Etched in Silver

4

ROCHE jerked his head up as Trillian slid back into his chair. He looked hungry, like he hadn’t eaten in a long time, but it wasn’t food he was looking for.

Trillian glanced at the pile of coins, then nodded. Apparently everything was still there. “I accept your wager. Empty your purse and pockets. I want to see everything you have on you.”

Roche tossed his purse on the table. He slowly reached into his pockets. I held my breath, but he brought his hands into sight again, filled with coins. Large denominations, at that. He dumped them on the table as Trillian motioned to the dealer. The man, a burly bald Fae who was part-goblin by the looks of him, opened the purse and up-ended it over the pile of coins. The bet had tripled. I wondered if Roche had a stash of money hidden somewhere. He surely wouldn’t be stupid enough to wager everything on the chance of winning a night with me.

Trillian glanced at me and I gave him a slight nod. He picked up the dice and tossed them to Roche. “Winner takes all.”

Roche sucked in a deep breath and let the dice fly. Everybody who was in the tent was watching the game by now and leaned in to see what he would land.

The dealer carefully tallied the points. “Twenty-six pips.”

Trillian picked up the dice and tensed. I knew he was going to skew the numbers. Whether by magic or sleight of hand, he’d lose. He casually bounced them across the table. They skidded across the surface to ricochet off one of the bumpers and land squarely beside the pile of coins. Two fours, a six, a three, and a five. Twenty-two pips.

“Twenty-two pips. You lose.”


Roche triumphantly gathered up the coins. “She’s mine for the night. You aren’t going to try to back out on me, are you?”

Trillian shook his head. “No, but I claim the right to wait outside.” He stared at Roche. “After all, you can’t expect me to trust you.”

A dark cloud swept across Roche’s face, but after a moment, he shrugged. “Whatever you say, but no interference.” His voice was ragged.

I shivered. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. He could do a lot of damage in the time it would take Trillian to bust through the door. But then I thought of the women and children Roche had murdered. Lathe thought he could break me with this one. I’d show him just how freakin’ strong I was and bust his balls, and in the process I’d take down a killer.

Trillian stepped outside and I followed. Roche followed me. He was fixated—I could feel his energy sliming around in my aura.

To calm my nerves, behind the cowl of my drape I kept my mind on the surprise he had coming. Maybe I should just use the death scroll the minute we were alone, but the Moon Mother’s energy was working on me. The hunt wouldn’t be nearly so much fun if I gave him an easy exit. No, if I could capture him alive, the families of the dead would have the right to request blood-vengeance. And they would be harsher than I could ever be.

Trillian put himself between Roche and me. “Your name, first? I won’t let anybody touch her without a name.”

Roche arched one eyebrow. “She must really be good,” he said. “They call me Roche. Follow me.”

We followed him through the maze of vendors until we came to Azyur Boulevard, where he turned left into a long, narrow street. The streets were lined with worn cobblestones and the buildings were old, two-story stone and mortar. He stopped in front of a seedy-looking dive. The sign read CALISTO’S.

“Second floor,” he said, leading us in through the foyer. The innkeeper—a short, squat rawhead—was sitting behind a roughly hewn counter, his feet propped up on the wood, a bottle of booze in his hands. He cast a quick look our way, then went back to his drinking. We couldn’t count on him for help. Rawheads were nastier than goblins, out for themselves and nobody else.

We headed up the narrow stairwell to the second floor. Roche stopped in front of a door that was scarred with the wounds of past intruders. A patch job covered a fist-sized hole.

He turned to Trillian. “As agreed, you stay out here.”

Trillian shrugged. “Play by the rules and we won’t have a problem.”

Roche unlocked the door and ushered me into the dingy room. It stunk of stale food and the faint scent of urine. I glanced around. The bed was a single cot with a thin mattress and ratty spread. Movement caught my attention and I looked closer. Fleas. Gross.

In one corner were a table and chair, and a small stand with a water pitcher and a bowl sat near the bed. There was no sign of bath or private commode—whoever Calisto was, he was definitely a slumlord.

My courage wavered and I decided to take the quickest way out. No chance in hell was I letting Roche lay one hand on me. If that meant using the death scroll, then that’s what it meant. I edged toward the table, gently setting my bag on the splintered surface. Roche was watching me, I could feel his eyes on my back.

