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  Harriet, suddenly less hysterical, hopped in the window and settled down on the passenger seat.

  Maeve started the engine and turned the van around. Down the street, the anemic lights were going out one at a time, as if a skillful hand flipped a switch on each pole.

  Electricity made complete darkness an alien thing, relegated to areas where no one wanted to live. When the Earth Mother’s night fell, it rolled over the city, a hungry beast devouring light. Darkness pursued them as Maeve raced ahead of the gridlock caused by dying traffic signals.

  “How’s your hand?” Flor asked. “Do I need to rebind it?” She reached between the seats and untied the makeshift bandage.

  Maeve heard the sharp intake in her breath and held up her now unmarked hand. When a witch made a blood offering and chanted the spell correctly, the cut healed. When she bound the demon Chaos, her incompetence left a ragged scar. This healing would bring no comfort though, if the magic she unleashed injured hundreds or thousands of people.

  She ran the van up on a sidewalk to get around a stalled car. “Flor, Immal said the hunters were after me. If we separate, I might be able to draw them off. When Raymond recovers, he could fly you to Elder.

  “No,” Flor said. “We’re supposed to stay together. I can feel it.”

  Maeve ran a red light. “Together? Like on a sinking boat?”

  Chapter Six

  Maeve stopped at a motel before dark. No sleep for two days and the harrowing flight from Garden City had drained her. Maybe they’d gotten away this time. But just in case, she’d better find another vehicle, or a trucker heading north. Then they’d turn back toward the east.

  “Garden City…mysterious black-out…injuries…no deaths…” When the TV announcer finished the no deaths part, Maeve sighed and shut the box off. Raymond lay on the bed with his eyes closed. Flor sat beside him, holding his hand.

  “Do you know what you did?” Flor asked.

  Maeve shook her head. “Invocation and sacrifice. I prayed to Inaras and almost wiped out a city. Pretty spectacular, huh?”

  “You asked a goddess—”

  “Not a goddess. Elementals are sort of like…angels or demi-gods. Damn I wish I could control my magic better. When you healed Raymond, you called up a lot of energy and you didn’t blow anything up. I try and—”

  “It wasn’t the same thing. Besides, you have more power than I do. I can see how it would be difficult to control.”

  “More power than you? No way.”

  “Maeve, I can feel it.”

  Maeve knew she had a spattering of power. Tana would probably have found a way to train her—if she’d been able to hang around. She shrugged. “Magic could never give me anything I ever wanted.” Interpersonal relationships—or the lack of them—played a large part in leaving Elder. No magic in the universe could make someone love her.

  “All power isn’t witchcraft.” Flor spoke and Maeve heard compassion.

  “Tell me where you come from, Flor. Who are you?”

  Flor studied her, as if trying to choose the correct words. “Na’thumatal. That’s what we called ourselves. My people, human and magic, came to America across the land bridge from Asia twenty-thousand years ago. They built a city, Itztamnal, in central Mexico. The Aztec and Mayans were descended from the ordinary humans among us.”

  “What happened?”

  “The same as with your people. Power, priests, corruption, you name it. The schism—the war, the slaughter—lasted for a thousand years. When the wars ended, humans hunted down and killed most of my people who survived. Not that you could blame them, the Na’thumatal war decimated them, too. They looted Itztamnal, leveled it, and relegated my people to myth.

  “According to Immal, twenty-seven of my ancestors survived. They lived in the desert southwest until the Europeans came. A low birth rate and here I am, the last of the Na’thumatal.”

  “Magic needs magic. There weren’t enough of you to maintain your lives. That’s why we cling to each other, why Elder is so important. Elder’s a sanctuary, a refuge for magic. We all have to take a life-binding oath. The Oath of Elder. No Iameth is supposed to hurt another Iameth. Of course, the rules don’t say we have to be nice to each other.”

  “And the penalty for oath-breaking?”

  “Exile. A slow death.”

  “But you survived outside.”

  Maeve smiled. “I survive. Claire—that’s my mother—damn her to—”

  “No! Don’t curse your mother she—”

  “Dumped me like she was drowning a day-old kitten. The first time I met her—I was ten—she wouldn’t look me in the eye, and I spit at her. I don’t want to talk about her.” Maeve went to the window and pulled up a chair. “Try to rest. I’ll wake you at midnight.”

