funny. I took a moment to calm myself down before heading back inside. I was starting to change my opinion of the Norse cult. I had assumed that they were innocent–stupid, but innocent–victims in all of this, that they had accidentally stumbled onto one of the few magic books with real power and that the results of their summoning ritual were going to be a surprise. But this little stunt made me reconsider. I still thought they had come to their power by happenstance, but they weren’t at all shy about using that power. And if they were willing to kill to see their ritual through … 53

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Well, like I said. I already had trouble sleeping at night. I headed back inside. The breakfast crowd had mostly recovered, although most of them still looked a little pale and rattled. On the bright side, everyone’s near death experience seemed to have made them forget about the trouble Madeline’s little show had caused. And older gentleman was sitting on the floor, a cane lying next to him. His skin was pale and sweaty, and his wife was hovering over him, flapping nervously. “Ed? Ed honey, just breath deep, you’re going to be okay. Someone help him? Please? Can somebody help my husband?” I knelt down next to him and took his hand, checking his pulse. It was rapid but strong, and so was his breathing. “Ed?” I asked. “Can you hear me?” Ed eyes were wide and unfocused, but he blinked a few times and turned toward me. “Yes?” “How are you feeling?” I asked him. Miranda came out of the kitchen. “I shut the gas line off,” she said, “but I checked the stove and the pilot light was still on. Water heater, too. So I don’t know where the gas could have been coming from.” She started when she saw Ed, and knelt down next to us. “Mr. Taber? Are you okay? Carol? What’s happening?” “I don’t know,” Mrs. Taber said, fanning herself. “He just kind of … toppled over.” Mr. Taber ran his hands down his beard. “I … I’m all right, honey. Just need to catch my breath.” The color was returning to his face. I touched his neck, and his pulse had calmed down, too. “I think you’re going to be all right,” I said. “Here,” Miranda said, giving him a glass of water. “Drink this.” “Thanks, missy,” he said and gulped the water down. We stood back up and Miranda helped Ed Taber into a chair. No one really seemed to know what to do until a guy in his mid-thirties just kind of shrugged and left. The rest of the morning crowd seemed to

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take that as a cue and followed after him, leaving overturned chairs and half-eaten food in their wake. Miranda swore under her breath and started righting the seats. I started on the other side of the table, setting up chairs as I went. “You don’t have to do that,” she said. “You’re a guest here.” “It’s all right,” I said. “It isn’t exactly a typical morning.” “Yeah,” she said. “Damn it. I don’t think a single person paid for breakfast. Not that I blame them really, but we can’t afford–” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Sorry. I don’t want to complain at you.” “It’s okay,” I said. “A little venting never hurt anybody.” “Maybe, but that’s not how I was raised.” “Stiff upper lip?” “Something like that, but less British, more Protestant. Put your shoulder to the wheel and do what needs doing, stuff like that.” “It’s none of my business,” I said, “but are you two all right? I mean, is this place,” I waved my hands around the room, “doing okay?” Miranda sighed and shrugged. “I guess. I mean, we aren’t going to get rich here, but my Grandma doesn’t make enough from Social Security to live on, and this makes a big difference. But it really isn’t enough to support two of us. Honestly, I need to get another job, but if I do that there won’t be anyone to help Grandma, and she can’t handle this place by herself, so …” “So you’re trapped,” I said. “Yeah,” she said, looking at the floor. “I mean, I love Grandma, and this place has been in our family forever, but sometimes …” “Sometimes you’d like to escape.” “I feel so guilty for even thinking that, you know? Like I’m letting my Grandmother down, like I’m letting my parents down by not taking care of her.” “I … I’ve never had to deal with that,” I said. “I’m not close to my family, and there was never any real expectation that I’d stick 55

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around. We used to do holidays, Christmas and Thanksgiving and stuff, but after a while we just all kind of agreed to stop pretending.” “Oh,” Miranda said. I shrugged. “Anyway, Ethel seems like a tough old lady. I’m pretty sure that she’d find a way even if you wanted to finish that medical degree.” She smiled, and her emerald eyes crinkled. “You remember that?” “Well yeah,” I said. “Look, it’s really none of my business, but you seem like a really smart woman. You’d have to be to make it most of the way through a degree like that. And it’s great that you want to help your family, but if this is all you ever do … would you be happy with that?” Miranda bit her lip. “I really wouldn’t.” “And there are probably plenty of teenagers in town. I’m sure Ethel could train at least one or two of them to help out around here. I mean, that’s practically an American tradition.” We finished putting the chairs back and Miranda started grabbing dishes. I couldn’t grab as many as she could–she stacked them on her arms like some crazy Jenga game–but I took as many as I could manage and followed her into the kitchen. Ethel was scraping food off of plates and into an industrial sized garbage can. I rolled up my sleeve, ran the water until it was hot, and started washing. “Oh, you don’t have to do that honey,” Ethel said. “I already told him that,” Miranda said. “He’s stubborn.” But she was smiling, and her eyes were sparkling again. Ethel tut-tutted, but handed me the next dish. We had the place cleaned up in about twenty minutes, and Miranda was right: no one had bothered to pay for their breakfast. I felt really bad about that, since it was my fault Madeline and Sandra had shown up. Yes, there was a bigger picture, but just then the only part of it I could focus on was the fact that Miranda and Ethel had lost one-third of a day’s wages because a couple of wannabe witches had tried to take me out in their dining room.

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The utility company sent a guy around to check the gas lines, but he didn’t find anything wrong with them. Neither he nor the DuBois really knew what to make of that, so everyone just kind of agreed to shrug their shoulders and get on with life. Ethel started getting ready for lunch as soon as she got all-clear to turn the stove back on, and I was ushered out of the kitchen. I still had a lot of research to do, but the morning’s excitement had added a more pressing concern to my to-do list, so I locked my books up in my bedroom, hopped into my Jeep, and drove to the nearby supermarket. The girl at the cash register, whose hair was a delightful shade of purple, raised an eyebrow when she saw the contents of my basket: a gallon of olive oil, a large box of table salt, and a bag of cotton balls. I gave her a huge smile but kept my mouth shut. “Whatever,” the girl said and started ringing me up. Twenty-five dollars later–you’ve gotta love small town shops–I headed back home. The house smelled wonderful, a mix of fresh baked bread, sauce, and some kind of meat, and I could hear the DuBois singing in the kitchen. Good. I needed them out of the way and distracted for a few minutes. I mixed my ingredients together in the bathroom, pouring a hefty dollop of salt into the olive oil and shaking it up. Salt really is an amazing thing. In the ancient world it was considered so valuable that it was actually used as a form of currency; the word “salary” comes from the practice of paying a worker’s wages with the stuff. It’s value comes not only from its flavor, but also from its ability as a preservative; meat, for example, would be salted to keep it from going bad. That quality lent it a religious connotation, too. The Mashiach told his followers that they would be “salt and light,” that they would be preservatives, that they would fight back against the growing corruption in the world. But all of that was trivia. I was interested in salt because of its metaphysical properties. All of that New Age crystal stuff? It actually has some basis in fact. Crystalline structures, it turns out, are really good at holding an Aetheric charge. The crystals you can buy in the mall are still useless–you have to actually have some kind of magic ability to charge one–but the principle is sound. The fancy 57

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hippie stones are also way overpriced: salt is just as good at holding a charge as a hundred dollar geode or polished piece of quartz. I listened at the top of the stairs; Ethel and Miranda’s voices still echoed through the house, which meant I had the top floor to myself. Miranda’s bedroom was locked, but the Thieves’ Key had me inside in a heartbeat. Miranda’s bedroom was smaller than mine, but similarly decorated. My face burned red. I hated intruding on her privacy like this, but it was necessary. I needed to make sure that this morning’s events didn’t repeat themselves. I intentionally avoided looking at any of her things and crossed to her window. I dabbed one of the cotton balls into the oil and salt mixture and dragged it along the entire window frame. Once the circle was closed–once I had anointed all of the wood surrounding the window–I touched the oil with my middle and index fingers and whispered “Safe.” Blue fire shimmered across the surface of the oil, flared once, and then dissipated. There was nothing special about the oil; it was just a way to get the salt where I needed it. But the salt itself held the charge of the spell I had just cast. For the next twenty-four hours or so, no magical energy would be able to pass through this window. Well, that isn’t quite true, but breaking through the barrier would have required a tremendous amount of energy and willpower, more than most people would be able to wield. I repeated the process on the door that led out to the wrap-around porch, then locked the bedroom behind me. Miranda’s bedroom was, from a magical point of view, now a safe room, shielded from magical assault. And anyone who tried to cross over the barrier physically would find themselves stripped of a great deal of their power. Sandra’s little stunt wouldn’t be possible if she had crossed over a ward like the ones I had set up in Miranda’s bedroom. The DuBois were still singing, so I warded Ethel’s bedroom next, then the two open bedrooms, then the upstairs bathroom, and finally my own quarters. I almost forgot the window in the hallway, but I anointed it on the way downstairs.

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God but the DuBois house had a lot of windows. It took me almost half an hour to ward the downstairs, and I was still going to have to find time to ward the kitchen windows, probably later that night. Finally I warded the front door, blue fire running out from my fingertips are around the frame. Later I would set up miniature replicas of the stone wards around the church, sealing us in against any– “Caden?” I nearly jumped out of my skin when Miranda came bursting out through the kitchen door. “Caden? Why are you on the ground?” “I, um,” I said, stuffing the cotton ball in my pocket, “thought I felt a draft, but it’s nothing.” “I hope so,” she said, pursing her lips. “We just had the weather stripping redone this fall. Nothing should be coming through those doors.” I looked at the threshold and allowed my vision to shift, revealing the telltale blue glow of a ward. “Yeah,” I said, “I think they’re shut pretty tight.” I closed of my vision, grabbed a handful of napkin-wrapped silverware, and helped Miranda set the tables for lunch.

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December 19th

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Chapter Six Lightning split the sky and the old man stood transformed, wrapped in swirling black cloth and crowned with a helm of antlers. A brilliant ruby flashed and flared, reflecting the tempest’s light as a thousand crimson daggers. He lifted his spear, a great shaft of oak tipped with a blade of gold, high into the air, as if defying the power of the storm. Snarls escaped from the wolves crouched at his feet, smoke rising from their nostrils, their eyes reflecting the same wicked light as their master’s sacrificed eye. Twin ravens leapt from his shoulder, searching for prey. A gray steed came from the darkness and the Hunter took mount, his cry echoing in the night. His fell company responded to his call, riding forth on fierce black stallions and trailed by the hounds of hell. The Wild Hunt rush forward, raising a tumult that would wake that dead. Miranda DuBois ran through the night. Wotan, the Lord of the Hunt, followed after her. *** 62

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I blinked as the vision cleared. This oracle hadn’t forced itself on me like it usually did. I was slowly learning to control that particular aspect of my powers, and I had been able to summon the vision at will. I had hoped to see something different, some sign that Warren would listen to reason … or that the spanking I had given his two messengers-cum-hitwomen would make him think twice. No such luck. Warren was apparently intractable. In two days, Wotan, the Lord of the Hunt, would ride again. In two days, his band of demons would sport once more. In two days, Mirrormont would burn. In two days, Miranda DuBois would die. It was a little after ten PM, and I was sitting on my bed at the bed and breakfast. I had the lights turned off and the curtains open, letting the moon illuminate the room. A brief sense of hopelessness clutched my chest. Would I be able to stop Warren? Would I be able to save Miranda? Would any of this make a difference? Memories filled my mind. The way Erin’s eyes crinkled when she smiled, the way her hair fell in a golden-brown tumble, the sound of her laugh, the touch of her skin against mine. The look on her face, the fear in her eyes, the sound of her cries … I squeezed my eyes shut. Things were different now. I knew what I was, who I was, and what I had to do. I wouldn’t let history repeat. I wouldn’t let Warren win. I wouldn’t let Miranda down. Like I let Erin down … I shook my head, tossing the memories aside like chaff. There was still time to make Warren see reason, and sitting on my ass moping wasn’t going to accomplish anything. It was frigid outside, near zero, so I wore a big, heavy coat over a sweater, wrapped a scarf around my neck, and put on heavy fleece-lined gloves, then headed downstairs. “Going for a walk?” Miranda asked when my hand was on the doorknob. She was sitting in the living room, by the fire, reading a book. She had kept the lights off, too, and I hadn’t even noticed her. “Yeah,” I said. “I need to clear my head.”

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“Your room isn’t filing up with noxious fumes, is it?” she asked, firelight dancing in her emerald eyes. “No,” I said, smiling. “But my head’s filling up with noxious memories.” “Christmas probably isn’t your favorite time of year, is it?” she asked. The fire had turned her hair the color of heated bronze. “Why do you say that?” “Well, you said your family just kind of gave up on holidays, and you are spending Christmas with a bunch of strangers, so …” “I suppose you’re right.” I shrugged. “I never really thought about it, but Christmas kind of means something different to me than it does to most people.” “You mean it doesn’t mark the birth of the savior of the world?” she asked with a grin. Actually, the Mashiach was born in late August, and he wasn’t the savior of anything, but that was beside the point. “Christmas is just another day,” I said. Miranda closed her book. “You want some company on your walk?” I missed a beat. The offer was so unexpected, so … so trivial, but so important at the same time. I hadn’t taken a walk with someone in years, not since Erin, and it would be so nice, to go out into the woods, to hold someone’s hand, to hold Miranda’s hand and talk about nothing in particular, to look up at the stars, to just be with someone. “I really do,” I said, “but I kind of need to be alone tonight.” Miranda blinked. “Oh. All right then.” She looked around awkwardly for a moment, then started thumbing through her book, looking for her spot. “I mean that,” I said. “I’d love to take a walk with you. But tonight really isn’t a good night.” She just looked at me, and it felt like I was on trial. I had the sudden urge to confess, to tell her everything, to explain who I was and why I was there and what was going to happen in two short days. But that 64

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was crazy, impossible. If I told her the truth she’d have me carted off to the loony bin. “All right,” she said finally. “Maybe tomorrow night.” “Maybe,” I said, half smiling. I opened the door, shuddering against the sudden blast of cold. “Caden?” Miranda called after me. “Yeah?” “Stay warm.” It was cold but dry, and my feet crunched frozen grass as I walked away from the bed and breakfast and toward the forest. My breath trailed behind me like smoke from a hell hounds’ nostrils. The moon gave everything a light blue tinge, even the evergreens. The first ley line tickled the back of my brain a few minutes later, and I followed it to the clearing in the wood. Moonlight fell gently through the opening in the canopy above and glistened off the shards of ice decorating the glade. In two days, Wotan would ride again. In two days, everyone in Mirrormont would die. In two days, Warren and his cult would observe their final feast. But the old religions didn’t just celebrate holy days, they marked entire seasons, held weeks-long festivals that culminated in their high rituals. And if Warren was as committed to the old ways as he claimed, his followers would do the same. The fire pit was cold but had been used recently, probably the night before. I gathered some loose wood and kindling, then waved my hand over the stack, releasing the Aether. The tinder flared and soon I was tending a modest but serviceable flame. I took of my gloves and warmed my hands over the fire, then dragged over a log to sit on. The Norse cult showed up about an hour later. Warren and Madeline led the way, hand in hand. Warren was wearing an old canvas coat and one of those hats with the floppy ears; Madeline was dressed like a ski bunny. 65

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Sandra came next, dressed in Goth-approved black and holding hands with a tall, reedy guy with a nose like Cyrano de Bergerac and hair that you could use to change your oil. Behind them came a strawberry blond in a white coat, gloves, and scarf. Her companion must have been six and a half feet tall and two hundred twenty pounds. He had a blond beard and a longish hair tucked under his hat. His jacket was dark blue plaid and he had some kind of canvas slung over his back. He wasn’t holding hands with the girl because he was dragging a sled loaded up with wood. It looked heavy, but he didn’t seem to have any trouble with it. The next girl coming down the path would have been right at home on the Swedish bikini team. Her escort was straight from the Jersey Shore, with skin so tan it was almost orange and hair that could take a bullet without flinching. Bringing up the rear was an Italian girl with dark makeup around her eyes and a t-shirt that read Princess in sparkly pink, attended by a guy that was at least six inches shorter than her. He had cold, reptilian eyes. Italian Princess was leading a goat on a rope. Madeline, I noted, had some sort of gaudy dagger tucked into her waistband. Poor animal. The cult fanned out in a semi-circle around me. Madeline clung to Warren like she was afraid of drowning. Sandra’s fingers flexed like claws. The lumberjack stared at me hard enough to crack stone. Everything was silent and tension filled the air. “Thank God you brought more wood,” I said. “It’s freaking cold out here, and I was starting to get worried. Hey, did anyone bring hot dogs? Oh! Or how about some s’mores? I love s’mores.” Warren, who was straight ahead of me, stepped forward. “Interloper. How dare you desecrate our sacred grove?” “Sacred grove? You mean this campfire?” I looked around. “I mean sure, it’s a nice spot and all, but sacred?” Warren’s face turned blotchy. “Have you no decency?” “Decency? You sent your little strumpet–” “Hey!” Madeline said. 66

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“–and the president of the Marilyn Manson fan club–” “You pig.” “–to attack me. And everyone else in the room,” I said. “We were defending ourselves!” Madeline said, half hidden behind Warren. “From nice old men and their terrified wives?” I asked. “From you,” Warren spat. “And your closed-minded, bigoted–” “Oh for fuck’s sake,” I said. “Just because I don’t want to see the town burned to ash–” “Because you won’t let us practice our religion in peace!” Warren shouted. I sighed. “I’m all for you idiots practicing your religion in peace. The problem is that your god–” “Lord Wotan,” Warren said. “–Yes, I got his name, thank you–your god isn’t peaceful. Hell, none of them are peaceful. Jesus, he’s a Viking god. Do you expect him to show up with flowers and shortbread? He’s–” “Of course not, Caden,” Warren said. “We know full well who, what Lord Wotan is. Your vision helped … clarify matters for me.” “Well thank God for that,” I said. “So if you’re calling the whole thing off, what are you–” “Calling it off?” Madeline asked. “Are you nuts?” “We are calling nothing off, Caden. We have merely altered our expectations. And,” he said, laying his hand on the goat’s head, “our approach.” I stopped, hoping that being quiet for a minute would make the world stop spinning. “So let me get this straight. You know that Wotan is going to destroy this city, but you’re planning to summon him anyway?” “We are,” Warren said, his mouth curling up into a piranha’s grin. “We are the Asatru, the last remnants of the Old Faith. Ours is not to 67

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dictate terms to the Lord of the Hunt. Ours is only to call him, and to welcome him, and to receive his bounty.” “And what about the people he’s going to kill?” Warren smiled. “Lord Wotan blesses the strong, Caden. And the weak, well … if they have nothing to offer, why should they be saved?” “Well, that settles it,” I said, cracking my knuckles. “You know, when we met, I really thought you were innocent in all of this. I felt kind of bad about the idea of kicking your ass. But now …” “John, would you?” Warren asked. The lumberjack slung the canvas from his shoulder and unwrapped it, drawing out an enormous hammer. The head was carved from stone and decorated with runes, and the handle was made of dark red wood, carved into a spiral. John hefted the hammer and smacked it against his left hand, eyeing me hard. “Is that a Mjolnir?” I asked. “Did you make yourself a Mjolnir? Because that’s adorable. Did you–” The hair on the back of my neck stood up and the air filled with the scent of ozone. “Oh, crap,” I muttered. The hammer flared with blue sparks. The lumberjack thrust the hammer forward and let out a guttural cry. White-hot plasma shot across the glen, jagged fire splitting the night, and slammed into me.

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Chapter Seven I barely got my ward up in time. I threw my hands in front of my face, arms crossed at the wrists, and poured my will into a quick spell. The lightning arced and crackled around me, searing the grass near my feet and charring the branches overhead. I was thrown backwards, tumbling out of the clearing and coming to rest against a tree. I scrambled back to my feet and threw up another ward, just in time to block another lightning bolt. Electricity crashed around me and shattered an evergreen’s trunk. The wood creaked and groaned, shards of bark falling down on my head, and the tree started to topple. I rolled to the left. The jagged trunk cracked, and the tree crashed to the ground. Sandra rubbed her hands together and black smoke started swirling around her. She grinned malevolently and stretched out her arms. The dark fog rolled across the glen. Cyrano de Bergerac spread his hands and a fire sprang up all around us, hemming me in the glen with the Asatru. Which was just fine with me. I hate running. Makes my knees hurt. I’m much more comfortable standing and fighting.

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The lumberjack raised his Mjolnir high. I wasn’t sure if he was planning to hit me with lightning or with the hammer, but I didn’t expect either to feel particularly good. I thrust my hand forward and the glen was suddenly bathed in harsh white light. The light slammed into the Thor-wannabe, knocking his hammer from his hands and sending him sprawling in the frozen grass. Strawberry Shortcake screamed and rushed to his side. Sandra started shaking, and a harpy’s shriek split my eardrums. Her deadly fog swirled and writhed around her, then shadowy tentacles reached out to grab me. Ice ran down my arm when the first tentacle reached me and I jerked back … and almost landed in the fire. I shouted a curse and juked back toward the center of the clearing. The tendrils flapped and flailed then redirected toward me. I gathered energy around my fist and slammed it into the ground, releasing an expanding ring of blue-white fire. The black mist was brushed aside, the tentacles crumbling to nothing, and the Asatru were knocked off their feet. I started forward, blood in my eye. Cyrano de Bergerac snarled at me and waved his hands in the air. A wall of fire roared to life, separating me from the Asatru. The sky turned dark, the moon completely blotted out, and a fucking meteor fell straight toward me. “Are you goddamn kidding me?” I muttered. Then I dove to the side and threw up the strongest ward I could manage. The meteor looked like it was the size of a car, and I really didn’t know if my spell would hold. Hopefully I was far enough out of the way … The meteor hit, right on top of me. And passed right through me. And dissolved into nothing. “The hell?” I said, the opened my vision. The fire surrounding the glen and separating me from my opponents faded into half transparency. It was an illusion. The bastard wasn’t throwing offensive spells at me, he was creating illusions, distracting me so his buddies would have an open shot. Loki must have been his god of choice.

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I walked through the flames, which were no warmer that the frigid night air, and punched him in the jaw. Cyrano’s eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled to the ground. The flames vanished instantly. Mini-Thor was back on his feet and swinging his Mjolnir at my head. I blocked with my forearm, the Aether forming a barrier around my skin. The hammer hit me hard enough to shatter bone, but the Aether absorbed and deflected the bulk of the impact. The bulk, but not all. I grunted. “Son of a bitch that hurt.” My right arm felt like my funny bone had been hit by a car. I shook it out, trying to get some feeling back into it … And blasted Mini-Thor with a column of solid light from my left hand. It hit him in the face, hard as Tyson in his prime, and knocked him right on his ass. Sandra screeched and threw black smoke at me. I crossed my arms, erecting a sphere of Aether. The tentacles whipped around me, slamming against the shield, clawing to get at me, but the shield held. I threw my arms out to the side, turning the shield into a blast of willpower. Energy ripped through the columns of smoke, shredding them, and slammed into the Little Goth that Could. She grabbed her head and screamed, then fell to the ground. But Mini-Thor was back on his feet, the hammer clutched in his hands. He swung it like a baseball bat and caught me right in the chest. The wind exploded out of my lungs and I tasted copper. I flew through the air and smashed into a tree, landing in a heap at its base. Mini-Thor walked forward, electricity crackling around the hammer. He thrust it forward and lightning split the air. I threw up a fast ward. It blocked most of the lightning, but a portion of it got through, scorching my chest. I groaned. Mini-Thor came forward, Mjolnir held high over his head. I rolled on the ground, trying to get to my feet, then gave up and raised another ward. He brought the hammer crashing down. The impact passed through my ward and rattled my teeth, but at least I hadn’t gotten mushed into paste.

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He brought the hammer down again. God, it felt like I was getting kicked by a mule. A giant mule, wearing bowling balls on its feet. Bowling balls with spikes. Mini-Thor raised the hammer one more time. Sparks danced across its surface, and my hair stood on end. Lightning rushed down from the sky and struck Mjolnir, lighting it up like a torch. Mini-Thor growled at me, every muscle in his body straining to contain the power he had summoned, and swung the hammer. I shouted and threw my hand forward, blasting him with another blue-white fire. Mjolnir flew from his hands, the lightning exploding all across the glen. The Asatru screamed and dove for cover. Jets of white plasma showered the trees, setting them ablaze, and this time the fire was real. Warren looked at the growing blaze. “Run,” he stammered out. “Run!” The Asatru fell back, following the same trail that had led them in. Strawberry Shortcake helped Mini-Thor to his feet and got beneath his arm, helping him limp away. The fire raged around me, and for a moment I stood there, paralyzed. The light was blinding, the heat oppressive. I tried to get to my feet, tried to run, but I fell to my knees. My hands shook. I closed my eyes, cleared my head. I needed to focus. I needed to concentrate. Sirens wailed in the distance. Too far away. They wouldn’t get here in time. I crawled forward, on my hands and knees, and got as close to the center of the clearing as possible … and as close as possible to the three intersecting ley lines. I’m good at blowing things up. I’m good at stopping things from blowing me up. But there are a lot of kinds of magic, a lot of effects you can achieve. The problem was, I sucked at almost all of them. Illusions? I couldn’t even pull a coin from behind your ear. Telepathy? Half the time I can’t understand what you say to my face. Hypnotism? I can’t even get the guy at McDonalds to leave onions off my hamburger.

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Elemental magic is not my strong point. I’m the kind of guy who likes to develop a couple of tricks and develop them real well. Crystal fire, occasional acts of telekinesis, wards, those were my gotos. Summoning and controlling the elements, that wasn’t something I tried on a regular basis. But I didn’t have much choice. The fire was quickly spreading out of control. If I didn’t do something about it, it would consume the whole forest. The bed and breakfast. Me. So I touched the ley lines, drawing in power, feeling it course through me. The Aether hit me in a cool rush, soothing my injuries. It was temporary, but welcome. I gathered energy until I felt overfull, then turned my mind toward directing it. Like any other spell, I focused on how it felt, not the mechanics behind it. So I made myself feel cold, wet, and miserable. It started slowly, just a couple of drops of rain. But soon clouds gathered overhead, blocking out the moonlight and reflecting the fire’s hellish glow. Rain fell heavier, matting my hair and streaking down my face like tears, but it wasn’t enough. I drew in more power, more, and poured my misery into it. I shuddered, feeling frigid water in my soul and commanding it to manifest. And it did. The skies opened and a torrent of freezing water fell to the earth, soaking me to the bone … and smothering the fire. The strain of the spellwork had taken almost everything out of me. I collapsed, my face inches from soggy ash, and fought the urge to sleep. The sirens drew closer, and I had no desire to deal with the local authorities. Or freeze to death. God, it was cold. I forced myself to stand up, clutching my ribs, and limped toward to the DuBois’ house. The goat bleated at me. I stopped, turned slowly, and stared at it. “What? You’re free. Go. Shoo. Try not to get sacrificed to a god.” I started walking again. The goat let out a mournful baaaah. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” I muttered. *** 74

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It took me almost an hour to make it back to the bed and breakfast, limping and shivering the entire way. I was tired, sore, and ready to just lie down for a few days. Magic takes a lot out of you. Spells are fueled by willpower, and like anyone who’s ever been on a diet can tell you, willpower in a quickly exhaustible commodity. You don’t just chant the magic words and watch your spell come to life; you have to summon the Aether and make it do what you want. Lifting a weight with magic is just as hard as lifting it with your arms and legs, you’re just using your mind instead of your muscles. Fighting the Asatru would have been enough to wear me out, but summoning the rain storm had pushed me over the line. I felt worn out, stretched thin. The fact that I’d been hit in the face with a lightning bolt only compounded the matter. Every breath sent fire rushing through my ribs and every step sent pain shooting up my leg. The feeling was returning to my arm, which was good except for the fact that it let me realize just how bad it hurt. This stuff isn’t fun and games, kids. Forget how it looks on television. Fire trucks raced by, heading in the general direction of the clearing. “Too late, guys,” I said. “Party’s over.” God my ribs hurt. There were only four steps leading to the DuBois’ front door but I might as well have been climbing Mount Everest. My knee creaked with each step and my head was swimming by the time I made it to the top. I closed my eyes and held my breath for a second, trying to keep the pain at bay. It took a while to convince my fingers to close around the doorknob; my hands were shaking and it was so damn cold that my muscles weren’t being particularly responsive. But I eventually managed to get enough of a grip to turn the handle, then I shouldered the door open. I took one step inside and promptly fell on my face. “Caden!” Miranda shouted from the living room. Damn it. I had hoped she’s gone to bed already.

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She hurried over and knelt beside me. “Jesus Caden, what happened?” She fingered the hole in my shirt and examined the lobster-red skin beneath. I tried to smile at her. “I got hit by lightning.” “What?” “Yeah. Did you hear that storm?” “God, you got caught in that?” “Yep.” I rolled onto my side and pushed myself to sitting. “Caden, stay down. I want to make sure you’re not hurt.” I waved her off. “I am very definitely hurt. But I’ll live.” “Not if you have a cardiac event due to electrical shock,” she said. “I’ve survived worse.” “Worse that getting hit by lightning?” I cracked my neck. “I live a full and exciting life. You wouldn’t–” “Baaaaah!” Miranda stared out the door. “Caden?” Miranda asked, slowly and carefully, “why is there a goat on the porch?” “That’s Billy,” I said. “I found him in the woods.” “Okay. Um, why did you bring him here?” “I didn’t bring him anywhere. He followed me.” “Okay,” she said slowly. “Well, I’m just going to shut the door then.” “Fine by me.” “Baaaaah!” “Quiet, Billy,” I said. “You’re lucky no one turned you into jerky tonight.” Miranda swung the door shut, then helped me to my feet. “Come on,” she said, “let’s get you on the couch. I’ll call the hospital and–” “No way,” I said, stepping away from her. 76

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“Caden, you were hit by lightning. We have no idea how badly you’re hurt. God, it’s a miracle that you’re even alive.” “I don’t believe in miracles,” I said. “Do you believe in heart attacks?” “There’s more compelling evidence for them, yes.” “Great. Because it’s amazing you aren’t having one. God, you walked all the way back here from the woods? And your soaking wet. You should be in hypothermic shock, too.” She shook her head. “Caden, you’re really lucky.” “Yeah, I should have bought a lottery ticket on my way back. Everything is going my way tonight.” “At least let me take a look at you, put a bandage on your chest.” I sighed. “All right.” “Thank you,” she said, then helped me to the couch. She ran upstairs and returned a couple of minutes later, carrying a big white box under her arm. “Take off your shirt,” she said. “Buy me dinner first,” I muttered. She glared at me, her fists on her hips. “Caden, I’m serious. You’re hurt, maybe badly. And if you won’t let me call an ambulance, well, at least I have a little bit of training.” “All right,” I said, shrugging out of my shirt. “But you should know I don’t have insurance.” “That’s all right,” she said. “My rates are very … reasonable.” I would like to say that it was my stunning abs or muscular chest that stunned her into silence, but it was actually the leather cord I wore around my neck. More specifically, it was the tiny gold ring set with a tiny shard of diamond that was tied to the cord. Miranda reached for it, but her hand stopped a few inches away. “You’re engaged?” she asked.

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“I was,” I said. I held up the ring. Firelight danced off the diamond’s surface. I was surprised that the lightning bolt hadn’t melted the gold. “When you said you lost someone …” Miranda said. “Yeah,” I said, my voice flat. I dropped the ring. “So how do I look? Am I going to live?” She wrenched her eyes away from the ring and composed her face into detached professionalism. “It doesn’t look that bad, actually. There’s no scorching, no scarring … it looks like a bad sunburn, really. It might blister, but yeah, I think you’re going to be okay.” “Well that’s a relief. I’d hate for you guys to find my corpse in the morning. There’d just be so many questions.” “It’s okay,” Miranda said, “I know the Sheriff pretty well. He’d help me cover it up.” She was trying for levity, but her voice was still tense. I raised my eyebrow. “How comforting. Remind me not to piss you off.” She smiled. “That’s always a good strategy. Hell hath no fury. Here, this will help the burn.” She smeared some kind of cream over my chest. I jumped–it was cold–but it felt a lot better. “Thanks,” I said. “Anytime.” Miranda started tapping a big, wide bandage over my chest. “Can you make it upstairs?” “Yeah. My knee’s a bit banged up, but I’ll be okay.” “Let me help you,” she said. “I’m fine, really.” I stood up and put some weight on my knee, testing it. It twinged, but I’d made it all the way back here. A few more stairs wouldn’t stop me. Miranda followed me to the second floor, her hands held out like we were doing a trust fall. “What are you doing?” I asked. “I’m going to catch you if you fall,” she said.

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“You’re going to get squished if I fall. I weigh like twice as much as you.” “I have leverage on my side.” I pursed my lips. “Yep. Standing on a tiny step, trying to bench press a two hundred pound guy, spindly little arms … you are definitely in an advantageous position.” She stuck her tongue out at me and I hobbled up the stairs. “You should take a warm shower,” she said. “Warm, not hot.” “I don’t want to wake Ethel up,” I said. “Please. You could set off a bomb and not wake Grandma up. You’ll be fine.” “Okay.” I was excited by the prospect of feeling my fingers and toes again. “Thanks, Miranda.” “Sure,” she said, leaning against the doorway. “Let me know if you need anything.” “Thanks.” She turned to leave. “Oh, and Caden?” she asked. “Yeah?” “I’m really glad I didn’t go for a walk with you tonight.” “You and me both,” I said with a sad smile.

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Chapter Eight I didn’t sleep that night. Instead, I leaned back, closed my eyes, and entered a trance. That isn’t as weird as it sounds. It’s not like I was sitting in Louts and burning incense or anything. I just kind of emptied myself, let my mind go silent, and let my body heal itself. I’m not very good at healing magic. It’s subtle and precise, and a bit more complicated that I’m comfortable with. If someone gets injured, there’s not a whole lot I can do for them, magically speaking. O u r bodies are fantastic at healing themselves, though. Given enough time and resources, our bodies will spring back from a lot of things. And when you have access to magic, you can come back from damn near anything. That’s why I didn’t sleep. I needed to be awake enough to draw on the Aether, giving my body the resources it needed to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. It was almost noon before I finally went downstairs. Miranda brought me a bacon, egg, and cheese without even asking. The woman is an angel of mercy. 82

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“Thanks,” I said, and took a big, delicious bite. “Any time. How’s your chest?” “Better. Thanks, Doc.” Miranda looked down. Her crimson hair spilled over her face, hiding it. “I was a couple of years away from earning that name.” “Are your credits still good?” She shrugged. “Well, yeah. I still have another year to earn my degree, I think.” “Then maybe you should start next semester.” “Yeah,” she said, the ghost of a smile still turning up her lips. “Eat your breakfast.” I did, then went back to my books. My goal was still to shut down Warren and his followers, but if I couldn’t, if they still managed to summon Wotan, I needed to be ready. But hey, how hard could killing the Viking god of hunting and war be, really? Every religion has their own eschatology, a view of how all of this is going to end. There are a lot of devils in the details, but the basic theme, from Buddhists to Hindus, Muslims to Christians, is that “things are gonna suck, but in the end, we win.” Cataclysm, terror, war, sure, but at the end, at the very end, we humans tend to be an optimistic bunch. Except the Norse. Norse eschatology can basically be summed up “life sucks, and then everybody dies.” Even their gods are fated to die in the final battle. Thor dies from exhaustion after battling the World Serpent. Freyr is killed by Surtr. Loki and Heimdallr murder each other. Even Wotan … Huh. That was interesting. That might even work.

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I scrawled a name in my notebook, translated it into the Runic alphabet, and stared at it. Let it rattle around in my brain. Let it echo in my spirit. “Fenrir,” I whispered. I felt a little chill rush through the room. I don’t have a lot of use for the hookum and voodoo surrounding most magic. I don’t use fake Latin words or magic wands or anything like that. I know that they work for certain people, but I also know why they work: because the people expect them to. Words of power and most “magical” artifacts just help the user focus the abilities they already have. There are charms that have been imbued with certain properties–like the Thieves’ Key or Mini-Thor’s hammer –and certain books contain known, working spells, but those are few and far between. Sigils were a different matter, at least partially. Some of them work just like any other spell: by helping the sorcerer focus. They worked because they were supposed to work, because the user expected them to. But other sigils had real power, regardless of who was using them. The sigils that warded my collection of Very Dangerous Things, for example, have been used to defend against demons and devils for centuries, and that constant, repeated use had strengthened them, made them more powerful. I wasn’t sure if it had something to do with humanity’s collective unconscious or lasting echoes in the Aether or what, but the effect was very real. Some beings also have an affinity for certain sigils. Angels, for instance, have come to recognize their own names written in Enochian, so when you run energy through an Enochian sigil, the chances of getting a response are a lot higher than if you’d just scribbled a stick figure with wings and started bellowing in Aramaic. The same would be true of Wotan; the Asatru would almost certainly be using the old Runic Alphabet to turn Wotan’s name into a sigil, and when they poured the power of their ritual, the power of their belief, into that symbol … Well, it would work. My visions attested to that. I had a plan, a plant to stop Wotan if the Asatru managed to summon him to Earth. And all I ha to do was create a brand new sigil, believe 84

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in it strongly enough to make it work, and control it carefully enough to prevent an entirely different marauding murder beast from attacking the good people of Mirrormont. Easy as pie. I went through a hundred different variations, combining runes and pictograms and squiggles in as many different ways as I could imagine. By the time the sun set, I was starting to feel more confident, and the sigil was starting to look like something a respectable sorcerer would actually use. I was almost starting to feel confident, until a shill shot up my spine and a pinpoint of pain appeared between my eyes. Someone was trying to break my wards. The bed and breakfast was empty except for Miranda, Ethel, and me. That was good: fewer innocents in the line of fire. It was pitch black outside, and I couldn’t see anything through the windows, but I could feel the magical assault trying to batter through the defenses I had erected around the house. I froze, like a cat that heard a scary noise. The kitchen door swung open and Miranda walked in, carrying a steaming cup of tea. “Caden? Is everything all right?” Ethel walked in after her Granddaughter, stopping in the doorway and looking between us. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Shh,” I said and closed my eyes again. Pressure between my eyes exploded into blinding pain. I grabbed my head with one hand and slammed the other down onto the table to steady myself. Lightning struck the house. The windows shattered, and shards of razor sharp glass flew through the air. I threw up my hand and summoned a ward, protecting us. Miranda screamed. Ethel cried out. But the wards held. The windowsills rippled with blue fire. Magical energy danced just outside, crackling and flashing against an invisible barrier.

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“What the hell?” Miranda said to no one in particular. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open. Her teacup lay on the ground, shattered. Beside her, Ethel had gone ghostly white. She was frozen in place, petrified. Lightning flashed again, slamming into the bed and breakfast and crashing against the wards, the house shaking under the assault. The lightning writhed against my enchanted barriers, desperately seeking entrance, then sullenly withdrew. “What’s going on?” Ethel asked, her lips trembling. “Get in the cellar,” I said. “Wh, what?” Ethel asked. “Get downstairs!” I shouted, grabbing her arm and urging her back into the kitchen. Miranda followed her grandmother and I brought up the rear. Ethel unlatched the door to the cellar and started down, taking one step at a time and favoring her light leg. Miranda looked back at me. “Caden?” “I’ll be down in a second,” I said, then pulled open the pantry. Ethel’s kitchen was really a restaurant, and she kept it stocked like one. Economy size jars of tomato sauce, enormous boxes of pasta … and giant cans of salt. I stuffed two of them under my arm, grabbed a third, and hurried downstairs. Miranda and Ethel were crouched in the far corner. A dim, bare bulb lit the basement and both of the DuBois women clutched flashlights. “Is it a tornado?” Ethel asked. “We don’t get tornados here,” Miranda said. “We had one two years ago.” “That was in Vancouver,” Miranda said. “That’s like three hours from here.” “It’s not a tornado,” I said. “Then what is it?” Ethel asked. “What was that, that lightning? I’ve never seen anything like it.” It was good to hear her talking again, and she had regained some of her color. 86

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But I didn’t answer her questions. She wouldn’t believe me if I told her, and I didn’t have time for a lot of follow-up questions. Instead I ripped open the first can of salt and started pouring a circle around the DuBois. “What are you doing?” Miranda asked. “This will keep you safe.” “We aren’t being attacked by snails,” Miranda said. “Trust me,” I said. I opened the second can and started pouring. “It’s lightning. Some freaky, weird-ass lightning, but it’s lightning.” Miranda’s voice was tinged with exasperation. I opened the third can and completed the circle. “It’s not lightning,” I said. “It’s magic.” The blood drained from Ethel’s face. “What?” Miranda asked. “Caden, I don’t know what you’re–” I knelt down and touched my fingertips to the salt. Blue fire raced around the circle, sealing them in. Miranda jumped back. Ethel cried out, then stepped in front of Miranda. “You aren’t taking my Granddaughter,” she said. I rolled my eyes. “I don’t want your Granddaughter. I’m trying to save your lives. So stay inside the circle. They won’t be able to get you inside the circle.” Miranda stared at me with astonished emerald eyes. I stared right back, trying to think of something to say, but in the end I just ran back up the stairs. I really wished I had time to prepare for this, but that’s the point of a sneak attack. But what I lacked in planning I made up in sheer rage; Miranda and Ethel had nothing to do with this, but the Asatru had brought the fight to their home anyway. I gathered the Aether around me, forming a passable ward around my body, then gathered more energy around my hands, where it would be easily released as a blast of solid, shimmering light. I took a deep breath, gritted my teeth, and ran out the back door. 87

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The Aether crackled with energy, filling the night air with static electricity. The moon cast brilliant light over the lawn, making it easy to see, but my enemies were nowhere to be found. It was possible that they’d done a drive by–pulled up in a car, thrown lightning at the house, then raced off after they realized the place was warded–but it didn’t seem likely. Maybe they– White light flared from nowhere and slammed into me like a wrecking ball, knocking me from my feet and throwing me across the lawn. The ward absorbed most of the blast, but the wind still exploded from my lungs, leaving me gasping. I got back to my feet as fast as I could, pouring more energy into my shield and getting ready to return fire, but I still couldn’t see the Asatru. I crept forward, searching every shadow. Lightning erupted from my left, slamming into my shoulder and bowling me over. I coughed on the stench of ozone. What the hell? Where in the nine fires were these assholes hiding? How were they … Of course. That illusion-casting son of a bitch must have been veiling them. I opened my vision to the Aether, and sure enough, there they were. They were again arrayed in a semi-circle. The lumberjack carrying Mjolnir was closest to me, on my left. Cyrano de Bergerac, the guy veiling their presence, was across from him, at the right end of the semi-circle. Sandra was standing next to him, magic as black as her Gothed-out clothes writhing around one hand, a thick cast wrapped around the other. Madeline crouched like a tiger, fire curling between her fingers. All of them looked at me with something between wrath and contempt. And in the center stood Doctor Matthew Warren, clutching an oaken staff tipped with a spearhead of gold. Energy rippled around the weapon, distorting the air. Hatred twisted his face. The muscles in his jaw twitched. Warren looked at Mini-Thor and nodded. White and blue sparks danced along Mjolnir’s surface. The lumberjack raised the hammer, ready to bring it down right on my head. I looked off to the right, ignoring him completely … and opened my left hand, palm up. 88

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Blue-white light flared in my hand and slashed through the darkness. It caught Mini-Thor full in the face, nearly hard enough to snap his neck. He fell to the ground, unconscious. I whipped around and thrust my hand toward Cyrano de Bergerac, sending another barrage of glowing Aether barreling toward him. He gasped and covered his face, but the energy ran him over like a steamroller. The illusionist crumpled to the ground. His veil flickered and faded, leaving the Asatru exposed. Mini-Thor groaned and reached for his hammer. “Nice try, Paul Bunyan,” I said, and grabbed Mjolnir from the ground. It hummed in my hand, its enchantments sending a thousand pinpricks racing along my skin. “This is neat. I bet all the kids want one.” Madeline and Sandra attacked at the same time. Hellish fire and ebon smoke shot across the law. The magics entwined, wrapping around each other like mating anacondas, producing a coiled column of flame and fog that emitted and devoured light at the same time. The rage that fueled the deadly magic was palpable. I turned my hands palms-out and focused my will, drawing Aether around me and forming an egg-shaped ward. Their magic slammed into the barrier and spilled around me. I was briefly surrounded by an inferno, the fire and smoke enveloping me entirely, but the ward held and I remained unharmed. Their attack subsided and I let the ward fall away, freeing up my will and my strength for a two-pronged attack. I thrust both hands forward and growled. Twin lances of blue-white light tore through the night, illuminating the lawn like searchlights. They struck Madeline and Sandra in the chests, taking them off their feet and driving them backward. The grass was torn up from the force of their impact. Warren’s face turned blotchy. “You weren’t this strong last night.” “I wasn’t this pissed last night,” I said through gritted teeth. “You’re dangerous, and I’m done screwing around.” “So am I,” he said, stepping forward. The tip of his spear began to glow red, then burst into flame.

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I tossed the hammer aside. Not out of some stupid sense of honor or pride, but because I didn’t know how the damn thing worked, and relying on an enchanted artifact that you’ve never used before when a guy is trying to disembowel you is a recipe for, well, getting disemboweled. I gathered the Aether, forming it into a protective weave all around my body, then pouring more willpower into the energy gathered around my hands, forming hard shells all the way up to my elbows. Warren slashed with the spear, fire trailing behind it like a comet. He obviously expected me to duck to the side or jump back, because he eyes bugged out wide when I actually charged forward. I threw a haymaker at the spear. The burning blade smashed into my Aetheric shield and the night exploded in a shower of sparks, red and copper and gold. I spun around and threw a backfist, striking the shaft of the spear. The wood, which apparently wasn’t enchanted, cracked and splintered. The fiery dirk fell to the ground, sizzling against the icy crystals covering the grass. The flame burned for a handful of seconds, then faded. I grabbed Warren by the shirt and lifted him into the air, smashed my fist into his jaw, and dropped him on the ground. Warren scrambled backwards, but he was trying to crab-walk and he had just gotten his bell run, so he wasn’t moving too fast. I grabbed the broken staff and brandished the spear tip. I wasn’t going to try to activate its enchantments, but it would still make a perfectly serviceable weapon. I raised the blade– And the world became white fire. Thunder roared all around me, the sound so intense that it was almost a physical thing, and it drove me to my knees. The Aether I had gathered around me strained to keep the assault at bay, and I could feel the weave becoming hard and brittle. I poured my will into it, trying to strengthen it, trying to ride out the storm. The lightning subsided. I wanted to release the shield and create a new one, but a ball of fire flew toward me, too fast to drop and cast a spell, so I was forced to pump more willpower into the existing barrier. The fireball slammed into me, knocking me off my feet. Flame surrounded me, like I had been sprayed with napalm. The

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ward started to crack, and I could feel searing heat coming through its seems. I rolled onto my knees and into a ball. The less surface area the flame could attack, the less difficult it would be to keep my shield. The heat subsided, giving me a fleeting chance to catch my breath, but I knew the ward wouldn’t hold forever. Just sitting there would be suicide. Eventually the ward would fail and I’d be cooked alive. But I couldn’t release the ward to prepare a counter spell, either. So I had to split my attention, divide my focus. I had to force my mind to work two spells at once. One part of my mind held the ward. I could feel every tendril of Aether wrapping around me, feel them quiver and strain against the consuming fire, and I fed willpower into them, strengthening them, encouraging them to hold. And the other part of my mind created a ball of pure force. I constructed it right in front of my face, right between my eyes, and when I looked I could see it floating in the air before me. Without letting my focus on the ward waver, I coaxed the ball to grow. It became the size of a pool cue, then a basketball. When it was four feet across I moved it up over me, then let it settle around me. The ball meshed with the ward, and the two spells became one, strengthening each other. I breathed deeply and regularly, pulling in energy with each breath and pouring it into the spell with each exhalation. The sphere glowed with sapphire energy, strong and true. I took one last, deep breath, then held it. I close my eyes and flattened my hands. My breath rushed from my lungs, I threw my hands out to my sides, and the Aether around me exploded, its raw force shredding the assaulting spell like wet paper. Cool night air rushed around me, the chill a beautiful relief after the fiery onslaught. The Asatru ran. I let them. I was too tired to give chase. Instead, I grabbed Warren’s spear and headed back toward the bed and breakfast. Miranda stood in the doorway, her eyes wide. “Caden?” she asked. “What the hell are you?” 91

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Chapter Nine “Let’s get inside,” I said. Miranda just stared at me. “We’ll be safer.” Miranda hesitated, then walked backwards into the house. I followed her inside, then ran my fingers along the door frame. The ward briefly flared to life, again protecting the house. Miranda grabbed a pillow off the couch and stood by the fireplace, clutching the pillow to her chest. “Okay,” she said, “talk.” “That was Matthew Warren,” I said. “His followers call themselves the Asatru. They worship an old god named Wotan. They’re responsible for what happened here Saturday morning.” I unscrewed the spear tip from the staff and set it on the table. I held the wood in my hands, searching it with my senses. Nothing, which is what I expected. Genuine enchanted artifacts are really hard to break, and the staff itself had snapped like a twig. The spear tip, though, sent a tingle running up my arm. I’d have to find a place to stash it until I could deposit it in the Vault. It isn’t a good idea to leave magical items laying around where just anybody can find them.

