Mist-Torn Witches 02:Witches in Red (26 page)

“Mercedes,” Céline said, hurrying up. “We really should get the children inside. It’s not safe for them out here.”

“Do you think those soldiers can keep that beast out?”

“I think they have a good chance.”

Finally, Mercedes nodded and walked over to the group of armed men. Céline looked around and saw Mariah standing off by herself, staring into the forest.

Céline went to her and said gently, “Mariah, come inside.”

The girl didn’t move or look away from the trees. “They burned Sullian’s body,” she whispered.

The sorrow in her voice was heartbreaking, leaving Céline puzzled. “You liked Sullian?”

“He was kind.” Mariah nodded slowly. “And they burned him.”

Céline could not begin to imagine all that this poor girl had suffered, but at the moment, she wanted to get Mariah inside a wagon.

“Come with me. Please.”

Mariah’s head turned slightly as Marcus came jogging out of the north-side forest. He was still barefoot with his shirt hanging loose over the top of his breeches. There were dark spots on the front of his shirt from the claw marks on his chest, and Céline wondered how badly they were bleeding. She wished she’d thought to bring her box.

He jogged right up to them. “I’ve done a full sweep above us, and I’ve seen no sign of the beast.”

Coming to a decision, Céline leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “We know who is responsible now, so we should be able to stop it from happening again.”

His black eyes fixed on her face.

Just then, a soldier on the west side of the perimeter screamed.

* * *

Jaromir ran through the Pählen camp straight for the provisions tent. He barely slowed down as he passed through the front flap, but he knew the weapons were stored in racks along the east wall, and so he jogged through rows of barrels and crates, emerging in a more open area.

There . . . he came to a stop at the sight of Quinn casting around wildly with a spear in one hand and a dagger in the other. He was bleeding from the head.

Amelie was nowhere to be seen.

A cold fear filled Jaromir’s stomach, but he fought to keep his face calm.

“Lieutenant,” Quinn said.

“What’s happened?” Jaromir asked, as if he knew nothing. “Where’s Amelie?”

Quinn used the back of his dagger hand to wipe some of the blood off his forehead as Jaromir approached.

“The beast attacked us on the way, and we became separated,” Quinn answered.

“And you just abandoned her and came in here?”

“I thought to come in here for more weapons, and then I would look for her.” He glanced about nervously.

“More weapons?” Jaromir asked. “You already have a hunting spear and a dagger. How much more could you use?”

Quinn stopped glancing around and fixed directly on him. The tension was thick, and Jaromir decided to drop the ruse. He drew his sword.

“What did you do with her?”

Without a flicker of warning, Quinn swung hard with the butt of the spear.

* * *

Céline stood frozen as the scream carried through the night air. The sound of shouting—and more screaming—followed.

Graham dropped his spear and began running toward the flurry of sounds.

“Don’t!” he shouted. “It’s Saunders.”

Before Céline could move or react. Mariah picked up the spear and ran after Graham. With no idea what else to do, Céline turned back and found Marcus gone.

“Marcus!”

No one answered.

Céline ran after Mariah and soon rounded the back of the outer Móndyalítko wagon, reaching the west-side perimeter. The first thing she saw were two dead soldiers on the ground, bleeding from their throats. A spear and a loaded crossbow lay beside them. Any other soldiers who’d been here appeared to have run. She didn’t see Mariah.

Only two living creatures now occupied her line of sight in the darkness.

The farthest away was the same massive wolf that had attacked her and Amelie in their tent. Its red eyes glowed, and its jowls were pulled back, exposing its fangs.

A few paces closer to her, Graham was kneeling, facing the beast and holding one hand out in the air.

“Saunders. It’s me.”

The wolf snarled and charged. Céline wanted to shout, to wave her arms, to do something, anything, to distract it, but the sound caught in her throat, and she couldn’t seem to move.

In a blur, Mariah came running from the shadows behind the wagon, past Céline, and she swung with the butt of her spear, catching the wolf directly across the face. The blow barely seemed to stun it, but it faltered somewhat in its charge at Graham, and it only clipped him, knocking him off his feet.

As the beast struggled to halt and turn, a slender black wolf dashed in, smashing against its side and rolling it onto the ground. Two breaths later, Rurik came running up, carrying his drawn sword.

