“Why d’you think they burn one kind and not the other?” Rook said. “Why aren’t magicians killed, too?”
This conversation was doing nothing for my nerves. Brushing the whole topic aside, I stood and walked around the rock, clutching my shawl. Rook joined me.
“I don’t want to worry about magic any longer,” I said, standing in the road. All around us was silence, except the wind sighing through the heather. Awful as Brimthorn was, one could never match Yorkshire for moments of grand solitude. Rook and I were alone, save for a traveler on horseback in the distance. “I want to think about the shop we’re going to open.”
“It’ll be in Manchester, or maybe Canterbury,” Rook said, going along with the old game. “We should open a bookshop, with all the books bound in old leather.”
“I think that’s the most glorious smell, a library of old books,” I said. Apart from Rook, my only good memories of Brimthorn consisted of hours reading in a favored window seat. Colegrind, bad as he was, had at least been generous with his personal library. One summer, I’d gone through Le Morte d’Arthur three times. My favorite moment had to be when Arthur pulled the sword from the stone, transforming from commoner to king in one instant.
Rook shook his head. “Granted, we can’t move to Canterbury. The Vulture Lady lives on the cathedral.” He was right. On-Tez, one of the Ancients, had ruled the city for the past three years. She was a large, hideous beast with the body of a filthy carrion bird and the head of an insane old woman. The name Vulture Lady suited her rather well.
“One day she’ll be gone, and we’ll sell books and anything else we want. Now, what shall we call our shop?” I asked. Rook didn’t respond. I nudged him. “Don’t say you can’t think of anything.” Rook moved away from me down the road, hands in his pockets. Surprised, I walked beside him. “What’s wrong?”
“The shop is a story we told ourselves when we were younger,” he said, looking at me. “You could have been a governess in a good house by now, with better food and pay. Why haven’t you tried for a position yet?”
Lord, not this argument again. “I’ll apply when I want to, but I don’t want to right now.”
“Why not?”
“Because I might set fire to the master’s drapes,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Besides, I can’t just…” I bit my tongue, but Rook caught on.
“Can’t what?” His jaw was set, his eyes hard.
“Leave you,” I said, wincing as I waited for his reaction.
He stopped us in the road. “Nettie, I don’t want you to ever keep yourself low because of me.”
“You’re being silly,” I snapped, wrapping my shawl tight around my shoulders. “I’m going home.” With that, I turned and walked off the road at a brisk pace, tramping across the moor. I waited to hear Rook’s footsteps, but he didn’t follow me. I stopped, exasperated. “Are you planning to live out here?”
Rook remained on the road. He faced the traveler on horseback, who was only about a half mile away now. Something about Rook’s stillness was unsettling. I hurried back to him.
“Are you all right? Do the scars still hurt?” I asked, gripping his shoulder. Instantly, he crumpled to the ground, groaning in pain. When I touched him, he shuddered. Panicking, I hooked my arm with his and tried once, twice to get him back on his feet. I pulled so hard I lost my balance and fell beside him in the dirt.
Had the paste I’d given him been bad? There was no response when I shook him.
“Rook?” I whispered. The sound of hooves brought up my head. The traveler had arrived. Relieved, I started to ask for help.
When I glimpsed what had found us, the words died in my mouth. Terror made me mute.
The traveler didn’t ride a horse at all. The creature was a black stag with thick, gnarled antlers and glowing red eyes. As it snorted, sparks flew from its snout. The stag opened its mouth in a hideous cry. Its teeth were jagged, designed for tearing flesh.
The rider wore a hooded, mistlike cloak that whispered about his body. He stank of the grave. Slowly, the hood peeled away from his face. I gasped and shrank back.
A young woman, not a man. She was scarce older than I. Her once-fair hair had thinned and gone nearly white, clinging to her scalp in filthy clumps. And her eyes—dear heaven, her eyes—had been sewn shut with a crude black thread. But even without sight, she appeared to know where I was. She stopped her stag right before us. Licking her lips with a thick, wolfish tongue, she leaned down toward me.
“Death,” she croaked, scenting the wind like an animal. “Death tonight.”
The air exploded with the sound of hooves.
Three more shrieking riders on black stags plummeted from the sky, landing in a circle around us. The monsters closed in, unsheathing black daggers. Rook sat up straight, mercifully coming back to his senses. He shoved me behind him, away from the creatures.
The eyeless girl leaned toward him from her stag, yellowed teeth bared in a grimace.
“The Shadow’s chosen,” she whispered to her brethren. “He is ours.”
The Shadow had to be Korozoth. These were Familiars, humans transformed into servants of the Seven Ancients.
Rook lifted his head so I could see his face. His eyes had gone pure black. When he opened his mouth to speak, all he emitted was a terrible screech. It was the sound a damned soul might make in the fires of hell. I covered my ears, shaking as I listened. When the shadowy Familiar reached to pull him onto her mount, my palms grew boiling hot.
I thrust my hands forward, and fire billowed out of me. The girl managed to pull away before I could scorch her. She growled and reached for Rook again.
“Don’t touch him!” I cried. Panic set me in full, furious motion. They would not have us. Screaming, I thrust my hands out, blasting again and again. This time I caught one of the other riders as it tried to rise into the air. The rider and stag fell to the ground, hissing and screeching as they burned. Their screams died with them, and charred bits of the monsters floated away on the wind.
It was like opening a cage in my chest to free some wild creature. The power rushed out of me. The harder I pushed, the more it gave. I closed my eyes in one moment of pure joy.
I was so blissful that I forgot to protect my back. A Familiar gripped me by my hair. Rook grabbed my waist and tore me out of the creature’s grip. I grunted in pain as Rook shielded me with his body, his arms raised to the sky. The eyeless girl hovered there like a phantom, snarling, with her long dagger poised to strike.
“We have to go.” Rook pulled me to my feet.
We ran, and the monsters gave chase. They raced through the air, cackling as they spurred on their mounts in the hunt. When I felt them get too close, I risked a glance back and launched a volley of fire behind me. The flames did not come as quickly as before; sometimes there were only sparks. I’d used too much. My breath sounded ragged, and I tripped on my skirt. All we needed was to make it to Brimthorn. The men in the stables would be enough to hold the monsters while we got the children to safety.
We were almost there. One last hill and we’d be within sight of the school, but the riders were at our heels. As we neared the top, Rook lost his footing and slammed down, taking me with him. I howled as my shoulder caught the ground and pain knifed through me. When I rolled onto my back and summoned the fire, there was nothing.
I tried once, twice, but my hands were numb. I couldn’t even draw breath for a scream as the Familiars leaped out of the sky, daggers prepared for a killing blow.
A cold wind blasted out of the west, scattering the riders. Master Agrippa stood at the crest of the hill, cape billowing in the breeze, his sorcerer’s stave held out before him. He jerked his head, ordering us to move.
“You came back! How did you know?” I gasped as we staggered up the hill. I wanted to fall at his feet in relief.