Queen of Air and Darkness
Page 43
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Cristina sighed. “Good to know.” She cut sideways through some low sagebrush. In the far distance, she could see the metal gleam of the parked truck.
Mark’s footsteps slowed. “Cristina. Look.”
She glanced around. “I don’t see—”
“Look down,” he said, and she did.
She remembered thinking that her boots had crunched oddly on the sand. Now she realized that it was because it wasn’t sand. A bleak moonscape stretched around them in a twenty-foot radius. The succulent plants and sagebrush were withered, gray-white as old bones. The sand looked as if it had been blasted with wildfire, and the skeletons of jackrabbits and snakes were scattered among the rocks.
“It is the blight,” said Mark. “The same blight we saw in Faerie.”
“But why would it be here?” Cristina demanded, bewildered. “What do ley lines have to do with the blight? Isn’t that faerie magic?”
Mark shook his head. “I don’t—”
A chorus of shrieking howls ripped through the air. Cristina spun, kicking up a cloud of dust, and saw shadows rising out of the desert all around them. Now Cristina could see them more closely: They resembled birds only in that they were winged. What looked like feathers were actually trailing black rags that swathed their gaunt white bodies. Their mouths were so stuffed with crooked, jagged teeth that it looked as if they were grotesquely smiling. Their eyes were popping yellow bulbs with black dot pupils.
“But the Sensor,” she whispered. “It didn’t go off. It didn’t—”
“Run,” Mark said, and they ran, as the Harpyia demons soared screeching and laughing into the sky. A rock thumped to the ground near Cristina, and another barely missed Mark’s head.
Cristina longed to turn and plunge her balisong into the nearest demon, but it was too hard to aim while they were both running. She could hear Mark cursing as he dodged rocks the size of baseballs. One slammed painfully into Cristina’s hand as they reached the truck and she jerked the door open; Mark climbed in the other side, and for a moment they sat gasping as rocks pounded down onto the truck’s cab like hailstones.
“Diana is not going to be happy about her car,” said Mark.
“We have bigger problems.” Cristina jammed the keys into the ignition; the truck started with a jerk, rolled backward—and stopped. The sound of the rocks pounding the metal roof had ceased as well, and the silence seemed suddenly eerie. “What’s going on?” she demanded, stomping down on the gas.
“Get out!” Mark shouted. “We have to get out!”
He grabbed hold of Cristina’s arm, hauling her over the center console. They both tumbled out of the passenger-side door as the truck lifted into the air, Cristina landing awkwardly half on top of Mark.
She twisted around to see that Harpyia demons had seized the truck, their claws puncturing the metal sides of the bed and digging into the window frames. The vehicle sailed into the air, the Harpyia demons shrieking and giggling as they hauled it up into the sky—and dropped it.
It spun end over end and hit the ground with a massive crash of metal and glass, rolling sideways to lie upended on the sand. One of the Harpyia had ridden it down as if it were a surfboard and still crouched, snarking and cackling, on the frame of the upside-down truck.
Cristina leaped to her feet and stalked toward the truck. As she got closer, she could smell the stink of spilling gasoline. The Harpyia, too stupid to realize the danger, turned its dead-white, grinning face toward her. “The rocks are our place,” it hissed at her. “Poisoned. The best place.”
“Cállate!” she snapped, unsheathed her longsword, and sliced off its head.
Ichor exploded upward in a spray even as the Harpyia’s body folded up and winked out of existence. The other demons howled and dived; Cristina saw one of them dive-bombing Mark and screamed his name; he leaped onto a rock and slashed out with his whip. Ichor opened a glowing seam across the Harpyia’s chest and it thumped to the sand, chittering, but another Harpyia was already streaking across the sky. Mark’s whip curled around its throat and he jerked hard, sending its head bumping like a tumbleweed among the rocks.
Something struck Cristina’s back; she screamed as her feet left the ground. A Harpyia had sunk its claws into the back of her gear jacket and was lifting her into the air. She thought of stories about how eagles flew high into the sky with their prey and then released them, letting their bodies smash open on the earth below. The ground was already receding below her with terrifying speed.
With a scream of fear and anger, she slashed up and backward with her sword, slicing the Harpyia’s claws off at the joint. The demon shrieked and Cristina tumbled through the air, her sword falling out of her hand, reaching out as if she could catch onto something to slow her fall—
Something seized her out of the sky.
She gasped as a hand caught her elbow, and she was yanked sideways to land awkwardly atop something warm and alive. A flying horse. She gasped and scrabbled for purchase, digging into the creature’s mane as it dipped and dived.
“Cristina! Stay still!”
It was Kieran shouting. Kieran was behind her, one arm lashing around her waist to pull her against him. What felt like an electric charge shot through her. Kieran was wild-eyed, his hair deep blue-black, and she realized suddenly that the horse was Windspear, even as the stallion shot downward through the crowd of Harpyia toward Mark.