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“Okay,” Miranda said. She took a moment to process. “And the windows? And that thing you did with the salt? And the freaking lightning bolts that guy was tossing around?” I set the spear tip down, ran my hand over my face, and sighed. I hate conversations like this. They’re always awkward and no one ever leaves satisfied. “That was magic.” Miranda nodded. “So magic is real. And you can do it.” I held up my hand and summoned the Aether, creating tongues of blue flame around my fingers. Miranda’s eyes went wide. Well, wider. “Yes, I can.” “And so can they. The … the That’s True?” “Asatru. It’s Icelandic, means Faith of the Aesir. And yeah, they can do magic, too.” “And you guys are what? Mortal enemies or something?” I chuckled. “No. I met Warren three days ago. We aren’t exactly pen pals, but it’s not like he’s the Joker to my Batman or anything.” “But you’re enemies. You’re the reason they came here tonight. They’re the ones who,” she looked at the windows, and the shards of glass littering the floor. “Yes,” I said quietly. “Okay,” Miranda said. “Leave.” “What?” “I want you to leave. I want you to pack your bags and get the hell out of my house. You’re dangerous, Caden. We’re in danger because of you. My Grandmother … she’s old. She can’t take this.” “Where is she?” “She’s sleeping. I’ll think up something to tell her in the morning.” “You could try the truth.” “Yeah, I really don’t see myself having a conversation with my Grandmother about how some freak cult came to blow you up with their magic lightning. In fact, I’m going to do my very best to forget 93

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than any of this ever happened, and I’m going to start as soon as your ass is out that door.” I sighed again. “I’ll leave if you want me to, but …” “But?” Miranda asked, raising an eyebrow. “I think you’re safer with me here.” She laughed. “You’re right. I mean, sure, someone tried to blow up our house, and sure, we had to hide in the basement like Nazis were hunting us or something, and sure it’s all because you decided this was a good place to hide out for a couple of weeks, but you’re probably right. Having you here is the best thing that’s ever happened to us.” A tear ran down her cheek. “God, we can’t afford new windows. We can’t afford to have this happening to us.” “I didn’t just decide to hide out here for a couple of weeks. I chose this house very specifically.” Miranda sniffed, dried her eyes. “Why?” “Because of you.” Fear and sadness and anger fought a brief battle for control over Miranda’s face. She hugged her pillow tighter. “I don’t know you. We’ve never met before.” “No, but I know who you are. I see things, Miranda. Visions.” “Bullshit.” “You just saw me fight a guy who can control lightning with him hammer.” Miranda processed that. “Okay. So what does all of this have to do with me?” “Tomorrow night, the Asatru are trying to summon their god. And it’s going to work. And people are going to die.” “And you’re here to stop them.” “No. I’m here to save you.” She threw the pillow aside and started pacing. “You’re crazy. You’re a goddamned lunatic.” 94

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“That isn’t the first time I’ve been called that.” Miranda wrung her hands as she walked back and forth. “We’ve never met before. You don’t know me. What the hell do you mean you’re here to save me?” I sighed. “I see things, Miranda. Things that haven’t happened yet. Things that I just might be able to stop. Four days ago, I saw Warren and his followers summon Wotan, the Norse god of the hunt, and I saw you die.” Miranda wrinkled her nose. “Do you have any idea how you sound? God.” “I know. On the other hand, a bunch of LARPers just tried to burn down your house, so…” “LARPers?” “Live Action–never mind. You saw what happened here tonight. You saw what I can do. You saw what they can do. If magic lightning and force fields are real, why not prophecy?” Miranda crumpled to the couch. “I need to sit down.” I sat in a chair across the room from her. The fire crackled, bathing us in swirling amber lights. “It started five years ago,” I said. “I’ve had nightmares all my life, but my last semester in college, it got really bad. I woke up every night, screaming, sweating, shaking.” “You’re not exactly making a case for your own mental stability.” “I thought I was nuts, too, actually. But my fiancee thought I was just under too much stress. Graduation, the Bar, planning a wedding… she thought it was just too much.” I stopped to catch my breath. It had been years since I told anyone this next part, and I was surprised at how much the memories still hurt. “And then I started seeing my fiancee, just standing there, staring at me. She was so afraid, so … and there was this man, but he wasn’t a man, he was just a shadow, standing behind her, lurking behind her.” My jaw started to ache, but I pressed on. “And I saw the things he did to her …

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“I was afraid to even leave Erin’s side, but she just laughed to told me everything was going to be okay. Convinced me to take a mental health weekend, to go up to my parent’s cabin and relax. “So I packed my bags and drove out to the woods, and for the first day it was actually really nice. Peaceful, quiet, and I didn’t see anything that wasn’t there. Not until the second night. “It was so real, so … it was like I was there, watching the shadow man. He cut–I dropped everything, left all of my stuff, and drove back to campus as fast as I could. It was pouring rain, there was a thunder storm, and I just ran, screaming Erin’s name.” Miranda was as still and quiet as a grave. Her lip trembled and her eyes were threatening to tear up and I could tell she knew what was coming, but I said the words anyway. “I was too late. I found him, the shadow man. He was just a guy, a guy from campus. He’d asked Erin out a couple of months ago, and when she showed him her ring,” I dragged the necklace from beneath my shirt, “that had been the end of it. He didn’t look like a monster, but I knew, I knew what he was. He was standing over her. Her blood–” I stopped and looked into the fire, forcing myself not to cry. “He killed her,” Miranda said gently. I choked, swallowed, and forced myself to continue. “Eventually,” I said. “Her blood was everywhere. I slipped on her blood and fell in it, got covered in it. He had written a message on the wall in her blood. If I can’t have you, no one will. I screamed her name and he just laughed. And Erin, Erin opened her eyes and she looked at me and she said ‘Caden, this isn’t your fault.’ And then she died.” “Oh Jesus,” Miranda said. “Not yet,” I muttered. “What?” I took a moment to collect myself before I continued. “I went after him, but he was so strong. He threw me around like a rag doll, like a child. Broke my arm and my leg. And then he set the dorm on fire. He didn’t pour the gasoline on us, he made a circle around us,

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pinning us in. Said he wanted us to be together in the end. And then he tossed a match and everything just went up.” “You’re serious about all of this?” “You can Google it, Miranda. It was in all the papers. Biggest thing that ever happened on the campus.” I took a deep breath. “I tried to drag Erin out, but I could barely move myself, and then, well, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. I wrapped my arms around her and closed my eyes, and I figured that was it. “I woke up in the hospital. Firefighters pulled me out. I was handcuffed to the bed. They figured Erin and I had a nasty fight and I had killed her in a jealous rage, and when I started talking about shadow men and a guy who didn’t look like a demon but really was, well, they figured I’d snapped. Sent me in for a psych evaluation.” “And the doctors cleared you?” I snorted. “The doctors said I was crazy as a shithouse rat. They wanted to lock me away and toss the key down a hole.” “So how did you get out?” “They started to believe me when the next girl died. And by the time the fifth girl died, the cops got really interested in what the guy who murdered Erin looked like. They were real apologetic, said I had to understand what it looked like, stuff like that. I told them what I could, and they told me they’d make sure Erin got justice. “They were lying, of course. Well, no, that’s not fair. They didn’t know what they were dealing with. They sent a SWAT team after the guy, and he tore them to pieces. Five guys, five trained, armed guys, dead in thirty seconds. The FBI came in after that, but they didn’t do any better.” “So he’s still out there?” Miranda whispered. “No,” I said. “I got out of the hospital, I got my strength back, and I … I found him. Guy’s name was Dan Nichols.” I closed my eyes. “I shot him. Didn’t even hesitate, just shot him the second I saw him. He fell down and just started laughing. That same evil laugh. I can still hear that laugh. 97

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“And then … then the demon came out of him. Clawed its way right out of his mouth, like some goddamned horror movie. And the guy looks up at me, blood’s coming out of his mouth, and he says ‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop him.’ And then he said, ‘Please … kill me.’” Miranda’s skin was ashen. “Did you?” “I didn’t have to. When a demon comes out, it’s not gentle. I’ve never seen anyone survive it.” “Oh.” She thought about that for a moment, then asked, “Seriously, are you insane?” “You saw what happened here tonight, Miranda. If I am, so are you.” Miranda took a deep breath. “Right. So what happened next? How did you end up sitting in my living room?” “When Warren put his plan into motion, it kind of … echoed. I saw his choice, and I saw the most probable outcome of that choice.” “And that outcome is my death.” Her voice was heavy with bitter fatalism, like the doctor had just told her she had stage five cancer. “The future isn’t set, Miranda.” “No fate but what we make?” “Well, yeah, actually. Warren can be stopped. I wouldn’t be here if he couldn’t be stopped.” “And my Grandmother?” “I didn’t see her in my vision, but all of Mirrormont burned. I don’t think a whole lot of people make it out alive.” Miranda thought for a moment. “Okay. So, can you teach me?” I was genuinely taken aback. “What?” “Magic. The Force. Fuck, how to shoot a gun. Can you teach me to defend myself from these people.” “I… I don’t know. I’ve never-” “Because I want you to understand this, Caden. I’m willing to believe, provisionally, that what you’re saying is true. And I’m grateful that you’re willing to help us. But I am not a damsel in 98

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distress, and I’m not going to lay on my fainting couch while the big strong man rescues me.” Her eyes were as fiery as her hair, and her voice was a steel wire. I was quiet for a long moment. “We can start tomorrow.” Miranda nodded. “Okay.” She rubbed her hands over her arms. “God, it’s freezing in here.” “Do you have and plastic sheeting?” “Painter’s tarp in the cellar.” “That’ll do. Why don’t you go to bed. I’ll take care of the windows.” Miranda stretched and yawned. Her eyes were heavy, exhausted. “Okay.” She stood up, stretched again, and headed for the stairs. She paused on the third step. “I still think you’re kind of crazy.” “Sometimes, so do I.” “Well that’s comforting,” Miranda said. “Don’t blow up the house.” “I’ll try to be careful.” “Goodnight, Caden.” “Goodnight, Miranda.” I watched her go, wondering if I would be able to save her life.

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Chapter Ten The next morning was predictably awkward. I offered to help set the tables for breakfast, but Ethel didn’t acknowledge my presence, wouldn’t even look at me. Miranda was at least willing to look me in the eye, but I could tell she was still trying to figure out just how crazy I was. A guy came to fix the windows, and I slipped him some money when no one was looking. It was my fault that they were broken, and the bed and breakfast wasn’t exactly making the DuBois rich. Other than that, I spent the morning hours in my room, my face buried in a book. Until Miranda let herself in, around eleven AM. “Okay,” she said, “I’ve got a free hour. Let’s get started.” I slipped off my reading glasses and rubbed my face. “I’m sorry?” “Don’t you sorry me. You promised that you’d teach me to defend myself. If the bogeyman is supposed to show up tonight, we don’t have a whole lot of time.” I shut my book. She was right, and a deal is a deal. “Do you have any more salt?” “How much do you need?”

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“Enough to make a circle, um, maybe five feet around?” “I’ll grab a can from the pantry.” She returned a minute later. I sat down on the floor, and gestured for Miranda to sit next to me. “Pour a circle around us. Doesn’t have to be very thick, but it has to be closed. “O … kay.” Miranda popped open the can and poured a thin line of salt to around us, then reached around me to close it. “Will that work?” “Yeah, that’s perfect.” I turned my palm face-up. “Give me your hand.” She hesitated a moment, then locked her fingers inside mine. A small spark of electricity jumped between us. “Wards are pretty simple spells. They don’t need a lot of complicated focus items or sigils or anything. They’re just a wall, a wall made out of willpower. The ward I threw up around you in the basement that night? It blocks magic because it’s supposed to block magic, because I believe that it will, and my will shapes the Aether.” “Aether?” “The Aether is what makes magic work. Or it’s the medium through which magic works. I’m not sure. It’s a force, a force that’s always been there, like magnetism or gravity.” “Okay,” Miranda said. She was watching me curiously, not sure where this was all going. “The Aether responds to human thought. Every dream we dream, every story we tell, it all echos in the Aether. That’s how I’m able to see Warren’s plans. “But there’s more to it than that. The Aether doesn’t just echo our will, it conforms to it. Somewhere, somehow, every thought we have is made just a little bit real by the Aether. But if your willpower is strong enough, if you know what you’re doing, you can make your thoughts manifest, make them real.” “So what, you just think of a wonderful thought, and then you can fly?”

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I smiled. “It’s not quite that simple. Well, no, it is that simple, really. But it isn’t easy. You have to summon enough willpower to make the Aether obey you. And you have to know what a spell is supposed to feel like before you can cast it.” I released my willpower, pouring energy through my hand, through Miranda’s hand, and into the salt. A ring of blue fire raced around the circle. Miranda jumped and dropped my hand. “Holy crap. What was that?” “That was what the spell feels like.” I dismissed the ward and offered her my hand again, and again Aetheric energy leapt between us. Miranda’s hand jerked, but this time she didn’t let go. A wave of my hand undid the warding spell, and an act of will created it a third time. “Can you feel that?” I asked her. She stared at the salt. “It feels … strong. No, not just strong, confident. Like I’m a linebacker, and the captain of the Asthmatic Chess League just told me he was going to kick my ass.” I chuckled. “Not how I would have described it, but close enough. Okay, go ahead.” “Go ahead and what?” “Create a ward.” Miranda let go of my hand. “You’re kidding, right?” I turned her hand palm-up and touched her wrist with my fingertips. Miranda shivered. “You feel that?” I asked. She nodded. “That’s the Aether. That’s the stuff that magic’s made of. That’s the magic inside of you reacting to the magic inside of me.” She grinned nervously. “We should be in a candle lit restaurant if you’re going to use lines like that.” I made a face. “I’m serious. You have, not the gift, at least not yet, but you have potential. That might be part of why this is happening to you, I don’t know. It might be because you grew up so close to the ley lines.” “Ley lines?”

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“Lines of concentrated Aether, kind of like magnetic lines. There are a bunch of them not far from this house. That’s why the Asatru chose this place to do their ritual, and it might have something to do with why you’re caught up in all of this. I don’t know. But I do know that you need to be able to protect yourself, and your Grandmother if it comes to it. So create a ward.” “But I don’t know how.” I took her hand again. “Yes you do. Take that feeling, that confidence, and shape it into a thing. Make it real. Focus it on the circle. The salt will pick up the spell’s charge, make it sturdier. Here, touch the salt.” Miranda placed her fingertips on the edge of the circle. I laid my hand over the top of hers and called up the ward. Blue flames danced along the circle, and over our hands. Miranda tried to pull away, but I held her hand in place. To us, the fire was harmless. I dismissed the ward. “Did you feel that? The energy? The kind of energy?” She stared at the salt. “Yeah.” “Then make it happen. Make it real. Know that you can do it, know that the ward will protect you. Make your confidence into a shield.” Miranda frowned and touched the circle, but nothing happened. “It helps to have a power word,” I said, “kind of a trigger in your mind to activate the spell.” “Okay.” She stared hard at the salt, her eyebrows knit together, her lips pursed. I laid my hand on top of hers again, but it was just to give her confidence; I didn’t add any of my own energy to her spell. But I could feel the Aether stirring, feel it responding to her … Miranda whispered the word protect, and a trace of blue flame danced around the circle of salt, then disappeared. “Holy shit!” Miranda said, jerking her hand away. “Good job,” I said, smiling. Miranda passed her hand over the circle. “But it didn’t work. There’s no ward.” 105

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“I think you were just too surprised. You got distracted, and the spell got away from your mind.” “Is that dangerous?” “Well, if you were calling up a fireball or something, yeah. This is a defensive spell. The worst thing that’s going to happen is it doesn’t defend you. That’s another reason it’s a good beginner’s spell. Try again.” She touched the salt again, and after staring at it for a moment blue flame raced around the edge. It stayed in place this time, flickering without burning, until she pulled her hand away. “It’s still not sticking around,” she said, scowling. “But you’re getting there. Try again, but don’t stop when you see the fire. Keep pushing your will into it until you feel it, um, pop.” “Pop?” “Yeah. Like when you’ve got a crick in your neck, and it just won’t go away, so you grab your jaw and you push on it and push on it and push on it, and finally it pops and everything’s better? But with magic fire instead of tendons.” “Um, I don’t have all of the medical issues you do, but I think I get it.” She closed her eyes and placed both sets of fingertips in the salt, then called up the ward. It responded more quickly this time, both because she was getting more confident and because the salt had started to absorb the charge of her spell, making it easier to cast each time. Miranda kept her eyes closed for about fifteen seconds, the fire dancing around her the whole time, then slowly pulled her hands away. The fire continued to burn. “Holy crap,” she said when she opened her eyes. “Nice.” “Why doesn’t the fire stick around when you, um, cast it?” I shrugged. “I don’t tell it to. You expected it to keep burning, so it did.” “Oh. Um, how do I … uncast it? Break it down? Dismiss it?” 106

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“You can call it any of that. I’m not like an Oxford scholar about this stuff, I just use words that make sense to me. And you dismiss a ward the same way you call it up; you decide to.” “Okay.” Miranda stared at the ward for a second, then waved her hand at it. The blue fire flickered, then evaporated. “Was that right?” I waved my hand over the salt; the ward was gone. “It worked, so yeah, that was right.” “Well damn,” Miranda muttered. I stepped across the circle and faced her. “Okay, I want to show you something else. Call up the ward again.” She did, closing her eyes and touching the salt. I felt the energy ripple through the air as her willpower condensed into heatless flame. Miranda looked at me expectantly. “Okay, now what?” I threw a fireball at her. Okay, so I’m exaggerating a little. But just a little. I called up a sphere of light, the same general kind of stuff that I threw around as my primary offensive weapon, but set to stun instead of kill, and gently lobbed it across the room. Miranda shrieked and skittered backwards. The glowing globe hit her ward and sunk in like a bullet fired into water. The air around her rippled, and the air filled with ozone. The circle’s flames reached up to the ceiling … but they held. “What the fuck?!?” Miranda shouted. “I just wanted to prove that the spell worked,” I said. “I wanted to prove that your spell worked to protect you.” Miranda sat back up and crossed her legs. “You could have warned me, jerk.” “That would have defeated the purpose. The bad guys never call ahead. They don’t wait to make sure you’re ready. And the certainly don’t give you time to cast a ward, make sure its perfect, and reinforce its weak points. You have to be ready anyway.” “Asshole.” “Yep. But it still worked.”

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She glowered at me, but then shimmied her shoulder a bit and straightened her posture. “Okay, try it again.” I gathered another sphere of light, this one around my left hand, just for variety, and tossed it at her. The ward crackled again, and again withstood my barrage. Miranda sat placidly in the center of the circle. I could see her reaching out with her senses, testing the ward’s strength. Damn, she was a natural. If I spent a year or two with her, she would–but that was stupid. I’d be gone in a couple of weeks, and Miranda would go back to her normal, boring, I’m-not-going-to-get-killed-by-a-demonbecause-a-douchebag-college-professor-summoned-a-hell-beast life. Miranda opened her eyes to look at me. “Okay, again.” We repeated the experiment another half a dozen times. The only strain Miranda showed was a thin sheen of sweat across her brow. “That’s enough for now,” I said. “But I want to keep practicing,” Miranda said. “You use a different spell when you’re fighting. It’s more like a laser beam than a fireball. You’re holding back on me, aren’t you? Worried you’re going to hurt me? Afraid the spell you taught me isn’t good enough?” “Huh,” I muttered. “What?” “You’re too damn smart for your own good. Yes, I’m holding back. And no, I’m not worried about the spell, I’m worried about you. I’ve been doing this for years, and I taught you that ward. I know how to break it, if I need to. And furthermore, I think I’ve done enough damage to your Grandmother’s house for one day.” “What do you mean?” “I mean if I set off my real attack spell, and it hit that ward? You wouldn’t have any windows anymore. And possible a wall or two.” “Oh. So let’s go outside. There’s plenty of woods back there.” “Later,” I said. “Actually, there’s a ritual space all set up for you, and I can show you how to deal with a real assault. But not now.” “Getting tired?” 108

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“Getting late. There’s gonna be a fight tonight, and I need some time to prepare.” *** I spent the rest the day in the woods, working on the sigils I had designed. I carved them into the dirt around the Asatru’s clearing, forming a triangle around the entire ritual site. The sigils were each nearly ten feet across and filled with intricate details. Rune-marked lines connected all three. Finally, I carved a circle in the dirt around the bonfire, added markings to its circumference, and connected it to the sigils with three lines. This was a good site to use the sigils. First, the ley lines would give me added power. Second, the spell work the Asatru had performed here would make my spells easier to perform. And finally, if I didn’t manage to stop the Asatru before they summoned Wotan, I wanted the sigils close by. The sigils were hidden by brush, but I walked around the clearing anyway, just to make sure they weren’t obvious. I wasn’t worried about the Asatru detecting them magically; I hadn’t used them yet, so they didn’t give off an Aetheric charge. Finally, I filled the sigils, runes, and lines with salt. About a hundred dollar’s worth of salt, actually. The girl at the Handy Mart was really starting to wonder about me. I stretched my hands out and summoned the Aether, and fire raced across the sigils. Molten salt ran like water, then solidified into glass. That part wasn’t strictly necessary, but it made the sigil more real to me, which made it more likely to work. And I would use any edge I could get. I took one last look around the clearing, reassuring myself that everything was ready, and headed back inside. “Funny thing,” Miranda said. “Guy who fixed the windows just packed up his stuff and went away. Didn’t even mention how much it was going to cost.” “Maybe he’s just a good Samaritan,” I said. Miranda’s emerald eyes twinkled. “Maybe. So, ready to save the world?” I shrugged “Probably.” 109

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“Your confidence is inspiring.” “Sorry,” I said. “This isn’t exactly a science. I’ve got a strategy, and I’m pretty sure they ley lines will give me enough power to pull it off.” “You know, nearby sources of occult power were not on the disclosure sheet,” Miranda said. “Damn realtors.” “So what now?” Miranda asked. “Now I’m going to go lock myself in my room and get ready. Tonight’s going to be interesting, and I want to be ready.” “Is there anything I can do?” “I don’t think so. This is one of those don’t bring a knife to a magic missile fight things.” Miranda scrunched up her face. “I really don’t like this whole passive damsel in distress thing.” “I know,” I said. “And I’m sorry. But this, what’s going to happen tonight …” “I know,” Miranda said. “But I still don’t like it. Maybe when this is all over you can teach me how to blow up things with my brain.” “Maybe,” I said, smiling, and headed upstairs. I didn’t start getting ready until almost eleven PM. The spell I cast took a while to complete–nearly twenty minutes–so I needed to start early, but I also couldn’t keep it going forever, so I couldn’t start too early. Plenty of mythologies talk about warriors touched by the gods. The Norse religions had the Berserkers, men overtaken by Wotan’s spirit. They fought in a wild frenzy, as likely to kill friend as foe, and they were supposedly immune to blades and fire. The Irish have Cu Chulainn, a demigod who owned a spear made from the bone of a sea monster. The Greeks wrote songs about Achilles, a man nearly invincible in battle. Jehovah created the Judges and the Prophets. The Judges were the champions of his people. Samson is the most famous, and when the 110

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spirit of his god came over him he became superhuman. He could defeat entire armies single handedly and rip the gates off a city wall. The Prophets, on the other hand, were less physical and more mystical, calling down fire and casting curses. The Mashiach combined both of these effects when he created The Seventy Two. These men, who traveled two by two, had the physical power of a Judge and the magical talent of a Prophet. They could flatten a phalanx with a punch or call down fire from the sky, all depending on their mood and the challenge at hand. That mantel had been passed down through the centuries; every time one of the Mashiach’s warriors died, another was called. The Hebrew Scriptures said things like “the Spirit of the Lord came upon him.” That was a second-hand description of the spell Jehovah, and the Mashiach after him, gave to their champions. When we went into battle, the Seventy Two were able to gather the Aether around us, creating something that was protective armor and a weapon all at once. I had been able to activate the spell almost instantly when I was serving the Mashiach, because I wasn’t the one actually casting it. Most Saints’ powers work that way; they don’t weave magic themselves, but invoke their god to do it for them. Now that I was on my own, though, I had to do all of the hard work myself. I sat cross-legged on the floor and summoned the Aether. I was wreathed in blue energy like a Buddha in a mandala, shrouded in something that was neither mist nor flame but quietly evocative of both. I drew in energies from all around me, from the earth, from the air, from the Ley lines running through the woods. As the energy swirled it began to solidify, forming a protective shell around my skin. In my mind I saw it as a suite of armor, a Knight’s battle dress, breastplate and gauntlets and grieves, but that was only a touchstone for my own mind. The Aether pressed down on me like a heavy blanket and began to seep into me, filling my muscles, permeating my sinews, and seeping into my bones. It made me durable, fast, strong. When the spell was complete I all but released it from my mind, holding on to it with a thin thread of consciousness. The Aether

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faded from view, but its gentle hum, the way it tingled against my skin, told me it was still there, still protecting me. The armor was weightless and invisible, but impervious to all but the strongest assault. But it also acted as a battery and a lens. The shell of Aether contained a titanic amount of power, condensed and confined, waiting to be released, begging to be molded. And when I did, when my thoughts touched the Aether and sent it on its way, I could level a building. When this spell was active, I was one of the most formidable opponents in the world. Which was good, because I was about to go toe to toe with an old, cranky god. I made one final adjustment to the armor, an enchantment that would, hopefully, counteract Holda’s telekinesis, and headed out to battle. Miranda was sitting by the fireplace when I went downstairs, clutching a mug of tea. “Caden?” she asked. “Are you all right?” “Yeah,” I said. “Why?” “You look … I don’t know. It must be the light. You looked kind of like you were … glowing.” Huh. That was weird. Miranda shouldn’t have been able to see even a hint of the armor. Only someone with magical senses… “So you’re off to battle?” she asked. “Going to slay some giants or murder some ogres or something?” She was trying to be light, but her voice was strained. “I’ll be back soon,” I said. “Will you?” she asked. “I haven’t died yet.” Miranda looked into the fire. “I really wish I could do something, help somehow …” “I know.” I turned to grab the doorknob, but Miranda called out, “Wait.” She hurried across the room, leaned in close, and kissed me on the cheek. “Good luck,” she said.

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I blinked and felt heat creeping up my face. I hoped that the firelight was dim enough that she couldn’t seem me blushing. “Thanks,” I said, and stepped out into the night. Phil Collins should have been paying in the background, because I could feel it coming in the air. A lot of mythologies talk about thin places, places where the veil between the physical and spiritual worlds is weak, times when magic is easier to grasp. Midnight has always been the most popular, and that’s why it’s called the Witching Hour. Halloween, or Samhain, is another big one, a night when some believe the dead can walk the earth. But there are a lot of things that can bring us closer to the Otherworld. Sometimes people get lost in the fog or the snow, and find themselves in a faerie glen. The light of a full moon could illuminate a spectral form. Stonehenge was designed to be a thin place, to channel the faith of the believers into a tool that would cut the veil between worlds. Magic was always easier in a thin place. The supernatural was always easier to contact. Heaven was always a little bit closer, and so was hell. But this night was special. It was approaching midnight, and it was the twenty-first of December, the Solstice, and a light snow was falling. There was a full moon … and an eclipse. The bright white of the moon was giving away to blood red as the Earth’s shadow crept across her face. The Asatru would conduct their ritual in a naturally occurring glen, at the intersection of three ley lines, on ground that had been consecrated by repeated ritual invocations. I wasn’t walking into a thin place, I was walking through a goddamn door. There wasn’t just a rent in the veil, the gate had been thrown wide open. There might as well have been a sign announcing an open house on the Other Side. Touching the supernatural is always tricky, and summoning a god is the hardest feat of all, particularly when the god is as old and neglected as Wotan. But here, in this place, under these conditions … it was certainly possible. Hell, under these conditions, you’d almost have to work to keep the supernatural at bay. I sent my willpower through my armor, briefly making it shimmer in the moonlight. I could feel its presence, of course, but it was

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reassuring to see it just the same. Satisfied that I was properly protected, I headed into the woods. Chanting echoed inside the woods, rhythmic, guttural, entrancing. It was an old kind of song, the kind of song that bypasses your mind and whispers to your heart. My pulse began to speed up as I came closer to the sound. A bonfire was burning, visible through the trees. It leapt twenty feet into the air, casting a hellish glow all around, and if you looked just right, the flames seemed to take the form of a dragon. Fantastic. A drake had joined their ceremony. The veil was already open. The frozen ground crunched under my feet as I hiked toward the clearing. I broke out of the tree line about fifteen minutes later and saw … Okay, here’s the thing. People found religions for plenty of reasons. Typically it’s about control. Whether you’re afraid Nefertem is going to smite your crops because your neighbor’s hair is too long or you’re just upset that he can’t get you to stop molesting his goat, adding “because god said so” to a statement is a great way to get people to fall in line. And that’s not just true of backwater, bronze age sheep herders, either. Even today we have people who want to ban birth control or outlaw gay people because of The Jesus. After control comes money. L. Ron Hubbard, the founder of Scientology, figured this out, and actually said that creating a religion was the easiest way to get rich. But he wasn’t the first guy to figure it out. The Catholic church brings in about two hundred million a year, and their net worth is estimated to be around ninety billion dollars. The meek might inherit the Earth, but for now they’re going to have to lease it. But there is a third reason to set up a religion: girls. Damn near every religion has strict rules about sex, and damn near every one of them makes exceptions, official or not, for their leadership. Gerald Gardner invented modern Witchcraft, or Wicca, sometime around nineteen forty, and I’m like ninety percent certain that he did it just to get laid. It turns out saying “the goddess told me to tell you to take your clothes off” actually works every now and then. The term Gardner used was “skyclad”, but at the end of the ritual you 114

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still had a bunch of naked people dancing around a fire. He claimed it was the “old way,” and a bunch of people bought it. The Asatru had constructed an elaborate ritual circle. A Greater Circle, formed by two grooves carved into the heart, nearly filled the glade. A Lesser Circle sat inside, again formed from two grooves, and various runes and markings filled the earth between them. A third Circle enclosed the bonfire at the heart of the glen. Five male goats, their throats cut, hung from the trees, their steaming blood pooling on the frosty ground. The Asatru stood between the fire and the Lesser Circle. Each of the five men stood in his own Circle, facing the fire and calling out in the language of their god. They were all naked as the day they were born, but they didn’t seem to be suffering any ill effects from the cold. A woman knelt in front of each man, also nude, and … Well … The women were helping the men get into the spirit of the occasion. Helping them summon their magical essences, as it were. The girls were … um … playing with the men’s magic wands. Vigorously. And they were tending to their own sacred groves, too. I doubted that Warren started this whole batshit thing just to get into Madeline’s panties, but he probably considered it a really nice fringe benefit. “Hi guys,” I said as I walked into the clearing. The Asatru had mixed reactions; roughly half of them seemed angry, and the rest of them tried to cover their naughty bits. Amateurs. Back in the day the Norse would face entire armies naked. These guys were bashful around me. “Gosh,” I said, “I feel a bit overdressed, but it’s just so cold out.” I glanced down at Warren. “But you knew that already.” Warren narrowed his eyes. “Ignore the interloper,” he said, his voice booming and authoritative. “He can do us no harm.” “I’d like to challenge that statement,” I said, walking forward boldly. I slammed into an impenetrable, invisible barrier. The Greater Circle flared with blue fire and the air in front of me shimmered with subtle force.

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Damn it. They’d used my own trick against me. The Greater Circle wasn’t actually a part of their spell, it was just a ward, the same kind of defense I’d set up around the B&B, and it kept me–specifically, the enchantments surrounding me–at bay just as well as a brick wall. I threw a punch at the air. The ward flared to life again, blue fire racing around the circle, and my own armor shimmered from my fist all the way to my elbow. The ward was solid, and it was going to take some work to break through. But it wasn’t like I had anything better to do, so I started throwing haymakers. Sparks flew into the air and it sounded like I was wailing on a giant Plexiglas sheet, but the ward held firm. Warren resumed his chanting, and slowly the male Asatru joined in. The girls resumed their contributions to the ritual, too, except for Madeline, who turned to stare at me for a full minute before giving her attention back to Warren. Jesus. The girl was grade-A crazy, but I could understand founding an entire religion just to get her naked. The Asatru continued their chant, at least the ones whose mouths weren’t full. Warren shouted over them, his hands held high, but he was speaking in Old German, so all I heard was blah blah blah Wotan, blah blah blah I can’t believe she fell for this, blah blah blah Wotan. Mini-Thor was the first to … God, I hate my job sometimes. “Quick on the draw there, Skippy?” I said and slammed my fist into the ward again. He ignored me. His girlfriend, Strawberry Shortcake, stood, pressed up against him, and kissed him. The rest of the Asatru followed suit, until only Warren and Madeline were still “performing their ritual.” He finally bestowed his gift upon her, and Madeline stood up, kissed him, and faced the fire. “You’ve got a little something on your chin there,” I said and crashed against the ward again. All joking aside, sex magic is powerful stuff, and on a night like this … Warren pressed against her, one hand on her stomach and the other cupping a breast. She closed her eyes and held her hands out, like one of those Buddha statues. The rest of the cult mirrored their actions.

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The Asatru ended their chant, and the sudden silence was oppressive. Only the crackle of the fire broke the eerie calm. The Asatru held one another, their breathing rapid but regular, their eyes closed. Then Warren began to speak. He was still muttering in German, but I recognized the cadence. He was a priest leading his congregation in prayer. Warren spoke, and the Asatru replied. Then Madeline called out, and again the Asatru answered. Their fervor grew with each iteration until Warren and Madeline were shouting into the night and the Asatru were howling like wolves. “Lord Wotan, appear!” Warren cried out. “Lord Wotan, bless us!” Madeline shouted. Lightning streaked from the sky and struck the center of the clearing. The bonfire exploded, sending a column of fire fifty feet into the air. It slammed into the Asatru, knocking them ass over teakettle, but they weren’t burned. The flames danced over their skin, bathing them in light. It would have been beautiful if they hadn’t been laying on the ground like victims of a car wreck. The fire rushed out and slammed into the ward, shattering it. It slammed into me, too, and my armor burned as white as the sun. I dug in my heels and put my shoulder down to keep from being knocked on my ass, and closed my eyes against the unbearable radiance. When the tempest passed the ground was charred black and the Asatru were all trying to get back to their feet. All of them except Madeline, who had weathered the blast untouched. There was something different about her. She stood taller, prouder, more regally. The crazy look was gone from her eyes, replaced with something more imperious. She looked around the clearing at the men and women on the ground and wrinkled her nose. Warren staggered to his feet. “Lord Wotan?” he asked her. A chill ran down my spine. I gathered the Aether around my fists and stormed forward, ready to crush her skull. I stepped forward– And Madeline waved her hand in my general direction, sending me flying through the air. I slammed into a tree, cracking the ancient 117

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trunk. If I hadn’t been wearing my armor, it would have snapped my spine. Madeline spat at Warren’s feet. “Please,” she said. “As if Lord Wotan would respond to such a meager offering.” She glanced down at her belly button. Madeline’s silver chain was burning her flesh. The creature possessing her pinched it between her fingers and ripped it out of her skin, then tossed the jewelry aside. “Forgive me,” Warren said, hands spread and head bowed. “But if you are not our Lord, whom do I have the honor of addressing?” “I am Frau Holda,” Madeline said, “the wife of your so-called Lord.” She looked around the circle and said, “Stand, my Sisters.” The girls all got to their feet and the men backed away, casting leery glances at Madeline. Or Holda. Whatever. The wife of a god wasn’t any better than the god himself. She might not summon a horde of spectral riders, but she was still capable of wreaking havoc in Mirrormont. She could– Make out with the other girls? Holda walked up to Sandra, who was still wearing her Goth eyeliner despite abandoning the rest of her raiment. Holda took her by the hands and planted a kiss on her. Not a chaste friendship kind of kiss, or a say hello to Grandma kiss, but a passionate, sloppy, drunk girls on spring break kiss. Even Sandra was taken aback. She staggered away from Holda, eyes wide. Holda smirked at her, then walked over to the Swedish Bikini chick. She puckered her lips, apparently hoping to avoid a tonsil inspection, but Holda pulled her in and kissed her just as ardently. Holda repeated the spectacle with Strawberry Shortcake and the Italian Princess, leaving the men literally standing around with their junk hanging out. “My Sisters,” Holda said. “It has been too long since I have enjoyed the company of the women of the moon.” “Lady Holda,” Warren said, “forgive me, but–” “You should pray for forgiveness,” Holda said. I got to my feet and crept forward, but Holda felt my approach without even looking at me. She waved her hand again, and an 118

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invisible force crushed me to the ground. I groaned, and Holda continued addressing Warren. “You impious swine,” she said. “You dare think that this,” she gestured around the clearing and at the goats, “was enough to warrant Lord Wotan’s attention? To gain his favor? To receive his blessing?” “We are sorry, Frau Holda,” Warren said. He knelt before her, head hung low, and grabbed her feet. “Please, allow us to make amends.” Holda smiled, crouched down, and touched Warren’s chin, raising his head. She stood back up and looked down at him benevolently. “There is one thing you can do to set things right,” she said. “Anything, my Lady.” “This sacrifice was paltry, a trifling. To summon one as great as our Lord, a more substantial offering is in order.” “Of course, my Lady. I was so foolish, so–” “Indeed, you are a fool. But all will be well. I shall show you the kind of sacrifice my Lord demands.” “Thank you, my Lady,” Warren said. “God damn it Warren, get away from her!” I screamed. But it was too late. Holda reached down, cupped his jaw in her hands, and snapped his neck.

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Chapter Eleven The Asatru screamed. Warren fell to the ground, dead. I cried out and ran forward, Aether swirling around my fists, but Holda merely waved her hand and hurled me through the air again. “Let that be a lesson,” Holda said, looking around the glade. “If you plan to summon me again, show me the proper respect, or your fate will be his.” She glared at the men hard enough to turn them to stone–figuratively, she wasn’t a Gorgon or anything–then looked at the women. “A shame,” she said. “I do so miss the company of my Sisters. As for him …” Holda stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled. A moment later a pair of enormous wolves emerged from the treeline, eyes glowing red, fangs bared, hair bristling. They closed their jaws around Warren’s ankles and dragged him into the forest. Madeline’s body went into convulsions, like she was being controlled by a puppeteer with Parkinson’s. Her eyes glowed and rays of green light shot out of them, streaking into the sky like searchlights. Madeline fell to the ground screaming, and I waited for the demon to tear its way out of her.

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Only it never happened. Holda’s exit didn’t look fun–in fact, it looked like Madeline was standing in bathtub full of toasters–but it didn’t kill her. She knelt on the ground, on her hands and knees, breathing in great gasps of air, but other than her belly button, she seemed unharmed. I knelt beside her and put a hand on her shoulder, but she smacked it away. “Are you all right?” I asked. “I don’t need your help,” she said in between gasps. “Yeah, you’re obviously in top shape right now.” “My Sisters will help me,” Madeline said. “Sandra, Megan, help me up.” Gothy and the Swedish Bikini model looked at each other, then slowly walked over to Madeline. They acted like they expected her to bite them, and I honestly couldn’t blame them. But Madeline just leaned on them, letting them bear her weight until she was able to stand on her own. “This is your fault,” she said, looking at the trail of blood left in her lover’s wake. “Yeah,” I said. “It was totally my idea for you ass clowns to run through the woods naked, trying to summon an elder god from the cold blackness of forgotten memory. If only I could have foreseen this going so terrible wrong. No, wait, I did, and you short bus–” Madeline screamed and flung out her hand. The girls jumped away, but she wasn’t attacking anyone, at least not physically. Mini-Thor’s hammer, singed but recognizable, flew off the ground and into her grasp. Her shriek continued as she thrust the hammer forward, sending an arc of white-hot plasma tearing toward me. I raised my arm and squeezed my eyes shut tight. Damn but lightning is bright when it’s right up close. The electricity slammed into my arm, driving me back a step, but the armor held, shining just as bright as the lightning and absorbing its force. “Are you finished?” I said when the attack subsided. “How … how did you do that?” Mini-Thor asked. “That hammer isn’t supposed to listen to you. It’s–” 121

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“I was touched by a god, you asshole,” Madeline spat. “You think your little enchantment is going to stop me from–” “Oh the hell with it,” I muttered. I turned my hand palm-up and sent blazing light streaking across the clearing. It slammed into Madeline like a wrecking ball, knocking her to the ground and Mjolnir from her hand. She started to get back to her feet but I turned my hand over and pushed it down. Invisible, telekinetic force smashed her into the ground, flattening her and the grass around her. She groaned and stopped fighting. I held out my hand. Mjolnir flew through the air and into my grasp. The Asatru stared at me. “Look,” I said, “your leader’s dead, and I don’t care if your High Priestess has Holda on speed dial, you people are clearly in over your heads. Wotan doesn’t think you’re even worth showing up to murder himself, so why don’t you idiots quit while you’re ahead?” The Asatru looked at me, some of them glaring, some of them abashed. Mini-Thor flexed his fist, and a small crackle of iridescent energy formed around his hand. “What the hell is wrong with you people?” I asked, summoning my own shimmering force. Mini-Thor blinked and took a step back. “That man is dead because you idiots wanted to play Sunday school with the Horned God. When are you going to get it?” “We didn’t know,” the guy with the hooked nose said. I looked each one of them in the eye, glaring at them. “Well, now you do. So why don’t you put your damn clothes on and get the hell out of here? And I swear to god, if I so much as hear about you doing a card trick–” “We’re done,” Jersey Shore said. He wrapped his arm around Swedish Bikini’s waist. “Cross my heart.” I stared at them for another moment, fuming. “Get out of here,” I said. I pointed at Madeline. “And put your clothes on. Jesus.” The Asatru dressed. Italian Princess helped Madeline back into her clothes. Mini-Thor had to help Madeline walk. She looked daggers at me, but I was beyond caring. I watched them slink out of the

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forest, waited around for another ten minutes just to see if anyone did something stupid, then headed back to the bed and breakfast. Miranda was waiting for me, and she jumped out of her chair as soon as I opened the door. “You’re okay!” she said. I gave her a half-grin. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” “Shut up,” she said. “So Wotan …?” “Never showed up. But his girlfriend did.” “Gods have girlfriends?” “Yeah, it’s more common that you’d think.” “So how did you get rid of her?” “Well, I demonstrated my physical durability by flying through the air and smashing into a tree, then I laid on the ground and glared at her until she got scared and ran off.” “So she just … left?” “Not exactly. She was pissed that the Asatru had even bothered her.” I was quiet for a moment. “She killed Warren.” “Oh my God,” Miranda said. “Yeah. But at least the world didn’t end. Which is … weird, actually. My visions are pretty accurate. Kind of symbolic sometimes, but never this off. Holda is an entire different entity. I should have seen her, not Wotan.” “Well,” Miranda said, “maybe you changed things enough to keep Wotan away. Like, maybe he would have shown up, but you rattled them enough that their spell or ritual or whatever didn’t work.” “Maybe,” I said. I sat down in an arm chair across from Miranda. I was really looking forward to taking a nap. “I mean,” Miranda said– *** Lightning split the sky and the old man stood transformed, wrapped in swirling black cloth and crowned with a helm of antlers. A brilliant ruby flashed and flared, reflecting the tempest’s light as a 123

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thousand crimson daggers. He lifted his spear, a great shaft of oak tipped with a blade of gold, high into the air, as if defying the power of the storm. Snarls escaped from the wolves crouched at his feet, smoke rising from their nostrils, their eyes reflecting the same wicked light as their master’s sacrificed eye. Twin ravens leapt from his shoulder, searching for prey. A gray steed came from the darkness and the Hunter took mount, his cry echoing in the night. His fell company responded to his call, riding forth on fierce black stallions and trailed by the hounds of hell. The Wild Hunt rush forward, raising a tumult that echoed in the halls of the dead. Miranda DuBois ran through the night. Wotan, the Lord of the Hunt, followed after her. *** “–knowing you were around definitely spooked them. They wouldn’t have attacked you if they … Caden? Caden, what’s wrong?” “God damn it,” I said, grinding my teeth. “This isn’t over.”

