ELEONORE sensed the approaching steps a moment before a careful knock on the door broke the silence. She put down her pestle and went to get the door. Technically Emily should be the one to do it, given that she was the youngest, but Emily was cooking a dead cat over the stove and had to keep stirring it. It smelled ghastly enough as it was. No need to add burned stench to it.

ElEonore opened the door and looked at a familiar-looking young woman. Ruby, she remembered. One of Adele's great-grandchildren.

"There is a man here to see you," the girl said.

A man? In Wood House? How in the world did he get past the wards? "Me or your great-grandma?"

The girl bobbed her dark head. "You, Mrs. Drayton."

ElEonore wiped her hands on her apron and stepped out.

A man waited in the yard. Dark-haired, tall, about Declan's age. He looked up, and his eyes shone with wild amber. Alarm shot through ElEonore. Like looking into the eyes of a feral beast. "You would be William, then," she said.

He nodded.

"Are you here for yourself or for Casshorn?"

"For Jack," he said.

"I see." She didn't, but that seemed like the right thing to say.

William sat into the grass. "Tell me when the curse is ready. I'll draw the hounds to the lake."

ElEonore nodded and went inside. Something had happened. She would have to ask Rose about it, but not now. Now they had old magic to court.

Two hours later, she staggered out onto the porch, pale and exhausted. He sat in the same spot. "It's done," she gasped. It had taken all of their strength, too. "Go fast. The curse won't hold him for long."

William pulled off his shirt, then his boots. His pants followed, and he stood naked on the grass.

His body twisted, muscle and bone stretching, flowing like molten wax. His spine bent, his legs jerked, and he crashed into the grass. A violent tremor shook his limbs. His fingers clawed the air. Newly formed bone, wet with lymph and blood, thrust through the muscle. ElEonore fought a shudder.

Flesh churned and flowed, encasing the new skeleton. Dense black fur sprouted and sheathed the skin. A huge wolf rolled onto his feet.

"Open the gate!" ElEonore called. Some young one slid the wooden beam aside and wrenched the gate open.

The wolf panted once and dashed into the Wood.

ElEonore watched him go. A terrible dread claimed her, squeezing her chest with a cold fist, and she sank down into a chair. This wouldn't end well.

THE pond lay placid, its silt-muddled waters opaque and green. The afternoon had ripened into early evening, but they still had at least a few hours of sunlight. From her vantage point at the nose of the small inflatable boat, Rose saw the dock very clearly. Layers of ribbed tire rubber sheathed it, covering the wood completely. She might die there. All the times in her life she'd thought of dying, she hadn't pictured her demise on a dock covered with black rubber. At least the boys were safe. She took them out to the Broken to stay with Amy Haire. They didn't like it, but they both realized this wasn't a good time to argue with her.

Behind her, Buckwell and Declan rowed quietly. The dock grew closer and closer.

She clenched her hands to keep them from shaking. Ten minutes ago Jeremiah had called her. Her phone finally died, cutting him off in mid-word, but not before she got the message: the curse had been placed. Casshorn was asleep. William took off into the woods as soon as he heard, and now she was in a small boat, heading to a dock that looked more and more like a death trap.

"It's not too late to back out," Declan said.

She shook her head, stealing a glance at him. A relaxed expression held his face. His body betrayed no tension. She didn't know if he didn't feel fear or if he hid it well, but she had to do the same. If she fell apart, she would be a distraction. The whole point of her forcing her way into this situation was to let him save his strength.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Not a chance."

Declan smiled at her.

"We had a saying in the army," Tom Buckwell said. "Often wrong, but never in doubt. Once you decide what you need to do and how to go about it, you can't afford to second-guess yourself. You just do it."

The dock loomed before them. Rose got up and caught a wooden support, bringing the boat alongside of the dock. Declan caught the edge and pulled himself up. Rose gripped his hand, and he lifted her onto the dock. She stomped her feet in Leanne's rubber-soled boots. They were a size too big, but she didn't own any electrical hazard boots and they would have to do. This whole idea seemed amazingly stupid now.

William was in agreement with her. When they told him of their plan, he'd shut his eyes and shaken his head. The fact that she'd come up with this harebrained scheme only made the whole thing more ironic.

Buckwell passed Declan his swords. "Don't touch the water once the power lines come down. We'll be over there." He pointed to the shore behind the dock, where the roof of the church cut across the sky. "If any of them make it past you up the road, we've got machetes. And I've got my chainsaw. I've got six people down there, and every one of us should be able to see the beasts."

