Anthony Francis - Frost Moon

"Dakota?" she said, twisting her cane until it brightened like a sun again.

"Beh-behindyou," I croaked.

The dark hooded figure I had seen in Purgatory stepped up behind her and stretched forth his hand, and simply said: "See."

Jinx screamed and held her hand in front of her eyes, tossing her cane away as if blinded by its light. She whirled, and the hooded figure stretched out his arm and clotheslined her, and she fell back to the ground in a little heap.

I tried to get to my feet, as the hooded figure stepped to the rail.

"Let's simplify this problem," he said, stretching forth his hand. "Sleep."

Icy cold water splashed over me, and I screamed, bucking. I was awake, cold, and in pain, hunched over in a kneeling position, my head pressed to a stone surface before me. I tried to sit up, and found my hands bound together with wire, fixed tight to a steel ring set into the stone. My legs pulled apart by something similarly tight and sharp. And as the water ran down over me, I realized in utter terror that but for my steel collar, I was completely naked.

"Oh, God," I said, looking up to see a box covered in tattooed skin.

I was on the main stage of Hell, tied to a flat stone disk. I'd never seen it at the Masquerade before; it was new. Before me, the dark hooded figure stood, vigilant, one hand resting on the box, that horrible box covered with tattoos ripped from their owners. His other hand held a silver knife. Beside him Transomnia stood, glowering, a little worse for wear but angry and alert, holding the pruners.

"Oh, God," I said. I cringed, and my terror intensified as I realized they could rape me in this hunched-over position. Then I looked again at the box, and I realized the real reason I was tied like this was probably to harvest the Dragon from my back. "Oh, God-"

"Shut up," the hooded figure said.

"Let her whine," Transomnia said. "I figure her friends ain't done-"

"Good," the hooded one said. "I'm counting on it."

Transomnia's eyes narrowed. "Are you now?"

"Yes," the figure boomed. "Though, you'd think they'd've come all at once."

My eyes caught a bit of movement, and-Oh, Lord-over to my right I could see Jinx and Cinnamon, hanging in the air, back to back, bodies making a cruel butterfly as they slumped away from the bloody nest of barbed wire that bound their arms and feet behind them. As they turned midair I saw they hung from a meathook dug into the wire. Saw blood dripping out of the barbs. Saw the drops fall onto Alex Nicholson, similarly trussed on the floor at their feet.

Oh, Lord. What had I gotten them all into? When I'd messaged Jinx, telling her what I was doing and to come get me if I didn't call back in an hour, I'd assumed she would call the cavalry-not come herself and get killed.

"Or that at least one of them would have called the police," Transomnia said thoughtfully. His eyes fell on me, and I cringed against the plate. "I was surprised you didn't call the police, Dakota. You were a good girl-"

I was going to kill him. Somehow, somehow, I was going to kill him "It wouldn't matter if she had," the dark figure laughed. "I told you, I took care of that. I'd know-but more importantly, I can stop it. Even then, I think my pup's raised enough havoc elsewhere to keep the police busy all night."

"Fair enough," Transomnia said. Suddenly he grinned down at me, and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket-my cell phone-and began thumbing through the contacts. "Not one call after I called you, Dakota, a very good girl. Is he about back?"

"Almost," the dark figure said, and my stomach lurched. I had a very, very good idea of who he meant, and it was tearing me to pieces. "What do you have in mind?"

"To speed things up," Transomnia said, reaching down and jerking my face up so I faced my phone. "Smile for the camera, Dakota," he said.

"Fuck you," I replied.

"I'll pass, thanks," he said, looking back at the dark figure. "I'd be second in line, after all, and I prefer unspoiled meat."

My eyes widened in terror, and Transomnia took the picture.

"Perfect, perfect," he said, smiling as he hit send. "Just the look I want."

He leaned back and showed the picture to the hooded figure, who nodded.

"You have a great eye," the figure said. "As always, you truly are an artist."

"Thank you," Transomnia said, with a small bow. He winked at me as he bent down, and I looked away again. "Don't fret, little one," he said, reaching down to tousle what was left of my hair, making me flinch, and him giggle. "It will all be over in-"

And then what had been the service door of the Masquerade exploded, showering Hell with shards of corrugated metal and sparks.

"Oh, if only help would arrive!" Transomnia said, grinning. "That was fast-"

"At last," the hooded figure said, reaching out and pulling a staff into his hands with nothing more than the force of his will. "At last. He's here."

Lord Buckhead stood in the shattered door in his man-stag form, North Avenue behind him. His huge antlers cut through the upper ridge of the doorway like a hot metal knives as he strode under it. The matching antlers on his staff began to crackle with power, and the feathered skull between them glowed with a warm, green light.

His alien eyes swept over Transomnia, over me, and his brow wrinkled with rage. But then he saw the hooded figure beside me, his eyes widened, his forward charge halted, and his deer's mouth opened. "The Archmage."

The figure beside me tensed slightly, drawing in a breath. I expected some kind of banter, some kind of taunt; but the two figures just stared at each other.

Then Buck snorted and he swaggered into the room. I knew that look. I owned that look. It was bravado. Half of me felt flooded with relief that even Lord Buckhead resorted to bravado when facing a serial killer-and the rest of me was batshit terrified.

"You should never have come here," Buckhead's deep voice boomed. He extended his arms, and a small army of coyotes, hawks and smaller creatures began slipping through the door behind him. "I do not permit necromantic rites in my domain."

"You don't permit?" the 'Archmage' asked. Casually he swept his silver dagger across my right forearm, and I cried out in pain. He jammed the bloody blade into a socket in his staff, just beneath its skull and crossbones, and it began to glow a deep, ominous red. "I'd wager you didn't permit skyscrapers in your domain, but humans built them anyway."

"I do not begrudge the humans their hives," Buckhead said.

"Really? How… magnanimous of you," the Archmage said, and I could hear a glimmer of genuine appreciation. Then the glimmer turned to sarcasm. "And wise. One should never begrudge the success of those one is too weak to stop."

Buckhead snorted and stepped forward, onto a design I could now see inscribed on the stage of Hell, and I panicked. "Buckhead," I croaked. "It's a trap-"

Transomnia rapped me sharply on the head, but the Archmage pushed him aside. "Give me some distance, lad," he muttered. "For this to work it must be one on one-"

"Fear not, Dakota," Buckhead said, striding into the hall with his hunt assembling around him. "Obviously it's a trap. I expected this, and will deal with this pathetic wizard."

"Pathetic?" the Archmage said. His voice, which at first had been cautious even when taunting Buckhead, now became openly mocking. "This from you, Looord of the Hunt, who once had the mammoth at your beck and call, now reduced to coyotes!"

"They serve," Buckhead said.

"They serve," the Archmage said, spreading his arms wide as Buckhead advanced upon him. "See how well they serve-facing my animal, the Wolf!"

A low guttural growl rippled through the room, like the tail end of a clap of thunder, and Buckhead and all his hunt paused.