The Borderkind (36 page)

Oliver’s hair was wild and he sported several weeks’worth of beard. Normally office-pale, his skin had taken on a healthy, ruddy hue. The peacoat and jeans he wore only added to the overall air of roughness that had transformed him, but the sword in his hands provided the finishing touch.

“Keep away from her!” Oliver bellowed as he raced toward Collette, swinging the blade. He hacked one of the sand creatures in half and it collapsed into a small dune on the chamber floor.

In moments, he and the fox had destroyed two others, and the rest of the sand things began to withdraw to a safer distance. Nearby, the Sandman and the Dustman continued tearing at one another. The Dustman thrust his fist through his brother’s chest so that when he withdrew it there was a gaping hole left behind, but the sand spilled in to fill the gap instantly.

Over and over, they tore one another apart.

Then Oliver was at her side.

“Collette!” he said, pulling her into an embrace with his free hand.

She fell against him, melting into the pleasure of his company. She was no longer alone in this nightmare place. Her little brother was here with her. Together, everything would be different.

“Hey, little bro,” she rasped.

Oliver held her at arm’s length and they grinned like fools at one another. His expression wavered first.

“We have a lot to talk about.”

Collette nodded. “Oh, yeah. You’re pretty much the only thing I’m sure is real in this whole world. I’ve got a lot of questions. And some things you should know. But can we—”

“Get the hell out of here, first?” her brother said.

The fox trotted up beside him. Though still in motion, her size altered abruptly. Her fur rippled and came loose, hanging down around her, and then as though she were removing her face, the fox drew back her hood to reveal once again the elegant features of the Asian woman who’d arrived with her brother.

“Jesus!” Collette said, flinching and staring at her. “I just…I don’t think I know what’s real!”

Oliver put a comforting hand behind her neck and kissed her forehead. “There’s an easy answer to that, sis. Everything. Everything is real. This is Kitsune.”

He turned to the fox-woman, whose green eyes were close to the most hypnotic things Collette had ever seen. “And Kit, this is my sister, Collette.”

Kitsune inclined her head. “A pleasure to meet you. But we really ought to go, now, while the battle rages.” She gestured toward the center of the room where the Sandman and Dustman tore at one another, blasts of grit bursting from their bodies with each blow and re-forming in the swirling, howling wind.

Oliver hesitated. “Shouldn’t we help the Dustman?”

Collette had known there was some connection, that somehow they had summoned the creature, but this was confirmation.

“What could we do?” she said. “You haven’t seen what he—”

“I know what he does,” Oliver said, grief in his eyes. “What he is.”

Kitsune nodded. “We should go. If the Dustman cannot destroy the Sandman, there’s nothing we can do to help him. He agreed to come, knowing what this war would bring.”

“All right,” Oliver said. “We go.”

Collette kept up with them as best she could. Oliver had his arm around her, helping even as he kept his sword at the ready. Kitsune led the way by a dozen paces and they raced for the door. The sand creatures, those horrible images of her, did not attempt to bar the way.

The door stood open. Fresh air blew in.

When they went out of the Sandcastle, they found an army waiting.

CHAPTER
19

H
alliwell snapped the reins on his horse and spurred her forward, moving up beside Julianna. The chill night wind raised goosebumps on his flesh but he did not feel cold. In truth, he felt nothing. Exhausted and aching, his butt and thighs pummeled by days on horseback, he felt like a bag of cold and brittle bones.

His frayed nerves felt dulled. The panic that had roiled inside of him for so long had abated with the numb sameness of the hours of their journey. Though they had a clear goal—and Captain Beck’s soldiers seemed anxious to reach it—Halliwell felt as though it was all quite pointless. The only things that kept him moving were the horse beneath him and the need to meet Oliver Bascombe face-to-face. Halliwell would ask him the questions he had waited so long to ask, though by now the only one that seemed important was the one he felt sure he already knew the answer to.

Oliver would almost certainly tell them what Hunyadi and Virginia Tsing and Kara had all told them: they were damned to stay in this world, lost forever to the one they had known.

And then Halliwell could die.

Even in the midst of his malaise, he could not have failed to notice the change in Julianna. The journey had been good for her, as though the exposure to the daytime sun and the cold night air had purified her.

Maybe it was the food that King Hunyadi’s soldiers had shared with him and Julianna along their journey, or just long-term exposure to the…he hated to even think the word, but the magic of this place. From the time they had left Hunyadi’s summer residence with Captain Damia Beck and the detachment of soldiers under her command, Julianna had been filled with a sense of purpose. She had a mission now, and with Oliver at the other end of that mission, she had faith that she would have him in her arms again, and that answers would finally be forthcoming.

Halliwell didn’t have faith in anything anymore.

“Damia says we’re close now,” Julianna said.

She gave Halliwell a sidelong glance but he could read nothing in it. The part of her that was a lawyer, a determined professional, had recently returned to the fore. She behaved not like a woman searching for her lost fiancé, but like…
well, like a cop,
Halliwell thought.

“Hours?” Halliwell asked.

