You Who I Called Brother

Capitol of the Southern Territories

Florida

Spring (by Florida standards)

Conrad was almost as hesitant as the doctor when it came to unloading from the RV to check into their hotel—hotel being a generous term for the repurposed lawyers' office in the middle of downtown Tallahassee. There had to be better places to host visiting dignitaries than a glass building with no air conditioning, but wherever it was the local committees didn't appear to be interested in locating it.

Not that they were actually dignitaries, properly speaking. Actually Worth wasn't completely sure what a dignitary was, properly speaking. Maybe you had to be foreign. Maybe you had to have a private jet.

"I hear ya," Worth said, giving the six story building a withering glare. "I ain't lookin' forward ter another stay in the office either."

"I'm not worried about the hotel," Conrad replied, worrying a lip. A faint black stain was starting on the faded pink skin. Bit early in the evening for that.

"Well y'oughta be," Worth grunted, picking up his bag. Taking things off the RV was a pain in the ass. He'd be just as happy sleeping in the camper as sleeping in a third story corner office, but then again, he had a bed in the camper.

He glanced over at Hanna, who was looking smug about something in a crumpled-up letter and poking his undead buddy in the hollow ribcage. Worth frowned. Not that it was anybody other than Hanna's fault, but the fact remained that Hanna still didn't have a real bed to sleep on most nights. Hard to begrudge him a night in a hotel here and there after spending a couple minutes contemplating the RV bench.

"It's just," Conrad carried on, nervously, "after what happened at Christmas—"

Worth tensed up, shoulders locking in a protective hunch. That fiasco.

"Don't even bring it up," Worth muttered, making a quick abortive motion with his free hand. "The little fucker's like a bloody fey, I think he kin hear us talkin' about him."

Conrad pursed his lips. "Do I detect a hint of superstition about your highly educated person, Doctor?"

Worth tossed Conrad's bag at its owner, hard enough to get him a displeased "oof".

"Ain't superstition if it's empirically verifiable."

"Alright then. Verify it empirically."

Worth had a sudden, terrible flash of alarmed instinct. He looked up. He turned around.

"How that fer proof," he growled, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

In the second it took Conrad to peer over his shoulder, the expression on his pale face evolved from dawning terror to blind, dilated hostility. His round fingertips lengthened and shone.

"Hello John," he said, in a tone that any animal would recognize as cold blooded warning. His red irises flickered.

"Jezebel," John replied, warily. "Tempted any souls lately?"

Worth dropped down and busied himself with fumbling through the baggage. Now was not the time or the place to thrash teenagers within an inch of their lives, and if he could just stay out of it he might manage not to break anything vital tonight. The week was young.

"John," Conrad snarled, "I have had it up to about here with your shitty attitude—"

"My attitude!"

"After what you did to me at Christmas I can't believe you'd—"

"I was trying to do you a favor—"

"Some fucking nerve you little brat—"

"Hold your tongue you painted whore!"

Well there went the week. Worth swung up to his feet and whirled. "Alright you little shit, listen—"

John stared at him. John stared, so pale now that a stranger might have mistaken the three of them for a single bloodless family unit. Worth forgot what he had been about to say.

John stared. And stared. And then he promptly threw the bag he'd been carrying onto the concrete where it burst open like an overripe watermelon.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" he howled, hands making strained clawing shapes in front of his chest.

Worth blinked. Worth blinked, then reached into his pocket and dug out a cigarette, which he slid between his teeth and lit with a neat little snap. Right, the fangs.

"Surprise," he said, with a mean kind of grin.

John turned around and left, and they didn't see him again until the day they left town, where he was found wandering dazedly on the edges of town, muttering about providence.

 

 

For a number of hours, I could not find Hanna anywhere.

In the city's library, the crudely constructed shelf in the very back had been left in a state of sullen disarray, leather-bound and stitch-bound spines bent haphazardly over the ground. In Greased Lightning, the floor panels were pulled up to expose catches of morally-dubious literature. There was still water floating uneasily in the sink, glowing faintly. In the waterlogged construction sites, there were no footprints dug into the ground with tiny alien faces pressed by whimsically shaped rubber soles.

Conrad had no better luck, for all that his nervous energy made him move faster than I could have. The good doctor was no help. He contented himself with brooding raucously in the tavern, picking fights and generally making a nuisance of himself in the company of his sister, who was only somewhat better behaved. Worth had always taken a stubborn sort of tough love approach to Hanna's tenderheartedness, as if he could callous up a person's heart by pointedly refusing to sympathize with them. So while his carousing that night was something of a grimace couched in a grin, at least I could understand. His sister, on the other hand... I still do not fully understand her actions that night.

Regardless, I carried on my search.

When I found Hanna, he was seated by himself at the edge of the natural waterline. His feet were hanging over the edge, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. A trail of smoke drifted from one hand, indicating he was holding a cigarette - mostly likely long forgotten. I watched him, thin shoulders moving steadily as he breathed, dragonflies buzzing around his head.

No one was around that I could see. It was simply Hanna and what remained of the water, and I.

"Hanna," I said, "please be careful with the cigarette."

He cringed into himself, a movement similar to his protestations when I would turn on a light and remind him he had a shift at Target that morning. Without a blanket or pillow, he could not hide from me, and he lifted his head with a smile.

"Hey, sorry. Precious resources, shouldn't be wasteful, totally dig it." Hanna took breath through the cigarette then, eyes clouding as he hid somewhere within his own mind.

I stood beside him. The water had receded enough that even at the natural edge, there were still several feet of dry earth separating us from the lake. "You are upset." I said.

Another breath of smoke slipped between his lips before he replied. "Yeah."

"This was not your choice," I reminded him, "this was a choice that was made willingly."

"It's still bullshit."

"It may be, but they have made the choice for bullshit."

I had hoped he would laugh at that. I seldom used vulgar language, and it often met with amusement from my charge. Instead, he used the heels of his shoes to scratch up dust from the withered earth below us. "I just..." he began, spitting out words like the sooty backfire of a long neglected car.

"You want to find another way."

"Yeah. I mean. There's always another way, right?" Hanna looked up at me, as if I had the answers.

I did not. There was a twinging of something behind my breastbone as I saw the hurt on his face - hurt, pain, things I had taken it upon myself to prevent. I had failed him. But perhaps there was a way to ease some of his other pains. "Hanna, if I may, I would like to sit vigil with the Vodnik volunteer."

He blinked, cigarette drooping dangerously from the corner of his mouth. "Huhwha?"

Hands clasped behind my back, I inclined my head. "I would like to do this."

"I...guess okay? You totally can, I don't mean that—y'know, that you can't or aren't allowed or anything like that, and you would totally make a super boss hang out buddy, I can attest to that amen holy trinity with halos on top but...I guess I'm just surprised." As the cigarette predictably fell from his mouth, I picked it up from his lap before it could singe through his clothing, placing it back to his lips. "Whoops, sorry. Thanks."

I inclined my head again. "I believe that counts as a glowing endorsement. Please rest and gather your strength for later. I will sit with the Vodnik in your stead."

He bit the end of the cigarette between his teeth as he smiled, the motion deepening the lines etched across his face. Few people noticed them, how they had elongated over the years. Even I often forgot about them. But, I often forgot many things.

Hanna had mentioned a movie once, about a detective searching for clues about his wife. He would write notes and get tattoos to remind him of what had transpired. I had said it was a nice idea, but I doubted we had enough post-its and day planners to get me by. He had laughed then. I had smiled at him, though I did not understand the humor he saw in my statement.

Would he laugh, I wondered, if I found a way to tattoo one of his paper cranes into my skin? It might be nice to have a mark among all the stitches and restitches which I picked out for myself.

-A-

In the latest hours of the evening, after Hanna had fallen resentfully into a restless kind of sleep, I ventured back out into the town to think. I had long had this habit of wandering while Hanna slept, although when I began it there was only the blocks around our apartment to explore. Golgotha had a faint sort of beauty to it, although it was unseasonably brown and probably had been equally ramshackle before as after the collapse of society. In the apple orchard, a few stubborn blossoms were attempting to swell.

Doc Worth had allowed himself to be subdued somewhat by Conrad, who was now looking for something to occupy himself with and had apparently decided that his friend's antics were within his jurisdiction. I think perhaps the doctor was grateful for the excuse to relent. His sister lingered in the tavern, although her companion and the child (whose child she was, I still wondered) had retired to the town's inn hours before.

"Find Cross?" Olivia asked me, over the lip of the drink she had been nursing. There was a certain amount of irony in the ease with which you could get a hold of alcohol in this town, and the difficulty with which water was coming lately. "He alright?"

"Yes," I answered. "He is as alright as he can be, considering the situation."

Olivia frowned faintly and took another sip. "Don't see what he's so riled up about. He's a mage or whatever, right? He does stuff like this all the time. So some hillbilly kicks it, what's he care?"

I felt the edges of my lips turn down. "You heard him when he was speaking earlier, Ms. Worth. This is not magic any magician takes on lightly. It is very old, and very unusual."

"So, what, he's worried he's gonna have his magician card revoked?"

"That's not how it works. Hanna is..." I paused, uncertain of how to explain this to an outsider. While I at one time had come into Hanna's life a stranger, he had seemed almost immediately familiar to me, like an old friend whose habits I had only needed to remind myself of. "Hanna is a man who cares very deeply about everything. It's in his nature to take responsibility for other people's lives. If some hillbilly kicks it, as you say, and Hanna is in a one hundred mile radius of the event, he'll be convinced that it's somehow his fault. I have seen him offer amnesty to villains and second chances to traitors."

Olivia's lip curled unpleasantly, and her whole thin face became much less the striking handsome beauty it had been. "Guess the kid knows the value of a debt, huh?"

I paused for a moment, uncertain that I had heard correctly. But the curl of Olivia Worth's lip said more, even, than the dismissive sizzle of her words. "You misunderstand me," I ventured, somewhat at a loss.

