Crimson Wind (15 page)

Suddenly the limb trembled and lifted. Max let it go as her body stretched, her tendons pulling taut. The limb—no, a tentacle, she realized—curled, and the end of it whipped back toward her. The last four feet or so flattened out into a kind of webbed fan. The underside was covered with puffy ovals with a slit down the middle of each one. It came at Max like a big flyswatter. She flung herself sideways, and it passed over her, wind whistling around it. The sharp edge of her prison cut into her, and blood streamed down her side as she readied herself for the next pass.

The swatter came at her again. Max ducked and slammed it with a two-fisted hammer blow. There was a scream like tearing metal, and the tentacle flailed wildly. More sprang up around it, and Max realized that they grew in a cluster. Whether the one tentacle was attached like an arm to the others or whether it was a little patch of individuals, she didn’t know. What she knew was that they were going to batter her to death and likely eat her.

Just then, the stuff around her legs made a sound like a burp and rippled upward over her no longer bleeding belly wound. Inside, her skin prickled and itched. Max grimaced. The tentacles might be late to the buffet.

She glanced at the quivering tentacles. They would certainly kill her if they came at her at once. Which meant she had to free her legs fast.

She bent as far as the lips of the mouth holding her would allow and swung her fists at the outer shell with all her might. The creature shuddered and clamped tighter on her. She swore and pounded it again, all the while keeping one eye on her tentacle friends. They quivered, the fan ends rubbing gently together. It wouldn’t be long before they attacked.

Suddenly the creature’s grip on her waist loosened. Encouraged, Max kept up her battering attack. Abruptly, the mouth opened and shrank back down into the ground with a wet groan. Max flung herself headlong as the tentacles crashed down where she’d been in one united blow.

The creature below was still feeling hungry; it snapped up and circled a group of six or seven tentacles, hardening almost instantly. The tentacles tugged furiously, and those that hadn’t been caught thrashed madly at the ground. Max dragged herself out of the way, her legs clumsy and weak. Her thighs were mottled blue and black, and her lower legs were pale gray. She crawled around a wet gash in the ground that looked too much like another mouth and eyed the trees around her carefully.

The trees were scattered widely, allowing for a carpet of lush grass pocked with bright flowers that bobbed in the heat. Many were familiar—tansy, goldenrod, lupine, golden poppies, and horseradish. Others she didn’t recognize at all, not that she was much of a gardener. They could be common, and she’d never know it.

Something caught her eye. It was a small grove of trees with smooth gray-orange skin and dark oval leaves gathered in small fronds. Rowan. Max lurched to her feet and limped toward it. Small creatures scuttled away, twitching a telltale path through grass.

Max went into the grove and found a low-hanging branch about two inches in diameter. She pressed her palm against the trunk. It felt warm and silky.

“Sorry about this,” she said. “But I need a weapon if I’m going to get out of here alive.”

With that, she snapped off the limb. The tree made a moaning sound, and the grove rustled, though no wind blew. Max hesitated. Rowan wood was powerful against most Uncanny and Divine creatures. But taking it without some kind of payment when the tree was protesting seemed incredibly stupid. The trouble was, she was stark naked and, aside from blood, had little to offer. But maybe that was enough. Blood was life, after all, and sacrifice was honored.

She didn’t have a knife or anything to cut with, which meant this was going to be messy. She dug her right thumbnail deep into her wrist at the base of her left thumb, looking for the radial artery. She nicked it, sending a small fountain into the air. She aimed at the splintered stump of the branch she’d stolen. It took only a few seconds for the wound to heal. She stared in surprise. Even in perfect health, it should have taken a minute to close. But the wound was already a pink scar, and as she watched, even that faded.

She looked down at her legs. The bruises had disappeared, and the gray was now looking more pink. It had to be the wild magic. It was feeding her healing spells. Thank goodness. She looked back at the tree. Her blood had disappeared, the end of the branch was smooth, and a new twig rose from the center.

“Thank you,” she said, and then headed out to find her companions.

She went north, away from Mount Shasta, hoping that any of the enchantments traditionally associated with magical forests wouldn’t work on her. Otherwise, she’d wander in circles forever or until she got captured or eaten or worse.

Max carried the rowan branch like a club, making her way carefully so that she didn’t step into any traps. She didn’t let herself think about what was becoming of all the people caught up in the spreading eruption of magic. She hoped to hell Alexander had gotten clear with his charges.

