Seeker

  Maia is stemming the tide of howling oncoming Harrows with steady, deadly accuracy. Jode has concentrated his shots to one area. The woods there are glowing red and roaring.

  “We’re not mobile,” Suarez says as I reach him. Cordero’s hand is pressed to her neck, and blood flows through her fingers. She looks white as bone. Ben’s shirt is covered in blood but I don’t see a wound. “Someone needs to help Low. We need those horses.”

  “We need the orb,” Cordero says. “None of it will help if we don’t get the orb.”

  I don’t want to believe what I just heard. “You don’t have it? Where is it?”

  “My horse’s saddlebag. We heard trouble—we were trying to leave but the horse spooked.”

  I look at Suarez. He looks at me. There are no words for this shit sandwich.

  “Gideon, I’ll go!” I look up at Daryn, mounted on Shadow. “I’ll get it!”

  “Daryn, wait!” But Shadow lunges away in hungry strides.

  This plan has serious flaws. Daryn has no weapon and we need her as much as the orb to get out of here. And I just need her alive, period.

  I look for Riot but he’s deep in the fight, biting and kicking anything that comes near. Too far for me to reach quickly. “Marcus!”

  He looks at me, sees Daryn leaving, and then peels away from the clearing to follow her. As Ruin opens up her stride, a Harrow leaps into her path. She jumps and clears the Harrow easily. As she lands I see the flash of the scythe arcing, then the sickle hooking into the Harrow’s back. Marcus drags it a few feet before he releases it.

  Low thunders up on one of the Arabians. He jumps off and grabs the reins with one hand, waving at Cordero and Maia with the other. “Come on come on come on,” he says. “Up up up.”

  I run over and hold the horse so he can boost Maia into the saddle. Cordero doesn’t move.

  “Cordero, let’s go!” I yell.

  She’s swaying on her feet, and her eyes have gone distant. She’ll bleed out if we can’t get her help. “No,” she says. “Send Ben. I’ll go last.”

  Shit. This is no time to act noble.

  But Low immediately adjusts. “Ben, get over here!”

  Ben doesn’t hesitate. He throws himself into the saddle and lands half on top of Maia, who scoots back.

  “How far, Gideon? Which way?” he asks, taking the reins. “Is it close?”

  “Easy, Ben. Head that way. Follow our tracks. You good?”

  “I’m good,” he says.

  Maia loops an arm around his waist and pulls a 9mm from her leg holster with the other hand. She digs her heels into the Arabian’s flanks, and the horse shoots away.

  Low and I give each other cover as we sprint back to the three remaining Arabians. We need a horse for Cordero and Suarez.

  “The red, Blake.” He points to a chestnut mare that looks slightly less crazed than the other two. “Cut her loose.”

  The leads are braided together from the jostling the horses have done. There’s no untangling them, so I wrap my left arm around the mare’s head to hold her still and cut the leather. As soon as she’s free, she springs away from me, but Low grabs her bridle.

  “Whoa,” he says. “Whoaaa. Settle down, little firecracker.”

  The mare’s eyes go wide and she squeals in fear. A Harrow is barreling our way, teeth bared, claws tearing at the dirt. The horse wheels sideways and Low backpedals to get out of her way, but his feet catch and he goes down.

  I lunge for the horse’s mane, for anything to stop her from trampling Low. I swipe air twice before I remember my left hand is metal and useless.

  Low rolls, somehow evading four churning hooves, and comes up unharmed. Already drawing his sidearm from his hip holster. “Go, Blake! Take her!”

  Finally getting control of the mare, I swing up into the saddle. Being on a horse that isn’t Riot feels like wearing someone else’s clothes, but I get her settled and moving. In seconds, I’m back with Suarez, Jode, and Cordero.

  In just the short time I’ve been with Low, Suarez has been viciously attacked. His thigh has been ripped open. Cordero is down on her knees, the wound at her neck flowing worse than before. All around, the Harrows continue with the incessant howling, slashing with claws that are curved and dripping deep red.

  Suarez limps over.

  “Can you get to the cabin?” I ask, jumping down.

  “Yes.” He hauls himself into the saddle to a fluid stream of Spanish curses.

