Crimson Wind (23 page)

Max opened her door and got out. Alexander shut off the car and did the same.

“Where is your family’s orchard?”

“Over that ridge and southeast a little ways.” Max pointed to the left. “Maybe a couple of miles at most.” She walked toward the white wall of smoke. “Smells like woodsmoke. Sweet, though. Like honey and hay, too. Ever seen anything like it?”

He frowned. Something tickled at his memory. He walked closer until he was only a few inches away. He closed his eyes, smelling and tasting the air. Yes—woodsmoke, honey, and hay. Those things for certain. But also— He tilted his head, concentrating. There, under it all. A sift of musky fur and a hint of dry death. He stepped back. “I think—yes, it must be
obake.”

“What is an
obake?”

“Obake
are shape-shifters from Japan. They begin as animals or even objects with souls and can transform into human form. Some are ghosts that can transform. This smoke is of the
bakemono
—the ghost variety.”

“So what do they want here? Winters doesn’t strike me as a top-of-the-list target for the Guardians.”

“My guess is territory. Japan is a small place and the Guardians are ridding the world of the human infestation. These
obake
might have been given this place as a reward for their service to the Guardians.”

“How do you fight them?”

“Same as most Uncanny creatures. Steel slows them down and cutting them apart kills them. Obake are not particularly strong, but they are clever, and they have numbers.”

“And this smoke? How dangerous is it?”

“The moment we enter it, they will know where we are. It hides them, and it tells them about their enemies. Breathing it will probably not be healthy.”

“How long can someone survive in it?”

He shook his head. “I have no idea.”

“So the less we’re in it, the better,” Max said.

He knew she was wondering how humans could have survived it for three days. But her face was calm and focused, her emotions shoved down where they could not interfere.

She turned around. “Let’s go that way.” She started up the hill.

“Wait.” Alexander went to the car and took out the two swords. He shoved one into the witch chain around his waist and handed the other to Max, who did the same. Next, he grabbed the bandoliers of grenades and extra ammo clips, doling them out between them.

At the top of the hill, they stopped to survey the expanse of smoke that hovered like a low fog for miles. Alexander looked north, putting a hand on her shoulder to draw her attention to the smudge of crimson on the horizon.

“It’s close,” she said, her jaw knotting as she squinted at it. “We’d better hurry. We’ve only got a few hours before dawn. We can’t wait till tomorrow to escape, or we’ll be caught up in the wild magic.”

She ran down the slope to the bottom and turned to follow the long V between the ridges. Alexander kept pace with her. They came again to the smoke wall and stopped.

“How far from here?”

“Maybe another half-mile or so. Jim said he thought he saw a thinning near the farmhouse. Let’s climb up there and see what there is to see.”

She bounded up the hill and scanned the smoke above the orchard. “He’s right. See it? Over there—you can see through it a little. Do you see a light?”

A spot of orange flickered and did not disappear. “It could be a fire or a signal.”

“Maybe that’s for us. Maybe Jim wanted us to know he got through,” Max said.

“Either way, it is at the farmhouse, right?”

“Pretty close.”

“How far can you jump with that feather?”

She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.

“With a passenger,” he added. “We are going together.”

“Never thought otherwise, Slick.”

“Right.”

She grinned and then shrugged. “No idea. We’ll get closer than here, however far it is.”

“If we land in the smoke, we will not be able to keep our bearings. The smell and the silence of it will overwhelm our senses. It is what bakemono smoke does.”

“Won’t that be more fun than a barrel of piranhas?”

He unwrapped his witch chain and fastened himself to her, holding his sword in his right hand. “So we do not get separated.”

“Let’s go, then,” she said, and walked back up the ridge a ways. She turned and wrapped her hand around his wrist. He did the same. “Just don’t accidentally skewer me with that thing when we land. Ready? On the count of three. Run and jump. One, two, three!”