“Take off your clothes,” he said hoarsely.

It was now or never. I covered what I was doing with my body as I fished around in the bag for the handcuffs. As I touched the iron, he grabbed my drape and yanked it off. I dropped the cuffs back in the bag and whirled around.

“Just as I thought. A Moon witch.”

“Is that a problem?” I asked, keeping my voice even. He hadn’t noticed what was in my bag yet. Score one for me, but I had to get them on him before he knew what I was up to.

Roche stepped forward, the soft fall of his boots against the floor echoing in the stuffy room. For a moment he didn’t answer, and then, his voice taking on a nasty tone, he said, “Normally, I’d be thrilled. F*cking a Moon witch is like f*cking an expensive whore, but considering you’re with the YIA and out to capture me, I don’t think I’m really all that happy to see you.”

Crap. He knew who I was. I spun, grabbing the handcuffs as I scrambled to get out of his reach. The look on his face was all I needed to see. I’d been set up. Lathe had sold me out and I knew it.

Roche lunged at me, and I screamed as I swung the handcuffs toward him, hoping to contact his face with the iron. There was a sound at the door. Thank the gods, Trillian!

But before Trillian could break through, Roche muttered something under his breath and the world shifted as he grabbed my hand. I frantically grabbed for anything I could to steady myself, but the chair, the table, the floor all vanished and we were standing in the middle of a misty field.

Looking around, I realized that we were out on the astral. I recognized it from the nights I ran with the Hunt under the full moon. How the hell had Roche managed that?

He was standing right next to me, but he’d dropped my hand as we shifted over—the landing had been rough—and I took the opportunity to swing the cuffs as hard as I could, keeping hold of one loop while using the other like the ball on a spiked flail. It hit him square on the cheek and the iron sizzled against his skin. Roche screamed and clutched his face.

Swinging again, I hit the other cheek, then raced off. Though I’d burned and bruised him, the wounds weren’t enough to stop him.

I made tracks, not caring which direction I headed in. I had to find some place to hide. The astral realm had its own flora and fauna, of a sort, and I spotted a stand of twisted trees up ahead. They weren’t real trees, of course, not like the ones we had back home, but they’d do.

Racing through the mists that swirled around my ankles, I thought I might be able to reach the stand before Roche caught up to me. I had one thing in my favor: when I ran with the Hunt, I was used to being out on the astral and I could run like the wind here. I sped up, leaving him in a wash of roiling mist.

As I slipped into the shadow of the trees, my mind was racing. How the hell was I supposed to get out of here? I couldn’t shift on my own unless the Hunt was summoning me or dropping me off. Come to think of it, where the hell had Roche learned to shift realms?

I softly darted among the ancient beings, watching their gnarled knots and burls form into faces. With a little luck they’d be friendly. With bad luck, they wouldn’t and I’d be facing a whole new set of problems.

There was no clearly marked path through the thicket—at least not that I could see through the mists—but the trees were parted to either side like they were flanking a trail so I headed down the center, searching for a fork leading off to the side. Maybe I’d get lucky and see a big sign flashing HIDING PLACE—YOU’LL BE SAFE HERE.

Damn it, I hadn’t counted on Roche being able to jump realms. This was a definite kink in my plans. Maybe a deadly one.

A noise in the distance caught my attention. I tried to pinpoint the origin and decided it was probably Roche, nearing the woods. He was swearing, or at least that’s what I thought I heard.

Time to get out of sight. I glanced around at the thick undergrowth that surrounded the trees. The shrubs were just as menacing as the trees, but beggars can’t be choosers. It was either hide, or wait for Roche to knock me off. I plunged into the undergrowth, pushing through the waist-high bushes, trying to avoid leaving a trail.


The bushes grew taller as I continued off-path, and I finally found myself in front of a stand of brambles that had grown like a dome over a rock. A narrow crawl space allowed me to slip beneath the tendrils and slide behind the boulder. Once I was in my hidey-hole, I arranged the thorn-studded suckers to cover the access.

Of course, what I’d do after he left was another thing. Probably just wander around, hoping to find somebody who could send me home.

I waited, wondering what Trillian was doing. If he was like a hundred men I’d met, he’d take off, chalking it up to fate. A little part of me dared to hope that he’d come after me, but I knew better than to count on it. The Svartans weren’t exactly the most loyal group of races around, and even if he defied the odds, very few from Svartalfheim had easy access to the etheric realms.

