Page 12 of Howling Eve

“You have the look of a male who has his tail caught in a trap,” a deep voice rumbled, drawing Raskyuil’s attention to the male who had suddenly fallen in at his side. The orc, Barok, grinned, his claws scraping back a lock of dark hair that had escaped from the messy braid hanging down his back. He gave the air a curious sniff. “You scent of a mating hunger, Raskyuil. I know this look. Who has ensnared you, troll?”

Raskyuil glowered at the male, not the least bit interested in sharing his confidence with the orc. As clannish as orcs were, they were also terrible at keeping anything to themselves, he discovered. Each member of the clan knew the business of everyone else. It explained how many orcs were known for making their trade in secrets and collecting bounties on the things that they’d learned.

With all the goblins in the camp, he had no doubt that more than one spied for the clan amid the caravan. Between goblins spying in every corner and the fairy roads, he would be grateful to part ways with the carnival once he was able to be on his way. He was not bound to the carnival, and he wouldn’t play any of the games its fae wished to play.

He certainly didn’t feel obliged to share anything that he was not required to. It was bad enough that some part of him was wound within it due to his presence among them whether he liked it or not, drawing from his power. The energy of the carnival was like a dark gathering of power threaded and knotted together in complex ways that tightened and wove new patterns. Knots of magic were created with every performance of the fae who were tied and anchored to the carnival, and the raw energy gathered of their audience’s laughter, fear, hope, and dreams refined and spun.

It was part of the threads of power of the carnival and condensed and refashioned to be smelted into fairy coins by the powerful elven magic. Coins that could be rendered once more into raw magic with a simple word. Their weight in his pouch was a reminder of his own thread of power knotted into the caravan’s and its creeping shadow across the winding paths of the forest.

His hand clenched at his side, but he bit back his unsettled feeling as he glanced sharply over at the male. “I don’t see what business it is of yours, orc. Better to just keep your wits trained on the fairy roads so that you don’t chance getting lost upon it.”

To his surprise, Barok nodded in agreement as his pale eyes shifted and skimmed their surroundings. “It’s unsettling, I agree. Elwyn cannot keep us on the fairy roads for long before he tires, but it is a cursed environment that makes my skin crawl.” The wind moaned then with a soft, whispering hiss that made the orc’s nose wrinkle with distaste. His gaze returned to Raskyuil and sharpened. “We depend on each other to keep our wits about us in this mess. Conversation is our bond.”

Raskyuil gave him a look of utter disbelief, but the orc grinned, his guileless expression warping in the ever-shifting shadows of the fairy road. Raskyuil shook his head.

“It is nothing,” he grumbled. “We didn’t even speak. It was just a passing moment and then gone. Nothing to get my tail twisted about.”

Barok grunted, his eyes skimming the forest. “If that is the case, be forewarned: don’t look back too often. Elwyn doesn’t like the distraction if you are instinctively always hunting for her.” His eyes shot up suddenly, and he shouted in alarm as a tree’s limbs curled in unexpectedly, forcing them all to duck as it glided along the roof of the wagon before snapping close behind them. His lips peeled back from his teeth as he snarled at the closed road before regarding Raskyuil grimly. “And divided attention can get you killed here. I wouldn’t even say that’s the worst that it could do,” he muttered. “The magic of the fairy road can have strange impact on the world. You never know what sort of effect your thoughts of this female can have among the shadows here.”

Raskyuil’s eyes narrowed, uncertain of how exactly to take the warning. He did not get an opportunity to get more answers from the male, however, because the wind blasted with a sharp gust, and he was forced to raise an arm to protect his face from the leaves. The trees around him groaned threateningly, and then there was an explosive crack as everything twisted around them and the shadows unfurled like a massive murder of crows, blocking out all light. He lowered his head and gritted his teeth against the storm of the shift.

The soundless vortex surrounded them, muting all sounds of life. It lasted for an eternity and only for a heartbeat. Sound flooded back in with a gentle breeze and the call of songbirds, and the sunlight that had been absent on the fairy roads warmed his flesh. Raskyuil lowered his arm and blinked, his eyes watering from the sting of the shift. Barok grunted and brushed the leaves from his shoulders.

A shout rose from the wagon at the front and the orc smirked as Nathiel leaped down cheerfully from the wagon a short distance ahead of theirs. He waved before disappearing around its front end as he reached for the reins of the mares.

Barok stretched his arms above his head and laughed grimly. “Looks like Elwyn is ready to make camp. About time. It was insane to leave so early. The confrontation with the human aside, we would have gotten a few more performances and plenty of time to rest and hunt before we needed to move on. I guess he was more afraid of a potential violent reaction from the humans than he let on.” He shook his head in disgust. “Elves always seem to think they are better than us, but they crack the quickest when it comes to the uglier things that they cannot control.”