  I rush over to Cordero. “Okay, boss. Time to get outta here.” Her head lolls to the side as I lift her and carry her to Suarez. “You’ll have to hold her,” I tell him. Which means he won’t be able to shoot.

  “Jode, go with them,” I yell. “They need cover.”

  Jode looks from Suarez to me. “So do you!”

  “Get them back to the cabin, Jode! Do it!”

  “Bloody hell!” he yells, but he lowers his bow and comes our way.

  “Blake, you’ve got Low?” Suarez says as he negotiates his terrified horse and a limp Cordero. He looks across the clearing. “Travis!”

  I’ve never heard Suarez yell, and it’s so rare to hear Low’s first name that it takes me an instant to process what’s happening.

  Low is in trouble.

  He’s on the ground, and a Harrow is dragging him into the woods.

  The creature paces, like it’s protecting a fresh kill. Low bucks and thrashes and digs his heels into the dirt, but the thing has claws hooked deep into his chest and enough strength to haul his huge body away with ease.

  “Riot!” Across the clearing, my horse’s bold amber eyes swing to find me. “Riot, to me!” He digs in, hauling over to me as I sprint to him. We barely slow as we reach each other. But by the time I’m in the saddle, I can’t see Low anymore.

  I bolt to where the Harrow was taking him. Riot senses the urgency, and each of his strides are like leaps.

  It doesn’t take long to find Low—I reach him almost right away.

  But I’m not there quick enough.

  I’m a lifetime too late.

  CHAPTER 15

  DARYN

  Shadow and I retrace our path, searching the woods for the white Arabian that darted past us only minutes ago.

  Cordero’s horse.

  The horse packing the saddlebag with the orb.

  I scan left and right, the earth blurring beneath Shadow’s hooves. The horse has to be here somewhere.

  Behind me I hear the howls of the Harrows and the deep yell of either Low or Suarez. Every hair on my body lifts at the sounds—life and death, violence and fear—all present, adding up to a noise I know I’ll hear in nightmares for the rest of my life, if there is a rest of my life.

  I spot a Harrow huddled in the high branches of a tree up ahead. We’re going too fast to divert our path.

  I brace. Anticipate claws in my back again. A new set of hash marks.

  I picture it. Every inch of my skin ripped open.

  But as we pass beneath the Harrow it only smiles with its sharp rotten teeth.

  “Like my friends?” it calls down, and I recognize it as the one from before. “More than me, don’t you think?”

  As I speed past it, I’m in instant crisis. That thing knew about Sebastian—I should go back! But if I don’t find the white horse with the orb, everyone in the group could die.

  I race on, something blackening and withering inside me as I return to searching for the white horse. In these dim woods she should be easy to spot. She should be as bright as the begonias.

  “Daryn!”

  Marcus shouts my name from somewhere behind me.

  “Here! Marcus, I’m here!” I look for him through the blurring trees, but I don’t see him.

  I’m still turned when Shadow suddenly jerks to a halt.

  I rock forward, almost catapulting out of the saddle. Then I see what stopped her.

  The white Arabian stands just a few lengths away.

  She’s not alone.

  A young man, d
ressed in dark clothing fitted to a long and lean build, stands beside the mare, holding her by the halter. His feet are planted in a stance that’s slightly wide and his attention is fully on me, like he’s been waiting.

  Euphoria turns my heart into a rocket, shooting for the stars.

  Sebastian.

  His name almost leaps from my throat until I realize I have it wrong.

  I wanted to see Bas. But it’s not him.

  It’s Samrael.

  Shadow begins to dance beneath me. No, Daryn. Leave now. We need to leave now.

  I can’t hold her still. I know she’s scared for me, but I can’t leave without the orb.

  I’m vaguely aware of dismounting. Vaguely aware that all the moisture has left my mouth and that I’ve pressed my shaking hands flat against my legs.

  My head feels like it’s about five feet above my body. Like my consciousness is still mounted somewhere behind me, up on Shadow.

  “I’m here to help,” Samrael says in a resonant voice. A voice that’s cool as a winter’s breath.

  “Do you think I’m stupid?”

  “Quite the opposite.”

