Pack of Secrets, page 22
An image of a man popped into my mind. His rich walnut skin and icy silver eyes called to me, and guilt stabbed me in the chest. I pulled away. Confusion contorted Mackiel’s eyebrows as his gaze met mine. I wanted to hide under a rug and die.
Why?
The question formed on my tongue, but a shrill shout sounded from above before I could ask. Seconds later, it was joined by more sounds of alarm. Heart still pounding, I was grateful for the distraction as I returned my attention to the porthole. Scanning the horizon, I looked for anything that could save me from this awkward moment and keep me from turning around to face my friend.
I didn’t have to look hard. Something enormous was in the water, and it was shooting toward our ship like a missile.
Arioch
Catori was rarely wrong about anything, and as much as I hated to admit it, the dryad had been spot-on in her concern about how portal fatigue would affect me. I had expected the magical fee of teleporting to Al Mukalla to do little more than wind me, but as I stepped off the portal platform, my body felt cumbersome and clunky, and someone was hammering nails into the back of my head. I was not even sure I could shift into my dragon form.
The gun had been a good idea.
I was still unsure about the gargoyle, but I let him trail after me as I made my way out of the portal station. A shock of warm, humid air made me gasp for breath. It felt like walking into a steamy shower. A sheen of perspiration instantly coated my skin as I looked around and tried to figure out my next move. The wolves had somehow gotten a ride, so I stepped toward the street and gestured for passing vehicles to stop. The drivers took one look at me and sped away.
“It’s your scowl,” Tyrin said.
My expression was the least of my worries because my head felt like it was about to shatter. My stomach churned from the pain, and bile rose in the back of my throat. I had not considered how the energy drain would affect the curse, an oversight I now paid mightily for.
“People won’t pick you up if they think you’re gonna eat them and steal their car,” he said.
I had not yet considered taking a more violent approach, but I was not against the idea. “That might prove to be a more expedient option. If I dispose of the driver, can you take their place behind the wheel?” I asked.
Tyrin gaped at me. “Dispose of the driver? You mean kill them?”
“You suggested I eat them,” I reminded him.
“Uh… that wasn’t a suggestion. That was…” He shook his head. “Never mind. Why don’t you hang back and let me flag us down a ride?”
Too tired and prickly to argue, I gestured for him to take my place. “Be my guest.”
Backing into the shadows, I watched Tyrin wave down an approaching car. I thought for sure they would drive right past him, but at the last minute, they slowed and addressed him through the open window. Tyrin spoke to the driver in a language I vaguely recognized. Then he waved me forward and opened the back door.
I had never been in a car before, and the metal box was even smaller than expected. I hesitated and looked toward the empty front seat. It seemed slightly roomier than the back. I was about to insist I ride up there when Tyrin leaned toward me.
“Fares ride in the back,” he whispered.
“Fares?” Was he insulting me?
“That’s what paying passengers are called,” he clarified.
There was no way I could have known that, but the lapse in my education still rankled as I slid onto the seat and adjusted my bag on my lap. My knees pressed against the back of the front seat, my head inches from the roof. I felt like a grasshopper caught in a matchbox. There was barely any room to move. How did anyone travel like this?
“Think you got what it takes? Let’s see how long you can survive down in that hole.”
The memory of Commander Rivera’s raspy words sent me spiraling back in time.
Panic seized me as he tightened the harpy net around me and shoved me back into the coffin. The lid slammed shut, followed by the pounding of his hammer as he nailed it shut.
The coffin moved. I flexed against my bonds, but the more I struggled, the more the magical net dug into my skin, siphoning my magic.
I could still smell pine and dirt.
It filled my senses, threatening to drive me mad.
I was vaguely aware that Tyrin now sat beside me and that we were in a vehicle, not a casket, but my heart raced all the same. Sweat rolled down my back. The damn car was sweltering. Why was it so hot in this goddamn desert?
Tyrin watched me with concern in his eyes, but I could not take in enough air to tell him to mind his own business.
