On the Edge, page 26
“Military for you, I take it?” Tom Buckwell asked.
Declan nodded. “Casshorn passed the examinations at fifteen. Did spectacularly well, in fact. All that remained was the period of service. Casshorn attempted the Airforce, because it is considered the most cerebral of all military occupations.”
“Airforce like planes?” Lee Stearns asked.
“Airforce like flying beasts,” Declan said. “Wyverns, man ticores, and so on. Within a year Casshorn was booted from the Airforce Academy for plotting to kill one of his instructors. That effectively barred him from any military branch except for the Red Legion, who will take anyone. Whether you’re a wanted criminal or a certified lunatic—they don’t care. They can take an average person and in two years turn him or her into a mass murderer. Just deploying them often causes panic in the enemy. The Red Legion discharged Casshorn in six months, deeming him completely unsuited to military service.”
“To screw up like that takes talent.” Tom Buckwell shook his head. “He must be special.”
Declan grimaced. “He certainly thinks so. With the military crossed off his list, Casshorn attempted the civil service. He was fired from Elizabethian University for plagiarism, having served a little over twenty months. Two days later, someone set the campus on fire. Then Casshorn took a sabbatical for three years. Then he attempted manufacturing research. To make a long story short, in the meantime Casshorn’s younger brother, Ortes, finished his seven years, serving in the Andrianglian Navy with distinction, and Casshorn hadn’t even managed to pass a half mark. Their test scores were tied. Because they were siblings, Ortes had the option of signing a waiver to give his brother five years to complete the service requirement. A peer title can’t remain vacant for long. All peers have duties, and someone has to fulfill them.”
“So what happened?” Rose asked.
“Ortes was willing to sign the waiver, if his father wished to give Casshorn another chance. The Duke decided he needed to think some more on the matter and invited his sons to Yule Dinner at the ducal manor. Most of the nobles and their families were present at the celebration. I was eight, and I remember it vividly. Casshorn’s demeanor was bizarre. He seemed not to know where he was. Midway through the evening he stood up and started talking. He ranted like a lunatic and attacked Ortes’s wife, calling her a whore and blaming her for a number of odd and illogical things. Apparently, years earlier, when Ortes and Jane were affianced, Casshorn had made some advances toward her and she turned him down, but to hear him tell it, the incident had happened earlier in the evening, not nearly a decade ago. Obviously, no waiver was signed, and Ortes became Duke shortly after his father retired. Casshorn later claimed that someone had added a narcotic to his drink, but by then it was too late, and he seemed to accept it. Apparently, he found a new way of obtaining the power he always wanted.”
Jeremiah frowned. “Why the Edge? Why our small neck of the woods?”
Declan rested his arms on the table and leaned forward. “The Edge has no strong police or military force. Any resistance he encounters will be fragmented, since nobody but Edgers care what happens between the worlds. As to what his purpose is, I don’t know. I think he may have started with some idea of conquering the Edge, building up an army of hounds, and avenging himself on all the people who wronged him in Adrianglia. However, whatever he has done to earn immunity from the hounds is changing him. I’m not sure how much of his humanity remains.”
“I think his conquering plans bit the dust,” Rose said. “He simply wants to absorb magic and eat us now. He kept his face hidden, but his hands looked like paws. He has claws instead of nails. If he conquers the Edge, it will be so he can feed.”
“He can’t be reasoned with,” Tom Buckwell said.
Lee turned to him. “How do you know?”
Tom’s bushy beard moved around a bit. His face looked sour. “Fred Simoen sent Brad Dillon up to him with gifts.”
“He what?” Grandma drew from the table in shock.
“I told him not to do it,” Tom growled. “I said from the get-go that it was a lousy idea and it wouldn’t end well, but there was no reasoning with him. Fred thinks he can buy the world.”
Rose thought of Casshorn raving on about the delicious man he had received as a gift. Nausea squirmed through her. “Casshorn ate Brad, didn’t he?”
