Vesik 04 - This Broken World (25 page)

“Pancakes,” Foster said. “I just want some damn pancakes. And Fruit Loops,” he added with a glance toward Jon.

I sneezed and shook my head.

“Did you forget your allergy pills?” Zola asked.

“No,” I said. “That was just a crap ton of fairy dust.”

Sam grabbed Foster’s wrist and dragged him into the self-serve kitchen. His wings brushed the ceiling, but he didn’t seem to mind. His gaze was focused on the back of Sam’s head.

“Breathe, bug,” Sam said.

Foster cracked a small smile.

“Save it for the true threat, my friend,” Wahya said. He joined us in the small kitchen area.

Foster nodded and sheathed his sword. “How late is it?”

I glanced up at the clock beside the buffet. “Noon,” I said.

“Ezekiel was spotted in Orrtanna,” Wahya said. “The wolves are restless. I will try to remove those who may distract you.” His claws clicked on the floor as he headed back into the dining hall. He spoke quietly, but several wolves immediately stood and walked toward the front doors.

I watched them go, and then turned my attention back to Sam when she started talking.

“Look at this thing, Foster. It’s like a printer, for pancakes.”

Foster leaned down and squinted at a large, rectangular box that had “Hands-Free Pancakes” written across the side. “Push here,” he said as he clicked a button. Sam slid a plate underneath the edge of the machine.

“You have got to be kidding,” Foster said. A steaming pancake rolled out of the edge of the machine and slapped down onto the plate. “That is mankind’s greatest invention.”

I watched, somewhat awed, as the fairy swiped a line of butter and syrup down the middle of the pancake, rolled the whole thing up into a cigar shape, and destroyed it in one bite.

Zola raised her eyebrows.

“It’s good,” Foster said. He chewed and swallowed and hit the button again.

“You shrink, and I’ll swat you faster than Damian,” Sam said.

Foster grinned and stuck his face down by the conveyor belt, watching the pancake march toward its doom.

Sam pulled the clear refrigerator door open. “What?” She pulled out a small translucent bag and held it up. “They have blood.”

“I’m guessing Wahya cleared the commoners out of here,” I said.

“You think?” Zola asked, biting off the words. “Now move. Ah need my coffee.” She shoved me out of the way and filled a cereal-bowl-sized mug to the brim.

We eventually made it into the dining hall. Most of the wolves ignored us, a few seemed to revere us, and two gestured for us to join them.

“Welcome,” a man said as I slid into the booth across from him.

Sam sat down beside him, and he didn’t so much as flinch. I liked him already.

“I am called Gosha.” He spoke slowly, almost methodically. His eyes were kind in his tanned face, round and welcoming. A small dream catcher hung from his neck. “This is Misun.”

I froze and slowly raised my eyes.

The smaller man, Misun, nodded. His complexion was lighter than Gosha, but his features were similar. A long braid trailed down across each of his shoulders. He looked more wary of us than anything. I followed his gaze to Foster, demolishing another pancake. I’d probably be wary of him too.

“We’ve met,” Misun said.

“Aha, yeah.” I’d told Misun he looked like a tabby cat when he was shifted at my initiation. Hugh loved to give me hell about that. “So … Misun. Is that Sioux?”

“Yes,” he said in a voice that was not as deep as I expected. “I am surprised you would know, given your penchant for cats.”

“He is friends with Hugh,” Gosha said.

“Umm, actually I was guessing,” I said.

Gosha blinked, and then his lips curled up in a large smile.

Misun’s right hand ran down the length of one braid. “Well, it was a good guess. Although if you must guess, always go with Navajo or Cherokee.”

Gosha nodded. “More of them. Although we are none of those tribes.”

“You’re from the elder tribes,” Zola said. “Like Hugh.”

Gosha and Misun both nodded.

“Do you mind?” Sam asked as she held her blood bag up.

“Not at all, young one,” Gosha said. “We once fought the dark-touched at the side of Camazotz. I assure you, his eating habits were far more disturbing.”

“The old dogs are telling stories again,” someone said from across the room.

“Ah’ve met Camazotz,” Zola said. She turned toward the voice. “Pray you never become the focus of his wrath.”

The wolf fell silent.

“We’ve told them the old stories,” Misun said. “They pay them no heed.”