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December 22nd

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Chapter Twelve Matthew Warren was dead and the Asatru were demoralized, but my visions told me that Wotan was still going to decimate Mirrormont, and Miranda DuBois was still going to die. The Norse cult must have, beyond all reason, been planning to attempt the ritual again, and that meant I needed to find them. The only lead I had was the information I had collected at Warren’s office, particularly his home address, so that’s where I headed. Warren’s house was an old Victorian, big and looming. I opened myself to the Aether and scanned the property, but couldn’t detect any kind of wards, barriers, or traps. That was odd. Warren obviously knew how to cast them–he’d done so the night before–but he hadn’t bothered to secure his own house. There were no cars in the driveway, and a quick peek through the windows showed nothing in the garage, either. The place was deserted, so I used the Thieves’ Key to open the back door. The decor wasn’t what I expected, less “I heart human sacrifice” and more “I love doilies.” I assumed that he had inherited the place from his grandmother or something and never gotten around to redecorating. There were a few modern touches here and there, though, artwork on the wall and a new couch, which I assumed was Madeline’s doing. 128

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I looked around the house, but again there were no wards of any kind. Nothing magical at all, in fact, at least on the first floor, and the basement was just a cramped home for the furnace. But one of the bedrooms on the second floor had been turned into a library, and that was where I hit the jackpot. Most of the books were perfectly ordinary. Some were old and rare enough to give a bibliophile heart palpitations, but they were still just leather and paper. But one of the books, a book that sat in its own glass display case, glowed with Aetheric energy. Lots of thing can hold a magical charge. The Thieves’ Key and MiniThor’s replica Mjolnir were both artifacts designed to make casting particular spells easier. Ritual sites gained an atmosphere from the magic performed there. Salt could hold up a ward. That same principle applied to grimoires. Magic books were a dime a dozen; well, they were more like thirty dollars apiece, if you can freaking believe that. Kids will spend a lot of money to make their daddy sorry they never got that pony. Anyway, virtually all of the spell books in the world are total crap, made up by some bored housewife who fantasizes about being one of the Dark Sisters. The tricky thing is, even a book the contains a real, working spell might not help someone learn how to cast it. The sigils and chants were important for focusing the caster’s mind and energies, but they weren’t enough. Unless they knew what the spell would make the Aether do, they could draw emblems until their hand cramped and shout until they were blue in the face and still have nothing to show for it. The only time a book of spells was actually dangerous (or useful, depending on how you look at it) was when it fell into the hands of someone who already knew how to manipulate the Aether, or if it was written by someone with the same talents. When an actual magician writes down a spell, a little bit of his intention, a little bit of the Aether, goes along for the ride. That charge builds up every time the text is used, and over the years (or decades or centuries), the spell book itself can become a powerful artifact. I unlocked the case with the Thieves’ Key. The book hummed in my hand. This was how Warren learned magic. Most religions never get any closer to their gods than McDonald’s gets to real food, but Warren’s quest to uncover the “true” religion of his ancestors had led 129

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him to a genuine Book of Shadows. The hours he had spent pouring over this text had changed him, molded him into a sorcerer, and granted him the ability to make his will manifest. And it had gotten him killed. Without the book, I doubted that the Asatru would be able to complete their plan. Their initial ritual had been a complete disaster, and it would have taken days to figure out what went wrong and how to correct it. Without the book they would be fumbling in the dark, no more powerful or dangerous than a kid drawing pentagrams on his notebook in math class. Wotan would remain dormant, Mirrormont would remain standing, Miranda would remain alive, and I’d have another item for my collection. The Asatru could still do magic–dangerous magic–but the biggest threat would be gone. With Wotan off the field, my chances of success were astronomically higher. I was pretty sure this was the only item worth caring about in the house–the odds of a guy finding two grimoires were about a bajillion to one–but I still wanted to perform due diligence. The bedroom across from the library was empty and neat, unused. I grabbed the doorknob of the final bedroom– And Madeline walked out of the bathroom, wearing a t-shirt and panties, a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth. Her navel was exposed, and completely healed. One of her friends must have performed a healing spell. We stared at each other for a beat, then I broke into a wide grin. “Morning! I brought doughnuts, but the dog ate them all on the way over.” “You have a dog?” she asked, except the toothbrush was still in her mouth, so it sounded more like “yuh hab a dob?” “Well, no, and I didn’t bring doughnuts, either. But good morning anyway!” The bedroom door creaked open and I jerked my hand away like the knob had bitten me. Sandra looked at me with bleary eyes. Her hair was a tousled mess, her Goth makeup was still caked to her face, and she was dressed similarly to Madeline. Inside I could see three more girls laying on a king sized bed, just starting to wake up. 130

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“Aw, a sleepover!” I said. “Did you guys have a pillow fight? Your hair looks like you had a pillow fight.” Sandra blinked, then looked at Madeline, then looked at me. She shrieked like a banshee with a belt sander down her shorts and leapt at me like a howler monkey on speed. Stupid. I was so damn stupid. I had assumed that I was alone and hadn’t bothered to set up and kind of defensive spells. I was lucky that Sandra’s rage overrode the part of her brain that could make me choke on a phantasmal death cloud. She slammed into me with all of her weight, but all of her weight was about ninety seven pounds, and she barely even knocked me back a step. B u t I did step back, pivoting on my rear leg and using her momentum to push her past me. She smacked into the wall, putting a crack in the sheet rock, and turned to snarl at me. Madeline spat the toothbrush out and shouted, “He has the book!” The Swedish Bikini girl sat bolt upright and jumped out of bed. The Italian Princess and Strawberry Shortcake just rolled over, looking confused. Sandra growled and black mist began to form around her hands. Madeline glared at me and flames began to dance around her fingers. I started to pour energy into a makeshift ward. “I don’t suppose you want to sit down and talk about this?” I needed to stall, needed time to get my defenses in order. Madeline thrust her hand forward and a column of fire shot toward my face. I yelped and ducked, and the fire passed right over my head. It blasted a hole in the wall behind me … and right through the outside wall of the house. I looked through the perforation and into the library. A handful of old, rare books were burning, and a few loose pages were blowing around in the wind. “So that’s a no?” I asked. Sandra turned her palms toward me. Black fog fell from her hands, pooled on the floor, and snaked across the hallway. It built up into a wall between me and the stairway, cutting off my exit, and rolled toward me. Ice ran down my spine, but I didn’t let the fear stop me. If you let fear stop you from doing what needs to be done you end up dead. 131

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I shouted something incoherent and blasted Sandra with blue-white energy. She was thrown back into the wall again. The fog began to dissipate, but something was different this time. My spell hadn’t shaken her the way it had a before. She shrugged the effects off almost instantly and stared at me with hate-filled eyes. Eyes that shimmered with an eerie green glow. I quickly opened my vision and saw a spectral woman, dressed in gossamer and armor, with cat’s eyes and a mouth full of needle teeth. The creature hovered over Sandra, her hands on the human’s shoulders, and supernatural energy flowed from the spirit into the Littlest Goth. Sandra wasn’t possessed, but she was definitely getting assistance. I glanced at the girls in Warren’s bed, who were now standing in the doorway, and saw the same thing. Only Madeline lacked an apparition, but she had an aura of that same teal energy. Damn it, they’d already started trying to summon other entities. It was lucky I grabbed the book when I did, before they were actually able to invoke the spirits. Evocation, summoning a familiar spirit to assist you, was dangerous, but invocation, inviting the spirit to actually possess you, was deadly. The Asatru stalked toward me like a pack of murderous sorority sisters. It would have been funny if their shimmering eyes weren’t so damn creepy. I held up the book. “Look, this has been fun and all, but I really need to get this back to the library. The late fees on this are going to be a bitch.” Strawberry Shortcake raised a sword–where the hell did she get a god damned sword?–and rushed me. I focused the Aether around my forearm and blocked the blade, sending up a shower of sparks, then turned and threw an elbow into her jaw. She stumbled backwards but didn’t go down. I ran into the library and slammed the door. It wouldn’t stop them, but it would keep them out for– A tiny little fist smashed through the door. Shit. I poured more willpower into my ward, hoping to be ready for whatever they threw at me next. The door started to shake, then a blast of fire crashed through it like a runaway train, vaporizing the door and carving a 132

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seven-foot hole in the outside wall. Madeline stormed through, her feet unharmed by the flames licking the floor, and turned her murderous gaze toward me. “Give me the book, you son of a bitch.” “This?” I asked, holding it up. “But it was just getting good! I have to know how it ends!” “It ends with Lady Holda standing over your corpse,” Sandra said. Black smoke rushed from her hands and began to fill the room. “Well I’d love to stay and chat,” I said, “but I’ve got to take the kids to soccer practice, so …” I dropped to one knee and slammed my fist into the floor, releasing Aether along with the punch. The old boards groaned and bowed, cracked and splintered. I threw another punch, this one strong enough to shake the whole house, and the floor gave way. I fell to into the kitchen in a shower of dust and wood. Black smoke poured down through the hole. I ran out of the kitchen, through the living room, and smashed through the front door. My car was parked about a block away, and I–ran smack into Mini-Thor. He stumbled backwards, dumbfounded, and just kind of stared at me. His eyes were perfectly normal, and no Oogey Boogie hovered over him. “What the–?” he began. Madeline came scampering down the main stairway. “Stop him! He’s got the book!” Electricity started to crackle around Mini-Thor’s hands, but Madeline shouted at him, “No you idiot! You’ll damage the grimoire!” Heh. That was actually very unlikely. A book that had absorbed enough energy to become useful would also be damn near indestructible. That’s why I had created the Vault; I needed a place to store all of the artifacts that I couldn’t dispose of any other way. Mini-Thor swore, got back to his feet, and balled his hands into fists. He was a big guy and he moved like he knew what he was doing. Not a boxer, but maybe a football player? Whatever, I wasn’t in the mood to get pancaked by him. I threw a blast of light, knocking him back on his ass and carving a groove in the lawn. The windows overhead shattered. Swedish Bikini Girl and Strawberry Shortcake hung in the air for a moment, legs bent and hands curled into claws, then fell toward me in a shower of glass. I threw up a hasty ward. Glass slid off and littered the ground around

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me, then the girls slammed into my shield like falling pianos. The air around me rippled and shimmered as the ward absorbed the impact. Sandra rushed out of the house, her deadly fog swirling around her like a cloak. Madeline followed her, murder in her eyes and flames licking her fingertips. Italian Princess followed behind them, clutching a fireplace poker, and the girls who had leapt through the window crouched, ready to pounce on me. Mini-Thor had pushed himself up to his knees and electricity crackled around him. “The hell with this,” I muttered. I gathered the Aether around my fist and drove it into the ground, sending a shockwave tearing out across the lawn. The mystical force struck the Asatru and scattered them like bowling pins. I stuffed Warren’s grimoire into my coat and ran for my jeep. Madeline shrieked, jumped to her feet, and ran after me. If the cold bothered her she certainly didn’t show it, and since she had just literally walked through fire, I was guessing that temperatures weren’t exactly an issue for her. I darted across the road and fumbled for the Thieves’ Key. Madeline ran across the road, too–and right into the path of an oncoming pickup truck. The driver laid on his horn and slammed on his brakes. The big red Silverado skidded sideways, slowing down but not stopping. Madeline looked back at it and lowered her shoulder, taking the impact full on. I winced, expecting to see her turn into a red spray. Instead, The truck’s engine compartment wrapped around her like she was a telephone pole, and the truck’s back end jacked up into the air. It hung perpendicular to the ground for a moment, then crashed back to earth. The guy driving it looked like he’d soiled himself. Madeline brushed some steel and glass off her shoulder, then started walking slowly toward me, doing a frighteningly good impression of the Terminator. She started walking faster when I got in the Jeep, and started running when I gunned the engine. But no matter how strong she was, she wasn’t able to catch a speeding car. I floored it, tearing down the road at about thirty miles an hour over the speed limit. Madeline stood in the middle of the

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road, her tiny frame coiled with rage, becoming smaller and smaller in my rear view mirror. *** I parked the Jeep outside the DuBois’ bed nad breakfast and hurried in the front door. I pushed through the lunch time crowd and headed into the kitchen. Ethel looked over at me nervously. Miranda looked up from a giant steaming pot. “Caden, are you all–” “No.” I yanked open the pantry and grabbed a can of salt. “Where do you keep the oil? Olive, canola, doesn’t matter.” “Over here,” Miranda said, handing me a big plastic bottle. “What’s wrong?” “Warren’s teenage lover summoned a bunch of what I think are Valkyries. I stole their grimoire, so they can’t learn any new magic, but they’re also really pissed. Also, Madeline and a pickup truck got into a fight, and the truck lost. Also also, they’re probably on their way here, and I want this place fortified before they get here.” “Um, why did you lead them back here?” Miranda asked. Ethel glanced over, then started dicing an onion with rapt attention. “They would have come here anyway. This is the only place they know of where they might be able to find me, and it’ll be better if I’m here to face them.” “Are we going to be okay?” Miranda asked. “Yeah. And your windows will be, too. I’m going to throw up a different kind of ward.” “How considerate,” Ethel mumbled. Miranda looked sharply at her, but I couldn’t blame the woman. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I know this is … I’m sorry.” I took the oil and salt and headed out the back door. I didn’t have enough salt and oil to create a barrier around the entire house, so I needed to improvise. The spell I had in mind was similar to the ones that guarded the property surounding the Vault. I had carved sigils into stones all around the grounds, and then linked the sigils together, forming a protective net across the land. I didn’t have 135

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time for anything so elaborate here, but I was pretty certain I could still make the something reasonably effective. I started in front of the house, pouring a little bit of salt into a sigil pattern, then wetting it down with oil to make it stay put. I hurried over to the side of the house and replicated the sigil beneath a tree. I formed a third sigil behind the house, making sure I still had line-ofsight to the second, then completed the diamond with a fourth sigil on the house’s opposite side. The entire process took me about twenty minutes. I activated each sigil, one after the other. The forth sigil lit up with blue fire, and that fire raced off in two different directions, connecting with two different sigils. The fire then spread from those sigils, completing the diamond around the house. The cobalt flame burned briefly, then faded to invisibility. The ward tickled the back of my mind. The house was safe. I took a deep breath and tried to relax. Since I was pretty sure the Asatru wouldn’t be murdering the lunch guests or lighting the place on fire with their brains, I grabbed my laptop and sat down to study Warren’s grimoire. God, that thing was old. The cover was cracked black leather and decorated with a squarish rune, and I was pretty sure the pages were made of vellum, not paper. The writing was faded, which made it hard to read, and the fact that it was written in a Runic alphabet made it even harder. I don’t think Google Translate does Futhark yet. That was a problem; I wanted to know what the Asatru had summoned, and how, and this book was the best lead I had. Translating it was still possible, theoretically, but it was going to take a long time, and I would have much rather just punched something. “Mister Lyndsey?” I looked up and saw a frail old woman, dressed in a maroon skirt suite, clutching a maroon hand bag, and wearing her sliver hair in a bun, standing by my table. “I’m sorry, have we met?” I asked. “Oh, no dear, not yet. Jesus told me I’d find you here, and he asked me to stop by. May I join you?” My stomach rolled, but I stood up and pulled out a chair for her anyway. “Of course, please.” 136

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The woman sat down. “Oh my, what a polite young man.” She placed her purse on the table, but kept her hand on top of it. I sat across from her. “So, Miss …?” “Lockhart. But please, call me Francine.” “And I’m Caden, but I assume you already know that. What can I help you with, Ma’am?” “Indeed. I have a message from the Mashiach for you.” My stomach rolled again. Crazy old ladies stopping by to tell you that Jesus loves you is one thing, but when she calls out the Mashiach by his actual title, well, that was cause for alarm. The Mashiach and I didn’t exactly part on friendly terms, and I wasn’t at all comfortable with him taking an interest in my activities. “What did he say?” I asked. Francine smiled demurely. “He says that he loves you and he misses you, Caden.” I blinked. “That, that’s it?” “Oh, well, no, of course not. The Lord doesn’t waste a vision on something anyone could learn if they’d just open the Good Book. He actually sent me here to give you this.” She reached into her purse and took out dagger, drew it from its sheath, and set it on the table in between us. The dagger was a Tolkien fan’s wet dream. The sheath was leather and gold. The handle was carved from what looked like rosewood, separated from the blade by a hand guard that looked like a golden crescent moon. The blade itself was brazen and had a sweeping, leafpoint shape. Delicate silver inlays formed a beautiful filigree down the length of the blade, and the edge was trimmed in gold. I could feel the Aether emanating from it. “This is an Exorcist’s Dagger,” Francine said. “It was tempered in a sacred flame and quenched in holy water, and the handle contains a relic of Saint Benedict, the Patron Saint of exorcists.” She stopped and thought for a moment. “Well, technically the Archangel Michael is their Patron, but getting a piece of his finger bone would be much more difficult.”

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I stared at the artifact. I could tell that it was the real thing, but why would the Mashiach give it to me? “Thanks, but, um, what am I supposed to do with this?” “Kill demons, of course,” Francine said. “The Lord showed me a bit of the pickle you’ve gotten yourself into. Half a dozen heathens are on their way here right now, and they’re just burning with the fires of hell. All of these people,” she gestured around the dining room, “are in danger because of you. The Mashiach wants to help even the odds a bit. Demons are hard to kill, Caden, you know that. But this, this makes it easy.” I clenched my jaw. “Easy? You think sticking a knife in someone is easy? You think watching an innocent person die is easy?” “They aren’t innocent, Caden. They brought this on themselves. They asked for it.” “They aren’t even possessed,” I said. “Not yet.” “Oh. Well, the dagger will still work, Caden. Whatever magic is protecting them, whatever would-be god is watching over them, this dagger will put an end to their evil.” I fought to keep my anger in check. “This is why I left the Mashiach, you know. Making it even easier to kill the people he refuses to help isn’t exactly the best way to get me back on the team.” Francine looked down at her lap and sighed. “He said you’d say that.” She took the dagger, placed it back in its sheath, and slipped it back into her purse. “Caden, the Lord isn’t evil. We don’t always understand his ways, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong. It just means we’re too small to understand.” I was about to unleash a witty retort–and it wasn’t even laden with profanity–but Miranda interrupted. “Francine? I didn’t see you come in. We just took a cherry pie out of the oven. Care for a slice?” Francine smiled up at her. “Oh, thank you darling, but I’ve got to watch my sugars. You know how it is. Besides, I think Caden would like to be left alone.” She reached back into her purse and set a piece of paper in front of me. “When you change your mind, you call me. I’ll just hold on to this until then.” The little old Saint stood up, gathered her purse, and left. 138

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“Trying to get you to come to church?” Miranda asked. “She’s kind of notorious for that.” “No, she’s trying to give me a weapon that will kill the Asatru,” I said. Miranda sat down across from me. “Wait, what?” “She’s the real deal, Miranda. A Prophet. The Mashiach sent her here to talk to me. She claims it was to offer me a weapon that will kill Wotan, or at least his followers, but I think he just wanted to spook me.” “Why would he do that?” “Because he’s a dick. Fear is what he does. It’s how he controls people.” I picked up the paper Francine had left, snorted, and tossed it aside. Miranda looked like, well, like I’d just called God a dick. She blinked–and I’m pretty sure she was resisting the urge to cross herself–and picked up Francine’s note. “What is this?” “She wrote her phone number on a Chick Tract.” “Huh?” “Tiny little Evangelical comic books. They’re about how playing Dungeons & Dragons will lead to an eternity of suffering in the bowels of hell and stuff.” Miranda flipped through the book. “An eternity of virginity, maybe.” She tossed the tract back on the table. “So why didn’t you take it?” “The dagger? Because I’m not here to kill a bunch of people, and I’m not interested in something that makes killing them that much easier.” Miranda was quiet for a moment. “What if you don’t have a choice? I mean, you said you’ve never seen anyone survive an exorcism, right? So wouldn’t you just be speeding up the inevitable? And what if you had to kill someone to save someone else?” I looked into her sparkling green eyes. “I have,” I said quietly. “And it sucks.”

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“Oh.” Miranda looked away. She was very quiet, very still, like an animal afraid of spooking a predator. “I, I should go help Grandma.” She stood up slowly, carefully, and walked out of the room. Damn it. I’m used to being an outsider. I see things that aren’t there, I can shape reality with my will alone, and I’ve killed people. Any one of those things would set me apart, but when you combine all three, well, there weren’t a whole lot of people like me in the world. Seventy-one others, to be exact, and we weren’t on speaking terms. Plenty of people look at me like I’m crazy. Plenty of people think I’m a monster. It isn’t fun, but I’m used to it. But watching Miranda walk away hurt. She didn’t think I was a loon, but she was still afraid of me, and that was actually worse. I allowed myself a one-minute pity party, then grumbled and got back to work. The text wasn’t going to translate itself. Fortunately, the Runic alphabet was pretty simple. Each symbol translated to a sound, just like in English, rather than each symbol translating into a word, like in some Asian languages. Logographic writing systems are a bitch to translate just because there are so many different symbols, but the runes could be translated into Latin letters that formed, more or less, German words. Old German words, but it gave me something to start with. It only took two hours to translate the first page. Christ, I was going to be there forever. A tingle crawled up my spine; someone was testing my ward, examining it for vulnerabilities. The lunch crowd had cleared out and the dinner crowd hadn’t shown up yet, so it was just me and the DuBois inside the house. I stashed the grimoire beneath a log in the fireplace–it wasn’t like it was going to burn or anything–and headed into the kitchen to warn the– White sparks lit up in front of my eyes as the Asatru attacked the ward. I stumbled and grabbed my head. Damn it, that hurt. I pushed the kitchen door open. “Miranda, the–” Miranda stood near the stove, green eyes wide and afraid. Mini-Thor stood behind her, his big hand clamped around her throat and a knife held at her gut. Cyrano de Bergerac stood in the doorway and Jersey 140

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Shore stood in the corner, each of them holding a shotgun, Cyrano’s pointed at Ethel’s head. Damn it, I was an idiot. The ward I had created would prevent them from using magic against or inside the house, but it wasn’t a physical barrier. People could still come and go as they pleased. So instead of attacking with magic, like I assumed, they had come after me with conventional weapons. And they had come after Miranda. Unbidden energy swirled around me. The lights flickered and dimmed. The table, chairs, and dished began to shake. I stepped forward. “Let her go, you son of a bitch.” Mini-Thor squeezed Miranda’s throat, drawing tears and a pained choking noise. “Easy there, champ,” he said. “It’d be a shame if something happened to your girlfriend here.” He ran the knife blade beneath her shirt, raising it and exposing her belly. Miranda whimpered. Raw, animal fury boiled inside me. My teeth ground together, my muscles coiled, my eye twitched. Mini-Thor just laughed. “I think we made him angry, bro.” Which was really, really stupid. These guys were mages. They should have known better. They knew that magic is fueled by will. They knew that powerful emotions are like jet fuel for spells. And they should have realized that making me angry was like handing a toddler a loaded bazooka. The kitchen shook like an earthquake was hitting and the light bulbs exploded. “John,” Cyrano began. I turned my palms toward MiniThor and threw my arms back. The kitchen exploded. The doors ripped off the cabinets and pantry. Silverware flew through the air like missiles. Glass streaked across the room like fletchets. Pots overturned, chairs splintered, and the table was thrown like it was caught in a tornado. The crash of debris slammed into Mini-Thor’s back. He screamed, let go of Miranda, and fell to his knees. Miranda stumbled forward. I grabbed her arm and pushed her behind me, then grabbed Ethel and hid her as well. I turned toward the rest 141

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of the Asatru. They opened up with their shotguns, the sound deafening, the stench of gunpowder acrid and terrible. I didn’t even bother to raise my hands. My will was focused through the lens of white-hot fury, and I didn’t need to wave my hands around to raise a ward. Shotgun pellets slammed into the barrier, creating a series of ripples in the empty air, and fell to the ground. I flung my hands forward. Twin blasts of light leapt from my palms and slammed into the Asatru, lifting them from their feet and throwing them across the kitchen. Mini-Thor and Jersey Shore smashed into the walls, cracking the sheet rock. Cyrano was actually thrown through the back door and out onto the driveway. Mini-Thor, still on his hands and knees, reached into his waistband to pull a gun. I gestured, ripping the weapon from his hand with my will, grabbed it out of the air, and pistol-whipped him. A tooth flew from his mouth, trailed with a spray of blood, and he fell unconscious. “Stay here,” I growled at the DuBois, then stormed out the back door. Madeline’s witches stood just outside the wards, but Madeline herself was nowhere to be seen. Black smoke swirled around Sandra and pooled up along the barrier, which burned with bright blue fire. The guy with reptilian eyes stood behind them. He raised his own shotgun and fired as soon as I emerged from the house. I raised my arm and caught the pellets with another ward, filling the air around me with ripples. The guy fired five times before he ran out of shells, and I counterattacked as soon as he stopped to reload. White fire lanced out from my hand. The girls ducked and dodged, but Reptile was too focused on his weapon. My spell caught him square in the chest. It hit him like a train, lifting him and throwing him clear across the street. The air around my body began to shimmer and glow as I pulled the Aether around me, forming an armored shell. The Asatru threw their magic against the wards. Dark mist and green fire slammed against the barrier, but the invisible wall held. The Aether flowed into my muscles and sinews. I wasn’t able to form my full suit of Armor, but my rage allowed me to draw massive power from the Aether. 142

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I stepped across the ward surrounding the house. Dark magic assaulted me, life-stealing smoke and flesh-scorching fire whipping around me in a phantasmal maelstrom. My armor burned bright and its radiance cut through the swarming blackness. The women of the Asatru faced me, their eyes enfired with green energy. The spectral Valkyries stood behind them, lending them their power. Reptile, however, had no such advantage. He was back on his feet and weaving some kind of spell, twisting his fingers into knots and muttering beneath his breath, but the energies he was controlling were purely human. I held out my hand, almost casually, and removed him from the battle with a column of blue-white light. Swedish Bikini Girl threw a blast of fire at me, lighting up my left side. I turned and threw light at her, but the power of the Valkyrie saved her from being thrown aside. Strawberry Shortcake had apparently been studying with Mini-Thor, because she sent bolts of lightning streaking and cracking toward my right. I turned and hurled light toward her, too. I managed to stop her attack, but I wasn’t able to take her out of the fight, either. The Italian Princess threw her hands forward, kicking up a gale-force wind that stripped asphalt from the driveway and sent it hurtling toward my back. Sandra stood in front of me, the black mist writhing around her, black tendrils lashing out at me. My armor burned as bright as the sun, the Aether around me combating the Aether being thrown at me. My spell, honed by experience and fueled by my rage, stood firm, but the sheer overwhelming mass of the Asatru’s attack would, eventually, wear me down. I gathered energy around my fist and stabbed it toward the sky. My armor swelled and swirled and transformed into a pillar of light, cutting through the energies around me and disappearing into the gray winter clouds overhead. I shouted, the sound muffled by the rush of power emanating from me, and the column expanded, tearing the Asatru’s spells asunder and throwing them bodily away from me. I lowered my hand. My clothes were soaked with sweat, my breath came in labored gasps, and my heart pounded like a jackhammer, but damn it, I was ready to finish this. I expect a certain amount of violence in my life, but when that bleeds over and affects the people I’m trying to protect, I get pissed. The air around me crackled with 143

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shimmering blue energy as I pulled the Aether back to reform my armor. My hands burned particularly bright as I formed spiked gauntlets made of pure willpower. I stalked toward Sandra, who was flat on her ass in front of me. She scrambled backward, despite the urging of the Valkyrie to get up and murder me. I grabbed her by her black shirt and jerked her into the air. Energy swirled around my fist and Sandra shut her eyes … Thunder erupted behind me and a dozen pellets of shot slammed into my back. I staggered forward and dropped Sandra, who landed neatly and threw a bone-crunching uppercut into my jaw. I flew backwards through the air and smashed into the DuBois’ porch, cracking one of the pillars. I rolled into a crouch, raised my hand, and ripped the shotgun from Swedish Bikini’s hand. She screeched and rushed at me, hand hooked into claws, the Valkyrie urging her forward. She slashed at me but I blocked with my left hand and smashed her with my right fist, then turned and threw another burst of light at Sandra, who was trying to sneak up from the right. The Italian Princess sent a wall of fire rushing toward me. The flames were fifteen feet high and white hot; they wouldn’t just fry me, they’d take the whole house behind me, too. I dropped to one knee and threw my hands forward, willing the Aether into a convex ward that wrapped around the girl and her Valkyrie. The fire struck my shield, sending ripples racing through the air, but the ward held and the fire stopped dead. Flames rushed back toward the girl, threatening to consume her and forcing her to abort her spell. Mini-Thor shouted and jumped down from on top of the freaking roof–seriously, what the hell?–his fists clamped together over his head, ready to smash me into paste. I threw my own fist into the air and let lose a blazing lance that caught him in the chest and threw him into the tree that occupied the DuBois’ front lawn. The branches cracked beneath his weight and he fell to the ground. There was no Valkyrie fueling Mini-Thor’s attack, but he was still one tough son of a bitch. He was back on his feet in an instant, electricity swirling around his arms. I reinforced my armor and moved toward him, the Aether dancing around my fists like fire. We went at each other like wild dogs, throwing fists sheathed in lightning and punches cloaked in flames. The sound of our battle 144

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was deafening, and the energy released by our combat scorched the ground, but neither of us gave way. A car engine revved somewhere behind the bed and breakfast, and a moment later an old Lincoln Mercury, one of the giant steel landyachts they used to sell before people cared about getting more than five miles per gallon, rumbled around the corner, Jersey Shore in the driver’s seat. The window living room window shattered and Madeline landed on the ground, crystal razors falling all around her. She clutched Warren’s grimoire beneath her arm. I turned to throw a blast of light at her, but Mini-Thor cracked the back of my skull with a (literally) thundering punch. I fell forward, landing on my hands and knees. I felt the air behind me light up with energy, and a moment later my whole world was white fire and pain. I felt the thunder more than I heard it, the sound of the lightning bypassing my eardrums entirely–there was nothing more than a high pitched whine, as far as my ears were concerned–and reverberating deep inside my chest. The Asatru piled into the car. I grit my teeth and summoned the Aether around me, ready to blow the front of the car off. The engine growled like one of Wotan’s hounds. The vehicle leapt forward, a mass of metal propelled by an old, angry V8, and slammed into me. I flew backwards, landing hard on the asphalt. The car barely noticed. The front right wheel ran over my legs. The back right wheel ran over my chest. The Asatru’s car pulled onto the road, hung a left, and roared away. I tried to roll over, tried to throw a spell at them, but instead I just collapsed back to the earth and closed my eyes. The back door opened. Feet pounded on the driveway, quiet in the wake of the thunderous battle. The footfalls stopped inches away from me. “Caden?” Miranda screamed. “Caden!”

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Chapter Thirteen “Caden!” I was dimly aware that Miranda was shouting my name, but after the number Mini-Thor’s thunder did on my ear drums, it sounded more like a muffled Charlie Brown murble. “Just fifteen more minutes, Mommy,” I said. “The bus is never on time anyway.” “Caden? Caden, you’re delirious. Can you tell me where you are? What year it is?” I groaned and opened my eyes. I only saw three of her. Better than I expected. “It’s eighteen sixty one, and we’re stationed at Fort Sumter. I’m a Private in the United States Army, and you’re a nurse. We’ve been under siege for three days now.” “Oh God,” Miranda said. “I need to get you to a hospital. I need–” “God,” I interrupted, “everyone is always so serious. You’d think I just got run over by a car or something.” Miranda just stared at me. I rolled over, my back making a spectacular series of pops, and got to my feet. I offered Miranda a hand up, but she just stared at me. “Are, are you all right?”

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I turned my neck from side to side. It sounded like I was pouring milk over Rice Krispies. “Yeah, a bit stiff, but I’ll be fine.” “You were hit by a car. A big car. They drove over you.” She was kneeling on the ground, her hands folded in her lap. She looked like a teacher talking to a kindergartner. “I was protected. I had a shield up. That’s why the shotgun didn’t kill me, either.” “Wait, they shot you?” “Yep. And lit me on fire. And hit me with lightning. It was an interesting day.” “And you can just shrug that off?” I twisted to the left and right. The sound was reminiscent of walking on bubble wrap. “That might be a bit of an overstatement, but I’ll be fine.” She stared at me like I was a lab specimen. “How does it work? How do you do it?” “It’s the same principle as the wards,” I said, gesturing around the property. “But the shields I set up when I’m fighting are designed to stop everything, not just magic.” I held out my hand again. “Come on, it’s cold. Let’s get inside.” She let me help her up and we went back into the B&B. I headed straight for the living room, and sure enough, the grimoire was gone. “Damn it,” I muttered. “What?” “Madeline got the book. This whole thing was just a diversion. She needed me distracted while she looked for Warren’s Book of Shadows, and now that she has it …” I tried to suppress a snarl, and the overwhelming urge to light something on fire. “So you won’t be able to translate it,” Miranda said. I shrugged. “I have photos on my laptop. I’m less worried about learning what the book says and more worried about what the Asatru might do with it.”

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“So, if you have pictures, and the book’s so dangerous, why didn’t you just burn it or something?” “I can’t. Literally, I can’t. Magic stuff is notoriously hard to destroy. They could have burned down this entire house and the book wouldn’t be any worse off.” Ethel was standing in the kitchen, holding a small commemorative plate, looking lost. It was understandable. The kitchen was an absolute shambles. There wasn’t a single item in place; all of the silverware was scattered on the ground or, in a couple of cases, embedded in the walls, most of the dishes had been shattered, the cabinets were empty, the furniture was smashed … it looked like a tornado had gone through. I put a gentle hand on her shoulder, but she turned away. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly. She didn’t look up at me, just kept staring at the little plate in her hand. “Why did you come here?” “Grandmother,” Miranda began, but I held out my hand. Ethel needed to get this out. Ethel turned to look at me. Tears were running down her cheeks. “Why did you bring them here? Why did you let them do this to my house? I’ve lived here my entire life. My parents lived here their entire lives. Why did you do this?” “Grandma, I told you why he’s here, why he…” Miranda said. “I know what he is,” Ethel said. She turned away from us and looked down at her plate. She stood there a moment, then walked silently out of the room. I watched her go, pain welling up inside my chest. Getting hit by a car was rough, but it was nothing compared to the weary sadness of that old woman. I went upstairs to my room and started tossing things into a duffel bag. Miranda stood in the doorway, looking in. “Leaving?” she asked. “No, just putting some supplies together. I need to find the Asatru before they–” I stopped and shoved a bottle of oil into the bag, 148

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throwing it a bit harder than was strictly necessary. “I really am sorry about all of this.” “I know.” Miranda came inside and sat on the edge of the bed. “The DuBois women are tough. We’ll be okay.” I hoped she was right. Ethel was from that generation of people who had seen plenty of bad and learned to deal with it through quiet resolve. Her few questions in the kitchen had, for her, probably been the equivalent of shouting and throwing things. Her life had turned upside down when I walked into it, and it was easy to latch on to me as a focal point of her problems. Hell, I blamed myself. I knew, logically, that I had to be there, that Miranda would die if I wasn’t there, but it didn’t make me feel and less guilty. “I need to find the Asatru before they get a chance to use that book,” I said. “The sun will be setting soon. My bet is they’ll try to summon Wotan as soon as the moon rises.” “Oh. So how are you going to find them?” “I’m heading back to Warren’s house.” “You think they went back there?” “Not a chance. But I need to collect some items for another spell.” “Oh.” Miranda looked at the floor and pivoted her weight on the ball of one foot. “So, um, can I come?” *** I parked a block away from Warren’s house, but left the engine running. I left the Jeep’s actual key in the ignition, not the Thieves’ Key, since I needed to get into Warren’s old Victorian. Miranda looked annoyed. “I take it I’m staying here?” “No, I figured I’d have someone who just learned their first spell twenty-four hours ago wander into a house owned by a dead mage and occupied by five girls with Viking hell-angels for familiar spirits.” “But you said they weren’t going to be here.”

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“I said I don’t think they’re going to be here. Big difference. But,” I grabbed a canister of salt from my duffel bag, “you can throw up another ward. Just in case.” Miranda considered it for a moment. “Deal.” I handed her the salt and got out of the Jeep. “Pour a circle around the car, but leave yourself enough room to stand inside the circle.” I stepped a couple of feet away and watched her prepare. “Okay, stand inside and weave the ward, just like you practiced.” Miranda crouched down and placed her fingertips in the salt, then closed her eyes. A few seconds later blue fire raced around the Jeep. Miranda looked up at me expectantly. I reached toward the barrier, and the air shimmered with unseen force. “Nice,” I said. “Okay, now what?” “Now get in the driver’s seat. If I come running out of the house and I look like something’s trying to kill me, get the hell out of here. The ward will break as soon as you try to cross the barrier.” “What about you?” “I never actually run away. When it looks like I’m retreating, I’m actually just leading my enemy into a clever trap.” Miranda cocked an eyebrow at me. “What trap?” “I’ll figure that out later,” I said. “I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes.” Miranda got into the Jeep and watched me walk away, chewing on her lip the whole time. I walked past the house first. There were no cars in the driveway (or the garage) and nothing burst through the windows hungry for the taste of my blood, so that was a good sign. Next I walked got up close and walked around the property, looking in the windows and reaching out with my senses, searching for people or wards but encountering nothing. Finally I summoned the Aether and focused it around me, weaving a barrier of protection. I opened the back door with the Thieves’ Key. I walked through the first floor cautiously, just in case I had missed something, but no monsters jumped out of the closet to eat me. I headed up the main 150

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staircase and there, laying in the middle of the hallway, was my prize. Thank God Madeline was a slob. I stopped by the bathroom and grabbed another item, just in case, then headed back outside. Miranda was white-knuckling the steering wheel, and it didn’t look like she’d even blinked since I went into the house. She slid into the passenger’s seat when I got to the Jeep, but I stood outside and pantomimed knocking on a door. “Crap, sorry.” Miranda started to climb out, but I stopped her. “You can break the ward from in there,” I said. “Just will it to happen.” “Okay.” She pursed her lips and closed her eyes. A moment later the salt flashed with blue fire and I felt the ward disintegrate. I hopped in the Jeep and handed Miranda the things I had collected. “Good work.” “Thanks. And my prize is … a toothbrush? And a comb?” “Madeline is powerful right now. You remember when that car hit me?” “Nope. That was a completely trivial event that has completely slipped my mind.” I gave her a side-eye, then continued. “Well, she got hit by a truck earlier today, and she didn’t just survive it, she totaled the freaking thing. She might actually be stronger than me right now.” “So we’re screwed.” “Nope. She’s stronger than me, but she’s inexperienced.” I held up the toothbrush. “Leaving these around was a critical mistake, a mistake that an experienced mage wouldn’t make.” “So you’re what, going to curse her with gingivitis?” “Not quite. I still plan on tracking her down and punching things real hard until I win. But this is how I’m going to track her down.” “With a toothbrush and a comb.”

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“Yep. Her toothbrush has her saliva on it, and her brush has strands of hair caught in the teeth.” “Well of course it does. It’s not like she’s going to clean it out every morning.” “I would. Because this hair was a part of her. And that means it has the same energy as she does. So spells that I cast on the hair could, possibly, affect Madeline herself. It’s called sympathetic magic.” “So you are going to curse her?” “No. To curse someone you need a more powerful token, usually a few drops of their blood. Also, I don’t know how old the hair is. The energy signature fades over time. And furthermore, whatever spell she used to turn into a one woman wrecking machine has probably changed her. If the hair came from before the spell was cast, the bond wouldn’t be as strong.” “And what about the toothbrush?” “I actually walked in on her using that this morning, so I know it’s fresh. That means it still has energy, and it still has the right kind of energy.” “So you’re going to curse her.” “God, you’d make a fantastic voodoo priestess. No, I’m still not going to curse her. I’m just going to find her. The spell I’m going to cast will use the energy from her saliva–” “Gross.” “–to hone in on the energy from the rest of her body.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a thin chain. “Different metals affect magic in different ways. Silver tends to disrupt it, which makes it a good weapon against demons and vampires and stuff.” “Wait, vampires are real?” “Yep.” “What are they like?”

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“A lot of them write poetry. It’s kind of sad. Anyway, silver disrupts magic. Gold tends to magnify it, so you’ll see a lot of focus items made from or coated with gold.” “Focus items?” “Uh, like magic wands and stuff. Things that help a mage focus their energies on a particular spell.” “Okay, silver disrupts magic, gold amplifies it. So that dagger that Mrs. Lockhart had? The one that was supposed to kill demons? The silver in the blade is like poison to them, and the gold holds on to whatever, um, enchantments have been cast on the blade?” “That’s right.” Miranda looked at the chain. “And what about that?” “This is iron. Iron is nice and neutral. It doesn’t break up magic like silver, and it doesn’t make it, uh, flickery, like gold can. It just kind of sits there, a passive container.” “I thought faeries were allergic to iron?” “Propaganda. Feeding your enemies false information about your weaknesses is fantastic strategy.” I tied the chain around the toothbrush and dangled it like a pendant, then closed my eyes. I felt the energy surrounding the toothbrush, let it imprint itself in my mind. Then I pictured a compass, my mandala for this particular spell, and bid the energy to go home. “Sick ’er,” I whispered. The toothbrush shimmered with golden light that quickly turned green, then pulled against the chain, raising up like the pendulum of a grandfather clock, and pointed more or less to the East. Miranda blinked. “Damn, that’s cool. Can you teach me how to do that?” “Not right now. This is a delicate spell and this might be the only chance I have to track down the Asatru before they set Wotan free. I’ll show you how after I save the world, though.” “All right. So we just kind of follow the toothbrush?” “Nope. I follow the toothbrush. After I drop you off at the bed and breakfast.” 153

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Miranda glowered at me. “I want to help.” “I know. But you can’t go running headlong into a fight that’s several stories over your head. Humility goes a long way in magic.” I tied the chain to my rear view mirror and drove away. When I turned around and headed back toward the bed and breakfast, the toothbrush pointed behind us sullenly. We pulled into the DuBois’ driveway a few minutes later. Miranda opened the door and put one foot on the ground, then looked back at me. “Be safe.” I smiled at her. “Always.” “Liar.” She gave me a faint smile, tinged with worry and frustration, and went inside. I took a deep breath and let it out in a hiss. I needed a clear mind, and thinking about pretty red heads with sparkling green eyes was a good way to get killed. I took a moment to remember why I was there, what the Asatru were going to do, what would happen to Mirrormont and to Miranda if I didn’t stop them. I took a moment to get angry, then started to drive. I only devoted half of my attention to the road; the rest of my mental energies were focused on building my Aetheric armor. The toothbrush lead me down familiar roads, and a few minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot behind Green River Community College. The sun was setting as I reached the campus. Four cars, including the land yacht that ran me over earlier in the day, were parked behind Warren’s office building. I shut the Jeep’s engine off, stepped out into the cold, and headed toward the forest. The toothbrush led me through the woods surrounding the campus, to a small glen about half a mile from Warren’s office building. Cold electricity hummed in the air, distant fire light pierced the darkness, and a drumbeat hammered the night air. The Aether swirled around me, driven by the passion of the Asatru’s ritual. The energy should have been muted without the ley lines running past the DuBois’ house, but whatever magic had evoked the Valkyries had strengthened the Asatru’s spellcraft as well. The

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Aether practically crackled against my armor, and I hadn’t even reached the ritual site. The drumbeats died as I drew nearer, replaced with solemn, Germanic chanting. The men would sound off, their voices booming in the night, and the women would respond, an eerie, lilting noise. This clearing was smaller than the one behind the bed and breakfast, and less carefully maintained, but the energy flowing through the Circle was just as potent. They had constructed the same Circle within a Circle within a Circle, and established a ward at the outer edge. A bonfire burned at the very center, though no drake danced in these flames. The Asatru were arranged equidistant around the circle, and they were, of course, naked. Warren’s demise hadn’t made them any smarter, apparently. The men stood facing the fire, flags at full staff, holding golden chalices. The women kneeled before them, pledging allegiance and grasping ceremonial daggers. That was actually an inversion of the usual ritual symbolism. Like a lot of modern magic, the imagery was all about sex; the dagger was a phallic object, and the chalice was, well, you get the idea. Normally in a paired ceremony the men would wield the blades and the women would hold the cups, but that wasn’t an absolute requirement. Switching implements was probably supposed to balance their energies or something, to help the men get in touch with their feminine side and vice versa. Jesus, the issues in the modern magical community would keep Freud busy for years. Madeline stood at the head of the circle, facing me, a chalice laying at her feet. Her eyes were closed and her hands were lifted high. Her voice droned, a quiet, repetitive monotone, almost trance-like. The Asatru ignored me, but if I was taking part in an outdoor wintertime orgy I’d probably be distracted, too. I sat down crosslegged in front of the Circle. I didn’t usually use a sigil to work magic, but the Asatru’s wards were strong enough that I needed extra focus to break through. I took out my pocket knife, thought for a moment, and started etching a design in the frigid ground.

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I ran my willpower through the sigil. The Asatru’s ward flashed and flickered, but my spell wasn’t enough to break through. Madeline opened her eyes and smiled at me. “Oh good. I was hoping you’d show up. We need a fifth sacrifice.” Mini-Thor opened his eyes and looked at her. “Fifth? We didn’t bring any sacrifices.” “Quiet!” Madeline hissed. “Don’t interrupt the ritual.” Mini-Thor shrugged and closed his eyes. I drew another sigil in the dirt and tried again. This one was a bit more successful, but whatever was fueling Madeline’s magic was strong. Her wards were damn near impenetrable, probably stronger than mine. I thought through the problem a bit, then started drawing another sigil. The chanting became more and more energetic, all except for Madeline, who remained creepily detached, and one by one the men enjoyed their little deaths. I ran power through the final sigil. Madeline’s ward burned bright, then crystalized, then shattered, the Aether fragmenting and scattering in the frigid wind. “Quickly!” Madeline shouted. The women jumped to their feet. The men stepped back and began to summon energies, ready to attack me, and I started to gather power for my own assault, but Madeline called out to her followers, “Finish! The! Ritual!” I stormed forward. The men kept weary eyes on me, but knelt and placed their cups on the ground. The women closed their eyes, cried out in old German, and raised their daggers. And slashed the men’s throats. Blood fell, hot and thick, into the goblets. The men staggered back, eyes wide, mouths gaping, and fell. The women turned toward the fire. “Jesus Hopscotching Christ on a pogo stick!” I shouted. “What in the holy hell?” You know what? Fuck it. I sent a beam of fire lancing toward Madeline. The High Priestess of the Asatru raised her hand. My spell slashed through the air, struck her palm, and just stopped. Energy pooled in front of her hand, a flashing, flaring globe. Madeline was completely unfazed. She laughed and pushed her hand forward. My 156

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spell rebounded, flying back at me, and slammed into my armor. My own spell lifted me off the ground and hurled me away. One by one Madeline visited the women, dipping a finger in their blood-filled goblets and drawing a sigil on their chests, then pouring the rest of the blood into her own chalice. When she had anointed the final witch, Swedish Bikini Girl, Madeline knelt down at the head of the circle, drew an emblem on her own skin, and drained her chalice dry. “Creepy vampire bitch,” I said, brushing myself off. The Valkyries appeared behind each of the women and Madeline raised her hands to the sky, crying out in ugly, hoarse German. The only words I recognized were “Frau Holda.” I threw another blast at Madeline, but she just sighed and waved her hands, raising another ward around the Circle’s perimeter. “Bloody hell,” I muttered, and started throwing energy into the ward breaking spell. The Asatru surrounded Madeline and laid hands on her. She closed her eyes and turned her palms to the sky, her head thrown back in pure rapture. The Valkyries laid their ephemeral hands on the women, who went into ecstatic convulsions. Madeline was babbling in Old Norse. The Asatru, enraptured by the Valkyries, spoke in tongues along with her. I threw everything I had into the ward breaker, but the magic barrier stood firm. “Holda, come forth!” Madeline cried out. The ground beneath the Asatru began to glow and a column of light erupted from the earth, cutting through the swirling clouds overhead like a searchlight. I threw my arms in front of my eyes, shielding them from the overwhelming luminosity of the Asatru’s spell. When the light cleared, Madeline stood bathed in light that had no source. Her very skin seemed to glow, and her eyes burned with green fire. “Madeline?” I asked. But Madeline was gone. Holda, the Matron of Witches, the Lady of the Winter, and the Queen of the Lord of the Hunt, stood in her place, in her body, surveying the ritual site. “This, my Sisters, is an

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acceptable sacrifice. And he,” she looked at me with flaming eyes, “will be an excellent dessert.” “May I, my Lady?” Swedish Bikini asked. Holda gestured her forward. The witch came toward me, eyes flaming with the Valkyrie’s green power. The ward rippled around her, allowing her to pass. She didn’t throw magic, just came forward with clenched fists. I got into a fighting stance, waiting to see what the demon would throw at me. Swedish Bikini threw a big, loping haymaker, an amateur, ignorant attack. I raised one arm slightly to deflect it and prepared to counter punch. But the haymaker was just a feint; as soon as I shifted my weight the girl, driven by the Valkyrie’s thousands of years of combat experience, dropped into a crouch and sprang forward, propelled by inhuman strength. She hit me like a two ton wrecking ball. We flew backwards and smashed into a tree. The tree cracked, wood flying everywhere. The trunk groaned and creaked, but Swedish Bikini ignored it. She straddled me, one knee on the ground and one on my chest, pummeling me with fists that hit like hundred mile an hour bowling balls. My armor blazed with golden energy, deflecting most of the impact, but Christ this was getting old. I wove my arm inside hers, stopping the punches coming at me from the left, then grabbed her hair and pulled her down close, making it even more difficult for her to attack me. While she struggled I wrapped my leg across her ankle and bucked my hips, throwing her off and to the side, letting me turn over and gain a dominant position. And then, because I’m a goddamn Saint and not a cage fighter, I unleashed a blast of white hot light from the fist grabbing her hair. It should have killed her. It should have snapped her neck like a twig, spun her head around like a twist-off top. Instead her chin just bounced off her chest, and she looked up at me with hateful, glowing eyes. She screamed, tore her arm free, and smashed me in the jaw. She didn’t have a lot of leverage, but damn it she had a lot of strength. I wasn’t thrown backwards this time, but I was rocked hard enough for her to get her legs free and plant her heels in my chest. 158

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She kicked with all of her considerable might, and that was enough to send me into the air again. But that worked out for me, because the ruined tree was toppling over. The trunk groaned, wood snapped, and the giant pine landed right on top of Swedish Bikini, crushing her flat. “That’s right,” I said, brushing off my clothes. “So who’s next?” The tree started to shake, and the witch threw the whole thing, all however-many hundred pounds of it, off of herself. I just stared at her. “Well, huh. Son of a bitch.” Swedish Bikini got back to her feet. She was covered in dirt and pine sap, but otherwise no worse for wear. She growled and started toward me, but Sandra interrupted. “You had your chance. It’s my turn.” Holda nodded and Sandra threw her hands forward. Deadly black fog instantly surrounded her and streamed toward me, thick, coiling tendrils of life-sucking mist. The magic reached the edge of the ward and moved through it seamlessly, launching toward my face like a viper. I crossed my arms in front of myself and poured willpower into a shield. The air rippled around me at the Aether coalesced. Sandra’s spell crashed into it like a tsunami, swirling and boiling around me until black smoke was all I could see. Sandra was smart; she was still inside Holda’s ward, which meant my spells couldn’t reach her. But again my experience won out; the ward had moved aside for Sandra’s spell, and that spell was still connected to her, creating an opening for a counter attack of my own. Without letting the shield drop I focused Aether into my right hand, then sent a column of fire roaring back through the fog. It slashed through the darkness, raced through the hole in the ward, and struck Sandra like a rampaging bull. She screamed and flew backwards, landing in the bonfire. I let the shield expand outward, dissipating the smoke. Sandra lay in the flames, completely unharmed. She stood up slowly, casually, and looked down at herself. “Huh. Neat.” The Italian Princess stepped forward. “All right, my turn.”

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Holda held out her hand. “You are not yet ready, my Sisters. Strong though you may be, this mage is deceptively powerful. And honestly, this is boring the crap out of me. I think it’s time we hit the town.” I took a step backward, pouring more energy into my armor, bracing for Holda’s attack, but it never came. Sandra and Swedish Bikini moved back to Holda’s side. Holda put her fingers in her mouth and whistled. Moments later a quintet of wolves, one white and four black, emerged from the shadows. Not just wolves, but giant, muscular, slavering, red-eyed, freaking monster wolves. A black bear followed the wolves out of the forest. It stared at me, hunger in its eyes. It roared, saliva dripping from its fangs. “Damn it,” I muttered.

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Chapter Fourteen I don’t know a whole lot about bears, but I did know two things: one, the creature that wandered out of the woods should have been hibernating, and two, it shouldn’t have been so goddamned big. The thing was nearly eight feet at the shoulder and must have weighed half a ton. It raised its front paws of the ground and raked the air with claws that looked like tyrannosaurus teeth. I dropped my fists and let my arms hang down by my sides. “I should have finished law school.” Holda mounted the white wolf like a horse, and each of the witches claimed a mount of their own. With a kick of her heels Holda urged her wolf forward. The creature leapt from the Circle, the ward shattering into mist, and sailed right over my head. The other wolves growled and raced after her, streaking past me on either side. I turned to watch them go. Behind me, the bear growled, loud and low. “Nice kitty?” I asked. The bear roared and launched itself toward me, moving far too fast for such a large creature. “Guess not.” I threw energy into my armor, let loose with a war cry, and met the goddamn bear in battle.

