If the prisoner had wings, they were sliced off. Witches remained as they were since capture, gagged and blindfolded, lest they try to cast their evil eye or speak an incantation.
On this Sunday night, when images of shadows and shapes pushed into Fallon’s dreams, as crows circled over the scaffold and those already gathered, two of the six prisoners being held took the forced march.
The witch, raped, beaten, all of her fingers broken, struggled not to limp, not to trip. If she fell, they’d kick her, and they’d already broken her spirit with pain. She was ready to die.
Beside her, fighting to be brave, the shapeshifter, barely twelve, kept his head up. He’d run to draw the hunt away from his little pack. He’d saved his brother and the rest, so he kept reminding himself he wouldn’t die a coward.
He could ignore the jeers and taunts of the escort, of the people who ran along the street. He had to ignore the sad, hopeless eyes of the slaves or he might give in to the screaming inside his head.
He wasn’t ready to die. But he wouldn’t beg.
A stone grazed his cheek. The quick pain, the scent of blood had the animal inside him straining for freedom. He reined the cougar in. These filth would never see his spirit.
One of the escorts shouted, “Stoning’s forbidden! Knock that off unless you want an hour in the stocks.” Then he gave the boy a shove. “Keep moving, you demon bastard.”
Inside the boy, the cougar growled low. Its powerful forelegs pulled against the rope binding the boy’s hands behind his back.
Then he saw the scaffold, the pair of nooses, the crowd of people lit bright on the green. They’d kill him, he thought with a cold assessment his youth had helped him deny. At midnight, they’d hang him so he’d choke and kick while they cheered.
They’d kill him, so why shouldn’t he die fighting? Why shouldn’t he fight with all he was? And maybe take a couple of them with him.
He breathed in deep of the night air, let the cat stretch inside his bones, his muscles, his skin. They could kill him, he thought, but they wouldn’t break him.
As he opened himself to the change, welcomed it for what he believed was the last time, an arrow winged out of the dark.
The escort who’d shoved him let out a kind of grunt, then fell to the ground. Jeers turned into screams as more arrows flew and people scattered.
With arrows whistling, the cougar slipped its bounds, dropped to all fours. Its eyes glinted as it leaped into the panicked crowd. He saw a man—a boy?—pull the gag and blindfold from Jan—the witch—then pick her up when she swayed.
He ran with one purpose, one destination in mind. What had been his prison. He heard gunfire, more screaming, rushing feet. He scented blood, scented fear.
He wanted blood. He wanted fear.
But when he reached the prison, his prey lay on the ground bleeding, senseless. A girl stood over him, and then she turned, stared into his eyes. Shifted to stand between him and what he wanted most. The taste of that blood in his throat.
“He’s down, and he’s unarmed now. You might be able to get by me long enough to rip out his throat. But you’ll never be the same if you do. We have your brother safe, Garrett. We have Marshall and the others safe.”
He shuddered, dissolved into the boy. “Marshall? Everyone?”
“Marshall and everyone. All eight. Nine now, with you. You’re safe, too. And we need to get everyone we can away from here. Jonah!” she called toward the garage. “I’ve got the kid. The shifter.”
“Get him to the rendezvous. We’ve got four in here, and we need to transport them out.”
“Roger that. You need to—” She broke off when Garrett swiped out—cougar claws on a boy’s hand—and scored the guard’s right arm.
“They beat us and burned us and broke pieces of us. They marked us. And things … He raped me.” Garrett drew a shuddering breath. “Now I’ve marked him.”
“Okay.” She put a hand on his shoulder, drew him away. “We have to move fast, get as many people who’re being held out as we can. Can you run? It’s less than a quarter mile.”
“I can run.”
She broke into a sprint, making him prove it.
She had dark hair in a lot of curls that sort of burst out of a band. She ran fast, scanned everything as she moved. He thought her eyes were blue, but it was hard to be sure when the moon kept going in and out.
She wore a short sword and a quiver, a bow.
“Did you shoot the arrow?”
“Which one?”
“The one. The first one.”
“No. My brother did. He won the toss. I’m Tonia.” Grinning, she shot a hand in the air, circled a finger, forming three circles of light. Just ahead, Garrett saw the answering light. Then two men with rifles beside a truck.
“I’ve got Marshall’s brother. I’ve got Garrett.”
“Marshall’s going to be a happy boy tonight. You hurt, son?”
The man looked really, really old, but he held the rifle like he knew how to use it. “I’m okay.”
“I’m Bill, and this is Eddie.”
“How’s it hanging, my man? Hey, why don’t you get on up in the truck there, keep Joe company.”
“Who?”
“My dog, Joe.” Eddie pulled down the tailgate. A big dog stood up, a little slow, a little stiff, wagged his tail.
“I’ve got to get back.”
Eddie nodded at the girl. “Go on. We’ve got him. Come back in one piece or your mom’ll kick my ass.”
“Can’t have that.” She dashed off, swallowed by the dark.
“Let’s get you on up there, dude.”
“I can do it.” Garrett climbed into the back, dropped down, and when the dog leaned against him, he gave in to the little boy, wrapped his arms around the dog, pressed his face to the fur so nobody saw the tears.
He jolted at the sound of explosions, shivered as he saw fire shoot to the sky.
“What’s that? What is it?”
“Just taking care of business,” Eddie said while Bill leaned in, wrapped a blanket around Garret’s shoulders. “You don’t want the assholes following you? You steal some of their vehicles, and go boom to the rest. Much as you can anyway. How about you and Joe make some room back there? We’re expecting more riders.”
Some ran, as he had. Others were carried. Another truck pulled up, and the man behind the wheel gestured ahead.
Others piled into the bed, boosted in by Eddie or Bill. Kids mostly, some women. He recognized one or two. Whenever they’d bothered to feed prisoners, the slaves had brought in the slop they called food.
The boy beside him, younger than the youngest in his own pack, shivered with the cold.
“Here, you can share my blanket. This is Joe.”
He heard the roar of an engine, saw the girl he’d run with on the back of a motorcycle, behind a boy. Dark hair like the girl’s, not as curly.
The one, Garrett realized, who’d helped Jan.
He swung the bike in a half circle, stopped. “We got all we could get—some just ran so we couldn’t pull them in. They’re going to be busy putting out fires, so the ones who ran might make it.”
“Jonah said move out,” Eddie called and hopped behind the wheel.
“We’ll take point. Flynn and Starr have flank.”
He roared off, dark hair flying.
Eddie opened the window to the bed, raising his voice as he pulled into the convoy. “Hi there. I’m Eddie, and I’ll be your driver tonight. Just settle back, ’cause we’ve got a ways to go. There’s water back there and blankets. Be sweet, everybody, and share.”
Garrett shifted closer to the window. “Who was that on the motorcycle?”
“Duncan. Tonia’s twin brother. Our resident hell-raiser. Get yourself some water, dude, catch a nap if you want. We’ve got a good hour’s drive—and food and medical attention once we get you there.”
“Marshall’s there? And everybody?”
“That’s a fact, Jack.” Eddie took a hand off the wheel, angled himself to reach a hand back through the little window, give Garrett’s a squeeze. “They’re all waiting for you, so you can chill now.”
Because more tears wanted to come, Garrett blinked hard. “Where are we going? Where is ‘there’?”
“My man, we’re heading to New Hope.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Fallon mangled a basic incantation—twice—and very nearly added belladonna rather than bergamot to a simple potion before Mallick stopped her.