She’d gone maybe a mile, following a zigzagging track as she avoided clear pools of inviting water, sand pits, suspicious glades, and strange plants, when she heard him yelling for her.

“Here!” She started in his direction, going into a small copse of what looked like dwarf oak trees. Beside her, something unfurled from a stout branch. It was four feet long and covered with a thin layer of white hair. A black stripe ran down its red center. It dangled like a thin flag. Or a tongue. Max eased around it. More of the things uncurled until she was standing in the middle of a swaying maze. She dropped to the ground and wiggled forward on her stomach. The tongues sensed her passing and stretched toward her. She pushed them away with the twiggy end of the rowan branch and pulled herself along faster. She reached the other side and rolled clear before jumping to her feet.

Alexander called for her again, and she didn’t answer, following his voice and hoping for his sake that no one else was doing the same thing.

She topped a low ridge and stopped short. The downslope was covered in short silvery white grass. She hesitated. It didn’t look threatening, but then nothing ever did in fairy tales. That was the point. She prodded the nearby edge with the end of the rowan branch. Nothing happened. That was a good sign.

She looked to either side. Trees crowded up the ridge, their shadows black and dense. Who knew what hid within? A rustling caught her attention, and Alexander emerged from a tangle of bushes at the foot of the hill. He was fully clothed, one of the witch chains wrapped around his waist. Just her luck. The chance to see him naked, and she was the only one streaking.

“Max!” he said, relief coloring his voice as he caught sight of her. His gaze traveled down and back up. “Nice. A little dirty, though. Care to turn around so I can see the rest of you?” He turned his finger in the air.

Men.
“Did you get the others out? Where’s Holt?”

“The magic stopped just short of Weed. I got the others out, mostly none the worse for wear. I have not seen Holt.”

Damn.
They couldn’t just leave him, either. “I’m coming down,” she said, and reached out a tentative foot. The silver grass was as stiff as its color. The tips slid into her flesh like needles. Max jerked back, swearing. She was going to have to go around through the trees after all. Then she remembered Tutresiel’s feather in her hand. Could she just jump over it?

“Wait. I am coming to get you,” Alexander said.

He pushed his booted foot out, bending the blades of silver down with a crunching sound. He scuffed up the hill, making a long double-ribboned track behind him. At the top, he reached for Max and pulled her into a swift kiss before swinging her up into his arms. “My kingdom for a bed and a few minutes of privacy,” he growled as he leered down at her.

“I wouldn’t be bragging too loudly about how fast it takes you to get your business done,” Max admonished. “You don’t want a reputation for getting off the freeway an exit too early.”

He snorted and kissed her again. “If that was a dare, I will take you up on it.”

“You’re getting awfully grabby, aren’t you?” Not that she minded his kisses or being wrapped up in his arms. In fact, she liked it too damned much. Suddenly she remembered what Holt had said about Alexander being in love with her. She started to pull away, then stopped herself. What if he was? Did it matter? She was promised to Scooter. It couldn’t last. He knew that as well as she did. So if he was willing to play for a few days, why shouldn’t she?

“Are you complaining?”

“I’m ….. crap,” she said, and then pulled him to her. This kiss was as fast as the other two, but it left them both breathless. She could hear his heart thudding in his chest. Hers wasn’t any slower.

Close by, a whispery howl cut through the night, followed by two more. Alexander tensed. Without another word, he followed his path back down, the leaves of silver grass already springing back upright. He set Max on her feet at the bottom.

“What now, boss?”

“We can’t leave Holt. We have to look for him,” she said.

He grimaced and nodded. “I know.”

He stripped off his shirt and handed it to her with the second witch chain. She pulled the material over her head. It fell to midthigh and smelled deliciously like Alexander. She wrapped the chain around her waist like a belt. He passed her a knife, and she used it to sharpen the end of the rowan wood branch.

“Where do we start?” he asked when she was done.

“I have no idea. I haven’t seen or smelled him since the wild magic hit us.” She glanced up at the sky. The crimson mist hung thick overhead. They probably had two or three hours to sunrise. Not a lot of time to find a safe place to hole up in, much less track down the mage. If he wasn’t hurt, he’d probably make out all right on his own, but if he was— She’d pushed him into this mess, and she owed it to him to get him out if she could.