“The driver needs directions,” he said.
Of course. I tried to focus on the artifact, but the sound of my own heartbeat was too loud, the blood rushing through my veins too distracting. My tongue had dried up like a sponge, and my hands would not stop shaking. The car shrunk around me, and I pawed at the door, desperate to get out.
“Here,” Tyrin said.
His arm crossed in front of me, and the door creaked open.
Blessed air poured in, and I stumbled toward it, greedily sucking in a lungful. One ankle caught on the interior, and I had to catch myself to avoid taking a tumble.
Tyrin joined me on the street, waving the car off. I expected him to poke fun at my incapacity, but he hefted his bag over his shoulder and simply said, “We’ll walk.”
Grateful for his discretion, I started walking. We headed out of the populated area, away from the fracture. By the time we reached the coastline, my heart rate and breathing were back to normal, and my well of magic no longer felt bone dry. I was recovering.
About a mile down the coast, the ringing and pressure in my head vanished, and the remaining tension drained from my body. I stopped. I had almost forgotten what it felt like when the chalice was silent. Bliss… absolute bliss. I closed my eyes and basked in it for a moment.
“I take it they’re close,” Tyrin said.
Grace’s sweet, soft scent filled my nostrils, and I leaned into it. The little thief’s scent was disturbingly calming, but I refused to let myself wonder why.
“Just down by the water,” I replied.
I wondered what would happen if we rushed them. They could not shift, but their weapons were formidable, and Chaz and Rust carried themselves like seasoned soldiers.
“Can you shift yet?” I asked Tyrin.
“I can try, but it would probably knock me out. I might be able to harden my skin for a time, but I’m not sure how long I can keep it up. What about you?”
With the chalice silent, I was able to focus. I reached for my magic and felt it respond. I was recovering quickly but was still nowhere near full strength. “Yes.” But I did not know what shape I would be in afterward, a fact I was unwilling to admit aloud. Shifting usually did not tire me, but I had not felt this magically drained since my training days. We continued on.
We were still within a kilometer of the chalice when we reached a crossroad. We needed to find shelter for the night, and the road to the right led to a peninsula that looked promising since it would keep us close to the water and within the chalice’s range. We took the turnoff, but as we approached the first building, I saw it was missing a majority of its northern wall. Beyond it, other buildings stood in various stages of neglect, seemingly abandoned.
The peninsula was alarmingly silent. Other than Tyrin’s footfalls and the sounds of the crashing surf, I could not hear a damn thing. No scurrying rodents, muted conversations, or children crying in the night. I took a deep breath through my nose and scented rot and sea.
Tyrin halted, tilting his head to the side. “Something about this place feels wrong, m’lord. Perhaps we should make camp inland, instead.”
I understood his concern, and the warning posters I had seen back in the portal station did give me pause, but I was exhausted, and we were still hours from sunrise. Being within range of the artifact had provided a measure of relief, and I was unwilling to give that up. We were far enough downwind from the shifters that there was no risk of discovery, and without the constant buzzing in my head, I would be able to rest. I focused on my magic and realized I could now safely shift. If I could restore enough energy to grab Grace and the chalice before they left for Socotra, the wolves would still be suffering from portal fatigue, and I would have an advantage.
“Surely, this cannot be the first abandoned hovel you have stayed in,” I said, strolling past him toward the coast.
Tyrin followed. “No. In fact, I’ve stayed in enough of these places to know there’s usually a reason they’re abandoned.”
“Keep an eye out for monsters, then,” I replied drolly. “I shall find a place to bed down.”
We walked along the road that encircled the peninsula, and the eerie absence of life struck me again. Had I not been so goddamn exhausted, I would have considered following my húskarl’s advice, but as it was, I could barely keep moving. A sandstone wall separated the road from the buildings, so we walked until we came to a flight of stairs that allowed us access to the area. I stopped in the mouth of an alley between two mostly standing buildings and decided it would suffice.