"Oh no, I hear what you're saying," she replied. "I'm just not biting. Ya wanna sell me on a guy with that kind of clout handing out free favors? Peddle the antiques road show somewhere else, I've been round this block before. The things they told me- the things I heard about him, I mean, what he's done... well. How many people died in Florida, anyhow? His conscience sure didn't pull any punches there."

"...Ms. Worth," I said, after a moment, "I do not anger easily by any means, but if you won't stop that right now, we will all find out exactly what I am like when angered."

Brief, inflamed silence filled our corner of the tavern for a long time. Olivia's hand tightened on her glass, but her expression was muted, and appraising.

"I don't reckon anybody wants to see that," she said at last, and took a drink of her whiskey. It seemed- as far as I could guess- like a sort of apology. "Glad he's alright, anyway."

"Thank you. I didn't expect you to take an interest, honestly."

Olivia shrugged. "He's my ride, more or less," she admitted. "And if I want that horse-fucker's head on a platter, I'm gonna need that firepower, right?"

"Is that what we're here to do?" I asked. "That wasn't quite how you pitched it earlier."

The shift away from me was subtle, but not as subtle as she would have liked to think. There were a great many things about Olivia Worth that I did not understand, then, but one thing was becoming slowly more clear.

"I think," I said, after some consideration, "that out of all the people embarking on this journey, you've misjudged who is most ruthless among us. You might try to keep in mind that we're all helping you for no actual benefit to ourselves, if you can conceive of giving people like myself that much credit."

Olivia squinted at me, and I am fairly certain it wasn't the liquor that caused it "Are you calling me a racist?"

"No," I replied, "though I might have likened you to one."

-A-

As the sun drifted above the green wall of distant forest, I sat with the Vodnik, whom I came to know as Bohumir. We were settled into in a tent that had been pitched on a downward slant. I sat in a chair and Bohumir sat on a stool within a large metal tub. It is inelegant to say, but as the day's sun beat down upon him and he stayed out of the water, he would slowly dissipate, leaking his vital fluids. They would be instrumental in the magic that was to be worked later.

I found him pleasant, and we spoke at length regarding what memories I still retained. I told him of our travels, of the paths we had wandered, the roads that had led us to his home. He listened as sweat trickled from his forehead and his face gradually began to dry. His hair was like seaweed, and as time passed, the vibrant greens and blues faded, turning brown, and eventually to dust. I found it interesting that the clothing he wore dried out so quickly despite his moist body, and, I am somewhat ashamed to admit, as he dried, I became more comfortable in his presence.

I learned from Bohumir during our hours together, that Vodnici in general aren't particularly interested in the fiction of mankind. They don't write their own fiction either - no great Vodnici novels exist in the world, which is not entirely because an amphibious lifestyle lends itself poorly to the collection of books. Their interests lie, instead, in what is true, and what is believed.

When I finished my tale the sun was high overhead and the Vodnik was panting slightly. I found myself at a loss.

"Can I do something for you?"

"No, no, you have done much already in your time with me," he replied with an old smile.

"I have done nothing," I stated.

"You keep me company, you tell me stories. You give me your time."

I thought, then, to blink. "I have much time."

"I thought the same until last night," he said, and though he laughed, it did not sound joyous. "The gift of time is one of the greatest that we have, for it is limited to us all."

I did not fully understand what he meant, but I nodded, nonetheless. "Can I give you anything other than my time?"

He breathed, long and deep, joints creaking as he slumped slightly forward. "I would like more stories."

"I am afraid I have no more."

"What of your friends?"

"Hanna is preparing for the rites tonight, and, I hope, resting. Worth and Conrad, being vampiric, are both asleep." I inclined my head. "I can fetch Conrad or Worth upon sunset, if you desire."

"You said...there were others, didn't you?"

I gave pause to consider before agreeing.

"I think," he said with another parched smile, "that I would like to meet the sister of your doctor."

"I will ask." I stood then, and slipped out the front of the tent. Two additional guards were seated just outside, and jumped to their feet with alarm when they saw me.

"Is he-"

I held a hand up. "He remains committed to his cause. He would like another to sit with him."

They looked at each other, squinting in the glare of the sun. "I guess...that's reasonable," one said. "I take it you want one of us to fetch them."

"Yes. The tall, blonde woman who arrived with us. He would like to speak with her. Please let her know that she has been requested."

"Where is she?"

I looked to the sky, at the yellow spot, mercilessly searing away at the land and the people and the creatures below. While I understood that the sun was a star, was merely doing that which it was designed to do by providing heat and light to the planet, I felt some irrational anger with it. The rays had led to much suffering, and a new set of deaths that Hanna would carry the weight of upon his back.

I realized that I had not replied when one of the guards cleared their throat, and my gaze shifted back down to the two of them. I had some difficulty recalling why they were there, why I was there. Hanna had said that happened to him sometimes. He would get up to fetch something and forget what he was getting. Returning to his original place - the couch, the kitchen, sometimes walking through the front door - would trigger his memory. I turned to look around myself for my own memory trigger, and saw the opening to the tent.

Ah. Yes. I was with the Vodnik. He had asked for Olivia. They would need to find her.

"Are there places with alcohol in the area?" I queried. "If so, that is where she is likely to be."

Again I sat with Bohumir. Time passed. The sun burned. Olivia entered the tent.

She moved with a stiff-limbed resolve, as if she were a spirit inhabiting an inanimate doll. I nodded to her, which seemed to be a passably decent welcome in the Worthish lexicon, although the minutiae of social gestures often escapes me.

Olivia stood near the closed tent flap with her arms tightly crossed over her boney chest—in the brown-tinted light one could make out the shadow depressions of sternum between her faintly sunburnt breasts.

"You need somethin'?" she inquired, neutral but wary.

I stood, and gestured between the human and vodnik inhabitants of this tent. "Olivia Worth," I said, "this is Bohumir Nebojsa, father of Vencslav Golgotký. Bohumir, this is Oliva Worth, sister of Doctor Luce Worth."

Olivia shifted her weight from one foot to another. "What's this all about?"

"I have been keeping Bohumir company," I explained, "while the morning passed. Unfortunately, I have only been cognizant of the world for perhaps fifteen years, and I have run out of stories to tell."

Something that verged upon a sneer crossed Olivia's lips. "So make up a couple. Tell somebody else's. Great, glad we had this conversation. If you need me again you can contact me through my good friend Mr. Jack Daniels."

"Olivia," I said.

"What?"

"Who is the human sacrifice who intends to die today?"

The focus in her blue eyes flickered, and then she replied, "Horton Smith, why?"

"If he asked you to wait with him today, would you refuse him?"

Olivia narrowed her eyes. She was not unintelligent in the least, and it was not difficult for her to deduce the direction of my hypothetical scenario. Her hand opened and closed in a fist, although she didn't appear to notice it. Perhaps she was thinking about Horton Smith, who was a grandfather of ten children. Perhaps she was thinking about the creature sitting in front of her, with his crumbling seaweed hair and his ashen skin. He was not human. He could never be mistaken for a human, even in the dark. His eyes were too round, and his features were too soft.

Perhaps she was simply thinking that whatever answer she gave me would reflect poorly on her, one way or another, and she would prefer not to be embarrassed in front of a stranger. She hung there at the edge of the room, indecisive.

"I don't have any stories to tell," she said at last, as if she had carefully assembled a particularly troublesome puzzle and found the results to her satisfaction.

"Everyone has stories to tell, Ms. Worth," Bohumir answered gently, and I admire still the quiet dignity with which he held himself, even dying inelegantly in a tub on the floor of a tent.

Olivia shifted, pulled tight like a string seconds from breaking, and then she pushed her chin up and made her way across the room with sharp, purposeful steps. "Why am I here?"

Bohumir looked at her. "Is that existential worry?"

"No," she frowned, eyebrows pinching over her nose. "I mean me. Us. Here right now with you. You have this entire village, and your own," she paused, unsure of the next word, "people. But you wanted us here. Me. We're strangers, we can't afford you any real comfort. I don't understand it so, why?"

The Vodnik took a raspy breath. "You are new. Different. I know these faces. I know their lives. Seeing them would only make it harder to know I will never see them again. So I have requested your company in lieu of theirs. You are novel, and, I hope, will help me to forget long enough to-"

Down the Vodnik's lightly peeling cheeks ran twin rivers from his eyes. They pooled together beneath his chin, dropped nearly silently on the thighs of his pants legs. One dry laugh wheezed out as he stared at the wet spots. "Oh. Look at me. Quickening my demise. Please excuse the impolite display. Let us change the subject and speak of things far away from the small pond where I grew up. Please, tell me of your pond."

"I don't have a pond," Olivia said, sitting down, pulling her legs to her body. Her arms encircled them as her chin rested upon her knees. I had seen Hanna use the same body language. I had come to understand it meant one did not want to discuss a topic—wished to be left alone.

I decided to pretend I did not know this and pressed. "I believe he means your home. Where you are from."

She was silent, and I find sullen to be as good a word as any to describe her face at that time.

"You sound different," the Vodnik stated. "You are from far away."

Olivia sighed, staring at the tent flap opening. "Australia."

"I have heard of it. It is far. Very far. What is it like?"

"Mostly desert. Not all that exciting."

"You may be surprised," he smiled, with the faint crackling rustle of lips splitting like parchment, "at what I might find exciting."

She told him, then, in small words and sentences at first, and then longer. She spoke of things that I think she may not have told anyone if we had not been so secluded, so tucked away in the quiet, holy spot of this tent on this parched Earth, with a man who was continuously dribbling himself to death like a faulty IV drip. There were things she said that I had guessed at, things about herself, her brother. I could see their similarities, the way their eyes grew hard and mouth stretched in a cruel semblance of a smile as they recounted unpleasant memories, and how their faces and shoulders softened, dipped as water beneath a boat when thoughts were pleasant.

"So the shoot was going well until we got word that everything had gone to hell back in New York. No cell reception shortly after, and news showed us enough that we didn't want to try and go back. We made the best we could with where we were. Good people," she said, with the softness of dandelion fluff floating on wind, "Good, kind people who worked together and found a way to keep going."

