Authors: Ilona Andrews
Bayou Moon (4 page)
The dune buggy was a hell mobile made of pure fun. In fact, Cerise had snuck away with it before and had so much fun, she flipped it over. But touching the dune buggy without adult supervision was strictly forbidden. Stealing it and wasting expensive gasoline was punishable by three weeks of extra chores.
Of course, both fifteen-year-old Adrian and his fourteen-year-old sidekick, Derril, knew this and could handle the consequences. The most pressing issue was that Lark just tattled. Lark never tattled.
Cerise forced herself to calmly pull the other boot off. The very basis of her sister’s personality was changing, and she could only watch, helpless.
“The boys didn’t take you with them?”
The answer was so quiet, she barely heard it. “No.”
Six months ago, they would have. Both of them knew it. The urge to reach out and hug Lark’s bony shoulders gripped Cerise, but she kept still. She’d tried that before. Her sister would stiffen, slide away, and take off into the woods.
At least Lark was talking to her. That was a rare thing. Normally, Mom was the only person who could get through to her, and even she had a hard time drawing Lark out lately. The kid was slipping away into her own world, and nobody knew how to pull her out.
“Did you tell Mom?” Cerise asked.
“Mom isn’t here.”
Odd. “Dad?”
“They left. Together.”
“Did they say when they would be back?”
“No.”
Cerise tensed. In the Mire, the resources were few and the people were many. The families fought tooth and nail over the smallest things. Almost every clan was in a feud, and theirs was no exception.
The feud between the Mars and the Sheeriles had started eighty years ago and was still going strong. Sometimes it burned bright and sometimes, like right now, it smoldered, but it could burst into open warfare at any moment. The last time the feud had flared, Cerise lost two uncles, an aunt, and a cousin. The standing rule was: you go out, you let someone know where you’re going and when you’re planning on coming back. Even their father, who was the head of the family, never strayed from this rule.
Anxiety rolled over her. “When and why did they leave?”
“At sunrise, and they left because Cobbler got his butt bit.”
Cobbler, an old wino, bummed about the swamp doing odd jobs for moonshine. Cerise never cared for the man. He was mean to the kids when he thought their parents weren’t looking, and he’d stab anyone in the back just out of spite. “Go on . . .”
“He came over and told Dad wild dogs got into Grandpa’s house. They chased him and one bit him on the butt. His pants had holes.”
Sene Manor had been boarded up for years, ever since their grandparents had died there of red fever twelve years ago. Cerise remembered it as a sunny house, painted bright yellow, a spot of color in the swamp. It was an abandoned wreck now. Nobody went near it. Cobbler had no business going there either. Probably was looking for something to steal.
“What happened next?”
Lark shrugged. “Cobbler kept talking until Dad gave him some wine and then he went away. And then Dad said he had to go and take care of Grandpa’s house, because it was still our land. Mom said she would go with him. They rode out.”
Getting to Sene Manor by truck was impossible. They would’ve ridden out on horseback.
“And you haven’t seen them since?”
“No.”
Sene Manor was half an hour away by horse. They should’ve been back by now.
“Do you think Mom and Dad are dead?” Lark asked in a flat voice.
Oh, Gods. “No. Dad’s death with a sword, and Mom can shoot a Mire gator in the eye from a hundred feet. Something must’ve held them up.”
A muted roar rolled through the trees—the dune buggy’s engine getting a workout. Dimwits. Didn’t even have the patience to turn the engine off and roll the buggy back up to the house. Cerise rose.
“Let me deal with this, and if Mom and Dad aren’t back by the end of the hour, I’ll go and check it out.”
An old dune buggy burst out from between the pines, splashing through the mud on its way to the house. Cerise raised her hand. Two mud-splattered faces stared at her from the front seat with abject horror.
Cerise drew in a deep breath and barked. “Cramp!”
Magic pulsed from her hand. The curse clutched at the two boys, twisting the muscles in their arms. Adrian doubled over, the wheel spun left, the dune buggy careened, and the whole thing toppled onto its side in a huge splash, sliding through the sludge. The hell mobile turned, vomiting the two daredevils into the mud, spun one more time, and stopped.
