Ilona Andrews - On the Edge

“You okay?” Rose asked.

George smiled, the swirl of colors slowly fading in his head. “I remember this time,” he said. “I remember what it’s like to be a bird.”

THE deeper one dived into the Wood, the darker it became. The trees grew taller and thicker, their trunks rising high above like colossal textured columns. Their branches spread and twisted, bound together by moss and lichen and bright blue bunches of horsetail vines, dripping down like the hair of phantom tree spirits. The canopy formed its own separate level, removed from the forest floor, and as Rose found her way through the Wood, she glanced around once in a while above to make sure Jack hadn’t gotten away from Grandma. He was none too pleased at staying behind.

She looked at Declan, who strode on, seemingly at home in the wilderness. He carried a small pack. In the pack, two crows rode, carefully secured. Back at Wood House, George had reanimated both. He didn’t possess them at the moment, but he would sense when they were free and take them over.

It was a simple plan. They would get close enough to Casshorn, wait for the right moment, release the crows, and let George use them to steal an item. Then the crows would fly away and they would chase them, retrieve the item, and get away, hopefully alive.

George would be allowed only five minutes of possession. Five minutes later, ready or not, Grandma and Jeremiah would awaken him. Five minutes was a safe enough time limit, according to Declan. She didn’t want to put George through it, but they had no choice. It was a flimsy plan all around, but it was the only one they had.

She’d spoken to Jeremiah and Leanne. Once George awakened and they no longer needed his gift, Jeremiah would take him and Jack and Leanne and her son out into the Broken, supposedly to get supplies. She had given Leanne enough money for a decent hotel room. With her strength, Leanne would be able to handle the boys. No matter what would happen in the Edge, her brothers would be safe.

The Wood thrived around them. Life reigned here. A hundred small noises filled the silence: birds bickering, squirrels screeching angrily at Edger ermines that came to steal babies out of their nests, badgers grunting heavily, and the careful coughing bark of the fox sounded so near yet far. Edger moss sheathed the trunks, its lady’s-slipper-shaped flowers all but glowing with pastel reds, yellows, lavender, and purple. Fallen trees served to anchor new life, sending shoots up and giving purchase to vines. The perfume of countless flowers and herbs floated in the air, mixing with animal scents. Even the light, filtered through the canopy, was verdant and emerald green.

In the chaos of the Wood, she and Declan were just two small motes of life. At other times, she would’ve loved to sit and listen to the Wood breathe, but today she didn’t have that luxury.

“Careful,” Rose called out, when Declan paused by a patch of bright pink grass that had broken through the carpet of pine straw and dirt-hugging creepers. “Very poisonous.”

She reached to the nearest vine, snagged a handful of pale yellow berries, and handed some to him. “False cherries,” she said.

He popped one into his mouth. “Tastes like the real thing.”

She could find no fault with the way Declan moved through the woods—like a wolf, soundless and light on his feet. His face had closed in again. The hardness around his mouth was back and so was the cold, distant stare.

She had insisted on coming with him against Éléonore’s wishes.

Her grandmother had been beside herself. “Why do you have to take him there?”

“Somebody has to. He doesn’t know the Wood.”

“Let Tom or Jeremiah do it.”

“We might have to run out of there like a bat out of hell, and I can run much faster than either Tom or Jeremiah, and I flash hotter. Besides, he trusts me. He’ll be comfortable with me.”

Éléonore had pursed her lips. “I wish you wouldn’t. I only have one granddaughter.”

Looking at Declan, Rose got a feeling that he also wished she hadn’t come. “My helping you bothers you that much, huh?” she asked finally.

“I wish I didn’t have to rely on you.”

“You didn’t twist my arm. It’s my home that’s invaded and my family who is the target.”

“I understand that.” He shook his head. “The point of being a professional soldier is so civilians don’t have to fight. We do the things we do so people like you can go to sleep safe. And here I am, relying on a civilian woman and a child’s talent. Yes, it bothers me. As well it should.”

“If I go away with you—” she started.

His head came up sharply. He looked at her.

“If I go away with you and if we decide to be together, eventually you’ll go away on some mission and I’ll be left at home, pacing and biting my nails, hoping you’ll come back alive.”

“It’s not always quite that dramatic,” he said quietly.

“But it’s often dangerous.”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“What would I have to do to come with you?” she asked.

He gave her a frosty stare. “You would have to pass some security examinations and competency tests to be registered as one of my operatives. It’s a bad idea. I would be more worried about you than about the mission.”

She smiled. He didn’t say no. “I suppose I’ll just have to learn to be good enough so you don’t worry so much. I hope you’re a good teacher.”

“You’re an impossible woman,” he growled.

“Hey, I didn’t show up at your house demanding you challenge me. You were the knucklehead who picked me, so you only have yourself to blame.”

They halted in unison. They stood at the edge of a narrow meadow. The Wood beyond it had lost its vibrant color. The trunks stood bare and grim, and the underbrush had shriveled to a limp tangle of wilted leaves. The magic was gone. The forest lay dead and oddly preserved, as if mummified. A taint of foul magic, alien and sharp, stained the dead trunks and withered grass. If it had color, it would drip from the Wood like purple putrid slime. The evidence of the hounds’ presence.

“It’s frightening what they do,” Rose said.

Declan’s arms closed about her for a brief moment and crushed her to him. He let her go almost immediately, but he’d packed so much into that one fierce hug: want, need, worry, reassurance . . . He’d protect her with his life. Strangely, it made her indignant. Nobody should have to be in the position of having another person give up their life for them. She didn’t want the weight of Declan’s death. The fear took a backseat, and cold anger started driving. Casshorn. If she had any hope for the future with Declan, or even without him, she had to destroy Casshorn and the hounds. That was the only way.

Declan would be there, fighting to the last. She had to do the same.

Together they walked into the blighted Wood.

TWENTY minutes later, Rose lay next to Declan on the edge of a ravine. Below them, the ground dropped off sharply. A strange contraption sat in the center of the ravine’s floor, a tangled mess of gears and moving parts, as if an enormous clock had gotten violently sick and vomited all of its insides before turning inside out. In the center of the device hung an oblong cluster of pale silvery glow, like a large batch of cotton candy woven of luminescent fog.

Around the device, hounds lay side by side, packed tight like matches into a box. Rose tried to count them. Hundred and twelve. Hundred and thirteen. Hundred and . . . too many. If they see us, we will be torn to pieces.

The magic rising from the ravine nearly made her gag. It filled the gap, crawling along the ground and up the slope, as if it were too heavy to dissipate. She felt the mere traces of it, but when they slithered past, her whole body recoiled from the contact. She wanted to jump to her feet and run back into the Wood, to jump into a lake or to grab a handful of mud and scrub herself just to scrape the slimy patina off.