Night Huntress

Page 15

“What is it?” Iris said, her voice low.
“I don’t know,” Camille said. “I sensed . . . back there I sensed something connected to the Corpse Talkers. It felt like some rite. Trust me, we do not want to witness whatever dark rituals they pursue.”
“Corpse Talkers?” I shuddered.
Lips to lips, mouth to mouth,
Comes the speaker of the shrouds.
Suck in the spirit, speak the words.
Let secrets of the dead be heard.
As children, we’d sung the rhyme to chase away the bogeys, but like so many nursery rhymes, legend had its foundation in fact.
Only the women of their race ever became actual Corpse Talkers. Only the women were ever seen. It was rumored the mysterious race of misshapen Fae lived in some underground city built of bone and ash. Able to speak for the dead, Corpse Talkers offered their services for a bloody price, and they were worth every penny—worth every heart that they ripped from the victims to seal their communion with the dead. Always cloaked in long robes, only their glittering eyes showed through the gloom of their hoods.
“You’d better stay well away from them,” I told Camille.
Witches and Corpse Talkers dare not touch one another. If their powers collided, the resulting sparks could produce an explosion big enough to blast a good-sized crater in the ground. Along with good-sized shrapnel wounds in anybody who happened to be near.
As I spoke, the shadow grew larger, looming closer over our heads. Hell, and double hell. Please, don’t let it be one of the Corpse Talkers. We had no idea how they journeyed. They might be able to fly, or teleport, or maybe even run as fast as Superman for all we knew. What I did know is that stumbling in on one of their private rituals in the middle of Darkynwyrd couldn’t be good.
The sound of water grew louder, and I caught a glimpse of an opening up ahead. We were almost through this patch of undergrowth. With a glance at whatever apparition was tailing us from above, I poured on the speed. I could hear Iris struggling to keep up. She was fast, but she couldn’t match my stride.
With a sudden grunt, Iris said, “What the—”
I swung around, dagger at the ready in case she was being attacked, but just then Smoky passed by me, Iris hanging over his shoulder, a surprised look on her face. Camille pushed me forward.
“Hurry, let’s get out of the wood. Whatever’s winging overhead means us no good, I can tell that from here. We have to be able to—Oh shit!” She jumped back as the shadow took a nosedive and landed right in front of her.
Whatever it was, was transparent, but enough ripples in the air told us where it was. I could see the faint outline of wings, as well as a tail, before it took a swipe at Camille. She jumped back, landing in the middle of a briar patch.
Morio tossed his bag on the ground and began to transform, towering up and over all of us, even Smoky. Eight feet tall, the youkai was letting go all the stops as he shifted into his natural shape.
Camille steadied herself and began to call down the Moon Mother. The Moon Mother was stronger here for my sister than back over Earthside.
A blast of energy shot forth from her hands toward where the intruder was standing, hitting him square in what looked probable to be his torso region. It was still hard to gauge whether the creature was bipedal or not, but then the blast ricocheted off the creature and landed in a patch of dry wood to the south and burst into flames.
“Crap! Fire!” I lunged forward but stopped when our opponent began to shimmer into sight. The energy ball must have disrupted his invisibility, because we were suddenly facing our opponent—and one hell of an opponent it was. A weird crossbreed, he looked to be. A centaur with huge wings. His parents must have been one heavy-duty mixed marriage, I thought, moving forward, dagger high and ready.
Morio engaged him from the front as I approached his left flank. As the youkai grappled with him, locking grips with the muscle-bound arms of the winged centaur, I swiped my dagger alongside the silken brown fur of his butt. A long gash opened up under my blade, and he roared. I was about to lunge again when he raised his back left foot and let fly, hitting me square in the gut and knocking me back. I flew through the air to land at the foot of a yew tree.
“Delilah! Are you okay?” Camille swung around.
I couldn’t answer—he’d knocked the wind out of me. As she made her way to my side, Smoky came racing back, a blur of white and silver as he dragged his claws across the right side of the beast, leaving five long, bloody gashes in his wake. Iris was right behind him, chanting something as she pulled out a small box and opened it. She swallowed whatever was in there, then blew in the direction of the battle, and a hailstorm of ice began pounding the shit out of the three men: Smoky, Morio, and our adversary.