The sound of footsteps caught my attention and I held my breath. The thorns poked at me. I tried to adjust my position, but realized that it wasn’t me bumping into them. Apparently the bush had decided to test out just what kind of creature I was, and one of the fronds was prodding me in the arm with its thorny tip. I grimaced and tried to gently wave it away. No such luck.

As it tapped me again, I glanced around, ready to pull out my dagger and chop the damned thing off, when I saw eyes gleaming at me from the base of the tree. The face stared at me impassively, then slowly blinked. The bramble that had been poking at me moved to point toward a low tunnel through the thorn bushes. That hadn’t been there before.

I glanced back at the tree and then sucked in a deep breath and dove for the tunnel. As I crawled through the mist, I heard a sound and darted a look over my shoulder. The brambles had closed again, cocooning me in a cave of thorns and leaves. I could barely see through the tangle of protection. As I settled myself, an odd little creature crossed through the place I’d just been crouching. A foul stench filled the air as it lifted its tail. A lycon—a friendly little mammal with a very strong defense. Mother had called them skunks.

Gagging, I forced myself to remain silent as the lycon rambled on through the undergrowth. Thank the gods I’d been out of the line of fire. Just then, a noise caught my attention as someone entered the area. Roche. Damn it—he’d probably followed my scent. I peered through a tiny gap in the brambles and could just make him out. He turned this way, then that, as if he were looking for something. I heard him curse.

Bingo! The tree and bush were helping me. They’d called in the lycon, whose spray had masked my scent. It would be impossible for Roche to find me now. And if I was guessing right, the brambles would put up one hell of a fight if he tried to tear through them.

Feeling like I actually might have a chance to come out of this alive, I huddled, waiting. The only thing I had with me were the iron handcuffs, and those I held gingerly, even with the gloves on. No use taking chances.

After a few moments, Roche turned and forced his way back through the undergrowth. I waited, barely breathing, until the branches around me relaxed. As they opened up, I crawled out, stood up, and cautiously adjusted my clothing.

Turning back to the tree, I let out a long sigh. “I don’t know if you can understand me,” I whispered, “but thank you. You saved my life.”

There was a soft murmur, as if the air currents were gliding through the knothole that formed the tree’s mouth. I got the distinct impression it said, “You’re welcome.”

After what seemed like an eternity, I pushed through the undergrowth back to the trail, pleased that Roche was nowhere in sight.

“F*ck,” I whispered. “Now what do I do? I have no idea how to get back home.”

The mist stretched out for as far as I could see. I could barely remember which way I’d come, or how far. I’d been running so fast that I’d lost track of the distance I’d covered.

After a moment’s debate, I straightened my shoulders and decided to continue on through the copse. As I picked up the pace, the trees were no longer silent. They whispered and shook in the astral currents. I closed my eyes and tuned in on what they were saying. I had the gift of talking to plants, even though I wasn’t all that skilled at growing them, and so I listened.

At first the murmurs surrounded topics I’d expect most trees—even astral ones—to discuss. Sun and growth and the mist, which apparently provided the water they needed to blossom and thrive. Scattered references to the lycons and other creatures of the astral realm dotted the conversation. But then, a sinister tone crept into the leaf-whispers, and I paused, dropping into a trance in order to pick up what they were saying.

“He’s forming an army . . .”

“Do you think he’ll come into our world . . .”

“We should pay no heed—it is not our affair . . .”

“But flame and fire are, and even here they can wound us . . .”

Eventually, the talk about the mysterious stranger died away, but the fear that had accompanied their words remained behind. Something was on the move and I didn’t want to know what. After a few minutes, the whispers took up again, this time about the passing of time.

How long I walked, I couldn’t say. Time didn’t run the same on the astral as it did over on the physical realm. But eventually I came to the end of the wood and found myself standing on the edge of a long chasm filled with mist and sparkling fog. A narrow rope bridge crossed the abyss, looking about as supportive as a leisure bra.

Sucking in a deep breath, I stepped onto the suspension bridge, pausing as it swung back and forth with my weight. Cautiously resting my hands on the railings, I slowly began to cross, taking care not to get my heels caught in the knotholes of the wooden planks that made up the passage.