Mariah ran to Graham, kneeling beside him,
weeping openly. “It’s not him anymore,” she cried. “He’s not in there.”

Then the roar of both wolves drowned out anything else she might have said, and Rurik stood watching the battle of teeth and claws in confusion.

“Help the black one,” Céline called to him. “It’s Marcus!”

* * *

Amelie had watched Jaromir run in, and she’d crawled along behind him without being seen, hoping to use her best and main strength—the element of surprise—against Quinn.

She could hear both men speaking, and then she heard a sword sliding from a scabbard.

“What did you do with her?” Jaromir asked, his voice full of anguish.

Amelie moved from behind a tall stack of crates and peered over the top of a barrel to see.

Before the sound of the words had died, Quinn swung with the butt of his spear and caught Jaromir across the face. Amelie wanted to scream. Jaromir would have expected a straight-on attack, for Quinn to come at him with the point of the spear.

With a cracking sound, Jaromir went down. His eyes were closed.

Quinn flipped the spear upward, gripping its haft up nearer the point, and then he raised it to drive it downward through Jaromir’s chest.

Amelie had no weapon but a dagger, and she was well aware that she was no match for Quinn. So she did the only thing possible. She shoved the tall stack of
crates beside her, and they fell forward on top of both Jaromir and Quinn with a cascade of crashing sounds.

Darting forward, she ran over the tops of the fallen crates, hoping to reach Quinn and drive her dagger through his throat while he was still dazed. Reaching him in seconds as he lay on the ground, she struck downward with her blade.

But his hand snaked up and caught her wrist. The next thing she knew, he’d jerked her down and was up on top of her, pinning her arms with his knees. This time, he didn’t grab her jaw. Instead, his hand closed around her throat. Looking up, she could see anger in the back of his cold blue eyes. He wasn’t going to snap her neck. He wanted this to hurt.

His hand closed slowly, and she fought to take in air. The pain wasn’t terrible at first, but then it grew unbearable. He went on closing his hand, and the world began growing black.

* * *

Céline heard Marcus yelp as the larger wolf snapped its teeth on his shoulder.

Rurik dropped his sword and grabbed a fallen spear, moving closer to the fight and looking for an opening where he wouldn’t hit Marcus.

But his action of grabbing the weapon caused Céline to cast about as well, and her eyes fell upon the loaded crossbow lying just outside a dead soldier’s hand. The beast must have killed him before he had a chance to fire. Scrambling forward, Céline snatched it up and aimed it at the mass of claws and teeth and fur rolling on the ground. She didn’t take her eyes off them, and
when the larger wolf suddenly rolled on top, she fired, catching it behind one ear. The creature roared and veered away from Marcus, shaking its head savagely.

As soon as it was off Marcus, Rurik darted in and used both hands to drive the spear downward through its throat, pinning it to the ground in a rush of blood. Rurik stomped down on its front shoulder with his boot and fought to hold the spear in place as the creature bled out and out . . . and finally stopped moving.

Marcus—the black wolf—tried struggling to his feet and then fell. By the time Céline reached him, he was in human form again, naked, panting, and bleeding. He didn’t speak as she pulled her cloak off and covered him, trying to check his wounds at the same time. The front of his left shoulder had a deep gouge.

Rurik took his boot off the massive dead wolf, walked over, and looked down at Marcus as if uncertain of what he was seeing. Céline turned her head up and met Rurik’s eyes. He was a teller of secrets. That much was known, but perhaps only where Anton’s success was concerned.

“He saved us,” she said flatly. “You’ll keep his secret?”

After a moment, Rurik nodded. Then, as if unsure what to say, he went over to check on Graham and Mariah.

Céline turned back to Marcus. “I need to make sure Amelie is safe. Then I’ll get my box and tend to these wounds. This shoulder might need stitching.”

He hadn’t seemed to hear her, and he was studying her face.

“What you said before . . . about knowing who was responsible, about being able to stop all this, that means you’re leaving soon, doesn’t it?”

The question threw her, and she wasn’t sure what he was trying to ask. “Yes. I have a shop, a life back home.”

If anything, his gaze grew more intense. “You mean you have
someone
back home?”