They lunged forward, running as fast as their Shadowblade magic allowed. Just before the wall of smoke, they leaped into the air. Alexander clamped his hand tight on Max’s as he began to fall. She held him equally hard. They rose above the filmy white ocean, heading toward the light.

The milky smoke curled and twisted with phantom shapes as they drifted above it, slowly sinking. They could not have been more than a hundred yards from the light when they dropped into the smoke.

“Close your eyes,” Alexander told Max. “Keep them closed until we get to the farmhouse.”

The white curled around them both. It felt like ghostly hands, as well it could have been. Although bakemono wraiths could touch, they were not physically dangerous until they took their human form, but they could lead people astray in the smoke and walk them off the edge of a cliff.

Alexander tried to keep himself facing the farmhouse. He jolted as he landed. A moment later, Max settled beside him with a gentle thud. He did not wait, but started off in the direction he remembered, slowly swinging his sword out in front of him to feel his way.

He had held his breath as he entered the smoke, and now he let it out, drawing another. It was cool against his skin, but it burned his nose and down into his lungs. His eyes itched, despite being closed, and his face felt tight, like all the moisture was wicking out of him. Not good. It would be easy to get disoriented and be turned into a dry husk within a few hours. The thought was frightening, given how long Max’s family had been submerged in it.

He went as fast as he dared. Voices whispered, and there were growls and yips all around. He fought the urge to open his eyes. Although he had never encountered
bakemono
before, he had heard enough stories to know what not to do. Keeping his eyes shut was crucial to finding his way.

They were in the orchard. Low-hanging cherry limbs batted him in the face. He kept one arm up to ward them away and swept the sword back and forth before him.

It was becoming harder to breathe. His lungs felt like they were filling with sand. He pulled his shirt up to cover his mouth and nose, but it did no good. The smoke went right through.

He counted his steps. They had been maybe a hundred yards from the light. He was going slowly, so he thought a hundred and fifty steps should put him in the right vicinity.

Something brushed his leg. He kicked out, hitting nothing. A hand pinched his ear. Another slid up his thigh to his stomach. He slapped them away, this time hitting flesh. There was a trill of laughter, sweet and silvery.
Obake
turned into beautiful humans to lure their prey. Another reason to keep his eyes shut.

He kept walking. He felt the tug of Max on the other end of the chain as she, too, knocked away attackers. Her breathing was labored like his own.

At last he thought he had gone far enough. He groped for Max. “I am going to look. You might not be able to trust me after that.” He coughed, his tongue so parched he could not swallow. It felt like the sharp spines of a thistle were drilling into the back of his throat. It was nearly a minute before he got himself under control.

He opened his eyes. In front of him was a clear little hollow in the smoke. Inside it stood a trio of beautiful women. They were naked, their bodies curvacious and lush. Their faces were delicate, and their hair cascaded down their backs in riots of red-black curls.
Kitsune
. Fox
obake
. They had to be.

They saw him looking and smiled, sashaying toward him, licking their lips and sliding their hands over themselves erotically as they did. They could not disguise their eyes, though—they were hungry for blood. He smiled as if amazed and delighted and looked past them.

In the near distance, the smoke thinned. He could see the glow of the light. It shimmered and danced like a reflection on water. He was headed slightly in the wrong direction. He needed to shift left. He did, squaring his shoulders to his goal. All he needed to do now was walk straight for another twenty yards.

The three women had reached him now and were rubbing themselves on him like foxes scent-marking their territory. They licked his neck and stroked him through his jeans. They smelled of jasmine and honey.

“What’s going on, Slick? Friends of yours?”

Alexander nearly jumped out of his skin as Max spoke. He jerked around, scowling. “You were not supposed to open your eyes. Now, come on. We have to be quick.”