Julianna had obviously been trained to ride. A young New England girl from a wealthy family, she’d probably been on horseback practically before she could walk. She rode upright in the saddle and had total command of her horse. When her mount moved a few feet further away from his and picked up its pace ever so slightly, Halliwell felt certain it was quite purposeful.

“Minutes,” she said.

And turned her face away.

That was when he understood why she’d moved ahead. She did not trust her expression to remain neutral during this exchange. They sought Oliver Bascombe for very different reasons, and Halliwell’s were not altogether pleasant. Julianna did not trust him anymore.

“Minutes,” he said, tasting the word upon his tongue.

Jaw set, he spurred his horse to move a bit faster, catching up with Julianna though he said nothing further to her. It was not a time for chatter. There had been enough talk about what was to come. Even over the course of this journey they had avoided the subject of its end. Julianna had instead engaged Damia Beck and her soldiers in conversation about the Two Kingdoms and the Lost Ones, and from the fugue of his numbness, Halliwell had listened.

At Twillig’s Gorge they had learned a great deal about the legendary and the Borderkind, but by now they realized that ordinary humans—the distant cousins of the people who walked the streets of the world they knew—ruled the Two Kingdoms and most of the rest of the world on this side of the Veil.

In a world of wonders, there was still a place for an ordinary man.

Halliwell should have found some comfort in that. But he could not. If he could never return to his little house in Maine, never see his daughter again, that was the end. There was nothing for him here.

Instead of ruminating on it, he held the reins and he ground his teeth to contend with the pain in his hindquarters from the constant riding. Oliver and this trickster woman, Kitsune, whom he was supposed to be traveling with, had a head start on them, but according to Captain Beck, they hadn’t been going directly to the Sandman’s castle.

The Sandman’s fucking castle. Listen to yourself,
he chided. And yet that was only reflex. As absurd as such a thing would once have seemed to him, he knew the truth of it now. Much to his regret.

They rode now, a dozen of Hunyadi’s soldiers and a pair of cast-a-ways from another world, up a long ridge between two mountain peaks. This part of Euphrasia had a breathtaking beauty and elegance, even in the villages they had passed. The bridges and homes and gardens had all been constructed so as to blend into the landscape.

It had been many hours since they had seen a village, but even here the beauty of the land was staggering. Perhaps here more than anywhere else. The air was crisp and the starlight and the scimitar moon cast a golden light upon the snow-capped peaks. There was such peace here, and perhaps that struck him more than anything else.

Peace.

Somehow, it woke him from the fog he’d traveled in—and woke a rage in him as well.

There could be no peace for him.

At the top of the ridge, a point at which the two mountains met, Captain Beck reined in her mount and peered down into the valley on the other side. She raised a hand, a gesture that Halliwell had quickly learned meant she wanted them all to form on her, and quickly.

He snapped the reins and the horse galloped up the ridge. Julianna raced up beside him, so firm and confident on her horse that she seemed to float along above it instead of bouncing painfully in the saddle like Halliwell.

The detective didn’t mind.

They were close.

Fourteen riders gathered at the top of the ridge, in the crux of two mountains. In the starlight they saw a third peak straight ahead. And below, in the cradle formed by the three mountains, a terraced pagoda palace made only of sand.

Halliwell gripped the reins so tightly his knuckles hurt. Answers waited there. One way or another, he would have some answers at last.

“Do you see anything, Damia?” Julianna asked, moving her horse up next to Beck’s.

She was the only one who got away with calling the woman by her given name. Everyone else simply called her Captain—even Halliwell. He doubted she would care if he followed Julianna’s lead, but he was accustomed to uniforms and protocol and there was a comfort in that.

“No sign of movement,” Captain Beck replied. She studied Julianna’s face, her own skin shining in the starlight, then looked at Halliwell. “No horses. No indication anyone’s there at all.”

“The door is open,” observed a powerfully built soldier called Tsui.

Halliwell looked down at the Sandcastle, but his eyes were not what they once were and he could not make out from there if the door was, indeed, open.

“We have no way of knowing if Oliver’s here or not,” Julianna said.

Captain Beck nodded, but her eyes were still on Halliwell. “True. But if he hasn’t arrived yet, and what Bascombe has been told is true, his sister is still a prisoner down there.”

Halliwell drew his gun. “Why don’t we head down, then?”

The captain smiled. “It’s what we came for.”

She spurred her horse and started down into the cradle of the mountains and her soldiers followed. Halliwell and Julianna kept pace with them as they rode toward the towering pagoda palace. The double doors in front were indeed hanging slightly open.

Captain Beck’s horse crossed from rough grass onto shifting sand.

They spread out, taking up position outside the pagoda. Captain Beck raised a hand and Halliwell thought she was about to give the command to dismount, but then the doors were blown wide open from within. The wind howled as a cloud of dust blew out those open doors, originating somehow from within the castle, and three people came out, half stumbling, hurrying as though they feared the place might fall down around them.

Despite her haggard appearance and the dark tan she’d acquired, he recognized Collette Bascombe immediately. The Asian woman in the fur cloak was also familiar, but only vaguely. He’d seen her on Canna Island with Oliver just before they both had disappeared.