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The bear tried to stomp my into the earth, but my defenses were strong enough to bear–heh–its weight. Its claws raked across my armor, but the Aetheric shell around me withstood the assault. The bear roared and slashed at me. The Aether blunted the knife-like claws but the force was enough to knock me sideways. I stumbled and nearly fell. I channeled power into my fist. The bear reared up again, claws gleaming in the fire light, trying to trample me again, but I threw a punch that blazed like a comet. My fist smashed into the bear’s chest. The stench of burning fur filled the air. The bear roared and flinched away, but quickly recouped and came after me again. I gathered power for another attack– The bear chomped down on my arm. The armor protected me, but my hand was trapped inside the thing’s massive jaws. The bear grumbled, almost like it was laughing, and its fiery eyes gleamed. I gathered more power around my left hand, ready to smash the thing’s skull, but the bear started whipping its head back and forth like a dog with a chew toy. I was ripped from my feet and flung into the air. My arm felt like it was being wrenched out of my shoulder. The bear lumbered forward, still flinging me back and forth, and dashed me against a tree. The air blasted from my lungs and my ribs felt like they were going to shatter. It felt like the bear kept up its assault forever, but it was probably less than thirty seconds. The creature dropped me on the ground and shambled off towards the treeline. I spat blood and pushed myself off the ground. “What, you chickening out now? Can’t take the heat? Running just when I start to get the upper hand?” The bear turned around, and I swear to God the thing sighed, like it was dealing with a particularly headstrong toddler. It plodded back toward me, its lips curling back to reveal teeth as long as my hand. It roared, its mouth gaping open so wide I could have parked the Jeep inside it. But instead I threw fire down its gullet. Both hands lit up with supernatural fire and I just shoved them down the monster’s throat, 163

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to hell with the consequences. I disappeared into the thing’s maw, my head and shoulders all the way inside its mouth, but I didn’t care. Nothing survived my fire, not for long, my armor would protect me from the thing’s fangs, and damn it, I was going to finish this bloody fight. The bear glowed like a Jack O’ Lantern, its skull blazing from within. The stink was awful and the noise the monster made wasn’t much better, but the creature shuddered, twitched, and finally fell over, a hulking, charred corpse. “God damn right,” I said, and leaned against a tree to catch my breath. I shambled back toward the campus, only stumbling a few times. The Asatru were long gone, but in the condition I was in that probably wasn’t a bad thing. I fell into the Jeep’s front seat and closed my eyes for a few moments. I didn’t know where Holda went, and in all honesty I didn’t really care. The Asatru and the bear had both laid into me, and I was exhausted. I’d be lucky to light a candle with my brain much less take on a goddess’ avatar. So instead of driving blindly through Mirrormont, I fell into the Jeep’s front seat and headed back to the bed and breakfast. I was lucky I didn’t get pulled over for drunk driving. My shoulder felt like a nuclear bomb had gone off, and my ribs might as well have been loose gravel. The energy I had expended fighting the bear left me stretched out, like a balloon that had been just short of popping. Keeping my hands on the steering wheel was a titanic endeavor, and keeping the vehicle in between the white and yellow lines required herculean effort. Dinner was over by the time I reached the DuBois’, and the ladies were in the kitchen, cleaning up and prepping for the morning crowd. I shook my head as I walked past the kitchen door; I felt like a Red Sox fan in the bleachers of Yankee Stadium, but at least I wasn’t running a restaurant. The sheer drudgery of it all would kill me. I snuck past as quietly as I could and stood in front of the stairs. God, had there been so many of them that morning? 164

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I raised my right foot and put it on the first stair. Caught my breath. Loaded my weight. Stepped up, placing the left foot next to it. Sweat beaded on my forehead and my pulse echoed in my ears. And that was just one freaking step. I shook my head, took a deep breath, and walked up the next step. Eventually, exhaustingly, I reached the top of the stairs. I pushed the door to my bedroom open, dropped my coat on the floor, and stumbled over to the bathroom. I didn’t even bother to turn the lights on; the moon was still bright enough to see by, and didn’t require lifting my hand to turn on. I somehow managed to get my clothes off before I stepped into the steaming shower. God that felt good. The hot water, not the nudity. I almost fell asleep standing up, but at least some of the tension drained out of my muscles. I wrapped myself in a towel and limped back into the bedroom. I needed to begin my healing ritual, plaster myself back together as best I could. Then, in the morning, I could worry about tracking down Holda and the rest of the Asatru. I still had Madeline’s toothbrush and hair, but after being possessed by Holda, who knew if they would work? I needed something– The door burst open. Startled, I summoned a half-assed fire spell and whirled, well, turned gingerly, around. The spell might have warmed up a cup of coffee, but it didn’t matter. There were no demons or naked Hell Cats invading my sanctuary, only Miranda. “Jesus, Miranda,” I muttered, dismissing the flame with a wave of my hand, “you can’t just barge in like that. If I was on my game tonight you’d be … what?” Miranda was staring at me and nibbling gently on her lip. “Um, sorry,” she said, pulling her eyes back to my face. “You shouldn’t wear so much baggy clothing.” “Is that what you came in here for?” I asked, looking around for a clean pair of anything. “No, sorry. There was a report on the news that I think you’d be interested–holy crap, what happened to you?” She turned the lights on, making me wince, and rushed over to my side. She traced her fingers gently over my skin. “Jesus, you’re one big bruise. I … God, I can see that your rib’s broken. What happened?” 165

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“I got attacked by a bunch of naked girls, then a bear tried to eat me.” “I … what?” “You heard me. A bunch of naked girls tried to kick my ass, and when it didn’t work they sicked their giant pet bear on me. He smashed me against a couple of trees six or seven dozen times, but I shoved my hands down his throat and made him explode.” Miranda stared at me for a good twenty seconds. “You are very, very weird.” I dug a pair of jeans out of my duffel bag and threw them on the bed, then started rummaging for a shirt. “So there was a news report?” “Uh, yeah. In Issaquah, like twenty minutes from here. There was a murder.” I looked at my cell phone. Sure enough, the local news had sent me an urgent alert with a sensational headline. I just hadn’t noticed it, because I had silenced my phone before I headed into the woods. I really didn’t need to get killed because I forgot to put my phone on vibrate. Getting my shirt on was a battle all on its own, and I grit my teeth the entire time. “Well, that sucks and everything, but the police are generally better at this than I am. And I do kind of feel like I got run over by a steam roller, so …” “The victim was killed by five girls … and one of them was naked.” I raised an eyebrow. “Okay, that is interesting. And really, really depressing.” “Why? Did you think there was still time to save them, or bring them back from the dark edge of the abyss or something?” “No,” I said, grabbing my pants. “I was hoping to take a nap.” “Oh. So, um, are you going?” I looked longingly at the bed. “Yeah, I am. Wanna drive?” “Yes, yes I do,” Miranda said, her emerald eyes flashing.

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“Great. So, um, can I put my pants on first?” “Oh! Crap. Sorry, yeah, I’ll, um, be outside.” “Thanks.” I closed the door gently behind her. Once I was dressed, I took a deep breath, contemplated my lot in life, and opened the door. Miranda was waiting just outside. “Ready?” “Not even close, but we might as well go.” Miranda stopped halfway down the stairs. “Are you okay? Your ribs looked really bad.” “No, I’m not, but your concern is touching. As long as I don’t get into any life or death battles tonight, I should be fine. But just in case, if I topple over or start coughing blood or anything, you should probably take me to the hospital.” Miranda’s pre-med training kicked in and she looked at me critically. “Are you sure you should go out tonight?” I spread my palms. “Hey, this is your idea. I’m just along for the ride.” “I mean, they aren’t there anymore. At least, the TV didn’t say anything about a Viking cult laying waste to the officers on scene. There might not be anything worth going there for.” I shrugged, then winced as a small explosive went off in my shoulder. “I don’t have a way to track them, Miranda. That spell I did today, I don’t think it will work after the ritual they performed. If there’s something at the crime scene that will lead me to them, I have to have it.” Miranda looked almost haunted. “Okay, but if you feel dizzy or anything, you have to tell me.” “Deal,” I said. “And I was serious, you should drive. I don’t think I’m exactly qualified right now.” Miranda drove a perfectly mundane Toyota Camry. The paint looked almost black in the moonlight, but I thought I caught a subtle glimmer of metallic purple here and there. Miranda was a cautious driver, both hands on the wheel, coming to a complete stop at every sign, and signaling whenever she changed lanes, even if there was no 167

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one within a hundred miles. I didn’t mind the slow pace; it gave me a chance to weave my healing spell and at least start to knit some of my internal organs back together. We drove down Washington Route 18, then headed through the Tiger and Squak Mountain state parks, avoiding civilization almost entirely until they reached Issaquah. An entire block was cordoned off with yellow police tape, and five police cruisers were parked in front of a fabric store, lights flashing. Miranda parked a block away, facing the store. “What do you want to do?” “Stay here until the cops clear out,” I muttered without opening my eyes. She made if five whole minutes before she started fidgeting, which was actually pretty good. People who have never been on a stakeout don’t realize how damn boring it is. I heard Miranda shifting in her seat, then playing with her cell phone. “So, um, why the Yarn Barn?” “Huh? Oh, right. Um, Holda serves a lot of roles in her pantheon. The lady of winter, the mother of witches, and the goddess of spinning.” “Spinning? Like looms and weaving and stuff?” “Yeah. Making fabric is kind of her thing, so it makes sense that she’d come here to outfit herself. I mean, as much sense as any of this makes.” “Right.” A few minutes later she asked, “Is it okay if I turn the radio on?” “Sure,” I said. She plugged her phone into the dashboard, and the dulcet tones of Coldplay filled the car. I huffed, but turned my attention back to my medicinal magic rather than Miranda’s tragically contemporary taste in music. We’d been sitting there almost a half hour when Miranda said, “Okay, looks like they’re clearing out.” Three of the cop cars drove away almost immediately. Another pair of cops wandered out a few minutes later, tore down the police tape, then followed their cohorts into the night. Finally two more cops 168

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came out of the store, escorting a small Asian girl in a green smock to her car. “Okay, what’s our move?” Miranda asked. “Wait until the cops are gone, then follow the girl.” “’Kay.” The last of the police drove away. The girl looked all around the car, eyes wide and a little bit afraid, then backed out of her parking spot and pulled onto the road. “Don’t follow too close,” I said. “Don’t want to spook her.” “This is so cool,” Miranda said. She drifted back about ten car lengths. “Is this enough?” “Yeah, you should be fine.” I was glad Miranda was enjoying herself, but I couldn’t work up any enthusiasm myself. The taste of blood and the crunching sound my lungs made every time I exhaled were too distracting. I ran a bit more energy through my splintered bones as Miranda drove, trying to piece myself back together. We were only on the road for about five minutes. The girl pulled into a parking lot in front of an apartment building and shut off her car. Miranda gunned it, but I held out my hand. “Easy. Girl just saw someone get killed. We don’t want to scare her.” “But we’ll lose her.” “It’s okay,” I said. The girl went inside and Miranda parked next to her. “Okay, now what?” she asked. I pushed the car door open and eased out of the car. God, even trying to stand up hurt. I leaned against the car to catch my breath. Miranda sidled next to me, letting me lean on her. “Are you okay?” I shrugged away from her. “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m pretty sure the girl isn’t going to attack me.” “All right,” she said, unconvinced. “So, um, how do we find the girl?” 169

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I walked–okay, shambled–over to the girl’s car and pointed at the curb, where a faded white stencil read 2C. “Clever,” Miranda said. I shrugged. “Not really. This is a nice complex. I’m guessing she can’t afford it, so she’s either living with her parents of another girl from the college. People in this kind of development get real pissy if you steal their spot, so they’re almost always marked.” The door to the apartment building was locked, but the Thieves’ Key opened it without a problem. Miranda gasped. “Holy crap, what is that thing?” “A talisman created by the followers of Surgat, who’s basically a demon locksmith.” Miranda stared at me. “I can never tell when you’re BS-ing me.” I opened the door and waved her in with a grand gesture. “A sorcerer must cultivate an image of mystery if he wants to be taken seriously.” “You’re not a sorcerer.” “So?” We took the elevator to the second floor and knocked on the third door. A girl with mousy blonde hair and glasses opened the door. “Yeah?” “Hi,” I said. “Sorry to bother you so late. I’m Detective Glass, and this is my partner Detective van Lane. Is your roommate home?” “Sayo? Yeah, hold on, I’ll get her.” She closed the door in our face. It opened a few moments later, and the girl from the fabric store looked out at us. “Hi, Sayo,” Miranda said. Clever girl, she’s picked up on the name the roommate had dropped. “Hi,” Sayo said uncertainly. “I thought you guys were done with me? I already told Detective Martins everything I know.” “I’m really sorry,” I said, taking out a pad of paper. “Martins and me work different shifts and he’s gone home for the night, so I can’t get his notes until the morning. I really wanted to get working on your 170

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case tonight, though, so I was hoping you could go over everything with us? Just a quick summary.” “We’ll be fast,” Miranda assured her. Sayo made a face but unchained the door. “Come on in,” she said. I felt something tickle the back of my brain as soon as I walked across the threshold. That was interesting. Unless these girls were secretly witches, Holda had left some of her energy with Sayo. Sayo looked back at me. “Are you okay? No offense, but you look like you just got your ass kicked.” “He’s okay,” Miranda said. “A perp jumped him, but I managed to fend him off.” I shot her a sideways glare. This was no time to improvise. “I’m fine,” I said. “It only hurts when I exist.” “Um, okay.” Sayo sat on the couch and folded her hands. “So what do you want to know?” I sat down in a chair opposite her, and Miranda sat on the far end of the couch. “Just start at the beginning,” I said. “Take your time. I know it’s hard.” “Okay.” Sayo closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “So I was working the closing shift. It’s been crazy, you know? Because of Christmas. I’ve worked ten hour days all week. So I’m working, and Amanda if just like sitting there, on her cell phone the whole time. Didn’t do a thing to help me, you know? I mean God, Sam, our manager, expects us to keep the place neat no matter how many people pick it apart, so we have like zero downtime, but Amanda is just like ‘whatever.’” “Okay,” I said, not exactly sure where this was going. “So I’m putting the yarn back on the rack, and Madeline walks through the door, naked as a blue bird!” “Jay bird,” Miranda said. “Whatever. The point is, she was buck-ass naked. Wasn’t even wearing shoes, and she walked in like she owned the place.” “Wait, you know Madeline?” I asked. 171

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“Yeah, we had a class with each other last semester. She was kind of a bitch, so I never really hung out with her, but I know who she is. Anyway, she walks in, flashing her business all over the place, and walks right up to me. She says that she needs some fabric, and Amanda is like ‘no shit you do.’ And Madeline looks at her like she’s trying to light her on fire, but then she smiles at me, all nice and sweet, and she says she’s like some flax, whatever the hell that is, but she’ll take cotton if that’s all we have.” Miranda sat forward. “Wait, Holda was looking for cloth?” “What’s a Holda?” Sayo asked. “Madeline’s gang name,” I said quickly. “So what did she do with the fabric?” “Gang? Crazy bitch. Well, and I know this is crazy talk, but she made herself a dress. Like, right freaking there, in the store. Took her like five minutes. And then she walks up to me and she’s like ‘you’re a really hard worker and you impress me and you’re awesome,’ and I’m just like thanks, you know? And then she turns to Amanda and she calls her a lazy wench or something like that, and then …” Sayo’s breath caught. “Go on,” I said gently. “She reached out and grabbed her by the throat, hauled her right across the checkout table, and she, she just snapped her neck, like it was nothing.” Miranda’s eyes went wide. “Shit.” Sayo nodded. “Right?” I put the notebook back in my pocket. “Okay, I think that’s enough for tonight, Sayo. Just one more question.” “Yeah?” “What did Madeline give you?” She blanched and sat back. She looked from side to side, over at the television, down at the floor, anywhere but at me. “I don’t know what you mean,” she muttered.

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“Yes you do,” I chided gently. “You aren’t in trouble, Sayo, at least not yet. But this is important. Madeline gave you something, and I need to know what it was.” Sayo looked down at the floor. “Just a second.” She got up and plodded over to her bedroom. Miranda whispered to me, “How did you know?” “I can feel it,” I said, pointing to my head. “Like static electricity.” “Cool.” Sayo came back holding a small leather satchel. I held out my hand and she dropped it into my palm. Electricity tingled up my arm. I opened the bag and dumped out its contents, about thirty gold coins. Miranda’s eyes went wide. “Damn.” “She gave me those when she took the fabric. Told me it was a reward for being so diligent. I was just like ‘where were you hiding them?’” “Can we use your kitchen?” I asked. Sayo blinked. “Huh?” “I want to run a quick test on the coins.” “Oh, yeah, sure. It’s that way.” She pointed off toward the back of the apartment. “Thanks. Just wait here for us, if you could. Miranda?” Miranda followed me into the kitchen. I dumped all of the coins but one into the sink, then tied the bag to my tiny iron chain. “I felt these as soon as we crossed the threshold,” I said. “They have Holda’s energy all over them. She must have brought them over from the Otherworld.” “Otherworld?” I rolled one of coins between my fingers, examining how the light played off it. “The spirit world, Hades, Valhalla, Fae.” “Fae? Like, fairy land? That’s real?”

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I cocked an eyebrow at her. “You knew the legend about faeries being allergic to iron.” “I know the legend about leprechauns having pots of gold and bowls of marshmallow cereal, too, but that doesn’t mean I think it’s real.” “Everything is real if enough people believe in it. The Otherworld is separated from our reality by a barrier of Aether, what people usually call the Veil. Some of it is layered on top of ours, so there’s an Otherworld that exists alongside this kitchen, and the college, your house … everywhere. The Asatru’s ritual made it easier for Holda to cross over.” “So what’s it like? What’s in the Otherkitchen? Or my Otherhouse?” “It depends. The Otherworld isn’t just one place. Different cultures have created different facets of Otherworld. Celtic mythology’s version of Otherworld doesn’t look anything like the Lakota’s Otherworld, but they’re all real, and they can all be reached if you know what you’re doing.” “So which Otherworld does my house have?” “It’s not that simple.” “Of course not,” Miranda muttered. I laughed. “A place can have more than one Otherworld, stacked on top of each other like floors in a house, and separated from each other by the Aether. Your house is probably very close to the Germanic Otherworld because of the rituals the Asatru have performed there, but there might be passages to the Chinook Otherworld, too. Or hell, the Japanese Otherworld. Anyway,” I held up the bag and chain, “Holda brought this over from Otherworld, so it has similar energy, so I can use it to track her.” I whispered an incantation and the bag lifted into the air, pointing out the window. I released the spell and stuck the bag in my pocket. “But that’s for tomorrow. I’m in no shape to take on a pack of demons tonight.” “That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all night.” She looked at the gold. “So what are you going to do with that?” I stretched my hands over the sink, covering the gold. “Some of my counter spells don’t just resist magic, they cancel it out. Like two 174

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waves crashing into each other.” I felt the energy emanating from the gold, then constructed its opposite in my mind. An act of will sent crimson flames running over the gold. When the flames faded, the coins were nothing but inert metal. “Enchanted artifacts, even ones that have just picked up a residual charge, can be dangerous. It’s like leaving a bowl of sugar out. Attracts ants. You never know when a pissed off Gnome is going to show up screaming for his bag of gems. But if you cancel out the magic you cancel out the draw, too.” I grabbed the gold and walked back into the living room. Sayo looked up at me, crestfallen. “Find what you were looking for?” I fished the bag out of my pocket and held it up. “I did.” I put the charm back in my pocket, then held out my other hand, dumping the gold into Sayo’s lap. “I’ve got what I need. The rest, well, it’s not in the report, so it’s not like anyone’s going to miss it.” Sayo’s eyes went wide. “Really?” I winked at her. “Have a good night, Sayo. I’m sorry you got caught up in all of this. Detective van Lane? Let’s go.”

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Chapter Fifteen I spent that night putting my ribs back together. When I finally wandered down stairs, I found Ethel and Miranda putting the finishing touches on lunch service. The kitchen was mostly in order, but there were still holes in the wall, and the cabinets had no doors. I winced when I saw the damage I had caused, and Ethel winced when she saw me. “I’ll be in the living room,” she said. She skirted past me, avoiding my eyes. One of the dishes I had shattered lay on top of the trash, one of those silly commemorative things they sell on late night TV to people with insomnia and credit cards. At least I thought it was silly until I read the inscription: 25th Wedding Annivers. The rest of the text was on a shard somewhere else in the room. The dish suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. I just stared at it, shaking my head. “God damn it,” I muttered. Miranda gently took the dish out of my hand. “It’s all right.” “No, it isn’t. I didn’t have to do this. I could have … hell, I don’t know. I could have thought of something. But I don’t think. I just wreck everything in my path.”

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“You are kind of underestimating the role the three men with guns played in all of this.” “No, I’m not. They came here because of me. Took you hostage to distract me, so they could steal something I brought into your home. All of this is my fault.” Miranda set the plate down on the counter, then bent down to collect one of its matching shards. “I think I might be able to glue this back together. It’ll have a crack, but hey, that’ll just give it character.” She turned back toward me. “I saw what brought you here, Caden. We’d be in danger even if you weren’t here, and there wouldn’t be anyone to blow up the bad guys with his brain.” “I don’t think your Grandmother feels the same way.” “This is hard for her, Caden.” “That’s an understatement.” “That’s not what I mean,” Miranda said. “You, you don’t realize the effect you have on people, do you? What you mean. My Grandmother has been a praying woman her entire life, but she’s never seen a miracle. Not until you showed up. And that’s hard. She suddenly has to face the fact that this world is a whole lot bigger, a whole lot weirder, than it was a few days ago. All of this,” she gestured around the room, “these are just things. She’s a tough old lady. She’s been through a lot, and she’ll get through this. But you, what you are, that’s gonna take some time to process.” “A miracle? You think that’s what I am?” Miranda laughed. “Let’s not get too full of ourselves. But Jesus, Caden, you can literally call down fire from the sky. Do you have any idea what would happen if you went on television and did that?” “Yeah, I have an idea,” I said. “A bunch of people would claim that I’m proof their god is real, and a bunch of other people would claim that I’m the Anti-Christ, and then there’d probably be a war.” Miranda gave me a weird look. “You don’t have a whole lot of faith in humanity, do you?” “I’ve known too many people to have faith in them. What about you? Why are you taking this so easily?” 179

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Miranda placed another fragment of plate on the counter, sliding it into place like a piece of a puzzle. She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess … my world is really small, Caden. I’ve lived in this town my whole life. Grew up here, went to college here, dropped out of college here, and now I run a hotel and a restaurant in the house my parents grew up in. I kind of thought my life was going to be like Gray’s Anatomy, get my medical degree, live in a big city, save lives in between banging hot doctors. Instead,” her voice got quiet, “here I am. And you, well, like I said, the world got a lot bigger when you showed up.” I laid a gentle hand on her arm. “You aren’t trapped here, you know.” Miranda wiped her eyes. A speck of dust, probably. “It doesn’t always feel like that.” She finished assembling the plate and turned around, forcing herself to smile. “See? Good as new. Ish. So what are you going to do about Madeline?” I leaned against the wall and thought for a moment. “Madeline, as far as I can tell, is gone. She’s possessed, and I’ve never seen someone come back from that.” “What about the rest of the girls?” “I’m really not sure. They aren’t possessed, they just have, I don’t know, familiar spirits? But I’m not sure how long that’s going to last, either. Regardless, Holda is the one I have to worry about.” “So what’s the plan?” “I’m going to track her down and punch her until she gives in.” Miranda just kind of stared at me for a minute. “That’s … kind of a plan, I guess. A stupid plan, but it’s a plan.” “Hey, it’s gotten me this far. And I can punch really hard.” “So would you like some company on this little adventure? Or at least someone to take you to the hospital when it goes horribly, terribly, inevitably wrong?” “Thanks,” I said, yanking out a fork still embedded in the wall, “but tonight is a one man show. I expect fireworks, and that isn’t a good environment for civilians.”

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Miranda perked up. “You could show me more of that warding magic.” “I will,” I promised. “After I confront the Viking hell beast double murderer Mean Girl.” “You’re no fun.” I waved my hand around the room. “Miranda, this is what happens when I have fun. It’s better for everyone when my life is boring.” *** I didn’t expect the Asatru to emerge from hiding until nightfall, so I spent most of the day helping Miranda in the kitchen. I began to prepare myself an hour or so before sunset, summoning the Aether, letting it wrap around me and infuse me. I bet Miranda would have loved to learn that trick, but I didn’t want her getting any ideas. The sky was red fading into purple when I left the bed and breakfast, the gold coin and leather satchel hanging from my rear view mirror like fuzzy dice, except they were standing at attention, pointing me toward Holda and her Valkyries. I couldn’t travel in a straight line– the Department of Public Works hadn’t been thoughtful enough to build a road that led directly to them–so I spent the next hour traveling in smaller and smaller circles, eventually closing in on Tiger Mountain. I took Exit 20 off of I-90, then drove as far into the forest as the Jeep allowed. Eventually, though, I had to abandon my vehicle and start hiking. The moon was still mostly full, letting me walk without a flashlight. Anything that cut down on my visibility was a plus. One of these days I’m going to have to shell out for some of those fancy night vision goggles. I spend way too much time bumbling around in the dark, and I don’t want to get eaten by a grue. The tracking spell led me into Tiger Mountain State Park, and nearly to the base of the mountain itself. Six peaks stretched up toward the heavens, solid gray against the starry sky. The coin dangled in front of me, pointing like a bloodhound. I followed it through the woods and into a glen. The coin promptly flipped around, smacking against my wrist and pointing right behind me. I frowned at it and turned around, but the 181

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coin repeated its little trick, pointing behind me again. No matter how I turned or where I walked, the coin pointed toward the empty center of the clearing. “Damn it,” I muttered. Holda must have taken the Asatru to the Otherworld, and that meant two things. One, the ritual that had summoned her had given her a lot of power; rending the Veil is never easy, and creating a rift big enough to carry five full-grown adults through is an epic undertaking. So that was comforting. But also kind of irrelevant, because two, I had no way of finding them. There are people who can pass between worlds, but I’m not one of them. I was going to have to– “You’re looking for the Queen of the Snow,” a voice came from behind me. I screamed–a war cry, thank you very much, and quite certainly not the terrified shriek of a man-child who had thought he was alone–and whipped around, dropping the coin and raising my hand, ready to blast whatever was about to attack me. The coin skittered to the center of the clearing and sat there humming. I searched the glen with my eyes, but couldn’t see anyone else. I dismissed the ball of blue fire I had been holding and focused my magic into my wards instead. “Who’s there?” “My name is Esmeralda,” the voice came from behind me. I spun around again, facing the center of the clearing, and saw a small girl, maybe five or six years old, crouched over the coin. She was dressed in rough fabric, like burlap, and had her back to me. “I’m a Moss Maiden.” I walked forward slowly. Sure, Esmeralda looked innocent, but anyone who’s ever seen a horror movie can tell you not to underestimate creepy little girls with their backs turned toward you. “A Moss Maiden?” “We live in the forest,” she said, not lifting her eyes from the coin. She had a voice like phantom wind chimes. “Or we did, before the Snow Queen came.” She finally looked up at me. Her eyes were too big for her head, almost like a cartoon character, and incredibly sad. “She hunts us. For sport. My family ran away, but I was separated from them. Her wolves almost got me, but I hid in a hallow until sunrise.” She looked away, toward the mountain. “They’ll be back, though.” 182

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“Jesus, she hunts you?” The girl turned her watery eyes back to me. Her hair and skin were, I realized, pale green. “She hunts you, too.” “Not tonight,” I said. “Tonight, I’m hunting her.” The girl cocked her head to the side. “You’re a fool.” “Probably. But I’m also the only one who can stop her. A friend of mine is in danger. Hell, this whole city is in danger.” “Mortal man can’t stop the Snow Queen,” the Moss Maiden said. “She has powerful magic.” “I’m not exactly a slouch at magic myself,” I said. “Where do you think that came from?” Esmeralda snatched the coin off the ground and held it in front of her face. “This led you here?” “Yeah, fat lot of good that did me. Holda, um, the Snow Queen, slipped into Otherworld, and I can’t–” “It’s beautiful. Can I have it?” She looked up at me with those big, watery, hopeful eyes, and damn it, I just couldn’t say no. I’d be a terrible father. My little girl would have a Maserati the day after she got her license. “Um, sure, go ahead. It’s not helping me.” “What do you mean? It led you to the Snow Queen.” “Well, it led me to where the Snow Queen disappeared. But I was really hoping to punch her in the face tonight. So unless she comes out and grants me an audience …” The Maiden stuffed the coin into her dress and cocked her head again. “Were you struck on the head?” “I, what?” She stared at like I was an exceptionally slow sea cucumber. “The coin–oh, that’s right. You can’t see the path. The Snow Queen can see all of the folds in the Veil, so they’re no use when I’m hiding from her. I forgot you aren’t as clever as she.”

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“Hey! I–” “But it’s okay, I can show you, if you want.” “What? You mean you can help me cross the Veil?” “You’ve already crossed over, you just don’t know it yet. Here, let me show you.” She ran over, moving with frightening speed, and grabbed my hand. As soon as she touched me snow began to swirl around us, and when it cleared, a path had opened in the trees, leading toward the mountain. “The veil is very thin here. You just need eyes to see the holes.” I blinked and stared at the path. The moonlight couldn’t penetrate the canopy, leaving it in shadow. I walked toward the gloom automatically, like the shadows were magnetic. “Are you really going to kill her?” Esmeralda called after me. “I’m going to try.” Esmeralda ran forward, again moving with shocking speed, and wrapped her arms around my leg. “Good luck.” “I, uh,” I said, trying to extract myself form her grip, “thanks.” The Moss Maiden stepped back and watched as I walked into the darkness. The path’s first hundred yards were dark but otherwise normal. It wasn’t until I got deeper into the forest that it started to change, that it became apparent that I had walked into Holda’s section of the Otherworld. The ground in Tiger Mountain State Park was covered in frosty grass, but here the ground was barren. The forest had been mostly evergreens, but here the trees were black and twisted, like they had been fed a steady diet of poison. The branches were hooked like a hag’s arthritic fingers and covered in thorns. Shining red apples hung just within reach, but I knew that eating one would be a fatal mistake. I summoned Aether to light my path, but my magic could only penetrate a few feet of the oppressive darkness. Roots reached up to grab my feet and branches fought against the wind to ship my face. I raised my arm and my shield and pressed forward.

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A rustling sound came from the tree line to my left. I focused more energy into my shield, turning just in time to see a boar come rushing out of the growth. The thing must have weighed five hundred pounds, all muscle and hate. It was covered in wiry black fur dripping with pitch. Its tusks were yellow, and the corners of its mouth trailed gore. Its eyes were smoldering red. The creature shrieked and lunged at me, jamming its knife-like tusks at my gut. My ward blunted the attack, but the sheer weight of the beast drove me off my feet and onto my back. The monster fell on top of me, hot, stinking breath wet in my face, its bulk pressing down on me, and snapped at my throat. The ward rippled, and I slammed my hand against the boar’s head. I channeled my fear and my fury into a white-hot blast of pure force. The creature howled and thrashed its head, trying to get away from my fire. I came up to one knee and threw another blast of blue-white energy at it, driving it back into the trees. I could hear it moving, just out of sight, circling me, trying to flank me. And then, quiet. The only sound was my own heartbeat, the only sight the skeleton outline of cursed trees. I waited, tense, ready. The beast burst out of the trees behind me, squealing, charging, stampeding toward me, flipping its head left and right. I whirled around and threw both hands forward. The boar slammed into twin columns of burning light. It reared back on its hind legs, rolled to the side, and tried to trample me down. It’s hooves, which appeared to be made of iron, slammed against my leg, sending up yet another shower of sparks. I rolled backward and raised my hand to assault the beast once more, but the creature rushed forward, slamming into me with its considerable bulk. I grunted and fell backwards, catching myself with one hand and raising the other to attack. The boar ducked under my arm, though, and smashed into my ribs, lifting me off the ground and crashing me into a tree. The monster’s tusks slashed and hacked, and the tree branches wrapped and writhed around me. My ward shimmered like a tank full of piranha, protecting me from the assault, but I wouldn’t be able to keep the spell up forever. I gathered energy, pulling it deep into my core, then let it go with a shout. Blue-white fire rushed away from me, shredding the trees’ 185

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limbs and throwing the boar into the air. I landed on the dead ground, gasping for breath, and stretched my hand toward the creature. “Burn.” Fire lanced through the night and the air filled with the smoky scent of burnt flesh. Bacon, this thing was not. The boar screeched and flailed, but my fire cut through it like a cannon. The creature fell to the ground, bucked once, then became still. I brushed myself off and pressed on into the Otherforest. The trees began to clear about an hour later, and I emerged onto a barren path that led to the foot of the mountain. And there, sitting on a rock at the mouth of a cave, sat a Viking. The guy looked like Sean Bean in full Lord of the Rings regalia. His hair was long and reddish, and his jaw was covered with beard. He wore thick leathers and heavy pelts, and a giant broadsword rested against his knee. He stood, towering above me, and raised his massive sword.

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Chapter Sixteen The giant looked at me, alert, wary. “Who goes there?” I walked toward him cautiously. “Name’s Caden, and I don’t want any trouble. So if you don’t start none, there won’t be none.” “Are you lost, traveler?” the Viking asked, adjusting his grip on the sword. “Nope. Well, okay, kind of, but I’m pretty sure that cave is where I need to be, so if you’d kindly step aside …” “Nay, friend. Down this path lies death, and that only for he fortunate. For this is the mouth of Frau Holda’s domain.” “Yeah, I was kind of banking on that.” The Viking looked at me quizzically. I was getting that a lot lately. “You know this is the lair of the Queen of Snow, yet you persist? Are you a fool?” I was getting that a lot lately, too. I shrugged. “Maybe, but I’m going forward one way or the other. Your call whether this turns into a fight.”

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“I have no quarrel with you, traveler. I seek only to warn those who would venture into Holda’s domain unaware. From this cavern rides the Wild Hunt, and within it dwell the Valkyries, friends of no man.” “Oh,” I said, “you’re on of the good guys. Well that makes this easier. What’s your name, buddy?” The Viking stood up straight, held his sword point-down in front of his chest, and said formally, “I am known as Eckhart, the Faithful.” “Nice to meet you Eckhart. I’m known as Caden the asshole, and I plan to pick a fight with the Snow Queen.” Eckhart considered me for a long moment. “Many a man has wandered down this path, seeking boon or favor, but never has a man come to throw a gauntlet at the White Lady’s feet.” “There’s a first time for everything.” “And if I told you that certain death awaited you?” “Certain death awaits us all, Eckhart. But I don’t think she’s going to catch up to me tonight.” “You are either very brave or very stupid, friend.” “Can’t I be both?” Eckhart smiled and stepped aside. “Indeed. If your heart is set on this fool’s quest, I will interfere no longer. But blame me not when your doom befalls you.” “I hold you guiltless,” I said as I walked past him–sideways, just in case all his friendly talk was a ruse. But the Viking merely bowed his head as I passed, allowing me to enter the cave he not-so-carefully guarded. The cave walls were made of crystal, not stone, and glowed with soft blue light. Luminescent creatures, the size of dragon flies but distinctly humanoid, darted through the air on buzzing wings. One of them flew straight at me, stopping inches from my face, stared at me, shrugged, then flew away. Its–his–eyes were black orbs, and his mouth was filled with needle teeth. He wore a loin cloth made of leaves and moss, and his body was covered in mud tattoos.

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Fast-paced, almost frantic folk music came from deeper inside the cave, growing louder as I descended into the heart of the mountain. Eventually I reached the end of the corridor. I stopped, gathered the Aether around to reinforce my wards, and stepped out of the passageway. I emerged in an enormous cavern, a hundred feet high and easily two football fields in diameter, lit with the same eerie blue crystals. The music was almost deafening here, and the frenzied pace had only grown more hectic. A pool ran around the edge of the cavern, surrounding an island at the center, with a narrow walkway leading out over the waters. There, in the center of the cavern, Holda held court. She sat on a white throne, which may have been marble or could have been bone. She was still using Madeline’s body, and dressed in a flowing, semi-transparent gown. The fabric somehow only enhanced the raw sexuality emanating from her. The women of the Asatru were before her, dancing with men whose skin was the color of ash, whose hair was the color of linen, and whose ears were long and pointed. A great feast was laid out; giant kegs of ale sat amidst towering plates of fruit and cheese, and pigs and lambs turned on spits. FOur servants attended the Asatru, barefoot and naked from the waist up, dressed in flowing brown skirts. Their eyes had been cut out of their heads, and– “Holy shit,” I whispered. The witches were being attended by the rest of the Asatru, by the men Madeline and her cohorts had murdered in order to summon Holda. I don’t believe in the afterlife. The Mashiach told me too many lies for me to believe any promises about mansions and streets of gold. As fast as I know, the afterlife is just a myth, a story we tell to comfort the grieving and admonish the guilty. But our thoughts create ripples in the Aether, echoes, and under the right circumstances those echoes can take on a life of their own. That’s what most hauntings are: echoes of a particularly traumatic death reverberating in the atmosphere. Most echoes are just that: and endless, thoughtless loop. But sometimes a death is so terrible, or the echoes in the Aether so strong, that a person’s actual consciousness can manifests after a 190

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person’s death. That, apparently, was what Holda had done to her sacrifices. The Matron of Witches had bound their echoes, forcing them into an eternity of servitude. I pulled in one last measure of power, readying myself for the coming battle, and strode forward, prepared to bring the entire cavern down on Holda’s head if necessary. As I crossed the bridge I saw reflections flickering in the still waters, images of men being torn asunder in battle, burned alive in giant pyres, and harried by demons. A shiver ran down my spine. There was no doubt that this was the domain of the dead. The music stopped abruptly as I neared Holda’s throne. The Valkyries and Dark Elves turned to stare at me. Holda herself leaned back, threw one leg over the arm of her cathedra, and clapped. “The champion has joined us for dinner! Please, let my servants fix you a plate!” “I’m not here for pleasantries,” I said. I summoned blue flames that danced around my arms. “I’m here to kick your ass.” Holda rolled her eyes. “Oh, how droll.” My vision began to flicker as I walked. The food, so delicious and appealing, appeared rotten, then became enticing anew. The Valkyries shimmered and took on the form of demons with cat’s eyes and needle teeth, then became lovely again. And Holda herself appeared as a terrible hag, with cracked gray hair, wrinkled yellow skin, and tusks like the boar I had just defeated… but then the air around her wavered and she took on Madeline’s comely form once more. Holda’s entire court was wrapped in a glamour, shrouded in illusion. The terrible reality of Holda’s domain–and Holda herself– was hidden from anyone without the ability to see through the Aether. Holda gestured toward me lazily. “Kill him,” she said. The echoes of the Asatru turned their eyeless faces toward me, then marched forward in lockstep. I readied my magic. Feral rage overtook the ghosts’ faces as they approached, and they broke into a run, swarming over each other to get to me. Mini-Thor shoved his partners aside and reached me first. He locked his hands over his

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head and screamed, trying to crush my skull with a hammer-fist blow. I ducked to the side, channeled the Aether into a wrecking ball around my fist, and leapt into the air, doing my best to put my arm right through his face. I connected with his chin–he had corporeal form, but I’m not sure if Holda had jammed his echo back into his corpse or formed a body out of Aether–snapping his head back and launching him into the air. “Tiger uppercut!” I shouted. But my celebration was short lived. The men–all of them–tackled me from behind, crushing me to the ground. I fell near the edge of the bridge, my face close to the water. The spirits that lived in the water’s reflection freaking saw me and swarmed toward me like sharks drawn to chum. The water was thick with them, and the vague reflections were becoming more and more tangible by the second. I threw an elbow behind me, knocking aside one of the Asatru, then struggled to flip over. Once I Was on my back I grabbed Jersey Shore’s hair–he still had product in it, which either meant he was a reanimated corpse or Holda had a sick sense of humor–put my hand flat on his chest, and blasted a hole right through him. The corpse clawed at the air, trying to grab ahold of me, but the force of my spell threw him across the bridge and into the water. The creatures in the water thronged over him, shrieking, and tore him to pieces. “Okay,” I said as I pushed myself to my feet, “don’t touch the lava. Who’s next?” Mini-Thor had recovered from my assault and was charging at me like a bull with a bee in its ass. “Oh come on,” I said, “that was totally a finishing move!” I guess Mini-Thor wasn’t into video games, because he completely ignored my very valid complaint and tried to rip my head off my shoulders. We locked up like Olympic wrestlers, struggling to get a dominant position. I pirouetted, keeping him between me and the rest of the Asatru. I threw a knee into his ribs, which didn’t really seem to faze him, then dropped my weight backwards, pulling him into a roll. I ended up on top of him, a knee on his throat pinning him to the ground, and unleashed my fire. He shrieked and disappeared 192

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in a brilliant, blue-white flare, and when the magic subsided he was nothing but a charred skeleton. I stood up and kicked his remains to the water spirits. The last two ghosts attacked, one from the left and one from the right. I summoned Aether around me, creating a ward, but the corpses fought through the barrier and grabbed me, trying to tear me limb from limb. I grit my teeth, jerked my arms, and smashed the Asatru together. The impact didn’t even stun them, but it was enough to shake them off my arms. I grabbed Cyrano de Bergerac’s face like I was palming a basketball and threw a blast of light at him, taking his head off completely. The other corpse grabbed me again, but I whirled around, delivered a crushing blow to his skull, grabbed him by his belt, and smashed him into the bridge. The stone cracked and crumbled, and the corpse fell to the spirits in the water. I lifted my hands up like a prize fighter. “That’s right, bitches! Winner and still champion, the undefeated king of–” The bridge rumbled beneath my feet and started to collapse. “Ah, crap.” I turned and ran, heading toward Holda’s throne, the bridge caving in behind me. The water spirits thrashed and roiled, leaping up out of the water and grasping for my heels. I fired light as I ran, blasting them out of my way, and made it to Holda’s dais just as the bridge finished collapsing. The water spirits fumed just beneath the water’s surface. I brushed myself off and turned toward the Snow Queen, trying not to pay attention to just how transparent her gown was, or just how immodestly she sat on her throne. “What,” I asked, “Warren wasn’t good enough to reanimate?” Holda sat back and turned an imperious gaze on me. “Matthew Warren was an arrogant fool. And,” she made a funny face, like she was trying to remember an esoteric piece of trivia, “he was a three pump chump? What the hell does that mean?” She shook her head. “This girl is still flitting around in here. It’s kind of distracting. Anyway,” she arched her back, doing a passable impersonation of Madeline’s cat stretch, “that was quite impressive.” I cracked my knuckles, then my neck. “It was a good warm up, I guess. So, as the good guy I’m contractually obligated to offer you a

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deal. Leave this town, never return, yadda yadda yadda, and I’ll let you live. What do you say?” “I say,” she leaned forward, “that I want you to fight for me.” “Yeah, I thought you’d–what?” “You defeated my Einherjar with ease. Even my Valkyries,” she gestured toward the possessed girls, “would be hard pressed to claim your spirit. You would make a worthy champion for my cause. And,” the weird expression flickered over her face again, “you’ve got a cute ass.” “Um, thanks. But why in the nine Hells would I want to fight for you?” A Cheshire Cat grin spread over Holda’s face. “I’ve been alive for a long, long time, Caden. Many men have offered themselves to me. Many men have fallen on their knees before me, begging me to take their lives, pleading with me to have my way with them. I know a great deal about the needs of men, my love. And I know a great deal about you. The solitary warrior, homeless, friendless, alone in this cold world. I can give you your heart’s desire, Caden. Whatever you want. Power. Women. Wealth. The world will be yours, and all you have to do is bend your knee to me.” “Huh,” I muttered. “So when did you start begging for help?” “Watch your tongue, mortal,” Sandra–or whatever was controlling Sandra–spat. Holda extended a hand. “It’s all right, Sister.” She turned back toward me. “I was an object of worship once, Caden. These girls were the first to recall my majesty, and their sacrifice has given me access to your world, but I am still limited. This body,” she stretched, going through a series of terrifyingly captivating contortions, “is so limiting. Soon I will regain my power, but until then a champion would serve me well. And even after I am made fully manifest, well, sometimes it’s just fun to watch a strong man fight, you know what I mean?” I frowned at her. “Hey, I like pro wrestling as much as the next guy, but aren’t you kind of the no dicks at the chick party type?”

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Holda smiled at me. “I don’t hate men, Caden. I hate lazy, ignorant, boorish men. Men who run off to play while their women stay at home to toil. Men who promise their fidelity but philander with the first milk maid who glances their way. Men like my husband.” “Well I’m all about–wait, your Husband?” Holda’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I was the mother of the Vanir, the gods before the gods. The Aesir attacked, led by Wotan and his sons. The fields ran thick with the blood of my children. Most of my people died that day, Caden, and the rest of us were taken captive. I am not merely Wotan’s wife. I am his prisoner.” Well damn. Everything about this was confusing. The fact that I kept seeing Wotan and meeting Holda was the thing that really threw me, but it was possible that Holda’s energy was similar enough to Wotan’s that I saw the Asatru’s intentions rather than their deeds. But this, this was just incredible. The old gods, before people got on their one perfect deity kick, were flawed, petty and cruel, but this … “Jesus, this is like Jerry Springer or something.” “Who is this … Springing Jerry?” Holda asked. “Never mind. Look, I’m sorry that your kids are dead and your husband’s a dick, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to help you destroy Mirrormont.” “Oh Caden. You are such a true warrior. Destruction is the only end your mind can entertain, isn’t it? I don’t want to raze this city. I only wish to collect believers, to regain my power and my glory.” “And then destroy the city.” Holda sighed. “Should they reject me, of course they would be punished, but that can hardly be laid at my feet, can it? But Wotan’s destruction is my true aim. I will bring him forth, drag him from his throne and throw him into the dirt of this mortal land, and then, when he is weakened by his mortal shell, I shall destroy him. We shall destroy him, you and I, together.” The words hung in the air. The Valkyries smirked. Sandra grabbed an apple from the banquet table and started munching happily. A maggot crawled out of her mouth and fell to the ground. Sandra didn’t notice. 195

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“Our goals aren’t so different, Caden. Your visions–yes, I know about your visions–brought you to this place so that you could fell the Lord of the Hunt, no? Imagine how much easier that would be with my aide. And imagine,” she moved in her seat, the translucent fabric shifting alluringly over her skin, “the rewards.” I let out a long, slow breath. “You’re right. It would be easier to take on Wotan with your help. Here’s the thing, though. We made you, Holda. The Vanir, the Aesir, Mithra, Zeus, Jesus, all of you. We thought you up and gave you life, and you’ve kept us prisoner ever since. You don’t want followers. You don’t want worshipers. You want slaves. Batteries. Men and women fueling your magic with their faith and their sacrifices and their zombie boyfriends. No thanks, Holda. I didn’t kiss one god goodbye just to sign up with another.” Holda leaned back and threw her legs over the arm of her throne, ankles crossed. “A pity,” she said. “I had hoped you would be reasonable. Perhaps you will reconsider, once Wotan’s horde rides through the night.” I prepared to fight, but Holda merely waved her hand. Snow that came from nowhere swirled around me, blinding me, and when it was gone I stood back in the clearing that served as the entrance to Holda’s Otherworld.

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December 24th

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Chapter Seventeen “And then she just threw you out?” Miranda asked. She was sitting cross-legged on the ground, wrapped in her puffy ski jacket and a long-eared knit hat. We met at the Asatru’s old ritual site, because it was conveniently located and conducive to magic. “Yeah. She expelled me from her domain with a wave of her hand.” Miranda shifted, trying to get comfortable. “Guess she doesn’t like being turned down.” “Gods generally don’t. Ready?” Miranda furrowed her brow. “I think so.” She looked around, even though there was nothing to be seen. “Yeah, do it.” I opened my senses, revealing a curtain of blue flame separating me from Miranda. “Okay, here it comes.” I opened my hand, palm facing her, and threw a blast of light her way. She flinched, but the ward flared to life, stopping my attack dead in its tracks and shattering it into a thousand shards of crystal. Her spell, I noted, behaved differently than mine. My wards manifested almost like super thick air, slowing and dissipating attacks. Miranda’s were more aggressive. 200

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Miranda jumped to her feet. “Holy crap! It worked!” I laughed. “I wouldn’t have tried to blow you up if I wasn’t sure you could stop me.” “How gentlemanly of you. Come on,” she held up her fists like a bare-knuckle boxer, “hit me again.” I shrugged. “All right.” I opened my palm again, sending another blast of light her way. The ward burst into visibility once more, sending my magic ricocheting into the sky. I hoped no one called the fire department. “So what do you think her plan is?” Miranda asked. I tossed another spell her way, this time from my left hand. “Well, she’s not at full power yet, so that’s probably her first goal.” Miranda deflected the attack. “And what does she have to do to get to full power? Is there some ritual she has to perform, or some trial she has to endure?” “I don’t think so.” I threw light from both hands, but Miranda’s wards withstood them easily. She had a real, natural talent. “Stuff like that is usually reserved for the Saints, for people the gods are thinking about anointing with their power. The gods themselves,” I threw another attack at Miranda’s shield, this one a bit stronger, “just need people to believe in them.” Miranda took off her hat and stuffed it in her coat pocket. “So what, like Tinkerbell? If everyone believes in faeries and claps their hands, Holda can take over the world?” I thought about that for a moment. “Well, yeah, kind of. The gods only have as much power as we give them. The Asatru’s ritual brought her back because they believed it would. Their faith channeled power to her through the Aether. But they’re only ten people. Well, four, now that the men are dead and Madeline is a meat suit.” “Gross.” “Yeah. Anyway, Holda is used to being worshiped by hundreds, thousands of people. To do any real damage, she’s going to have to get more people to believe in her.” 201

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“What, she’s going to send people door to door or something? Holda’s Witnesses?” “Heh. No, nothing like that.” I examined Miranda’s ward, and discovered a flaw in the spell she had constructed. “Hey, your shield. It protects you, but what would happen if I attacked it instead?” Miranda’s face clouded with doubt. “I really don’t know.” I grinned at her. “That’s a problem. In magic, if you don’t know what’s going to happen, the answer is either ‘nothing’ or ‘the worst possible thing, except a little more horrible.’” I threw magic her way, but instead of trying to hit her, I attacked the spell protecting her. Miranda’s ward burned a brilliant, sparking blue, then shattered. “Crap,” Miranda muttered. “Okay, how do I fix that?” I thought for a moment. “Okay, it felt like the ward was designed to protect you, like you cast it in order to make yourself feel strong. Cast it again, but this time focus on how strong the ward is, not just the girl inside the barrier.” Miranda scrunched up her face and sat back down. “Okay.” She closed her eyes and touched the ring of salt surrounding her. Blue energy ran across its surface, and I felt the Aether condense into a shell around her. “Try me.” I threw magic at her ward, the same spell I had used to shatter it a moment ago. The ward exploded into a towering, sapphire inferno, reaching fifteen, maybe twenty feet into the sky. My spell wasn’t just stopped, it was consumed, like Miranda’s ward had simply burned it up. “Well damn,” I said. Miranda opened her eyes. “Did it work?” I laughed. “Um, yeah, you could say that it worked. You’re sure you’ve never done this before?” She grinned. “I’ve always been a fast learner. So what’s next? Can you teach me to throw fireballs now?” “One thing at a time. I want to make sure you’re able to defend yourself before we worry about being able to blow stuff up with your brain.” 202

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“You’re no fun.” “Neither are third degree burns or city-wide devastation.” She stuck her tongue out at me. “So back to Holda. How does she plan to get people to believe in her? I mean, people don’t want to talk about religion in the first place, and when you start going off about Odin’s trophy bride–” “Wotan, no Odin. The difference is important. Wotan was more of a regional god. Odin is his bigger, angrier cousin. Odin would be a damn sight harder to deal with that Wotan.” “Okay, but still, people aren’t exactly going to line up to worship the German Goddess of Winter and Sewing.” I tossed another spell her way. A small bead of sweat formed on Miranda’s brow, but she was able to keep the ward stable. “She doesn’t need worshipers,” I said. “It would be nice, but she only really needs people to believe. And for that, fear is just as good as love.” “So she’s going to sneak up behind people and yell ‘boo?’” “No, she’s probably going to–” I was cut off by the thundering sound of an explosion. The whump of it shook the leaves over our heads. I swore and Miranda cursed, and we ran out of the forest, back towards the bed and breakfast. When we reached the road, we could see a pillar of black smoke rising into the air, roughly in the direction of Downtown Mirrormont. “You were saying?” Miranda asked. I stared at the dark plume. “If anything happens, if anything goes wrong, get back inside the clearing and set up a ward. I’ve prepared spells there to deal with Holda and Wotan.” “Got it,” Miranda said. “So … should we go see what blew up?” I threw my keys to her. “Drive. I need to get ready.” Miranda tried to hide her excitement, but a grin threatened to break out on her face. She was still new to this, still thought of this as an adventure, not a life-and-death battle.