He shoved the
kitsune
away and strode on. They screeched and came at him. Their mouths were fanged now, and their fingernails were long and sharp. He knocked them aside as best he could, but did not stop. He did not dare get turned around in a fight. He kept his eyes locked on the light, not daring to look away for even a second. The smoke closed back around him. It was patchy in places, blindingly thick in others. Shapes danced in it, and lights flickered all around. He kept his gaze fixed on the one he had seen first.

The
kitsune
women continued to claw at him. One of them was ripped from his back, and he heard the crashing thud as she was thrown into the air, breaking branches before she landed. The second and third soon followed as Max came to his rescue. More howls and yips sounded, and there was a rustle and snapping twigs signaling dozens of scurrying bodies—maybe more.

“Come on. Hurry!” Three female
kitsune
could not offer much trouble to a Shadowblade, but if fifty or a hundred
obake
swarmed them, the two Blades would be overwhelmed by sheer numbers. It would not be long before they fell under the ravenous tide and were torn to bits.

He broke into a run, Max close on his heels. He stepped on something soft. It screeched, and Alexander fell to the side, losing sight of the light. He thrust to his feet as a flood of furry bodies squirmed and writhed around his legs. Dozens of mouths fastened onto his thighs, calves, and feet, pulling and yanking back and forth. Max was kicking and swearing. He bulled ahead, dragging her after him in the direction he thought he had been going. The smoke was thinner here. It had to be right. He prayed it was right.

The animals—badgers, raccoons, foxes, skunks, squirrels—chased after Max and Alexander. They clambered over one another in a frenzy, raking claws into their prey and snapping at the soft flesh. Something scrabbled up Alexander’s back to his shoulder, and Max snatched it away as it fastened onto the flesh at the nape of his neck.

He chopped before him with the sword, shuffling more than running as he sought to keep his feet beneath him. The witch chain jerked and loosened as Max fought her way through. He heard the whine of her sword cutting through the air and the squalls of obake in pain.

They kept slogging through the shifting tide of bodies, panting as the smoke petrified their lungs. His head spun with lack of oxygen. How much farther? Alexander could not tell. Then suddenly they crossed a ward line. Fire swept over Alexander’s skin and he sprawled into a ditch. The bottom was muddy. He leaped to his feet. Max stood in the mud, the witch chain pulled tight between them. Behind them,
obake
raged at the edge of an impenetrable magic circle.

The air was better here; the smoke wasn’t as thick. Convinced the
obake
could not break the ward line, Alexander turned to see where they were.

Behind them was a sprawling white farmhouse surrounded by trees. Behind it were two long white barns. But they weren’t what caught his attention. Twenty feet away was a bonfire. It was the light that had guided them. A single figure stood in silhouette before it. He came slowly forward. He was older, in his late sixties or early seventies. His hair was a bleached gray, and his face was angular and tanned, his eyes brown. Lines of exhaustion and worry dug furrows into his face. His gaze was fixed on Max.

“Anne?” he asked in disbelief. “Anne—is that you?”

Alexander frowned in confusion. Max looked stricken. Her clothes were torn from where the
obake
had clawed and chewed on her, and blood smeared the skin of her face and arms. She let the sword fall from her limp fingers.

“Hi, Dad. I’m back.”

Chapter 16

MAX FELT LIKE THE BOTTOM HAD JUST FALLEN out of the world. She’d known she would see her family, and yet nothing had prepared her for that moment when her father first looked at her and saw that she was alive. Thirty years after her supposed death, she was alive and still looked twenty-one years old.

She had seen her father, of course. From a distance, usually around Christmas and again at Tris’s birthday in the summer. She had watched him and her mother and everyone else growing up and growing older. He stared at her now, shock making his mouth fall open.

“How? I don’t understand,” he said finally. “You look like you did—just like the pictures we have of you.”

Then his face took on a look of dawning understanding and he said the last thing she ever thought she would hear from him. “You’re a witch servant, aren’t you? A Shadowblade, right? The ones who can only go out at night?”

It felt like he had punched her in the gut. The breath went out of her and she couldn’t speak. She gaped like an idiot.