Cerise turned to Lark. “Feel free to go over there and kick them while they’re down. When you’re done, tell them to clean everything up and head straight to the stables. Aunt Karen will be overjoyed to have two slaves for the next three weeks.”
Cerise took her boots and headed into the house. The vague feeling of unease matured into full-blown dread in her chest. She had to figure out what had held up her parents, and the sooner the better. For a moment she almost veered toward the stables, but riding out by herself would be just asking for trouble. She needed backup, someone steady in a fight. Better to spend an extra ten minutes gathering help now than regret it later.
This wasn’t going to end well, she just knew it.
THREE
WILLIAM leaned against the wall of his house. The two people in the yard watched him. If they found his toy army odd, they kept it to themselves.
The wild inside him snarled and growled, scraping at his insides with sharp claws. He held it in check. The images of dead children tore open an old scab, but anger would do him no good now. He’d run across the Mirror’s agents during his time in the Red Legion. Rules didn’t apply to them, and he’d learned quickly that turning his back on them wasn’t a good idea. You screwed with those guys at your own peril, knowing that your next breath might come with a knife in it.
William didn’t know what these two would do or why they came to bother him, and so he watched them the way a wolf watched an approaching bear: no hint of movement, no sign of weakness, no snarling. He wasn’t afraid, but he had no reason to provoke them. If a reason did present itself, he wouldn’t hesitate to rip out their throats.
The two people from the Mirror made no move either. Erwin stood on the left. Of the two, he seemed like the bigger threat. Most people would forget Erwin a minute after they’d met him. Of average height, average build, he had an unremarkable face and short hair, either dark blond or light brown. His voice was mild, his manner unassuming, and his scent was so saturated with magic that the whole place stank like a pastry shop the day before Thanksgiving. The way he held himself, loose, deceptively carefree, didn’t bode well either.
The woman next to Erwin was a good deal older. Short, thin, ramrod straight, with skin the color of coffee, she wore a blue gown like it was armor. The gown’s skirt split down the sides, showing gray pants and supple boots, letting the woman move fast if she needed to.
Her braided hair sat in a complex mess on her head. Her face drew the eye. She had dark eyes, black, sharp, and merciless. The eyes watched him with eerie intensity. Like being tracked by a bird of prey, cold and ready to kill. The woman’s scent filtered down to William, a layered amalgam of perfume: blackberry, vetiver, orange, rosemary, roses. An in-your-face fragrance. She was in charge and wanted people to know it.
Erwin was a heavy hitter, and the way he hovered near the woman gave him away. The man acted as a bodyguard. Since he had no visible weapons, he had to be a flasher. Anyone with magic could learn to channel their power into a flash, a concentrated stream that looked like a ribbon of lightning—and if it was bright enough, it seared like one, too.
William shifted, a light transfer of weight from one foot to the next, and hid a smile when Erwin tensed in response. As a changeling, William had no flash, but he’d spent enough years in a unit full of superb flashers. If Erwin flashed pale blue or white, he was likely a blueblood or extremely talented, like Rose. If he managed a green or a yellow, he wasn’t very high up the food chain.
The hotter Erwin’s flash, the higher up the ladder of command the woman was. No sense wasting a good flasher to guard a mid-level paper pusher.
“Can you flash?” William asked.
Erwin offered him a mild smile.
“He wants to know who he is dealing with,” the woman said. “You have my permission to demonstrate.”
Erwin inclined his head to her and looked at William. “Name the target.”
“Wasp nest, twenty feet to the left, on the oak. Second branch up.”
It would have to be a hell of shot to hit that damn thing. Declan probably could, but he’d blow half the tree away with it.
Erwin turned. “Ah.”
A white glow drenched his eyes. Tiny tendrils of white lightning sparked off his right hand and flared, combining into a current. A beam of pure white shot from him, severing the wasp nest in half, as if with a knife.
Erwin wasn’t just a flasher. He was a sniper. Figured.