"And then they came," she said, eyes like iron, teeth jagged white stones, "and fucked everything. I hid. I was a coward and I hid like one, crying like a baby. Demons aren't real, that's what they tell ya. Those things in your closet, that sound under your bed, just your imagination. Go back to sleep. Then those things are out there with Katie's intestines in their mouth and she's still screaming, fucking screaming as these things are eating her alive. Then they find me when it's all done, like they've sniffed me out. Pull me out of the closet, drag me through what's left of Katie, out through whoever else they slaughtered, and throw me down next to Virgil. He's bleeding from the head, but breathing, and then I see Chloe in his arms and..."

Something flashed behind her gaze and she looked up at the Vodnik, then to me. She frowned. "Anyway, now I'm here, and I need to find them so I can end all of this and just go back to the way things were."

Bohumir nodded slowly and, for a moment, I wondered if perhaps he had fallen asleep. "The children of man have had many reasons to despise other creatures, as others have had reason to fear and hate the children of man. But we cannot seek the past. The past is the past. There is only the future. And hope."

She snorted, which I knew was Worth-speak for many inappropriate words. "Hope, huh?"

"Yes. The past is sorrow. The past is happiness. The past is hunger, satiation, blood, peace. The future, however, is, and can only be, hope."

"Yeah, well," Olivia looked uncertain, shifting slightly where she sat. "I guess I hope this works out."

"Ah, yes. I hope for that as well. Thank you, Olivia. I have appreciated your time. I understand if you wish to leave."

"It's...not so bad in here," she said, hands ghosting across the pockets of her cut off shorts. "Mind if I smoke?"

He laughed or coughed, a combination of the two, I think. "Only if you refuse to share with me one last cigarette."

Her eyes squinted as a handrolled cigarette made its way to her lips. "Bullshittin' me. Ya smoke?"

"Oh, yes. We all do. Give a pinch of tobacco to the water and we will give our thanks by seeing your ship safely to shore."

Olivia hesitated. It was understandable. Tobacco was rare and costly. She looked to me and I shook my head. "No, thank you. I do not smoke. Fire is not good for my condition."

Again her eyes narrowed, and I attempted a reassuring smile. "That was a joke. Mostly."

"Uh huh." She took a breath, then shrugged, pulling out another cigarette for the Vodnik. She passed it to him, pinched delicately between her fingers, and snatched her hand back the moment the Vodnik's shriveled fingertips caught the paper between them. It was impossible to be less indelicate with the match, however, and Olivia had no choice but to hold the match steady while Bohumir leaned his withered face in close to light his cigarette.

The three of us sat, then, for the length of the cigarettes and Bohumir's final breaths.

His body remained, reminding me of myself, a dusty husk of a form, perched upon a stool. I called for the guards, who took up the task of lying his body out on the tan dirt and straw colored grass. Hanna came for the Vodnik's liquid essence in the pail, face drawn, blanched, eyes cloudy. I offered to assist, but he waved me off without a word.

I watched him plod off towards the ritual grounds and wondered who it would be to spill the blood of the human who had agreed to be sacrificed. One of the Earth, one of the Water, each giving their lives to the air, each with hope for the future.

Beside me Olivia cleared her throat. I turned to her in the dusky light of a setting sun and she spoke. "You going to watch?"

"No," I replied. "Hanna feels it is better that I stay indoors, out of any rain that may come."

"Yeah, I reckon that sounds about right."

I found Hanna's insistence had provided me with a bit of relief. I did not want to have to watch Hanna perform such rites, to witness the deep pain and the violent, bloody vomiting. It was enough to try and soothe him through the aftermath. It seems I, too, was a coward.

I did not, however, share these thoughts. Instead, I bowed my head and made my way to the camper to sit and wait for the rains to begin.

These are the events of the evening, as they were told to me afterwards.

In a parking lot at the top of a gentle hill, Hanna drew two complex circles across the pavement in chalk. While he drew, in absolute silence, a thin solemn crowd gathered around the edges of the lot. There were a few children, who in the way natural to children, understood that something unpleasant and frightening was in the air although they had not been told what exactly it was.

I had not been with him all day, so I imagine whatever he had gathered together for the ritual had been gathered by hand—cabbage, I think he mentioned to me once, and frogs—under the tireless sun. It was not a complicated ritual. Olivia told me, later on and with some trepidation, that there was a short spell, or a prayer, or perhaps, judging from Hanna's tone, a curse. I imagine it was Sumerian. Hanna has always gravitated towards Sumerian.

I do not know when they killed Horton Smith. I only know that when Hanna went to pour his pail full of viridian fluid into the center of the first chalk circle, there was already a twin pail beside it, full of something distinctly not viridian.

The sun was low and yellow in the sky, and I remember how it hung like a specter of itself above the hills.

And then there was wind.

It came rolling over the edge of the world, a dark green wave on the crest of a far away hill. The wind chimes on the stairs of the house clattered as if they were surprised. The sun grew dimmer, whiter, distant above the earth. And I saw, though there were many other who did not see:

A shaft of light along the curve of the hills, racing towards us. A gray discoloration in its wake, on air that smelled of lightning ozone and steaming shadows. Gathering clouds, purple and green in their rolling bellies. The blue treeline shuddered and erupted with wings, stirred up from the lowest branches.

And this, I believe, was the face of the god that Hanna had called down from the mountains.

There are gods, and then there are gods, I suppose. No one has tried to taxonomically categorize them the way that the moonlight races have been. There are things with human faces that claim to be gods, and there are things like the Wild Hunter, who are eldritch but at least have form. Whatever Hanna summoned in that day in March, I would not be surprised to find that it was older than names.

Unsurprisingly, the rain did come.

It was not ordinary rain. There was a power in it, potential energy swirling in each droplet, and for years afterward the people of Golgotha would unstopper their jars of rainwater collected that day, when women in their families hoped to conceive. It was old magic, the kind that doesn't understand tightfistedness any more than it understands charity.

The rain carried on for three days, with few breaks. Thunder came deep in the hills and then went, and I eventually had to request Conrad to pick me up in the RV. Hanna came to walk me the short distance they couldn't drive, with a pale yellow umbrella and a half-smile on his lips.

"You are a hero," I told him, as he held up the umbrella to better accommodate my height. We set out across the slippery grass.

"Havel, bro, it's just an umbrella. No sweat."

I shook my head, though only slightly. I was wary of catching raindrops with too much motion. "You saved lives, here. Please don't forget that."

The smile faltered. "Don't," he said. "Just don't."

In the place where his hand was wrapped around the hook of the umbrella, I settled my hand there also. "If I could make the world a softer place for you, Hanna, I would do it faster than you can imagine. But it isn't a soft world, and you know it better than me. You did the best you could."

"I should have been able to come up with something else," he said, wretchedly, his hand twisting under mine.

"The fact that you would try to," I told him, as gently as I could, "is what makes you a hero."

He gave me a doubtful look, but was too polite to say whatever it was he was thinking. I lifted a hand, and settled one black glove against the shape of his cheek. If I had been less discomfited by the rain, perhaps I would have removed the leather entirely.

"If you don't believe in yourself," I said, as I had said to him before, "believe in me, who believes in you. Therefore, through the transitive power of belief, maybe you will have a little faith."

Hanna sighed, but managed a smile. It was weak and dark around the eyes, but it was something.

"Sometimes," I added, after a moment, "there are sacrifices you have to make. The important thing is to be certain that you are sacrificing the right things."

I glanced up at the open window of the camper, where Olivia Worth was seated and watching, and knew that she had heard us.

The rain continued on, long after we had left the town.

 

Jackson Hole, Wyoming

April

 

Hanna could usually tell when someone was lying to him. As attention-deficit as he might be, he'd learned long ago how to read people, and also non-person entities ("Other" really is like, not cool, and "monster" is pretty tenth century outdated). That didn't exactly mean that he brushed a liar off, though. A liar, you know, wants you to think they're telling the truth, and they've usually got their reasons. Hanna worked through this sort of situation the same as he worked through every other kind—with a keen eye, and a smile, and withholding as much information as he could possibly get away with. In this case, that information might be the fact that he knew you were clearly bullshitting him. Hanna, you could safely say, was more aware of when he was being intentionally led astray than people would guess.

Most people, probably. Well, he sort of figured most people didn't take him for the deep thinky thinky analyzing type. Which was rude. So rude.

But when Worth patted him awake in the RV that evening, he was definitely calling bullshit.

"Bullshit," he said.

"Fuck off. You sayin' we ain't a thing?"

"Nooooooo you two are a thing, a duo, a jumpin', jivin' party of five or whatever, yeah, but this pillowbiting thing is not," Hanna said. "Bro. Really? I'm supposed to believe this?"

"Oooh, so yer callin' me a liar?" Worth's eyebrows were making a run for the border, but the northern Canadian hairline border of, was there ever hair there? Hard to tell, just a really big forehead. Worth needed it to hold all his evil thoughts of evil. Also of doctoring. Evil doctoring? That could be kinda rad but not really because evil doctoring always ends with horror movie stingers and oh, Worth was waiting for a reply. The eyebrows, though, those meant he was totally full of shit usually.

"Yeaaaaah," Hanna said, "'cause you kinda are?"

Wordlessly, Worth headed into the back room. Hanna didn't like to go back there. It wasn't just because he might walk in on something that would destroy any remaining shred of innocence and sanity he had left, though there was that. Ugh, there was plenty of that, yeesh! But Worth and Conrad were sort of particular about how things were back there.

Conrad had his sorted items and Worth had his slow creep of "It's in order!" piles of disorder. To give him credit, he did usually have a pretty easy time of finding weird shit in the piles of junk whenever the need arose. There were spells for that, though. Maybe Worth had been doing a little bit of rune work on the side. Wouldn't be a bad thing, really. Kinda cool. They could be like blood brothers but rune brothers. Ink brothers? Of course, granted Worth couldn't make magic happen anymore what with the vampirism, but a guy could have a hobby. Oh man, Hanna might need to double check his supply of Sharpies because this could go somewhere amazing and oh, okay, thanks for shoving something in my face, Worth.

Floundering briefly, Hanna pulled the soft item off of his face and stared at it. "...Huh."

