Bloodfever

“Fuck,” I said emphatically. Sometimes there’s just no other word for it.

I had to know what I was trying to outrun. Knowledge is power. That is one truth I’ve learned that has never failed me.

Brushing ice flakes from my face, I looked up.

Straight into eyes that glowed like twin furnaces from Hell, staring malevolently back at me from a swirling fall of black ice.

The books I’d read had compared the Royal Hunters to the classic human depiction of the Devil.

The books had been right.

Somewhere in our ancient human past a sidhe-seer, or a few, must have had something to do with recording religious myths and the Bible. They’d seen the Hunters, and had used their memories to scare the hell—literally—out of humanity.

For a moment it was hard to separate the thing from the night; they were both forged of blackness. Then my vision cleared and something in my genes kicked in, and it was clearly visible. Great, dark, leathery wings flapped from a great dark leathery body, with a massive satyrlike head, cloven hooves, and a forked tail. Its tongue was long and bisected down the middle. It had long curved black horns with bloody tips. It was black, but it was more than black; it was the absolute, utter, and complete absence of light. It absorbed the light around it, swallowed it up, took it into its body, devoured it, and spit it back out again as a miasma of darkness and desolation. And it was cold. The air paddled by its slow-moving wings churned with glittering black ice flakes, swirling beneath the great, leathery sails. It was the only Fae—besides V’lane, that first time we’d met—whose presence in our world altered our world around it. V’lane, too, had iced the air, though not so overtly or dramatically. It was powerful. It was making me feel so sick to my stomach that I almost couldn’t breathe.

It laughed inside my head. I closed my eyes and forced it out again; this time it wasn’t easy. It knew where to find me inside myself. Was that why we feared them so deeply—because these Fae could get inside our heads?

Would a sidhe-seer that wasn’t as strong as me be able to withstand it, or would it rip her mind to shreds, one memory or personality trait or dream at a time, sift its talons through the tatters, before destroying her body as almost an afterthought?

I opened my eyes.

My personal Grim Reaper stood in the alley, directly in front of me, a dozen feet away, dark robes rustling softly in the unnatural wind generated by the beast’s wings.

It stood in silence, as always, regarding me from beneath its deep black cowl, though it had no face, no eyes, nothing beneath that hood I could discern, with which to regard me. It was shadows and night, like the Hunter above me, only it wasn’t there, and the Hunter was. What an absurd time to torture myself for my failings.

Ignoring it, I pushed back my jacket, slipped my spear from its holster, and fisted my hand around the hilt. It wasn’t my problem. Dragon-boy from hell was.

Black hail began to fall, tiny pellets stinging my skin. The Hunter was incensed; its displeasure iced the night.

How dare you touch our Hallows? roared in my head.

“Oh, screw you,” I snapped. “You want me? Come and get me.” I focused on that foreign place in my mind, stoked the strange fire, and boxed up my mind as securely as I could. The thing’s roar had nearly split my head.

Could the Hunter cram itself into the tight alleyway? Could it sift or resize itself?

We would see, and if it did, the moment it got close I would freeze and stab it.

I waited.

It hovered.

I looked up…and smiled.

Fury blazed in its fiery eyes, yet it made no move toward me. It wasn’t about to risk getting near my spear, and we both knew it. I could kill it. I could take forever from it, and the thing’s arrogance was immense as its wingspan; it didn’t consider any master it might choose to serve worth dying for.

I realized then, or had some surfacing of a shred of collective memory, that the Hunters were feared even among their own kind. They had something…I wasn’t sure what…but something that even their royal brethren didn’t mess with. They were of the Fae…but perhaps not completely. They served whomever they wished, only if there was something in it for them, and stopped serving whenever they felt like it. They were mercenaries in the purest sense of the word.

It feared the spear. It would not risk death. I had a chance.

I broke into a run.

So long as the soldiers didn’t find me, so long as more Hunters didn’t show up, I would survive tonight. I could make it to the bookstore and Barrons would have some plan—he always did. Perhaps we could get out of the city for a few days. Perhaps, loath though I was to consider it, we would hook up with other sidhe-seers. There was safety in numbers.