“You’ve heard of Virai,” the woman said.
Most Red Legionnaires knew of Virai. The Red Legion did black ops, so when the Mirror needed muscle and raw numbers, they tapped the Red Legion first. Virai was the head of the Mirror, the power behind the agency. His name was whispered.
“Sure.”
The woman raised her chin. “I am Virai.”
William blinked. “
The
Virai?”
The
Virai?”
“Yes. You may call me Nancy, if you would like.”
Nancy. Right. “Why did you bring me pictures of dead children?”
“Because you have spent the last two years living here, safe and cozy. You needed a reminder of who you are.”
Arrogant crone. William bared his teeth in a slow wolf smile. “Your pet sniper won’t stop me. I’ve taken his kind before.” In his mind William leapt over his action figures, hit Erwin, breaking his neck on the way down, rolled . . .
“Perhaps,” Nancy said. “But can you take two at once?”
Her eyes blazed with white. Magic unfurled from her in a glowing shroud, held for a long breath, and vanished.
The imaginary attack died as imaginary William got sliced in two by Nancy’s flash. They had him. One superior flasher he could handle. Between the two of them, they would mince him into pieces before he got his fingers around anyone’s throat.
William crossed his arms. “What is it you want?”
The woman raised her head. “I want you to go deeper into the Edge and find Spider. I want you to take away the object he’s looking for and bring it to me. If you kill him, I would consider it a bonus.”
Well, he did ask. “Why me?”
“Because he knows my agents. He knows the way they think, and he kills them. You’ve tangled with him twice and survived. So far, it’s a record.” She locked her teeth, making the muscles on her jaw stand out. “Spider is the worst kind of enemy. He’s a true believer, convinced that he’s serving a higher cause. He won’t stop until he’s dead.”
“And you’re here because you don’t want to waste your people hunting him,” William said. As a changeling, he was expendable. Nothing new there.
Nancy’s voice cracked like a whip. “I’m here, because of all of the operatives available to me, you are the best man for the job and I can’t suffer another failure. I can’t compel you to help me. I have no authority over you. I can only ask.”
If that was the way she asked, he hated to hear what her order sounded like.
She did
ask
all the same. That was new. He’d been given orders all his life. Declan was the only one who bothered to ask him anything. The dumb blueblood insisted on treating him as if he were a real person. Still, William reflected, he had a comfortable life. Asking alone wouldn’t pry him free from it—but they also brought Spider to the table. The knowledge that the child murderer was within his reach would eat at him now, burrowing like a tick under his skin, until it would drive him crazy. He had to kill the man. It was the last bit of unfinished business he had. He’d murder Spider, taste his blood, and come back here without a weight on his soul.
ask
all the same. That was new. He’d been given orders all his life. Declan was the only one who bothered to ask him anything. The dumb blueblood insisted on treating him as if he were a real person. Still, William reflected, he had a comfortable life. Asking alone wouldn’t pry him free from it—but they also brought Spider to the table. The knowledge that the child murderer was within his reach would eat at him now, burrowing like a tick under his skin, until it would drive him crazy. He had to kill the man. It was the last bit of unfinished business he had. He’d murder Spider, taste his blood, and come back here without a weight on his soul.
Go deeper into the Edge, huh? The Edge wrapped the junction of two worlds all the way from one ocean to another, widening and narrowing whenever it felt like it. Sometimes it was three miles deep, sometimes fifty. “Where in the Edge is Spider?”
“In the swamps,” Erwin said. “West of here, the Edge narrows down almost to nothing and then abruptly widens to encompass an enormous swamp the locals call the Mire. We estimate it to be at least six hundred square leagues, perhaps bigger.”
Nine hundred square miles. “A hell of a swamp.”
“The Mire is sandwiched between the Weird and the Dukedom of Louisiana and the Broken and the state of Louisiana,” Erwin continued. “Most of it is mud and water, impassable and unmapped. The Dukedom has been dumping exiles into it for years. They’re too full of magic to escape into the Broken, so they simply stay there, stranded between the worlds.”
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