I’d already begun moving and as the remaining son aimed his pistol, I came up behind him, touched the base of his spine, and sent him into a dreamless sleep. He fell to the ground. I disarmed him and pocketed his pistol.
I heard the rumbling of vehicle engines. I sent Burgess around to the other side of the camp and returned to the place I’d just left. Two trucks came into view. Each looked as if it held eight guards – two in front and six in the back. The men I could see carried M16s and were in a civilianized version of military gear. They must have already been on their way, alerted by me tripping the wards.
The girl – small of stature, blond hair, blue eyes, and no more than a hundred pounds – ran forward and waved a single hand in the air, barking in Aramaic.
The first truck went flying, then hit the ground tumbling, throwing guards from it like a cyclone throwing twigs asunder.
I was stunned by the demonstration of power and from such a young woman too. She must have some inherent ability.
I watched her back away as the second truck skidded to a stop. Men poured out of it and made a picket line as they raised their rifles.
Just then a dark figure moved behind them, almost faster than I could see. Blood spurted in his wake and all eight men fell dead to the forest floor. I tried to follow his movement but lost him in the darkness between the trees.
Rehor was here!
Fools!
Fools!
Fools!
When will ye learn
That me ye cannot slay?
Year after year ye burn me in this grove
Lifting your puny shouts of triumph to the stars.
Then there was a pause in the ceremony as screams merged with laughter, then merged with more screams. Whatever was going on, it seemed like an interruption of some sort.
I felt a tingling and turned just in time to see the young witch level her gaze upon me. As I was about to frame a defensive spell, a wave of nausea hit me so hard that it drove me to my knees. Vomit spewed from my mouth onto the leaf and twig covered ground. I heaved once, then twice, my back arching like a cat’s.
Instead of coming at me, she began backing away. It told that although she was powerful, there was a limit to her power and she was close to reaching it. My guess was the grand display with the truck had sapped most of it.
I staggered to my feet.
Across the yard, I saw the father draw and fire his pistol in one smooth move.
Burgess, who’d been sneaking between two cottages, grabbed his chest and went down.
The father moved toward the spot where Burgess was lying.
I felt a wave of fear for the kid rush through me. I needed to help as soon as I could. My nausea was gone. Her spell was formidable, but not as bad as the one attached to the ward back at their place of business. That one had to have been put in place by Rehor and I needed to save my magical energy for him.
I felt the next spell coming and gritted my teeth in anticipation. Then I tripped and fell. I got up, took two steps and fell again. Seriously? A Tripping Spell? Now that was juvenile.
She’d moved to the center of the yard and leaned heavily on the table. I could see her chest heaving.
I managed to stay on my feet the next time the spell tried to frame around me.
I was ten feet from her when she cast a Slow Spell. I waved that one away, lurched forward to her, then touched her in the center of the head, which sent her to sleepy time with her other brother.
Which reminded me, where was the youngest boy?
I turned as a scream came from behind me.
It was the boy, running out of the back of the truck with a baseball bat. I waited until he was almost in range, then stepped forward and cold-cocked him. He fell backwards. The bat went flying. Blood seeped from his nose, which was good enough because I hated it when I had to kill kids.
I was finally able to turn to Burgess, but he’d somehow managed to get to his feet and was fighting hand to hand with the father, which was no easy task once it became clear by his odd movements that his left arm wasn’t working right.
The Cremation of Care Ceremony had resumed and now took on an even darker tone. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but the air was abuzz with a strange power I’d never kenned before.
Ye shall burn me once again!
Not with these flames!
Which hither ye have brought
From regions where I reign
Ye fools and priests
I spit upon your fire!
Burgess pulled a knife from his hip, took a step back, then leaped forward as the father followed him back, sinking the blade into the older man’s throat.
The father stood as stiff and still as a scarecrow. Burgess pulled the knife free and the father fell to the ground. Burgess wiped the blade on his sleeve, re-sheathed it, and grabbed the shotgun.
He staggered toward me, grinning. “Never been shot before,” he said, lifting his shoulder for me to see his through and through like it was a badge he’d just earned.
“Mark that off your bucket list.” I nodded toward the body. “You were pretty good back there with that knife.”
“Some archetypes are true. You white kids played cowboys and Indians. We played Indians and Indians.”
I reached out. “Give me that shotgun. No way you can fire it now.” I gave him the pistol I’d taken off the sleeping brother.
We heard another truck approaching.
“See the Spring-heeled Jack?” Burgess asked.
I nodded as I looked to the trees. “Saw him earlier. He’s out there somewhere.”
I felt a tingling sensation and spun. One of the cottages had caught fire. In the shadows surrounding the conflagration I caught the smoldering stare of the Spring-heeled Jack. I glanced at Burgess. The kid would do anything for me. I had to make sure it wasn’t something he couldn’t afford.
“Go on up the road and meet the truck.”
He looked at me, exhaustion crowding his eyes. “You sure, boss?”
I patted him on the back. “Of course I am. Now go.”
He trudged away from me and up the road.
I turned and strode toward the burning cottage.
When I reached the center of the courtyard the Jack met me by leaping over the fire, landing in front of me with one hand to the ground to keep himself steady. When he stood, he was a full head and shoulders taller than me. His boots were remarkably Victorian, as was his long, black coat that caught the air like wings when he moved through the air. He wore a mask that covered the top of his head, reminiscent of a Batman mask than anything else. The air around him sizzled with energy.
I held the shotgun in both hands and was ready to bring it to bear. “Rehor Zdarsky.”
His head moved like a bird’s, cocking it at an angle as he regarded me. “I know you.” His voice sizzled.
“Of course you do,” I said. “We have your brother, Boniface. Little scatterbrained, but he’s locked up tight.”
“Where?”
I shrugged. “I used to know back before you brought that bridge down. Now I don’t have any idea.”
“I don’t believe you.”