“Kieran—look out—” she cried, as the Harpyia demons turned their attention to Windspear, their popping yellow eyes swiveling like flashlights.
Kieran flung his arm out, and Cristina felt the sharp electric charge go through her again. White fire flashed and the Harpyia demons recoiled as Windspear landed lightly in front of Mark.
“Mark! To me!” Kieran shouted. Mark looked over at him and grinned—a Hunter’s grin, a battle grin, all teeth—before decapitating a last Harpyia with a jerk of his whip. Splattered with blood and ichor, Mark leaped onto the horse behind Kieran, latching his arms around Kieran’s waist. Windspear sprang into the air and the Harpyia followed, their grinning mouths open to show rows of sharklike teeth.
Kieran shouted something in a Faerie language Cristina didn’t know, and Windspear tilted up at an impossible angle. The horse shot upward like an arrow, just as the truck below them finally exploded, swallowing the Harpyia demons in a massive corona of flames.
Diana’s going to be really angry about her truck, Cristina thought, and slumped down against Windspear’s mane as the faerie horse circled below the clouds, turned, and flew toward the ocean.
* * *
Kit had never been up on the roof of the Los Angeles Institute before. He had to admit it had a better view than the London Institute, unless you were a sucker for skyscrapers. Here you could see the desert stretching out behind the house, all the way to the mountains. Their tops were touched by light reflected from the city on the other side of the range, their valleys in deep shadow. The sky was brilliant with stars.
In front of the house was the ocean, its immensity terrifying and glorious. Tonight the wind was like light fingers stroking its surface, leaving trails of silver ripples behind.
“You seem sad,” said Ty. “Are you?”
They were sitting on the edge of the roof, their legs dangling into empty space. This was probably the way he was supposed to live his high school years, Kit thought, climbing up onto high places, doing dumb and dangerous things that would worry his parents. Only he had no parents to worry, and the dangerous things he was doing were truly dangerous.
He wasn’t worried for himself, but he was worried for Ty. Ty, who was looking at him with concern, his gray gaze skating over Kit’s face as if it were a book he was having trouble reading.
Yes, I’m sad, Kit thought. I’m stuck and frustrated. I wanted to impress you at the Shadow Market and I got so caught up in that I forgot about everything else. About how we really shouldn’t be doing this. About how I can’t tell you we shouldn’t be doing this.
Ty reached out and brushed Kit’s hair away from his face, an absent sort of gesture that sent a shot of something through Kit, a feeling like he’d touched a live electrical fence. He stared, and Ty said, “You ought to get your hair cut. Julian cuts Tavvy’s hair.”
Mark’s footsteps slowed. “Cristina. Look.”
She glanced around. “I don’t see—”
“Look down,” he said, and she did.
She remembered thinking that her boots had crunched oddly on the sand. Now she realized that it was because it wasn’t sand. A bleak moonscape stretched around them in a twenty-foot radius. The succulent plants and sagebrush were withered, gray-white as old bones. The sand looked as if it had been blasted with wildfire, and the skeletons of jackrabbits and snakes were scattered among the rocks.
“It is the blight,” said Mark. “The same blight we saw in Faerie.”
“But why would it be here?” Cristina demanded, bewildered. “What do ley lines have to do with the blight? Isn’t that faerie magic?”
Mark shook his head. “I don’t—”
A chorus of shrieking howls ripped through the air. Cristina spun, kicking up a cloud of dust, and saw shadows rising out of the desert all around them. Now Cristina could see them more closely: They resembled birds only in that they were winged. What looked like feathers were actually trailing black rags that swathed their gaunt white bodies. Their mouths were so stuffed with crooked, jagged teeth that it looked as if they were grotesquely smiling. Their eyes were popping yellow bulbs with black dot pupils.
“But the Sensor,” she whispered. “It didn’t go off. It didn’t—”
“Run,” Mark said, and they ran, as the Harpyia demons soared screeching and laughing into the sky. A rock thumped to the ground near Cristina, and another barely missed Mark’s head.
Cristina longed to turn and plunge her balisong into the nearest demon, but it was too hard to aim while they were both running. She could hear Mark cursing as he dodged rocks the size of baseballs. One slammed painfully into Cristina’s hand as they reached the truck and she jerked the door open; Mark climbed in the other side, and for a moment they sat gasping as rocks pounded down onto the truck’s cab like hailstones.
“Diana is not going to be happy about her car,” said Mark.
“We have bigger problems.” Cristina jammed the keys into the ignition; the truck started with a jerk, rolled backward—and stopped. The sound of the rocks pounding the metal roof had ceased as well, and the silence seemed suddenly eerie. “What’s going on?” she demanded, stomping down on the gas.
“Get out!” Mark shouted. “We have to get out!”
He grabbed hold of Cristina’s arm, hauling her over the center console. They both tumbled out of the passenger-side door as the truck lifted into the air, Cristina landing awkwardly half on top of Mark.