“He sure did,” Tom said. “At least that’s what Fred said, before he and the whole clan peeled out of the Edge like their arses were on fire.”
Rose rubbed her face. Brad was slime, but to die like this . . . Nobody deserved that. She thought of the boys being eaten and had to clench her hands under the table.
Declan’s large hand settled on her fist. He rubbed her hand with his dry warm fingers. “So you do know where Casshorn is?”
Silence fell around the table.
“He’s in Moss Ravine,” Adele said. “The Wood started dying there about six days ago.”
Lee threw his hands in the air. “And he needs to know that why?”
“It’s his mess,” Emily creaked. “Let him clean it up.”
“That’s a real good point.” Lee swung to Declan. “Why aren’t more of you fellows here taking care of this problem? Why is it you’re here by your lonesome? It’s your mess.”
“Technically, the Duke has no jurisdiction in the Edge,” Declan said. “So it’s your mess at the moment.”
“But they did send you,” Jeremiah said.
“Oh, come on.” Tom Buckwell slapped the table with his big hands. “He’s covert ops, if I ever saw one. They ain’t gonna send a battalion to help us out, because that would mean they’d have to admit that Duke’s psycho brother made off with their supersecret apocalypse machine, which they weren’t supposed to have in the first place. They sent one guy, a killer, and if he fails, they’re gonna deny they ever knew anything about the whole deal.”
“Not quite,” Declan said. His hand still stroked Rose’s under the table. “I have a time limit. If in a fortnight I don’t inform His Grace that Casshorn is dead and the device is destroyed, the Duke will take further measures.”
“The Red Legion,” Grandma said softly.
Declan nodded.
“What does that mean?” Lee Stearns asked.
Grandma’s mouth flattened into a severe line. “When the Red Legion comes through, nothing remains.”
“You may hide in the Broken,” Declan said, “but they’ll purge East Laporte. It will be like you were never here.”
Lee glared. “They have no right!”
“Think,” Tom Buckwell said. “Fifty fellows just like him. They’ll come and wipe the place out, so we have nothing to come back to. That’s what the U.S. did in Korea. They don’t want us sitting in East Laporte spreading rumors of their doom machine. And he”—Tom stabbed his finger in Declan’s direction—“he’s the one who’s gonna carry the responsibility for us getting wiped off the map on his soul. It will be his call. Nobody wants to make a call like that.”
“Why are you here?” Adele asked softly. “Why did you choose to be the one?”
“I have my reasons,” Declan said.
This wasn’t going to get them anywhere. “There is a changeling,” Rose said, ignoring Declan’s sharp glance. His hand abruptly left hers. “Casshorn has some sort of hold over him. His name’s William.”
“Is he the one who hung Emerson on Dead Horse Oak?” Emily Paw asked.
Rose nodded. “Declan and William were friends, and he wants to save him.”
“An army buddy, I bet.” Tom Buckwell nodded. “Figures. It’s good for us. Makes it nice and personal, so you’ll fight harder. You got a plan?”
“I can take Casshorn in a one-on-one physical fight,” Declan said. “But he knows this. I need to separate him from the hounds. Since the device produces the hounds continuously, one at a time, the only way to get Casshorn alone is to rapidly destroy a large number of his beasts. Unfortunately, he seems to be directing their actions. He may not be fully human, but he would recognize a trap. I would know more if I could survey his position and see what sort of odds we were facing.”
Jeremiah rose. “I think we’ve heard enough. We need to confer. Let’s let the young ones get some air.”
AS the wooden door shut behind her and Declan, Rose blinked against the sunlight and sank on the porch. “Well, that went as well as it could.”
“You told them about William,” he said.
“Yes, I did. Words like ‘duty’ don’t mean much to them. They understand friendship and family. They wouldn’t touch you because you’re powerful and they’re afraid of retribution from the Weird. They can’t hurt the hounds, because they absorb magic. But they could hurt William. With things the way they are, if they saw a strange changeling, they might act first and ask questions later. They’re all cursers, Declan. You saw what Jeremiah did to that bird, and you know what my grandmother tried to do to you.”
