Bloodfire

There were nineteen of us in total: Corrigan, Staines, the other Brethren members including Lucy, the mage, Anton, Tom, me and three other pack members. It felt like a goddamn school outing. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Staines had pulled out a little flag and started waving it around for us all to follow. At least the crescent moon was shedding some light down around us. I’d heard that in the cities it never seemed to get properly dark because of all the lights, but that certainly wasn’t the case in rural Cornwall.

We headed off down the path in single file. I could feel my bloodfire curl around me in tendrils of anticipation. Despite myself, and the mage’s unlikely appearance, I was curious to see what he would do. I had to admit that I was starting to feel confident in my ability to pull off this pretending to be a shifter thing. I’d now had a couple of close encounters with the supposedly omnipotent Lord Shifty himself and I was sure that, despite knowing that I was scared of him and commenting on my un-packlike independence, he’d not actually suspected a smidgen of humanity about me. Add that to the fact that after my fight with Anton there was virtually no point in pretending to hide in the shadows anymore and I figured that I could get away with trying to sidle up to the mage and find out what he knew. Julia had already said that he had no interest in exposing me; the best plan was to initiate contact with him, get the human part out of the way and find out what he knew.

I stepped out into the undergrowth and quickened my step to catch up with him. He was sandwiched between two of the Brethren, who were marching along with straight backs and stiff shoulders as if they were in the army. Floride, by contrast, loped along with an easy gait and a hint of a swagger. I sneaked in beside him and ignored the hiss of annoyance from the Brethren shifter behind me.

“I’m Mack,” I stuck my hand out and grinned at him.

“Uh, Alex,” he replied, shaking my hand back. His palm was slightly sweaty and I resisted the urge to wipe my own on my jeans. He squinted at me more closely in the gloom. “Feck me, you’re….”

“Wearing a nineties vintage leather jacket, I know,” I smoothly interrupted before he said anything that would get me into trouble.

He tripped over a root that was curling its way across the path. “Ummm…yes, of course. I was just admiring the, er, tailoring.”

“Then we both are of the same mind,” I stated, rather pointedly.

He cast a slightly nervous gaze at the back of the shifter ahead of him before shrugging and smiling. “I suppose we are, dude.”

Dude? Jeez.

“So, how is this going to work, Alex?”

“You mean, um…”

“I mean the scrying, dude. How does the whole mojo mumbo go down?”

“Oh, uh, I draw on my power from the air’s energy. It’s a molecular thing. If a heebie-jeebie had anything to do with the guy’s death, then I’ll be able to spot it, scan it and trace it.”

“Scan it? So you’ll know what it was?”

“If there’s enough of a trail, sure. I can raise up an image of the perp and project it.”

“Are you ever wrong?”

“Never,” he answered steadily. “As I said, if it wasn’t human,” he looked at me again as he said this, “and there’s enough of its essence left behind, then I’ll capture it. Its image, I mean,” he added hastily, “I don’t do actual capturing – I’ll leave that to you beasty dudes. Or gals. Or whatever.”

“Scared?”

“Sensible, dude, sensible.”

He certainly seemed sure of his magic abilities, at least. I supposed that the proof was in the pudding and that I shouldn’t judge him by appearances. He was at least doing me the favour of not judging me by my humanity, and was not trying to pretend he was in any way a physical match for a shifter. I appreciated the honesty and felt slightly humbled by my earlier attitude towards him.

“What do you think of our little shifter girl here then, Mr Mage?”

Anton. Shit.

“God, do you country types ever stop shooting the breeze?” The Brethren behind us interjected.

Anton turned and snarled at her. Well, it was good to know that we agreed on something. He turned back to me, eyes falling to my side where he’d bit me earlier on in the evaluation fight.

“How are the wounds?” There was an odd lascivious gleam in his eyes. “Bleeding much?”

I scowled at him and Alex opened his mouth to say something when all of a sudden there was the sound of hundreds of birds flying up into the sky followed by a low rumbling thunder. The ground began to shake. From side to side, like an….

“Earthquake!” Someone shouted.

My brain dully registered the impossibility of natural earth tremors on Cornwall before launching into full self protective mode as the ground continued to sharply jerk from side to side, flinging Alex to the ground. The trees creaked alarmingly around us and there were sounds of others nearby becoming uprooted and crashing to the ground. I fell forward onto my hands and knees, and then quickly covered my head with my arms, the most vulnerable part of me should a great oak decide to plant itself on top of my body.