Declan nodded. "Good luck."

"Same to you." Buckwell took off.

She wanted to jump into his boat. Hell, she wanted to jump into the water and swim ashore.

"Scared?" Declan asked.

"Yes." She saw no point in lying.

"Good. It will keep you ready."

They watched Buckwell land and pull the boat out. Behind him Thad Smith waved his arms. Leanne appeared on the bank, gripping a huge severed cable with rubber gloves. She hurled it into the water. A loud sound popped, like a thunderclap.

A small fish surfaced by the dock, white belly up.

"Now we wait," Declan said.

Rose shrugged her shoulders, trying to break free of the pressure that clamped her.

"Remember, stop the moment your vision blurs," he said. "Pushing any further is asking for trouble. Don't be stupid."

She nodded.

No wind troubled the greenery around the pond. Somewhere in the distance an Edger warbler sang out a trilling note. Mockingbirds screeched.

"So, regarding that tidbit about your having a fertile imagination when it came to private activities," she said, fighting off anxiety. "Was it another lie?"

"Depends on how you look at it. It's not exactly a lie, and if you come with me to the Weird, you'll find that rumors of my 'creativity' when it comes to bed games with the opposite sex do exist. I started them myself and managed them very carefully. The trick with rumors is to feed them once in a while, so they don't die."

"Why would you do something like that?"

"Because I don't particularly feel like being appraised like a side of beef by every enterprising young lady shopping for a husband. Despite my unfriendly demeanor, I'm wealthy, handsome, and a peer."

"All that female attention. Poor you."

Declan grimaced, his face turning cold. His voice became saturated with hard cynicism. "There is a great deal of difference between female attention and a never-ending assault of sugary pouts and 'marry me, marry me, marry me.' 'You looked at me, can we get married now? You laughed at something I said, should I order a dress? You kissed me, I shall summon my father; he will be overjoyed to hear of our engagement. ' This way the only woman who tolerates being alone with me doesn't mind having her reputation sullied, because she's either in the market for a lover or she's looking for a patron to support her. Quite frankly, I prefer it this way. No painful confusion, no complicated explanations."

She stared at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing, Lord Camarine. Absolutely nothing."

A long eerie howl cut through the evening. Rose jerked. A flock of birds burst from the distant branches. William was close, with the horde of hounds on his heels.

Declan raised his hand and shot a burst of white magic into the sky. She added her own flash and then shot another, just in case.

She sensed the magic first. It swelled like an icy tide along the pond's edge, drenching the brush and rolling across the water. Tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on their ends.

The magic slimed her in a clammy wave. Tiny needles prickled at her pores. Inside her, an instinctual alarm wailed, Run away! Run away as fast as you can and don't look back!

A dark body burst through the brush. Amber eyes glared at her, and the enormous wolf dashed to the left, veering around the lake. She flashed again.

The first hound pushed through the branches. God, that was fast.

Another appeared. Another . . . The first ten or twelve. The advance guard. Rose fought rising panic. She had to do this, she reminded herself. There was nobody else to do it. There was no escape anyway. For some reason that thought calmed her. It was very simple, just like cleaning an office: she had to do a certain amount of work before she could go home. No need to fret about it.

"What did I say?" Declan asked quietly.

"Not now." She raised her hand and let a string of white magic play on her fingers, taunting the beasts.

The hounds entered the water. They swam like dogs, but their heads remained underwater. Did they even need to breathe? she wondered.

Please work. Please work.

Please.

Midway through the lake, the foremost hound shuddered. It struggled for another six yards and sank. She breathed a sigh of relief. Two more drowned. The fourth one persevered and kept on, heading right for them. One in four. Better odds than she'd hoped for.

The surviving hound clenched the wooden support. Sluggish, it crawled up slowly. The moment its head rose above the edge of the dock, Rose blew it off with a sharp slice of white.

"Too much," he told her. "Reduce the intensity. We have a long way to go. Why are you mad?"

The rest of the hounds braved the water.

"Rose?"

She recognized the persistent tone. He wouldn't let it go. "You just said that the only women you favor with your attentions are either sluts or whores and that you prefer it that way. I'm just wondering where I fit in. I would hate to create any painful confusion for you."

His long blade cut through the air and sliced an emerging hound in half. He kicked the pieces into the water.

"You're neither."

She said nothing.