“Any signal we make will just bring trouble down on us,” Alexander said.

“That didn’t seem to bother you when you were bellowing for me,” Max pointed out.

“I like you more than I like him. I would leave him to rot, but Valery would gut me.”

“For a divorced woman being stalked by her ex, you’d think she’d be pleased if he fell off the side of the planet.”

“You would think,” he agreed, but said no more.

“Let’s angle back that way and see if we can pick up some sign of him,” Max said, pointing. “If we don’t find him in two hours, he’s on his own. We’ll have to look for cover.”

She started walking, and her thoughts turned to Jim. She wondered if he’d made it through to her brother’s house. She wondered if her family was still alive and if Jim had told them she was coming, that she’d be there before sunrise. Her stomach churned, and she felt nauseous. She wondered if they were waiting—praying for help that was going to be very late in coming.

Chapter 11

MAX STALKED AHEAD, HER HEAD SWIVELING back and forth warily. Alexander drifted to her left, leaving a good twenty feet between them. He watched the ground and trees, periodically lifting his gaze to scan the skies. Wild magic still fell. He could hear unfamiliar sounds, and they set him on edge. He could not tell how normal they might be to a forest or what dangers they might hint at. He had spent most of the past hundred years or so in cities. Even at Horngate, he rarely made the perimeter patrols.

Smells tickled his attention. Bitter musk, sour mold, mealy ash. He stepped over a mound of crumbled dirt and then another and another. There were a couple of dozen altogether. He eased through on the balls of his feet, wondering what hid inside them.

A rumble shook the ground just as he reached the last of the mounds. Suddenly black and blue beetles spilled from the tops of each. They were as big as sparrows and covered in glossy feathers. They had rounded doglike snouts full of sharp teeth. They instantly honed in on Alexander, pooling together and flooding toward him.

Alexander sprang away, grasping an overhead limb and swinging up into a tree. They followed, swarming up the trunk. He crouched on the branch and sprang fifteen feet to another tree, catching himself with his hands. He pulled himself up and made two more leaps before dropping lightly down, trying not to jar the earth and call attention to himself.

He turned to find Max right behind him. He breathed in her scent and bit the inside of his cheek with the sudden flush of desire that spilled through him. Every time he saw her, every time he was close to her, he reacted like a thirteen-year-old boy. But there was nothing juvenile in his hunger for her. He wanted to rip his shirt off her and see her bare body again; he wanted to push her up against the tree and drive himself into her until neither of them had the strength to stand.

He ground his teeth together. Now was not the time. But soon, if he had anything to say on the matter.

Max started away and Alexander followed her, then grabbed her wrist as a faint scent hooked him. Blood, and it had a coppery taste. Human, or close to it. He glanced at her. She’d caught it, too. She nodded. “It might not be him, but it’s the only trail we’ve got,” she murmured.

He led the way this time. He climbed a hill, and the sound of rushing water came to him, and the smell of blood grew stronger. He went down the opposite slope. The trees grew thicker, the gnarled limbs twisting and knotting together in a thick tangle, making it nearly impossible to pass through.

White streamers of what looked like torn cobwebs hung like rags in the thicket. Three-inch thorns glistened wetly through the gray foliage. Alexander stopped. There was a presence here, as if something was waiting. The back of his neck prickled. In front of him, the weaving branches untied themselves, leaving a narrow tunnel. It was about thirty feet long. On the other end was a clearing.

He looked at Max. “Go through or go around?”

She looked over her shoulder. “Not sure we have a choice.”

He followed her gaze. The path was gone; the trees had woven themselves together so tightly that there was not a hole big enough for a squirrel to get through. As he watched, thorns grew out like porcupine quills, covering every handhold and leaving only the enticing emptiness of the exit.

He snarled in fury. “It is a trap. I blundered right in.”

“Both of us did,” she said, her eyes narrowing on the tunnel. “One of us might get through before it snaps shut, but not both.” She stroked her fingers over the rowan wood spear she’d made. “I’m not sure how much help this will be.” She looked up, and a smile curved her lips. “That’s interesting.”

Above was open to the sky, as if the trees were taunting them. Max looked down at her hand, where Tutresiel’s feather was embedded.

“I can distract it with the rowan spear while you run through, and then I’ll jump out,” she said. “It can’t be more than twenty feet up. If the feather works, I should clear it easy.”