“We shall rest here until sunrise,” I announced.
Tyrin scanned the area. “I really don’t like the looks of this place.”
“Try spending a week trapped underground in a coffin, draining your own magic to keep yourself from dying of thirst,” I shot back. “I think you shall find this most pleasant by comparison.”
The bastard had nothing to say to that, so he shuffled to a pale brick wall, kicking trash out of the way to clear himself a spot. Then he sat on the hard ground with his back against the wall and his bag on his lap. I studied the gargoyle, waiting for him to shift. Instead, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
“Are you not going to shift?” I asked, setting my bag on a broken wooden box.
“No,” he said.
“You plan to be useless tomorrow then?” I asked.
Gargoyles had three forms: human, flight, and stone. They looked like winged demons with horns, fangs, and clawed hands and feet in flight form. Their stone form was a nearly indestructible shell that allowed them to enter a hibernation-like sleep they could not awaken from until they were fully recharged.
Eyes still closed, he said, “I’m not leaving you alone here.”
I laughed. Hard. That was the most absurd claim I had ever heard. “Now you wish to protect me? Do you not think it is a bit late to pretend like you care about my wellbeing, húskarl?” I spat, sobering as anger iced over my veins. “Trusted bodyguard? You do not even know the meaning of the term. When I needed you most, you did nothing to guard me.”
“I had no choice,” he said, his tone resigned. “I made a vow.”
He was a broken record, stuck on a tune I was sick to death of hearing.
“You always have a fucking choice! You chose to stand back and watch me suffer. But never fear. Your inaction taught me that I can endure on my own. I do not need your assistance tonight or ever, so please turn yourself to stone and sleep. After all, standing by and watching as I fight for my life is what you do best.”
He glared at me in a silent refusal to shift, but I would not waste one more breath arguing with the bastard. Instead, I dropped my bag by his feet and tugged on my magic, wrapping it around me. Fueled by my anger, it flowed unhindered, transforming me into my dragon form.
Wings unfurling, I breathed easier and took in our surroundings. In dragon form, I was tall enough to see into the second-story windows of the buildings on either side of us, but ahead, a building blocked off the alleyway. Turning, I backed myself into the narrow space in front of Tyrin and sat, completely blocking his view of anything but the alley and my backside.
Despite my anger, sleep tugged at my eyelids. I was so damn exhausted, not even my desire to ice the bastard could keep me awake. I made myself comfortable, resting my head under a wing before letting myself drift off.
I had no idea how much time had passed before the sound of footsteps startled me awake. Whipping my head from beneath my wing, I shook off the dregs of sleep and scanned the area, remembering where I was and why. Movement drew my attention. A man ambled down the road, his motions jerky and awkward. He halted at the top of the stairs, his shaggy dark hair flinging forward to cover his face. Raising his head, he sniffed the air like a dog before spinning to face me head-on.
He only had half of a face.
Moonlight glinted off bone where the other half should be. One eye watched me unblinking while the other was nothing but a dark socket.
“By Thor’s hammer, what is that thing?” Tyrin swore.
He was trying to peer around me, so I scooted to the side to make room.
“Nesna,” I told him telepathically. “Remember the posters in the portal station?”
“Well, it’s an abomination.” Tyrin drew his gun. “One I intend to put an end to.”
I swung my wing around to block his shot.
“Dammit, bairn,” he grumbled. “Get out of my way.”
“If you start shooting, the wolves will know we are here.”
Another step and the nesna was descending stairs leading from the road.
Tyrin’s eyes widened comically as he pointed toward the thing. “Would you rather lose your life? To that?”
So goddamn dramatic. “Surely you can kill one slow-moving skeleton man. Just slice its head off with your sword.” Really, how difficult could it be?
“Fine.”