“It makes sense. And of course, if you were a Sun-spear, you couldn’t be here now.” He was talking more to himself than to her. He’d always done that. He liked to think out loud.

“How—” She swallowed the dryness in her throat that had more to do with facing him again than with the smoke. “How do you know about Shadowblades and Sunspears? How do you know about witches?”

“Why, I am one. Not all that strong, I admit, but I do all right. Now, Kyle, he’s got some real juice.”

Kyle. Her brother. The boy she’d never really known. He’d been born right after she left for college. He was thirty-three now, divorced and remarried, with a daughter from the first marriage and two stepsons from the second. And he was a witch. How had she never known that? But she’d watched from afar, never imagining that they were anything but ordinary.

“The witch blood had to come from somewhere,” she muttered. Giselle had always told her that the spells that made Max a Shadowblade were made stronger by the few drops of witch blood running through her veins.

She jumped up out of the ditch, all too aware of the blood slicking her skin and her dirty, torn clothes. She fought the urge to smooth her hair and adjust her clothing. There wasn’t much point, and a slow anger was starting to burn in her stomach. Why hadn’t her father told her what he was? What she was?

“You must serve a witch. What are you doing here?”

“I came to get you, all of you. We heard the
obake
had attacked here. It’s about to get worse. You need to come with us back to Horngate.”

“Is Horngate your covenstead?” he asked, scrutinizing her as if he was studying a rare bird.

He had not tried to hug her. That fact was not lost on her. He was treating her like an interesting scientific artifact, not his daughter. She looked around behind him.

“Where is everybody?” she asked, not bothering to answer his question.

“Inside. Everyone is going to be so surprised. That witch—Jim—he said someone was coming to help us. He never said it was you, Anne.”

“My name is Max now,” she corrected tersely. This was not going the way she’d expected. He was not angry, not resentful. Nor was he all that happy to see her. She remembered him from long ago—the way he would put his arm around her when they walked somewhere, the way he would rub her shoulders when she was studying intently for a test, the way he would always kiss her before she went to bed, even when she was twenty-one and thought herself too old for such sappy crap. But this man—he was more witch than father. And she was more Shadowblade than daughter. That hurt more than she ever thought it could.

She pushed the hurt down, into the cold abyss at her core where she put all things painful. She felt her mask fall into place, emotion smoothing away like sand washed flat and featureless by waves.

“Where is Jim?”

Her father frowned. “He’s not doing so well. The smoke has affected him quite a bit, and he has bites that have become infected. Tris has been nursing him.”

“Is there anybody else here?”

“Just your mother and me, Kyle and Tris and the kids, and your friend Jim. The hired hands tried to get out the first day. Oh, and, of course, the Leshii.”

“Leshii?” Max repeated. Those were ….. she racked her brain, resisting the urge to scrape her hands through her hair. Leshii were forest dwellers from Russia. They were powerful in their own way, tricksters, with a love of trees. Like the
obake
, they could shape-shift, but took the forms of trees or grass. They didn’t usually make friends with humans.

Her father nodded. “It’s a family group. They’ve lived on this land for hundreds of years. When we bought it, we made friends with them. They helped our trees, and we did the things they needed. It’s worked out quite well.”

Max could only stare. Her father and brother were witches and friends with a family of Leshii. What did that make Tris? And her mother?

“We need to get moving,” Alexander said, just as her father broke into a hacking cough.

It was a full minute or so before he gained control of himself, and when he did, he wiped off a spatter of blood on his pants leg.

“Smoke is getting to me,” he said. “It’s getting to everyone.”

“It will kill you before long,” Alexander said.

Her father narrowed his eyes at the other man. “Who are you?”

“Alexander.”

“He’s a friend,” Max said. “Alexander, this is Peter.” She couldn’t bring herself now to call him Dad.

The two men exchanged wary nods of greeting, each eyeing the other suspiciously.