I was about halfway across when I saw a figure on the other side, dressed in a long gray cloak with hood. Roche? My heart pumped wildly until it clicked that it didn’t match his body type. When I reached out to touch the energy, I discovered a woman’s signature, with no sense of evil surrounding her. Curiosity, yes. Caution—definitely. But no deranged chaos like Roche.

Maybe she could tell me how to get back home. She waited silently as I steeled myself and hurried across the wildly swinging bridge, taking care not to look down. I didn’t like heights. I didn’t like them at all and this was about as freak-assed high as I’d ever been. Running with the Hunt didn’t count.

I came to the end of the bridge and glanced back as I stepped off it. The bridge vanished into the mists. One moment it was there; the next, it disappeared.

“Holy hell!” I jumped away from the edge toward the woman. “Where did the damned thing go?”

She towered over me, even more than Delilah. And when she spoke, her voice was muffled, as if swathed in cotton.

“The bridge is mine and appears only when one who has need comes searching for me.”

She brushed back her hood and I gazed into her eyes. She might be any age . . . young, mature . . . ancient. Hair streamed down her back, silver touched with violet highlights. I couldn’t place her race. Neither mortal nor Fae, that much was for certain. Her eyes were pale silver ringed by a black halo, and her pupils the darkest jet I’d ever seen.

A wave of magic rolled off her that almost knocked me down. This was no witch or sorceress. No, she was magic incarnate. I stared at her for a moment. Was she a goddess? An Immortal?

“I’m afraid I don’t know who you are. I wasn’t searching for you—just . . . for anybody who could help me, I guess.”


She circled me with a dispassionate gaze. “I am the Lady of the Mists and you have entered my realm.”

The Lady of the Mists . . . cripes! I was facing an Elemental Lord. Queen. Whatever you called her, she was one of the true Immortals. And—like all of them—she existed outside the realm of mortal and Fae affairs. I immediately fell into a deep curtsy.

The Lady of the Mists gazed down at me, and I felt her hand touch the top of my head. “Stand, Moon witch. What are you doing in my realm? This is not your time of the month to run with the Hunt.”

“I’m lost,” I said. “I was dragged over to the astral by a murderer whom I was hunting. He meant to kill me, but I managed to get away.” I held up the iron handcuffs. “I tried to catch him, but he surprised me. I had no idea he could shift through the realms.”

She glanced at the handcuffs and grimaced. “Iron? You carry iron?”

“I do what I need to in order to fulfill my duties. Can you help me?” I wondered if the Elemental Lords were affected by iron like the Fae. But she merely brushed them away.

“Help you how? To catch him, or to return to your world?”

By the way she said it, I had the feeling she could do either. But it was dangerous to ask for favors from the Immortals—far more dangerous than even the gods. The Elemental Lords were capricious. Death to them was simply a blink of an eye.

“Can you tell me how to get home?” I asked, not even wanting to request that much, but I didn’t have much choice. Of course, I could wait here until the full moon, at which point the Hunt would sweep me up, but that seemed ridiculous and even worse—would allow Roche to escape.

She tilted my chin up and her hand felt like a gentle breeze kissing my skin. “I can help you,” she said softly. “But you will be in my debt.”

“What do you want in return? What can I possibly offer you?” I asked.

The Lady of the Mists smiled then, and my blood ran cold. Her smile was ruthless, not evil or malign, but as cold as snow, as frozen as glacial ice.

“In time I will send someone to you. Someone connected with the mist and fog. You may not realize it when you meet her, but eventually you will remember this pact. You will help her. You will do whatever is needed to help her redeem herself. Do you understand?”

I nodded, my teeth chattering. Her touch sent me reeling with the cold. “What happens if I say no?”

She laughed, her voice echoing through the fog that swirled around us, whirling pools of dancing mist. “Then, my dear, you will journey over the abyss again, this time without a bridge.”

Realizing that I was backed into a corner, and feeling the hand of fate squeezing me tighter, I gave her my pledge.

“Close your eyes,” she whispered.

I did, and the next thing I knew, I fell forward, losing my grip on the handcuffs. My eyes flew open and I found myself tumbling toward the floor as if I’d been shoved hard from behind. I scrambled for balance, but Trillian was there and he leapt forward, catching me in his arms. I was back in Roche’s room.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered hoarsely, a terrified look on his face. And then he was kissing me, and in the heat of that kiss, I tumbled headfirst into the fire.