  Flor switched off the light, and Maeve drew the curtain back an inch. Wings flapped, and Harriet landed in her lap. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on, little chicken?” Maeve whispered. “We almost lost Raymond.”

  “Know.” Harriet shivered.

  “Maeve,” Flor said. “Why did you leave Elder?”

  “The first time I was bored silly, and I ran away. The second time, Tana told me to leave. I made a mistake. I made mistakes, plural. Then one monster topped off the pile. A man, a human from the town…getting a divorce he said…only he neglected to tell his wife. That isn’t an excuse—it was as much my fault as his. He was so handsome, so charming, and I was incredibly self-centered and angry. She, the wife, killed herself. Slashed her wrists over a pile of graphic photos of him and me. I sure wish I knew who took those pictures. Who sent them to her.”

  In a rare moment of righteous fury, Tana had dragged Maeve to the woman’s body and smeared blood on her hands. Tana called her names, whore and slut being the kindest. It wasn’t the man’s first infidelity, and the suicidal wife had spent a year in a mental hospital for two previous attempts to kill herself, but that didn’t assuage Maeve’s guilt or Tana’s anger.

  “Was that before or after you bound the demon?”

  “After.”

  “Why’d you bind him?”

  “Ate my babies,” Harriet piped up.

  Maeve laughed, though it wasn’t funny. “Now Harriet, that’s not quite true. They weren’t babies yet. How long did those eggs lay in the aerie waiting for you to plop your little butt down and sit a while? He shouldn’t have taken them, though. That was wrong. Now everyone go to sleep.”

  “No nasty,” Harriet said.

  Flor laughed. “Harriet, we need to find you a boyfriend.”

  Harriet grumbled unintelligible words, and Maeve leaned back to begin her watch.

  ****

  Alex considered his options as he returned to the motel room with the supplies the Commander requested. He had money. He could run. He could be in Arizona in twelve hours, and once he went into the desert, he was willing to bet no one could find him. Grandpa was gone, though, and he would be alone. An unexpected life changing event had caught him, and filled with magic, he had to go on. Trapped in a net of conflicting desires, Alex paid little attention as he approached the room he shared with the Commander. Taggert and another of the troops stood by the van, smoking.

  Taggert gave a truly nasty laugh, one filled with ridicule and blind hatred. “What’s the matter, pretty boy, did you—”

  Alex had reached a limit. Violence. He needed…his foot lashed out. It slammed into Taggert’s face. Taggert flew back and collapsed on the sidewalk. When the other man jumped forward, Alex punched him in the gut. He went down beside Taggert. Tiny flashes of light surrounded them. Like micro lightning strikes, they whisked and whispered, then quickly faded. Alex stood, fists clenched, staring at the fallen men. He wanted them to get up, to fight. He wanted to hurt them, these vile men who would always be ready to injure the weak, the helpless. They needed lessons recognizing genuine threats. A door opened, and the Commander stepped out. He stared at Alex then at his downed troops. His eyes widened. He cocked his head and gave Alex
a blade sharp smile.

  Chapter Seven

  Raymond’s body quivered. The fragile vibration under his skin promised violent spasms later. All three of them were soaked by the time they’d holed up in a ramshackle shed where four grimy alleys converged on an empty lot. Raymond and Flor sat on a wooden box dragged from one corner to a semi-dry spot.

  Maeve tried to ignore the chill while she kept watch through the open door. Water drummed on the tin roof and ran in steady streams through rust holes, so she couldn’t hear if anyone approached in the rain-veiled night. Harriet had flown out into the storm to see if she could locate their pursuers.

  They’d made good time that day until three hours earlier, right after dark, when Maeve left Harriet, Raymond, and Flor in the van and walked three blocks toward a cheap hotel where she planned to get them a room. Traffic on the litter-strewn streets consisted of an occasional truck.