“Let’s go into the house. Your mother will be over the moon to see you.”

Right. Like he clearly was. Max followed him. Alexander fell in beside her.

“Are you all right?”

“Nothing wrong that a case of whiskey wouldn’t cure.” Not that she could get drunk. Her Shadowblade metabolism made it impossible.

He brushed his fingers over the back of her neck. She bit the inside of her cheek hard, her eyes burning with tears she refused to let go. Her chin lifted. She reached up and caught Alexander’s hand, squeezing it once before letting go. His gentle touch threatened to shatter the armored walls protecting her emotions, walls she needed more than ever now.

The house was old, built at least a hundred years ago, if not more. It was three stories, with additions around the outside, dozens of gables, and a couple of turrets. A broad porch ran around three-quarters of it. Benches swung from the overhang, and a table and chairs were set up outside a pair of French doors. Inside the house and up close, she could smell the Divine magic in her father that the smoke and
obake
scents had obscured.

A long living room took up the front of the house. It was cozy, with hardwood floors, plush throw rugs, couches, and a flat-screen TV. The dining room was off to one side. A short hallway led to the kitchen, branching off to go upstairs and farther back into the house. Smoke hazed the rooms, despite the fact that the windows were closed tight. The air was stuffy.

Her father pushed open the swinging kitchen door. It was a modern room, with a large kitchen at one end and a family dining area at the other.

“Look who I found outside,” her father announced dramatically, stepping to the side and making a flourishing motion at Max. “It’s Anne.”

“Max,” she corrected automatically, stopping just inside the doorway. Alexander was just behind her, his chest warm against her back.

“Hello, everyone,” she said, scanning the faces. She saw Kyle sitting at the table, his stepsons playing video games by the window. Beside him was Tris. Her mouth hung open in shock. Like Max, her hair was blond, though darker, more gold than Max’s silver-white. It was graying now. She was slender and soft around the stomach. Her face was tanned and lined, and crow’s-feet fanned out from her eyes. She stood, her wooden chair rumbling back across the tile floor.

“Anne? How can it be? You’re dead. You died thirty years ago.” Tears ran down her cheeks, and her chin crumpled.

Her husband, Paul, slid his arm around her, looking at Max with both curiosity and fear. Their youngest daughter, sixteen-year-old Sharon, stood behind him, staring at Max with wide eyes. She had Paul’s black hair. The other one, Tory, was standing in the middle of the kitchen holding a cup of coffee. She was nineteen, with long blond hair. Beside her was Max’s mother. She was tall, with broad shoulders and thick thighs. Her red hair had gone gray, and she wore it clipped short. She held a full coffeepot, several empty cups hooked on her fingers.

“Anne?” she said, the color bleaching from her face. She slowly went to the counter and set the coffee and mugs down with a sharp clatter. “Where ….. how?”

“Hey, Mom.” Max’s throat was knotted so tight she could hardly breathe. Her eyes burned hot with tears. She blinked them back.

“I don’t understand,” her mother whispered. “You’re dead—murdered. The police found blood.” She swallowed hard, one hand pressing against her throat. “So much of it. Like your body had been emptied. They said there was no chance you could have survived.”

“She’s a Shadowblade,” her father declared confidently.

“A what?” Tris asked, her voice cracking. She’d stood up and was clinging white-fingered to her husband’s arm.

“A witch turned her into a superwarrior of the night. She has superstrength and superhearing, but she can’t go out in the day or she’ll be burned alive.”

Tris’s eyes widened and her hand covered her mouth.

“Is that true?” Max’s mother asked.

“It is,” Max said, not missing the fact that her mother wasn’t particularly startled by the notion of witches. Tris wasn’t, either. Peter and Kyle were both witches. After forty years or so, there was a good chance they’d figure it out.

A tremor quaked through Max. Her father and her brother were witches. She was no less stunned by that fact than they must be to see her still alive. How had she not known? There was a ward shield around the house. She should have noticed that. But then, she had never come very close in case she was seen.