Declan squared his shoulders, eyeing the approaching hounds. "When I was a child, I watched an iren-play called Aesu's Rage. It's similar to a motion film from the Broken. It's the story of Aesu, a leader of a small tribe, who takes on an enormous empire and succeeds against all odds. I vividly remember one scene in it: Aesu, huge in his spiked armor, was about to go into a battle he couldn't possibly win. He stood there in his tent, caressed his wife's face, and told her, 'You're the measure of my wrath.' I was twelve years old, and at the time I thought it was a remarkably asinine thing to say."

A third hound reached the dock. An ugly head broke the water, and Rose flashed, cutting the dark skull in two.

"Over the years I'd come to understand what the scene meant, but now I finally feel it, very sharply." Declan decapitated the emerging hound with two quick precise strokes of his blade. "And I would never tell you this, if you hadn't insisted on coming on this dock, because that means you feel it, too. This used to be about honor, and duty, and my dislike of Casshorn. Now it's about you."

"Me?" She tried to concentrate on the next group of hounds swimming through the water.

"I would give all of myself to keep you safe. To do that, I have to kill Casshorn. It's a simple trade. Casshorn has to die, so you can live. Two sides of the same coin. I love you, and you're the measure of my wrath."

"What did you say?" She flashed too hard and missed the hound.

He stepped in and sank a focused shot of white into the three bodies squirming in the water. "I said I love you, Rose. Easy on the flash."

ROSE swayed. She gritted her teeth and stood her ground, fighting to remain upright. The magic inside her no longer thrived and filled her up. She had to reach deep to pull it out. She was draining the last of her reserve.

"Are you all right?" Declan's voice asked.

"Fine," she said.

Dark bodies bobbed in the murky waters around the dock, their silvery blood sliding across the surface of the lake like an oil rainbow. The silver wet the rubber under her feet, and she had already slipped once and barely caught herself.

They kept coming. Two, three at a time, a fraction of the horde unaffected by electrocution, swimming through the dark stream of cadavers and climbing on the dock, teeth bared, eyes glowing. Next to her, Declan swung his sword, mechanical, silent, and unstoppable. Like a machine.

Another hound. Flash.

Flash.

Flash.

Her heartbeat thudded like a hammer in her temples. One flash too many. Her vision began to blur. To push any further would be stupid. "I think I'm done," she said and pulled out the machete Buckwell had given her.

A hound crawled onto the dock, and she hacked at it. Gray goo sprayed the rubber.

"Will they never end?" she whispered. She was so tired.

Declan's hand caught her waist. He pulled her to him and kissed her, his lips warm and dry. "It's over. There are none left. They're pulling the cable out."

"We're done?" she asked.

"Yes."

The surface of the lake was gray with the hounds' blood. Bodies bobbed in the water. "You were right," she said softly. "I never could've killed them all by myself."

"What did you say?"

"I said you were right . . ."

He gave her a dazzling grin. "One more time, my lady?"

"You were right," she told him with a tired smile.

"I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing that. Unaccustomed to it as I am."

It took another fifteen minutes before Buckwell rowed up in his boat to take them ashore. She watched as several Edgers under Buckwell's direction dumped gasoline into the lake. When the first spark blossomed into orange flame above the water, she felt a great sense of satisfaction.

It lasted until Declan came to stand next to her. Her throat closed in. It was time for him to go after Casshorn, and there was nothing she could do to help him now.

She turned to him. Declan's face was cold like a block of ice. He had locked himself into a rigid stance. Behind him, William waited, a dark shadow. Now wasn't the time to break down and start crying. It was all or nothing. Either he came back and they had everything, or he would never return and they had nothing. She wanted desperately to run and throw her arms around him, but if she did that, letting go would be that much harder for both of them, and she sensed he was fighting for control.

Rose looked into Declan's green eyes. "I love you," she said. "Come back to me alive."

He nodded, turned without a word, and walked away, William in tow.

Something broke inside her. It hurt, and she just stood there, trying her best not to crumble.

"He isn't dead yet," Tom Buckwell's gruff voice said behind her.

Rose turned.

The big man was looking at her. "Wait until he's stopped breathing before you have a funeral."

She simply nodded.

"Well, don't stand there all night. There is cleanup to be done."

Cleanup sounded good. Any work sounded good right about now. Anything but waiting.

She followed him next to the shore. Jennifer Barran handed her a pole with a hook on the end. Rose reached into the water, hooked a charred carcass, and dragged it to shore. She hadn't realized how tired she was. Flashing had worn her out, and the hound's body might as well have been made of cement. She was on her third when Tom Buckwell dropped his hook next to her and swore. "What the devil . . . ?"