  Half a block from her destination, she’d spotted the Jeeps parked at a convenience store across the street. She recognized them from the motel in San Medio. Maeve ran back to find her own empty van blocked in by a large delivery truck. She’d had to search the alleys around the buildings to find her crew hiding between buildings. She'd found the shed and hoped to hide until dark. Maeve knew she’d chosen a poor sanctuary when the rain began. Light at first, it morphed into a thunderstorm in minutes.

  Constructed against the wall of a building, the shed stood where two wide, trash-strewn delivery alleys crossed in an X. The buildings around the shed had few windows, only doors and steel fire escape stairs.

  Flor told Maeve she had become suspicious when the delivery truck stopped, blocked them, and the driver cut the engine off. It might have been a coincidence, but she didn’t want to take chances, so she and Raymond ran. Maeve had decided they could lay low and wait, then circle around a couple of blocks and check on the van. If the area was clear and the truck gone, she would retrieve the van and they’d head out of town. Good plan—until the rain became a deluge.

  “I wish I knew how they keep finding us,” Flor said. She hugged Raymond tight.

  Maeve shook her head. “It’s insane. They must know where we’re going, but they can’t know which road we take. They must have a way to see magic auras from a distance. And we’re leaving a kind of trail.”

  “We can’t from hide that, can we?”

  Harriet flashed in the door and smashed face first into the shed’s muddy, dirt floor. Her saturated wings would carry her no farther. Maeve snatched her up and held her close, wiping muck from her face and clearing her tiny nostrils. Harriet gasped for breath. Maybe she wouldn’t pull the stuff into her lungs.

  The harpy began to wheeze. “Hounds…run…men…get away…” A coughing spasm seized her.

  “Can dogs pick up a scent in this rain?” Flor was fighting Raymond who struggled to rise.

  “Not dogs—hounds.” Maeve knew what Harriet meant. The harpy only knew one kind of canine. “Slough Hounds.”

  Flor sighed. “And they scent magic.”

  “They can, but what are they doing out of Elder? That’s damned near impossible.” Maeve wiped mud off Harriet’s feathers as best she could. “Okay, here’s what we do—”

  “Let me change,” Raymond said. He struggled with Flor.

  “Yeah, sure,” Maeve told him. “Excellent plan Raymond—change and die in front of them. You might buy us ten or fifteen seconds while they climb over you.”

  Raymond leaned heavily against Flor and hung his head. Dragons, muscle and fire, flew the skies of Elder, bathing in the glory of their strength and agility. Maeve could feel her life-long friend’s shame at his weakness.

  She went to Raymond and wrapped her free arm around his shoulders. She pulled Harriet closer. “Listen, my friend, you, me, and this noisy little bird have been in worse shape. If we have to go down, we’re going in style—and we’re going to take a few of them with us.”

  Harriet raised her head and looked Raymond in the eye and said, “Don’t eat me.” She sneezed, blowing a puff of mud and mucus at him.

  Maeve went to the door and let Harriet use her arm for a perch. “Where are they, Harriet.”

  “There.” Harriet lifted a wing and pointed to the left.

  “Flor, you and Raymond take the alley to the right. Go at least three blocks, find an empty building, then have Raymond break open a door. He should have the strength for that. Go in and try to get dry. I’ll find you later. Harriet, you ride on Flor’s shoulder and—”

  “Nope. Stay with you.”

  Maeve sighed. “Can you fly?”

  “Can fly.” She shook her feathers, and water dripped from them.

  “Okay, but remember, if I get caught, you have to lead Flor and Raymond home. If these creeps want me, they shouldn’t bother you.” Maeve had no other weapons or options—except one. “I could give up, that might solve—”

  “No!” Flor and Raymond spoke as one.

  “Okay. Now go.”

  “Here.” Flor offered Maeve a small cloth pouch.

  Maeve smiled. “Immal?”

  “Immal. I decided to keep a small part on me at all times. For emergencies. Like this one.”

  The rest of Immal was in the van with their other possessions. She reached for the pouch, but in the chill damp air, her fingers fumbled and the pouch dropped into the mud. “Sorry Immal,” Maeve said as she picked it up and stuffed it in her shirt pocket.

  Flor wrapped her arm around Maeve in a quick hug. “Please be careful.”