“Some fools won’t believe what they haven’t seen,” Zola said. “They’ll die quickly if they’re not ready.”

“Wahya has trained many of them,” Gosha said. “He does not tell the old stories, but he trains the wolves to fight dark-touched.”

Foster nodded as he sucked down another pancake. “That’s good, because the dark-touched are going to return if we win.”

“And if we lose?” Misun asked.

“Well, we won’t really have to worry about it then,” Foster said.

Gosha laughed without humor. “You speak the truth, but it is laced with fury. Do not lose your focus in the coming fight.”

“I know,” Foster said.

“Most of the world has not seen the gods battle,” Misun said. “They will be stunned, and they will be vulnerable. Do not hesitate to put them down.”

Gosha slid his glass of water toward the center of the table and frowned.

Misun eyed him briefly. “I know you don’t like ambushing the enemy, but we are outmatched.”

Gosha nodded. “Yes, we are. We should prepare. Gather the wolves.”

Sam stood up so Gosha and Misun could slide out of the booth.

“It was good to meet you all,” Gosha said. “Even the one who called Misun a tabby cat.”

I felt a blush crawl over my face. I still felt kind of bad about that.

“We will stand beside you on the field,” Gosha said, “no matter the cost.”

We traded grips. Misun’s eyes trailed along my pack mark. I held the arm out so he could see it better.

“A pack with a necromancer,” he said. “Perhaps it is time for the world to change.”

He clasped my shoulder, squeezed, and walked out of the hall with Gosha. Neither of them looked back.

CHAPTER THIRTY

A
terrible pall comes before the storm of battle. I watched the trees flicker by, absently aware of the green mountains in the distance, as Sam drove us toward Gettysburg. I worried for my friends as the SUV bounced over an uneven stretch of asphalt. I worried for my family. I worried for the commoners all around us.

Sam took the exit off Highway Fifteen onto Emmitsburg Road, and a wave of unease slithered down my spine.

“Stay straight,” Zola said. “Turn left when you hit Baltimore Street.”

“What is that?” I asked, gritting my teeth. I already knew the answer. I just didn’t want to know.

“We’re close,” Zola said. “Gods we’re close.” She began rubbing her arms.

Foster’s hand flexed around the hilt of his sword. He was still seven feet tall, crammed into the back seat. There was a look of sheer focus on his face as he stared out the window. “So many,” he said.

A weight pulled on my aura, like we’d driven into spider web that was trying to drag us down. I cursed and slammed my hands onto the dashboard.

“What?” Sam asked. “What is it?”

“The dead.” I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. “There are … it’s just … fuck.”

“It will be better past the ridge,” Zola said, the strain obvious in her voice.

I turned my head slowly to the right and my eyes widened. There was a field of bright souls. A thousand times more dense than Fort Davidson. At a glance, I could see two gravemakers wandering the field. Their rough-hewn forms moved slowly, gracefully. The pale souls didn’t move as the monstrosities walked among them, and through them.

“Pickett’s Charge,” Zola said. “Many men died.”

“Look at them.” I said, realizing Zola still had her head down.

I heard a sharp intake of breath from the back seat. “Cemetery Ridge. Ah didn’t … Ah don’t remember it being so many.”

Foster frowned as he watched the scene pass us by. “Here the darkness dwells. The follies of men give rise to darkness beyond measure. Only war survives.”

His words ate through the buzz of the dead all around me. It was a dark saying, but it was undeniable, looking across that field.

The SUV sped forward, and we pulled away from Cemetery Ridge.

The voices whispered, and I held my left hand up to my ear.

“Do you hear that?” I asked.

“Yes,” Zola said. “Something has disturbed the cemeteries. They are restless.”

“It’s not just the dead from the battle,” I said. “There are … so many.”

“Focus, Damian,” Zola said. Her voice sounded normal and relaxed. “You can keep them out. Lock down your aura.”

I nodded and took a deep breath as the town began to rise around us. Old brick structures were interspersed with modern strip malls on our left. The restless dead were strewn across the cemeteries on our right. I turned away from the vision. A thousand motionless eyes staring at me was beyond unnerving.

The endless march of the dead faded as motels and wooden homes of Gettysburg replaced the brick buildings. Sam swerved left at the next intersection. We ended up heading north on Baltimore Street.