  I have no response to give him. If he’s serious, it’s a compliment I don’t want from him. If it’s flattery, I want it even less.

  I notice that the white mare’s saddle is unbuckled and almost sliding off her back, and that Samrael has tethered his own horse—a giant dapple-gray—farther back.

  “Daryn…” He lets go of the mare and lifts his hands like he means no harm, but he’s a demon. He is harm. “Hear me out.”

  It’s been months since I’ve seen him. But unlike Gideon, Jode, and Marcus, who changed so much in that same stretch of time, Samrael hasn’t changed at all.

  He’s still beautifully made, with wide-set green eyes and dark hair that bends like ocean waves. He has a lithe build, his athleticism like a panther’s—speed and strength that are somehow evident even in his languid movements.

  “You’re in trouble,” he continues. “I can help. I can take you to safety.”

  “Where’s Sebastian?” My voice warbles over the words like rolling pebbles. “Do you know where he is?” That’s all I want to know. That knowledge is the only thing he could ever give me that I’d want. “The Harrows said they have him.”

  “Harrows?” His eyes dart toward the direction of the struggle. “No, they don’t. He’s with me. He’s safe. Sebastian is well.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s the truth,” Samrael repeats, his gaze steady as a frozen lake. “Bas is well.”

  A small gasp escapes me and my eyes blur. I think I believe him. I want so much to believe him. It’s the way he said it. Bas. So familiar. Like he knows Sebastian.

  “I’ll take you to him,” he says. “But we need to go now.”

  “Are you serious?” Samrael severed Gideon’s hand. He had Sebastian poisoned. “You think I’ll actually go with you?”

  He says nothing. His eyes skim the woods again, warily. The sounds of the Harrows could be growing louder; I can’t tell. “We’re running out of time.”

  “I’m not leaving without my friends!” I snap. Then I swallow the dryness in my throat. “I’m not leaving people behind.”

  “I understand.”

  “How could you possibly?”

  Again, he says nothing for a long moment. “I would bring them as well if I thought they would come, but—” He smiles, a deadly smile, and shakes his head in frustration. “Do you think Gideon will ever follow me anywhere?”

  “Never.” Hearing his name jars me back to my goal. I need to get to Gideon, Jode, and Marcus. Cordero and the others. “I need that horse.”

  “Certainly,” he says. He gives the mare a gentle prod and she darts over to Shadow, seeking safety in the familiar. But the saddlebag slides off her back and drops, landing almost at Samrael’s feet.

  My eyes fall to it inadvertently. Samrael notices.

  He bends gracefully and lifts the bag off the ground, holding it up. “I suppose you need this as well,” he says, more a statement than a question. Then he opens the leather buckle and removes the orb, and a bemused expression flashes across his features. “Quite a lot of trouble this thing has caused. And it looks worse for wear.”

  His eyes lift to me, but I’ve lost the power to speak.

  I need that, I want to say. But of course he knows that.

  Give it to me, I want to demand. But what good would that do?

  Samrael slips the orb back into the saddlebag and buckles it. I see my chances of saving everyone, and of ever getting out of here alive, vanish. He’ll take it. He knows that without it none of us will go anywhere.

  I expect him to haul it over his shoulder. Instead he tosses it in my direction.

  It lands with a soft thump a few feet in front of me.

  “I would keep that on you at all times.”

  Is he being wry? I dart forward and grab it, greedy as a scavenger, and quickly remove the orb, stuffing it deep into my jacket pocket.

  The howling voices are so close—definitely heading our way.

  “Come with me, Daryn.”

  Something large flies past me, whooshing by my ear.

  Marcus’s scythe turns end over end as it sails through the air. Enormous. As if a helicopter has shed its propeller.

  Samrael lunges aside and it misses him by inches, biting into the bark of a tree behind him with a crack.

  Samrael dashes to his horse and mounts smoothly. “A message? For Sebastian?”

  He’s finally understood I’m not going with him.

  “Tell him I won’t give up. Tell him I won’t stop until I bring him home.”

  “He already knows,” Samrael says, turning his gray, “but I’ll tell him.”

  I watch him ride away, wondering if I’ve made a terrible mistake.