"Now ya believe me?"

"I...guess? But, whoa, super weird, and also, gross! I don't want to hold this thing if it's covered in your...stuff, or his stuff."

"Ain't covered in nothin'. Well, saliva, suppose."

"Uh huh, well, I stand by the grossy-grossness." Pinching the lightly-chewed pillow between thumb and forefinger, Hanna handed it back to the smirking doctor. "Okay so, okay. Conrad's a pillow biter. Whyyyyyyy exactly do you have to tell me about it? I was totally cool with never knowing this, like, ever."

Worth took the pillow back and Hanna wrapped his blankets tighter around himself. "Mebbe I'm braggin' a bit. Only way he's found ter keep quiet durin' our fervent love makin'."

Well, the first part had a ring of truth to it, but... Hanna got the impression that they still hadn't managed to get anything done back here, if you caught his particular drift. If they had, you'd think things would actually be a little calmer?

Hanna frowned. "Again with the grossy-grossness, and okay with never ever hearing these sorts of things!"

"Feh!" Worth was grinning at him in that snaggly Worth kind of way that most people probably took as like the big bad wolf creepy, but that's kind of rude, after all not everyone has access to dental plans as a kid, okay?

Anyway, Hanna rubbed at his eyes, and Worth's grin sobered a little. "Need somethin' ta drink?"

"Yes, no, wait," he paused,carefully calculating the feel of his stomach, then flopped back down. "Yeah, I think I'm good. Uh, for a drink, that is? A drinky drink, I think I can stomach it. Ha! Ha. Ugh."

Now that he was more or less awake and alive, er, relatively speaking, anyway, he was wishing he was still asleep. Sleep had been dreamless but soothing, devoid of memories, and now that he was awake and again—haha, alive-ish..."Ugh," he repeated, this time with a little more nausea.

Worth was back at his side in a jiffy because Worth? Totally a bro. Like for serious an A plus plus with gold stars bro. So even if now he didn't really want to eat or drink or do anything except pass right back out, Hanna did his best to smile and sit up and drink the water that was a little warm and flat but at least it was helping to wash the taste of old, stale blood from his mouth.

"So uh...why aren't we moving and where is everyone?"

Best bro other than other best bros shrugged, leaning back in the booth which really wasn't very far because how do they even make people his size? It's both crazy and not fair. "Bathroom break," he supplied, "and a refuel."

"Wha-huh? Refuel? But Conman filled us up right before we headed out of Golgotha."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah so like...wait, how long was I out?"

"'bout thirty hours, roundabouts."

"...Oh. Whoops. Was um, man, was Silvio upset?" Fresh guilt filled his guts, squirming around like worms. "I mean, ugh, yeah, of course he was, he always gets upset."

"Eeh, don't worry about it. Told him ta fuck off and help Connie. Knew ya wouldn't come to till he was outta yer hair." Worthbro smiled again, super smug and proud of himself because he was right. Hanna wished Worthbro wasn't right as often as he was. One of these days things would totally work out not the way Worth insisted they would.

They had to. It was too depressing otherwise. There had to be a way to re-balance everything, to offset all of the mud and blood and suffering that Hanna had shoveled onto his scales through inaction or incorrect action.

He kept trying, Jesus he tried, but it just seemed like he just kept vomiting new filth onto his already horrific record. No matter what he did, maybe he really would always be a cursed, rotten, hollow shell of a boy.

"Hey. Knock it off."

Shit. He blinked, bringing himself to the present and current conversation. "Knock what off what now who did what is someone on first?"

Angrybro face was on now. "You know exactly. Knock it off." Now he was doing that finger pointing thing that Conman had picked up from him. It wasn't all that nice to be on the receiving end of the finger point o' doom. "Ya saved that damn city, Hanna."

"I didn't," he said, dropping the bottle of water down on the table. His hands were shaking a bit now, flashes of red and watery aqua mixing like oversaturated water colors behind his eyes. Like wind, devoid of color, sparking through your body, filling your chest with ozone and old magic, true forces of nature, nothing you can control, nothing you can ever hope to fully understand or hope to appease.

"Did. Yer a goddamn hero and you oughta-"

"No, I'm not!" Hanna could feel the heat in his face, the clamminess of his palms, heaving of his breath. "Everyone stop saying that! A hero would save everyone. He wouldn't murder them."

"Would a hero leave people to die, Hanna? Leave 'em to war and sickness and a slow, lingerin' starvation? That's wot ya woulda left 'em to if we hadn't intervened."

"I still let them die."

"Yeah, well it ain't on your hands. Forgettin' whose scalpel in particular bled the bloke dry?"

"Horton Smith," Hanna replied, with small hands squeezing the life from the blankets trapped in their grasp. "His name was Horton Smith, not 'bloke'."

It looked like Worth was going to get into another shouting match, his eyes narrow and flashing dangerously, but before he could open up his mouth the door to the camper opened with Hanna's other two bestest bros peering inside.

"I'm sorry," Conrad said, dourly, "did I just interrupt something? Maybe you could be, oh, I don't know, helpful and get Hanna water instead of screaming at him?"

Worth drew back, like a cat that got squirted with the spraybottle. He did that other cat thing too, the one where they act like they totally meant to do the whatever it was they definitely hadn't meant to do.

"Already got 'im water, Petticoat Junction. Yer eyes so damn bad now that ya can't even see the bottle on the table?"

Conrad squawked something back at him—heh, cat and bird, right? Like a Looney Tunes short. They stalked away from Hanna, caught up in their own business, leaving the bench nice and empty and quiet.

That was sort of nice. The way that vampire bros would just start bickering out of nowhere. It almost made it feel like everything was cool, you know? Like, normal? Then again, there was still this empty feeling inside, the gnawing, sludge-y feeling. Regret, like a parasitic worm.

So, yeah. Normal.

Sleep found Hanna again, though this time it only dragged him into darkness for a short time. The smell of food and the yellow hum of sunlight brought him back from dreams of things with hidden eyes and long teeth. Automatically he groped blindly for his glasses, and, automatically, bestest bro of the non-vampire-sort grasped Hanna's wrist, placing the glasses there.

Sliding the thick frames on, Hanna gave a drowsy grin to…let's see…what would be a good name to go with today? He'd worked through most of the artists he knew, as well as a good portion of various godly pantheons. Had he done anything with comic books yet? Those were sort of normal regular old people names most of the time unless he went with:

"Thanks, Hawkeye!"

"You're welcome, Hanna."

Ugh, man, he was such a total mensch. Just so chill like it wasn't any big deal that he was so cool which just made him so much cooler like a math formula of infinite coolness. Another smell of warm food brought Hanna out of his reverie and directed his attention to the stovetop. Virgil was there, cooking something, and fuck yeah it smelled radical.

"Hey, where're Conman and Wor—er -uh-older-not-human-Worth?"

"Sleeping." Ugh see? So cool. Just a one word answer that sums up everything. Not like Hanna, not a mess of ideas that keep morphing like a kaleidoscope set to infinite motion, not a jumbled jungle of words that kept pouring out like a busted dam. So cool.

"I thought I'd make breakfast for, uh," Virgil started, from the stovetop. He seemed okay. Not as cool as Hawkeye-McCoolbro, but pretty cool. Anyone who had the balls to date a Worth was automatically kind of a badass. "—Us." Okay, that wasn't the best recovery but, you know what? Points totally added for trying to be sensitive.

Wait. Unless he just meant himself and Olivia. That wasn't so cool. Oh and the kid? Chloe? Did she even eat? Obviously people have to eat, although Hanna couldn't remember seeing it, he was usually so busy polishing off his own rations that, well, he only ever paid attention to what was left over from other people's meals.

Usually that wasn't a whole lot. These days he was the only one eating human foods, so rations were lasting longer.

He was getting off topic. "Us like…you and Olivia or like…y'know. Human types?"

After a brief shrugging of shoulders, Virgil replied, "Human types, I guess."

"Cool. So how come it smells so good? Like, super good wow." Hanna was up and leaning over the steaming pot now, happy to inhale the scent of something other than canned meat and beans.

"It's just a makeshift soup," awesome chef Virgil said. "I sourced some mushrooms and onions outside, then put them in here with jerky, water, salt, and beans. It's not much but it's at least something."

"Whoa, sourced like uhhhhhhh am I going to trip balls when I eat this?"

Confusion wrinkled Virgil's forehead before he laughed, just once. "Uh, no. I was in the scouts and then I worked as a private chef and caterer for a while. I was known for more rustic, earthy fare. That's how I met Liv. Big time photoshoot, celebrating nature's bounty, they wanted a chef who could make peasant and vegan food taste good. So. There I was, and there she was."

"Love at first sight, huh?"

"Oh, no, not at all! We hated each other! Well, maybe not hate. I had some preconceived notions from working for other celebrities and pseudo-celebrities, and she's, well…a Worth, I guess. It wasn't until society collapsed and we were all trapped together that we learned about who we really are. Chloe took to her, though, and Chloe doesn't really take to people. "

It was proving difficult for Hanna to keep his hands out of the pot, and he wriggled his fingers in anticipation of the upcoming meal. "Wait, it was a job though? Why was your daughter there? Where are they now whoa are they sleeping with my bros? Thaaaaaaaaat seems highly unlikely."

"Bathroom break. Girls don't want guys hanging around when they have to answer the call of nature. " He gave Hanna the sort of look Hanna was used to receiving from most people. "I take Chloe with me everywhere I go. Her mother was never fully in the picture and with the drugs… Full custody, and I honestly don't know what happened to her mother. She never showed up to contest the custody arrangements, and never contacted us. So Chloe was out there with me for the job."

"Oh. That's cool. Er, I mean, not cool, super sucks but like it's cool that you're being a good dad and stuff?"

There was another look and Hanna promptly shut up. Fortunately, Olivia returned at that time with Chloe before Hanna's foot could further explore the exciting land of Mouth. Such a quiet kid, Chloe. Could be trauma, maybe. Hanna only knew bits and pieces of what had happened, but, heck, it's not like the world ending couldn't be enough to throw some trauma on. Or maybe she'd been around drug-mom too much. Or maybe she'd just always been that way. There was something…funny, though, that Hanna couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Where are the bowls?" Virgil asked, preoccupied with the cupboards and the pot.