Alexander shook his head. “First jump out and make sure you can. Then try attacking from the outside.”

She raised her brows at him. “You’d better be fast.”

He smiled smugly. “You are worried about me.”

“You know you’re about to be lunch food for a big, bloodthirsty bush, right? You might want to focus and get your priorities straight.”

“Then get going. Feel free to be naked again when I get to the other side.” He ran his knuckles over her bare thigh just below the hem of his shirt. “That is a lure no sane man could resist.”

“No one ever said you were sane,” Max said, pushing him away. “Here.” She thrust the rowan spear into his hand. “If you come out of here dead, don’t think I won’t make you regret it. I’ll find a Voudon witch and bring you back to life just so I can kill you again.”

“I am not so easy to kill,” he said, delighting in the fact that she seemed truly concerned. “Just tell me you will be waiting, and nothing will stop me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Cool it, Slick. This isn’t the movies.”

With that, she bent her knees and sprang. As a Shadowblade, she could easily jump twenty or thirty feet into the air. But the feather made her soar. She rocketed up and in a moment vanished from sight.

Alexander let out a relieved breath. She was safely out of this mess.

Gripping the rowan staff, he turned to the tunnel trap. He crouched and sprang forward. There was not enough room for him to remain upright, and that made him slower. He was halfway through when the tunnel began to collapse, the limbs writhing and clutching at him. He used the spear, rapping it back and forth against the shrinking walls, roof, and root floor. The woven wood maw flinched, but otherwise the rowan had little effect.

He was ten feet from the end, and the mouth of the tunnel was puckering closed. Poisoned thorns grew in from every angle. He could not get through without scraping himself many times. If the toxin was quick-acting, he would be dead or possibly paralyzed before he escaped.

He did not stop moving. He smashed at the thorns with the rowan spear, clearing room for himself. Outside, he heard Max and saw the flash of her knife as she hacked at the entrance. In another moment or two, it would be too small for him to get out. He dove, flinging himself through the tunnel mouth. Wood and thorns scraped his bare chest and caught at his pants as he plunged through.

He landed on his shoulder and rolled onto his feet. Instantly, his vision fuzzed, and he staggered. Max caught him around the waist.

“Easy now, Slick. I’ve got you.”

“But will you keep me?” The words were slurred. His tongue felt like a stone.

“Depends. How are you with cleaning bathrooms and making the bed? Or are you one of those men who leave their wet towels and dirty underwear on the floor?” She hitched him closer. “Come on. Get in the water. Let’s try to rinse away some of the poison.”

She pushed him back. He staggered. His legs were stiff, and every muscle in his body was seizing up. The toxin was paralytic. He hardly felt the chill of the water as he fell headlong into it. Max put her arm under his neck and rubbed gently at the scrapes along his torso.

“Come on, Slick. You’re wasting the night. Hurry up and heal,” she said, sounding tense.

He tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t move. His heart stuttered, and his lungs felt like bricks. He could feel his healing spells fighting, spreading fingers of heat and light through his body. His head spun as he fought to breathe.

“This is a trick to get me to kiss you again, isn’t it? You think I’ll give you mouth-to-mouth. It’s pathetic, Slick.”

He felt the sensation of movement as she lifted him out of the water and laid him on the grass beside the pool. There was pressure against his numb nose and lips and a remote push into his chest. He heard her take another breath as she repeated the action four more times. Then he heard a cracking sound and felt a weight against his chest as she did compressions.

She repeated the sequence five more times, and each time more sensation returned to him as his healing spells did their job. By the sixth time, he could feel the warmth of her lips on his. Sluggishly, he lifted his arm and caught the back of her head with his hand. He pushed his tongue inside her mouth, kissing her. She froze an instant, then kissed him back, her hands sliding up to cup his cheeks. Her taste made his head spin. He lifted his head, pulling her closer, slanting his mouth and kissing her deeply. She made a sound in her throat, her fingers curling into fists against his face.

He pulled away, panting, though whether from want of her or lack of capacity in his still healing lungs, he did not know.

“So I guess you’re feeling better,” she said.

“I could use another kiss to really make me well.”

She grinned and shook her head. “C’mon. We had better get looking for Holt.”

She stood and helped him to his feet. He grimaced. His jeans were sopping wet, and his boots squelched. He stretched clumsily. His muscles were still stiff, but every moment made them less so. He looked around.

