“Bank all of the fires!” Dragon turned his head to look at his mate. “My love, lead the innocents down the back side of the ridge. They might not have us surrounded.” His hard gaze found Kevin again. “The rest of us will remain here and buy you time to escape.”
“No. I won’t leave you.” Anastasia spoke quietly but firmly. “Sylvia is accustomed to the Oklahoma wilds. She can lead the innocents. I will remain with my mate. I can wield a sword too, and I prefer to die by your side.”
Kevin saw the pain flash through Dragon Lankford’s eyes and the despair that curved his shoulders, and he couldn’t bear it.
What the hell would Zoey do?
He knew what she wouldn’t do. Zoey Redbird—the High Priestess who ruled the Tulsa House of Night with strength and honesty—would not give up.
“My mate’s blood will be on your hands.” Dragon ground the words from between clenched teeth. “And after I kill you, what kind of welcome do you think Nyx will have for you? Well, one good thing about dying. I’ll be there, in the Goddess’ Grove, to witness Nyx’s punishment.” As Dragon spoke, he pressed the longsword harder against Kevin’s neck.
Kevin reacted automatically. He lurched back, shouting, “I would do anything to make this right!” His wounded back screamed as it collided with the rocky wall of the cave, ripping apart the few stitches Anastasia had already sewn. Kevin tripped and fell as his blood spattered the rocks and flowed down his back.
Instantly, there was a change in the air so great that it penetrated Dragon’s rage. He froze, sword above his head, ready to strike a killing blow.
Later, Kevin thought that it was similar to how the air felt around the tear between his world and Zo’s, but at that moment all he could do was stare in open-mouthed wonder as ethereal beings began to materialize around him. Some lifted from the cave’s sandstones. Some descended from the sky, like feathers floating to ground. Still more seemed to emerge from within the gnarled bark of the old oaks perched precariously on the steep ridge around them.
They differed greatly from one another. A bunch of them looked like a cross between fallen leaves and butterflies, and then the wind blew a small gust and they changed form and suddenly they were beautiful, winged women. A few of them reminded Kevin of hummingbirds, only they had the delicate heads of impossibly beautiful women and handsome men. Some looked like Fourth of July sparklers, only smaller and see-through. Several of them were in the form of fireflies—big, beautiful fireflies that should not be flitting around in the middle of winter. And more of them appeared to be mermaids and glittering jellyfish.
They were all descending upon Kevin.
“Old Magick! Old Magick!” croaked the raven from his perch on Anastasia’s shoulder.
The beautiful priestess was suddenly crouching beside Kevin, studying the creatures with awed curiosity. “Yes, Tatsuwa! These sprites are Old Magick. I never thought to see even one, as Old Magick has almost disappeared from the world.”
A butterfly winged figure of a voluptuous woman about the size of his hand, and naked except for a dress made of glitter, fluttered up to Kevin, giving him a beseeching look.
“W-what do they want?” Kevin stuttered.
“You conjured them. Ask them,” she said.
“Um, what do you want?” Kevin tentatively asked the floating sprite.
“We heard your call
Your blood is true.
What is it you wish
That we shall do?”
Kevin didn’t hesitate. “Hide us! Don’t let the vampyres coming up the ridge find any of us who are already up here.” He paused and then added, “Please.”
“If we do this for you
For us what shall you do?”
Kevin opened his mouth to answer, but Anastasia’s hand on his arm stopped him. Urgently, she whispered, “Be careful. Old Magick is powerful. It is also never free.”
“What do you think they want?” Kevin whispered back.
“Sprites are tied to the four physical elements—air, fire, water, and earth. It should be easy enough for them to cloak this ridge. Offer them your blood, but only as much as you’ve already shed.”
Kevin cleared his throat and then replied to the glittering sprite. “I’ll pay you with my blood, but only the blood I’ve already spilled. Is that enough to keep us safe?”
The sprite spun in the air and was joined by one each of the different creatures. Kevin could hear that they were speaking, but the words were strange. Not like a different language, but like a different way of thinking and forming sounds.
Then she fluttered back to hover above him again.
“We accept your price tonight
As your blood is strong with Light.
We seal this deal with thee
So we have spoken—so mote it be!”
With Tatsuwa squawking a complaint, Anastasia backed quickly out of the way, joining Dragon where he stood a few feet from Kevin, his sword still unsheathed, as the sprites covered the young red vampyre. At first Kevin flinched, expecting them to cause him even more pain than he’d already endured that night, but their touch was oddly soothing, like cool rain falling on a forest blaze. The sprites also covered the rocky wall of the cave, the dirt floor around him, even the tip of Dragon’s blade—anywhere any of his blood had spattered. As they drank, their bodies blazed with light and color, and they made excited chirping and clicking sounds that actually had Kevin’s lips turning up.
Then, just as quickly as they’d appeared, they were gone.
And the night around them changed utterly.
* * *
Other Stark
It began innocently enough. Stark felt the direction of the cold night breeze shift and sharpen. He was sweating from the climb up the ridge, so his damp face instantly registered the change and he shivered, increasing his pace.
And then the night sky began belching ice.
Stark slid on a rock, suddenly slick with ice as black as the forest around them, and he had to windmill his arms to keep from falling. He tucked his head against the frigid rain and slowed his pace.
The mist began then, rolling from low spots around them, lifting from the bowels of the ridge. Behind him, someone cried out sharply, and a few moments later Dallas was panting beside him.
“Sir, the men are losing their footing. One of the soldiers just fell and smashed his head against a rock.”
Stark stumbled to a halt. “The weather’s turned. I should’ve checked before I left the House of Night.”
“Sir, I did,” Dallas said, wiping his face with the back of his sodden sleeve. “It was supposed to be clear and cold.”