A man was running up the road toward them, his face so pale, it took Rose a moment to recognize him. Thad, sprinting so fast he had to be running for his life. She dropped her pole and ran toward him, a step behind Buckwell. The others joined.

Thad crashed into Buckwell, gulped air, and bent over gasping. "Hounds."

It couldn't be. They'd killed all the hounds.

"How many?" Buckwell asked.

"A shitload of them." Thad spat on the ground, blinking. "They've busted our trucks. We're cut off."

Only one road led out of East Laporte. With the vehicles gone, getting into the Broken would be nearly impossible. They were a full four miles from the boundary. Rose surveyed the people around her: six in all, including Buckwell and Thad.

"We go to Wood House," Buckwell said calmly. "Keep your machetes ready, and stay together."

They followed him, circling the lake to the right.

Two shapes tore out of the woods, running at full power. Declan and William, heading straight for them.

"Change of plans," Declan ground out when they neared. "Casshorn's outsmarted us. His reserves are coming up."

"We can't fight them in the open. Too many." William's eyes glowed amber.

"We need a defensible position," Declan said. "Do you have a jail?"

Buckwell stared at him like he was crazy.

"A town hall?" Declan asked.

"No," she shook her head.

"Gods, what do you have?" William growled.

"A church!" Rose said. "We have a church!"

William glanced at Declan, who shrugged. "I've seen it. It's not much, but it will have to do. Lead the way."

They dashed down the street past the tiny convenience store owned by Thad's uncle, past the meth heads' mansion, down to the hill, and into the church. They rammed the doors open and burst inside. George Farrel appeared from behind the pulpit, his shotgun at the ready. His gaze fixed on Declan. His eyes sparked with crazy light.

"Get ye from the house of God, defiler!" Farrel jerked his shotgun up.

William leaped past them and punched him off his feet. Farrel hit the floor and didn't rise.

"Bolt the door. Stack the pews at the sides!" Declan ordered. "We need a narrow path so they can only come to us a few at a time."

Rose grasped the nearest pew. At the other end, Leanne strained, and together they flipped it on to the next pew. In minutes the nine of them piled the benches in two heaps at the sides of the church, leaving a narrow strip of open space between themselves and the entrance.

A thud shook the door. Rose jerked. Leanne backed away, past her, to the pulpit and Buckwell. Declan and William took a step forward in unison. Declan had his two swords out. William held a knife.

"Rose, step back," Declan said.

She remained where she was, directly behind the two of them.

Another thud crashed against the door.

"You have no flash left," Declan said.

"I have more than they do," she said quietly.

He glanced over her to the six people at the pulpit gathered into a tight clump, and turned away.

The doors flew open with a sound of thunder. Beyond them a gory sunset splashed across the sky, yellow and red, the sun a molten coin of gold on the horizon. Hounds slunk into the church, moving one by one, hesitantly, slowly. A man in a dark robe followed them, nearly black against the setting sun, as if cut out of darkness. He advanced at an odd gait, bobbing up and down, as if unsure how to walk upright. The hood of his robe hid his face. He stopped in the doorway and spoke, his voice carrying with unnatural clarity through the building.

Casshorn surveyed the church. "Such a humble, quaint building, this house of the murdered god. I find it oddly fitting that our struggle comes to its end here. It is said that gods inhabit the churches built in their name. So once you have nourished me, I shall raze this structure to the ground, and from the ashes I shall forge the house of a new god. A house befitting me. For you see, I have come to know what I am. I have become a god." He craned his neck. "Perhaps I shall even hear his cries as he flees from the wreck of his house. After all, he is a god of pity and compassion. He should know how to mourn."

"You finally lost what pitiful grip you had on this reality, I see," Declan said, his voice dripping contempt. "You're not a god. You're a spoiled child, just as you always have been. You simply stopped all pretenses at adulthood."

"A child that had seen clear through your trap. It was a good plan for a small mind like yours, Declan. It had only one small flaw. For you see, they had sent a man to me, and before I dined on his magic and body, he told me everything I wanted to know and so much more. I knew their capabilities, and I anticipated their curse, and I had given them the means to cast it, delivered by you. The Universe is clear to me. It has unfurled like a flower before the brightness of my being. You've done well, but you cannot kill a god, Declan."

"We'll see," Declan said.

Casshorn turned to William. "My son. Have you finally chosen your side, then?"

