Page 23 of Crown of Tides and Fury

Wickham hit the gas.

The woman wailed. The man pulled her into his arms, then gave Kitch a nod. “Thank ye.”

“Dinnae thank us yet.”

Wickham only honked a few times down the next block. The repetition of bodies on the ground made it clear the beasts had done a thorough job of it. At the corner house, a pair of tall ones came out the door, each with a youth in its grasp. Twins. But instead of killing them, they opened up one of those portals and popped out of sight.

They were keeping the witches.

The realization was almost a relief…if it wasn’t for the sure knowledge that those twins would be executed as soon as Orion learned they didn’t have the powers he sought. Perhaps it might have been kinder if Kitch had used his side arm to save those two from that horror…

In the next block, Wickham slowed down and shouted out the window. “This is the last pass. Then we have to go!” He laid on the horn, announcing to man and beast alike, that we were there, that there was hope. But no one came for it.

House after house. Car after abandoned car. There was no sign of life. When Wickham let up on the horn, no birds sang, no one screamed. As the truck neared the end of the street, Wickham slowed.

Kitch prayed silently, then shouted, “Come on, ye fools! Last chance!”

Still nothing.

The truck turned toward Main street.

A shot rang out. Not far. Wickham whipped the truck around and started back. A block to the east, someone ran into the street and waved a rifle over his head. A young man. He shouted and jumped for joy when he realized he’d been seen. Then he fell.

In the distance, a tall creature stepped into the street. No reason to hide himself in an enchanted town, in a place where no witnesses would be left alive…

The kid got to his feet, checked behind him, then ran flat out. He dug in his pocket, tried to reload his weapon without stopping. Both bairns began to wail.

It was going to be close. A hundred meters to the kid. Fifty more between him and the monster, and the monster was closing fast.

A bloodsucker jumped into the road just ahead, its mouth wide, its fangs leading as it threw itself into the front tire. The tire exploded, as did the creature, but the damage was done.

Wickham hit the brakes. When the truck careened to a stop, so did the kid. Hope spilled at his feet along with his ammunition. He slid a cartridge into the gun, then turned to meet his fate head on.

Kitch understood what would happen next. He jumped out of the truck bed, pulled open the driver’s door, and slid his butt into the empty seat Wickham had just vacated. “Dinnae fash,” he told the young mother. “We’ll be out of here in a wink.” She was out of her mind with fear—from the proximity of the monster or from seeing Wickham disappear into thin air, or both—but she kept quiet for the sake of her bairns.

Through the windshield, Kitch watched his boss take the teenager’s arm and both of them popped out. In the next breath, the two stood behind the truck, climbed onto the bumper, and jumped over the side.

Fifty meters and closing, the single monster came, his long legs eating up the distance like a horse at a gallop. Two others joined him from the left side of the street, all three grinning at sure victory.

Kitch grabbed the door with one hand, the woman with his other, and shouted, “Go!” Then he smiled and hoped the beasts saw the white of his teeth…before the party of castaways disappeared.

9

Honey, I’m Home

While we’d been stalking lighthouses, Everly had redecorated the vast living room. The previously gold walls were now pale blue. I loved it immediately, and it had become my favorite place to hide from the rest of the household, tucked back into a corner with a clear view of the foyer, just in case.

The new color pallet was similar enough to the Edinburgh house that it felt like home. Three couches, one beige, two navy. I could smell the richness of the tufted leather, wanted to run my hands over the fat rolled arms and backs. The chairs were tufted too but had straight frames and sloped square arms which were much more contemporary. The finishing touches—paintings, floral rugs, sculptures, and knickknacks—covered a century of styles and made the room itself look timeless.

Twice the size of the Edinburgh living room, it had two fireplaces, one in the front wall and one at the back. In the olden days, it would have taken both fires to warm the space.

I knew something was wrong when Jez, the Muirsglen witch, hurried down the staircase in the grand foyer at Hope House. I’d been sitting in my favorite corner, skimming through a disturbing little book about Irish Mythology and praying none of it was true. So I was relieved for the distraction—until I saw who it was.

Kitch and Wickham had left for one more trip to Muirsglen, and for all we knew, they’d leave from there to go into the past to get some answers out of the Grandfather. So my first thought was that the men had gone into the past and been stuck there, that they’d left Jez with instructions to contact us if they didn’t return.

But that wouldn’t explain why she’d come from upstairs—and most likely, from popping into Engineering II.

I met her at the bottom step. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

---