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The Jeep’s engine growled as we raced down Mirrormont’s suburban streets. Virtually every lawn was covered with people who had left their homes to stare at the cloud of smoke, and a host of cars had pulled over, too. A couple of people even had their cell phones out, taking pictures. A blaring siren screamed behind us, accompanied by flashing emergency lights. Miranda pulled over to let the five–no, six–fire engines rush by. “Follow them,” I said. Miranda was holding the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white. “What do you think happened?” My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. I unlocked it and read the message. “Well, the local news says it’s a gas main explosion.” “And what do you think really happened?” “I think Holda is throwing a coming out party. Other than that, we’ll see what’s going on when we get there.” A cop waved the fire engines past a barricade, then scowled at us and gestured for us to pull off the road. We ditched the Jeep in front of a convenience store. I practically dove out the door. Miranda hit the ground running and followed me as I took off down the sidewalk, parallel to the police line. “How are we going to get through?” she asked. “They don’t have enough men to create a real perimeter. They’re going to be too busy dealing with whatever Holda did to worry too much about us. We’ll–there.” I ran onto someone’s lawn and hopped their fence. I turned to offer Miranda a hand, but she scrambled over without even slowing down. We cut through the back yard and hopped the hedges, emerging on the other side of the police line. “Oh my God,” Miranda whispered. The sign for First Presbyterian church was a wreck. The glass was broken, several of the stick-on letters had been knocked free, and flames licked at the moulding. But compared to the church itself, the sign got off easy. The church was gone, nothing but a smoking crater. A handful of cars sat in its parking lot. The heat from the blast had melted the pavement, and the wheels were sunk three inches into

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the ground. Across the street, a synagogue had been similarly reduced to rubble. Emergency trucks poured water onto the fires, and white steam mixed with the black smoke. Further down the road, the police had created a second cordon around Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic Church. The cops had parked their cars so the sides faced the building, offering them covered positions from which to aim their shotguns, rifles, and revolvers. I walked toward the church’s front doors. Miranda hesitated, then followed a few steps behind me. I intended to walk right past the police, but I stopped when a voice called out, “Miranda DuBois, what in the Sam Hill are doing here?” I turned around. A cop, about fifty years old with bright white hair, woolly eyebrows, and walrus mustache, was glaring at Miranda. “I, uh,” she said. “She’s with me,” I said. The cop wheeled on me. “And who the hell are you?” His name badge said “Skerrit,” and his jacked was embroidered with the word “Sheriff.” The door to the church burst open before I could answer. Sandra, dressed in gossamer white and missing her Goth eyeliner, strode out, dragging a terrified woman in a choir robe behind her. The police tightened up on their weapons, training them at the witch. Sandra just gave them an acidic smile. Sheriff Skerrit grabbed a bull horn and leaned across the top of his car. “All right, little lady, why don’t you let her go, and then we can talk demands.” “Demands?” Sandra asked. “What do you have that I could possibly want?” Skerrit looked at the cop standing next to him. “The hell?” He turned back toward Sandra. “Um, maybe you aren’t clear on how this works, little lady, but when someone takes hostages, it’s customary to issue demands, and then the cops negotiate, and then you release the hostages, and then everybody goes home.”

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Sandra looked at him with wide yes. “Oh, I’m so sorry, but you’re completely mistaken. These people aren’t our hostages.” “Oh shit,” I said and started forward again. Skerrit grabbed my coat sleeve, and I yanked hard to get away from him. “Then why don’t you just let them go, little lady?” Skerrit said through his bullhorn. “They’re our sacrifices,” Sandra finished. She grabbed the choir singer by the robe and lifted her into the air with one hand, then drew a gleaming golden knife from her belt. “No!” the Sheriff and I shouted simultaneously. I pushed past the cops and gathered my magic, but I was too late. Sandra rammed the dagger into the woman’s gut, spilling blood and entrails on the church steps. Sandra hoisted the dead singer overhead and hurled her toward the police line. The corpse landed in the road a few feet in front of us. The cops opened fire, sending a hailstorm of bullets flying toward the witch. Sandra laughed and waved her hand. The air swirled around her and the bullets arced away, slamming into the ground and walls. She walked forward, unconcerned, weaving a spell with her fingers. The sound and stink of gunfire were overwhelming. And useless. Sandra wasn’t even nervous. She pointed at the Sheriff’s car and it started to shake. Skerrit jumped back, eyes wide. The car leapt into the air, spun once, and then rocketed toward the police line. The cops screamed. Some of the more enterprising deputies opened fire on the vehicle. I ran forward, gathering magic around my fist, and got right under the car. Somewhere in the back of my head I recognized Miranda screaming my name, but I didn’t have time to acknowledge her. The car plummeted toward us, two thousand pounds of blunt force. I planted my feet and punched it. Magic flared, swirling around my hand and exploding into shining blue-white force. The car crumpled. Steam exploded from the radiator. The windows shattered and glittering crystal cascaded down around me. It hung in midair for a moment, then crashed to the ground. The tumult echoed off the nearby buildings. 206

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Everyone stared at me, even Sandra. The witch broke into a slow clap. “Well done, Champion. You’re going to make Holda proud.” “I’m going to make Holda dead. Or at least non-corporeal. I’m not sure exactly how that works. Anyway,” I threw a blast of light toward her. Sandra shrieked as the light simultaneously threw her away and burned her. She tumbled along the ground, her dress tearing on the asphalt. When she came back to her feet, the air shimmered around her, revealing the image of the Valkyrie that was fueling her power. The cops looked at each other, and about half of them turned their weapons on me. “Really, guys?” I asked, then waved my hand at them. Magic force rippled through the air, knocking the guns from their grasp. Sandra let out a banshee’s bellow. Her black death cloud gathered around her, and inky black tendrils reached out toward us, writhing and slapping the ground hard enough to crack the asphalt. “Get back!” I shouted and threw up a fast ward. The barrier I created was convex, wrapping away from me and the cops and around Sandra, hemming her in. Black smoke piled up in front of us, blocking Sandra from view. One of the cops opened fire, but his bullets smacked against my ward. The air rippled, and the bullet fell to the asphalt. The cops stared with wide eyes and open mouths. Some of them made little motions toward their sidearms. That wasn’t good. Nervous people and guns are a bad combination, and it’s even worse when you throw magic into the mix. I threw more energy into the ward, enclosing Sandra entirely. When the circle closed, blue fire raced around its perimeter. The stygian fog roiled inside, becoming thicker and more violent. Sweat broke out on my brow. The Sheriff held his shotgun by the pump and jerked in up and down, loading another shell. “We got ’er now boys!” The cops let out with a rallying cry and opened fire, emptying their weapons at the black mist. Again the air rippled as the missiles assaulted my ward. Sparks flew where the bullets hit the blue fire. The bullets didn’t get anywhere

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near Sandra, but each impact took a little more of my energy, and a pin prick of pain started to form between my eyes. I wasn’t hurt, at least not badly, but I was distracted–distracted enough to let Sandra’s death cloud break through my ward. Hurricane force winds assailed us as the obsidian smog escaped its prison. One tendril smashed into me like a wrecking ball. I slammed into a cop car hard enough to push it back three feet. A tentacle lashed out, grabbing a cop standing next to me. He fired his gun wildly into the air, but the evil vapor was unconcerned. It wrapped around him, crushing the air from his lungs. His skin went white, the blood vessels in his eyes burst, and black veins appeared on his skin. The tentacle pulled him off his feet and sucked him into the swirling black cloud. More appendages whipped toward us, grabbing anyone in their path. Inside the heart of the storm I could hear men screaming and Sandra laughing. And then one of the tendrils grabbed for Miranda. Miranda stared at it, a deer caught in headlights. I screamed her name. Her head whipped toward me, then back toward the grasping cloud. She closed her eyes. The tendril slammed into her. And blue fire erupted all around her. The tendril sizzled and burned, repelled by Miranda’s ward. More black smoke piled up around her, trying to crash through the magical barrier through main force, but Miranda stood quietly, calmly in the midst of the maelstrom, eyes closed, focused, bending the Aether to her will. She hadn’t even cast a salt Circle. I got back to me feet and brushed pieces of cop car off my jacket, then summoned my own store of Aether. I had to tailor the spell carefully, which isn’t my strong point, but there were innocent people in the heart of the black cloud and my usual smash and grab style would kill them. Instead of physical force, I wove a spell that canceled out the Aether Sandra employed against us. I opened my hand and light cut through the air. Through the air and through the fog. The dark tendrils shrieked as my spell tore them asunder. The black smoke quickly dissipated as 208

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Sandra’s control over it shattered. The swirling cloud around Sandra herself lashed and roiled, trying to repair the damage my spell was causing, but the darkness was unable to overcome the light. The cloud of death evaporated, leaving a pile of cops gasping on the ground and Sandra standing in the middle of the street, exposed. Now it was time for physical force. I sent another lance of brilliant light, diamonds tinges with sapphires, streaking toward Sandra. It struck her in the stomach and just kept going, passing through her like a hot knife through an evil Norse witch’s butter. Sandra looked down at herself and mouthed the word, “Oh.” You could see right through her. My spell hand punched a neat hole through her belly, leaving a cauterized wound. Sandra just stood there. “You fall down now,” I said. She did, collapsing into a heap on the pavement. Green energy flared around her body and the Valkyrie rose up from her corpse, shrieking. The cops slammed their hands over their ears and turned away from the hideous creature. It spread its arms and raked the air with its claws, then rushed toward me. Another blast of light rent it into scraps of Aether. I put a gentle hand on Miranda’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” She grinned, her emerald eyes sparkling. “I did good, didn’t I?” “Honestly? That was kind of incredible. Especially for, what, twenty minute’s practice?” “Thanks, I–holy shit! Did you do that?” I glanced over my shoulder. Sandra’s corpse was still smoldering. “Yeah. She made me angry.” “Note to self.” Miranda looked at the cops, still gagging on the pavement. “Are they going to be all right?” The cops didn’t look happy, but they didn’t seem like they were in immediate danger, either. Their color was returning, and the black veins had disappeared from their skin. “I think so? Why don’t you see if you can do anything for them. And get on one of their radios, tell them to get some paramedics down here.” 209

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Miranda nodded. “Where are you going?” I turned toward the church. “I’m going to go kill Holda.”

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Chapter Eighteen The church wasn’t warded. That either meant Holda didn’t expect me to show up, that she didn’t consider me a threat, or that she actually wanted me there. That last option was the real worry. I don’t need my ego stroked, and being underestimated is one of the things that’s kept me alive this long. But Holda had designs on me–and my magic–and I wasn’t eager to see how she planned to hook me. I heaved the heavy wooden door open. The hinges hadn’t been oiled in a decade and the door groaned, ruining any chance I had at surprise. Of course the light show outside had probably done that already. I stepped into the vestibule, a tiny area lit only by the sunlight streaming through stained glass windows. The whole place smelled like incense. Catholic churches always freaked me out. Churches always creeped my out, but I was raised Protestant, and all the pomp and circumstance in the Roman church bothered me on a cultural level. The vestibule was empty and separated from the rest of the church by a set of frosted glass doors. I could hear someone weeping softly on the other side. I closed my eyes and reached out with my senses. Holda lit up my mind like a bonfire, a brilliant and terrible psychic manifestation. Her presence was so overwhelming that I could barely 212

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feel the Valkyries surrounding her, and their human captives were like fireflies at high noon, lost beside the blinding light. I gathered the Aether around me, reinforcing my wards, then threw my hands toward the doors, letting loose a blast of blue-white fire. The doors shattered, along with the frames that held them, and a good portion of the wall, too. I ran through the newly-created opening and cut to the left, taking stock of the room as I moved. The choir, who must have been rehearsing for Christmas mass, were huddled in front of the altar. Most of them were crying, and a couple of them had that million-mile post-traumatic-stress stare. The three witches stood guard over them, Strawberry Shortcake and the Italian Princess on either side of the altar and Swedish Bikini at the end of the center aisle. Holda held court over them all. She had dragged the priest’s big ass chair to the center of the dais and sat, once again, with her legs dangling over the armrest, her bare feet kicking in the air. The tabernacle, the big gold case that holds all the magic crackers, had been torn open, its contents scattered on the floor. The altar itself had been swept clean. A naked man was laid out on top of it, his head toward the pews, his mouth and eyes wide open, screaming silently. His chest had been ripped open and his ribs pointed toward the sky like a macabre candelabra. His heart and lungs and been torn out and piled on a golden censer, smoking in front of the altar. The people inside–the human people–screamed and dove for cover as I burst into the room. The witches, spurred on by the spirits of the Valkyries, issued a shrieking war cry. The air filled with an electric charge as the witches summoned their own magic to attack me. Two jets of emerald fire sizzled past me, one missing my right shoulder by two feet and the other clearing my head by inches. The fire blasted holes in the floor and banister behind me. I counterattacked as I ran, light blazing from my hand and smashing Swedish Bikini girl into the back wall. Jade fire danced around the Strawberry Shortcake’s hands and Italian Princess grabbed a flagpole like a spear. I threw up a ward as the spear arced toward me, deflecting it, and smothered the flame with my own magic. Twin blasts of light lanced through the air, striking both of them in the chest, hurling them aside.

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Swedish Bikini picked up a row of pews and threw it at me. These things were fifteen, twenty feet long and made of heavy, solid wood, but she handled them as if they were weightless. The benches crashed into me, clipping my shoulder and hip. My armor threw up blue sparks, blunting the impact, but the weight crushed me to the ground. The witches fell upon me, moving with supernatural speed and striking with preternatural strength. Strawberry Shortcake got to me first, pinning me to the ground with her knee and throwing elbow after elbow into my face. Princess came next, and started throwing a flurry of punches into my ribs. Swedish Bikini followed an instant later, kicking my skull like she was taking the game winning shot in the World Cup. Under the Valkyries’ influence, the witches were insanely powerful. Madeline had stopped a truck dead with her shoulder, but she was channeling the magic of an actual goddess. Her compatriots weren’t quite as powerful, so instead of being assaulted by one tyrannosaurus, it was more like getting beat up by three velociraptors. Always look on the bright side. It occurred to me that I was spending an awful lot of my life getting my ass kicked by girls. It also occurred to me that these girls had killed two people since lunchtime, and were almost certainly planning to kill a whole lot more. And that just made me kind of angry. Anger isn’t a bad thing, not always. Anger can spur you to correct an injustice. Anger can give a mother the strength to save a child in danger. And if you weave magic, anger can fuel some damn powerful spells. So I took that anger, the anger at being assaulted, the anger at innocent lives lost, the anger at the shit storm I’d brought into the DuBois’ life, formed it into a tiny, solid little ball, fed my willpower into it, and channeled the Aether through it. The result was something akin to a miniature, indoor sun. The Aether pulsed and writhed around me, the very fabric of reality twisting from the sheer force of my outrage. White-hot magic swirled around me, lighting the carpet aflame and searing the 214

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witches’ robes and scorching their flesh. The spirits of the Valkyries blocked out the pain, and the witches continued their assault. More the pity for them. My anger became a physical thing and rushed out from within me. The witches screamed and the flesh evaporated from their bones, their cries dying out as their lungs turned to smoke. The pews around us became ash, the floors burned down to bare stone. The spell tore up into the air, blasting a hole through the church’s vaulted ceiling. The air rushed away from me with gale force. Stained glass windows shattered. I stood up, spat blood, and glared at Holda. The only remnant of her witches was a pile of blackened bones at my feet. Holda’s mouth fell open. “Well shit.” Fire spread around us, from the carpet, the pews, the rafters. My armor crackled and sparked. I stalked forward, hands balled into fists. Holda slid causally out of her chair and cracked her knuckles. She gave me that Cheshire Cat grin as I came forward, and leapt towards me when I was still a dozen feet away. She cut through the air like a missile, her fist coming at me like a wrecking ball. I caught the blow on my arm–and my armor–but the impact was still stunning. I dropped back a step, trying to regroup, but Holda pressed forward, throwing a flurry of punches. She was as good as you’d expect a Viking god to be. Her attacks were all short, controlled. No wild swings, no overreaching, no openings in which to counter. Just an unending barrage of nuclear bombs and manicured fingernails. But physical power isn’t my only asset. I blocked one blow, a left hook aimed at my jaw, and feinted a punch to Holda’s bread basket. She bought it, flinching back ever so slightly. I summoned the Aether and hit her with a telekinetic blast, adding my energy to her momentum, snaring her feet and sending her tumbling ass over tea kettle. The fire spread, casting the church in a hellish glow. The choir huddled against the back of the dais, as far from the flames–and Holda and me–as possible. Holda came up in a crouch, grabbed her throne with one hand, and whipped it at me. I slammed my fist into it. Magic erupted and the chair shattered into kindling. I threw a blast of light at her, a blast as 215

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strong as the one that had taken out Sandra, but it barely staggered Holda. I closed on her again, gathering the Aether around my fist, and threw a wrecking ball of a punch at her head. She caught my fist in one hand and squeezed hard enough to make my bones creak–and my ward flash and flare–then drove her heel into my solar plexus. The blow lifted me off my feet and sent me flying into the burning pews. The church shook when I hit the ground. A burning timber ripped lose and plummeted toward me. I threw up a dome-shaped ward. The burning rafter crashed down, breaking in two, and scattered burning embers across the ward. The choir members screamed. Holda pushed her victim off the altar and hoisted it into the air. The altar wasn’t just a table, it was a freaking enormous table, carved out of marble or granite or something, and it probably weighed in at five hundred pounds. She tromped over to me with the altar held high overhead, then hurled it down. My ward rippled, stopping the weight inches from my head, but pain exploded between my eyes. My armor still protected me from the flames, but I’d been throwing around a lot of power in the last few minutes and I was reaching the end of my reserves. A door at the back of the church opened and Miranda ran into the burning building. She took a moment to orient herself, then hurried over to the choir. “Come on!” she said, grabbing the closest guy by the arm and dragging him toward the door. Holda’s head whipped around, and she stared at Miranda with pure venom. “I’m not done with those yet,” she hissed. I fired a blast of light up from the floor, drilling it into the back of Holda’s skull. Her chin bounced off her chest and she tumbled to the ground. “Yes you are,” I muttered, and hit her with another blast of light. She was rattled, her confidence dented if not broken, and she crawled away from me. I sensed weakness and a predatory sense took over me. I closed in on her, magic swirling around me, hate boiling within me. I grabbed her by the hair and yanked her up to her knees, ready to finished her. Holda drove an elbow back into my gut. The bitch had been playing possum. The air exploded out of my lungs and I staggered 216

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backwards, gagging. Holda stood up, grinning like a cat with a canary, and summoned green flames. “It’s a shame,” she said. “You would have been a good champion. And you would have looked great in the uniform.” I held out my hands, surrendering. “Wait.” Holda cocked her head to the side. “Really? Pleading for your life? Huh. I might have been wrong about that champion thi–” I closed my fist and yanked my arm back. The Aether responded to my call. Telekinetic force rushed through the air, making it ripple like a mirage. The force snared one of the burning rafters and ripped it free. My mind guided it as it crashed to the ground, and it landed right on top of Holda’s head. She was flattened and pinned beneath the burning wood. She tried to push the rafter off, but I hit her with another blast of light. Holda’s arms fell limp. She looked up at me, glaring hard enough to turn a man to stone. Which is a power I’m really glad she didn’t have, by the way. “This isn’t over,” she said. “I am going to–” “Yeah yeah yeah, if I strike you down you will become more powerful than I can ever imagine. I get it.” I grabbed her head in both hands. “You ever notice how Obi Wan never did a damn thing after he turned into a blue ghost? More powerful my ass.” With a sharp twist, my physical strength supplemented by the Aether, I snapped Holda’s neck.

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Chapter Nineteen I picked my way out through the rubble, emerging into the blissfully cool, wonderfully soot-free winter air. The choir were being attended to by EMTs, and the Sheriff was wandering around, trying to figure out some official action to perform. Miranda was sitting on a cop car’s bumper, nursing a mug of coffee. “Good job in there,” I said. “You saved a lot of lives.” She smiled up at me. Her face was streaked with ash. “All in a day’s work. So will you teach me to light things on fire with my brain now?” Behind me, the church rumbled. I turned around just in time to see it shudder and collapse. A plume of dust twenty feet high rushed out and rolled over us. When it cleared, I looked back at Miranda and said, “yeah, no, I really don’t think I’m going to be teaching you how to do that.” “Lame,” Miranda muttered. The Sheriff stormed over, his face red. “What in the hell did you do in there?” “I saved,” I counted off on my fingers quickly, “two dozen people?” 218

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“I helped,” Miranda said. “Quite right. So maybe give us each credit for half of them?” “Sounds fair.” The Sheriff looked at us in bewilderment. “I … I have to file a report on this. Three goddamn buildings just blew up in my town! What am I supposed to say happened here?” “You could try telling them the truth,” I said. “You could tell them that a local community college professor started a group of Norse religious fanatics who tried to summon their god, but ended up summoning their goddess instead, and she killed most of them, possessed the rest, and then took a bunch of hostages so that people would believe in her again.” “Or,” Miranda interjected, “you could tell them that there was a gas leak that drove a bunch of people nuts, and ended up setting fire to three of our churches.” The Sheriff mulled that over for a moment. “That’s gonna be a lot easier to sell than a community college cult.” Miranda smiled at him. “Glad to be of assistance. Caden? Do you want to get out of here?” I started back in the general direction of the Jeep. “I really do. Epic struggles against once-upon-a-time deities always make me hungry.” Miranda held up my keys. “Do you still want me to drive?” “Yeah. I’m kind of a dead man walking right now. I was pretty close to the end of my rope in there. It’s a good thing you came in when you did. I don’t know that I could have gotten those people out in time.” Miranda preened a little bit, but nothing obnoxious. “So what happens now?” I leaned back and closed my eyes. “Now? Now I have some cleaning up to do.” “What do you mean?”

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I shrugged. “In the movies, once the bad guy’s dead everything just sort of ends. Music swells, credits start, fade to black. But I don’t want to just walk away from Mirrormont.” Miranda was quiet for a moment. “Why not?” “Well, the biggest reason is that I kind of drove a train right through your lives. Look, I’m not really good at the whole ‘being around people’ thing, but the least I can do is help you put your house back together. Or at least get someone to do it for you.” “You don’t have to do that.” “Yeah, I kind of do. Just who I am. Besides, being a Saint is profitable. I can sell good luck charms to bored rich people for ten grand a pop. I’m doing all right for myself.” “What kind of charms?” “Nothing too powerful. Portable wards, mostly. Keep the bogeyman away, that kind of thing.” “Oh.” We drove for another couple of blocks in silence, then Miranda asked, “So is there anything else keeping you in Mirrormont?” “Of course.” “Like what?” “Well, I want to drop by the hospital later tonight, make sure none of Holda’s hostages are actually demons in disguise. I should probably do something about that ritual site by your house, too. I don’t want some Dungeons and Dragons club to stumble on it and unleash Ragnarok.” “Right.” Miranda’s voice was barely a whisper. I opened my eyes and turned toward her. She had both hands on the wheel and was staring straight ahead, blinking rapidly. “What’s wrong?” She shook her head. “Nothing.” Damn it. I had no idea what I did to upset her, or how to fix it, but even I could tell that Miranda was on the verge of tears. “Miranda?” 220

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She looked at me, emerald eyes glistening. “Take me with you.” “I, what?” “Take me with you. When you leave, when you get in your Jeep and drive off to your next big adventure, I want you to take me with you.” I was quiet for a very long time, and when I spoke it was as gently as possible. “I don’t have a home, Miranda. I live out of a duffel bag, in motels. I don’t have friends, or even a family anymore.” “I know.” “And I spend most of my life waiting for the next unholy abomination to try and kill me. I see people at their worst, all the time. Everyone around me is in danger, miserable, afraid. My life isn’t exciting, Miranda. It’s terrifying. And lonely.” “It would be less lonely if you shared it with someone, wouldn’t it?” “I did share it with someone. I still have her ring around my neck.” Miranda’s lip quivered, almost imperceptibly. “I spend my life making pancakes and hoping we sell enough of them to pay our heating bill. I, I get so angry when someone calls me a waitress, or a maid, but damn it Caden, that’s what I am. I’m a stupid waitress and I live at home and I just can’t … this isn’t how I wanted my life to turn out.” And here’s where I wish I could actually see the future. Some guy decides summoning Dread C’Thulhu is a swell idea, that I’ll see. Some jackass decides to sacrifice his neighbors to Gozer the Gozerian, that wakes me up screaming. But everything else, the important stuff, that’s as opaque to me as it is to everyone else. Miranda was smart, capable, and beautiful, and I was going to miss her when I left Mirrormont. But she was also young, inexperienced, and vulnerable, and I wasn’t going to put her in danger. My “gifts” had already killed enough women. “Your life hasn’t turned out yet, Miranda. God, you’re what, twentytwo?” “And you’re world-weary and wise? You’re like three years older than me.” 221

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“The point is, you still have time. You still have options. You could go back to school, get your MD, save lives–” “You sound like a guy at a jobs fair. Maybe I don’t want my MD. Maybe I want to save the world. Like you do.” I sunk down in the car seat, suddenly exhausted. “I didn’t choose this, Miranda. No one in their right mind would choose this.” “So you’re saying I’m crazy?” “I’m saying you don’t know what you’re asking. I’m saying if you come with me you could end up dead. Or worse.” “Your right,” she said, her eyes staring steadily ahead. “It’s way better to live a boring old life and die a boring old death than to die doing something important or, God forbid, exciting.” “Miranda, I–” “Don’t.” Her voice was brittle. “Please don’t.” We drove in silence. Fortunately, at least from a social awkwardness point of view, the bed and breakfast was only a few minutes away. Miranda parked by the kitchen door and went inside without saying a word. Ethel was in the kitchen, sweeping. She didn’t look up at me. I paused by the door. “I’m … I know this doesn’t mean much, but I’m going to have this place fixed up.” Her mouth twitched, taking on a shape that was neither smile nor grimace, but a mixture of the two. “Thank you.” “I’m leaving tonight,” I said. “You probably aren’t interested in the details, but the creature that brought me here is dead, so …” “So my Granddaughter is safe?” “As safe as anyone else.” Ethel sighed, and lifted her shoulders, like she was suddenly free of a thousand-pound weight. “That’s good. I, I was afraid for her.” “So was I.” “Caden?” 222

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“Yeah?” “Is this my fault?” I scrunched up my face. “What do you mean?” “Did I do something? Did I make God angry? Did I bring these monsters here?” That wasn’t an unusual question. People want the world to make sense. They want good things to happen to good people, and they want bad people to get what’s coming to them. When disaster strikes, when everything goes all wooly, people want there to be a reason for it. They don’t like the idea that sometimes, shit just happens. “No,” I said. “You didn’t make this happen. I know it sounds stupid, but you guys really were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Ethel nodded. “All right. Thank you, Caden.” Ethel went back to sweeping. I went to my room and started packing my bags. It didn’t take very long. I travel light. Aside from my clothes–I was going to have to stop at a Laundromat soon–and my laptop, the only physical things I had were the artifacts I had taken from the Asatru and my own books on Norse religion and mythology. Those I wrapped in protective covers–some of them were literally ancient relics–then opened my laptop and started looking around for cleaning crews and home decor experts. Miranda knocked on my door about half an hour later. “Caden?” I closed my laptop and turned around. “What’s up?” “So I’ve been thinking. About the whole running off to join the monster fighting circus thing. And you’re right, it would be dangerous, and I’m not ready to do the kinds of things you do. But were you any more qualified when that Richard Vines guy started teaching you?” “Well, no, but like I said, I didn’t choose–” “Which is another thing. You said yourself that I have natural talent. I didn’t choose to have that, either, but I do. I learned how to protect myself from that death cloud thing in like one day. Just think what I could do if I practiced for a month. Or for a year.” 223

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I looked down at the floor. Everything she said was true, and worse, it was what I wanted to hear. I wanted to put her in the Jeep and drive away with her. Not in some stupid big-strong-man-saving-thepretty-little-lady-from-her-life-of-drudgery way, but in a lonely, I’d like to have someone to talk to way. Miranda took a few steps inside the room. “So I could be like your apprentice. You could teach me magic, and I could save you from the scourge of truckstop meals. It’d be–” *** Lightning split the sky and the old man stood transformed, wrapped in swirling black cloth and crowned with a helm of antlers. A brilliant ruby flashed and flared, reflecting the tempest’s light as a thousand crimson daggers. He lifted his spear, a great shaft of oak tipped with a blade of gold, high into the air, as if defying the power of the storm. Snarls escaped from the wolves crouched at his feet, smoke rising from their nostrils, their eyes reflecting the same wicked light as their master’s sacrificed eye. Twin ravens leapt from his shoulder, searching for prey. A gray steed came from the darkness and the Hunter took mount, his cry echoing in the night. His fell company responded to his call, riding forth on fierce black stallions and trailed by the hounds of hell. The Wild Hunt rush forward, raising a tumult that would wake that dead. Miranda DuBois ran through the night. Wotan, the Lord of the Hunt, followed after her. *** “–win win,” Miranda finished. I pinched my nose, trying to ward off a headache. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Miranda looked like I slapped her. “Wh, what?” I scowled and started unpacking my bag. “I’m not going anywhere, Miranda. I just had another vision.” 224

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*** I set up shop at my usual table in the DuBois’ dining room, my laptop and books fanned around me, and spent the better part of the day doing research. “Are you hungry?” Miranda asked sometime around eight. I took off my reading glasses and rubbed my eyes. I hadn’t realized I’d worked through sunset, let alone dinner. “Yeah, actually.” “You don’t look happy.” I ran my hand through my hair and sighed. “I’m lost. Totally, completely lost. The Asatru are dead, the witches are dead, and the only people who even saw Holda think she was a sorority sister who did too many lines off her professor’s desk. I snapped her damn neck, I destroyed her host body. This should be over.” I smashed my hand on the table. “This whole thing should be over.” Miranda gave me a half-hearted smile and kind of shrugged. “Well, I’m glad you’re sticking around. You shouldn’t be alone on Christmas.” I swore. “Sorry. I forgot that it was Christmas eve.” “Yeah. We’re going to midnight service, if you want to come along.” “I really, really do not. But … Holda went after three churches yesterday. If she makes a move tonight, or if Wotan shows up, there’s a really good chance that she’ll hit another one.” Miranda smiled. “We’re leaving around eleven. Do you have a tie? Do you own a tie?” I looked at her sideways. “Yes, I own a tie. Why are you leaving an hour early?” “Caden, it’s Christmas eve. We want to get good seats. It’s the busiest service of the year.” “Fantastic,” I muttered. “Maybe I’ll burn this one down, too.” Miranda grinned. “Meatloaf or chicken?” “Whatever’s easiest. Thanks, Miranda.”

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The DuBois’ meatloaf, it should be noted, is a national treasure. My research skills? Not so much. I was missing something, but damned if I could figure out what. Holda should be dead, or at least banished back to whatever netherhell the Asatru summoned her from. The fact that she was still in our reality meant Miranda–and Ethel, and the entire town–were still in danger, and that pissed me off. Almost as bad as putting on a suit and tie. God but I hate dressing up. I used to rock a three piece suit, back when I had ambitions of being a high powered attorney. Now that I spent my days in jeans and a t-shirt, and given the frequency with which things leapt out of the shadows and tried to eat my face, I found dress clothes too constricting. Stupid social conventions. The Jeep is a two-seater, so we all piled into Miranda’s Camry and headed off to the church. “Jesus,” I said. “Sorry. But you weren’t kidding, were you?” It was barely eleven, but the parking lot was already filled and people were parking down along the street. Miranda stopped in front of a drugstore and we walked a block back to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church. The crowd was already overwhelming. I’m not great at estimating the size of gatherings, but if I had to guess I would say that there were roughly five bajillion people in there. It was hot, loud, and crowded, which are three of my very least favorite things. I tensed up as soon as I walked through the door. It must have been visible, because Miranda put a hand on my elbow. “You’ll be all right, Caden. You’re big and strong.” I stuck my tongue out at her. To their credit, when the DuBois say they want “good seats,” the don’t mean “as close to sitting on the priest’s lap as possible.” Ethel slipped into the very last pew, smiling and greeting people as she moved toward the center. Miranda followed her, shaking hands and giving out hugs, leaving the aisle seat for me. A woman with snow-white hair and a set of hearing aids turned around. “How have you been, Ethel?” She was practically shouting, which made me think that her hearing aids could probably use an adjustment. 226

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“We’re doing fine, Lois. How is Henry?” “He’s ushering tonight. He’ll be sitting down after service starts. How are you, Miranda?” “Great, Mrs. Pretelli.” “And who’s this?” she asked, reaching over to lay a frail hand on my arm. “Is this your new boyfriend?” My face turned red. Miranda grinned and leaned in to stage-whisper in Mrs. Pretelli’s ear. “This is Caden. I think he might propose tonight!” Mrs. Pretelli cackled, and fell back into her pew clapping. “That’s wonderful, dear. H e’s such a handsome young man. Congratulations!” Miranda giggled and I frowned at her. “Oh hush,” she said, “I’m just having a little fun.” “Nothing about this is fun,” I said, tugging at my shirt collar. I felt like I was choking. I hadn’t been in a church in months, unless you count blowing up the Catholic church that morning, and I didn’t think that qualified as a Holy Day of Obligation. It wasn’t just the crowd that made me tense–although it didn’t help–it was what the place stood for. I had a falling out with the place’s supposed boss, and I felt like I was trespassing. Fortunately the Mashiach hadn’t actually appeared in a church service in a couple of hundred years. “Caden, how nice to see you’ve come home!” I closed my eyes briefly, then turned around to see Francine Lockhart, dressed in a black skirt and a red sweater, her hair up in a bun. “Mrs. Lockhart.” “Oh, please, Caden, call me Francine.” “How are you, Francine?” “Lovely, lovely. Happy to be in the house of the Lord on the eve of his birth. And it’s certainly nice to see you filling a seat.” “Yea, well, I’m kind of working tonight. Speaking of, your boss didn’t tell you to expect any fireworks tonight, did he?” 227

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Francine raised her eyebrows. “Why, no. All he told me was ‘The Lord is faithful; he will establish you and guard you against the evil one.’” “Well that’s comforting. And cryptic. Christ, can’t a god give a guy a straight answer once in a while?” “Caden Lyndsey,” Ethel said, “you are in a church. Using such language. My word.” “Sorry, Ma’am.” Jesus, it was going to be a long night. “I have to go join the choir, Caden.” Francine patted her clutch purse. “But I still have that little item, if it turns out you need it. The Mashiach told me it would be important.” My head was starting to hurt. Miranda leaned over and whispered, “Are you all right?” “Yeah,” I grumbled. “I’m fine. I just hope I get to make something explode soon.” Miranda pursed her lips. “Maybe you should start drinking. It might help take the edge off.” “You, my lady, are a brilliant creature.” Then the lights went off. I leapt from my seat and simultaneously prepared a ward and an attack. Miranda grabbed my arm and yanked me back into the pew before my magic became visible. “That’s supposed to happen. It’s a candlelight service.” “I. Huh. Oh.” A couple of kids started passing out candles. They had little cardboard circles around the base to catch the melting wax. When everyone had one, a couple of well-dressed older men–I assumed one of them was Lois Pretelli’s husband–came down the aisle, lighting them. The priest and his compatriots made their procession down the aisle. He stopped at the front of the church and raised his hands. “This is the night,” he chanted, “when heaven was wedded to earth. This is the night when the love of God became manifest. This is the night when the light conquered the darkness.” 228

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There were murmurs of ascent and a few “amens.” It really was a lovely sentiment. It would have been even better if it was true. I hunkered down to wait out the pageantry. The service itself was unremarkable. The kids in the nativity pageant were cute. The choir was off-key but didn’t make it all the way to painful. The priest was dry but upbeat and, most importantly, brief. It wasn’t actually a midnight service; everything got started around eleven thirty, and the priest delivered his benediction almost exactly at twelve PM. He must have been doing this for a while, because the instant he said “amen,” the lights came on and the church bells rang out, signaling midnight. The priest smiled and spread his hands in blessing over the crowd. “Merry Christmas, friends.” The crowd responded in unison, and Ethel hugged Miranda. Miranda turned toward me. “Merry Christmas, Caden,” “Merry–” Thunder crashed, the building shook, and the lights went out. “–fucking Christmas,” I muttered. “Everyone calm down,” the priest said. “I’m sure the lightning bolt just hit the transformer. Nothing to be concerned about.” Some guy in the front stood up. “Because there wasn’t a double murder at the church down the road yesterday? And the building didn’t blow up right after that?” The crowd murmured their ascent. The Sheriff stood up and made a calm the hell down gesture. “All right, everybody. There’s nothing to worry about here, so let’s settle down.” A chill ran up my spine, and pressure started to build up between my eyes. “Actually,” I said as I rose from my pew, “I don’t think that’s true.” The Sheriff turned his pinched, slate eyes on me. He stared at me for a level minute, his wooly white eyebrows knit together, then asked, “All right then. What do you suggest we do?” “Get everyone up by the altar. Stay behind me.” The Sheriff started waving people out of their seats. “Come on, everybody. You heard the man. Let’s all get cozy with the big fancy table.” The priest balked at that, but kept his mouth shut when the 229

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Sheriff pulled his gun. Skerrit walked down the aisle, waving people along, and stood beside me, training his revolver on the door. “Can I be of assistance?” Francine asked, gesturing toward her purse. “No, ma’am, I think I’ll be all right.” “Very well.” Francine grabbed the hands of the people to her left and right. “Come, everyone. Let’s ask the Lord to help us.” She closed her eyes, bowed her head, and began to utter a prayer. I felt her faith rippling through the Aether. Miranda appeared on my other elbow. “What can I do?” I didn’t take my eyes off the door. “Keep your head down, and get ready to throw up a ward.” “Okay,” she said, and fell back a handful of steps. I took a moment to focus the Aether around me, forming a quick version of my armor, then summoned blue flames around my hand. Gasps and cries echoed behind me, but I ignored them. Cold wind tore through the night, howling like a banshee. An icy breeze leaked through the stained glass windows. The church held its breath. It was soft at first, almost unnoticeable, but soon we heard the unmistakable sound of hooves striking the ground. The beast galloped at a terrific pace and the sound of its strides became almost as deafening as the thunder. The hoofbeats stopped right outside the church. Miranda grabbed my arm. The Sheriff cocked his revolver. Behind us, a baby started crying. The door shook beneath the force of a massive fist. Heavy wood creaked and bowed. Dust fell from the ceiling. “We might be okay in here,” I said. “Churches have a certain energy, and sometimes that’s enough to keep–” The doors exploded. A massive, fur-clad boot reducing them to splinters. A gigantic form, lit only by pale moonlight, stood in the entryway. 230

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The Sheriff helpfully fired at him. “God damn it!” I yelled and slapped the gun down. “Sorry,” the Sheriff said, but he aimed his gun back at the figure in the doorway. I shook my head and walked down the aisle. “Eckhart,” I called, “what are you doing out of the forest?” The massive Viking came inside, shaking snow off his cloak. “Caden, son of Lyndsey. I thought not to see you alive after venturing into Holda’s domain.” “They said the same thing about the Taco Bell I stopped at last week, but I managed to escape with my life. So, uh, what brings you to town?” Eckhart strode further into the church. The guy was huge, damn near seven feet tall and probably four hundred pounds. He adjusted his gigantic sword, which made the Sheriff raise his gun and the crowd behind us twitter nervously. I waved them all down. Eckhart stopped in front of me and offered his hand. I went to shake it, but he grasped my forearm instead, squeezing hard enough to light up my armor. “You have dealt Holda quite a blow.” Eckhart’s voice rumbled off the walls. “She will be looking to rebuild her forces.” “Yeah, about that. How the hell is she still alive? I killed her.” “That mortal body was merely a vessel, and its death was merely an inconvenience. The spirit of Holda remains strong, and grows more powerful with each moon. Be weary, brave sir. Her attack is imminent.” “What the hell does that mean? Where’s she going to hit? What should I get ready for?” But Eckhart just pushed past me to address the crowd. “All you who love your lives, flee! Flee from the oncoming storm! The Lady of the White, the Queen of Snow, the Mother of the Dead rides, and the Wild Hunt rides with her!”

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Chapter Twenty That night, the storm hit. The wind shrieked like a mother watching her child die, knocking over trees, cutting off the entire town’s power, and dumping twentytwo inches of wet, heavy snow. That part of Washington normally gets four or five inches in an entire year, and the blizzard was absolutely crippling. The roads were impassable, the power was knocked out, and even the cell towers were inoperable. Mirrormont was completely cut off from the rest of the world. The bed and breakfast’s fireplaces were functional, if a bit neglected. I dragged in some logs from the garage and set them aflame with a muttered spell. Ethel started cooking breakfast, bacon and coffee, in the living room. I headed into the cold morning air to dig us out. Miranda joined me a few minutes later. “Need a hand?” I stabbed my shovel into the snow and wiped sweat off my forehead. “I need a backhoe. How’s everything inside?” “Well, the fireplaces are keeping us warm enough, at least in the main rooms. I’m kind of worried about the pipes freezing, though.” “Turn on the kitchen sink, just a trickle. That’ll keep water flowing through them, stop them from freezing.” 234

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“Really?” I shrugged. “That’s what I hear. I’ve never had to actually try it.” “I’ll give it a shot.” Miranda considered the driveway. I had only managed to clear about four feet of it so far, and there was a good twenty feet to go. “This sucks. Was it Holda?” “Probably. You guys never get snow like this, right?” “Not that I’ve ever seen.” “And Holda is the Lady of Frostbite or whatever Eckhart calls her. So yeah, there’s a good chance this is her fault.” “What a bitch.” I laughed and tossed another load of snow aside. “I kind of figured that was established when she murdered all those people, but everyone’s got their own standards.” I jabbed the shovel into the drift and hurled another ten pounds of slush onto the lawn. “Jesus, this is gonna take forever.” “So why don’t you just magic it away?” “Because I … because … huh.” I stuck the shovel back into the drift and stared at it. I glanced around, but the neighboring houses hadn’t gotten any closer. No one was walking on the street, and wouldn’t be for a few hours. We were as alone as you’re ever going to get outside in the middle of the morning. I extended my hand. The barest flicker of flame danced over the ground in front of me. Steam rose up into the air and blew away. Within seconds a foot-wide circle of asphalt had been revealed. Miranda examined my handiwork. “That is so much easier. Why didn’t you do the whole thing?” “Everybody’s a critic. For your information, I’m much better at ‘big loud explosion’ than ‘carefully controlled flame,’ and I didn’t want to slag your entire driveway.” Miranda nodded, chewing on her lip. “That’s, um, reasonable.” I waved my hand and melted another patch of snow, then looked back at Miranda. It really was a terrible idea. Completely irresponsible. Like handing a loaded gun to a kid on Ritalin. But 235

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stupid plans are my stock in trade, so I asked her, “So, do you want to try?” Miranda’s jade eyes flashed. “Does the Pope poop in the woods?” “I … don’t think he does, actually. Anyway, here.” I took her hand and extended it toward the snow-covered ground, then stood behind her, my hand still covering hers. It almost looked like I was trying to help her aim a bow and arrow. “I’ve never tried this before, so if I blow up your hand, I’m sorry.” “Wait, what?” Miranda turned her head around, but I was already casting the spell. Energy leapt from me, through her arm, and down to the ground. Fire shimmered against ice crystals, and another patch of snow melted. She knelt down to examine the bare ground. “That’s so cool!” “Did you feel the spell’s energy?” “Yeah. How did you do that?” “Well, it’s kind of like using a magic wand.” “Come again?” “Mages sometimes use things to help them focus their power. I’ve seen guys use rings, medallions, knives, one guy even used his wife’s skull–” “Jesus.” “–but staves and wands are the most common. A lot of it is just mental; People are tool users, and it helps us concentrate to have a thing that accomplishes our will. But the energy really does move through them. That’s why magical items become more powerful over time. Anyway, same principle here. I used your hand as a focus for my spell, so my energy moved through you when I cast it.” “Okay, so now what? Do I use your residual energy or some mumbo jumbo?” “Nah, one spell wouldn’t leave behind enough energy to do anything useful. When I learn a spell, I’m usually not worried about using the right words in the right tone, or picturing the right sigil. All of those

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things are like wands and staves, tools to help the caster focus. The feeling they create is important, not the object itself.” “All right. So that felt tingly and, I don’t know, warm. Do it again, so I can concentrate.” I laid my hand over hers again. I wove the spell more slowly this time, gradually building the energy, deliberately weaving it into the correct shape, gently releasing it through my–and Miranda’s–hand. A tongue of flame appeared at our feet and spread languidly, turning snow to water and steam as it moved. Miranda shivered and leaned back against me, turning her hand over and wrapping it around mine. My breath caught and I squeezed her hand back, briefly closing my eyes. It felt good, so damn good, to touch her, to be touched. I just wanted to stand there, my fingers wrapped around hers, her body pressed up against me. But it wouldn’t, couldn’t last. It was only a matter of time before I had to walk away, and if she followed me it was only a matter of time before one of the monsters I hunted killed her. I extracted my hand from hers and stepped back. Miranda looked down and cleared her throat. “Okay, I think I get it.” She stretched out her hand and furrowed her brow. She rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck, then extended a hand toward the snow. She strained visibly, her face contorting, but the magic refused to come. “Darn it.” “It’s okay. There aren’t a whole lot of people who can weave magic without some kind of a focus item.” It would have been really interesting if Miranda had been one of those people, though. “Here, give this a try.” I crouched down and drew a quick sigil, a stylized flame inside of a circle. “This symbol been used for hundreds of years, so there’s a lot of shared consciousness behind it, but it’s also very simple.” “Baby’s first explosion?” “Something like that. I know at least a dozen people who cast this as their very first spell. Before they figured out wards, even. So it should be a piece of cake.”

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Miranda frowned at the sigil. “If you say so.” She extended her hand over the emblem and scrunched up her face again. “Easy. Don’t try to force it. Don’t push the energy at all. The Aether wants to do your will, you just have to let it. Feel it inside you, building up right behind your navel, and feel it bubbling up, all by itself.” “Okay.” “And when it starts to move, just give it a little suggestion, let it know where you want it to go, what you want it to become.” I could feel the Aether swirling around us. “Okay, dial it back a bit. This is a finesse thing, not a–” A white-hot flare exploded between us. I shoved Miranda away and raised a fast ward. The spell had gotten completely away from her, and I had no idea how big the resulting blast was going to be. Shielding us wasn’t good enough; we’d be fine, but the blowout might take the entire house behind us. So instead of creating a ward to keep us safe, I wove a barrier to keep the fire contained. A blue shell formed around Miranda’s spell, rippling like the Caribbean sea and throwing off sapphire sparks like it was the fourth of July. Miranda’s spell raged inside its prison, roiling and seething within its confines. I extended both hands forward and grimaced, adding more willpower to the ward. The fire couldn’t go up and out, so it went down instead. The asphalt inside of the ward turned to oily tar and started to burn. “Miranda? Any time you want to stop would be great.” “Oh! Shit, I’m sorry! Um, how do I make it stop?” “Just stop thinking about it!” She cocked her head at me. “Like ‘don’t think about pink elephants?’ When you tell me not to–” “Miranda!” “Sorry!” She made a motion with her hands, like she was sweeping everything off a table, and the fire evaporated like it had been blown to pieces by the wind. 238

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I released my ward and a tide of hot air washed over us. “Well. That certainly was something.” “Hey, at least I managed to cast the spell.” I looked down at the puddle of driveway. It would probably solidify again in an hour or so. Probably. I pursed my lips and nodded. “Yep. You certainly did.” “So now I just have to learn to control it better.” “Just?” “It’s not like anybody died!” “That’s because I managed to contain your small nuclear detonation with a hastily thrown together yet very well crafted ward.” Miranda grinned at me, emerald eyes flashing. “Then you’ll just have to stick around while I learn.” “Maybe next time we’ll try it in the middle of a lake.” “Because burning a hole in the bottom of the boat would be better than melting the driveway a little?” “Okay, good point. Maybe in the middle of a desert somewhere. Sand is really pretty when it’s been fused into glass.” “Can I try again?” I grabbed the shovel and heaved another load of snow aside. “No. No you cannot.” “You’re no fun.” “Neither is getting burned alive.” Miranda stuck her tongue out at me, grabbed a shovel, and helped me clear out the rest of the driveway. Ethel stuck her head out a half hour later, telling us to come eat, and once breakfast was done we headed back into the cold to finish digging out. We finished around noon. Not long after, a pickup truck with a plow attachment came down the road, carving a narrow path through the overwhelming snow. It took the guy forty-five minutes to finish Miranda’s block. I hoped the guy was getting overtime.