"There was never any choice about it." William shook, snarling. Sweat broke out on his forehead. His eyes had gone deranged.

Casshorn's voice gained a kindly tone. "I will grant you this one boon, my son, for you are my only heir. Kill Declan, and I will let you run."

William grinned. His face set into a pale mask, his grin an ugly baring of teeth. He barely looked human. "I served seven years with him in the unit where you lasted a mere fifteen minutes. Had you managed to stay in instead of piss ing on yourself and running like a dog with your tail between your legs, you'd understand. If I owe anyone a crumb of loyalty, it would be him. Not you. It's good that you decided to be a god, because I'm about to go to a place that suffers none."

"Then it is decided." Casshorn raised his arms. "You have no priest to give you your last rites, but do not fear. For I give you your absolution and my communion. I forgive you your past sins, and I shall welcome you into my fold by partaking of your body and power."

"Get on with it," Declan said.

Casshorn tore off his cloak. His body was no longer human. His limbs were long and tightly muscled, his digits grotesquely large and clawed. His skin had become purple and yellow hide. Spikes thrust through his spine, rising in a crest above his hunched shoulders. His face had lost all humanity. His eyes glowed gray. A second pair of eye slits, narrow and shunted, shone on his cheeks. He opened his mouth and showed them a forest of bloodred fangs.

Behind Rose, someone retched.

Declan spun his sword in his hand.

Casshorn reared back and emitted a sharp hoarse screech.

Hounds streamed from behind him in twin currents.

With an inhuman snarl, William ripped into them. His face turned demonic. Bodies flew, and silver sprayed. They piled on him, and he cut them down faster than she could see. A psychotic high-strung sound full of mad joy rang through the carnage, and Rose realized William was laughing.

Tendrils of dark magic rose from Casshorn: black veined with polluting streaks of purple and yellow. He clawed at the air. The dark magic streamed to Declan. Declan's eyes turned white. A wave of flash erupted from him. The two crashed together: the brilliant white against the diseased purplish glow. Immense pressure slapped Rose, nearly taking her off her feet.

The church shuddered.

A support beam split behind Casshorn.

Cuts on Declan's face bled. She saw a line of red swell across his back.

Casshorn's face shook with strain. His magic gained a foot. And another. They were too evenly matched, and Declan was tired. If only she'd kept him from that dock . . .

Streaks of silver poured from Casshorn's eyes. He snarled. His magic gained another foot. If Declan's flash collapsed, all of them would be wiped out.

Rose stood, untouched, unhurt, in the middle of chaos, listening to the sounds of the church breaking around them and hounds dying under William's knife, and realized that she would have to watch Declan die. His death would begin the chain reaction. One by one everyone she knew would die as well, and the Edge itself would follow. She couldn't let it happen.

Rose gathered her power. She had to reach deep, very deep, and drag it out, as if pulling her heart out of her chest. She focused it all into a single point, condensing her magic so tight, she shook with the strain of trying to contain it.

The dark magic advanced. Blood dripped from Declan's leather.

She wished she could have said good-bye to the boys. She wished she had told them how much she loved them and not to worry and to listen to Grandma. She wished she and Declan had just a little more time.

Rose took a deep breath. It hurt so much she shut her eyes. Then she opened them and let her magic go. She held nothing back. Everything that she was, everything that made her alive, she gave all of it, so Declan and the boys would live. She would have given more, if she could have.

It tore from her in a blinding beam of light, straight as a needle. The beam pierced Declan's flash and the darkness beyond it. She saw Casshorn's face, a horrified mask, eyes wide open, mouth dropping downward in slack bewilderment and terror. She heard Declan scream.

The white beam sliced through Casshorn. The two halves of his horrible body stood still for a moment and then fell apart.

Blackness pounced on her and swallowed her whole.

DARKNESS.

Darkness all around, empty, blocking the world like a wall. If only she could break through it . . .

She didn't want to die. She flailed, willing her hands to rise and tear up the darkness, but her arms were missing and she could do nothing as the blackness dragged her off, deeper and deeper into its depths.

A bolt of lightning tore through the dark wall. For a moment she felt Declan's arms cradling her, she saw his eyes, heard his lips whispering over and over, "Don't leave me!"

The darkness pounced, and he vanished.

A dozen narrow streaks shattered the darkness, and she screamed, because she was clenched in his arms, and he was flashing again and again, siphoning his life into her, his magic a dozen white currents binding their bodies into one.

Tags: Ilona Andrews The Edge Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net