“Why not?”
“Because their leader does the kind of magic that panics good old regular folk,” Lamar said. “They are trying to put down roots. They don’t want people coming for them with pitchforks and torches. They’re desperate.”
“And they think adding three hundred trained soldiers to their settlement will be enough of a deterrent.”
“In a nutshell.”
It sounded perfect. The settlement already had an issue with Nez. They had no militia to speak of, which meant there would be very little conflict. They had supplies that would keep his people fed.
Stoyan and Bale had drifted close enough to hear the conversation and were eyeing him.
“What’s the catch?” Hugh asked.
“They don’t trust us,” Lamar said. “We walked away from Patterson. And Willis. Both when they needed us most. They expect us to betray them.”
“We followed orders,” Hugh said.
“It was still a betrayal.”
He puzzled over it. Roland had wanted them out of those conflicts, so he took his people out. He tried to remember if he had argued against it. He wanted to think he did, but his recall was cloudy. The precise memory of the events slipped through his fingers as if he were trying to pick up water in his fist. He pulled his troops out, and their former allies died. An echo of guilt rose from the depths of his memories, and he pushed it away.
Did I even argue against it?
Yes. He did. There was a phone call when Roland told him to abandon Willis. Hugh was sure of it.
Things had been much simpler then. He didn’t have to wonder if it was right. Roland wanted it; therefore, it was right. He longed for that simplicity, and at the same time, a hot, angry thought surfaced in his brain. He went back on his word. His word wasn’t worth shit. He should’ve been able to say “I’ll do it,” and that should’ve been enough assurance to guarantee an alliance.
“Their track record isn’t much better,” Lamar said. “They had an agreement with a town in West Virginia and ended up bailing on them three years ago. Before that, they bounced from town to town, either leaving because they didn’t like it or getting run off by the locals. The information is conflicting.”
“Why do they keep running?”
“There are some nasty rumors about the kind of magic they practice.” Lamar hesitated.
“Spit it out.”
“The story is, our peaceful nature magic users had some disagreements with a few covens in Louisiana. The covens decided to wipe them out and banded together during the flare. Not the last one or the one before that. Two flares back.”
A flare was a magic wave on steroids. It came once every seven years. During a flare, magic reigned for several days. Weird shit crawled out of their hiding places, gods walked the earth, and impossible things became possible.
During that flare, Roland had destroyed Omaha.
“The Louisiana covens called themselves the Arcane Covenant. When the flare came, they summoned something, a horde of dire wolves or demons, nobody quite knows,” Lamar continued. “They should’ve wiped our nature guys off the face of the planet, but here they are alive and thriving, while the Arcane Covenant is dead as a doorknob. Rumor says human sacrifice was involved.”
“Terrific.” Of all the fucked-up magic, human sacrifice was the one threshold even Roland wouldn’t cross. It opened the door to old primal powers nobody wanted to resurrect.
“Nobody has proof that any of it happened,” Lamar said. “But it makes any alliance appear shaky. We’re both desperate, and Nez will expect us to cut and run the moment things get hairy.”
Hugh leaned on the corral’s fence. That was a problem. The only way to hold off Nez was to project a show of strength. The alliance had to appear unbreakable, otherwise Nez would expect them to fracture and attack anyway. Lamar was right. They had to overcome that burden. They had to appear completely united.
“There is a tried-and-true method of making an alliance appear secure,” Lamar said carefully.
Hugh glanced at him.
“A union,” Lamar said, as if worried the word would cut his mouth.
“What union?”
“A civil union, Preceptor.”
“What the hell are you on about?”
Lamar took a deep breath.
“Marriage!” Bale yelled out.
Hugh stared at Lamar. “Marriage?”
“Yes.”
They had to be out of their minds. “Who would be getting married?”
“You.”
The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he said the first thing that popped into his head. “Who would marry me?”
“You’re handsome, a big, imposing figure of a man, and um…” Lamar scrounged for some words. “And they’re desperate.”
“What the hell have you been smoking? I’m penniless, I’m exiled, I own nothing…” He left out broken.
“And a recovering alcoholic.” Lamar nodded. “Yes, but again, they’re desperate. And we’re running out of food.”
Hugh shut his eyes for a long moment. The world was sliding sideways, and he really needed to get a grip.
“Who would I be marrying?”
“The White Warlock.”
Hugh’s eyes snapped open. “You want me to marry a man?”
“No!” Lamar shook his head vigorously. “It’s a woman. A woman. Not a man.”
Thank God for small favors. He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Well, I’m relieved it hasn’t quite come to that.”
“It’s a business arrangement before anything else,” Lamar said quickly. “But if you’re married, that will cement the alliance. You said yourself, you told Nez you were ready to settle down. He will believe the marriage.”
“They have a castle,” Stoyan said. “Apparently, some rich guy bought an old castle in England before the Shift, had it disassembled and brought to Kentucky.”
“You like castles,” Bale said.
“It’s a good defensible position,” Felix said.
“At least meet the woman,” Lamar said.
“Shut up,” Hugh said.
They fell silent.
“Did you come up with this idiotic idea?” Hugh demanded.
“It was a joint effort between me and my equivalent on the other side,” Lamar said. “If it helps, your prospective bride has to be talked into the marriage as well.”
“Perfect. Just perfect.”
He reviewed his options. He had none. He could marry some woman and feed his troops, or he could let them get slaughtered. What the hell, he’d done worse in his life.
“I’ll see her,” he said.
“That’s all we ask,” Lamar said.
3
The wind died. The tree line was still, the wide leaves of sycamores and the frilly foliage of oaks hanging motionless in the fading heat of the early evening. Nothing moved.
Elara leaned on the heavy gray stones of the parapet and sent her magic forward. A sick feeling flowed back to her, a greasy nasty smear on the soothing face of the forest, like an oil spill on the surface of a crystal-clear lake. There you are.
Rook reached for his small notebook, wrote a message, and passed it to her.
Do you see it?
“Yes. It’s alone.”
The blond spy nodded, an impassive look on his tan scarred face. Logic said he must’ve felt emotions, but if so, they were buried so deep that no hint ever rose to the surface.
“Thank you,” Elara said.
The notebook disappeared into some hidden pocket of his soft leather jacket. He crossed the rampart to the inner edge of the battlements, hopped onto the parapet with the easy grace of an acrobat, jumped down, and vanished out of sight.
The vampire remained where it was, in the shadow of a sycamore, invisible from the wall. But now she knew it was there. There would be no escape.