She twisted around to see that Harpyia demons had seized the truck, their claws puncturing the metal sides of the bed and digging into the window frames. The vehicle sailed into the air, the Harpyia demons shrieking and giggling as they hauled it up into the sky—and dropped it.
It spun end over end and hit the ground with a massive crash of metal and glass, rolling sideways to lie upended on the sand. One of the Harpyia had ridden it down as if it were a surfboard and still crouched, snarking and cackling, on the frame of the upside-down truck.
Cristina leaped to her feet and stalked toward the truck. As she got closer, she could smell the stink of spilling gasoline. The Harpyia, too stupid to realize the danger, turned its dead-white, grinning face toward her. “The rocks are our place,” it hissed at her. “Poisoned. The best place.”
“Cállate!” she snapped, unsheathed her longsword, and sliced off its head.
Ichor exploded upward in a spray even as the Harpyia’s body folded up and winked out of existence. The other demons howled and dived; Cristina saw one of them dive-bombing Mark and screamed his name; he leaped onto a rock and slashed out with his whip. Ichor opened a glowing seam across the Harpyia’s chest and it thumped to the sand, chittering, but another Harpyia was already streaking across the sky. Mark’s whip curled around its throat and he jerked hard, sending its head bumping like a tumbleweed among the rocks.
Something struck Cristina’s back; she screamed as her feet left the ground. A Harpyia had sunk its claws into the back of her gear jacket and was lifting her into the air. She thought of stories about how eagles flew high into the sky with their prey and then released them, letting their bodies smash open on the earth below. The ground was already receding below her with terrifying speed.
With a scream of fear and anger, she slashed up and backward with her sword, slicing the Harpyia’s claws off at the joint. The demon shrieked and Cristina tumbled through the air, her sword falling out of her hand, reaching out as if she could catch onto something to slow her fall—
Something seized her out of the sky.
She gasped as a hand caught her elbow, and she was yanked sideways to land awkwardly atop something warm and alive. A flying horse. She gasped and scrabbled for purchase, digging into the creature’s mane as it dipped and dived.
“Cristina! Stay still!”
It was Kieran shouting. Kieran was behind her, one arm lashing around her waist to pull her against him. What felt like an electric charge shot through her. Kieran was wild-eyed, his hair deep blue-black, and she realized suddenly that the horse was Windspear, even as the stallion shot downward through the crowd of Harpyia toward Mark.
“Kieran—look out—” she cried, as the Harpyia demons turned their attention to Windspear, their popping yellow eyes swiveling like flashlights.
Kieran flung his arm out, and Cristina felt the sharp electric charge go through her again. White fire flashed and the Harpyia demons recoiled as Windspear landed lightly in front of Mark.
“Mark! To me!” Kieran shouted. Mark looked over at him and grinned—a Hunter’s grin, a battle grin, all teeth—before decapitating a last Harpyia with a jerk of his whip. Splattered with blood and ichor, Mark leaped onto the horse behind Kieran, latching his arms around Kieran’s waist. Windspear sprang into the air and the Harpyia followed, their grinning mouths open to show rows of sharklike teeth.
Kieran shouted something in a Faerie language Cristina didn’t know, and Windspear tilted up at an impossible angle. The horse shot upward like an arrow, just as the truck below them finally exploded, swallowing the Harpyia demons in a massive corona of flames.
Diana’s going to be really angry about her truck, Cristina thought, and slumped down against Windspear’s mane as the faerie horse circled below the clouds, turned, and flew toward the ocean.
* * *
Kit had never been up on the roof of the Los Angeles Institute before. He had to admit it had a better view than the London Institute, unless you were a sucker for skyscrapers. Here you could see the desert stretching out behind the house, all the way to the mountains. Their tops were touched by light reflected from the city on the other side of the range, their valleys in deep shadow. The sky was brilliant with stars.
In front of the house was the ocean, its immensity terrifying and glorious. Tonight the wind was like light fingers stroking its surface, leaving trails of silver ripples behind.
“You seem sad,” said Ty. “Are you?”
They were sitting on the edge of the roof, their legs dangling into empty space. This was probably the way he was supposed to live his high school years, Kit thought, climbing up onto high places, doing dumb and dangerous things that would worry his parents. Only he had no parents to worry, and the dangerous things he was doing were truly dangerous.
He wasn’t worried for himself, but he was worried for Ty. Ty, who was looking at him with concern, his gray gaze skating over Kit’s face as if it were a book he was having trouble reading.
Yes, I’m sad, Kit thought. I’m stuck and frustrated. I wanted to impress you at the Shadow Market and I got so caught up in that I forgot about everything else. About how we really shouldn’t be doing this. About how I can’t tell you we shouldn’t be doing this.
Ty reached out and brushed Kit’s hair away from his face, an absent sort of gesture that sent a shot of something through Kit, a feeling like he’d touched a live electrical fence. He stared, and Ty said, “You ought to get your hair cut. Julian cuts Tavvy’s hair.”