  Marcus rides up moments after. He sees Samrael’s retreating form. Then his furious eyes find me. “You okay?”

  I nod, but I honestly don’t know. I’m shaking all over.

  “The orb, D?”

  “I have it.”

  He nods. “We got hit hard. We better get back.” He retrieves the scythe. I loop my lariat around the white mare and we ride back toward the cabin.

  My body never lets go of the fear. Every passing shadow makes me tense, anticipating the Harrows coming down on us. But the woods are eerily still. I don’t see any Harrows anymore, yet I don’t feel like they’ve left us, either.

  Gideon is waiting in front of the cabin as we ride up. Jode stands to one side of the porch, Maia to the other. Gideon takes a long look at Marcus and walks up to me. There’s blood on his cheek, four stripes like dragged fingers. And a fierce pain in his eyes that makes my stomach drop. “We need to go.”

  “What happened?” I ask.

  Gideon grabs Shadow’s reins to keep her steady and looks up at me, some emotion that I can’t place burning in his eyes. Marcus has jumped off Ruin and disappeared into the cabin with Jode.

  “Gideon, who’s hurt? What happened?”

  “We have to get home, Daryn.” His voice is in shreds and his eyes begin to shine with tears. Marcus comes out of the cabin carrying someone over his shoulder. Then Jode does.

  And I understand.

  Not here. Not yet.

  Home first.

  With half of our team either slumped or strapped to saddles, I open the portal and bring us back through to Nevada, where blood is scarlet red under the bright desert sun.

  CHAPTER 16

  GIDEON

  Jode takes a pull from the whiskey bottle and grimaces. “Acid.” He presses the back of his hand to his mouth, wincing. “Or is this petrol?” He passes it to me. “I can’t tell.”

  I reach across and take the bottle. Robohand’s working again, now that we’re back out. I’m not sure the rest of me is, though.

  I don’t feel right.

  “If it gets the job done, does it matter?” I say, slurring all over the place. I do
n’t drink. At all, really. I have a hard time with anger when I drink. Harder time. And it’s murder on my stomach. But tonight there was no choice. Right now, life is pain—the kind you do anything to try to stop.

  We’re lined up on top of our trailer—the three of us—our legs hanging over the side. Below, the camp’s spotlights illuminate about twenty feet of desert; then it’s nothing but darkness and stars.

  “Tell me how close you were to splitting Samrael open again,” I say to Marcus.

  Five minutes ago we were all staring at the ground and trying to figure out if we’d break anything if we fell. Marcus got dizzy, which is why he’s lying back. Jode and I are still sitting. Even though I’m dizzy, too. Except the dizziness is somewhere inside me. My soul may have a concussion.

  “I’ve told you three times already,” he says.

  “I’m trying to focus on happy things.”

  “Close. A couple inches.”

  “And you threw the scythe how far?”

  “Don’t know. Forty feet.”

  “That’s really good, Marcus. But maybe get practiced up. So you don’t miss if you get another chance.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  He’s joking. We’re joking. You don’t throw a scythe. But I bet he actually will practice. He wants to end Samrael. Almost as much as I do.

  We’ve hit another conversational dead end, so I drink.

  It’s terrible. Like petrol.

  Why am I doing this?

  Oh, yeah. Because I don’t want to think.

  “Suarez is leaving in the morning,” Jode says. “Soraya told me a little while ago. He’s going to Texas to see Low’s family.”

  I look at him. “You’re just telling us this?”

  “It didn’t seem like a headline item.”

  That’s true. The headline items of the day are hard to eclipse.

  Things could’ve gone worse earlier. We did make it back out of the Rift. But we paid a steep price. We lost too much today.

  Suarez had to have a blood transfusion and twenty-four stitches on his thigh. Maia had five on her forearm, seven on her shoulder. Ben’s status is as yet unclear. He’s had massive internal bleeding. Right now we’re waiting. We just want good news. I was sure Cordero wouldn’t make it. I thought she’d had her jugular or carotid nicked. But it was a wound in her scalp that caused all the bleeding. She got some staples, but she’s fine. Physically she’s going to be okay. But not Low.