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I settled back in with my research. Someone knocked on the door around a quarter to two. Miranda pulled the door open, revealing Sheriff Skerrit, wearing a big, furry parka. The collar was zipped all the way up, and his walrus mustache peered over the top. “Miranda,” he said as he shook snow off his coat. “Mrs. DuBois.” “How are you today, Sheriff?” Ethel asked. “Fine, fine. But chilly is all. Just wanted to stop by and make sure everybody is all right. We got quite the pounding last night.” “We certainly did, Sheriff,” Ethel said, “but we’re managing just fine. We have the fireplaces to keep us warm.” “Good, good. The boys tell me they should have the power back on before nightfall, but just in case we’ve got generators set up at the schools and the fire hall. If it gets too cold, you come on down.” “Thank you Sheriff, we will. Can I offer you a cup of coffee?” “That’d be wonderful, Ma’am.” The Sheriff glanced over in my direction and frowned. “I thought you was leaving town?” I close my books and leaned back. “So did I. Fate had other plans.” “Hmph. Well, as long as those plans don’t involve leveling any more buildings.” “I’ll try to behave myself.” “I would hope so.” He looked uncomfortable for a moment, like he was having some kind of internal debate. “Say, we were digging through the rubble yesterday, and found the damnedest thing.” “Do tell.” “We found this book, really old, leather with a funny emblem on it. And it was on fire, except it wasn’t burning.” I leaned forward. “That was the book that brought that creature to Mirrormont,” I said. The Sheriff frowned. “I figured as much. Here’s the thing. I don’t cotton much to Satanic literature, and I really don’t know what to do with a book that doesn’t burn when ya toss it in the fire. So I was wondering if you might have a means of, you know, properly disposing of it.” 240

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That was a big relief. I didn’t want to just leave the Asatru’s book laying around, and it would have taken me forever to scour Mirrormont looking for it. “I do.” “Good, good. Well I’ll drop it off here as soon as I’m done making my round.” The Sheriff frowned again, his mustache wiggling. “And, uh, if you aren’t terrible busy, we have a lot of elderly folks in town, and we’re trying to get in contact with all of them, just to make sure they’re doing all right. We’ve got pretty much everyone out there, trying to dig their way up to the houses. We could use another strong back.” I nodded. “Sure. Do you have a list or something, or do you just want me to start next door and keep going?” “Nah, I got a list. Keeping it coordinated.” The Sheriff took out a pad of paper. “Here, this one’s closest to you, and there are a few more nearby. Phones are all out, so if you could check in at the station when you’re done …?” “Will do, Sheriff.” “Much obliged. Ladies.” The Sheriff touched his forehead like he was tipping a hat, then departed. I looked at the address. Miranda read over my shoulder. “That’s only a block from here. Want some company?” “If Ethel doesn’t mind being alone for a while.” Ethel glanced down at the floor. “No, no, I’ll manage just fine. You kids have fun.” *** Miranda and I bundled up and grabbed our shovels. We hiked in the road, which had been plowed, rather than on the sidewalks, which were still buried beneath two feet of snow. It still took us nearly twenty minutes to reach our assigned house, a tiny little cottage with gray siding and red shutters. A white picket fence stretched up out of the snow like grasping fingers. Miranda stuck her shovel in the snow and started at where the walkway to the front door should have been. “I don’t suppose we can just magic our way to the door?” 241

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“Nope. Too many people might see us.” “So lame.” “And there’s also the chance that you’ll sneeze and blow up the whole neighborhood.” She looked over her shoulder at me and scowled. “Jerk.” I loaded up a shovel full of snow and threw it aside. “All part of my charm.” We dug for nearly an hour. I took off my coat about twenty minutes in, and Miranda tossed her ski jacket aside a few minutes later. We were both sweating by the time we reached the front door. Miranda rang the bell. “One moment,” a voice called from inside. Tiny feet shuffled across the floor and a series of locks clicked, then the door swung open. Francine Lockhart peered out at us. “Why Caden Lyndsey, how lovely to see you! What brings you to my humble home?” My arms fell limp. I just stared at her, my mouth hanging open. Fortunately Miranda stepped up to bat. “Sheriff Skerrit asked us to stop by, Mrs. Lockhart. We just wanted to make sure you were getting along all right, what with the blizzard and all.” “Oh my, yes, quite the storm, wasn’t it? Rather unnatural, wouldn’t you say, Caden?” She gave me a conspiratorial wink. “It’s okay, Mrs. Lockhart. Miranda knows about everything that’s going on. You don’t have to speak in code.” “Oh lovely. I was never much for skullduggery. Let your yes be your yes and your no be your no, that’s what I always say.” She stepped back and pulled the door open wider. “Won’t you join me for a cup of tea?” “Oh, no thank you, Mrs. Lockhart,” I said, but Miranda worked her hand beneath my sweater and pinched my side. Miranda smiled sweetly at her. “We’d love to, wouldn’t we, Caden?” I sighed like the weight of the world was pressing down on me. “Of course we would.” 242

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Mrs. Lockhart’s house was decorated with dozens of angels. Tiny dolls, sculptures, paintings, and commemorative plates sat on every table, rested in every nook, and adorned every wall. The only thing competing with the angels were the doilies which covered almost every flat surface in the house. We were led into the living room, where a pellet burning stove gave off a soft glow. A picture of the Mashiach hung over the fireplace– the same picture everybody’s Grandmother has, the one with blue eyes and long, blondish hair, which was a completely unrealistic representation of a Semite from two thousand years ago. Francine cleared her knitting off the coffee table. “Please, sit. I’ll just be a moment.” She disappeared into the kitchen. Miranda sat on the couch and folded her hands, then grinned up at me. “Gonna sit down?” I scowled at her. She laughed. “You should have let me light the snow on fire.” “I should have let the marauding nudist colony set your house on fire.” “But then my Grandma would be homeless!” Miranda’s eyes gleamed. “You wouldn’t want my Grandmother to be homeless, would you?” “She could always come and live with the crazy church lady.” “Be nice, Caden,” Miranda said, smirking. I was so glad that she was enjoying my discomfort. Mrs. Lockhart came back, bearing a tray with a teapot with three tiny china cups and a folded-over piece of cloth. She set the tray on the coffee table and began to pour. “It’s so nice of you to check in on me. I expected to be all by myself until Spring.” I accepted the cup she offered me. It was the size of a thimble, and I was worried about breaking it, maybe by looking at it too hard. “Thanks. The Sheriff has a whole crew out checking on people, actually. It’s just coincidence that we ended up here.” Francine gave one of the minuscule cups to Miranda, poured for herself, then sat down. “I don’t believe in coincidence, Caden. And

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with your history, I have to believe that you don’t, either. You were meant to end up here.” She was right. I really didn’t believe in coincidence. I had a knack for showing up where I was needed, completely aside from my visions, and the frequency with which that happened made me think that someone was watching over me … and that both pissed me off and scared me stupid. It pissed me off because I had dedicated years of my life to a false master, and now that I was free I’d rather die than bow down again. And it scared me because that master was a god, powerful enough to make my life miserable and subtle enough that I might not even realize it was happening. The Mashiach sending one of his handmaidens to see me was one thing, but him sending me was another matter entirely. “So,” Francine continued, “are you finally ready to accept the Lord’s offer?” Miranda sat forward. “Offer? What offer? Did he offer you a job?” Francine smiled. It wasn’t a smirk, but it was pretty damn close. “Caden already has a job, Miranda. He may be on sabbatical, but the gifts and callings of the Lord are given without repentance. I was referring to something more specific.” She unfolded the cloth on the tray and held up a knife. Miranda reached for it automatically. “What is that? It’s beautiful.” Mrs. Lockhart handed her the blade. “This, my dear, is for killing demons.” “Be careful,” I said. “I have no idea what that will do to a mortal.” “Oh hush, Caden,” Mrs. Lockhart tutted. “That blade was cast in the name of God.” “That’s what I’m worried about.” Miranda examined the dagger. The light glinted off the etchings and fractured into rainbow shards. “How does it work?” “It’s been blessed, Miranda. The power of the Mashiach lives inside that blade, giving it power to pierce the darkness.” Miranda waved the dagger in the air. “Cool.” 244

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“You’re going to need that dagger, Caden,” Mrs. Lockhart said. “You are facing forces far beyond your ken. You’ve had great success turning back unclean spirits and battling demons, but the thing coming to Mirrormont is beyond any enemy you have ever faced. It may be a face of the Devil himself.” I shook my head. “No, Wotan is just an antecedent of Odin. Same general personality, but not as well known or as powerful. Lucifer is actually a refinement on the Hebrew–never mind. The point is, I’ve gotten this far without your god’s help, and I’ll figure out a way to kick Holda’s ass, too.” “Caden,” Mrs. Lockhart said with a sigh, “the Lord has been with you every step of the way. If only you had eyes to see. You wield the fire of heaven and see with the eyes of a Prophet, but still you insist that you wage war with your own strength. The Lord loves you, Caden. He called you, he anointed you, and He has never turned his back on you, even when you turned your back on him.” “Yeah, he taught me the magic missile spell. But what about everybody else? What about the people who can’t summon fire, but have to face the demons anyway?” “People like your fiancee?” Francine asked softly. I shot out of my chair, grabbed the knife from Miranda’s grasp, and tossed it on the floor. “We’re done here, Miranda. Mrs. Lockhart, if you need anything, hang a towel or a sheet out the window. The Sheriff’s deputies will be send someone to help.” Mrs. Lockhart took a sip of tea. “Thank you so much for stopping by, Mr. Lindsey, Miranda. I’ll be seeing you soon.” I pulled my jacket back on and left the house. Miranda said goodbye to Mrs. Lockhart and followed me. “So that was fun.” I huffed in response, and Miranda threaded her arm through mine. “What has you so wound up?” The sunlight reflecting off the snow was blinding, and I squinted against the glare. “You ever feel like your life isn’t your own?” “Sure. Usually when the fifth order for a double stack comes in.” “Well I really don’t like that feeling.” I looked up and down the road. “Where’s the next house?” 245

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“Um,” she pulled a sheet of paper out of her jacket. “Over this way.” “Let’s go,” I said. “I’d like to get home before sundown.” We visited five more homes. Ed and Carol Taber were the only couple without some sort of wood fire stove or backup generator, so we helped them to the fire hall, checked in with the Sheriff, collected the Norse spell book, and headed back to the bed and breakfast. The sun was already setting, turning the crisp air cold and bathing the snow covered landscape in soft red hues. I stood on the porch, staring out at the fading day. “What’s on your mind?” Miranda asked. I jumped; I hadn’t heard her sneak up on me. “Just taking a minute to center myself.” The corner of Miranda’s mouth turned up. “Going all Zen on me? I thought you weren’t into religion.” “I’m not into getting killed by a possessed coed, either.” “Do you think Holda is going to come after you?” “Probably. I mean, I did kill her. But that’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried about them.” I waved my hand, indicating Mirrormont in general. “And you.” Miranda slipped her arm though mine and stared at the horizon with me. “Thanks.” “I’m sorry you got pulled into all of this.” “You keep saying that, like it’s your fault or something. You didn’t bring Holda here. You didn’t convince Matthew Warren to go nuts. You didn’t force Madeline West to shack up with him. There’s nothing you could have done.” “I could have come in blasting. Maybe I talk to much. Maybe I give too many second chances. People are dead, and maybe I didn’t cause it, but I could have stopped it.” Miranda frowned. “That’s not who you are, Caden. I know that you’ll do what you have to do. I know if push comes to shove you’ll make hard choices. But you aren’t a monster. You aren’t an executioner.” 246

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I looked at her sideways. “I’ll have you know that people across the country tremble in fear at the sound of my name.” She patted my arm. “I’m sure they do. You’re very scary.” I nodded. “Damn right I am.” “So what do we do? How do we prepare? Hey, I know, maybe we could avail ourselves of a weapon forged specifically to combat the forces of darkness.” “Hmph.” “Just kidding. Kinda. But seriously, what do we do?” “Well, I’m going to spend some time getting my armor together.” “Wait, you have a suit of armor?” “I have a spell that protects me. It takes a while to cast correctly, so I need some lead time. But first,” I looked around the yard, “I think I’m going to touch up the wards guarding this place. Want to help?” Miranda’s emerald eyes sparkled. “Your proposal interests me, and I would like to receive your newsletter.” I smiled. “Okay. We need salt and oil.” Miranda led me into the kitchen and pulled open the pantry. The contractors I hired had been held up by the storm, so there were still a lot of repairs to be made. Miranda grabbed a can of salt, then bent down to grab a container of olive oil. “Is this enough?” “Should be” “So how does this work? How do we ward an entire house?” I walked back out into the living room. “It’s basically the same warding spell you already know how to weave, it’s just that instead of raising the ward around yourself, you project it out around a door or window or whatever.” “Okay, gimme that.” She took the olive oil from me and poured it onto the windowsill, then smeared it around with her fingers. “I usually add the salt first, but it’s not a big deal.” I sprinkled some on the base of the window, then tossed it at the sides and top. “It 247

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doesn’t have to be an unbroken line. The oil lets enough of the Aether jump from crystal to crystal to make the spell work.” Miranda bit her lower lip and stared at the window. “Okay, so I just cast the ward? But around the window, instead of around me?” “Yeah, then hold it until you feel it kind of snap into place.” Miranda laid gentle fingers on the windowsill and closed her eyes. The air filled with static electricity as she summoned the Aether and bent it to her will. I opened my senses and beheld her spell. The Aether swirled around her, blue mist and white fire, wrapping around her like a cloak billowing in a strong wind. It traveled down her arm, writhing like a vine ensnaring a trellis, and poured out from her hand. It flowed over the lower portion of the window, then climbed up the sides and across the top. The Aether flared as the spell burst to life, and cobalt flames raced around the window. “Good,” I said quietly. Miranda opened her eyes and inspected her handiwork. “Now hold it there a moment.” Miranda took a slow, deep breath and closed her eyes again. The flames continued to dance, briefly expanded, then faded from view. The salt crystals glowed for a moment, then they, too, dimmed. Miranda opened her eyes. “Did it work?” She was breathing heavily. I gestured at the window and tossed a quick burst of light at it. My spell struck the ward and shattered, falling to the floor in a shower of harmless phosphor. Miranda grinned. “Looks like,” I said. “Okay, so now what?” “There are twenty-three more windows to ward, plus five doors. And then I want to set up wards around the property itself.” Miranda’s jaw fell open. “God. I’m exhausted from casting this. How am I going to do it twenty-eight more times?” “You’re not. I’ve been doing this for a long time, Miranda. Magic is a lot like exercise. The more you do it, the better you get. I couldn’t even make a ward work when I first started out. It’s honestly kind of amazing that you’re able to do even one.” “Aw, you’re gonna make me blush.”

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“But, a house with an incomplete ward is about as safe as a bank vault with a screen door, so I am going to have to complete the set.” I led her from room to room, weaving wards while she recovered and letting her try when she caught her breath. It took a couple of hours to finish, and then we headed outside to establish the diamondshaped ward around the entire property. A fine sheen of sweat covered Miranda’s forehead. “God, why am I so tired?” “Well, you’ve been throwing around an awful lot of power tonight.” “Yeah, but it’s magic. Isn’t magic supposed to make things easier? Flick your wrist and the broom sweeps the floor for you?” I laughed. “And then you get attacked by pink hippos? Magic doesn’t work that way. It isn’t super worried about the laws of physics, but there are still laws. And one of the most important is that it takes energy to move energy. Controlling the Aether takes an act of will, and mustering the kind of willpower that can literally bend reality isn’t easy.” “Okay. Well that explains the sudden onset starvation. Are you hungry?” “No, this took longer than I wanted. I need to prepare for tonight.” Miranda’s face suddenly became solemn. “Are we going to be all right?” I shrugged. “We haven’t died yet.” “That is not the brazen confidence I was hoping for.” *** I locked myself in my room and began to assemble my armor. A few minutes later I heard the shower running, and Miranda’s singing echoing down the hallway. I found myself swaying to the rhythm of her voice as I pulled the Aether tight around me. Her voice was perfect, so beautiful that it almost sounded like she was being accompanied by music. My eyes flew open. The musical backing wasn’t just an illusion, it was real. Hauntingly beautiful music, the sounds of phantom lyres 249

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and spectral reeds, drifted on the cold winds. The notes sent a chill down my spine and brought a tear to my eye. I had never heard something so enchanting. I went out into the hallway. Miranda was looking out of her door, too, wearing pajamas and wrapping a towel around her head. “What’s that noise?” she asked. “I don’t know. I think it might be–ARGH!” I grabbed my head and fell to my knees, pain lancing through my skull like a white-hot needle. Something was assaulting the ward I had established around the house, something immensely powerful and completely unconcerned with subtlety. “Caden? Caden!” Miranda rushed to my side and put a hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort me, but the mystical attack was giving me the worst migraine in history. I ground my teeth and focused my will, adding as much power to the ward as I could draw together. It worked, for a moment. The pain dulled, leaving nothing but a slight ringing in my ears. But the respite lasted less than ten seconds. Another flash of searing pain exploded between my eyes, and my ward shattered like glass. I cried out as the thought-form holding the spell together broke apart, and I fell back to my knees. “Oh my God, Caden, what’s happening?” Everything was white spots and ringing bells. I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to clear my vision–and prevent my eyeballs from leaking out of my head, which felt like a distinct possibility. “Someone broke through my ward.” “That’s, that’s bad, isn’t it?” “Yeah, that’s–GAH!” I grabbed my head and thrashed. Someone was attacking the wards around the doors and windows. The attack was rattling the barriers, and the energy was traveling through the psychic connection between me and my spell, driving a burning spike into my brain. And Miranda’s. She was on the floor, curled into a ball, clawing at her hair and moaning. The window at the end of the hallway was throwing off

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blue and white sparks. Whatever was attacking was invisible, but that didn’t make it any less effective. The ethereal music played on. “Break your wards!” I shouted, louder than I intended. “What?” Miranda shouted back at me. “Take down the wards! Take them down!” Miranda closed her eyes. A moment later the window at the end of the hall shattered, throwing shards of glass hurtling toward us. I raised a shield to deflect the debris. The DuBois were never going to get their house fixed up. “What’s happening?” Ethel called from downstairs, her voice trembling. “We’re under attack!” I shouted down to her. “Stay away from the windows!” The haunting music grew closer, louder. Without the wards to block it I could feel the music worming its way into my brain. The rhythm wasn’t particularly fast-paced, but the sound of it still made my heart speed up. I was convinced that “enchanting” wasn’t just a throwaway adjective; I was certain that it was, itself, a spell. “Miranda, we need to get–oh hell.” Miranda was back on her feet. The towel had fallen from her head and her fiery hair hung down in wet clumps. She was staring past me, through me, and out the window. Hey face was slack, her eyes dull. It was the look of someone under compulsion. “Oh Christ,” I muttered I grabbed a piece of chalk from my pocket and sketched a quick circle on the carpet around her, then erected a fast ward. This one shattered so quickly I didn’t even have time to experience pain. Miranda started walking, moving with an eerie grace, heading for the stairs. I raced ahead of her and blocked her path. She turned her dead eyes toward me, reach out, and shoved. Miranda was not a large girl. She was tall but thin, not the kind of person you’d expect to get their way through physical force. And she was definitely not the kind of person you’d expect to throw a twohundred pound man aside as easily as a rag doll. I flew through the air and crashed into the wall. The drywall cracked and dented around 251

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me, then I fell fifteen feet to the ground floor. My armor flashed and threw off white sparks, protecting me from the impact, but I still landed in a heap. “Miranda!” Ethel cried out. The phantom music grew more insistent. Miranda peered off into space, looking almost like a bride posing for a portrait, except she was wearing fleece instead of an elegant gown. She descended the staircase, her feet barely touching the steps, and headed toward the door. I got in front of her again and braced myself. She shoved, but I was ready this time and managed to deflect her force to the side. She cocked her head sideways, like a puppy that’s heard an interesting noise, then threw a haymaker at me. I raised my arm to block, but that’s exactly what she wanted. She grabbed my arm, ducked beneath it, pushed her hips under mind, and pulled, sending me ass over teakettle. I tumbled along the ground and almost ended up in the fireplace. Miranda turned back toward the music and walked through the front door. Literally through. She didn’t put her hand on the doorknob, twist, pull the door open, and then walk out into the night. She walked through the door, like it wasn’t even there, like she was a ghost. Mrs. DuBois stared at the door. “Wh, what in the name of God?” “I don’t know,” I growled, “but I’m going to get her back. Wait here.” I tried to open the door, but it was locked. I muttered a profanity and started throwing latches open, then ran out after her. Miranda was walking down the middle of the street, oblivious to the cold. Her bare feet left no prints in the snow. All down the road, girls and young women were walking out of their houses, slipping through solid mater as if it were air, and following the sound of the cursed music. My wards were useless and Miranda was physically powerful enough to resist me. I had no idea how I was going to stop her, let

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alone the other dozen girls, so I simply fell into step behind her. She seemed oblivious to my presence, so long as I didn’t get in her way. More girls poured in from the side streets. We marched for over an hour, into downtown Issaquah, and by the time we reached the City Hall I estimated that three dozen girls had joined the spectral procession. Each of them had the blank expression of an automaton. Downtown Issaquah was ablaze. Shops and buildings and homes had been smashed at set alight. Debris ripped from houses and trees torn from the ground had been piled high and ignited, creating a bonfire that reached thirty feet high. A multitude surrounded the blaze, spinning about it in circles. Dark elves held wooden flutes to their lips. Dwarves smashed their fists against drums. Beautiful women plucked at the strings of lyres. As the girls of Mirrormont drew near they fell into step with the assembly. Wide smiles split their faces as they began to dance. And in the midst of it all was Holda, still taking the form of Madeline West. Her gossamer raiment fluttered in the wind as she danced and leapt and spun. She took an elf by the hand and twirled around him, then fell into the arms of one of the Dwarves, then took one of the girls by the hand and kissed her on the mouth. “Welcome, Sisters!” she cried. “Welcome to the Maiden’s Dance!” A cheer went up from the crowd. Somewhere, glass shattered and a baby started crying. Beside me, Miranda joined in the bluster, throwing her hands up into the air and shouting at the top of her lungs. The assembly formed two concentric rings, moving in opposite directions. Miranda fell into the outer circle and began to dance. I poured willpower into my shield and prepared for war. A siren sounded in the distance. Another crash echoed and some unseen force threw twenty feet of tree onto the bonfire. The music continued to play, and the revelers continued to spin and dance through the night. Holda, smiling and breathless, stopped right in front of me. I’d like to say that I stood strong and defiant, that I didn’t even flinch, but I’d be lying. “Caden!” Holda cried out. “Everyone! Caden has joined us!” She grinned at me like a shark. “Technically this little soiree is ladies only, but I am ever so glad you decided to crash.” 253

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“Holda,” I said. “So, nice riot you’re throwing. How is it you’re not dead?” A manic smile flashed across her face. “I have you to thank for that, actually.” She glanced down at her barely-clad body. “Young Madeline was a gracious host, but something about us just wasn’t compatible. When you were kind enough to break our neck, well, it was a minor inconvenience to me, but rather fatal to her.” My stomach dropped. Madeline had been plenty dark and more than her share of twisty, but that didn’t mean I liked the idea of killing her for no damn reason. I had thought she was collateral damage, a price that had to be paid to prevent Holda from destroying Mirrormont. Instead, her death had been the thing that gave Holda access to her true power. I am such an idiot sometimes. “But enough of that,” Holda said. She clapped her hands and shouted, “Mead! Mead for our guest!” One of the dark elves leapt and spun over to us, bearing two wineskins. He handed them to Holda with a bow, then twirled and pirouetted away, moving with preternatural grace. Holda took a long draught from one of the skins. “Ah, excellent. Come, Caden, celebrate with me!” Flashing lights, red and white and blue, became visible down the road. A Sheriff’s car was leading what looked like five fire engines. “I’m not actually here to join the party,” I said. “Oh come now! This was crafted from the blood of kings! It’s said that those who drink it gain a poet’s tongue.” “I already have a smartass mouth, and I didn’t even have to resort to hematophagy to get it.” “Suit yourself.” Holda took another deep drink, then tossed the wineskin away. One of the dwarves caught it out of the air–without looking–and upended it, draining it in a single swing. “So, let’s discuss the terms of your service.” “I … what?”

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Holda giggled. “Caden, there is no need to be so coy! When my minstrels play my anthem, it attracts those destined to serve in my court. Look around you! All of these girls, all of these Sisters, will join me this evening. They will be imbued with the spirit of the Valkyries, and they will ride with me as I Hunt.” “Oh God,” I said. “Yes?” Holda asked. “Miranda.” She danced past me, her hair whipping in the wind. Her eyes glowed with jade fire. “You fancy her, don’t you? She is such a lovely girl. And so industrious! Leaving her dreams behind to aid her grandmother, toiling in the kitchen, making a home for weary travelers … she’s a girl after my own heart. She will do well in my court. And when you serve as my vassal, why, I see no reason she shouldn’t be given to you.” I watched Miranda spin through the night, a look of pure, artificial ecstasy on her face. That joy belonged to the spirits Holda controlled, not Miranda. And the things Holda threatened–promised– to do with her body … A growl tore out of my throat and a column of blinding light tore from the palm of each hand. The crystalline energy slammed into Holda, knocking her through both rings of revelers. She landed in the bonfire, screaming. The assembly stopped dancing and turned to stare at me, gaping. Energy crackled around my fists. “Party’s over, kids. Your parents are home, the cops are coming, and I’m pretty sure they’re out of booze anyway. So why don’t you make like a tree and get the hell out of here before I get angry?” The fire shifted and Holda clawed her way out of the burning wood. She looked like an old hag, with gray, straggly, hair, an enormous, hooked nose, yellow, broken teeth, boar’s tusks emerging from her lower jaw, blackened fingernails, and wrinkled, sagging skin. She kicked one of the trees and sent it flying into the crowd. A crowd of elves and possessed girls dove out of the way, but one of the Dwarves was too slow. The tree landed on top of him, making a sickening crunch. 255

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Holda picked her way through the fire. Her visage changed with each step, the old hag fading and Madeline’s countenance manifesting. Neither she nor her garments burned. She finally reached the ground and brushed soot off her clothing. “Well that was just rude. Ymir? Teach our guest some manners.” “Ymir?” I asked. The night shook with a sound somewhere between a bear giving birth to a full-grown rhino and an elephant being fed through a wood chipper trunk fist. The ground shook as something immense and angry stormed through the darkness. A pair of giant evergreens shook, then tore out of the ground completely. The thing that emerged from the shadows had two arms and two legs, and a head with two ears, two eyes, and a mouth, but that was where the similarities to humans ended. The creature was at least fifteen feet tall and naked except for a loin cloth, made from the pelt of some horribly abused carcass, that hid very little of anything. The thing had thick, leathery skin covered in boils and lesions. Tufts of black fur appeared here and there all over its body. It’s eyes were two different sizes, and one of them sat a bit higher than the other. Tusks emerged from its lower jaw. “Ymir is a frost ogre,” Holda said. “Ymir? Kill him.”

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Chapter Twenty-One The ogre roared and grabbed a tree with a stubby–but still massive– hand. Ice covered the bark when the creature touched it. The ogre ripped the tree out of the ground and wielded it like a club. The police car stopped a dozen feet away. The fire engines had the good sense to stay back, at least a hundred feet. Sheriff Skerrit rolled down his window. “What in the fires of hell are you up to?” he demanded, his white mustache dancing. The ogre roared and brought its club smashing down. “Look out!” I screamed and sent twin blasts if light into the air. They struck the creature’s weapon and knocked it to the side, which meant a few hundred pounds of wood smashed the car’s engine rather than the cop inside. Sheriff Skerrit cursed and scrambled out of his vehicle, freeing his revolver on the way. I threw another blast of light at the ogre, catching it in the chest. The creature howled as its flesh sizzled and burned. It dropped the tree and threw its arms into the air, pinwheeling them to try and keep its balance. I growled and threw a blast of telekinetic energy at it, knocking it onto its back.

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The Sheriff shielded himself behind the wreckage of his vehicle and trained his revolver on the beast, holding it in both hands. “Unless you just happen to be packing silver bullets,” I said, “that isn’t going to do a whole lot.” “It ain’t a goddamn werewolf,” the Sheriff said and fired off five quick rounds. He dropped the spent shells on the ground and pulled a speed loader from him jacket pocket. “Though to be honest I ain’t sure what the hell it is, either.” “Frost ogre,” I said, like I hadn’t just learned the term thirty seconds ago. The creature had rolled to its knees and was in the process of standing up. I fired a blast of light at it’s arm, knocking it aside and sending the monster crashing onto its face. One of the thing’s tusks broke off on the pavement, and the creature howled. “Frost ogre,” the Sheriff repeated, like he was trying the word out for size. “You got a license for that thing?” I rolled my eyes. “Ask her,” I said, pointing toward Holda, who was watching the proceedings with amused detachment. “Madeline?” the Sheriff asked. “What in the hell are you doing caught up in all of this? Does your daddy know you’re out here?” Holda laughed. “Oh, I like him. Can we keep him around? I think he would make a wonderful court jester.” “That’s not Madeline,” I said. “It’s just using her body.” I sent another blazing lance at the ogre, catching it in the shoulder. It screamed, but then it grabbed one of the burning trees from the bonfire. Ice ran halfway up the trunk, and steam billowed off where it met the fire. I expected the ogre to use it like a club again, and it caught me by surprise when it simply hurled the log at my face. “Shi–” I started, then the burning wood slammed into me. Sparks flew from my armor, protecting me from the worst of it, but I was thrown through the air and smashed up against the Sheriff’s car. The wheel exploded and the entire car spun around. “God damn!” the Sheriff cried out, diving away from the suddenlymobile vehicle. “Lyndsey? Are you all right?”

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I hit the ground and the tree fell on top of me. I grimaced and pushed against it, rolling it aside. “Yeah,” I said, staggering to my feet. “I’m just perfect.” The ogre stared at me, confused. “Aw, who’s a sad little frost giant?” I said. “Who can’t squish the tiny little man? Poor little ogre.” The creature pounded its chest like a gorilla and let out a shriek that sounded like a bagpipe player being boiled in tar. “Mr. Lyndsey?” the Sheriff said. “Maybe it would be best to not antagonize the giant, rampaging hell beast?” “Everyone’s a critic,” I muttered, and threw another gout of fire into the thing’s eyes. The frost ogre howled and batted at its face, like it was trying to swat away flies. Steam billowed up where the heat of my spell struck the monster’s icy cold aura. The beast held up its hand like a driver blocking the sun, then staggered to the side. Its eyes were bloodshot and the skin surrounding them was blistered, but I hadn’t managed to actually hurt the thing at all. The ogre bent over, crouched on all fours, and pounded its fist into the pavement, creating a fifteen-foot long fissure on the asphalt. “Mr. Lyndsey?” the Sheriff asked. “Yeah?” “You ever see a bull charge?” I turned to look at him. “You have bulls up here?” “I’m from Texas, originally. Regardless, that thing”–the ogre huffed and puffed and shook its head–“looks like it’s about to trample us.” “Oh. Um, maybe we should run?” “That sounds like an excellent idea.” We turned and took off. The frost ogre gave chase, the ground shaking beneath its enormous bulk. The Sheriff and I ducked between cars and dodged between trucks, buried beneath the blizzard and abandoned, but the monster was less concerned with subtlety. It just threw massive fists and sent the vehicles sliding across the road. The ogre closed the distance between us in less than ten seconds. “Hard left!” The Sheriff shouted. 260

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“What?” I hollered back. “Thing’s huge! Can’t corner for a damn!” The Sheriff turned aside and ran for the town courthouse. I glanced over my shoulder, saw nothing but an eye the size of a basketball, and followed him. The ogre reached out to grab me but I ducked and it missed my by inches. True to the Sheriff’s speculation, the frost giant’s momentum was stronger than its anger. The creature skid past us, tried to turn, and tumbled end over end down the road, crushing a Prius in the process. So maybe the ogre wasn’t all bad. The Sheriff fumbled for his keys, trying to unlock the courthouse door. “Let me use mine,” I said. “How did you get a key to the–” I extended my hand and sent a blast of light through the door, reducing glass panes to dust and the frame to kindling. “–Never mind,” the Sheriff said. We hurried inside. The Sheriff reloaded his weapon again. It still wouldn’t do him any good, but I understood the impulse. When something big, mean, and scary is chasing after you, any kind of a weapon, be it a spell, a gun, or just a board with a nail in it, is a tremendous source of comfort. The Sheriff spun the revolver’s cylinder and snapped it closed. “All right, so what do we do?” “Well, we should at least have a minute to catch our breath. That thing is huge, there’s no way it’s going to fit inside–” A terrible shriek assailed our ears. The light coming through the doorway was blocked out by a hulking figure. The building shook, and the roof over the doorway tore free. The ogre stormed into the courthouse, hunched over, snarling. It punched the ceiling, making more room for itself, and stalked forward another few feet. I sighed. The monster tore another furrow in the ceiling and came that much closer. “You were saying?” the Sheriff asked. “Yeah yeah yeah, I’m a big dummy who doesn’t know an ice ogre from Frosty the Snowman. But I do have one redeeming quality.” “What’s that?” 261

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“I make things blow up really good.” I sent a brilliant lance racing through the air, just in front of the ogre, carving a channel across the ceiling, down the wall, across the floor, and back up to the roof. “Um, Mr. Lyndsey? That’s destruction of public property. Also, isn’t that kind of helping the giant ice demon that wants to eat us?” “Watch and learn, good sir. Watch and learn.” The frost ogre took a shuffling step forward, then sent its massive fist crashing through the ceiling. The ceiling that had already been weakened by my spell. The ceiling that was no longer held up by the support beams in the wall. The roof grumbled and sagged. The ogre looked up at it, puzzled. “Take like three steps back,” I said. The Sheriff complied. The roof collapsed. The ogre fell to its knees, crushed by the debris. I fired another blast just in front of it, cutting through the floor. The building groaned again and the floor collapsed. The ogre crashed down to the basement below. The Sheriff stepped to the edge of the newly formed pit and looked over the edge. “Do you freelance? Because I got some crab grass that I just can’t get rid of.” A massive, stubby hand shot out of the hole and grasped the edge, missing the Sheriff’s foot by an inch. The Sheriff yelped and jumped back. “What the hell do we have to do to put this thing down?” I blasted the thing’s hand. The building shook when the ogre hit the basement again. “Can you get those fire trucks to pull around behind the building?” The Sheriff spoke into the walkie-talkie on his shoulder. “Cal? I need you to get those pumper trucks around behind the courthouse.” The walkie-talkie crackled. “Um, yeah, chief, but we are kinda in the middle of not letting the town burn down.” “Trust me,” the Sheriff said, “this is important.” “If you say so, Sheriff. How many trucks do you need?” “All of ’em,” I said. “Have then train their hoses on the back door.”

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The creature below us roared and jumped up out of the basement. It crashed into the ceiling and drove its enormous fists into the walls, bracing itself. It’s giant, leathery feet scrambled on the edge of the pit, then found purchase. It’s muscles bunched and the beast hauled itself forward. It crouched and growled, it’s back muscles pressing up against the ceiling. “We should leave now,” I said, and headed out the back door. We ran, the creature squeezing through the hallway after us, it’s massive form cracking the floor and caving in floor tiles. We burst out the back door. The fire trucks were just pulling around. The Sheriff ran toward them, gesturing at the doorway. I ran, too, firing a blast of light behind me, caving in the entryway. The guy commanding the fire trucks was dressed in a helmet, a heavy, yellow jacket, and fleece pajama pants. Apparently Issaquah’s fire department was all volunteer. He saw my spell and stared at me, mouth hanging open. “What. The. Hell?” “If you liked that, you’re gonna love what comes next. Get your hoses our and pointed at the doorway.” “Is the building on fire?” “Not exactly,” the Sheriff said. “Then why in the hell did you have me pull the boys away?” Cal demanded. “Half the damn block is on fire!” The courthouse rumbled and a giant, pale-blue hand burst through the rubble. Its twin followed, and the massive hands rent and tore until the ogre was able to muscle its way free. The beast stood erect, blinking, shielding its eyes from the fire trucks’ flashing lights. The fire captain looked like he stroked out. I waved my hand in front of his face. “Anybody home? Earth to Tommy Gavin, come in, come in. You’re about to get stepped on by a fifteen foot tall ice demon, so if you could tune back in real quick …” “Cal! Wake the hell up and get these trucks pointed at Frosty the Ice Goblin!” Cal blinked, then shook his head. “You heard the man! Boys, get those hoses trained on that … thing!” 263

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The other firefighters were just as shell shocked as Cal, but they responded to their leader’s voice. The trucks were pumpers, the kind that had their own massive water tanks, so they didn’t even have to crack open any fire hydrants to get the hoses ready. “Now what?” Cal asked. The ogre roared and shambled toward us, ripping a tree out of the ground as it came and lifting it up like a club. “Spray it!” I shouted. The firefighters opened up the hoses and five massive jets of water shot through the air, slamming into the frost ogre like liquid missiles. The ogre shielded its face with its paw and staggered backward. Ice crystals began to form on its skin. “Keep it up!” I hollered. “You heard the man!” the fire chief called out. “Open up those hoses, boys!” The men cranked open the valves and the water came flooding out in a torrent. The frost ogre howled. Its chill skin froze the water as soon as it made contact, and a thick layer of ice was forming on the beast’s skin. It punched itself, trying to break free, but the water was coming too fast, the ice forming too quickly. It turned to run, but a blast of light cut its legs out from beneath it. The creature slammed into the earth, shaking the ground. Water cascaded down on it, imprisoning it in ice. It tried to drag itself away, but soon its arm was encased in frozen water. “Hold it!” I shouted. The water died down. The frost ogre looked like a glacier with a face. I summoned the Aether and sapphire energy danced around my fist. I stalked toward the creature. “Looks like you’re not getting any billy goats tonight,” I said. “That was a troll,” the Sheriff called out. “What?” “The three billy goats gruff? That was a troll, not an ogre.” “Well look who’s suddenly an expert on mythological creatures,” I muttered, then punched the frost ogre in the face. The Aether poured

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through my body and out my fist. The ogre’s frozen head shattered into a million crystalline shards. “Holy Christ,” the fire captain said. I cracked my knuckles. “Damn skippy. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go fight a Norse goddess.” I started to walk around the building, then called back over my shoulder. “Oh, that thing’s gonna smell when it thaws, so you might want to get rid of it.” “What the hell are we supposed to do with it?” the Sheriff called out. “Burn it? Somewhere far away?” “Thanks, Mr. Lyndsey. That’s very helpful.” “Hey, I killed the thing. I think my work here is done.” The battle hadn’t tired me out. Just the opposite, really. I felt energized, excited, and ready to kick all manner of asses. Miranda was held in Holda’s sway, sure, but I was pretty confident that destroying Holda was a good way to get her back. I stalked around the courthouse, feeding energy into my armor and gathering Aether for an all-out assault. I rounded the building, focusing my will and my energies into twin blasts, barely contained in the palms of my hands. I turned my hands over, ready to unleash hell … … But Holda and her court had vanished, leaving Issaquah to quietly burn. Miranda DuBois was nowhere to be seen. I stared at the bonfire, seething. I wasn’t sure if the ogre was meant to kill me just distract me, but the distinction was irrelevant. The creature had taken enough of my time that Holda had escaped, taking three dozen innocent girls with her. Including Miranda. *** “… crew with jack hammers, and a couple of dump trucks,” the Sheriff said into his walkie-talkie as he came around the building. He stopped next to me. “So, this the same thing that did those churches?” I didn’t look at him. “Yeah.” “You want to explain exactly what that is?” 265

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“Are you going to believe me?” “Probably not, but give it a shot anyway.” I let out a long, weary breath. “A local college professor convinced a bunch of his students to strip naked and summon an old Norse deity. The god’s wife showed up instead, possessed one of the coeds, and decided to wreck shit until enough people believed in her to give her the strength to kill her husband, who murdered her children.” The Sheriff mulled that over for a minute. “Yep, you’re right. I don’t believe a goddamned word you just said.” He spat, then wiped his chin with the back of his fist. “What about all them girls that was dancing around the fire?” My lip trembled, and I fought back the urge to punch something. “Holda called it the Maiden’s Dance. She summoned the girls from their homes. I think she’s building an army, Sheriff. I think the girls are meant to become her Valkyries.” “What the hell’s a Valkyrie?” “German angel of death, basically.” “That doesn’t sound particularly good.” “No, it really doesn’t.” The sheriff scratched his head. “All right then, so how do we get the girls back?” “I think I know where Holda has them captive. I’m going to fight my way in, break a whole bunch of stuff, and kill people until Holda lets the girls go.” “Well, that certainly is direct. I like it. You want some company?” “Sorry, Sheriff. I have to do this one alone. You’d spook the Moss Maiden, and she’s my only way into the Otherworld.” “What in the hell’s a Moss–you know what? It doesn’t matter. You confident you can rescue the girls?” I stared at the firelight. The pumper trucks had pulled back around and were spraying down some of the burning buildings. They were going to need backup to get all of the fires out. “No,” I said. 266

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The Sheriff made a grim face. “Well, thanks for being honest about it. So if you can’t rescue these girls, and they really do become angels of death or whatever, what do we do? How do I protect this town?” “Silver. Silver is anathema to most supernatural creatures. If the girls have Valkyries inside of them, it’ll burn them to the touch. A silver bullet or a silver blade will kill them.” The Sheriff regarded me with level, cool eyes. “I don’t much fancy the idea of killing innocent girls, Mr. Lyndsey. Some of them wasn’t old enough to drive.” With those words, all of the strength, all of the fight, drained out of my body. “I know. But if they come back as Valkyries, they are going to slaughter anything in their path. If it’s them or you …” I shook my head. “Tell everyone to stay inside. According to the legends, the Wild Hunt targets people caught outdoors. I think people will be safe if they stay inside.” “You think?” “Sorry, Sheriff. This isn’t an exact science. I’m doing the best I can, just like you.” “I suppose that’s true.” The Sheriff sighed. “You heading off on that rescue mission?” “Yeah.” He held out his hand. “Good luck, son. I ain’t a praying man, but my thoughts are with ya.” We shook. “Thanks, Sheriff. Neither am I. Um … any chance I can get a lift back to my car?” “Sure thing.” *** The Sheriff dropped my off at the bed and breakfast. A solitary light burned in the living room window. Ethel was probably sitting by the fireplace, waiting for her Granddaughter to come home. I should have gone in, told her what had happened and what I intended to do about it, but I just couldn’t. Ice giants and death angels were one thing, but the broken heart of a kindly old woman was something I 267

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just couldn’t face. So, like a coward, I climbed into my Jeep and headed back to Tiger Mountain. I drove fast, white-knuckling the steering wheel the entire way. I drove in as far as I could, then ditched the Jeep, grabbed a flashlight, and started running through the woods. I didn’t have a tracking spell to lead me, but the glen that served as the gateway to Holda’s domain was almost exactly at the base of one of the six mountains, and that was one hell of a landmark. Soon–relatively speaking–I emerged from the forest and into the clearing that led to Holda’s subterranean abode. “Hello!” I called out. “Is anybody here? Esmeralda?” “Hello, Caden,” the Moss Maiden’s voice came from behind me. “Esmeralda,” I said, relief flooding my voice. “I was worried Holda had scarred you off.” She smiled, a small, sad expression. “No, I’m still here.” “Thank God,” I said. “Esmeralda, I need you to open a way to the Otherworld for me. Holda has taken my friend prisoner, and I have to rescue her.” “I know,” the Moss Maiden said, looking at her feet. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” “What? What are you talking about? If you’re afraid of Holda, I promise I’ll protect you. I’ll–” “No, no,” Esmeralda said. “I’m not afraid. Well, I am afraid, but that’s not why I can’t help you. Holda has sealed this passageway. The gate is closed, even to me.” “What? What do you mean? Can’t we pry the door back open?” “I’m sorry, Caden,” the Moss Maiden said softly. “Holda’s magic has grown very strong. There’s nothing I can do.” “I … oh.” I turned around in circles, like I expected a passage to Holda’s Otherworld to open up anyway. When it didn’t, I just sat down, staring at the ground in front of me. The Moss Maiden wrapped her tiny arms around me. “I’m sorry, Caden.” 268

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“I know. I know.” I’m not sure how long I sat there. The Moss Maiden had disappeared by the time I stood up. I fumbled my way back through the woods, to the Jeep, and slowly drove back to the bed and breakfast. Ethel looked up as soon as I opened the door. “Miranda?” she asked, hopeful, as she rose from her chair. I shook my head. “I’m sorry.” Ethel stared at me, her mouth hanging open. “Oh. Oh, my.” Her hands began to tremble. She touched her mouth and collapsed back into her seat. I pulled a chair up next to her and covered her hand with mine. We sat in silence, sharing our misery.

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Chapter Twenty-Two If you really want to see what someone’s made of, threaten their children. Ethel was devastated. She had been struggling to cope with the strange things happening in Mirrormont, with the knowledge that the world was so much bigger, stranger, and more dangerous than she had ever conceived, and losing Miranda to that weirdness was just too much for her. She shut down, spending the entire day in her rocking chair in front of the fire, worrying yarn with her crochet hooks but making no progress. I made her breakfast, toast and tea, but she didn’t even acknowledge them. At twenty-two years old, Miranda was one of the oldest taken. Most of the girls who answered Holda’s siren song were still in high school. In all, thirty-one girls had walked through solid doors, wandered into the night, and joined Holda’s congregation. They had laughed and danced and fed, and if the rules of Fey held true, that meant they were lost, bound body and soul to the Otherworld. The Sheriff called a town-wide meeting to discuss the night’s events. We assembled in the fire hall. Parents wept and hugged and looked to the sky for help. An uncomfortable number of them were carrying rifles. I sat in the back, silently listening to the heartbreak, pleading, 272

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and anger of the parents I had failed. Sheriff Skerrit assured the parents that he and his men were doing everything possible to ensure the safe return of Mirrormont’s girls. He was telling them the truth, as far as he knew. I hadn’t told him how hopeless I felt. Because rules, to coin a phrase, are meant to be broken. Consuming the food or drink of Otherworld makes you a prisoner, like Persephone in Hades. I don’t understand why, but it’s an old, powerful magic. Something about having a part of Fey inside of you binds you to the Otherworld, and once that happens, only the creature who bound you can set you free. Holda wasn’t likely to release her new Sisters. She wasn’t just building an army, she was building a family. She missed the children and siblings Wotan had slain when the Aesir attacked the Valar, and now that she had made her way to our world she was, in her mind, putting things right. There was nothing I could offer Holda that would make her release Miranda and the others. And that meant I was just going to have to kill her. I hoped that destroying Holda would free them, but it was just that–a hope, not a guarantee. “I want everyone indoors before nightfall,” the Sheriff said, his mustache bobbing up and down as he spoke. “I expect the kidnappers to come back tonight, and I want the streets cleared so my boys can take them on.” The meeting turned ugly in an instant. Mothers broke down sobbing, fathers jumped out of their chairs, pointing and cursing. “What the fuck do you mean they’re coming back?” one man shouted, spit flying from his mouth. “How the hell do you know what they’re gonna do?” another man demanded. “Are they going to take more of our children?” a mother asked in between racking sobs. The Sheriff waved his hands, trying to get everyone to calm down. “Look, folks. I don’t know much more than you do. I don’t have any great insight into what these bastards have planned. But it doesn’t make sense to do this to our town and then just run off, does it? They 273

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must want something, right? So we just need to be ready when they come.” The crowd murmured amongst themselves until one of the fire fighters from the previous night stood up and raised his hand. The Sheriff called on him. “Tony?” “So, uh, what about the troll?” The Sheriff’s face turned red, and he stammered for a moment. “Come again?” “The troll. That thing we froze solid with our hoses last night? The thing that wrecked the courthouse?” The crowd didn’t like that. About one quarter of the people laughed, another quarter rolled their eyes, and the remaining half got angry. “This ain’t no time to joke around, Tony,” one guy said. “My little girl is missing.” “You think I don’t know that?” Tony said, hand held out in surrender. “But I know what I saw, and I saw a goddamn troll.” The crowd started shouting again. The Sheriff tried to calm them down, but no one seemed particularly interested in listening to him. Finally another guy stood up on his chair and waved his hands for attention. “Listen, everybody, listen up! Tony ain’t joking around with ya. Me and my boys were out behind the courthouse this morning, cleaning up. There was this big ass block of ice, more than ten feet tall, so thick we had to go at it with jackhammers. And sure as shit there was something inside of it, something that looked like a man, except it weren’t no man. Now look, I ain’t saying I know what’s going on here, but if Tony wants to call that thing a troll, well, I ain’t gonna argue with him. And you can ask any of my boys, they’ll tell you the same thing, hand to God.” “Oh bullshit,” someone called out. A bunch of people agreed with him. The first guy who had spoken, the guy with spittle on his chin, touched the butt of his rifle absentmindedly. The Sheriff and I both saw it. Skerrit casually undid the strap holding his revolver in its holster. Christ. I stood up and walked to the front of the room. I stood there, silent, staring at the crowd until they shut up and paid attention. 274

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“It isn’t bullshit. But it also wasn’t a troll.” “Finally,” a woman said, “someone with some sense.” “It was a frost ogre.” The woman stared at me for a beat. “Well fuck you, too.” “It was a frost ogre, and you can go see the pieces of it in the county dump if you’re so inclined. It was a servant of the thing that took your daughters, and I killed it last night.” Mr. Spittle got out of his seat and walked halfway down the aisle, jabbing an accusing finger at me. “I don’t know why you all think this is a good time for a practical joke, but my goddamn daughter is missing, and I do not find any of this amusing. So unless you want a size twelve boot up your ass, I suggest you sit down and shut your goddamn mouth.” “This isn’t a joke,” I said, calmly, patiently. “I know this is hard to believe, hard to accept, but something evil has come to Mirrormont, and the sooner you deal with that, the better off you’ll be.” “What, the fuckin’ tooth fairy came and stole our girls?” Mr. Spittle asked. He laughed, but it was an ugly sound. “Not exactly. Her name is Holda. She used to be worshiped as a god by the German people. Five days ago, a pagan cult conducted a ritual that summoned her to Mirrormont. Now she’s free and building an army. I think she plans to destroy this town and kill everyone in it. I plan to stop her.” Mr. Spittle laughed and waved me away. “Okay, sure thing, buddy. Crazy son of a bitch.” The Sheriff came up to me and put a hand on my arm. “Caden, I don’t think this is helping matters. I–” I summoned the Aether. Swirling, luminescent energy gathered around my hands, dancing like sapphire flames. The Sheriff cursed and jumped back. The crowd gasped. People swore and prayed and cried. I let the energy build until it surrounded my entire both, sheathing me in fire that didn’t burn. I looked out at the crowd, at every single eye that stared at me in wonder, then dismissed the flames. 275

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Silence rained for a full minute. No one took so much as a single breath. Finally, Mr. Spittle spoke up. “It’s a trick. Just fuckin’ stage magic. Bullshit. Asshole.” “It’s not a trick. And it is magic, but not the David Copperfield kind.” “Oh yeah? Prove it.” “Okay,” I said. “Shoot me.” Mr. Spittle stopped. I saw his brain slip a gear, then clanged back into service. “What now?” “Take your rifle, point it at me, and pull the trigger. Shoot me.” The Sheriff went to move in between us. “Caden, I don’t–” I waved him off. “It’s all right, Sheriff. Trust me.” Mr. Spittle looked back at the crowd. “You are one crazy bastard, you know that? Someone needs to get this guy to a head doctor.” “Come on,” I said. “Do it. What are you afraid of? Worried you’re going to miss? I’m like ten feet away. This should be an easy shot.” The crowd stared at us with rapt attention. Mr. Spittle gaped at me. “You really want me to do it, don’t you?” “I truly do.” He unslung the rifle form his shoulder, raised it, aimed it at me. A handful of women started crying. A handful more covered their eyes. “I ain’t jokin’ around,” Mr. Spittle said. “Neither am I.” “Your funeral,” he said, and fired. Screams and shouts and cries rang out from the crowd. The Sheriff ran his hand over his face and sighed. Mr. Spittle, though, just stood there, looking down the barrel of his rifle, staring at me. Or, rather, staring about six inches in front of me, where a bullet hung in midair, rotating slowly. I don’t go out of my way to show off my power. It raises a lot of question I can’t, or rather wouldn’t, answer, and most of the time 276

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people figure out how to explain it away, anyhow. People don’t want magic to be real. They don’t want monsters to lurk in the shadows. And for the most part, I have no reason to force them to believe. But Mirrormont was under siege, and these folks needed to know what they were dealing with. They also needed to know that I knew what I was talking about. I walked forward, grabbed the bullet out of the air, and dropped it in Mr. Spittle’s hand. “Brass won’t do you any good. Silver bullets, silver knives. It disrupts magic. It’ll slow down these monsters, even kill some of them.” “What about our girls?” “Your girls are possessed. They’ve been turned into Valkyries, death spirits. They belong to Holda now, and they’ll kill you if they catch you outdoors. So don’t get caught outdoors.” “Can we get them back?” God I was tired. Tired and weary and done, just done. I let out a deep breath, my shoulders sagging. “I’m going to try.” “This is heathenry!” A woman was standing up in the back of the room, pointing at me. She was wearing a gray dress, hey hair was frizzy, and her eyes were wild. The Sheriff rolled his eyes. “Settle down, Mrs. Latchman.” “I will not settle down! This man is not of God, and if we let him ply his magic on our behalf, the Lord will judge us all!” Francine Lockhart, sitting on the other side of the room, stood up. “Caden is a man of God, Alli. He may have lost his way a bit, but the Good Lord is calling him home. It’s God’s will that he be here for us today.” “Aaaaaand that’s my cue to leave,” I said, and moved through the crowd. “Remember. Silver weapons. Stay indoors. Keep your heads down.” The people argued amongst themselves while I departed. Ethel was still sitting by the fire when I got back to the bed and breakfast. I took away the toast and tea, both cold, neither touched, and brought her a sandwich and some milk. I didn’t expect her to eat those, either, but it couldn’t hurt to try.