Up ahead one of the Brethren spontaneously shifted in blur of ripped cloth and fur. I could hear growling and snapping from more behind me.

Be calm, floated Corrigan’s Voice over everyone, using compulsion to erase the panic. At once the growling stopped but the rumbling and the shaking continued for what seemed like an age. I huddled into a ball, praying that the others back at the keep were alright. Eventually it seemed to stop.

Stay where you are. There may be aftershocks to come.

Alex staggered to his feet. I knew he wouldn’t have heard Corrigan’s warning and I yanked at his jeans to pull him down again. He shook me off and gasped, “That’s not an earthquake.”

“What do you…?” I realised suddenly that if it wasn’t an earthquake, and he had used his powers to work that out, then it must be some sort of creature. It must be what had killed John. I stopped thinking, stood up with lightning speed, and ran. The adrenaline pumped through me, overcoming the pain in my side, and pelting me forward. I was going to get my revenge. I felt a hand stretch out and try to grab me, and barely registered Corrigan reaching out, but I sidestepped and sprinted faster. The fire took over, all consuming. His Voice tried to compel me to halt but nothing was going to stop me. Red flickered in my vision and my fingertips began to tingle with heat. I neared the tree runes and slowed, starting to stalk with intent. There was definitely something there. I focused all my senses on the one large, dark shape. There was only one creature, at least, but it looked big, and definitely malevolent. It didn’t matter what it was, though. It was going to die.

I came out from under the canopy of the trees and finally saw the whole thing for real in sharp technicolour vision. Whatever it was, it looked to be about twenty five hands high, had horns on top of its furred head and stood on two bowed legs. Steam puffed out heavily from its nostrils. The monster took a step towards the trees - towards me - but the instant its foot touched the ground the earth began to shake again in another tremor. This time, however, I was ready. I kept my feet, barely, and pulled out a throwing dagger from my right arm. Zeroing in on its right eye, I aimed and then let the dagger take flight with unerring accuracy. Or it would have been unerring accuracy if the monster hadn’t flipped its head to the side with unnatural speed so it caught it in the side of its pointed ear instead, barely scratching its skin. With another heavy crunch, it took a step, this time with murderous intent drawn all over its hideous face. The ground rumbled again, shaking me off my feet again and sending me tumbling to the sand.

I leapt up in an instant, reaching for my other dagger. The monster flicked shimmering black eyes onto me and roared deafeningly. The bloodfire was wholly in control, however, and I didn’t flinch. I was about to fling the dagger at the creature with everything I had when a shape flew out of the trees behind me and launched itself at it. It was a were-panther, sleek and gleaming in the moonlight. It slammed into the beast’s body, the force of its collision making it stagger backwards slightly, setting off another surge through the ground. The panther’s jaws snapped and snatched away at a clump of the beast’s flesh but it hung onto its side.

From the left spread of trees, three transformed shifters pounded out and went for its leg. Three others came from the right and attached themselves to its huge tree trunk of an arm. It stamped its feet, roared again and shook them off, sending them into the dunes with a chorus of pained whines. The ground shook again. The panther sprang from the thing’s side to its shoulder, claws digging into it to cling on whilst it roared again and flailed around trying to pull the cat off. I saw my chance and threw again, aiming for its hand. And this time, I didn’t miss, as the sharp pointed embedded itself in the creature’s palm. It howled in agony and clutched at the dagger, trying to pull it out, momentarily ignoring the panther.

Another wave of shifters attacked in concertina. The monster kicked out at one werefox, catching it on its hind legs, almost immediately snapping the bone with a sickening crunch. Tom, in wolf form, attacked the monster back, his fangs latching onto its ankle. I sidestepped, trying to gain a better point with which to aid the panther, which stayed clinging onto the massive shoulders, occasionally swiping a giant paw at the side of its head.

My blood wasn’t happy. Much more of this and the panther would knock it out before I got the chance to do anything. Anton’s bear joined Tom and clawed at the tendons on its back leg. The monster picked up its foot and shook them off in one quick sudden movement. Again, as soon as its padded foot returned to the ground, another earthquake hit, sending shifters flying everywhere. The panther took another chance to claw the beast’s head, but this time it mistimed and was knocked off in the rolling aftershock. I saw my chance as it bent to grab the panther and took a running leap onto its outstretched back.

I ran up to its neck, legs powering up the slope of its inclined posture, momentum carrying me, with my hands pulling on clumps of fur to reach the top. Hanging on to a horn with one hand and reaching into my trusty backpack with my other hand for my spare knife, I knew what to do. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">