But Giselle had known.

The realization sent a jolt down to the bottoms of her feet, and anger whirled white-hot inside her. Everyone in the room blanched and stepped away as the power of her Prime filled the room with deadly rage. Kyle’s boys hunched down, staring in fright.

She couldn’t pull back her Prime or douse the storm that roared through her. She shifted, facing her father. He alone didn’t look frightened. He looked more like a kid in a candy store. Max’s lips curled as she bared her teeth. “You knew Giselle was a witch, didn’t you?” she asked softly. “She was my roommate for more than two years. There’s no way you didn’t know.”

He nodded. “Witches recognize each other.”

“It didn’t occur to you to warn me?” she asked, speaking each word slowly. She wanted to scream them.

“Warn you? What for? Oh!”

She watched as realization hit. There was a flicker of guilt in his dark eyes, so like her own.

“
She
turned you? But she was just a college girl.”

Max ground her teeth together. “She was—is—a whole lot more than that.”

“But she came to see us,” her mother protested, stepping forward to stand beside her father. As if they were teaming up against her.

Hurt slashed through Max. She held herself still, though she felt like she was bleeding to death. “Giselle came to see you? When?”

“Many times. She was so sympathetic …..” Her mother trailed away, pressing her fingers over her trembling lips.

“I swear, I will fucking kill her this time for sure,” Max gritted. Instantly, her compulsion spells seized tight. She doubled over, feeling like her flesh was being peeled from her bones. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit back on her cries of agony. She didn’t give in to the pain. She
would
kill Giselle, slowly, and enjoy every single second of it. Her body spasmed, and she sagged to her knees. She wrapped her arms around herself and tipped forward until her forehead rested against the oak floor. Her lungs felt full of ground glass; she could barely breathe.

“What’s happening?” Tris demanded.

“Compulsion spells,” Alexander said grimly. “It is what happens when a witch binds you and you break the rules.”

His hands slid under Max’s arms, and he picked her up gently, pulling her against his chest.

“You have to stop,” he whispered, his hands rubbing her back. “You have every right to hate her, but this will not help you or your family. We have to get them out of here. That’s why we came. Let it go. For now.”

She convulsed as the spasms in her muscles increased.

“Max!” Alexander’s voice was sharp and commanding. “Pull yourself together. You have work to do.”

He was right. She knew it. She had to let it go. Giselle’s further lies and betrayal didn’t change anything about the danger of the
obake
or the spread of the wild magic from Shasta.

It took everything she had to push her hatred deep down inside where she didn’t have to feel it. She began to relax as the hate was replaced by cool purpose. She pushed herself out of Alexander’s arms.

“Thanks.”

“If you want, I will cut her throat for you.” His mouth was white-rimmed with fury and his eyes were icy.

“No need.”

He nodded. “The offer stands.”

“Thanks. But you’re trying to get her to like you, remember?”

“I do not give a fuck.”

She gave him a slow smile before turning back to her family. It was good to have someone in her corner.

“Are you ….. okay?” her mother asked, looking nervous, as if she didn’t know whether she should offer to hug Max or run to the hills. “That looked—”

“I’ll be fine,” Max said shortly.

“I still don’t understand,” Tris said. “What about the blood the police found?” Her face was blotched red, and her jaw thrust out. She was pissed and afraid. Max could smell her fear. “It was yours. They tested it.”

Max shrugged. “It was better for you if you thought I was dead.”

“Better for us? Better for us?” Tris’s voice was shrill. “How could it be better? God, I don’t think I ever recovered from losing you. Do you know what it’s like to think your sister was murdered? I loved you so much, and you were alive this whole time! Now you’re standing there like the day you disappeared, acting like it didn’t matter to you at all. Was it that great? Becoming this thing you’ve become? Why did you do it? To stay young? Is that it? You traded us for
that
?” she asked scathingly.