And then, of course, there was Oliver himself.

Halliwell held tight to the horse’s reins, frozen in the knowledge that the moment had finally arrived. Staring at Oliver Bascombe, he discovered that he felt both hatred and pity for the younger man. If everything he’d learned in his investigation proved true, Oliver was as much a victim as Halliwell himself had become. But if Halliwell had never become involved in Oliver’s disappearance and later Max Bascombe’s murder case, he would never have had to see the eyeless, mutilated corpse of Alice St. John, or learn about all of the other children who’d been killed the same way. He never would have hunted for the missing man, or for Collette, when she’d gone missing as well.

He wouldn’t have been lured here. Trapped here, in this world.

Oliver was not to blame, but Halliwell blamed him anyway. He might be a victim, but the difference, from what he’d heard, was that Oliver could still go home. If nothing else, Halliwell hated him for that.

The panic took him again, mixed with rage and hatred and despair. Just looking at Oliver stoked all of that emotion, and it surged up inside. He felt as though it might erupt from within. He felt his face twist into a sneer.

“Damn you,” he whispered. “Damn you for killing me like this.”

In his mind, by leading him to this, Oliver Bascombe had destroyed him.

The detective in him wanted answers, wanted to know what had set the Sandman free to slaughter those children and the
why
of it all. But the man, Ted Halliwell, the father…
he
wanted Oliver to tell him how to get home. And he wanted someone to hold responsible.

Captain Beck shouted something, but Halliwell wasn’t listening.

Julianna slipped off of her horse, leaving it to wander, and started running toward the castle.

“Oliver!” she cried, giddy with fear and relief.

Half of the soldiers began to dismount, led by Damia Beck. The other six remained on their horses and spread out, backing away slightly to be prepared for anything.

Halliwell climbed off of the horse, bones and muscles aching from days in the saddle. He clicked the safety on his pistol off and turned toward the front of the castle.

Julianna ran toward her fiancé. Oliver stared at her, then he started to stumble toward her—incredulous, laughing. The Asian woman and Collette followed, glancing anxiously over her shoulder at the wind and sand that continued to blast out of the castle doors.

Limping, cursing his age, Halliwell started across the sand. The gun felt heavy in his grasp.

Julianna and Oliver were still separated by thirty or forty feet when the wall of the Sandcastle exploded. Massive fragments of the wall came down and burst, spilling sand across the ground. Two figures crashed out through the shattered wall, grappling with one another. One of them, cloaked and hooded, with monstrous, hooked talons, had deep yellow eyes that seemed to float in a cloud of shifting sand. The other seemed a figure from Victorian times, in a bowler hat and long, heavy coat—a statue of Dr. Watson carved from granite or sculpted in sand.

They did not crash to the ground.

The two figures burst into twin clouds of sand that spun and slammed together and tore at one another. In a heartbeat they had reformed on the ground twenty yards in front of Halliwell. He stared at these sand creatures as they attacked one another.

He thought of Alice St. John and all of the other children who had shared her fate.

The Sandman.

It was a sick joke.

Suddenly, Halliwell had found another focus for his rage and sorrow and hate. Oliver might have answers, but at last, Ted Halliwell had found someone to blame. Someone to pay for all that he had lost.

He raised his gun and something snapped inside him. He began to scream, but the words were guttural nonsense in his ears, and he ran at the two elemental creatures tearing at one another’s limbs and faces.

He pulled the trigger again and again. Gunshots echoed across the crux of those three mountains. Bullets tore through cloak and greatcoat, punched holes in the bodies of the Sandman and the other thing, the other myth.

The monsters did not even notice him. The image of Alice St. John stayed in his mind, and he could not stop. Halliwell would never see his Sara again. The monsters felt like a gift to him. After what they had done to Alice and those other children…He marched toward them, finger on the trigger, and knew he had to find a way to get justice for that little girl.

For all of them.

And for himself.

Gunshots echoed off the mountainsides. The wind howled out through the doors of the Sandcastle. The Dustman and the Sandman grappled and tore at one another. Soldiers bearing the crest of King Hunyadi climbed off of their horses and started to spread out, ready to fight if the Sandman should win, but careful to keep their distance.

Oliver barely noticed any of it.

The world seemed to tilt under his feet. Julianna did not belong on this side of the Veil. All that she was and all that she meant to him was so wrapped up in his thoughts of home and Maine that simply seeing her disoriented him. They were supposed to have picnics at the beach and take the catamaran out sailing. In the winter, they’d ski a little, but only to have an excuse to curl up in front of a crackling fire with Irish coffees and blond brownies.

They were not supposed to be here.

Even with Collette standing beside him in her ragged pajamas, skin baked brown from sun exposure, haggard and thin, Oliver had somehow been able to separate himself from the man he had been before Frost and the Myth Hunters had come into his life.

But from the moment he saw Julianna slide from the saddle of that horse and run toward him, something inside of him began to break down. It was as though the Veil had not only separated the ordinary world from the realm of the legendary, but had also split Oliver in two—one the mundane lawyer who’d lived a privileged but plain life, and the other the one who had survived in the wilderness of a world of the fantastic.