Hanna went from peering at the soup to frantically digging through the cupboards with lightning quickness, curiosity forgotten in favor of the grumbling of his stomach.

-A-

Olivia yawned uneasily over the cup of not-coffee. That was all the redhead had ever called it, "not-coffee", and she was not an easily frightened woman but she also wasn't sure she had the balls to find out what exactly "not-coffee" was. She was pretty sure, at least, that it wasn't anything dangerous. He drank it as well.

Sound sleep had never been her strong suit, but these days it was in even shorter supply than normal. To sleep you had to feel safe, had to let down your guards. How the hell do you do that when you're bunking with monsters? The redhead, Hanna? He'd drawn up shapes on paper for her with that marker he always seemed to have on him, pictographs or tattoo designs or new age calligraphy or something. He said they'd help her sleep, but not to over use them.

Thanks, but she would stick to the Nyquil PM when she could find it. Nice circles, though. She'd never drawn anything that perfectly round without tracing a cup.

As it was, she had mostly learned to adjust to her sleeping problems over the years, alcohol helping relax her muscles enough to bring on sleep, and nicotine and actual coffee keeping her awake and alert enough to get through various photoshoots.

Virgil had asked her to stop smoking for him and for Chloe. She'd felt guilt at the time for realizing how strong of a habit she had developed, and then a queasy sense of relief when she discovered that the addiction had ultimately been the thing that kept them safe.

Trading one addict for another, Virgil. Can't say you aren't consistent at least.

Traveling always took time, but these days it took even longer than it used to. Airplanes weren't flying anymore, nor were helicopters. Everything was by boat, or car, or horse. There were rumors of bringing back steam powered railroads, but she wasn't holding her breath on that being done any time soon. Too few people still alive who had worked the railways. Every spare person was needed for more pressing matters like canning and sewing.

She felt worthless a lot of the time, truth be told. She could wear clothes, she could take great photos, but, farming? Cooking? She was impressively skill-less. It seemed to her a lot of the time that her one worthwhile contribution to their fucked up little family had been her stupid smoking habit. Like the rest of the players in that ill-fated shoot, she was fortunate to have been with Virgil at the time of the dissolution of the world around her, lucky she could cling to his better-prepared coattails and ride out the initial chaos that hit.

It stung. She hadn't known—no one had known—that just having money and street smarts and a portfolio wouldn't be good enough to get them through the coming years. The sorry bastards she'd known, agents and artists, she didn't like to think about how they must have ended up. How she could have ended up.

She had learned some things, but nothing to write home about. She could cut vegetables and watch to make sure pots boiled at the right temperatures. She had callouses and newly developed stiffness in her fingers from hours spent with field work, planting and plucking and back aching work under the sun. Whether or not he admitted it, Virgil had kept her safe, making sure she had food and a place to sleep. He and Chloe had given her a happiness she hadn't known you could have, in a time when god knew how few people had it. They were a family.

And then they'd come. They had fucked it all up. The absolute least she could do was stand aside and let them fuck up one of their own. It was so little to pay, if she could have even a shade of that happiness back, have her family back.

Olivia smiled at the girl who stared back at her blankly. There had been a deal, of course, and she had been in no position to deny it. She was close to completion, nearly able to fulfill her end of it. But.

She distracted herself by combing through Chloe's hair with her fingers, smoothing the tangles. "Y'look so much like your father," she said, still smiling, putting on the familiar false front even as her insides crawled.

Chloe had always hated having her hair brushed. Virgil hadn't been able to do a damn thing with it—when the two of them had met, Olivia and Chloe, at the lunch table with two thirds of its seats empty, the kid's hair had been a chia pet of curls and bits of deceased brushes that had given up and died half way through their suicide missions. Even before she'd come to an understanding with the girl's father, she and Chloe had known exactly where the other was coming from, exchanging looks over a plate of nasturtium-stuffed-mushrooms. That was a kind of falling in love they never warn you about.

Olivia pulled her fingers away from the tangles. She didn't put up a fight any more, no matter how many combs they took to her. She hardly even seemed to notice. These days, Olivia couldn't find it in her to try.

She looked back to the window.

They were nearly to their destination, roads a bit better kept in this area due to the high volumes of traffic. Luce had said they knew people here, and it was a good spot for last minute preparations. It made her nervous. She didn't want him involved. She hadn't even really believed the demons when they told her he was alive. But he was, and he was right where they'd told her that she could find him.

The freaks had conveniently left out the part about him being one of them now. That had been a hell of a shock to the system. Also, fuck him. How dare he not even try to find her. Just leaving her alone to deal with this bullshit on her own. He was supposed to be her big brother, was supposed to be someone she could count on—but, then, that hadn't been true for a long time, had it? Longer than he'd been undead, by a lot.

He was too busy with Conrad, apparently. The two of them were seated up front as usual - Luce's feet up by the heat vents and Conrad's claws around the steering wheel. Drove like a bat out of hell for obvious reasons. Ha. Ha.

Hadn't crashed once, though. And he'd been sort of good to them so far. Tried to talk to her a few times, and that was a hell of a lot more than she could say for most people. She knew she was... intimidating, if you were being polite about it. She was also okay if you weren't polite about it. A few days ago he'd given her something of a peace offering—some peach cobbler from when they slipped through Georgia briefly, and someone hadn't gotten the memo about vampires eating people rather than pies.

But he was still one of them. And so was Luce, now, even if he still acted the same.

The camper rolled into Denver shortly after dawn. Olivia had expected the vampires to burst into flames as the morning sun glared through the windshield, but they had, instead, only squinted into it. Conrad had told Luce to get in the back. Luce had told Conrad where he could stick it. Neither budged until they had parked outside of a hotel.

They both had pink skin, though Conrad's seemed to have a brighter, tighter sheen to it than Luce did. She might not have noticed a difference but for the moment when Conrad paused at the door to the back room, opening it carefully so as not to wake anyone with the high pitched squeak that the hinges liked to emit. When he did, Luce put a hand on his shoulder, and he, Conrad, had put his own hand on top of Luce's. Deep pink draping over a pale rose, and then they stepped into the back bedroom.

With Hanna still asleep, and the undead green guy watching placidly, she exited the vehicle with Chloe and Virgil, giving a mild "checkin' out town" excuse.

Out in the open, under the sun, with fresh, non-circulated air in her lungs, she finally relaxed a fraction. They had little to barter with, and had declined most of Hanna and Luce's offers of floating them by. She had felt too guilty for it, which bothered her. She should sever all emotional ties to Luce, but...she couldn't. Even if he wasn't human any more, she had seen enough to know that he, at the very least, held enough human memories to behave as a human, and to respect the relationships and people had had known before being turned.

"I think I understand it now," she said, as her little family of three sat down on a cracked curb many blocks away and out of sight of the camper.

"What's that?" Virgil's hand was warm and solid as it rubbed up and down gently between her shoulder blades.

The lighter in her hands was reluctant to light and she tapped it against her palm. She would need to find more fluid to refill it somewhere, sometime. Olivia watched the simmering orange on the horizon as smoke filled her lungs. "People not killing their loved ones. Y'know. When they're turned to zombies." Her hand waved in the air at his look of confused amusement. "Movies, television, books. You can't tell me ya never saw a zombie movie."

"Well I can. I can tell you lots of things," there was a heartbeat before he winked. "But I'd also be lying."

A laugh puffed smoke from Olivia's nostrils and she nudged Virgil with an elbow.

"What brings this up?"

She shrugged and the hand between her shoulder blades moved to slide around her waist.

"So it's a guessing game? I'm good at guessing games. I'm going to guess you're talking about your brother."

"I don't know if I could do it," her hands rubbed against one another, cigarette clutched precariously between her fingers. "If I had to. I always thought I could. We, Luce and me, we had a pact with Lamont. Horror movie night, one too many beers. If any of us was turned to a zombie we'd kill 'em. And I really thought I could but... thinking it and then actually facing them when they aren't human anymore," a breath sucked through her lungs. "'s different."

"You don't have to kill him. No one has to kill him."

"No, but..." Her hands now found her face, thumbs digging into her temples. "Christ, Virgil, what we're doing might be worse."

Beside her, Virgil's body stiffened slightly and she didn't have to look up to know he was frowning. "There was no way for you to know when you agreed to the deal. They only wanted him. They never said-"

"I know. I know." She interrupted, shrugging off his arm, feeling a slight shake in her limbs.

"Could we bait and switch? Give them another one?"

"No, they were specific." The cigarette was in her mouth again, and she inhaled venomously. "I don't think they'd fall for us just giving them some other vampire. I told you, they already know him."

Silence and sunlight descended upon the man, the woman, and the child. Olivia continued to work the cigarette until she risked burning her lips. The man sighed. The woman hunched forward. The child sat still as a stone.

"We'll figure something out, then," he ventured.

"He's in love with him," she said, voice low and pained.

"I know," Virgil replied, hand cupping the back of her head. "I wish there was another way. I still don't trust them, or their word."

"They're bound by their word. It's the only weapon we have against them."

"Then," Virgil said, quiet, "we just have to hope we're doing the right thing."

-A-

All the spooks were gathering in a makeshift headquarters in town that evening. It had, at one point, been a nicer hotel with a bar and restaurant inside, but these days it was the local spot for socializing and business transactions. It did have rooms for rent, from what Olivia had been informed, but they were more for paid sex than actual sleeping. That had promptly nullified any and all allure of sleeping in an actual bed. Nothing kills the mood like waking up with an eye full of herpes.

She wasn't in on the meeting—she hadn't wanted to be in on the meeting, at least until the spidery looking sons of bitches at the staircase had politely asked her to wait down in the bar.

Alcohol was, apparently, flowing freely, with certain monsters running up one hell of a tab. She was desperate for a drink, if nothing else then to quell the nerves she felt quivering in her limbs, but sobriety was something she knew she should hold on to, at least until they were able to complete the plan.

