Page 110 of Cry of the Firebird

"You will not enter," he said, his steady voice carrying over the noise of the thrashing creatures on the other side of thebarrier. "I am the Keeper of the Gates, and you won't pass into this world."

There was a terrible screeching sound as a deranged horned beast burst through. Its face was faintly humanoid but covered in fur, sleek with sweat, its long horns smeared with blood.

Anya cried out as it charged at Ilya like a berserker. Ilya lifted his hand slowly, and the creature soared off the ground. Ilya made a simple twisting motion, and the beast started to choke and struggle. He dropped his hand again, and the body fell to the ground.

Ilya drew out a strong steel knife with a golden pine handle carved like a snarling bear. With quick movements, he made two shallow cuts on both of his forearms. He started to sing, but Anya couldn't make out the words. Ilya threw the bloody knife, and it landed on the earth where the two worlds touched. The ground trembled underneath Anya's feet, and she watched with a mixture of awe and terror as Ilya's left hand came down over the cut on his right arm and scooped the flowing blood into his palm.

Crouching down, Ilya drew a line in the dirt. Slowly, he poured the blood that had pooled in his hand into the line. Sweat had begun to bead on his forehead as he worked. His words never stopped, but try as she might, Anya couldn't make them out.

Ilya repeated the process with his opposite hand before getting once more to his feet. She could feel his exhaustion in every movement.

After scooping blood into both of his hands, he flung it out into the air. As soon as the crimson drops touched the barrier, the creatures straining against it were flung back with an almighty force. They flew through the air, hitting trees and earth. The remaining creatures turned and fled.

This is how he used to close the gates,Anya realized in surprise and excitement. Maybe she could close them the same way.

Ilya's fine features had turned ashen as he took a few strips of cloth from his pocket, tied them around his cuts, and retrieved his knife.

"Ilya…" Anya whispered.

He stopped suddenly and looked around as if he had heard her. She reached out, and as soon as she touched him, he slipped away, and she fell into another dream.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

On the other side of the mansion, Isabelle was down on the floor, doing yoga stretches to try to clear her mind and relax her muscles. She was edgy about being so caught up in the plots of the Darkness, even though she had agreed to stay with them. It wouldn't take their counterpart, the Illumination, long to get involved either. All of her instincts told her to run, that this wasn't her fight.

If they go to war, it's going to be everyone's fight.

"Even you can't run forever," Isabelle murmured, her fingers flicking over her rosary beads.

As soon as they had retrieved Anya and Trajan, Isabelle had emailed a contact in New Orleans to see if she had any information on the Nehemoth.

If anyone could find anything about them, it was Harley and her friend Fox. Isabelle had been checking her email every hour and still had heard nothing. She had never encountered one before and didn't know how to ward the house against it.

Isabelle glanced through the thick curtains, worried that the Darkness would try to engage in a full assault on the mansion to get Anya back and the firebird too. A golden flicker in the garden caught her eye as a dingo prowled through the plants. Hamishwas out patrolling the borders and alone for once. She had to talk to him and get their frustrations out without an audience. Maybe then she would be able to get some sleep.

Isabelle grabbed one of her guns, hurried out of the room, and through the back kitchen door. The smell of ice and diesel fumes hung heavily in the night air. Hamish was moving steadily along the fence line and coming towards her, and she fought the urge to run again. He was the one person that seemed to rob her of all her courage.

Hamish sat down in front of her, a droopy, doggy smile on his face. She crouched down beside him and fought the urge to pat him.

"Can we talk?" she asked.

In response, Hamish walked over to her, lifted his leg, peed, and trotted off. Isabelle stared at the wet staining the front of her chest and pants. She stood, biting back a scream and turning slowly back towards the house. Hamish was clearly not ready to talk just yet. She felt stupid for even wanting to try.

Cursing and muttering, Isabelle stood on the back step and peeled off her soiled clothes.Mr. Hudson, you just declared war.She promised retribution as she bent down to pick up her ruined pajamas.

"You've put on some weight since I last saw you from this angle." Hamish was buttoning a pair of jeans, his head tilted to one side as he inspected her. Isabelle bundled her clothes and threw them at him. They hit him in the chest with a satisfying splat.

"Go screw yourself, Hamish," she said bitterly.

His eyes still looked a little feral after the change, and her trigger finger twitched. She took a step backward and opened the door to the kitchen.

"Isabelle—" He had that soft, confused tone, which was so rare for him. She wasn't going to let that work on her. He hadn't even attempted to talk to her since the night Anya was taken.

Isabelle whipped around angrily. "What? You want to make another jibe about my weight like a fucking asshole?"

Hamish hesitated a moment before asking, "Do people still say jibe?"

"If that's all you have to say to me after all these years, you're a bigger idiot than I thought." His expression darkened as he advanced on her.

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