“So much for listening to Travis Meyer and the News on Six,” Stark grumbled. “Well, tell the red officers to get their soldiers back to the Humvees. You and I will go ahead and scout up to the top of the ridge so that I’m sure—”
A cluster of impossibly large fireflies flitted from a bank of mist, darting around in the icy rain as if they were kids playing in a sprinkler. Stark stared at them through the ice and rain and mist as their insectile bodies shifted from bugs to naked women, and then back to bugs.
Stark felt his blood go as cold as the falling ice.
“Old Magick,” he said softly.
“What was that, sir?” Then the glowing insects caught Dallas’ vision. “Hey, fireflies! That’s weird as shit.”
“Not fireflies. Sprites. Back away, Dallas. Tell the soldiers we’re getting out of here. Now!”
Dallas gave him a confused look but hurried to do as he was ordered. Stark paused only an instant before he followed him back down the path.
The sprites were truly spectacular—as beautiful as they’d been described in the ancient tomes his Spells and Rituals professor had insisted his advanced classes read, cover to cover. Stark had immersed himself in the Spells and Rituals class, mostly because he loved reading. The entire last half of the most advanced textbook used in the class had been devoted to Old Magick, and elemental sprites in particular.
Stark searched his memory as he backed slowly away from the glittering cloud of creatures. Sprites were powerful, but as capricious as the Old Magick that formed them—in other words, they could aid you one moment and turn on you the next.
What had Dallas said about this ridge? It was ancient Creek Nation land.
“That figures,” he muttered to himself as he continued to back down the path, unwilling to look away from the sprites. They must have been protectors of the land, allied with the Creek Nation when they lived here, and they don’t understand the world has changed, moved on. They’re still protecting the land.
He joined the retreating line, ordering the soldiers to move as quickly as possible to get off this land. Dallas hurried ahead of them, holding the electricity at bay long enough for the group to cross over it again. By the time Stark had gotten back in the Humvee and Dallas turned their lead vehicle around to head to Tulsa, the road was almost impassable with ice.
“Sir, what the hell was that up there?” Dallas asked.
“The assurance that no Resistance members are sneaking around on that ridge. Old Magick that protective doesn’t allow trespassers. That human woman, Tina, she owns this whole ridge?”
“Yes, sir.”
“She must have Creek blood. That’s why the sprites let her putter around up there, pretending to look for poachers.” Stark snorted. “Poachers, hell! I’d hate to see what Old Magick would do to anyone trespassing on this land.”
“Well, at least we know the locals weren’t lying,” Dallas said. “Don’t know hardly nothin’ ’bout Old Magick, but I saw them bugs. They glowed like lights. Must’ve been what people were talkin’ ’bout seeing up there.”
“Has to be.” Stark hesitated. “Is that all you saw? Just big lightning bugs?”
“Yeah, isn’t that weird enough?”
“Yes, it is,” Stark said, wondering why he felt relieved that Dallas hadn’t seen the sprites shifting to semihuman form.
“Well, it don’t look like we need to worry ’bout policing that ridge. Good thing. Too many damn brambles and rocks and crap for my taste. Plus I hate the country. I’m a city guy.”
“Lieutenant, I want you to keep your mouth shut about what we saw up there. The last thing we need are a bunch of idiot fledglings thinking that it’d be an adventure to check out Old Magick.”
“Whatever you say, sir, but they didn’t look dangerous. They looked like abnormally big fireflies, which are pretty damn cute.”
“Dallas, just one of those cute little bugs has the ability to devour you whole—and I mean all of you. Sprites can drain souls as easily as they drain blood.”
“Nyx’s tits! Are you kidding with that?”
Stark gave him a hard look. “Do I look like I’m kidding you, Lieutenant? And don’t ever use the Goddess’ name like that around me again.”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
“Just shut up and drive.”
The lieutenant did as he was told, leaving his general to stare out at the night.
Old Magick is supposed to be almost gone from the world. The textbooks said it can only be found on the Isle of Skye, and no one’s been allowed to enter that island for centuries. Stark didn’t wonder what the sprites were doing there. The fact that it was Native American land that they were still protecting made sense.
But that didn’t explain why they were awake and active enough to be seen by local humans.
Could it have something to do with Neferet’s war?
A shiver of foreboding skittered down Stark’s spine, colder than the ice that had stopped falling as soon as they turned off Lone Star Road.
Stark was pretty sure he knew the answer to his question. What he didn’t know was if it was a good or bad thing that the sprites were stirring. He also didn’t know what the hell to do with his discovery.
His duty was to report it to Neferet. But Stark was a sworn Son of Erebus Warrior before he’d become Neferet’s general, and his first allegiance was to the Goddess Nyx.
The secret truth that Stark kept buried deep within him was that he didn’t trust Neferet, and he didn’t agree with her war.
Sure, he’d been part of a very large, very vocal group of blue vampyres who had been demanding better treatment from humans. He’d been sick of the separate-but-equal bullshit human politicians had been shoveling at them for too damn long. He’d even supported the beginning of Neferet’s war, but after a few months it was obvious that Neferet never intended to create a world order where all were equal. Neferet wanted to rule and to subjugate all humans.
Stark wasn’t a red vampyre. He had morals. He retained his humanity. And he wasn’t a killer. He was a Warrior, sworn to protect the High Priestess gifted with the leadership of the vampyre nation by Nyx.
But what if the rumors were true? What if Neferet no longer followed Nyx, and the Goddess had truly turned from her High Priestess?
“I have been praying to Nyx for a sign …” Stark murmured to his reflection in the darkly tinted window.
“Sir? Did you say something?”
“Just talking to myself,” Stark said. He closed his mouth, but his whirring mind didn’t stop.