Now she sat at a table with Virgil, Chloe, the redhead, and his zombie. She had something of a grudging respect for the zombie. He, at least, didn't actually eat people, and he and Virgil both did a good job of cooking. There had been moments throughout their journey when a tilt of his head or a well-timed hum made her think he might be the most human among them all. That, though, only made her more uneasy.

The redhead, Hanna, in comparison, certainly talked too fast to be wholly human.

"And then it was like BOOM! And I was like WHOA! And I will never ever let them send me in another ginger bread house, like, ever."

"Uh huh." Saying that seemed to pacify the redhead, even if she wasn't really listening.

"So you've had a lot of dealings with uh," Virgil cut in, and took a breath before continuing "non-humans?"

"Oh yeah, totally and you can say Moonlight Races if you want to be pseudo-politically correct. They're pretty cool with that one. I mean, it's the best you're gonna get unless you know Ancient Sumerian but the accent is so hard to get right that you usually wind up saying something way ruder by accident. But cool of you for trying." The kid had a grin like a laser beam.

Virgil persevered. "You ever make pacts?"

Laser beam grin faded to glaring headlights. "Whoaaaaa there, like...you know asking stuff like that gets real personal. Um...are you like...considering trying to sell your soul or something 'cause if you need a new kidney like, there are way easier ways, y'know?"

"No, no, just—" Virgil scooted his chair a little closer. "I read a lot as a child. All sorts of things, but sci-fi and fantasy mostly."

"Ooooooooooh so you want to know fact from fiction okay no that's cool." He nodded hard enough that Olivia briefly wondered if the boy's head would snap from his neck. She also wondered how much of the enthusiasm was alcohol and how much of it was just...him. "So, okay, never make a pact unless you know allllll the terms. I mean, like, you know contracts for humans, right?"

The boy picked up a salt and pepper shaker, both empty, and set them down. "Okay like, so this one is you," he wiggled the one in his right hand, "and this one is the entity you're dealing with, " he shook his left hand. "Now, they're all 'Here's a cool deal, my guy!' and you're all 'yeah that's super cool, I am down like a clown' but! HA! That's it! You're totally a clown and not the scary clowns like not from outer space but from regular Earth-land and clown like the fool. Because you have to read the fine print before you sign, and you have to read what's not written, too, and that's where they get you."

"Get you?" Olivia asked, finally beginning to pay attention to the rambling. Chloe was heavy on her lap, and she tried shifting the child's weight.

"Yeah. I mean, okay, so their word is their bond, way more than with human paper contracts. You can break a human paper contract super easy, and humans break verbal ones all the time, whiiiiiiiiich kinda started a lot of the racial tensions a long ass time ago, that and the dragon hunting. Not cool, man. Dragons are people, too. Well. Kinda."

"So if a demon says they'll do something," she ventured, tapping a finger against the shaker in the boy's left hand, "then they have to do it?"

"I mean yeah, for the most part." He took a deep breath and she briefly worried he was on the verge of another mind numbing stream of consciousness word vomit. He quickly proved her right. "They will do what they say they will do, but they're tricky. They are careful with wording so that when they do something you don't like, they haven't gone back on their deal. And that's part of why people got real mad, and also, don't say demon unless you actually mean demon. They're a pretty specific subset of Moonilght Races. Like, you wouldn't call me a horse because I'm not a horse, I'm a human. You wouldn't call a fairy a demon for the same reason. I guess like, you could say horse-pal and I are both mammals and daylight races so that kinda would be kosher but-"

Impatient with the rambling, Virgil interrupted. "How would they trick you?"

"Oh they promise you something but use words that make you think they're promising what you want and not what they'll actually give you."

Olivia felt Virgil's eyes on her as he spoke to Hanna. "How do you know if they're tricking you?"

As Hanna's eyes widened incredulously, his glasses slipped down his nose. "Uhhh do they have something you want? Then they're tricking you. Do you have something they want? They're probably still tricking you."

"I see. So...never trust them and never make deals with them?"

"Yeah, pretty much. I mean, sometimes you can trick them or out-think them buuuut it's super hella unusual and hard to do. They're ancient beings and most people are young and dumb and man why does the waitress keep bypassing our table?"

The dead man at their table quietly turned his unblinking headlights onto the redhead. "Perhaps she realizes that you have already had enough alcohol to drink."

"Bro?" Hanna scowled and managed to look nearly as intimidating as a somewhat peeved butterfly. "Are you booze-blocking me again?"

"We are at an important meeting and potentially on the eve of battle."

"So then that means yeah." Huffing, he slumped in his seat. "Can I at least have some punch?"

A hand touched Olivia's shoulder and she rose, both she and Virgil using the distraction of conversation between Hanna and the zombie to cover their exit. They walked out of the hotel and into the night, cracked sidewalk illuminated by the moon and stars above.

She sighed. "I know what you're gonna say."

"Oh I damn well hope you know what I'm going to say."

The two shared pointed glares, but tonight was proving to be a night of endless irregularities. This time, for once, Olivia was the first to look away, her voice low and hissing. "We don't have a choice."

"We do. Maybe- maybe we can just move the village."

"Where, Virgil? Where are we going to move them? How are we going to move them and keep them safe in the new location? They found us fine before, without us having any interactions with them or throwing up any beacons saying 'Hey! We're here and defenseless!'"

"No, but if we move... If," he paused, took a breath, trying to relax his face. That was his "see reason" face he was putting on. She looked away. "If you and I go somewhere else, leave Chloe with them, then... maybe. Maybe we'll be okay then and so will they."

Olivia did not try to imagine it. Some things don't bear imagining.

"Chloe's-" she caught herself, taking her own breath, watching the toes of her boots flicking out and back as she walked. "Chloe's linked to us. You're suggesting we run and leave the rest of the group without any idea of what's going on or how to keep safe."

"They've been preparing. They have some weapons now."

"Yeah, makeshift spears and pocket knives. That'll do fuck all against demons."

"I don't think they're going to keep their word, Olivia."

"They have to," she said, knees feeling weak beneath the overwhelming weight of Chloe held on her hip. "And we don't have any other choice."

They had unconsciously found their way back to the camper and she leaned against its side.

"Bullshit. We always have a choice. We have to have a choice."

"We already made the deal!"

"We can back out of it!"

"If that's what you want to do, Virgil, you go right ahead and-"

"Oi!"

The two abruptly stopped sniping at each other, heads whipping to look over at the camper's side door. Luce and Conrad were slumped part way through the door, Conrad's hair and shirt looked, well, disheveled, and Luce hadn't even bothered to put a shirt on. There were scars on his pale skin, so many scars, but Olivia's eyes tracked and stuck on a particularly large, puckered patch of scar tissue on his chest.

"Well," Conrad now said, adjusting his glasses. "Sorry to interrupt."

"Looks more like we interrupted something." Virgil sighed, shoulders still stiff. "Sorry."

"Ain't like it's the first time," Luce grumbled. He gave the two a hard look before shoving Conrad out of the way to stomp back into the camper.

The other vampire rolled his eyes, and Olivia was certain she saw a hint of ruddiness in his cheeks. "Yes, well, sorry, I guess, too. Did you two need something?" Again he was jostled as Luce strode back through, pulling his arms through a grubby coat. "Rude, and where are you even going?"

"Wot? Ain't get yer invite?" The steady beat of footfalls launching Luce from camper towards the hotel paused long enough for him to look back at Conrad to whistle. "Fancy powwow fer the big whigs goin' on right now. Might as well get drunk if I ain't gettin' laid."

"Yes of course I got the - please, just keep walking, Worth! Don't wait for me! Go on ahead." Conrad huffed, trying to smooth his clothing into something more presentable. "So did you two need something? I should probably go to the meeting, too."

"Yes." The word spurted forth, fast and sharp enough that it surprised even Olivia. "Sorry. I mean, I'm glad you're still here. I needed to get in the camper."

"Oh. Well." He exited awkwardly, holding the bent and abused side door open. "I'll just...wait here, then and lock up when you're done, unless you two are, er...in for the night?"

"No, just... need to grab somethin'." She scuttled in quickly, setting Chloe on the table and going straight for her personal bag. Inside were various items, but the two she needed were easy enough to find. It had been difficult at times to not eat them or trade them, salt was a precious commodity, after all, but their necessity to the future of her family and community far exceeded the personal temptations. She stuffed the items into the side pouches on her utility belt and scooped up the child before looking around for her hopefully believable excuse.

Grabbing empty water jugs from the counter top, she exited the vehicle and attempted a smile at Conrad. "Go on and lock up. But would you mind comin' with Virgil and me?"

"Er... with? Why?"

"Don't know this area so well, but you do, right? Figure we can go get some water. Your redhead friend is gonna need it."

"Ugh," Conrad's shoulders drooped. "Is he drunk already?"

"Maybe. On his way to it at least. An escort might be nice. Make sure we don't get lost."

He eyed her with more than a little suspicion. She handed him the jugs. "Take one of these fer me? Hard to carry both in one hand and a kid in the other."

Virgil was staring at her with stony silence. She kept smiling, arm outreached to Conrad. Slowly the vampire took the bait. "I suppose we do need some more water. Daylight is usually a better time to get it but...if Hanna is already drinking...I think there ought to be a river right behind the hotel. One of the scenic walk paths. We can go there."

"Lead the way."

Smile tight, eyes hidden behind the glare on his lenses, Conrad turned, walking ahead towards the hotel. He veered off slightly, just before the parking lot, taking a trail that had once been smooth asphalt, and was now reduced to chunks of uneven pavement. "Soooooooo," he said after the sounds of revelry in the hotel had faded, softened and muffled as they were enveloped by the leaves and branches haphazardly growing across the path. "Nice night."

"Yeah."

He cleared his throat, continuing to follow the windy trail. It had probably been scenic at some point, most likely during fall. As it was, Olivia was having difficulty seeing as the trees grew thicker around them. She hoped the creek had some open space for moonlight to filter through.

"Thank you," Virgil said, and she felt tension growing in her spine. "I know we haven't been the best guests and things have been stressful but... thank you."