He slapped Raskyuil’s shoulder and then shook his hand with a pained chuckle when he came close to breaking it on the natural armor of Raskyuil’s skin. “Come on. Might as well set up camp and hope for better fortune this time. The longer I can avoid going back out on the fairy road, the better. If we are lucky, we may be near a fae settlement this time. It would be nice to get out to grab a drink that’s a little stronger.”

Raskyuil grunted in agreement and turned to follow the orc, a sliver of unease sliding through him. Just the remnants of the fairy road’s power—he was certain. But it wasn’t enough to silence Barok’s words of warning. They continued to prey on his mind as he set to work amid the creepy cheer of the fae unburdening the wagons.

He would get the female out of his mind and focus on what needed to be done so he could get his motorcycle repaired and get as far from the carnival as possible. The entire carnival, he suspected, was mad—and none more than Ringmaster Elwyn himself.

ChapterNine

MaryAnne squinted against the sun as she steered the old truck along the road. She was lucky to have found anything at all with some gas in it. It had taken her two days of walking before she came across it. It certainly made it a lot easier to follow the strange compulsion that she felt whenever she focused on the carnival, and with it unbidden memories of the giant male she caught glimpses of in passing. During those moments, there were times where she thought she saw a faint etheric trail leading her in the same direction as that strange pull she was experiencing.

She didn’t understand it and didn’t altogether trust it, but whatever it was, she was certain that she was picking up on some sort of magical trail left by the carnival. This feeling was confirmed when she came across the cold, banked firepits that marked where the carnival had stopped to rest for a night. There was still no sign of the children, but at least she knew that she was heading the right way to begin to find the answers that she sought.

But she also knew that she was trailing far behind them. Being forced to go on foot for a long distance had given the carnival caravan a huge lead on her, one that she wasn’t sure how much the truck made up for now that she had it. Did fairy horses get tired? How fast did they move? These were annoying questions that haunted her as she pushed herself to keep driving from early in the morning until late at night, only stopping to refill her canteen or to raid the abandoned gas stations she came across for any supplies they might have.

MaryAnne grimaced as she bit into what had to be a hundred-year-old Twinkie from the taste of it. It was stale and the marshmallow cream filling had gone somewhat rubbery, but the sugar boost was nice. She had lucked out with the last gas station. But there was always a chance of finding something at the out of the way ones far from the cities and towns that hadn’t been thoroughly picked over yet. She had even managed to find a Coke. The soda was warm, but she tipped it back, enjoying the fizz as she washed down the bite of Twinkie and squinted against the rays of the sun magnified through the truck’s windshield.

“Damn thing was probably old even before the Ravening,” she muttered to herself as she fought with the gearshift. That went for the Twinkie and truck both, as well as the ancient gearshift that didn’t want to move, but at that moment her annoyance was mostly directed at the truck as its lack of any sort of UV tinting on the windows.

The sunlight was fucking blinding.

The truck suddenly groaned and shuddered, and MaryAnne cursed under her breath as it further resisted her attempts to shift gears. Thank fuck she had her learner’s permit and that her parents taught her to drive a stick before the world went to hell in a handbasket. She grimaced as the transmission stuck as she clumsily finally managed to switch gears. Well, she had learned the basics anyway. Enough that she was able to keep moving at a rapid pace, the trees, and the overgrown and half-toppled signs blowing by her as she sped down the road.

A voice rumbled, thick with need within her mind almost as if someone’s lips were pressed behind her ear. It was back. Why wouldn’t it leave her in peace? It had begun gradually as faint whispers when she focused on the memory of the enormous green male who’d attracted her attention. But it was returning more frequently and growing stronger as if feeding on some sort of connection that it was trying to form with her. Unnerved, she thrust it from the center of her awareness, blinking rapidly as she attempted to focus solely on her surroundings and nothing else.

Not that there was anything but miles upon miles of forest around her. Some of what she was seeing didn’t even match up with the maps. There were peaks where there shouldn’t be any, entire towns missing, the offramps disappearing into wilderness. It was crazy. Had things changed that much since the Ravening? And how?

And where the fuck was she anyway?

MaryAnne dared a glance at the tattered road atlas that she’d found in the truck and frowned. The pages were so grimy and faded with age she couldn’t make out anything. Virginia, maybe? She had been heading northeast for days now, and the state lines had ceased holding any meaning to her since the Ravening.

Muttering quietly to herself, she pulled out the last Twinkie from the box and cursed when it fumbled from her fingers, dropping into the seat amid all the random odds and ends that the truck’s previous owner had left there. MaryAnne rummaged among the items, feeling around for the damn twinkie when her hands closed around something slim and plastic. Eyebrows raised, she lifted it and held it in front of her face, her eyes darting from the road briefly to read the words printed in fading ink.

---