  Not long after Raymond and Flor disappeared in the storm, Maeve heard the hound’s howls ripple along the threads of magic. These were creatures of Elder. How could that be possible?

  Slough Hounds lived in one of Elder Valley’s canyons. A deep canyon pocketed with a multitude of caves and other hiding holes. Night creatures, the hounds seldom ventured into the light of day. Tana told Maeve that Sorath bred them in the years before the war. Fifteen of them arrived in Elder Valley before the Puritans landed in Massachusetts, and after lengthy debate, the Witches Council chose to allow the Code of Ataro’s ban on killing to apply to them. As long as they kept to their place and ate only wild game, they could stay.

  The hounds were intelligent, but slaves to their vicious nature and dangerous to anyone without power. Like a bastard mix of jackal and viper, they hated all living creatures, including each other. Populations remained low, since males killed a large number of their own young. As ferocious as ogres, they guarded their turf. What power hammered them into such servile effort?

  The rain eased to a fitful drizzle, and Maeve stepped out to face the enemy. Enough streetlight filtered in to the alleys to make out shapes, details too, if close enough, but great patches of midnight lingered around the buildings.

  Two blocks away, the Slough Hounds bayed like a rusty saw cutting green wood. Would Inaras help her again? No way of knowing, and given her limited knowledge of spells…maybe she should work with the available raw material this time.

  Maeve opened her self to magic and found it jittering around her like small fireworks. It had never felt like that before. She gathered the sparks and threads to her and tried to form them into a pattern—rain. Rain like God flushed a toilet in heaven. Rain to cover her escape, rain touched with enough magic to spread out and fool the hounds, get them off the trail.

  Afraid to make a blood offering that might release too much power again, she opened the pouch containing Immal and grabbed a generous handful. She stuffed the pouch back in her pocket. When she had all the power she could hold, she tossed the dust in the air and released the spell.

  Nothing happened—except the drizzle stopped.

  To her right a shadow within a shadow, drifted across a brick wall. Not frightening though, and somehow familiar. The hounds and their handlers entered the alley. In the fitful light, the shapes of men cast silhouettes above darker forms running low to the ground.

  The Slough Hound’s hairless bodies sat upon four short, muscular legs ending i
n splayed feet and blunt claws. Hound was a misnomer, since their only dog-like feature lay in the face, ears, and head. Snake-like tails whipped behind them and large carnivore mouths carried three-inch canine teeth.

  Maeve tried to weave the spell again, and then stopped. No time. Run or fight, either way, she’d lose. At least the others were away. The pursuit would most likely end in a few moments.

  The empty lot was a no man’s land of discarded industrial relics. A pile of rusted scrap metal lay discarded against the shed, and Maeve dug through it, looking for a weapon. She nicked her hand and blood dripped between her fingers. If she had to bleed, she might as well have done it for her impotent spell.

  The onrushing hounds screamed at the scent.

  She found and clutched a five-foot, sharp-ended metal rod. It would have to do. With Harriet on her shoulder, she ran for a rickety fire escape attached to the wall of the closest building. Six feet up, back to the wall, she’d make her stand.

  Chapter Eight

  Maeve opened herself to magic again. She drew and pulled, funneling it deeper and deeper into her mind and body. The reasonable certainty that the buildings around her were deserted made the next step easier.

  This spell had a different purpose. It would work. The first defensive spell she ever learned and the most devastating. When they dragged her down, she’d release it, and while she wasn’t a powerful as Tana, she’d probably take out the back walls of the buildings around the empty lot. She’d offer the most potent sacrifice of all—her life. If the falling rubble didn’t kill her, that much magic tearing through her body would shred it, and she’d rejoin the Earth Mother’s cycle of life, death, and rebirth with style.

  As she whispered her final prayer to Inaras, seven hounds raced out of the alley on her right—enough beasts to hurt a fireless dragon on the ground, if not kill him. They’d expected Raymond. They raced straight toward her. She braced herself. The first hound cautiously stepped up the stairs. Its foul odor pushed ahead of it like a shield. Maeve remembered they were intelligent enough to understand speech.