Stavros flowed from one shadowy place to another, observing, waiting—and wishing he’d fed before coming on board. Was there no one on this ship who wasn’t inebriated? There was the captain, but the water had turned rough—Ocean’s version of foreplay—and he didn’t want to weaken the man. And he didn’t want to dull his own senses by consuming alcohol thinly disguised as blood.
He’d overheard enough throughout the evening to realize the HFL supporters had some wildly romantic ideas of being hailed as heroes for providing food and steel and whatever else they’d helped Cel-Romano acquire under the table. But now, with a bounty of land newly won by the Cel-Romano armies, those supporters were no longer needed. There was only one human on this ship who would be welcome in Cel-Romano.
Stavros idly watched a few people come out on deck.
<Vampire? Do you have something for us?>
<Not yet,> Stavros told the Sharkgard. That gard had been following the ship for hours in a relay, waiting for him to deliver the promised special meat. He needed to strike soon. He had no intention of going all the way to Cel-Romano, and even in smoke form, he didn’t want to travel too far over open water.
Finally, he heard the hated, familiar voice.
“Today we have conquered the land,” Nicholas Scratch said as he stepped onto the lower deck with two other men. “Soon the human race will conquer this too.” He waved a hand to indicate the ocean.
You think so? Stavros calculated the distance between them.
<Shark?> he called. <Are you ready?>
<Ready.>
Stavros watched the other two men. The ocean at night held no appeal to them, and rubbing elbows with Scratch was no longer a novelty. They wouldn’t linger outside.
“You going to join us for cards, Nicholas?” one man asked a minute later.
“Go on without me,” Scratch replied.
“Nothing to see out here.”
“That makes it a good place to think.”
The men nodded wisely and went inside.
Shifting to human form, Stavros wandered over to the railing and smiled at Nicholas Scratch.
“You must be glad to be heading home,” Stavros said pleasantly.
Scratch gave him a look that sharpened when he took in the quality of the suit and black shirt. Stavros could almost hear him wondering how to play this new fish to get a fat donation for the cause.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” Scratch said.
“We haven’t, but I’ve listened to your speeches with sharp attention,” Stavros replied, extending his hand. “You’re of great interest to many of us, Mr. Scratch.”
Scratch’s hand gripped his. “You belong to a group?”
“More of a fellowship of like-minded groups.”
“What’s your group?”
Stavros tightened his hold on Scratch’s hand and smiled, revealing his fangs. “The Sanguinati.”
That instant of shock, of fear. That’s all it took to pull Scratch close and slash the man’s neck—not to feed but to wound.
Still holding Scratch’s hand, Stavros took a fistful of the man’s coat in the other hand. In smoke form, there wasn’t much that could harm the Sanguinati. In a tangible form, they had the strength of the terra indigene. Before Scratch had a chance to scream for help, Stavros stepped up on the railing, hauled Scratch over the top, and jumped.
Shifting to smoke as he fell, Stavros flowed down to the surface as Scratch hit the water and went under. Spotting a hand, Stavros shifted to human above the waist and pulled the man up.
Wild-eyed, Scratch coughed and batted at Stavros. Then he screamed and went under again as one of the Sharkgard took a playful bite.
Stavros hauled Scratch up again and stared at this enemy who had been responsible for killing so many and hadn’t faced any of the terra indigene.
“We’re going to destroy Cel-Romano. I wanted you to know that before you die,” Stavros said. “You upstart infestation. You thought you could wipe out the terra indigene? It’s your species that is going to wither—and you will be one of the things the survivors, if there are any, can thank for that.”
He released Scratch and floated a safe distance away as dozens of the Sharkgard rushed in to strike the enemy, consuming the human piece by piece. A foot. A hand. A forearm. A thigh.
How long before Scratch is missed? Stavros wondered as he drifted above the waves. If I can’t get home, how long before I’m missed?
<Vampire.> A fin sliced the water nearby. <Do you see the light?>
Stavros rose to a column of smoke and turned slowly. Yes, there, going in the opposite direction of the ocean greyhound.
<Intuit fishing boat,> the Shark said. <They were told to wait for you. Can you get to them?>
<I can.>
<Then, go. They will take you to their homeport. You are going to resettle near the Five Sisters?>
<Yes. A place called Talulah Falls.>
<Not our territory, but we will remember you if you travel here again.>
Stavros looked around. He smelled blood on the water, but there was no sign of Nicholas Scratch. <Not much of a meal for the effort.>
<There will be more. Do you know what the Sharkgard call humans on a ship?>
<No, what?>
<Meat in a can.>
Alone again, Stavros flowed above the water at his swiftest pace. Shifting to human form, he hailed the fishing boat as soon as he was close enough to be heard. They brought him on board, and a couple of them, swearing they were healthy and sober, offered to let him feed. He declined the meal he would have preferred but accepted a plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes and listened as the men talked about the catch and the seas and their hopes that their town would be spared some of Ocean’s wrath.
He offered no comment but thought Ocean would be inclined to spare their homes and families. A favor for a favor.
After the meal, he found a quiet place to rest. He’d enjoyed the work he’d done in Toland, but being dominant in Talulah Falls would be new and exciting. He would miss Tolya’s company, but he would be nearer to Grandfather and Vlad . . . and Nyx.
Yes, he was ready for some changes.
Stavros laughed silently. Meat in a can. He would have to remember to tell that one to Grandfather Erebus when he reached Lakeside.
CHAPTER 48
Alantea held Hurricane to a canter as they moved up Thaisia’s East Coast, followed by Air riding Twister. Waves that could swallow buildings and winds that could shred anything in their path kept the humans hurrying and scurrying—too busy trying to save themselves to think of anything else.
But there were places where other Elementals made their presence felt to soften the punishment, and that was right and proper. After all, it wasn’t her job to thin the herds who clung to the land. That was the task of other forms of terra indigene. Her task . . .
<Are we agreed?> Air asked.
<We are agreed,> Alantea replied. The Intuit fishing boat was snug in its harbor, and the Sanguinati who had helped the Sharkgard silence the voice of the enemy was safely on land that would feel only a kiss from the storm.
She aimed Hurricane at the city of Toland.
Air let out a triumphant scream as waves rose high enough to turn city roads into rivers.
Distraction. Diversion. This wasn’t the real battle.
Alantea turned Hurricane away from Thaisia, leaving Toland to the sharp mercy of Air and Twister. Giving her steed his head to run and run, she gathered the waters of her domain and aimed her fury straight at Cel-Romano.
To: Simon Wolfgard
Can’t reach anyone in the Midwest and haven’t received any phone calls or e-mails from anyone there. Suspect phone lines and telegraph lines are down. We’re still connected with other Intuit communities in the Northeast. Contact with the Southeast Region is erratic. No information about human-controlled cities and towns along the coast in that region.
Some Midwest radio stations are still broadcasting, and Intuit towns near the border between the Midwest and Northeast have passed along news. The first news indicated that the storm damage would, as one announcer put it, huddle the herd. Later reports talked about entire groups of people disappearing—and officials used the word “slaughterhouse” to describe the scenes.
Will keep sending news as long as I can. Black clouds on the horizon. Storm is moving toward us fast.
—Steve Ferryman
CHAPTER 49
Earthday, Sumor 1