She faced the weighty look in his eyes. “I know it’s a private thing between you and him. But it was best they knew. They might not hurt him now.”
“Why the sudden love for William?”
“Are you jealous?” She narrowed her eyes.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I worry about William, because he’s important to you,” she said. “Because I feel that until the two of you settle things between yourselves, it will eat at you. And if William’s truly helping Casshorn . . . You’ll have to kill him, won’t you?”
“Yes,” Declan said.
He would have to kill his best friend. Rose looked away, at the trees, at the grass, at her hands. Her stomach churned. It had all gone so wrong somehow, and so fast, and fixing it seemed impossible. Two weeks ago, life was a normal drudgery, and seemingly overnight, her stable world became the place where demonic creatures hunted small boys so they could eat them and the man she loved had to pick between his survival and the life of his best friend.
She was caught in an ugly dream and couldn’t wake up, and the fear that clung to her every second was worst of all. She was scared for the boys and Grandma and terribly frightened for Declan, so badly it hurt inside, as if her bones ached. If she let herself dream just a little, she glimpsed a hint of fragile happiness that might even be hers, if not forever, then for a little while, and it was about to be ripped away from her. She was so sick of being scared. “You said you were a Marshal. Is this what you do?” she asked. “This is what your job is like?”
Declan nodded.
“And it’s always like this?”
“This is probably the worst,” he said. “But yes, there are always choices I don’t want to make. It’s my duty as Marshal. A lot is riding on my back right now. If I fail to kill Casshorn, people will die, the Duke of the Southern Provinces will be dishonored and possibly have to step down, your town will be wiped out, and I’ll lose you. And I don’t even know if I have you.”
Rose chewed on that. Did “I don’t even know if I have you” mean “I don’t even know if you like me” or did it mean “I don’t even know if I’ll win the challenges and get to own you”?
“You won’t lose me just because you’ve failed,” she said.
“If I fail, I’ll be dead,” Declan said.
Suddenly she was angry. All that worry and fear mixed in her, and him talking so calmly about dying squeezed it together into pure fury. She was furious at Casshorn for putting them all through it. “Oh no, you won’t.”
His eyebrows crept up.
“You’ll survive this,” she told him. “I’ll be right there to make sure you’ll make it out alive, even if I have to drag your bloody body out of the Wood on my back. I still have a challenge left, and I will stump you with it. You won’t rob me of my victory, Lord Camarine.”
A light sparked in his eyes. “I’ll have to postpone my dying then.”
“You do that,” she told him. “I don’t know what will become of this thing between you and me, but no brainsick blueblood crackpot is going to take away my chance to find out.”
“Have you made up your mind, then?” he asked.
“About what? About surrendering to your manly charms?”
“Yes.”
“Not yet,” she said. “I’m still thinking about it.”
“Is there anything I can do to persuade you?” He leaned forward, a dangerously focused expression on his face. His green eyes turned warm and wicked, and she froze, snared in his stare.
“I can’t think of anything,” she murmured.
He was close, entirely too close, only a couple of inches away. She saw his lips, curving in a sly smile, a network of thin scars by his left eye, his long eyelashes . . .
“Are you sure, Miss Drayton?” he asked, his voice low and husky.
“I’m sure,” she whispered, and then he closed the distance between them.
His hand cupped the back of her head, and he kissed her. She opened her mouth, tasted iced tea and Declan. He smelled of sweat, mixed with light sandalwood musk and sun-kissed skin. She would recognize his scent anywhere, just as she would recognize the strength in the arms around her. He held her as if daring the world to come over and make an issue of it. She let herself sink into that embrace, sliding her hands up the hard muscles of his chest to his neck and to his short hair. He pulled her closer, kissing harder, hungrier, and she licked the inside of his mouth and molded herself to him. Declan growled, a very male possessive sound that sent a thrill from her neck down her spine.