She flinched. Could he see how she was haunted by the trailing wisps of her unexplainable connection to Anton? Looking away, she couldn’t answer his question. There was no answer.

* * *

Amelie was in agony, and her world was going black.

Then, suddenly, the pressure on her throat was gone and she was sucking in air. Nothing made sense for a moment, but she could hear grunting and crashing sounds, and she tried to struggle up, squinting to see what was happening.

Jaromir and Quinn, both barehanded, were swinging at each other. Where was Jaromir’s sword?

Had he seen her being strangled and just rushed in without thinking in order to pull Quinn off?

Quinn struck Jaromir full force in the jaw, snapping his head back, but Jaromir came around and smashed his own fist into the side of Quinn’s face. Then, somehow, as Quinn stumbled, he managed to duck up behind Jaromir and make a grab for his head.

In panic, Amelie pushed herself up. She knew what Quinn was doing: trying to get a firm enough hold to break Jaromir’s neck. But Jaromir’s hand flashed downward toward something on top of a crate, and the
next thing Amelie knew, he had slipped around behind Quinn, and Amelie saw what he’d grabbed: a thick piece of twine torn loose from a fallen crate.

In an instant, he had the twine over Quinn’s head, and he jerked it taut, using both hands now to cross-pull it closed around Quinn’s throat. Quinn bucked wildly, trying to throw him off, but Jaromir held on, pulling tighter, shutting off Quinn’s breath.

From where she was half-crouched, Amelie saw fear dawning on Quinn’s face. His mouth opened, and part of his tongue protruded, but she didn’t look away. She watched as both the fear and the life faded from his eyes.

Jaromir kept twisting and pulling the twine for several moments after Amelie thought Quinn was already dead.

Then he dropped the body and looked over at her.

“Amelie,” he breathed.

* * *

Jaromir stared at Amelie, who was half-crouched among the fallen crates. He could see angry welts on her throat . . . but she was alive and looking back at him.

He ran her to her, pulling her up against his chest. “Let me see your neck. Can you breathe?”

She didn’t struggle in his arms; she just let him hold her.

“It was him,” she blurted out. “He’s the one who’s been turning all the soldiers.”

“I know. Do you know how?”

“An elixir . . . a black substance he puts on their skin. He keeps it in a metal flask.”

He held her a moment longer to make sure her breathing was normal, and then he leaned her back against a crate.

“A metal flask? I’m going to check his body.”

Moving back through the fallen crates, Jaromir didn’t see where Quinn might be hiding a flask. He wasn’t wearing his cloak, and the pockets of his breeches seemed too snug. But Jaromir searched the body anyway.

“Anything?”

“No.”

“Do you know which tent is his?”

Jaromir did. He retrieved his sword and slid it back into its sheath. When he turned to help Amelie up, he found she was already standing.

“Your face is a mess,” she said.

He touched his jaw, which had taken several blows—one of which had come from the butt of a spear. “It’ll heal.”

They left the provisions tent and walked through the empty camp.

“Is Céline all right?” Amelie asked.

“She was when I came after you. Rurik is with her, and all the soldiers. We’ll get back to her as soon as we can.”

Upon entering the tent he knew to be Quinn’s private quarters, he looked around at the sparse furniture, but Amelie walked right to the bed and picked up the cloak lying there.

“He kept it in his pocket.” She carefully pulled out a pair of leather gloves, but her expression turned
anxious as she continued feeling the fabric of the cloak. “It’s not in here. We have to find it, Jaromir. Just a few drops on the skin will turn a man.”

A small travel chest sat near the end of the bed. Jaromir walked over and saw a padlock. Drawing his sword, he used the hilt to break the lock and opened the chest.

Amelie stood behind him.

“Oh . . . there.” She pointed down.

Seeing the edge of a stopper, he moved an extra shirt and saw a small metal flask.

“Don’t touch it,” Amelie warned. “There could be some of the liquid on the outside.” Leaning over, she used the shirt to wrap the flask without touching it.

“What do we do with it?” he asked, knowing they couldn’t just pour it out if there was a danger of anyone or anything touching it.

“We’ll take it to Céline. She’ll know how to dispose of it properly.”