They stood in a small grass-filled cup. A spring bubbled merrily in a pool at the center and rushed away in a brook. The thorn tree thicket spread across the upslope and down the left and right, cut apart by the brook that ran uphill, against all nature. The downslope ended in a drop-off. Alexander went to the edge and peered over. A gorge opened up below. A golden river wound through it, and a herd of something that looked like buffalo grazed along the far bank.

He lifted his head, searching for the smell of coppery blood. It was close. “That way,” he said to Max, pointing to the left. The thorn trees grew to the edge of the cliff, blocking their way.

“I hope he didn’t get eaten already,” Max said.

“They probably spit the bastard out.”

“He does leave a bad taste in the mouth, doesn’t he? So how do you want to get out of here? Do you want to try the creek?” She went to the edge of the cliff and leaned over. “We could probably climb across, if there aren’t any rock traps.”

Alexander grabbed her hand and pulled her back. “Better to take the creek path. Magic will not transform things in running water. It does not care for it much.”

“Let’s be quick, then. Holt might be bleeding to death.”

“One can hope,” Alexander said dryly, and followed her.

She picked up the rowan spear and splashed into the pool, rinsing any poison off the spear before following the creek. Alexander followed. On either side, the gnarled thorn trees twitched and writhed, limbs winding through the air like snakes as they honed in on the two invading Blades. But Alexander was right. They could not break the boundary of the running water. He and Max trotted through the thicket, emerging into a meadow on the other side.

Along the edge of the cliff were what appeared to be three black and orange plants. Each was made up of six or seven tall, arching stems that pushed up out of the ground in a massive clump. The stems varied in size from several feet in diameter down to a foot. The ends of each flattened into fan shapes, the undersides of which were covered in slitted blisters. The stems slapped the ground and one another with angry ferocity.

“Déjà vu all over again,” Max murmured. “There’s Holt.”

The mage was lying on the ground among the three plant creatures. A dome of white energy covered him, holding off the pounding blows. But even as they watched, the dome shrank.

Alexander and Max moved at the same time. She stabbed at the attacking tentacles with her rowan spear and knife. A squealing shriek cut the night, and the tentacles jerked back, flailing about. They did not like the taste of cold iron or rowan. Alexander grabbed Holt and dragged him out of range. Max followed, backing up and driving off the striking tentacles with sharp swipes of the spear.

Holt was bleeding from several wounds. He had a deep gash in his left side below his ribs and another on the inside of his left thigh. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and matted the hair on the side of his head. He blinked dazedly at his rescuers.

“You look like shit, Zippy,” Max said. “And I know what I’m talking about.”

“You lost your pants,” he pointed out, and coughed painfully.

“Well, his brain isn’t quite fried,” she told Alexander.

“Too bad,” he said, and unbuckled Holt’s belt, using it to tie a tourniquet around his leg.

In the meantime, Max sat the injured mage up and pulled off his shirt, making a makeshift bandage for the wound in his side. Holt gasped and gritted his teeth beneath their ministrations, but he did not cry out. Alexander had to admit to grudging respect for the other man’s strength.

They helped him up and carried him between them. Alexander guided their steps back north. They were able to avoid any potential trouble until they were a bare hundred yards from the edge of the enchantment, when a chorus of howls erupted from the trees and rocks littering the ridge behind.

“Is it me, or do those beasties sound hungry?” Max said.

“We could leave them Holt to feast on. That should give us plenty of time to escape,” Alexander suggested. At her exasperated look, he shrugged. “Worth a try. Take him. I will keep our howling friends occupied.”

She passed him the rowan spear and hoisted Holt up into her arms. The mage’s head lolled against her shoulder and dangled over her arm. He had fainted. She started away, picking her way carefully as she looked for traps.

Alexander followed close behind, watching over his shoulder. When the hunters came, they flowed silently over the ground like a rolling fog. They were grizzled gray, with narrow heads, long pointed jaws, and skeletal bodies. They stood about three feet tall at the shoulder, with a ruff of long fur that ran thick around their necks and down their bellies. Their bones protruded sharply through the hairless skin covering the rest of their bodies, and a long wedged tail like an alligator’s slid through the air behind. Their feet were broad paws with wickedly hooked claws. They loped across the ground, splitting and braiding back and forth. There had to be forty of them. They were silent now, heads dropped low as they hunted.