"Oh, er...well...yes it's been stressful, we're not used to traveling with so many bodies and the camper is only so large and well...er... I mean... don't worry about it." Conrad's steps faltered slightly, as if he'd been shoved by an unseen force. "Ugh. We're getting close."

His statement was true, and soon Olivia could hear the sound of water running over rock. They eventually stepped out into a small clearing, and in the moonlight, even overgrown, the cascading water was nearly crystalline. "Is this clean enough to drink?"

"Probably, but it's best not to take chances. Er, could one of you perhaps fill the jugs?" Conrad asked. His eyes flashed downward with something akin to embarrassment, or maybe anxiety. "I don't have the best history with this job."

"I have my hands full," Olivia replied, and Virgil shot her a look that she sternly ignored.

"So I have to do it?" Virgil asked, more calmly than the thinness of his lips would expect.

"I would appreciate it if ya helped." She shifted Chloe again, the weight of the girl now a nagging ache creaking out from her hip. She met Virgil's hardening eyes.

"What if I've changed my mind?"

She looked at him, feeling terror and wildness twisting through her skull. "What?"

"What if I've changed my mind?" Virgil crossed his arms over his chest. "What if I don't want to help?"

She swallowed, throat tight. "I need you to help."

He shook his head. "I don't think I can."

"Virgil," fuck she hated how her voice shook when she said his name, "I need you to do this."

"No. Not until we-"

"Fine. If you won't help, then at least stay out of my way." She shifted Chloe, holding the young girl out to her father.

"Er," said Conrad, visibly bewildered, "it's really not that big of a deal, I mean, if I hold on to something I think I'll be okay to do it myself."

Slowly, Virgil took his daughter from Olivia, holding the child so that her chin rested on his shoulder. "We need to get you some warmer clothes," he murmured to her. "Can't seem to keep heat in you these days."

Olivia turned her back, stomping over to Conrad. Snatching the water containers from him, she knelt at the water's edge, filling each of them while the vampire stood awkwardly behind her. This was the typical movie moment when the person making a monumental life decision should look at their own reflection, psyching themselves up or accepting the choice. All Olivia could see was the roiling foam from the cascades.

She left the jugs on the ground and pulled out one of the bags from her utility belt. Standing, she turned, looking at Conrad who looked seasick. "I'm real sorry. I hope you can believe me."

"What?" The vampire blinked at her, and she threw the small bag of rice at his feet.

Taking her time, she retrieved the second baggie, and this time it was she who blinked as she looked back up and saw him staring at her.

"Did you honestly just throw fucking rice at me?"

That wasn't how this was supposed to go at all. "Yeah," she replied dumbly.

"Well that's a waste of perfectly good food and you've had it all this time?"

"It ain't a waste!" Came her reply, though most of the steel had left her spine. "Vampires have to count the grains!"

"What on Earth are you-" he paused, stumbling slightly and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Ugh. Wait. Okay. You actually think that just because I'm a vampire I'm going to fall on my knees to count grains of rice."

"Yeah."

"Who in the bloody hell gave you that ridiculous idea? You've been holding on to a bag of rice all this time just to toss it at me and wait to see me roll around on the ground? Really? Really?"

She shared a look with Virgil who seemed just as taken aback by this turn of events as she was. "Uh. Well..."

"That's simply bloody brilliant. Are you going to serve me garlic crusted food, too? FYI," he said, fists on his hips, "that doesn't work, either. Eating garlic makes me sick just like eating any human food makes me sick. Mix enough blood with it and sometimes I can sample a bit, but the last person who was kind enough to give me something to eat happened to be Italian, and, trust me, I could taste the garlic in there."

"You," she was gawking, she was sure, but Olivia had no idea what to do at that point, "could taste it?"

His shoulders eased down somewhat from where they had been hovering near his ears. Explaining things seemed to take the wildness out of him. "Yes," he said, "actually, it can be rather pleasant, depending on what foods they usually prefer. Also, blood type, I do favor some over others, but it changes from time to time, something about trying to achieve certain nutritional balances and, that's not the point!" Exasperated, he flung his head back and arms into the air. Unfortunately for him, the anger had eased enough that dizziness struck him like a mule kick to the head.

He stumbled, attempted to regain his footing, and only managed to trip over his own feet, landing on his hands and knees in soft earth. "Well," he said, looking at the mud on his clothes, "Fuck. I like these jeans."

She only had one option left, and Olivia knew when to spot an opening. Before she could think through her actions, she ran in a circle around the downed vampire, dribbling a trail of salt as she ran. She didn't stop until every grain was out of her bag, and only then, did she, too, fall to her knees. The two of them were eye level now, in the mud.

Conrad squinted, trying to regain his senses, and tapped the air in front of his face like a mime. "Salt circle. Oh. Well. That actually works. Er, good job, I suppose. Are you going to let me out now that you know, or is this where you call me an evil creature of the night and stab me through the heart?"

"I'm sorry," she said, slowly standing, not bothering to wipe the mud from her clothes. Wordlessly, she pulled a pocket knife from her belt.

"Really? You're really going to stab me?"

"No. Not you." Palm up, Olivia looked at her left hand, then pressed the tip of the blade to the pad of her first finger. A grimace twisted her face as the metal popped through flesh, blood welling up through the split in her skin. She approached Virgil, who scowled at her until she put the blade away. "To summon them, I have to give a signal."

"And a signal is bleeding everywhere?" Virgil said. His whole body was severe, from his thin eyebrows to his clenched fists.

Olivia shook he head, back aching. She felt tired suddenly, worn and craggy. "No, just... a few drops in the right place. They said it would be a beacon. They'd come."

"And that place is, what? Me?"

"No."

"Hello?" Conrad said, "I'm still here, you know. Who's coming? Could you maybe let me in on that bit of gossip before they come and, I assume, kill me? That is usually the plan with these sorts of situations."

Virgil looked to Conrad, face grim. "Olivia made a deal. Safety for us at the cost of you."

"Oh well that's simply wonderful," the vampire huffed. "I'm so terribly happy for the both of you. I do hope you realize that they're not going to come through on their end of the bargain, whoever or whatever they are."

"That's what I've been hearing," Virgil replied, eyes back on Olivia. "It's not too late to stop this."

It was easy for him to say. Visions of bodies filled her mind—viscera, screams, the acidic taste of fear, the blood on Virgil's head and Chloe's motionless body. Virgil was a good man, a good father and as good of a friend as you could ask to have, but he had not seen what she had seen. He hadn't heard what she had heard. The grinning, toothy darkness she had navigated that night was still only a fairy tale to him, although it was a nasty one. Virgil was a good man, but good men are soft.

Olivia had never been like him. These years—these weeks—had burned the last of the softness from her already lean heart.

"He can't fix anything, Virgil. They... can."

"Maybe they can," Conrad interrupted, "but they won't. Look, I'm sure they said very pretty things, salesmen tend to be good at that, but they won't do what you think they'll say."

Before she could think about it, before Virgil could react to stop her, Olivia's hand darted forward, tapping Chloe on the forehead three times. The girl's head tipped backwards, eyes wide and unseeing as smoke curled from her open mouth. Olivia recoiled, almost dropping her, but managed to keep a grip just strong enough to prevent the small body from collapsing across the forest floor.

"What did you do?" Virgil shouted, rushing forward to snatch the lifeless girl out of her hands. He whirled her away, one hand tightly clutching the back of her head. Betrayal, anger, and terror warred across Virgil's features as he stared down at his daughter.

"I don't –" Olivia started, "Oh God, I don't know!" She reached out, only to be shoved back by Virgil. "They- they said-"

"They say a lot of things," Conrad sighed, sitting cross legged in his salt circle prison. He looked bored, a distant spectator in this whole fucked up slapstick pantomime, ready for the next show to start. Fear, cold and mindless, gave way to rage. How dare he look at them like that, like it didn't even matter?

Virgil was trying to close Chloe's mouth, but her body was stiff, jaw rigid against his touch. The smoke continued to writhe its way up from her mouth, slithering across the water and deeper into the murky woods.

"So, let me guess," the vampire ventured, "you're turning me in to the Horseman in exchange for whatever it was he promised you."

"Yes," Olivia hissed. "They said they'd take care of everything. They just wanted you."

"Well I'm sure they can be trusted," Conrad continued. "After all, they killed all your friends in town, right? I mean, they sound like the right sort to trust."

"What was I supposed to do!" Olivia countered, feeling her fingernails biting into her palms. "I thought everyone was dead! Only the people who were out of town survived, and Virgil, and they put some sort of curse on Chloe. There was nothing else! There were no other options! They said all I had to do was deliver you and-"

"Chloe?" Virgil demanded. "A curse? You never—goddamn it, Olivia, you never said anything about that!"

Olivia tightened her jaw. Virgil's anger was justified, and her eyes drifted lower as she kept her back to him. "I didn't want you to know. But you should have figured it out, Virgil. Why the hell do you think she's been unresponsive for so long? She doesn't talk or laugh or play. She just..." Olivia clenched her teeth, willing her voice to stay even, "sits and stares and blinks occasionally."

"I...thought..." The words were hard for him, coming up like they were stuck in his throat. "Trauma. That...head trauma and emotional trauma..."

"Yeah well, no. They...did something to her. I don't know what the hell it was, but they're keeping her locked up like this until we give them Conrad. Then we get her back, we get everything back."

"You know," Conrad said, "just, throwing this one out there, you could have, I don't know, perhaps told us about this rather than take us on a trip across all fucking North America, chasing after things, trying to pick up fucking leads. For one, we might have been able to help you, and for another, Hanna wouldn't have had to help with a human fucking sacrifice." Sparks sizzled across Conrad's pale skin.

"We all make sacrifices!" Olivia snarled. She heaved a deep breath and powered on, "I didn't know that would happen. You chose where to take us, I never said to go there, and I never said to kill anyone there. He ended up saving those people, anyway!"

"Oh yes," Conrad snarled, "he did, didn't he? But at what cost? Do you care at all? Do you care about anything?"