The floor behind them creaked. They broke apart a fraction of a second before the door swung open. Rose stared straight ahead, trying to catch her breath.
“Well, it took some doing, but they decided to help you,” Grandma’s voice said behind her. “We have a plan, or some semblance of one. Tom’s coming out to explain it to you. He’s all excited at playing soldier again. What exactly happened to the two of you? You look like you got into my pantry and ate all of my jam.”
“We’re fine,” Rose managed, stealing a glance at Declan. He looked halfway between shell-shocked and frustrated.
“All right then.” Éléonore’s tone plainly said she wasn’t sure what they were selling, but she sure as hell wasn’t buying it. She lingered for another long breath, shook her head, and went inside.
“We need a barn,” Declan said.
“What?”
“A barn,” he said, with the gravity of a commander planning an attack. “We need a barn or one of those storage areas for the Broken vehicles.”
“A garage?”
He gave her a short nod. “A private, relatively remote location, with thick walls to dampen the sound and preferably a sturdy door I could bolt from the inside, keeping your grandmother, your brothers, and all other painfully annoying spectators out . . .”
Rose began to laugh. A make-out bunker . . .
“I’m glad you find our dilemma hilarious,” he said dryly.
Tom Buckwell emerged onto the porch then and squeezed his giant body between the two of them. “Here’s the deal. Attacking Casshorn head-on is straight out, because he’s got too many hounds with him, right?”
“Right,” Rose said.
“To get to Casshorn, you need to nuke the hounds. To nuke the hounds, you have to separate them from Casshorn or attack him at his lair. This is what guys in the Broken call a catch-22. Here’s how I’m going to make your day . . . you do have ranks in the Weird, don’t you?”
“We do,” Declan said.
“What was yours?”
“Legionnaire First Class.”
“What is that? Is that like an officer?”
“No,” Declan said.
“An NCO, then.” Tom grinned. “I was a Staff Sergeant myself. Suppose I call you ‘Sergeant,’ would you go with that?”
“That will be fine,” Declan said.
“Good then, Sahgent.”
Rose rolled her eyes. Funny how “sergeant” became “sahgent” all of a sudden, and Tom had morphed from a surly bear into Declan’s best buddy, all smiles and camaraderie. It was a classic Edge tactic. She’d seen it employed with outsiders before. The six elders didn’t know Declan, they had no way of verifying the information he’d given them, and they were afraid of him. So Tom Buckwell had chosen to play a “friend,” hoping to establish common ground, get into Declan’s confidence, and stab him in the back if necessary. With some men, it might have worked, but Declan had good instincts and Buckwell was laying the none-too-bright we’re-all-just-army-buddies on too thick.
“Casshorn might be a goner, but he was human to begin with, so he’s still vulnerable there. We build a trap, and the elders will curse his arse into sleep. No matter how inhuman he is, the six of us aren’t without skill. We’ll hold him at least for a few hours. Meanwhile you and Rose here lead the hounds into the trap, kill them off, and then go after Casshorn. Good plan, yeah?”
“Great plan,” Declan said. “What kind of a trap?”
“Haven’t thought that far yet,” Tom said.
“How are you going to curse him?” Rose asked. Sleep would be the obvious choice: unlike pain curses, it was subtle. Casshorn wouldn’t even know anything was wrong. He’d simply get tired and fall asleep. “To cast sleep, we need a thing of his. Hair. Piece of clothing.”
“Haven’t thought that far yet,” Tom said.
Some plan. Rose sighed. Over half a millennium of experience between the six of them, and this was what they came up with.
“Trap first,” Declan said. “Without the trap, we have no plan. Bullets don’t work against the hounds. They go straight through their bodies. Dismemberment works. Flash does, too, but we have only two flashers. Fire, but they know to steer clear of it.”
