“Put the deer right there.” I pointed to the center of the glade. The vampire unloaded the deer and hopped aside.
“I suppose we wait until the magic returns?” Ghastek inquired.
“You got it.” I sat on a fallen pine.
The vampire’s shoulders rose up and down. Ghastek must’ve sighed. “I suppose we might as well treat this seriously.” The vampire raised his left forelimb. A long yellow claw pointed at a tall birch on the left. “Observation Post there.” A claw moved to the right to a pine on the other side of the glade. “Another OP there. Give me a perimeter assessment.”
Two purple vampires scattered, took a running start, and scrambled up the indicated trees. The third dashed into the bushes. Only Ghastek and Tracy remained. His vampire sat on my right, her vampire sat on my left. Peachy.
A minute passed. Another.
Ghastek’s vamp lay down. “If half of the things said about draugar were true, it would revolutionize necromantic science. According to legend, they’re the spirits of warriors who rise from the grave to guard their buried possessions. They see the future, they control the elements, they shapeshift into animals. They turn into smoke and become giants.”
“Not at the same time,” I told him.
“What?”
“You said they turn into smoke and become giants. Not at the same time. They’re solid in giant form.”
“You’re still clinging to this fallacy?”
I leaned forward. “What would you have done if you had found a draugr in Norway, Ghastek?”
“I’d have tried to apprehend it, of course.”
“Suppose you live in a small village in Norway and you know a draugr is nearby. You bring him live game once in a while and you hope to God he leaves you the hell alone. Now some geeky hotshot foreigner shows up on your doorstep and explains to you how he’s going to go annoy this terrible creature for the sake of ‘necromantic science.’ You try to explain to him that it’s not a good idea, but he treats you as if you’re an idiot child.”
“I never treat people like infantile idiots,” Ghastek said.
I looked at him.
Tracy cleared her throat carefully.
“Go on,” he said.
“Would you take this foreigner to this undead monster and risk pissing it off, or would you steer him as far away from the draugr as possible and hope he’ll go away eventually?”
“That’s a sound theory, with one exception. I’m not that gullible.”
Fine. “Bet me.”
The vampire stared at me. “I’m sorry?”
“Bet me. If the draugr is a hoax, I’ll owe you a favor.”
“And if he’s real?”
“Then you will bring me a quart of vampire blood.”
“And why would you need vampire blood, Kate?”
Because I needed it to experiment with making armor out of it, that’s why. “I want to calibrate the lot of new m-scanners the Pack bought.” He didn’t need to know I was practicing to see how much of Roland’s talent had passed to me.
A hint of suspicion slid into Ghastek’s voice. “And you need a quart of blood for that?”
“Yep.”
The bloodsucker became utterly still as Ghastek mulled it over.
“If I win this silly game, you will tell me why Rowena came to see you after the Keepers affair.”
Sucker. “Deal.”
“Excellent.” He put emphasis on the “x” and the word came out slightly sibilant.
“You need a fluffy white cat. That way you can stroke it when you say things like that.”
Tracy’s vamp made a small noise that might have been a clearing of a throat or a choked-up laugh.
A purple vampire popped out of the bushes, dragging something behind it. The bloodsucker strained, tight muscle flexing across its back, and heaved what looked like a large collapsed leather tent into the open.
“We found human bones,” the vampire reported.
“In the ravine?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I knew about the spot. Immokalee had described it to me this morning, trying to scare me into not going. A few dozen yards to the north, the ground dropped sharply into a narrow fissure lined with human skeletons. Some still held their weapons. When a draugr sucked the flesh off your bones, he did it quick, like jerking a shirt off a body.
“We also found this.” The vampire indicated the tent.
Ghastek’s vampire raised the top edge, exposing a dark opening, and vanished into it. The leather shifted, mirroring the vampire’s movement inside it. The bloodsucker emerged into the clear air. “The design is ill-conceived. It is clearly too large for one person, but it has no structure or method of remaining upright as a tent, and besides, this side is completely open to the elements. Perhaps it’s some sort of communal sleeping bag?”
“It’s not a sleeping bag,” I told him.
“Would you care to enlighten me?” Ghastek said.
“Look at it from above.”
The purple vampire leaped onto the nearest tree and scurried up into the branches. A long moment passed and then it dropped on the ground next to me without a word.
“What is it?” Tracy asked.
The vampire’s face was unreadable, like a blank wall. “It’s a glove.”
The wind stirred the tree branches. The world blinked, as the tech vanished, crushed under the onslaught of a magic wave. Cold froze the glade. The other vampire burst from the bushes and came to rest by Tracy.
In the distance something wailed in an inhuman voice, its forlorn cry rising high above the treetops.
Gloom claimed the clearing. It came slowly, like molasses, from the dark spaces deep between the roots, washing over trees, leaching color from the greenery, drenching it in shadows, until the shrubs and foliage turned dark, almost gray. Behind the gloom, mist rose in thin wisps, tinted with an eerie bluish glow.
A crow cried overhead, its shrill caw impossibly distant.
“They are putting on quite a show,” Ghastek said.
“Yep.” I nodded. “Going all out. Viking special effects are out of this world.”
I pulled a canvas bundle out of my backpack and untied the cord securing it. Four sharpened sticks lay inside, each three feet long. I picked up a rock and hammered the first of the sticks into the ground at the mouth of the path. That was the way I’d run when it came time to get the hell out of there.
I moved along the edge of the clearing, sinking the sticks in at regular intervals.
“What is the purpose of this?” Ghastek asked.
“Protection.”
“Have I given you a reason to doubt my competence, Kate?”
“No.” I pulled a black box out of my backpack, took a black cloth out of it, and unfolded the cloth to extract an old pipe. The medicine woman had already packed it with tobacco.
“What is this?”
“A pipe.” I struck a match, puffed to get the pipe going, and got a mouthful of smoke for my trouble. The pungent tobacco scraped the inside of my throat. I coughed and started to circle the clearing, blowing smoke as I went.
“What sort of magic is this?” one of the journeymen asked.
“Cherokee. Very old.” If life was perfect, I’d have Immokalee herself do the ritual. It took years of training for the medicine woman to reach her power, but none of the Cherokees would go near the draugr. Unlike me, they had common sense. All the chants over the sticks and the pipe had been said already. All I had to do was follow the ritual and hope Immokalee’s magic was potent enough to work when an incompetent like me activated it.