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Public Works had done a good job of clearing most of the main streets, though they were still working on the roads that led into and out of Mirrormont, so I got back into my Jeep and just drove. There was going to be a big battle in just a few hours, and a lot of innocent lives were at stake. Miranda’s life was at stake. Her face haunted me, her face and the creepy green fire that emanated from her eyes. I was going to get her back, I wouldn’t allow myself to believe anything else, but to do that I needed to be at my absolute best. If I let myself sit and stew, thinking about all the things that could go wrong and what would be lost if they did, I would defeat myself before Holda even took the field. I drove aimlessly, stopping at a bookstore to browse through their spy novels and at a burrito joint for dinner. When the sky started to turn red, I headed back to town. I set up camp near the entrance to Tiger Mountain state park. This was the area closest to Holda’s mountain, the place her Hunters would hit first. The Sheriff showed up a few minutes later, several men in tow. I would have preferred to be on my own, of course, but the Sheriff was a tough old bastard who took duty seriously, and there wasn’t a whole lot I could have done to dissuade him. Not that I didn’t try. “You know you don’t have to be here,” I said. Skerrit scowled without looking at me. “See this badge on my jacket? That means this is where I belong.” “I’m not sure ‘rampaging Norse hell bitch’ is part of the job description.” “Neither was arranging to kill an ice troll with a fire truck, but I worked that out.” “Fair enough. Guys?” The Sheriff’s men, ten of them, were arrayed behind us. “What are you carrying?” The Deputy took a step forward. “AR-15s from the county armory, sir.” “And the bullets?” He ejected his clip and turned it so I could see the top round. “Silver, sir, just like you said. It was tricky getting ‘em, but a bunch of us 278

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hand-load, and Billy’s wife has a smelter, for makin’ jewelry, so we managed.” “Good.” “Sir?” the Deputy asked. “What’s coming down that mountain?” I stared off into the darkness, toward the forest. “I really don’t know.” Ten minutes later, a horn blast echoed through the night. The sound sent a chill down my spine, and based on the nervous shuffling and muttering behind me, I wasn’t alone. The Sheriff adjusted his rifle. “Stay steady, boys. Don’t fire till you see the whites of their eyes.” “Their eyes are actually green. And on fire,” I said. Sheriff Skerrit turned his head almost imperceptibly and spat on the ground. “It’s a figure of speech.” A blast of arctic wind hit us, rushing down from the mountain and out from the forest. The temperature dropped twenty degrees in an instant. It was the kind of cold that makes it hurt to breathe, the kind of cold that cuts right to your bones and makes you want to be anywhere else. The men around me turned aside and fastened the face guards on their coats. I poured a bit of will into my armor, blocking the chill. Lightning flashed, revealing a torrent of snow rolling down from the mountain, so thick it was almost an avalanche. One of the bolts struck a nearby tree, splitting in nearly in half and setting it ablaze. Thunder rumbled and roared, but the sound was continuous, unabating. I realized that the sound was actually that of animal feet striking the earth. The Sheriff raised his rifle. “Steady, boys.” I took a step forward and gathered the Aether around my hands. The ground trembled beneath our feet as Holda’s horde, still masked by the shadows of the woods, barreled toward us. The trees shook, the wind howled, and thick snow cut through the air like frozen razor blades. The men behind me fell back a step. I took another step forward. 279

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Lightning ripped through the air and struck the ground just inches in front of me. Dirt and rocks exploded upward, showering me in debris. My armor flashed bright blue, protecting me. One of the Sheriff’s men screamed. The ground shook. The cacophony became almost unbearable. “Ready!” the Sheriff called out, his voice almost drowned out by the wind. Holda broke through the trees.

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Chapter Twenty-Three Holda rode forth, sitting astride her white wolf. She was still wearing her gossamer dress, but she had added armor to her ensemble. Her shoulders, forearms, and shins were all guarded with intricately detailed golden plate, and a wide golden belt girded her stomach. She held a long, golden broadsword in her right hand, and a ram’s horn trumpet in her left. She lifted the horn to her mouth and sounded a deafening blast. Behind her, the girls of Mirrormont emerged from the darkness. Each of them was dressed as Holda herself, in gossamer and gold, and each one rode a wolf the size of a bear and the color of night. They wielded a variety of weapons, swords and spears and bows. Their eyes glowed like jade Jack O’ Lanterns. Girls. Young, innocent girls. Girls drawn into this through no fault of their own, taken prisoner because I hadn’t managed to beat the monsters hiding in their closets. I opened my vision to the Aether and confirmed my worst fears. The girls had cat’s eyes and needle teeth; they had been possessed, and while I could try to save them– while I would try to save them–the chances of bringing them back alive were damn near zero.

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The Valkyries shrieked and howled, a frenzied, awful noise, and bore down on us. Miranda was nowhere to be seen. “Aim for the wolves!” I shouted. “Don’t hit the girls unless you have to!” Thunder roared behind me, this time man-made. Tiny silver missiles whizzed through the air and hissed past my ear. One of the lead wolves was struck, and blood burst from its shoulder. The creature howled and went down, sending its rider toppling. Smoke rose up from the creature’s wound as the silver poisoned it. The snow beneath it was stained brilliant crimson. The girl who had been riding the beast tucked and rolled like some kind of white-clad teenybopper ninja and came back to her feet snarling. She rushed forward, ignoring the hail of silver flying past her, and raised her sword, aiming for my neck. I threw a blast of telekinesis her way, knocking the weapon from her hand, then hit her with blue-white fire. The assault wasn’t enough to kill her, but it knocked her back into the oncoming horde. Holda screamed and dug her heels into her wolf’s sides, turning it toward me and urging it to move faster. The men opened up again, filling the air with argent hail. Holda kicked her animal and it leapt into the air, passing ten feet over our heads. She landed in the midst of the Sheriff’s men. Her sword slashed downward, cutting the Deputy from right shoulder to left hip. His body was nearly cleaved in two, and everything around him was suddenly swimming in red. He didn’t even have time to scream. At the same time the wolf’s jaws snapped closed, snaring a man’s entire head. The wolf shook, whipping the man around like a rag doll. I heard the man’s neck snap. The Sheriff’s men panicked, backing up and turning in toward Holda. They raised their rifles and fired wildly. “No, you sons of bitches, you’re shooting at yourselves!” the Sheriff screamed. It didn’t matter. They were small town cops, not trained military personnel. Panic had taken over and they were going to do anything possible to protect themselves. There was no group instinct, no

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coordination, just mindless self-preservation. They fired until their guns were empty. It was a miracle that only three of them were hit. The next wave of Valkyries hit while my back was turned. One of them slashed across my shoulders, trying to cut my head off at the waist, but my armor protected me. Sparks filled the darkness and the Valkyrie’s sword snapped in two. “That’s what you get for using a discount Dwarf to smith your weapons!” I shouted after her. And then, because I should have been paying attention to the battle instead of my laugh track, I took a cudgel to the back of the skull. I ate dirt, or at least dirty snow. The Valkyrie whipped her wolf around and charged me. The creature’s claws bit into the ice, propelling it forward, and I really didn’t want to know what it would feel like to have them bite into me, armor or no. The wolf reared up to trample me. I thrust my hand forward and sent a spear of white fire straight through it. The Valkyrie, who was barely old enough for a training bra, fell to the ground in a heap. She got back to her knees and drew a golden knife from her belt. It hit it with telekinetic force, then hit her, too. The raw physical force wasn’t as effective as my fire, but I couldn’t bring myself to burn a little girl, creepy green eyes or no. She tumbled away, but came back to her feet with eerie grace. She advanced toward me, snarling. Her weapons were gone, but the way her fingers flexed indicated she was planning on tearing me apart with her bare hands. One of the men dropped his rifle and drew his sidearm, a big, clunky thing that I’m not enough of a gun nut to be able to identify. He drew a bead on the girl and fired. The back of her head exploded. Blood and brains flew through the air. The girl fell into the snow, and blood poured out around her. I rushed over to girl’s side. The neat hole between her eyes belied the carnage that had been the back of her skull. I lifted her body, cradling her in my arms. Her eyes were still open. Jesus, she didn’t look like she was out of high school yet. “I got one!” the man shouted. “I got one!” An arrow pierced his chest a moment later.

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A scream cut through the night. I whirled around just in time to see a man disemboweled on the end of some sort of giant, golden hook. It looked like the kind of thing they used to pull bad acts off the stage in Vaudeville, except it was ferociously sharp and covered in gore. Three of the Valkyries had cordoned off one of the cops. They rode around him in circles, cutting in, slashing at him, then jumping back before he had a change to retaliate. The Sheriff took careful aim and sniped one of the wolves, sending its rider crashing down. The cop himself had managed to reload and took out another rider. I burned the third with a spear of light. But another Valkyrie struck suddenly, ramming her aurelian blade through his back and out his chest. The man’s mouth fell open and the gun dropped from his hands. The Valkyrie lifted him up into the air on the tip of her blade. She held him there a moment, his corpse slipping down toward the hilt, then hurled his body off into the darkness. “God damn it!” the Sheriff growled. He opened fire, aiming for the girl instead of the wolf. I snarled and slapped the gun down. “What the hell are you doing?” “I’m trying to save our asses!” he spat back. “She’s just a girl!” “That girl just killed a man, you son of a bitch!” I understood. I really did. I’ve seen men die. I’ve seen friends die. I saw my lover die. And when something like that happens, rules tend to go out the window. Things you’d never think yourself capable of, not in a million years, suddenly seem perfectly reasonable. Things like shooting a teenage girl in the back with an assault rifle. But that isn’t reasonable. “That girl didn’t do anything to deserve this,” I hissed. One of the men ran past us, screaming. He dropped his gun as her came, practically throwing it behind him. A Valkyrie followed in close pursuit, training a bow and arrow on him. I shoved the Sheriff aside and threw a blast of light over his shoulder, knocking the wolf out of the air and sending the arrow flying harmlessly into the darkness. 285

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“Thanks,” the guy said. “Look out!” I screamed, but it was too late. Another Valkyrie rushed up behind him and took his head off with a giant, golden cleaver. His decapitated body just stood there for a moment, his head laying at his feet, before gravity brought his corpse tumbling down. Holda stopped long enough to look at me and laugh. She sounded her horn and the Valkyries formed on her, riding off into Issaquah. The last remaining officer, a wild-eyed kid who would have gotten carded at any bar in town, ran over to us, clutching his arm. “They winged me, Sheriff, but I’m all right.” “That makes one of ya,” the Sheriff said. He pulled out his revolver and checked to make sure it was loaded. “Get on the radio. Tell ’em they’ve got company coming.” The officer scurried off. I jumped into my Jeep. I had removed the hardtop about an hour ago, leaving nothing but the roll cage between me and the open air. I slammed on the gas and the Jeep lurched forward, pushing me back into the seat. The Wild Hunt ran down the road, headed for Issaquah. The wolves were freaking fast. I was pushing the Jeep as hard as I could, and the engine howled in protest, but I could barely keep up with the Otherworldly creatures. I stretched a hand out through the roll cage and sent a blast of light tearing down the road, catching one of the wolves in its hindquarters. The beast was hobbled and its rider went skidding down the asphalt, but there were still nearly three dozen Valkyries heading toward town. Three off the riders broke off from the main pack and headed toward the high school. I hesitated for a moment, but the school was empty and three Valkyries weren’t as important as three dozen, so I continued to follow Holda’s horde. I heard crashing and banging behind me, and in the rear-view mirror I saw the high school burst into flames. The kids in Issaquah were going to be thrilled. Assuming they survived the night. We tore down Second Ave. The wolves were starting to tire–or maybe they were just slowing down to choose targets–and I 286

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managed to catch up a little. I pulled next to one of the Valkyries, drove with my right hand, and fired magic with my left. I hit her in the face–accidentally, was aiming for her torso but I ran over a bump–and sent her spiraling off into the night. The rider next to her, though, hefted a spear and threw it at my head. I ducked and swerved and the weapon missed me, but just barely. The spear shattered the rear passenger window. “Damn it!” I screamed. “I just had this thing fixed!” We entered the heart of Issaquah. Valkyries peeled off in twos and threes, summoning magic fire and setting shops and homes ablaze. The Valkyries split into two groups when we reached East Sunset Way. I slammed on the breaks and skid to a stop, then stood up on my seat and looked to the left and the right. One group had headed left, back toward City Hall. The other, led by Holda, was barreling toward the residential part of town. I sat back down and followed Holda, picking off Valkyries whenever I could. Holda’s minions dismounted and started going door-to-door. They couldn’t enter the houses–the thresholds denied them entry–but that didn’t stop them from hurling emerald flames at the residences. Green fire soon became hellish orange, and the sky began to turn an evil shade of red. “Fuck,” I muttered. I had counted on the people being safe inside their homes, but the Valkyries were using the fire to drive them outside. A family rushed out of their house and into their back yard. A trio of Valkyries surrounded them, circling them, goading them with spears. I waded into the fight, my armor throwing sparks as it deflected attacks I couldn’t be bothered to track, light lancing out from my hands as I moved from warrior to warrior. The spirits inside the girls became visible when the light hit them. Something that looked like an after-image or a badly exposed film reared back whenever my luminescent magic struck. The apparitions shrieked and dug their spectral claws into the girls, pulling themselves back into their hosts’ bodies. I was about to cross the road when a horn blared at me. I jumped back and a red F-150 roared past. The driver had a bushy beard and a 287

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John Deer cap. The guy in the passenger seat was literally riding shotgun; he leaned out the window and fired wildly at the Valkyries. Two more men rode in the truck bed, strapped down with orange webbing. One of them had a rifle, the other a hand cannon, and they seemed to be competing for who could fire off the most rounds in a single minute. The truck went into a sideways skid and came to a halt in front of a coffee shop on the corner of Sunset and Third. John Deer and Shotgunner rolled out of the vehicle and came up brandishing their weapons. Rifle and Hand Cannon hopped over the edge of the bed and landed on the ground beside them; Hand Cannon missed his footing and fell, knocking Shotgunner down with him. “God damn it, Wes!” Shotgunner said. He clambered back to his feet, waving his weapon around like he didn’t know which end was dangerous. “Thank God,” I muttered. “The Redneck Revengers are here to save the day.” I headed toward the pickup, firing magic from my hands as I moved, trying to keep the Valkyries at bay. “Woah!” John Deer said. “Dude! You’re like Iron Man!” “Yes,” I said as I fired a lance of fire over his shoulder. “Aside from the high tech armor, multi-billion dollar defense company, harem of one-night stands, and sweet-ass goatee, we could be twins.” A storm of arrows sliced through the air at us. “Down!” I screamed and threw up a ward. The arrows slammed into the ward, stopped in mid-air, and clattered to the ground. “That is so awesome!” Hand Cannon cheered. “You should join our team!” Rifle said. “We’re defending the town!” He raised his gun and fired off three quick bursts. The Valkyries were unperturbed, but the coffee shop’s windows wouldn’t be bothering anybody again. “Get the hell out of here before you get killed,” I snarled. “Killed?” Shotgunner said, “Dude, we’re on fire.” “That is an excellent idea,” A woman’s cold voice said from behind him. He turned around, revealing an Asian girl dressed in white and gold, her eyes shimmering and green. 288

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“Get away from her–” I started, but it was too late. The Valkyrie laid her hand flat on Shutgunner’s chest. Her eyes flared and green energy rippled around Shutgunner’s body. He was silent for a single instant, staring at her with wide eyes and an open mouth. Then he started to scream, a high-pitched, wailing shriek of pure, unbearable pain. The green energy became bright white, and when it faded there was nothing left of Shotgunner but a set of charred black bones. “You whoring bitch!” John Deer spat. “God damn it!” Rifle screamed. Hand Cannon and John Deer aimed their weapons at the Valkyrie. She snarled and grabbed the barrels, ripping the guns from their hands. She clubbed John Deer in the face with his weapon, cracking his jaw, snapping his neck, and dropping him to the ground, then stuck John Deer’s shotgun in Hand Cannon’s stomach and pulled the trigger. The whole thing happened in a fraction of a second, too fast for me to react. I hate to say it, but Rifle was actually quicker than me. He raised his gun and jammed it toward the girl’s face. He pulled the trigger at the same time the Valkyrie grabbed the barrel. The gun bucked and fire spat out the end, but the bullet whizzed past her head. The Valkyrie pulled her dagger and prepared to gut the poor fool redneck. My brain finally decided to get back to the whole thinking thing, and I wrapped my mind around her blade, sending it flying off into the darkness. She howled in fury and moved to tear Rifle’s throat out with her bare hands, but a pencil-thin blast of light knocked her back fifteen feet. Thank God. I wouldn’t want the world deprived of what was almost certainly a champion pig calling voice. Rifle grabbed his weapon off the ground. “Come her you slant–” I jerked the rifle out of his hand. “Listen to me, you inbred hillbilly assclown. That girl just killed three of your friends in about half a second. I know you probably have your Rambo DVD set on endless repeat, but you are in way over your head here. So why don’t you get back in your truck and find a locked door to hide behind?”

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The guy stared at me, the vein in his forehead pulsing. He spat chewing tobacco at my feet, then climbed into the truck and squealed away. I walked past a chiropractor’s office and turned down Fifth Ave, following a pair of Valkyries. I raised my hands to attack them, but a blaring horn and a roaring engine made me dive onto the sidewalk. Rifle roared past me, foot to the floor, a pistol in his fist. He fired through the windshield, shattering it, and continued pumping rounds at the Valkyries. A round bounced off the left Valkyrie’s shoulder armor, spinning her halfway around. The right Valkyrie hurled her spear at Rifle. The weapon shot through the air like a missile and embedded in the man’s throat. The truck swerved wildly, almost hitting the Valkyries, then slammed into a tree. Rifle’s body was ejected from the vehicle and landed twenty feet away. Christ. I ran down Ander Street, firing lances of white light as I moved. My head was pounding and my breath was labored. I’d thrown around too much power, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I was going to be able to keep that fight up. But I needed to find Holda, needed to– “Caden.” The voice was cold, almost harsh, but still unmistakable. I turned slowly around. Her skin was nearly as pale as the translucent gown that swirled and billowed around her. She wore no armor, carried no weapons. She was barefoot, but if the cold bothered her, she gave no sign. Her red hair mimicked the fires burning around us. Her emerald eyes burned with the fire of a demon’s soul. “Miranda,” I said, my voice hoarse. She was beautiful and terrible all at once. She was perfect, bewitching and elegant, her diaphanous garment accentuating every curve and teasing with promises and glimpses of what lay hidden below. She stood proud, unashamed, brazen, raw sexuality and overwhelming confidence radiating from her.

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But it wasn’t Miranda. It was the thing inside of her, the thing that had stolen her, flaunting her body for its own ends, tempting me with something it had no right to offer. Miranda smiled and glided forward, walking on tip-toes and leaving not a single mark in her wake. She circled around me, looking me up and down, a lion considering prey. “Holda sent me to you, Caden. She wanted me to reiterate her offer.” “Thanks. You know, I’ve really been considering it, but I’ve always gotten my oil changed at the Steak and Lube, and it just doesn’t seem right to trade up.” Miranda laughed. She ran her fingers along my jaw. “Oh Caden. Always a sharp tongue. She likes that about you, you know. It’s a pleasant change of pace from her Grandmother’s constant yammering.” “Hey now, Ethel DuBois is a classy lady.” She looked me up and down. “You would be a wonderful addition to our court, Caden. A man rejected by his god, fighting alongside women rejected by their own deity. Think of the things we could do together, you and I. We could defeat Wotan. We could defeat them all. And then, when the battle is over and your flesh is weary,” she gave me a hungry, predatory smile, “I think you would find my ministrations quite invigorating.” I showed her my teeth, but only a fool would call it a smile. “You have a lot to learn about me, sweetheart. If you think I’m going to roll over and show you my belly because you’ll let me use Miranda like a sex doll–” “She wants it, you know,” the Valkyrie interrupted. “The tall, handsome man, the mysterious stranger, the dark and powerful avenger. She’d never admit it, but I know. I can feel it. It wouldn’t take much convincing at all. No, I think she’d enjoy it. The thought of you dominating her, taking her and having your way–” My fury boiled over. My mind roared and my will closed around the demon like a vice. The Valkyrie choked and grabbed at her throat, unable to talk, unable to breathe. “Come out of her,” I said, my voice cold and flat. The demon trembled, then fell to her knees. “Come out of her,” I repeated. The Valkyrie fell forward and clawed at the 291

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ground, her fingernails carving gouges in the asphalt. “Come out of her!” I shouted. The Valkyrie coughed up blood and smiled. “You’re killing her, Caden.” I held out my hand and closed my fist. My willower cinched around the monster, crushing it. Miranda’s body convulsed. I wrenched the demon with my thoughts, drawing it from within Miranda. She opened her mouth. Green fire glowed inside her throat. I could see the demon, almost touch it. But she was right. Miranda was dying. The demon was ravaging her, shredding her on its way out, and right now, the Valkyrie’s presence was the only thing holding her together. I released my grip on the demon and it disappeared back inside Miranda’s body. The Valkyrie knelt in the snow, gasping, then looked up at me and laughed. “Maybe Holda is wrong. I’m not sure you have what it takes to be a warrior.” The Valkyrie leapt from the ground, shockingly fast, and drove her knee into my face. My armor threw sparks and the blow sent me flying through the air. A landed on a car, crushing the windshield and nearly peeling the roof off. I gathered the Aether to counter attack, but the Valkyrie was already on top of me, pinning me down with one knee and driving a flurry of punches to my face and body. I threw light at her, but the Valkyrie expected my move. She rolled to the side just in time, disappearing next to the car. I rolled to follow her, every vertebrae in my spine popping as I moved. The Valkyrie was gone when I landed. She slid beneath the car and popped up on the other side, green eyes blazing. And then she threw the car at me. Her fingers sunk into the metal, making a horrible shrieking noise, and then she just lifted the damn thing up over her head, like a professional wrestler about to do a body slam, and brought the car crashing down on my head. I threw an uppercut, using all of my strength, and released a blast of Aether as my fist struck the car. The frame bent around my fist, folding like it was hinged. The force of the Aether tore the car from the Valkyrie’s grasp and sent in flying ten feet into the air. White light punch through solid steel and shone up into the night like a beacon. 292

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I smelled gasoline. The Valkyrie looked at me, smiling. “Oh, shit,” I muttered. The car exploded. Superheated air blasted us, knocking us backward and away from each other. Fire followed instantly after, washing over my shield and sending blue sparks rippling across my vision. The remains of the car crashed back to earth, landing with a deafening thud. The burned out shell sat on the pavement, flames dancing sullenly. My armor flickered, then vanished. The spells that protected me and strengthened me were done, my energies expended. I was just a normal human being again, weak and vulnerable. I felt like every muscle in my body had been torn, like every joint had been hyperextended. My head rang, my vision was filled with white spots, and my mouth tasted like metal. The Valkyrie in Miranda’s body stood over me, sneering. I tried to sit up, but she planted her toes on my chest and pushed me back down into the snow. I grabbed her ankle, but the demon inside of her was ferociously strong. She stepped on my neck and ground her heel against my windpipe. Fire shot down my throat and my eyes bugged out. I couldn’t breathe. I clawed and her leg, but the Valkyrie just laughed. And then she released me. She knelt down and ran her hand up the inside of my thigh. “I will have you, Caden. One way or another. With your consent or without it. The only question is how badly I have to hurt you before you give in.” Her emerald eyes flared. “And how badly I hurt you after.” She stood up and walked away. Snow swirled around her, briefly masking her form, and when it cleared, Miranda was gone. I let my head fall back and closed my eyes. Darkness claimed me soon after.

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Chapter Twenty-Four The sun was starting to rise by the time I woke up. I was lucky I didn’t have frostbite. As it was I felt like I was suffering from the world’s worst hangover. I found my way back to the Jeep and drove slowly through the streets of Issaquah. The Valkyries were gone, and they had left devastation in their wake. It looked like the bombing of Dresden. Nearly every house, shop, and church inside a three-block radius had been reduced to a burntout husk. Pillars of black and gray smoke rose up into the sky, inky tendrils trying to snare the sun. Dozens of fire trucks were parked along the streets, spraying water, but they were fighting a losing battle. A squad of Sheriff’s cars and a horde of ambulances were parked near St. Michael and All Angels Church. I pulled over to investigate. Dozens of people were scurrying about, most of them wearing jackets emblazoned with Police, Fire, or more troublingly, Coroner. Sheriff Skerrit was directing the action, waving his hands like an air traffic controller and barking into his walkie-talkie. He glanced at me as I approached. “The hell do you want?” “How bad is it?”

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“Fifteen dead. At least thirty families are homeless. Governor might declare the place a disaster area, which will help with the rebuild, but it won’t bring anyone back.” “What did you tell him happened?” “The truth. Bunch of crazy bitches rode through town lighting everything on fire. He ain’t sure if it’s gangs or drugs or what, but he deployed the national guard. They’re tryin’ to dig their way in now.” I shook my head. “That won’t help.” “No?” the Sheriff wheeled on me. “Because you’re the expert? Son, we took your advice, and look what happened. My whole friggin’ town is a pile of ash and rubble right now, and your little light show didn’t do a damn thing to stop ’em. Come ’ere.” He led me to the front of the church and stood there while I surveyed the scene. There were five corpses, and I recognized four of them. John Deer, Shotgunner, Rifle and Hand Cannon, and some other guy in a Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt. Their stomachs had been cut open, and their guts lay at their feet. Their internal organs had been replaced with straw, and the corpses had been hung on poles, arms extended, as if they had been crucified. “There are three more little displays like this, at three different churches,” the Sheriff said. “Turned ’em into goddamn scarecrows.” “They were outside,” I said helplessly. “I told them not to go outside.” “Yeah, and I told you we should have killed those things when we had the chance.” I stared at John Deer. His eyes were still open, and his mouth hung open in a silent scream. “They’re just kids.” The Sheriff sighed. “They were. Not anymore. Kids didn’t do this. Innocent people didn’t burn down people’s houses. Monsters did.” “I thought I could save them.” “Me, too. Least, that was the hope. I promised those parents that I’d get their girls back. But I have a responsibility to everyone in this town, Mr. Lyndsey, and if those girls try a repeat performance, I’m gonna have to make some hard choices.” 297

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“I understand. It’ll be easier to protect everyone if they’re in one place. Get them back in the fire hall, somewhere you can watch over them.” The Sheriff chewed on that for a minute. “Yeah, makes sense. I’ll see to it. And I’ll make sure everyone’s got silver.” I nodded silently and stared at the corpses for a moment longer. The Sheriff was right. Holda had taken dozens of girls hostage, but Mirrormont and the surrounding communities were home to thousands of people. If I let Holda’s horde ride again, they would be home to thousands of casualties. It made me sick to think like that, like it was a math equation, but the numbers were impossible to argue with. Holda’s Valkyries had to be destroyed. I got into my Jeep and drove away. I was exhausted, bone-weary, and my head pounded like a jack hammer. All I wanted to do was sleep for an hour or twenty, then maybe eat something. But I had one more thing to do before I could let myself rest. The highway leading to Mirrormont was empty. Light snow fell gently on the evergreens. It was strange; just five minutes outside of Issaquah, and you couldn’t tell anything monstrous had happened the night before. There was no smoke, no flashing lights, no sirens. It was calm, peaceful. I drove one block past the DuBois’ house and parked my Jeep by the side of the road, walked up to the tiny house, and knocked on the door. I heard rustling inside, and a moment later Francine Lockhart opened the door. “Caden?” she asked. “Hello, Mrs. Lockhart.” The little old lady looked up at me expectantly. “What can I do for you, young man?” “I’d like that knife now.”

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Chapter Twenty-Five I spent the rest of the day in a semi-trance, trying to put myself back together enough to make it back onto the battle field that night, and trying to gather enough magic to survive it. The sirens started at eight PM, wailing like banshees, signaling everyone to move to one of the Sheriff’s protected locations. The Valkyries had wreaked havoc on Issaquah, but they hadn’t destroyed it completely. Their focus seemed to be on churches and households, not government buildings. The elementary school was the biggest building still standing, so that’s where most of the townsfolk gathered to wait out the night, under the protection of Skerrit and his remaining deputies. My ward had done no good against Holda’s siren song, but I still thought it might prevent her from physically entering the building, so I spent the better part of an hour creating protective spells around the building’s doors and windows. Nobody looked particularly happy to see me, and I didn’t blame them. This wasn’t their fight. Defeating Holda wasn’t their job. They were scared, many of them had lost their homes, and some of them had lost their loved ones. As far as they were concerned, I was just the guy who hadn’t protected them, who hadn’t made good on his 300

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promise to get their children back. I kept my eyes down, found myself a corner in the back of the gymnasium, and waited. The horn sounded at midnight. The people of Mirrormont reacted. Some cried, some huddled together with loved ones, some snarled and brandished weapons. The room held its breath. The wind howled and snow blotted out the windows. The sound of paws lashing the earth echoed like thunder. And then, for a heartbeat, nothing. Someone pounded on the door, a big garage door at the back of the gym. “Easy, everyone,” the Sheriff said, and cocked his shotgun. The door shook again. A baby started crying. One of the deputies tried to get the mother to hush it, but what was she going to do? “It’s not like she doesn’t know we’re in here,” I said in a normal tone of voice. Pretty much everyone cringed. And then the door exploded. It ripped clean off its tracks and hurled toward us. The crowd drew its breath to scream, but I had kind of expected something like this. Gods love making a dramatic entrance. I threw up a ward and caught the door, deflecting it away from the people inside. The door crashed against the invisible barrier and fell to the ground. It was loud, but everyone was safe. Holda stood in the doorway, bathed in moonlight. Her white wolf stood by her side, and the Valkyries’ glowing green eyes were visible from the shadows behind her. She surveyed the room, then spoke in a voice as cold as the arctic wind that preceded her. “Hello, my subjects.” I walked forward. “Subjects? Don’t people technically have to know who the hell you are before they can worship you?” “Shut up!” a woman behind me hissed. “I mean, does anyone here even know this lady’s name? Or what pantheon she belongs to?” “What the hell is wrong with you?” A guy shouted at me. “Are you trying to make her mad?” Another woman demanded. “Well, yeah. Sun Tzu once said that a pissed off demon is a sloppy opponent. Or something like that.”

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Holda laughed. “They have a point, Caden. Who appointed you their champion? Who elected you to speak on their behalf? You’re playing with their lives, after all. Don’t you think you should honor their wishes?” A tiny, dark-haired woman with sunken eyes stepped forward. “She’s right. We didn’t ask you to come here. We didn’t ask you to bring this down on us.” “Hey,” I said, “if you want to fight this raging hell-bitch, her pack of giant horse-wolves, and her murdering cheerleaders, feel free. I have an entire season of Breaking Bad to catch up on, so–” Holda interrupted me. “People of Mirrormont, I have come to barter with you. I have proven that your families cannot resist my song. Last night I proved that it was within my power to destroy you all. But in my great mercy, I will spare you all, and all I ask in return is three favors.” “Let me guess, you need someone with a pickup truck to help you move your stuff out of that cave you live in. Transporting furniture on the back of a dog must be a pain in the ass.” “Somebody shut him up,” a woman called. “Answer me, good people. What has this man done for you? Has he protected you? How many have died because you followed him?” The crowd rumbled. Shit. This had the potential to turn ugly real fast. “And now, for my favors. First … I want him.” Holda extended a long, graceful finger and pointed it squarely at me. The crowd seemed to surge forward, their eagerness to comply with Holda’s demand was almost palpable. I couldn’t blame them. As far as they knew I was the cause of all their problems, and as far as they knew, I was the solution, too. They didn’t know they were making a deal with the devil. But I did. I’m not above a little bit of martyrdom now and then, but I’m not the type to needlessly sacrifice myself. Turning myself over to Holda wouldn’t have done anything to protect the people of Mirrormont. In fact, it would have taken the one player with a chance of defeating her out of the game. I suppose I could have 302

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explained this to everyone, could have calmly stated my case and rationally presented the logic of the situation. Instead, I blasted Holda in the face with blue-white fire. The crowd gasped and jumped away from me. Holda howled as the light streaking from my palm burned the evil inside of her. When I released the spell, Holda had once again taken the form of an old hag. She growled and threw emerald fire at me. The ward around the building shuddered and it felt like someone had driven a red-hot spike between my eyes. Another burst of jade flame shattered the ward and dropped me to my knees. Holda strode into the room and lifted my chin, forcing me to look into her eyes. “You shouldn’t have rejected me, Caden. You’re still so young, so inexperienced, so weak. Under my tutelage you could have become truly powerful. But now, you’ll never have the chance.” She raised her hand up high, ready to slash my throat or crush my skull or whatever it is Norse gods do when they’re pissed at you. “Stop,” I said weakly. Holda raised an eyebrow. “What was that?” I crawled forward, slowly and painfully, and laid my hands on her feet. “Stop. Please.” A triumphant, wicked smile spread slowly across Holda’s face. “Why Caden, are you surrendering to me?” I hung my head, my whole body shuddering. “Yes.” “Are you ready to serve me?” “Yes.” My voice was weak, barely audible. “Are you ready to worship me?” I hesitated for a fraction of an instant. “I am.” “Excellent,” she crowed. “Then kneel before me–well, you’re already down there. Kiss my feet, servant mine, and pledge yourself to my name.”

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I dipped my head down and brushed my lips against the top of her right foot, then her left. “Frau Holda, White Lady, Queen of the Snow …” “Yes?” Holda asked. “I can totally see up your skirt.” Holda snarled. I unleashed twin blasts of fire, raw, ragged willpower made manifest. The light was blinding in its purity, overwhelming in its intensity. The entire room was washed out in the harsh glare of my magic. My hair stood on end as the Aether created an electric charge in the air. Holda flew backwards, bathed in flame, writhing in pain. I got to my knees, my light still burning her, then climbed to my feet. I stalked toward her, my rage fueling my assault. Madeline’s form crumbled, her perfect skin charring and flaking away, revealing the grotesque monster hiding within. The cement beneath her cracked and chips flew through the air. My spell dissipated. Holda lay in an indentation on the ground, her skin blistered and blackened. Her teeth had become tusks, her feet cloven hooves. Her fingernails had become obsidian daggers, long, black, and gleaming. Her eyes were blood red, her pupils yellow. I drew the Exorcist’s Dagger and stalked toward Holda, ready to cut her throat. “Sisters!” she shouted with a voice like gravel. “Kill them! Kill them all!” Outside, dozens of emerald eyes started moving toward us. “Oh,” I said. “Well. Shit.” The Valkyries rushed forward, screaming. They hit the building like a tornado, racing through the ruined garage port, crashing through doors, shattering windows. Some of them burst right through the walls, tearing metal and crushing concrete like it was paper. Golden blades glittered in the fire hall’s neon lighting, thirsty for blood. Chaos broke out. I fired light from both hands, taking down two of the Valkyries. The Sheriff, his deputies, and everyone with a weapon opened fire, but only the police seemed to have silver bullets, and absolutely no one had any kind of fire discipline. Blades and bullets 304

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hissed through the air. The Sheriff’s men managed to fell some of the Valkyries, and I was able to hobble several more, but their numbers were overwhelming. And that was before Holda rejoined the fight. She lifted her legs over her head and jackknifed them down, launching herself onto her feet. Well, her hooves. The cement cracked from the impact, tiny spiderwebs racing out from beneath her. She crouched, her black fingernails etching furrows in the concrete, and snarled at me. Holda roared and leapt at me, claws aimed at my throat. I shot fire at her, catching her in the shoulder and spinning her around, but she recovered, dodged my next attack, and wrapped her talons around my neck. My armor sparked and shone, protecting me from the worst of the assault, but Holda still hoisted me off the ground and hurled me through the air. I struck the rolled-up bleachers, denting them. The Exorcist’s Dagger clattered away. Holda was on top of me almost before I had regained my feet. She threw a wrecking ball of a fist at me; I ducked and the punch missed my head, barely, and shattered the bleachers. I threw a blast of light into Holda’s stomach, knocking her back a dozen feet, then swept out her legs with a rush of telekinetic force. Shotgun blasts roared and one of the Valkyries fell. Another leapt over her and cut the shooter, a guy in a red plaid jacket, in half. Literally in half, from the top of his skull all the way down his body. I screamed and threw light at her, catching her full in the face. She went down, but Holda was getting back up. I whipped around and gathered the Aether for another attack, cupping my hands and focusing my energies into a single beam of white-hot light. I wasn’t sure if it would be enough to kill her, but– Fire ripped through my back, pain like I had never felt before. My strength failed me, leaving me completely unable to stand. I touched the burning spot on my back. My hand came away wet and red. I turned, numb, to see who had done this to me. Miranda, or at least Miranda’s body, stood behind me, emerald eyes aflame, holding the Exorcist’s Dagger. The enchanted blade had passed through my armor like it wasn’t even there. 305

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“My Lady?” she said. My vision shifted briefly, revealing cat’s eyes and needle teeth. “I have a gift for you.” The Valkyries stopped their assault and gathered around us. An opening appeared in the circle and Holda came forth, looking down at me with contemptuous, blood-red eyes. “Excellent. Bring him along.” “And the others?” one of the Valkyries asked. Holda looked at them dismissively. “Kill them.” The crowd wailed. “Wait!” someone shouted. “We, we’ll do whatever you want.” “Whatever I want?” Holda asked. “Anything,” a woman cried. Holda surveyed them like a farmer choosing cattle. “Bow down before me,” she commanded. “Worship me. Give me my due honor.” The Valkyries grabbed the nearest man and threw him down before Holda. He looked up at her, confused, then bent down to kiss her cloven feet. He looked up, wondering if his act of submission was enough. It wasn’t. The Valkyrie kicked him in the ribs, hard enough to crack bone. “Say her name,” the demon said. “Pay homage to Frau Holda.” The man coughed. His lips were stained red. “Fr, Frau Holda, I pay homage to you. I, I worship you. I adore you.” “As well you should,” Holda said imperiously. “Next?” One by one, the Valkyries brought the people of Mirrormont to Holda, forcing them to bow down and worship. And as they did so, as their faith flowed into her, the Holda’s terrible form shifted back into that of Madeline West. Her injuries healed, her beauty was restored, and even the tatters of her clothing were made new. “My Sisters, let us depart,” Holda said, walking toward the doorway. The crowd breathed a sigh of relief, but Holda stopped just before the threshold. “Oh, one more thing.” She surveyed the crowd, letting her words hang in the air. “I’ll need replacements for the Valkyries

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you took from me tonight. Sisters? Which of these young ladies should join our company this fine eve?” Mother and fathers began to sob. My injuries overtook me, and the world turned black.

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Chapter Twenty-Six When I woke up, the first thing I realized was that I was cold. Not freezing-to-death cold, just the mildly uncomfortable kind of cold that would keep you from falling asleep at night, the kind of cold that sends a mild shiver through your body. The second thing I realized was that I was alive. I had been stabbed in the kidney with an enchanted artifact, so my survival was more than a little surprising. Maybe the Exorcist’s Dagger only worked on magic and demons. Regardless, the fact that I was still alive was a positive development. I tried not to think too hard about the fact that the only reason Holda would keep me alive was to do something worse than kill me. I was in a cave, laying on a stone floor. The walls emitted eerie blue light, and I could hear water trickling somewhere nearby. I was still wearing my jeans, but everything else had been taken from me; my clothes lay in a pile in the corner of the cave. Heavy iron restraints shackled me to the floor. The chains were the kind of thing you’d use to anchor a boat, with links about an inch thick. The manacles stretched from my wrist almost to my elbow, and were etched with complicated, squarish-looking runes. 308

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Footsteps echoed outside my cell. I backed into a corner and got ready to throw up a defensive spell, but the being who appeared didn’t seem particularly dangerous. She was short, three and a half feet tall, and about four and a half feet wide. Her face was flat and round, with rosy cheeks and intelligent eyes. Her hair was the color of burning brass, and tied into a thick braid that hung nearly to the floor. She wore a long leather coat, etched with runes, thick woolen pants, and iron-shod boots. She carried a copper bowl, a copper pestle, and a bag of herbs. She set her accouterments on the floor next to me, then grabbed my shoulder and turned me around. “That’s healing well,” the Dwarf said. “My lucky day,” I said. “Luck has nothing to do with it,” she said sourly. “You can chalk the fact that you’re alive up to sheer skill. Lay on your stomach.” I did as I was told. The Dwarven healer poured water from a skin on her belt into the bowl, then mixed in a few handfuls of herbs. She ground the concoction with her pestle, and the cave began to smell like spearmint and cinnamon. She dipped a cloth in the mixture and applied the compress to my back. I jumped involuntarily. “It’s cold.” “Quit being such a baby,” the Dwarf said. She pulled a bag of stones off her belt and laid them on top of the bandage, then muttered in a harsh-sounding language. The stones began to glow, and chilly, numbing energy spread through my body. “Thanks for fixing me up,” I said as the Dwarf collected her materials. “Don’t thank me,” she said. “I’m just following orders.” “You probably saved my life.” “And you will probably regret that when Kara starts in on you.” “Who the hell is Kara?” “I am,” Miranda’s voice said. I turned around as best I could without disturbing the compress. The Valkyrie that had taken Miranda’s body 309

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stood at the entrance to my cell, examining the Exorcist’s Dagger with flaming green eyes. “Oh good,” the Dwarven woman said. “I was afraid I was going to have to entertain him or something. I’ll just leave you two alone.” “Thank you, Brilda,” the Valkyrie said. The Dwarf toddled past her. Kara stayed in the doorway, playing with the Exorcist’s Dagger, twisting it this way and that, watching the strange blue light reflect of the blade. “You should have accepted Holda’s offer, Caden Lyndsey. She is a kind goddess, and generous. You would have been happy by her side. But that’s all right. I’m sure we can find ways to entertain each other.” I stared hard at the knife. Which is totally what she intended, and I knew that was what she intended, but it didn’t make it any less effective, or any less intimidating. “What? She expects you to break me?” “Break you, toy with you, whatever. Holda has given you to me, to do with as I please.” “Well that sounds interesting and all, but maybe you shouldn’t have let your Dwarf patch me up before you started in on me.” Kara smirked. The smile looked nothing like Miranda’s. “And why is that?” “Mostly because I can blow things up with my brain.” I thrust my hands forward and growled, releasing the Aether I had gathered inside of myself. The runes on my manacles glowed bright red. I screamed as the metal seared my flesh. My control over the Aether was shattered. The runes dimmed, but the iron was still hot. I fell back against the cavern wall, gasping. I could smell my skin burning. Kara laughed. “You are not the first mage to grace our cells, Caden, and our Dwarves have talents besides healing.” She crouched down beside me and took my hand, examining my injuries. “Brilda could fix this, but I believe I’ll let you think on your sins a while first. And then,” she touched the dagger’s tip to my chest, scratching me lightly, “we’ll begin.”