Tyrin slammed his gun into his holster and drew his sword. I dropped my wing, and he advanced, sliding past me to approach the nesna as it reached the bottom of the stairs. The breeze blew, and the stench of carrion almost knocked me on my ass. Tyrin flinched, ducking his head. Even his weak gargoyle nose had taken that hit. He threw me a scowl over his shoulder before creeping forward with his sword at the ready.
The nesna’s robe was in rags with dark blotches staining the fabric. As it came closer, I could discern more details of its face and body. It literally had a line down the center separating flesh from bone.
How the fuck?
It lurched, both hands—skin and skeletal—jutting out to reach for the gargoyle. In one fluid motion, Tyrin swung his sword. Steel sliced through flesh, and the nesna’s head slid to the side and then rolled off its body. Rather than toppling like the decapitated body should have, it stood perfectly still. The head smacked against debris with a wet thud and stopped. One eye blinked at Tyrin.
“That… What in Helheim is that thing?” he asked.
The nesna’s body lurched forward, and both hands latched on to Tyrin’s shirt. Jerking backward, he swung his sword twice more, lopping off one arm and then the next. They joined the head on the ground. Released, the gargoyle backed up a step. There was no spray of blood, but the stench of rotten meat made me gag. Tyrin’s gargoyle defenses were kicking in, adding to the stink.
The skeletal arm landed with the hand facing up. Fingers squeezed and released as it rocked back and forth, trying to turn itself over. The fingers of the flesh hand crept toward Tyrin, dragging its attached forearm behind. The body took a step.
“Son of Odin,” Tyrin cursed.
His sword was not working, which meant I would have to handle the situation.
“Move,” I said to the gargoyle’s mind.
He backed up, and I sprung forward, landing on the body with a splat. It wriggled under me, and I dug my talons in. The arms that had been creeping toward Tyrin now inched toward me. I filled my lungs with ice, opened my mouth, and froze the arms and head. My magic was still recovering, so only a thin layer of ice coated them.
The legs kicked and the body bucked. Despite my impressive dragon weight, I had to hold on so as not to go flying across the walkway. I ripped the torso in half, and the stench of decaying innards made me gag. I held my breath and batted both halves away with my tail. They flew through the air and smacked against the stone wall separating the street from the buildings.
And then the legs stood and ambled toward me.
“It refuses to die!” I said, frustrated.
“I noticed.” Tyrin pointed toward the frozen arms and head. Most of the ice had melted, and the fingers were working to break free of what remained.
I stared in disbelief, wondering what to do. We had tried slicing, squashing, and freezing the nesna. The only option left in my arsenal was to eat it, and there was no way in hell that thing was going into my mouth. Exhaustion weighed on me. I just wanted a few goddamn hours of rest. Was that too much to ask?
“I do not know what to do.”
“Can you take it somewhere else?” Tyrin asked. “Somewhere it can’t get to us?”
Yes. That I could do. Gathering up squirming arms, body, and head, I flapped my wings and rose into the air. I flew about a half-mile over the ocean and dropped the nesna into the sea. Or, at least, most of it. One adamant hand clung to my claw and refused to let go. I had to balance mid-air and use my other claw to rake it free. It hit the water with a splash, and I spat after it before heading back.
By the time I reached Tyrin, he had another nesna hacked into pieces.
“What the hell?” I asked as I landed. “Where did this one come from?”
“I don’t know. They’re like undead cockroaches.”
As I collected the writhing body parts that were trying to scratch and bite off my legs, I said, “This would be easier if you would keep them in one piece.”
“They’re trying to kill me, m’lord. I’m doing the best I can. Fuck. There’s another one.”
He pointed down the road, and I groaned. Rising with nesna parts in my clutches, I attempted to scoop up the approaching undead abomination on my way back out to sea. But when I opened my talons, a leg fell, and a set of fingernails dug under one of my scales. It felt like being stabbed by a bone shard. I shook the damn thing, barely resisting the urge to roar. If I could have strummed up the energy, I would have turned the entire peninsula into ice. Instead, I gathered up all the pieces that were once again attacking me and flew them out to sea.