Olivia's mouth went dry. What the hell did he know, the bloodless motherfucker, about what this cost her? Did he think this was easy? Did he think she wanted this? Her lips peeled back from her teeth. "Fuck you."

"And that's simply the best comeback possible, bra-fucking-vo." His hands clapped together slowly, mocking her. "What exactly do you think they'll do when they arrive, Olivia? Hmm? Do you think they'll piece everything back together and put a neat little bow on it? Maybe add in a pony? Let me tell you what they'll do. They're going to kill me. After they kill me, they're going to kill you, kill Virgil, and kill Chloe. That's what they do, that's what they are. They will laugh," he said, "at your pain."

She sat on the cold ground, staring at the undulating smoke trail. "What would you do, then? How would you fix this? How?"

Conrad snorted. "I don't have a clue. But Hanna might. Or Hanna might know the people to ask. There's still time to stop all of this."

"You have an army you're amassing and you're preparing to go in and fight them." Bitter laughter spilled from behind her teeth. "How much time do I really have here? What if you actually manage to kill the Horseman? Then what? What if her life is tied to him and now there's nothing we can do but let lie like this until she dies? What then? Mercy killing? And even then, even if we took that risk, you can't assure that our town will be safe."

"We may have a better shot at it than anything they'd actually give you."

"Even if I go back on the deal then, what if they kill her now?"

"I," he took a breath, then released it, shaking his head. "I don't have an answer for that one."

"I don't think we have time to talk anymore, either," Virgil spoke up, voice hollow.

Olivia looked up, across the river, and saw them then. Tall, lumbering, misshapen creatures, caught somewhere between wood and rock, makeshift armor plating their bulging, crooked bodies. A man's shape with a face hidden behind a helmet, his bloodstained right hand clutched in a tight fist. And the body at the front of the parade, walking carefully across the ground, cradling a rotting, fetid mass of a human head in its arms.

The river seemed to be giving them some trouble, which confused Olivia. It seemed shallow enough to her, more foam than anything else. The creatures accompanying them eventually lied down in the rushing foam of the river, on their backs or stomachs she couldn't be sure, and both the headless horseman and his companion stepped across, using the underlings as a makeshift bridge.

Once they were on the other side, the headless man's head spoke, as if continuing a conversation with his companion. "Well that's one use for them at least. Running water, eugh! Always the running water. Too much of it, too many places."

Beside him, the tall man was silent. Behind them, the underlings groaned as they slowly managed to return to their feet and slosh unsteadily across the water.

"So. Fledgling." Gelatinous eyes jiggled in the horseman's decrepit head. "It's been some time. It's good to see you again. It will be better to kill you, but, seeing you suffices for now. Especially since I can see you're as much of an idiot as I previously suspected. You really let them put you in a salt circle? I didn't think anyone was as dumb as these pathetic little goblins, but you certainly—"

"They are not dumb," the tall figure interrupted. "They are children of the forest. Still finding their way. Still growing."

"Children yes, yes, whatever." The horseman waved a hand, unconcerned. "They make good cannon fodder, and they're easy to replace, that's all that matters. Dumb is good in those regards."

"Like your horses," Conrad grumbled.

"An idiot with a good memory! A winning combination." The face jiggled and Olivia felt her stomach churning. "Ah, she is a good horse. I will miss her. You? Not so much. But...Wait."

There was a pause, and Olivia found herself standing, backing up until she felt Virgil and Chloe's rigid bodies directly behind her.

"We seem to be incomplete. Where is the other one?"

Unconsciously, her feet stepped slightly apart, knees bending. "What other?"

"Your brother, of course."

"No," Olivia said. A new and terrifying future was unfolding itself in front of her, and she wanted no part in wherever it's dark roads led. "No, he wasn't part of the deal. He was never part of the deal."

Clearly amused, the head's lips peeled back, exposing muddy colored teeth. "Wasn't he?"

"You know that thing I mentioned about deals?" Conrad asked, rising to his feet in his salt circle.

Olivia ignored him, her eyes fierce and narrowed at the horseman. "You never said anything about Luce."

"That doesn't mean I never wanted him. These two go everywhere together." The horseman gestured broadly, his thick riding gloves catching the moonlight. "I ask for the one and I should also get the other."

One of the misshapen entourage slipped on the bank and toppled backwards into the water. The others moved to assist, resulting in a second one falling down. They groaned together, like distressed animals, and the horseman's eyes rolled in his head. "Children, indeed, Ly Erg. They resemble human toddlers."

The tall demon's shoulders shifted slightly.

"Now," the horseman said, returning his attention to Olivia. "About your brother. Go fetch him. Quickly. I'm ready to watch him burn."

"No!"

"No? Oh, you know, I used to find that charming, when humans acted as if they could somehow deny me things." The body advanced towards Olivia, one slow pace at a time, and she stood her ground, but only barely. The arms lifted the head to stare into Olivia's face, its tepid, foul breath battering against her skin as spoke. "I don't anymore. Run, little human, run and fetch your brother for me."

"Why? What do you want him for?" She felt stupid asking the questions. She already knew the answer, but her body was on autopilot.

The horseman turned from her, walking back towards Ly Erg and the scrambling tree creatures on the water's edge. "Why do I want him? Oh, maybe I just miss his company. Maybe I want to sit down with him and have some tea, talk about books we've read recently. And maybe I want to stake him to the ground and cut out his internal organs while he watches his sire burn slowly on a spit."

Reaching the scrabbling creatures, the horseman's body nudged one with the toe of his boot. "Oh, or maybe I just miss his voice and desperately wish to hear it one last time."

"Wish granted."

There was a crack, like bamboo smacking bamboo with the volume ratcheted up high enough to make Olivia's ears ring. The horseman's body jerked once, head falling to the ground as inky blood dribbled from the chest. Knees giving out, its body slumped to the ground as well. Ly Erg stared dispassionately at the head before kicking it into the salt circle with Conrad, who recoiled.

"Ugh! Really? Was that necessary?"

Luce dropped out of a nearby tree, batlike for a moment with his coat fluttering around him in the air, still holding his rifle against his shoulder, still keeping the barrel trained on the tall demon. "Wot? Ya don't appreciate a li'l deus ex machina from time ter time?"

"Fine, wonderful, thank you, but, this?" Conrad cringed against the invisible barrier, trying to make space between himself and the contorting head at his feet. "How long have you been sitting around in the tree like a deranged pigeon?"

"Think we agreed on cassowary, sweetheart. Been about long enough, anyhow." His shoulder shifted slightly under the press of the rifle's butt. "Got tired a waitin' fer ya ta show. Tried the camper and no one was there so I followed yer trail into the woods. Got a li'l... eeh, turned around when I got near the water, but then I caught a whiff of these assholes and that got me reoriented right quick." A grin split Luce's face. "Got his ass splattered, too. Been waitin' ages fer that, Christ that was satisfyin'."

"He's not dead," Conrad said, as he continued to try and inch his way farther from the head within his restricted space. "He's in this salt circle with me and could you maybe explain what overwhelming urge drove you to kick him in here with me?"

"The salt will keep him silent, and will keep him powerless," Ly Erg said, as still as ever, even caught in Luce's sights. "Without a body, there is little he can do. I would recommend placing his head in an Elderwood box, with salt inside and a strong, iron lock holding it shut. Find a deep and preferably salty body of water, and toss the box in there."

"Uh huh," Luce grunted, still slowly advancing on the group of monsters. "And why should I trust you? Mmm?"

"Because I am leaving," the creature said placidly. "You, unwittingly, did me a favor. I have grown weary of The Rider. He is not as fun as he seems to think. If you will dispose of him, I will move the troops. We can avoid a battle entirely, both your faction and mine."

Luce snorted. "You makin' a deal with me now, then?"

"Of sorts. The Rider is arrogant, and he has proved… inflexible, on the matters of our mixed children. He lost sight of the way. Each should fend for themselves; each should pursue change, evolution. Perhaps it was our folly in allowing ourselves to indulge in a king. He expected us to remain loyal to him, to his pursuits, against our interests. He was wrong." Ly Erg bowed slightly, head inclining. "If we are in agreement, I would like to leave. If you wish to fight, I can accommodate your desires."

Cautiously, Luce lowered his rifle. "Yeah. Reckon we're good."

"I bid thee farewell until our paths cross again."

"No! Wait!" Olivia took a step forward, then hesitated. "Chloe. What about her?"

There was no motion behind the armored face. "What about her?"

"Can't you... won't you fix her? Remove the curse?"

"Ah. Yes. That can be done."

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. At last. Olivia's chest heaved, eyes burning. "Thank you."

"Beneath her tongue lies a small bag. Remove the bag, and she will be as she was."

Immediately Virgil reached into Chloe's mouth, fingers quickly finding and retrieving a tiny burlap sack. He sobbed once in relief as he pulled it from her mouth. The joy was short lived, as her body immediately went limp.

"No. No. Chloe? Chloe? Sweetheart, no, no, it's okay." He patted her cheek. "Can you hear me?"

"She cannot."

"What did you do?" Olivia's hands were on Chloe as well, stroking her hair, looking at her dull eyes. "You said you'd make things as they were! This isn't how she was!"

"On the contrary, this is indeed how she was. She has been dead for several weeks. Only the pouch was keeping her body reanimated. I would recommend burial by morning. Decomposition has been delayed, but will begin again in earnest now that the magic no longer holds her body in limbo."

The two of them stared down speechless at the body in their arms. Chloe's small hands were already growing less limp, a little more stiff, or maybe that was only Olivia's fevered imagination and the unsteady moonlight. With a faintly shaking hand, Virgil brushed a tangle of silvery hair from her unseeing eyes.

How long? How had she—but Olivia clamped down on the thought in a panic. Some things do not bear imagining.

Ly Erg left. The tree monsters left. The vampires watched the humans as they crumbled to the ground amid the sound of crickets.

She'd done what she thought was necessary—she'd taken accounts of everything at stake, and she'd made the hard decisions that soft hearts couldn't, and here she was. The river ran and the moon rose, and the darkness rumbled with two perfectly functioning, perfectly human hearts.

At least, she thought faintly, Hanna's sacrifices had saved someone.