Morio backed away, and Smoky ignored the hailstones as if they were dust mites, but the centaur let out a loud groan and froze, a thin layer of frost covering his body.
Smoky glanced over our way. Camille helped me up, and my lungs seemed to be working again, though my stomach felt like it had French-kissed a sledgehammer.
“We don’t have much time. Kill or capture?”
I thought as quickly as my pain-racked gut would let me. What would Menolly do? The centaur might be able to give us some information, yes, but he’d attacked first rather than ask us who we were and why we were here. I swallowed the feeling of guilt that rose in my chest.
“Get rid of him. He won’t talk to us. He was out for the kill, and he’s not going to make any deals. Even if he did, how could we trust that he wouldn’t hunt us down again, this time with a few more of his buddies?”
Smoky nodded. I could tell he approved. The same with Camille, and Morio . . . and Iris. I turned away, feeling older, feeling too harsh for my skin. This was what it meant to be a soldier. This was what it meant to be in a war. Shoot first, ask questions later. Take no prisoners. The one time we’d tried—with Wisteria, a floraed member of the dryad family—things had gone horribly wrong. She’d escaped and led Dredge to us. And that had been beyond bad.
I swallowed my fear and turned around. “Wait. I should do it.”
They looked at me, and I could see concern filling Camille’s face. “Are you sure, Delilah?” she asked.
I bit my lip, glad she hadn’t used my pet name. “I’ve killed before. It’s not like I don’t have blood on my hands. I have to get over being squeamish. I have to accept that we’re never going to go back to the days when life was gentle, when Mother was alive and there to cushion all our problems. You tried, Camille. The gods know, you tried so hard, but you can’t stand between us and the horrors we now face. You’re only one woman . . . and the dangers are so great . . .”
She reached up to cup my face with her hands. “Kitten, we’ve never faced life without pain, even when Mother was alive. We were always beat up, always picked on. We’ve never known gentle. Let’s face it, gentle isn’t in our nature, and it’s not in our destiny. We have to take those moments when they come, hold them dear, and enjoy them because they’re ephemeral and fleeting.” She motioned for Smoky to join her.
Morio had shifted back into his human form, and he gave me an encouraging smile.
Stepping up to the winged beast, I looked into his eyes. He was still frozen, still paralyzed by Iris’s spell. I looked for something to stay my hand, some sign that he might have made a mistake. But then I saw the light there: the treacherous light that filled the eyes of the goblins and demons and other shadow-bound creatures we faced. His teeth were sharp, pointed, like a row of needles, and I understood then.
He really was hunting—for his dinner. He was a sentient beast, and in this jungle—in this woodland—it was eat or be eaten. I placed my dagger against his neck and swiftly slashed across the skin, wanting to scream as I did, wanting to shout out, “This isn’t me!” but I knew that it was. This was who I was.
Delilah of the silver blade, Delilah, the Death Maiden; Delilah, the Night Huntress who prowled in the dark under the moon. I had always skirted my predatory nature, but when I was in my cat form, it came to the surface. And in panther form, it roared to life. As much as I tried to avoid thinking about it, I loved the chase. I loved the hunt.
As the winged centaur toppled to the ground, I turned away, wiping my blade on my jeans. I glanced at the others, unable to smile but unable to cry.
“Let’s go. The lake sounds like it might be ahead, through that patch there. Be on your guard. These woods are treacherous and deadly.” As we set out, a refrain in my head played over and over again, whispering, “And so are you, Delilah D’Artigo . . . and so are you . . .”
CHAPTER 12
The thicket broke about twenty yards from where we were standing, opening up into a clearing around a small lake or large pond. I wasn’t sure which, and I didn’t care. Whatever the case, water made me nervous. As we tumbled out of the briars and vines, the scent of brackish water filled my lungs, and I winced. Whatever the source, it wasn’t free-flowing, or it wouldn’t smell like that. Camille winced, too.
“Good gods, that’s an awful smell. Look—the surface is covered with algae.” She pointed to the water.