“Oh my God,” Sam said.

“Do not slow down,” Zola said. “Quickly, Samantha. Get us through this.

“It begins,” Foster said. His eyes tracked the carnage outside.

A wall of creatures and men and werewolves slaughtered each other in a small park off to our right. Some kind of enormous
thing
flattened everything around it, one tree-like arm raised above its head. When it fell, wolves died in an explosion of gore.

“What is that?” I asked.

“It’s a troll from the Burning Lands,” Foster said, his voice grim.

“We have to help them,” Sam said.

“No,” Zola said. “That creature is about to die.”

I frowned and looked back as we sped past. A gravemaker wrapped its rusted, bark-like flesh around the troll’s leg. The last thing I saw was the troll falling to the earth. I had little doubt it would be dead soon after.

“Three bloody gravemakers already,” I said. “How long until sunset?”

“An hour,” Foster said. “We won’t have much help from the vampires until then.”

“Take us north of the city,” Zola said. “We need to find Ezekiel and Edgar. The men fighting the troll are Fae.”

Foster nodded. “The King is already here.”

The SUV bounced when we hit the bottom of a gentle incline at high speed. “Fucking hell, those are commoners!” I watched a pack of wisp-thin Fae fall on the bystanders. “Are they … are they
eating
them?”

“Yes,” Foster said. He leaned toward the driver’s side windows. “Hern’s troops. He’s mad. He’s unleashed the Unseelie Court.”

“That’s what those are?” I stared at the emaciated forms. He threw a man into the gutter with strength belying his size. I saw a row of long, sharp teeth flash within the gray face before he began killing again.

“We have to help them.”

“No,” Zola said. “They are lost. Focus on our goal.” She kept her eyes on the road ahead, not looking to the scenes of horror unfolding across the quiet town of Gettysburg.

Another time, I would have said the old city reminded me of Saint Charles, noble old structures standing tall through the centuries. But now? The scene before me was an utter nightmare.

“Was the Unseelie Court in Faerie with us?” I asked.

“At the Royal Court?” Foster said. “No, they are not welcome. Hern has long allied himself with the Unseelie lords and ladies.”

“Waiting for this moment,” Zola said.

Sam jerked the wheel and swerved around a body in the road. I don’t think it mattered. There were too many missing parts for any creature to have survived.

The buildings around us became gorgeous brick structures as we sped deeper into the city. It was a beautiful backdrop to a horrific scene. The pale stone library was dark and silent, bodies strewn across its steps. Werewolves and Fae formed small pockets of violence as they hurdled across the handrails on the steps. They fought as only creatures with no fear of death can fight. No hesitation. No second guessing. Vicious. Merciless. Terrifying. Their snarls and battle cries pierced the SUV and followed us down the street.

The town square was a roundabout. Meticulous landscaping graced a center island surrounded by inspired architecture. Damaged and destroyed vehicles clogged the road. Cars and vans were crushed and overturned. A bus burned, two bodies fallen at the edge of the emergency exit, charred beyond recognition.

“Over the circle,” I said.

Sam nodded and plowed through a bed of flowers, kicking up dirt and grass and foliage. She narrowly missed a metal signpost as we bounced out the other side. The SUV protested as we sped over the railroad tracks a short way down the next hill. The unmoving traffic of abandoned cars and debris lightened. I could see another car speeding away in the distance. At least someone had gotten away.

The buildings grew further apart. We were all silent as we passed the last few brick structures and left the city behind for a series of open fields. In the distance, far to the east, I could see another of the trolls.

“Stay right up there,” Zola said. “Table Rock.”

Sam said nothing as she pulled the wheel and steered onto the new road. Homes blipped by. For a short time, it looked like any town suburbia, then the rolling fields overwhelmed our view once more.

Trees began to crowd the road up ahead.

“There, Sam,” Zola said. “Pull off the road.” She pointed to a thick copse of trees. We’ll walk from there.”

None of us even asked why. Sam maneuvered the car so it was hidden from the road. Probably a smart move. Something like a thunderclap exploded in the distance. It trailed off and crackled before finally fading away.

Zola closed her eyes and stared at the ground.

“You okay?” I swung my own legs out of the SUV. I set them on the grass, and my body burned. I ground my teeth so hard I was afraid they would shatter. “What. Is. That?”