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The Valkyrie stood suddenly and walked away. “Rest well, Caden Lyndsey. I want you strong and ready.” I watched her leave, hyperventilating. The pain in my arms was bad, but didn’t even compare to a dagger in the kidneys … or what they dagger could do when Kara decided to go to work on me. I needed to escape, obviously, but I had no idea how. I tried to summon my armor, but as soon as I began to gather the Aether the Dwarven restraints glowed with hellish light. I cried out in pain. When I recovered, I tried another tactic. I gathered just a touch of energy, forming it around my arms, trying to create a barrier between my flesh and the manacles. If I was careful enough, slow enough– No good. The restraints roared to life as soon as I released the spell, burning my skin and shredding my magic. The shackles had no sense of proportional response; they were either off or on, an any attempt to use my magic would result in nothing but searing pain and failure. I caught my breath. My magic was useless, but I still had my body. I grabbed my chains and braced my feet against the cavern wall, then strained as hard as I could. The chains didn’t even struggle to overcome my merely human strength, and the loop that held me to the ground was just as strong. Maybe I could use the chains to chip away at the stone floor … I worked for an hour, building a tiny pile of stone shards at my feet. “Well, what have we here?” a voice called out. I whipped around. The chains snared my feet, and I toppled over. Brilda was standing in the entryway, smirking. “That ring goes down ten hand lengths. You could dig for a year and still be stuck here.” My lip quivered into a snarl, but I kept my mouth shut. The Dwarf walked into the room and set a tray beside me. “Here. Dinner is served, your majesty. Eat up. You’re going to want to be at your best when Kara comes back. I saw her picking out a whip just a few minutes ago.” “Thanks,” I muttered. She had brought me a cup of water and a loaf of bread, but even that meager fare seemed like a feast. I couldn’t remember when I had eaten last. “But I can’t eat food from the Otherworld.” The Dwarf laughed. “Oh, because then you’ll be trapped here?” 311

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“Exactly.” “Honey, you’re stapled to the floor with fifty stones of Dwarven steel. You’re already trapped here.” She grabbed my bread and tore a chunk out with her teeth, then patted me on the head. “But you go ahead and tell yourself otherwise. Kara likes it when you guys put up a fight.” The Dwarf walked away, munching on my meal. I waited until the sound of her footsteps faded before I started chipping away at the stone again. “That isn’t going to do you any good.” “Jesus!” I spun around, holding my metal-clad hands up to protect myself. I hadn’t heard anyone coming, had no idea I wasn’t along. But when I saw who had entered my cell, I wasn’t surprised that she could move quietly. She was, after all, adept at hiding from the Wild Hunt. “Esmeralda! What are you doing here?” Her wide eyes darted left and right. “Quiet!” she hissed. “Right, sorry,” I said in a whisper. “But, seriously, what are you doing here?” She came close and whispered in my ear. “I saw the Hunters drag you in. I followed them, and now I’m here to set you free.” Good god. This creature was the size of a child, and just about as ferocious, but she was risking her life for me. “Esmeralda, I … I don’t know what to say. Why did you come here?” She shrugged her bony shoulders. “You seem like a nice man. Besides, you promised to kill Holda, and that idea excites me.” “Oh. Well, okay then. So, how do you plan to get me out? I’ve been at this for hours, and I’m not rally making any progress.” Esmeralda held up her hand. “I found this in your coat. It’s magic, and your shackles are magic, so I thought it might be the key.” She was wrong. It wasn’t the shackle’s key. It was the Thieves’ Key. “Oh, you beautiful thing. That will work perfectly. Come here, quick.” 312

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Esmeralda scurried over, moving in her disconcertingly quick manner, and handed my the Key. I’d never seen the Key fail against any lock, man-made or supernatural, but I’d also never tried it against something designed to punish magic. I held my breath and slipped the key inside the shackle’s keyhole. “Why are you just sitting there?” Esmeralda asked. “I’m just making sure this doesn’t take my hand off.” “Oh. Yes, that would be unfortunate. But at least you would be free.” I stared at her for a moment, then turned the Key. The artifact glowed blue, but more importantly the manacles stayed dormant. With two quick flicks of my wrist, my hands were free. “You have no idea how much I love you right now. I thought I was going to die down here.” “Oh, you still are. Just more quickly now,” Kara said. Esmeralda squeaked and hid behind me. “How do you people move so quietly?” I said, rubbing my wrists. “I’m a forest creature,” Esmeralda said. “And I’m barefoot,” Kara replied. “Okay, fair enough. Hey, you know what?” Kara raised an eyebrow. “What?” I grinned like one of Holda’s wolves. “My magic’s back.” Brilliant light shone forth from my hand, slamming the Valkyrie against the cavern’s far wall. I took a step forward and threw another spell her way, lifting her off the ground and slamming her into the roof. I grabbed her with telekinetic force and hurled her across the room, into the wall, then blasted her with light, driving her to the ground. She groaned and twitched, trying to get back to her feet, trying to kill me. I slapped the Dwarven shackles around her wrists. “Now, you German bitch, we’re gonna have some fun.” ***

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“We have to go,” Esmeralda said. She was still hiding behind my legs, peeking out at the thing inside of Miranda’s body. I crouched down to look her in the eye. “I can’t leave. That thing has my friend, and I need to help her.” Esmeralda craned her neck to look over my shoulder. “It can’t be done. Once the monster is inside, there’s no getting it out.” She looked down at the floor and wrung her hands. “I’m sorry, but your friend is dead, and we need to leave before we join her.” I stood up and turned away from her, scowling. Behind me, the Valkyrie laughed. “She’s right, you know. This body fits like a glove,” she stretched as best she could with the manacles tying her down, “and I would just hate to leave. I think I’d cause quite a mess on my way out.” She looked down at Miranda’s body, pouting. “It would really be a shame. She’s lovely.” They were both right. I had never managed to free a person from a demon without killing them, never even heard of it happening. A demon doesn’t come gently out of a host, it rips and tears its way free, as vicious as any knife … “Wait a minute,” I said. “We don’t have a minute,” Esmeralda said in a trembling voice. “I can hear the Dwarf coming.” I smiled my wolf’s-tooth grin. “That is exactly what I wanted to hear.” I carved a circle into the stone floor at the entrance to my cell. I was starting to get a better feel for what the Exorcist’s Dagger was capable of. It was spelled to cut through anything, whether that was normal matter, a person’s body, or even magic. A wound from the knife wasn’t automatically fatal–the fact that I was still alive was proof of that–but I bet that it would have made a demon vulnerable to a physical attack. A demon, whether it was a Valkyrie or Holda herself, would normally shrug off a blade in the gut, but if that wound was made with the Dagger, I expected a different outcome. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?” the Valkyrie asked. She reclined against the cave wall and watched me with disinterested eyes. “Planning to cut your way through the mountain?” 314

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“Not exactly,” I said and crouched by the circle. “Brilda!” I shouted down the hallway. Esmeralda’s face blanched–which meant it became a slightly lighter shade of green–and she scurried off to the back corner of the cave. The Dwarven healer stormed into the room. “What are you bellowing about? Did Kara cut off your toes? Because I can’t fix toes. Stab wounds, burns, breaks, those are fine, but if you cut something–” She stopped dead and stared at me. “How in Hel’s name did you escape? Kara? Why are you chained to the wall? What’s the meaning of–” I touched the circle. Blue flame raced around the stone channel, locking the Dwarf inside. The Dwarf’s face turned red. “I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you and then I’ll bring you back to life and then I’ll kill you again.” Then she cut lose with a stream of something guttural and foreign, something that sounded an awful lot like an accusation of inappropriate relations with close family members. Esmeralda peered out from behind my jacket. “You trapped her.” “He pissed me off is what he did,” the Dwarf snarled. “When I get out of this circle, I am going to crush you like stone in an ore factory. I’m going to rip you limb from limb. I’m going to–” “Grind my bones to make your bread? Oh, sorry, that’s giants, not little people.” “I. Am. Not. Little!” “Whatever. I’m not going to hurt you, I just need the tools you use for your healing spells. I–” I reached out to grab the bag of herbs on her belt. In hindsight, that was stupid. The ward I had set up kept the Dwarf inside, but it did nothing to keep me out. Brilda latched on to my wrist like an alligator. She was immensely, shockingly strong, and pulled me inside the circle with no apparent effort. She flipped me through the air, slamming me against the cold stone floor. I tried to assemble my armor, but Brilda’s attack had crushed the air from my lungs. I couldn’t breathe, let alone weave a spell. The Dwarf pounced on me, pummeling me with her fists. And believe

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me, her strength was in no way proportionate to the size of her arms. It felt like she was hitting me with tiny little sledge hammers. “I really should study jiu jitsu,” I muttered as I tried to protect my head with my arms. Brilda climbed off of me–which changed her height by about an inch–and started kicking me in the ribs. Steel and leather crashed into my side, sending blinding pain rocketing through my body. The Dwarf growled, and across the room, the demon possessing Miranda laughed. An unholy shriek split my ears. It sounded like a hawk getting skinned alive, a raucous, terrible, shrill noise. I rolled over and scrambled to my feet. Esmeralda was on the Dwarf’s back, eyes rabid, clawing at Brilda’s eyes, yanking on her hair, digging knees into her sides. The Moss Maiden was a flurry of tiny green violence. The Dwarf tried to grab Esmeralda, but her arms were too short to reach her. The Dwarf tried to roll, to throw the Moss Maiden off, but Esmeralda was faster than a cracked out squirrel, climbing across the Dwarven garments like they were tree bark. “Esmeralda! Look out!” I shouted. The Moss Maiden vanished in a flash of green and I let loose with a blast of crystalline force. The Dwarf flew back, arms and legs splayed, and crashed against the ward, pinned five feet in the air. She kicked and flailed and struggled until my magic overtook her and she fell still. I released my spell and let her fall to the ground. “Thanks,” I said breathlessly. Esmeralda had once again become calm and frail. “She was hurting you.” “I thought you were, you know, afraid.” The Moss Maiden shrugged. “I was. I am. That doesn’t mean I can’t help.” I smiled at her. “I like you,” she said. “You can see me. Most people can’t see me. And the ones who can want to eat me.” That put an end to my smile. I grabbed the Dwarven healing tools, lowered the ward long enough for us to step over the line, then trapped the Dwarf inside once more. 316

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The Valkyrie stared at us with cold, fiery eyes. “Quite impressive. What’s with the toys? Fancy a career in nursing?” I showed her shark’s teeth. “Not exactly.” I stretched out my hand and closed my eyes, searching for the Valkyrie’s spirit. The demon growled but I seized it with my mind, snaring it in my thoughts like a steel trap. The demon’s body went rigid as a board and fell flat on the cavern floor. “You’ll. Kill. Her,” the demon snarled. “Esmeralda,” I said. The Moss Maiden had backed into a corner. “Yes?” “Fancy a career in nursing?” “What’s a nursing?” She thought for a moment. “Also, what’s a career?” “Bring those tools over here,” I said. “Lay them out next to her, and mash up some of the mint and cinnamon. Spread it over her heart.” The Moss Maiden did as I asked, applying a Dwarven healing compress to Miranda’s body. I stretched out my other hand. I needed to be of two minds, maintaining two spells. One to keep the demon under control, to draw it out of Miranda’s body, and the other to keep the exorcism from killing her. I remembered the feeling of the Dwarf’s healing ritual, the smell of the enchanted herbs, the cold of the compress, and the icy, soothing energy of the magic at work. I summoned the Aether, channeled it according to my memories, and wove a spell around Miranda’s body. “Come out of her,” I whispered. Miranda coughed blood.

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Chapter Twenty-Seven “God damn it,” I growled. I had fucked something up, some subtle movement of the energy, some odd echo in the Aether that I hadn’t been able to mimic. I adjusted the spell, shifted the way the Aether ran through my mind, and tried again. “Come out of her.” Miranda spasmed and groaned, her face twisted in agony. “That’s a Dwarven healing spell,” Esmeralda said. “It’s supposed to be.” “You’re not very good at it.” I shot an annoyed look at her. “I figured that out, thanks.” “Would you like me to help?” I blinked. “Come again?” “Would you like me to do the healing spell? The Moss People are a bit more attuned to the balance of nature than the square rock crushers.” “You, you are? Why didn’t you say so?” “You didn’t ask.” 318

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“Right. Of course. Esmeralda, would you please use your healing magic on Miranda?” The Moss Maiden smiled like that was the most wonderful, original idea she’s ever heard. “I’d love to!” She wiped the Dwarven compress off Miranda’s body, laid one hand on Miranda’s head and the other on her chest, and began to sing. The song was low, almost inaudible, the sound of wind chimes and rainfall. The raised her head, eyes closed, a beatific smile on her face. Her tiny, frail hands began to glow, and a lambent fog spread around Miranda’s body. I released the Dwarven spell and focused exclusively on the demon. “Come. Out. Of. Her!” Miranda’s body bucked once, but the Maiden’s magic soothed her. The fire faded from Miranda’s eyes. The Valkyrie didn’t emerge from her mouth like I expected, but lifted up from her entire body, like an image superimposed. The Valkyrie’s spirit rose into the air, wrapped in emerald fire, luminous, brilliant, and beautiful. Until it turned to look at me with those terrible cat’s eyes, and shriek through those awful needle teeth. “Burn,” I growled. The Valkyrie howled as the Aether boiled around it. The demon that had stolen Miranda flared red, then burst into a million crimson shards. Miranda’s body lay still, bathed in light. The Moss Maiden still sang, her haunting voice echoing off the cavern walls. “Miranda?” I asked quietly. Esmeralda didn’t open her eyes. “Not yet,” she said, then resumed her song. The cloud shimmered and flared bright white. Miranda’s back arched, then fell still. “Miranda?” For a moment, nothing. My heart pounded. Her body was still. Then, she coughed. “Caden?”

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I ran across the room, fell to my knees, and wrapped her in my arms. “Miranda! You’re all right!” She coughed again. “Yeah, I’m freaking great.” I grabbed the Moss Maiden in one arm and dragged her into our hug. Esmeralda’s eyes went wide, then a moment later she put her arms gingerly around us. “Come on,” I said, “let’s get the hell out of here.” “No,” Miranda said flatly. “I, I, what?” “I am not leaving.” “I don’t understand. I mean sure, the glowing rocks are kind of neat, and where else are you going to find an angry Dwarven shaman, but this is the abode of a mythological Norse terror, a being dedicated to the destruction of your home town and–” “And the bitch that stole my body,” Miranda said. “I was awake the entire time, Caden. I saw the things that monster did while it was inside me. The homes it burned. The people it murdered. Holda tried to summon Wotan, Caden. She killed five people to bring her asshole husband to earth, And I am not leaving this place until we pay her back.” “Jesus,” I said, “Wotan is walking around?” A sheen of sweat covered her brow and she was out of breath, but other than that Miranda seemed healthy. Her eyes were hard and fierce. Her jaw was set. “No, she must have screwed something up. But that’s just one more reason to kill her before she manages to pull it off.” “Miranda, I don’t think I can take Holda on, not here, not yet.” “I know,” Miranda said. “But I have a plan.” I raised an eyebrow. “Does this plan involve blowing things up with your brain? Because that’s what most of my plans look like, and I’m here to tell you that that is not an optimal course of action right now.”

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Miranda looked at me sideways. “No, it does not involve blowing things up with my brain. Give me a little more credit.” She looked at the Moss Maiden. “What’s your name?” “Esmeralda.” “Thank you for your help, Esmeralda.” The Moss Maiden preened. “I just need you to do one more thing for us. You’re good at hiding, right?” “The best,” she said. “You can look like other things? Rocks and trees? Even animals?” “I can.” “Do you think you could do that for me? Hide me? Make me look like something else?” The Moss Maiden thought for a moment. “I think so. What do you want to look like?” “Like a demon,” Miranda said. The she looked at me and raised her shackled wrists. “Also, can you unchain me? We haven’t even gone on a date yet, and it seems a bit early for S&M.” *** The Moss Maiden laid her hands on Miranda’s forehead and sung another song, this one faster-paced and more clipped, but no less beautiful that the melody that had preserved Miranda’s body while I extracted the demon. Miranda shivered as the veil fell over her, and when she opened her eyes they glowed with green fire. “How do I look?” she asked. “Creepy,” I said. “Perfect. Thank you, Esmeralda.” The Moss Maiden smiled demurely. “Anything I can do to help defeat the White Lady. She’s very mean.” Miranda took the Exorcist’s Dagger and cut the eyelet that held the shackles to the floor, leaving the fetters connected by the thick, heavy chain. “What are you doing with those?” I asked.

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Miranda grinned. “Chaining you up.” “I, uh, huh. What were you saying about not even going on a date?” She leered at me. “Come on. You got to see me in this,” she gestured at the Valkyrie’s vestments, “which appears to be made of tissue paper and happy thoughts. It’s only fair. And it’ll help sell Holda on my plan. Besides, you can use that Key to get out pretty quickly, right?” “Yeah.” “Then come on, lover boy. Let’s get naughty.” Miranda closed the manacles around my wrists. I immediately felt cut off from the Aether, from my power, and it left me feeling naked and vulnerable. It was probably all in my head–the manacles didn’t seem to do much of anything until I tried to use my magic–but I was uncomfortable all the same. Miranda grabbed the middle of the chain. “Jesus, these things are heavy.” “They’re Dwarven-made,” Esmeralda said. “They tend to overcompensate.” I gathered up the chains. Without the Aether to strengthen me, even I had trouble moving them, and I’m a pretty big guy. “Okay, let’s go. Can you find your way back to Holda’s throne?” Miranda nodded. The Moss Maiden, however, began to tremble. “I, I can’t go in there,” she said. “They’ll eat me.” I smiled down at her. “You’ve already done more than enough, Esmeralda. Thank you.” She ran over, frighteningly fast, and hugged my leg. “Be careful.” She ran over and hugged Miranda, too. “Take care of him,” she said sternly. Miranda laughed. “I’ll do what I can.” Esmeralda ran off, disappearing in the blink of an eye. “Ready?” I asked. Miranda led me out of the cell and down the hallway. “This way.” 322

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The cell was deep inside the mountain. We walked for about twenty minutes, the entire time climbing a subtle incline, before we got to a part of the cavern I recognized. The stone walls gave way to crystal, though they glowed with the same eerie sapphire light, and the sounds of frantic folk music reached my ears. Miranda took a deep, steadying breath. “Okay, play along. Pretend I just kicked your ass.” I nodded. Miranda stormed into Holda’s throne room, dragging me along by the giant iron chains. The walkway I had destroyed had been remade, stretching out over the deadly waters. I stumbled and limped after Miranda, favoring my right leg and acting like my right shoulder was out of joint. Holda saw our approach and clapped her hands twice. The music and the dancing stopped instantly, and ever demonic eye turned toward us. “Kara?” Holda asked. “Is everything all right?” Miranda jerked me forward and kicked the back of my knee–gently. I fell down before her, gasping, and looked up at Holda. I should have had Miranda punch me a few times, blacken my eyes, to really sell it. Oh well. Notes for next time. “I caught this thing,” Miranda hissed, “trying to escape.” Damn. She certainly had the venomous, entitled royalty thing down. Her voice was absolutely chilling. I looked up at Holda and tried to appear miserable, but I was already holding the Thieves’ Key near the shackles’ lock. Holda looked down at me imperiously. “And how did he manage that? Those chains could hold a god.” “I believe Brilda’s incompetence had something to do with it,” Miranda said. “I found signs of a struggle, and her healing tools were scattered around his cell.” Holda shook her head. “Well, that’s what happens when you trust a Dwarf to do something right.” She stood up and stretched, then descended from her bone-white throne. She glided toward me with a ballerina grace and stared at me with an executioner’s dead eyes. I rested my manacles on my legs and carefully unlatched the first clasp.

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“I fear,” Holda said, “that this mortal may be more trouble than he is worth. I am sorry, Kara, but I believe I am going to have to do away with your little plaything.” Miranda threw down my chains and stood just behind Holda’s right shoulder. “That’s quite all right, my Lady. He showed a surprising lack of stamina.” Holda cocked an eyebrow. “Really?” “Indeed. He wept and cried out for his mother. It was pathetic, really.” I scowled at her, but tried not to break character. Holda took three steps forward, close enough to reach down and touch me. “Oh, you poor mortal. Worry not, your suffering will soon be at an end.” She glanced back at the Dark Elves surrounding her throne. “My sword!” A cheer went up and one of the Elves came forward, carrying a gracefully curved blade in both hands. Holda held it aloft, examining its edge, then rested in on my shoulder. “Any last words, mortal?” “Yeah,” I said. “Burn.” I slipped the Key into the second shackle. My restraints fell to the ground. Holda’s eyes went wide. Light leapt from my hand, catching Holda right in the face, throwing her to the floor and burning through her glamour. I gathered the Aether around me, constructing my armor as best I could, and prepared another attack spell. Holda looked up at me from the ground. “Kill him!” she growled through her boar’s tusks. “Kill–” Miranda knelt down behind her, quickly drew the Exorcist’s Dagger from her belt, and slit Holda’s throat. It wasn’t showy. Holda’s eyes didn’t burn red. No mystical energy coursed through her body. There wasn’t even a ripple in the Aether. But the Dagger did what it was supposed to do; the Norse demon, the immortal spirit that had plagued Mirrormont, was vulnerable to the enchanted blade, and the wound Miranda made was enough to end her endless life. Holda’s blood spilled out onto the cavern floor, running along the walkway and spilling into the haunted waters surrounding her 324

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throne. The spirits inhabiting the waters went into a frenzy, dining on the most powerful essence they had ever encountered. Holda stared at me, bewildered, uncomprehending. The Elves and Dwarves looked between her and us, shocked and enraged. The life drained from Holda’s body, sending a tremor through the Aether. Her body began to desiccate, shriveling like a prune. Her muscles wasted away, leaving her skin to hang from her bones. She aged rapidly, the moisture wicking away from her flesh. Her skin became cracked and leathery, and pieces of it quickly crumbled to dust. Soon an emerald flame emerged from within her, flashing over what little was left of her corpse, leaving her nothing but a pile of ashes. Miranda stared at the remains, then at the Dagger. “Damn right,” she said. Around the room, the Valkyries were going into spasms. The girls’ eyes flared with jade fire. They threw their heads back to scream as the Valkyries flew from their bodies. The spirits hovered in the air, writhing like electrocuted fireflies, then burst apart. The girls looked around, trying to figure out what, exactly, the hell was going on. “Where are we?” one of the younger girls asked. “In a mystical cavern about a mile beneath Tiger Mountain,” I said. “Oh.” Miranda shot me a dirty look. “Don’t worry, baby. We’re going to take you home.” Slowly, the Dark Elves and Dwarves were coming back to their senses … and taking up their weapons. “We might want to hurry on that, actually,” I said, and threw a blue-white fire at the nearest Elf, taking his head clean off. The rest of the supernatural creatures took this as their cue to attack. They roared and surged forward. Miranda grabbed the nearest girl by the hand and jerked her toward the footpath. “Run!” Miranda herded the girls past me as I threw blasts of fire and light at the monsters set on killing us. When the last girl reached the walkway, Miranda and I both turned to follow, but the girl slipped on

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Holda’s blood and tumbled toward the deceptively-still waters. Beneath the surface, demonic faces shimmered. “No!” Miranda shouted and grabbed the girl’s hand. She yanked her back from the precipice, but one of the Dwarves was almost on top of her. The creature raised his weapon, a sledgehammer that looked like it weighted roughly three hundred pounds, and swung it at Miranda’s head. “Duck!” I screamed. Miranda shoved the girl out of the way and hit the deck. I sent a column of blue-white light arcing over her head, blasting the Dwarf from behind. He cursed, dropped his hammer, and flailed his arms, trying to maintain his balance. Miranda rolled over and drove her heels into his back, sending him toppling into the water. The demons inside leapt on him like piranha, and the Dwarf’s water-muffled screams echoed down the hallway after us. We ran as fast as we could. The Norse beings stampeded after us, thirsty for our blood, eager to avenge the death of their god. Arrows flew past us. I fired blasts of light behind us as I ran. “They’re gaining on us!” one of the girls screamed. And she was right. The creatures all moved with supernatural power, and we could only move as fast as the slowest human girl in our company. I stopped and turned to face the monsters that advanced toward us. “Caden?” Miranda asked. “Keep going,” I said. “I’ll catch up.” She just looked at me for a moment, then kissed me on the cheek. “Come on,” she said, taking the youngest girl by the hand and leading them all away from Holda’s hordes. I cracked my knuckles. “All right, you Viking bastards. I have come here to kick ass and chew bubble gum, and I’m all out of–” An axe with a blade the size of a dinner plate whizzed past my face and embedded in the wall. “Well that’s rude,” I said, and then the battle was upon me. I started throwing punches when the bad guys were still five feet away from me, using the Aether to turn my shadowboxing into actual, physical assaults. A phantom punch twisted a Dark Elf’s head around, and a spectral kick hobbled a charging Dwarf. I felled five of 326

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them before the rush hit me, which was a decent number until I considered the several dozen creatures still coming for my hide. I channeled the Aether around my arms, reinforcing my armor and sheathing my hands in ghostly blue flames, and waded into the battle. Fists, blades and spells ricochet off my armor, the sparks lighting the hallway up like a strobe. I crushed skulls and caved in ribs with magically enhanced strength, and burned down demons and devils with pure, enchanted fire. But the number were overwhelming and I was starting to tire. Sweat slicked my skin and my heart pounded in my chest. My head was starting to swim, a combination of too much physical exertion and too much Aetheric manipulation. I gathered as much force as I could and concentrated it around my hand, then ducked low and slammed my fist into the floor, sending a ring of force and flame racing out from around me. The spell slammed into Dwarves and Elves alike, knocking them from their feet and sending them flying back down the cavern. The spell shattered the bones of the creatures closest to me, but the ones further away escaped with only minor damage. The collected themselves, got back to their feet, and searched for their weapons. Soon they would be on me again. I threw my hands into the air, unleashing my magic. The Aether roared and flashed as bright as lightning, hitting the ceiling with thunderous force and carving straight through the rock. The cavern shook, the mountain itself rocked by the spell. I threw more magic, cutting through stone with my fire. The mountain groaned, the roof trembled. Debris began to fill the hallway. “Hey, guys? Quick question. How many Dwarves does it take to dig out of a collapsed mine?” “What?” the nearest Dwarf asked. “Never mind.” I turned and ran. The stone hallway collapsed behind me, burying Holda’s creatures deep inside the mountain.

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Chapter Twenty-Eight It was a long, slow slog up the path that lead from Holda’s domain. The adrenaline crash left me weak and jittery, with legs that felt like rubber. And I was still mostly naked; the winter air grew colder the higher I climbed, and by the time I reached the cavern’s entrance, I was hugging myself and shivering. It was going to be a long walk back to Mirrormont … Except I wouldn’t be walking. Miranda was waiting for me at the mouth of the cave, wrapped in a heavy rescue blanket and drinking from a steaming mug. The rest of Holda’s captives were in similar states, sitting in the backs of pickup trucks, warming themselves and being checked out by paramedics. Miranda held out a mug. “About time you showed up. Coco?” “God yes. Is there a spare blanket somewhere?” Miranda leered at me. “But you look so good without it.” I gave her a dirty look. “I’ll look a lot worse after I lose a couple of limbs to frostbite.” “Spoil sport.”

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Sheriff Skerrit finished giving directions to one of the volunteer firefighters and walked over to us. “Mr. Lyndsey.” “Sheriff.” “I assume you’re responsible for getting these girls out?” I shrugged. “It was Miranda’s plan. I’m just the dumb muscle.” An EMT handed me a blanket, which I wrapped around my shoulders. “Hey, how did you get here?” The Sheriff scowled. “Little green girl showed up at my office, said you all were out here. And I figured if a little green girl is gonna stop by, that’s either there’s something worth checking out or a damn good reason to retire.” “Could be both,” I said. “Damn right,” the Sheriff muttered and wandered away. Miranda put a hand on my back, led to me a pickup truck, and had me sit in the bed. I folded my bare feet beneath myself and wrapped them in the blanket as best I could. A couple of the girls were suffering from mild hypothermia, but there were no other injuries. That was good, especially because the resources available from Mirrormont were pretty limited. The ambulances hadn’t even made it into the forest, so everyone piled into the backs of trucks as we started to head back to town. Miranda sat up as we rolled through the streets. “Hey, who’s that?” A man was walking down the road, shambling aimlessly. “Mr. Taber? Ed?” Miranda pounded on the pickup’s window. “Hey, pull over real quick.” The truck pulled to the side of the road and Miranda hopped out of the bed. I followed her, a weird, uneasy feeling in my gut. Ed Taber, the guy who had almost been overcome by Sandra’s first attack against the B&B, was still shuffling down the road, staring into the trees. He was dressed in a navy blue pea coat, and his head was covered with a matching cap. He clutched a black cane in his right hand, supporting a portion of his weight. “Mr. Taber? Are you all right?” Miranda asked. He didn’t look at her. “Have you seen my wife?” 329

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“Carol? No. Is she missing, Mr. Taber? When was the last time you saw her?” “Oh, I don’t know. It’s been five days, I think.” Miranda blanched. “But … Mr. Taber, why didn’t you tell someone? Does she have a cell phone? Or does her car have OnStar or something?” “The stars,” Ed Taber said. “It’s a fine night to ride.” From the shadows of the forest, a raven crowed. “Miranda,” I said. “Miranda, get back in the truck.” Ed Taber turned around. His left eye had been gouged out, and blood ran down his face. “Why, you’ve been with my wife, haven’t you? I can feel her aura all around you.” His remaining eye narrowed, then flashed red. “Her blood is all over your hands.” I grabbed Miranda by the arm and hauled her away. “Get in the truck!” I screamed. “Drive!” I jumped into the truck bed and slammed the gate. “Hit the gas!” I screamed at the driver. I turned my attention to the guy riding shotgun. “Do you have a cell phone?” “Yeah.” “Is it working yet?” He fumbled the device out of his jacket. “Um, yeah, two bars.” “Good enough. Get the Sheriff on the phone, tell him to clear the streets. And you! Why aren’t you driving yet?” The driver blinked. “Hold on!” he said and slammed on the accelerator. The truck lurched forward, and the four of us–Miranda, two other girls, and myself–tumbled toward the tail gate. Ed Taber stood behind us, in the middle of the road, watching us depart. Twin ravens descended from the sky and alit on his shoulders. A pair of gray dogs slunk out of the forest and crouched at his feet. Thunder rolled in the darkness overhead. Ed Taber threw back his head and raised his hands toward the heavens. Lightning split the sky, impossibly bright and unbearably loud, and struck the old man, 330

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veiling him in impenetrable light. The truck’s engine roared, bearing us away from the tempest. The maelstrom passed and Ed Taber stood transformed. He was clothed in a swirling black cloak lined with the pelts of frost giants, and was shod in thick boots made from the skins of those he had slain. His cane had become a great oaken spear, so heavy that a grown man could scarcely lift it, carved with ancient sigils and tipped with a blade of the purest gold. A Warrior’s Knot hung from his neck, held in place by a thick golden chain, and a heavy golden ring adorned his right hand. His head was crowned with a helmet carved of bone, and two great antlers protruded from either side. The hollow of his taken eye was filled with a brilliant ruby. The hounds that had lain at his feet had become twin wolves, ravenous and feral. Wotan. The Lord of the Hunt raised the stierhorn to his mouth and trumpeted a great blast, the sound echoing off the mountains and reverberating in our bones. The night itself held its breath, waiting. “What the fuck is that thing?” the guy riding shotgun asked. “Did you get the Sheriff on the phone?” I hollered back. “Yeah, he wants to know what the problem is!” “That is the problem!” I shouted, jabbing a finger behind us. The man gulped and got back on his cell phone. A gray steed emerged from the shadows, an impossible beast with eight legs and hooves of iron. Wotan climbed astride and urged his stallion forward. Sparks flew as ferrous hooves struck the earth. The driver crushed the gas pedal to the floor, causing the engine to buck and roar, but Sleipnir was overtaking us with ease. “How far are we from your house?” I shouted at Miranda. “A block or two!” I pounded on the truck’s window. “Take us to her house! Miranda! Tell them where to go!” I began to gather my energies as I watched Wotan gaining on us. The Lord of the Hunt let out a terrible cry, raised his stierhorn once more, and sounded another trumpet blast. 331

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From the distance came a sound like thunder. They emerged from the shadows and materialized from smoke. On fierce black stallions they rode, great stags which shook the very earth in their passing. Fire burned in their eyes and smoke trailed from their mouths. The hounds of hell ran alongside, with wiry fur as black as pitch and slavering fangs like great knives flashing. The howled and barked and growled, a sound to terrify the soul. A congress of ravens accompanied them, drifting along on the bitter wind, the eyes and ears of the Huntsmen, their shrill cries drawing the fell troop inexorably toward their prey. They were dressed in heavy furs, and wooden masks carved in the visage of terrible creatures hid their faces. In their hands they carried corroded sickles flecked with dried blood, or spears with shafts of mistletoe and tips of iron. Some bore longbows, the staves made of yew and the strings woven from the sinews of those overtaken. Rusted chains dragged the ground behind them, rattling and clanging, a tumult to wake the dead. The demons fell into formation behind the Rider of the Storm and bore down on us, their quarry. Wotan drove his heels into the sides of his beast, urging it forward. Sparks flew and smoke billowed as the steed surged ahead. Wotan’s dark Riders leapt forward, trying to overtake us, raising corroded blades to the sky. “Can you throw up a ward?” I shouted. “I think so!” Miranda called back. “Leave me outside of it!” I hollered. “I need to be able to attack!” She braced herself inside the truck bed and closed her eyes. A moment later an invisible force settled down around us, moving along with the racing vehicle. I took a single moment to admire her talent, then went on the attack. Light burst forth from my outstretched hand, slamming into the closest Rider. It struck him full in the chest, knocking him back and free from his mount. He tumbled from his saddle and struck the ground. He started climbing to his feet, but he began to crumble to dust. He stretched out an arm, only to see it molder away. He rose to one knee and tried to rise up, but his leg triturated beneath his weight. With the magic of the Hunt no longer sustaining him, 332

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preserving him, time was once again his enemy and his great age came to claim him. He tried to drag himself forward with his remaining arm, but his fingers became sand and his arm withered to nothingness. His body collapsed and the wind blew his dust away. One of his demonic compatriots hurled a spear at the truck, but it glanced off of Miranda’s ward and clattered away into the night. I threw blue-white fire at him, knocking him from his steed and giving him over to the rapid decay of a thousand unpaid-for years. The Riders were overtaking us, creeping up on our sides. I fired light from both hands, knocking two more Riders from their mounts, but a third came alongside and slashed with his scythe. He didn’t aim for us–he realized Miranda’s ward protected the people inside the vehicle–but cut a deep gash in the rear tire, blowing it out. The truck bucked and skidded, nearly overturning. The men inside the cab cursed, and the girls next to me began to cry. Miranda wrapped her arms around them, and I felt her pour more energy into her shield. “Drive!” I screamed as I let loose with more magical fire. The driver gripped the wheel with both hands and hit the gas. The truck lurched and shot down the road. The ruined tire flew off the rim and sparks shot into the air behind us. We were moving, but not very fast. Fortunately we didn’t have far to go. I was able to hold off Wotan’s Riders while the truck lurched the remaining block to Miranda’s house, hitting them with light and fire whenever they drew near. We lurched to a halt in front of the DuBois’ bed and breakfast. I leapt from the truck bed before we had fully stopped, and fired more light at the advancing horde, knocking two more Riders from their mounts and consigning them to dust. I walked sideways, firing blasts of magic and trying to lead the Hunt away from the truck and the innocent people inside. “Go!” I shouted. Miranda hit the ground beside me. “What the hell are you doing?” I hollered. The truck roared, spitting gravel at us, and staggered off into the night. “He’s after me,” Miranda gasped. “They’d just follow the truck if I stayed inside. She was probably right. The other girls in the truck had been possessed by the Valkyries, too, but Miranda was the one Wotan had 333

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noticed. She was the one who had claimed his wife. “Head for the clearing,” I said, staring at the Riders who bore down on us. “I’ll try to hold them back.” Miranda DuBois ran through the night. The demons followed after her.

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Chapter Twenty-Nine The Wild Hunt closed around us, surrounding us, driving us further into the forest. Miranda ran, her blanket discarded and her gossamer gown shining in the moonlight, her red hair trailing behind her like a cape. Cold air braced my naked skin as I followed in her wake. The dark Riders pressed forward, blades and bows thirsty for our blood. I felt my strength returning as we drew closer to the three ley lines, the Aether swirling around me, replacing my exhausted human stores with the inexhaustible energies of the Earth itself. An arrow sang through the air, carved from bone, tipped with iron, and fletched with raven’s feathers. I slapped the air with the palm of my hand. Fifteen feet away, the Aether leapt to my bidding, forming a solid, invisible wall and deflecting the missile from its path. Light blazed from my hand and struck the bowman’s steed, knocking its feet out from beneath it. Both Rider and beast fell to the earth, and time claimed the fallen man. A Hunter charged forward, blood-flecked iron in his hand, aiming to separate my head from my shoulders. Again the Aether responded, forming armor that was impenetrable to all but the strongest attacks. The sword clashed against my will, sending shards of light spinning off into the darkness. I took hold of the blade, the Aether guarding my hand, and pulled the Rider down. 336

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This one didn’t crumble to dust. His garments, the cloak he wore, the helmet that covered his head and the mask that concealed his face, became black smoke, writhing around him like a thing possessed, and melted to the earth, where it scorched the grass. The Hunter lay on the ground, human once more, wearing jeans and a flannel jacket. He looked up at me. “What happened?” “The hunt claimed you,” I said through gritted teeth. Light blazed from both of my hands, felling one Rider who sought to trample me and another that had aimed a spear at the man’s heart. I briefly wondered what kind of a man Wotan would call to ride in his company. “I suggest you run.” The man said nothing, simply scrambled to his feet and ran off into the darkness. Two Hunters gave chase, but blue-white fire cut them down before they could overtake him. Another Rider took off down the footpath, crashing through the brush in pursuit of Miranda. Mystic light blazed, felling him from behind. I ran, as fast as the Aether flowing through my body would allow, the light swirling around my hands illuminating my way, seeking the woman my visions had led me to, the woman fate demanded I protect. I found her in the clearing, near the remains of the Asatru’s sacred fire. She stood, knock-kneed and trembling, her face gone white, her eyes wide and afraid. But the Aether’s blue fire danced around her, a perfect, impenetrable circle, a ward against the demons of Wotan’s Wild Hunt. The Riders circled her, testing her shield with ferrous blades, but the Aether bent to her will, resisting the brute force and dark magic of the spectral horde. I stood before her, a knight in luminous armor, wielding a lance of fire and a sword of light, determined to give the enemy no quarter and surrender no ground. The Riders came, but my will was stronger than their blades, my magic more powerful than their enchantments. “Enough,” a voice boomed from the darkness. The Hunters obeyed instantly, lowering corroded weapons and calming rampant horses. In the shadows of the footpath, a single red gem blazed like the fires of hell. Hoofbeats echoed through the forest, each strike accompanied by a flash of sparks.

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Wotan emerged from the shadows, urging his mount forward into the moonlight. He was immense, his presence overwhelming. Sleipnir stood ten feet tall at the shoulder, and Wotan towered above him, his crown of antlers reaching ending almost twenty feet into the sky. His shoulders, wrapped in black and warmed by furs, were broad and powerful. His hands, one wrapped around the reigns of his beast and the other clutching his spear, were large enough to close around a man’s head. The other Riders fell still. Wotan goaded his horse once more, urging it another step forward and turning it to the side. He looked down at me with a burning red eye. “Well met, warrior,” he rumbled. “Nice hat,” I said. “Very pointy.” The Hunters grumbled their disapproval. Wotan laughed and waved them down. “You show no fear, mortal, even in the face of your certain doom. I like that.” “And you show no fear even in the face of certain condemnation by George Kotsiopoulos.” Miranda stared at me. “What? I get cable.” “You have fought well,” Wotan rumbled. “My Hunters are shamed by the ease with which you led them to Hel’s gate.” The Riders grumbled again. “Truly you have earned a warrior’s death.” “That’s mighty nice of you, but I kind of prefer a warrior’s life.” Sleipnir huffed, smoke and flame rising from its nostrils. “And so I make you this offer,” Wotan said, “join my Riders, take up mount with me, and Hunt in the darkness.” I ran my hand through my hair and scraped my foot on the forest floor. “Gosh, that’s a really nice offer, but I think I’m going to have to say no. I mean, I can barely ride a bicycle, let alone a horse.” The Hunters grumbled and Wotan’s eye flared. “I offer you glory and immortality, warrior. To deny me would be a grave insult … and certain death.” “You have no idea how many times someone has offered me certain death.” “How many of those fools gather wayward souls from the four winds, mortal?” Wotan rumbled. 338

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“Okay, good point. Anyway, it’s a generous offer, but I’d like to counter.” The red eye glimmered. “A bargain?” Wotan chuckled. “What skill have you in deal-making, mortal? I traded my eye for wisdom profound. Do you think you can best me with your words?” “Well, no, actually. I think I’m just going to kick your ass.” I scraped my foot on the ground again. The Riders chuckle, and Wotan’s laughter echoed like thunder. “Your spirit amuses me, mortal, but my patience grows thin. Decide now: join my Hunt, or your life is forfeit.” “That’s not going to happen, Cyclops.” “Very well,” Wotan said, raising his spear. The tip began to glow, and static electricity filled the air. I scraped my foot on the ground one last time. “Lord Wotan, leader of the Wild Hunt, Claimer of Souls, I challenge thee to combat, your strength, your wisdom, your magic against mine. I challenge thee for my life. I challenge thee for these people. I challenge thee for this land.” Sleipnir reared up, four legs on the ground and four pawing at the air, flames coming from his nostrils. Wotan laughed, a crashing sound like massive drums pounding. “Consider carefully, mortal. If I win, you will have no place with my Riders.” “Agreed.” “If I win, this village and all in it are forfeit.” “Like you wouldn’t kill them even if I joined? Agreed.” “And if I win,” Wotan rumbled, “that woman will belong to me.” A chill went down my spine. “Your wench delivered my wife to Valhalla, mortal, and that makes her mine. When I defeat you, I will have her before your eyes. The last sight you see will be the desecration of her flesh.” I looked at Miranda. She stared back with wide eyes, but managed to offer the smallest of smiles. “He was gonna kill me anyway,” she said. She looked up at the Rider of the Storm. “Agreed.” 339

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The Wild Hunt cheered, and Sleipnir lifted all but its two rear legs into the air. Lightning flashed, striking Wotan’s spear, leaving it glowing with white-hot fire. “Then, mortal, to battle!” I hit the ground, my knees scraping on the frosty dirt, and slammed my hands down on the sigil I had uncovered. The Aether swam around me, and great torrents of power flowed through me, channeled by the three intersecting ley lines. I opened my mind and summoned it all. The energy was immense, overwhelming. Cold fire blazed around me and burning ice shot through my veins. The whole world stopped as the Aether became my senses, showing me the deepest secrets and hidden things on the forest. The echoes of the rituals that had been performed here and the memories of the sacrifices that had been offered here leapt into my mind in vibrant, vivid detail. The Aether consumed me and became me. The Wild Hunt cowered beneath me. Even Wotan’s unfathomable power became tiny before the unknowable energies of the very Earth. I towered over the forest and became the forest, seeing it and experiencing it all at once. This was my domain, my safe place, my place of power. I took hold of the Aether and focused it, shaping it with my mind and bending it with my will. Suddenly I saw it as a weapon to be wielded, not a force to be moved by. I saw it flowing through my body, down my arms, out my hands, envisioned it filling the circle I had carved in the dirt, illuminating the sigils I had etched in the earth. The Aether leapt to do my bidding. White and blue light shone from the glass-like salt that filled the sigils. The circle around the bonfire glowed like a brilliant emerald. Energy coursed along the lines connecting it to the other three sigils. One by one the enchanted designs flared to life, activated by the ley lines’ massive power. Finally, the triangle connecting them all closed, locking in the spell. Three sigils. The first a form of a wolf, rampant and terrifying, fetters falling from its legs, it’s name etched in the ancient alphabet of a forgotten tongue. The second was a binding, linking the creature’s mind to my own, making it subservient. And the third, 340

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ready but not yet in effect, was a banishment to send the creature back to Hel. The sigils burned in my mind. The Aether flowed through my body. All that was left was to speak the name and call the creature forth. “Fenrir.” I know that it’s impossible, I know that I must have been seeing things, but it seemed like Wotan’s ruby eye grew wide, almost as if he was afraid. Again lightning flared overheard, cutting the sky like the sword of a god. It struck the first sigil, cracking the earth and sending stone and soil flying through the air. The glowing plasma cleared, revealing the form of a great wolf, as tall as Wotan’s steed. Its fur was pitch black, its eyes burning red, filled with hate and with fire. Iron shackles closed around its four legs, broken chains dragging behind. Its mouth was filled with white knives dripping with blood. “Lord Wotan,” the beast spoke, its voice harsh and horrible. The creature raised its head high and howled, a baleful noise that chilled my soul. “Fenrir,” the Lord of the Hunt growled. “Who freed you?” “That would be me, Pointy.” I said. I closed my eyes once more and activated the second sigil, the binding spell that would tie the monster’s mind to mine. Lightning flashed again, striking the mandala. Fire raced back along the line connecting my circle to the sigil, roared up my arms, and exploded in my mind. My eyes shone with unnatural light. For a moment I was blind, but then I saw … through the eyes of the wolf. We howled again, the wolf and I, our chest shaking with the raw power inside of us. We bent low, looking up at our enemy with red eyes, and scratched the dirt with our claws. A growl, low and loud enough to shake the trees above, rumbled deep inside of us. Sleipnir reared up, tearing the air with iron-shod hooves. Wotan cried out and raised his spear. Bloodlust stirred inside of us. This self-made king, this self-proclaimed god, had tricked us, bound us, and for that slight, he would pay.

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Our muscles bunched, our claws dug deep into the earth. Fire burned inside of us. We leapt forward, clearing the remains of the fire and the tiny humans who huddled below. Sleipnir took to the air as well and we met at the pinnacle out or arcs, crashing together like thunder. Our claws dug into Sleipnir’s flesh, our fangs sought Wotan’s throat. Wotan’s spear grazed our side. Hot blood steamed in the winter air. We fell back to the earth and whipped around, growling. One of Wotan’s Riders attacked, bringing an iron scythe down toward our neck. We shrank back, but only enough to let the blade pass harmlessly by, the rushed at the Hunter, knocking him from his steed. Our jaws closed around his throat even as he crumbled to dust. Flames burned in our eyes, fire kindled in our lungs. We raced toward Wotan, snapping and snarling. His great horse leapt over us, avoiding our bite, and we crashed into a mighty tree. The force of our blow uprooted the old evergreen, sending it crashing down to the earth. We spun around, pine sap in our fur, and attacked anew. Wotan threw his spear, a great and terrible lightning bolt that flew from his hand. It struck the ground before us, shattering stone and knocking us aside, but we would not be deterred. Again we assaulted our hated enemy, and again Sleipnir sought refuge in the air overhead, but this time our jaws closed around the beast’s leg, dragging it down to the earth. The beast cried out in pain. Wotan fell from his saddle. The Viking god rose to his feet, towering above us, and drew his sword. He strode forward, full of confidence and wrath, bristling with pride and fury. He slashed and cut, his weapon seemingly everywhere at once, but we cared not for our safety, only for his demise. We charged forward, roaring as our clawed feet propelled us toward death and victory. The sword bit into our shoulder and carved meat from our leg, but our wrath was strong enough to overcome any injury. We leapt upon Wotan, that so-called Lord of the Hunt, and brought him low, our great weight crushing him to the ground, our fierce jaws closing around his neck. He raised his hand. “I yield,” he said.

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“We do not accept,” we growled, and our jaws snapped closed. The Hunters wailed and raised their weapons, but the magic of the Hunt died with their leader, and the demons around us crumbled. I pulled my mind back from the great wolf. Fenrir howled in triumph, then turned toward Mirrormont. His bloodlust was not slaked, not remotely, and the giant beast raced toward the footpath. I activated the final sigil. One last time the Aether bent to my will, and one last time lightning struck my working. The Fenrisulfr spun toward me and growled, but my banishment was already taking effect. The great wolf shimmered before us, becoming intangible, fading from view. He stalked across the glen, hatred burning in his eyes, but by the time he reached me, the last pieces of his being had faded back into the Aether from which I summoned him. Miranda dispelled her ward and rushed to my side. “Are you okay?” I smiled up at her. “Fucking A right I am,” I said, and passed out.

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Chapter Thirty When I woke the next morning, the alarm clock by my bed was flashing 1:13, which told me two things: the power had recently returned, and Miranda had somehow gotten my unconscious body back to the bed and breakfast. And up the stairs. And, I realized when I pulled off the covers, out of my jeans and into a pair of sweat pants. Huh. My whole body ached. The sheer magnitude of the power I had summoned the previous night was staggering, and I would be feeling the physical toll for days. My spine popped as I stood up, my knees crackles as I walked, and my muscles complained every time I moved. I could smell coffee brewing downstairs. My stomach rumbled. “I would kill for a bacon, egg, and cheese,” I muttered. But I’d settle for a hot shower. I padded into the bathroom and twisted the faucet. The hot water felt like a blessing from above, and while it didn’t cure my aches and pains, at least it loosened my muscles a bit. Miranda was waiting in my bedroom, a mug of coffee and three bacon egg and cheese sandwiches on a tray beside her. 346

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“I would kill for Minka Kelly to show up,” I said. “What?” Miranda laughed. “Nothing, just testing a theory. How are you?” “Well, I didn’t turn into a werewolf and fight a Viking hunter god, so there’s that.” “You did turn into a Viking death angel and stab me in the kidney, though.” Miranda looked at her feet. “Yeah.” She forced herself to brighten. “Hey, come on, eat something. You’ve got to be starving.” “You have no idea.” I fell onto the bed and grabbed the first sandwich, downing it in three bites and chasing it with a swig of coffee. “Thanks.” “So, what next? An outbreak of killer garden gnomes? Rampaging were-kittens? Mermaid infestation?” I chuckled, but only a little. Miranda still saw herself as part of this, as part of my life. “Look, Miranda. You were great. You saved lives, you got me out of Holda’s cavern, and your talent … but I can’t drag you into this.” “Caden–” “This is dangerous, Miranda. You were possessed. If the Moss Maiden hadn’t been there, that could have killed you. The freaking Allfather tried to hunt you down. You might be the first person in a thousand years to escape the Wild Hunt. I like you, Miranda, and the people I like tend to have short, violent lives. I can’t do that to you.” Her face turned red. “Caden, that is my choice. If I want to–” “If you want to pursue magic, I can’t, I won’t stop you. But I’m not going to help you.” Miranda scowled, then shrugged. “If that’s how you want it.” “Miranda, I don’t–” She waved me off. Miranda started toward the door, then stopped. “I grabbed this while we were in the cave,” she said, handing me

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simple leather cord strung through a small, golden ring. “I thought you’d want it back.” I took it from her and, for a long while, just stared at it. I had worn this necklace almost continuously for the past five years. It was as much a part of me as my own hand. It was a symbol, both of what I had lost and why I fought, but I had forgotten it completely. I wasn’t sure what that meant, and really didn’t have the mental energy to figure it out, so I simply slipped the necklace over my head. “Thank you.” “Sure,” Miranda said and left the room. I threw myself onto the couch and grabbed another sandwich. It tasted like sand. I spent the day tying up the last few loose ends. I stopped by the Sheriff’s office and told him about Ed Taber’s fate, and made sure that all of the girls had made it home safely. I visited the hospital, making sure no demons had snuck out of the cave with us. I also stopped at five different ATMs and withdrew the maximum from each of them, stuffing the money into a single, overfull envelope. Ethel was in the kitchen when I returned to the bed and breakfast, scrubbing the dishes left over from lunch. “Mrs. DuBois,” I said. She took a quiet moment. “Caden.” “I’ll be leaving soon.” Mrs. DuBois resumed washing. “Miranda said as much. Mr. Lyndsey, I am truly grateful that my granddaughter is still alive, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t happy to see you go.” I laid an envelope on the counter next to her. “I don’t blame you,” I said, and walked away. Miranda was waiting by my Jeep. “Running off without saying goodbye?” “No, just tossing my stuff in the car.” “But you are leaving?” I nodded. “And there’s nothing I can do to change your mind? Nothing I can do to–” 348

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*** The blade flashed. The girl screamed. The Banshee wailed. Blood filled the air, and the dying breath of an innocent child whispered into the night. *** “–convince you to let me come with you? To teach me?” I pinched my nose, fighting off a headache. “I’m sorry, but no.” Miranda bit her lip and nodded. “You’re a smart girl, Miranda. And you’re tough. You can do anything–” She shook her head. “I don’t need the after school special, Caden. I know what I can do. We’re talking about what I want to do, and who I want to do it with.” I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to convince her to see things my way. She had seen the danger I face, the monsters I fight. She had been threatened by them, almost been turned into one of them. But she was stubborn, convinced that she could take on the world, and the Otherworld, and win. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Me, too,” she said. She hopped off the hood of the Jeep, kissed me on the cheek, and took a handful of steps toward the house. “Maybe I’ll see you again some day.” “I’d like that,” I said, “but for your sake, I really hope you won’t.” I fired up the Jeep and threw it into gear, maybe a bit more aggressively than necessary. I wanted to stop the car, wanted to get out and run to her, to tell her to come with me, to tell her I’d show her the world that no one else sees. But if I did that she would die. Just like Erin had died. Just like so many people who crossed my path died. So I shifted into a higher gear and stomped on the gas, furious with myself and with my fate, leaving Mirrormont behind. Miranda DuBois stood in the driveway, silhouetted by the fading sun, watching me drive away.

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The End

I hope you enjoyed The Wild Hunt. Remember, I'd love to hear from you, so please send me an email at: [email protected]

-thomas

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About the Author Thomas lives in the desolate rust belt of Central New York, along with his wife (and cover designer) AJ, and their small herd of animals: Neville, Oliver, Willow, Mirjen, and Pixel. The Godless Saint is semi-autobiographical. Take from that what you will.

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