We could easily see the other side, but there was no way in hell you’d pay me to cross it without a sturdy boat. For one thing, I couldn’t swim. Not really. For another, the lake was covered with a thin slime of greenish algae. Pond scum. Delightful. Oh yes, I wanted to go mucking around in that Jacuzzi just about as much as I wanted to get into a four-legged race with Speedo, the neighbor’s basset hound. Speedo not only bayed all night long, but he told me secrets I really didn’t need to know. Such as his owners had a thing for spanking. Each other—not him. Too much information, I’d told him, but he was intent on figuring out just what they enjoyed about being smacked on the butt when it was so clearly a punishment for him when he forgot his manners and piddled on the carpet.
After a quick check around the immediate vicinity, which produced only hazards of the normal kind, namely spiders, snakes, and a snarling tuskwort, Smoky and Morio stood back, letting Iris take over.
Camille and I sat on a log. We were as good as useless when it came to hunting herbs. Camille grew an herb garden, but it was tidy and neat, and she knew what everything was because the seedlings had come with labels. I was hopeless when it came to plants. I didn’t even like eating them. Vegetables weren’t my forte, and Camille had to bribe me to eat my broccoli and carrots.
Morio walked alongside Iris, while Smoky kept a watch over the forest, making sure we weren’t taken by surprise by anything nasty. The morning wore away into noon, and the sun was shining, though not particularly warmly. As we listened to the low thrum of insects, I realized that we weren’t hearing the incessant pounding of traffic, or the blaring of the television or stereo, or even the hum of electricity that rolled through the wires.
“I haven’t heard it this quiet since . . . since we first left.” I leaned back, closing my eyes, savoring the silence.
Camille nodded. “I know. I miss this. But I’d miss things from Earthside, too. I’m afraid that if I was forced to choose where to live, I’d have a hard time making up my mind. I’d probably pick Otherworld, of course . . . but . . .”
“But Mother’s homeland has rubbed off on you,” I said, giving her a rueful smile. “Me, too, I’m afraid. And Menolly likes the dark city streets.” I kicked a stone with my foot, watching it roll down the embankment, into the pond. “Do you think we’ll ever come back here to live? Permanently?”
Camille frowned. She stared at the water, breathing so softly I could barely see the rise and fall of her chest. Finally, she said, “I don’t know, Kitten. Truthfully, I don’t know if any of us will live through the coming war. We’ve had a lot of close calls already, and who’s to say that one day . . . one slip and . . .” She shrugged. “I think we should just enjoy each day as it comes.”
“One day at a time, huh? I didn’t know you were a philosopher,” I said, grinning.
She blinked. “A year ago, I wouldn’t have been. But with everything that’s happened . . . Today we revel in the fact that we’re home in Otherworld, even if it is only to hang out in Darkynwyrd. Tomorrow, we’ll enjoy being home with Maggie, in the city. It’s the only way I can see for us to keep our sanity.”
Iris waved from a patch of thick grass, twenty feet to our left at the edge of the water. “I found it! Delilah, come here.”
I slowly rose, dusting my hands on the butt of my jeans. “How’s your hand doing? You aren’t getting too tired, are you?” I asked as I reached for Camille, offering to help her to her feet.
She jumped up on her own, shaking her head. “It stings, but it’s healing. I’ll be okay, Kitten. Don’t worry about me. Sharah knows what she’s doing. Now go talk to Iris.”
While she joined Smoky on guard duty, I meandered over to where Iris had parted a large patch of wild grass. She was pointing to a large plant. The leaves reminded me of a geranium’s leaves—scalloped and fuzzy, not shiny. The smell was musky, thick and close, rising from tiny purple blossoms on spiked flower heads. The plant was a good three feet high, and almost reached Iris’s chin.
“This is the Panteris phir plant? Looks a lot like rose geraniums. Siobhan has them on her balcony.” I knelt beside the plant, examining it. The roots were thick and ropy, the stalk of the plant had lignified for the first foot out of the ground, and I had the feeling that as it grew, the remainder would turn woody and hard, too.
“Aye, this is the Panteris phir. Panther’s fang, when you translate it from the language of the northern elves. This is a potent plant, Delilah, and you can’t take the entire thing, or it would punish you for doing so. You must take several cuttings—I’m positive I can get at least one of them to take root—but you have to leave an offering in its stead.” She produced a trowel and a pair of cutting shears from her backpack. “I can’t do this for you. You were told to harvest it yourself, and so you must do it.”