Shadow Hunt

“He didn’t give you any details about this part?” Will asked, looking frustrated. “What they were going to do with the spell?”

Owen shook his head, looking miserable. Kirsten took over the story. “But from what we’ve been able to find, it looks like Werner didn’t just drop the matter, even when Karl couldn’t be found,” she said. “Werner was an active Luparii witch, and although he couldn’t replicate the full Wild Hunt spell without the scroll, he was able to re-create one small part of it. They already had plenty of dogs, because even after the scroll was lost, they kept training dogs to hunt werewolves.”

“Wait, you lost me. Which part of the spell?” I said, like an idiot. Because it was so obvious.

Kirsten gave me a pitying look. “The hounds,” she said softly, her eyes dropping down to Shadow. “Werner used his knowledge of the scroll to re-create the bargest spell.”

Chapter 35

I completely tuned out the conversation then, as the size of this whole thing threatened to overwhelm me. You know that feeling, when you’re watching a TV show and they air a flashback that suddenly makes the last five episodes fit together in a new way, and it’s so obvious that you’re mad at yourself . . . and simultaneously impressed with the people who made the show? That’s exactly how I felt in that moment.

Because it had been practically staring me in the face. Three years earlier, when the Luparii had first come to Los Angeles and I had learned about their anti-werewolf efforts, I’d wondered how they had managed to clear all the wolves out of mainland Europe. Our best source, Sashi’s mother, Dr. Noring, had known a little about the history—how the ancient Luparii had spent hundreds of years using bargests to control the werewolf population, meaning they used a bargest to hunt and kill any werewolves who tried to enter their territory. That made sense, once I’d met Shadow, but I’d never understood the logistics of getting all the werewolves out of Europe to begin with. You wouldn’t be able to control more than a few bargests at a time, and even with a handful of them, how could one group cover enough ground to clear that much area?

But if they’d initially used the bargests as a part of the Wild Hunt, a massive hunting party of legend that would keep supernatural creatures away by fear alone . . . it made so much more sense. I’d just never made the connection between the bargest and the Wild Hunt, mostly because the folklore I’d found didn’t necessarily reflect it.

But I should have realized that at some point, the legends must have gotten twisted up—after all, it wasn’t exactly the first time that had happened. Just as the Wild Hunt had different names, so did the bargests: I’d seen Shadow’s kind referred to as devil dogs, black shucks, hellhounds, and about half a dozen more. The only reason I used bargest was because it carried the least amount of negative connotation.

Then it sank in how screwed we now were. This was about more than an evil witch clan, or even the bargest spell. The frickin’ Wild Hunt was real, and it could be used to hunt and kill the people of the Old World. Right here in Los Angeles.

No wonder Rhys had told me to leave town.

I felt panic clawing at my chest—and then Shadow reached over and took my hand in her mouth, biting down just a tiny bit.

I jumped, looking down at her. She wagged her clubbed-off tail at me, then lay down on her back and put her paws in the air, asking for a belly rub. I blinked.

She’d only ever done this when the two of us were alone, because showing your belly is a sign of weakness. But she wanted to remind me that, at the end of the day, she was real. A creature of legend, maybe, but real. I smiled and leaned over in my chair so I could scratch her tummy.

I tuned back into the conversation. Owen was saying, “It wasn’t famous until Jakob Grimm wrote about it in 1835, but most scholars believe that it predates Christianity.”

“Rhys thinks it predates nulls,” I put in.

“Does that mean you can’t stop it?” Will asked.

I shrugged. “The Luparii seem to think that I can—hence their deep and thorough commitment to killing me. But I don’t really know.”

“You’ve dealt with magical objects before,” Kirsten reminded me. “The Transruah was powerful, and you zapped that.”

“True,” I conceded. “But the Transruah was a witch spell; it came from a conduit. What if the Wild Hunt spell comes from a time before conduits? From creatures that came before?”

Will stared at me. “Are you talking about fairies? Actual fairies?”

“It’s not impossible,” Kirsten said thoughtfully. “We’ve all seen enough of the Wild Hunt stories to know it was usually connected to the fae, and there have always been rumors that conduits weren’t the first magical creatures. So . . . why not?”

I had kind of hoped the others would contradict me. “Well . . . shit,” I said, which seemed to sum up the feelings of pretty much all of us.

“So we don’t know if Scarlett can stop it,” Will concluded. “But what do we know? What actually happens?”

“According to Rhys, a group of witches, their horses, and their hounds—or bargests—turn into spectral warriors,” I informed him. “Who can kill supernaturals. But he says the spell doesn’t affect humans. They can’t even see what’s going on without a special ointment on their eyes. Which we don’t have.”

“How do the riders make the distinction?” Will said doubtfully. “When I run as a wolf, I can only tell people apart by smell.”

“The riders only see witches, vampires, and werewolves, like they’re wearing special heat-imaging goggles,” Kirsten explained. I pictured a cat in a whole roomful of mice. “And they kill everything they see. When the Luparii first used the spell, I’m guessing they called and warned the vampires and friendly witches about their route beforehand.”

“How do we stop it?” I asked.

Kirsten shook her head. “According to all of this”—she gestured at the table—“you can’t. You can only run, or hide, and hope they pick someone else instead. If you hear the oliphant blow, you’re already too close.”

“Oliphant?” I said, confused. “I swear that’s the name of an unreasonably attractive actor.”

“It means a horn,” Owen said, miming blowing on his closed fist. “It was a medieval instrument made from elephant tusks. The Wild Hunt uses at least one. When you hear it, it’s a harbinger.”

“What kind of damage are we talking about here?” I asked. “How many people can they kill?”

“Theoretically?” Kirsten said. “Hundreds each night.”

Great. Just fucking great. “Can we evacuate?” I looked back and forth between her and Will. “I mean, I know Will’s already been getting the pack out of town, but what if we just sent everybody out of LA County? No victims, no Wild Hunt.” I kind of liked the idea of the Hunt riding around LA all frustrated because there was no one to kill. It would be like Spiderman stuck in a meadow.

Kirsten and Will exchanged a look. “For how long?” Kirsten said to me. “And how will it look?”

“Seriously?” I said, surprised. That was the kind of question I expected from Dashiell, but I’d thought Kirsten cared more about her people than that. “You’re worried about optics?”

“I have to be, because they obviously are,” she countered. “The Luparii could have come to Long Beach, quietly killed Karl Schmidt, and returned to Europe with the scroll. No offense,” she added to Owen, who shrugged. “Instead, they are making this as big and splashy as they can. They want to look like they’re putting us in our place. Have you thought about what happens if they succeed?”

Oh. “No, I hadn’t,” I admitted.

“The Luparii have been collecting power in Europe,” Will said quietly. “They’re expanding with terrifying speed. I can think of only one reason why they’d come here now.”

“Because we embarrassed them,” I said, understanding. I thought of what I’d said to Jesse, about how the Old World saw peace as weak.