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  “Lieutenant, I want you to keep your mouth shut about what we saw up there. The last thing we need are a bunch of idiot fledglings thinking that it’d be an adventure to check out Old Magick.”

  “Whatever you say, sir, but they didn’t look dangerous. They looked like abnormally big fireflies, which are pretty damn cute.”

  “Dallas, just one of those cute little bugs has the ability to devour you whole—and I mean all of you. Sprites can drain souls as easily as they drain blood.”

  “Nyx’s tits! Are you kidding with that?”

  Stark gave him a hard look. “Do I look like I’m kidding you, Lieutenant? And don’t ever use the Goddess’ name like that around me again.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Just shut up and drive.”

  The lieutenant did as he was told, leaving his general to stare out at the night.

  Old Magick is supposed to be almost gone from the world. The textbooks said it can only be found on the Isle of Skye, and no one’s been allowed to enter that island for centuries. Stark didn’t wonder what the sprites were doing there. The fact that it was Native American land that they were still protecting made sense.

  But that didn’t explain why they were awake and active enough to be seen by local humans.

  Could it have something to do with Neferet’s war?

  A shiver of foreboding skittered down Stark’s spine, colder than the ice that had stopped falling as soon as they turned off Lone Star Road.

  Stark was pretty sure he knew the answer to his question. What he didn’t know was if it was a good or bad thing that the sprites were stirring. He also didn’t know what the hell to do with his discovery.

  His duty was to report it to Neferet. But Stark was a sworn Son of Erebus Warrior before he’d become Neferet’s general, and his first allegiance was to the Goddess Nyx.

  The secret truth that Stark kept buried deep within him was that he didn’t trust Neferet, and he didn’t agree with her war.

  Sure, he’d been part of a very large, very vocal group of blue vampyres who had been demanding better treatment from humans. He’d been sick of the separate-but-equal bullshit human politicians had been shoveling at them for too damn long. He’d even supported the beginning of Neferet’s war, but after a few months it was obvious that Neferet never intended to create a world order where all were equal. Neferet wanted to rule and to subjugate all humans.

  Stark wasn’t a red vampyre. He had morals. He retained his humanity. And he wasn’t a killer. He was a Warrior, sworn to protect the High Priestess gifted with the leadership of the vampyre nation by Nyx.

  But what if the rumors were true? What if Neferet no longer followed Nyx, and the Goddess had truly turned from her High Priestess?

  “I have been praying to Nyx for a sign …” Stark murmured to his reflection in the darkly tinted window.

  “Sir? Did you say something?”

  “Just talking to myself,” Stark said. He closed his mouth, but his whirring mind didn’t stop.

  I’ve been praying for a sign that Neferet is doing the Goddess’ will. Is this it? Or is the appearance of Old Magick a sign of the opposite?

  Stark rubbed his forehead, hating the headache that was building there. Until he knew for sure that Neferet had forsaken Nyx, he would do his duty. He would protect his High Priestess.

  But he would also keep his mind and his eyes open, and at least for now he would tell no one the magickal details about what happened on the ridge that night.

  8

  Other Kevin

  “They’ve retreated! Every one of them!” A tall, blond blue vampyre rushed into the small cave, brushing icy rain from an adult tattoo of Celtic knots as he ran to Dragon.

  “Cole, are you certain?” Dragon said.

  “Absolutely. It’s a mess out there, but I saw what happened. It was right by our first checkpoint. A whole bunch of things that look like fireflies appeared out of the mist in front of General Stark. He immediately ordered a retreat. I couldn’t get close enough to make out everything he was saying, but I did hear the words Old Magick, and I could see that he looked scared. Real scared.”

  “Oh, thank the Goddess!” Grandma Redbird collapsed to the rough stone floor of the cave.

  “G-ma! Are you okay?” Kevin tried to go to her, but his legs refused to work, and he couldn’t do much more than lean painfully against the side of the cave.

  “Sylvia?” Anastasia started to go from Kevin’s side to the old woman, but Grandma Redbird raised a hand to stop her.

  “I am quite well. I just needed to sit. I believe my rush of adrenaline has left me. Please tend to my grandson and do not worry yourself about me.” She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

  “My love, do you think we can relight at least a few of the fires?” Anastasia asked Dragon.

  The Swordmaster stared out at the ice and mist that shrouded the ridge. “Yes. If they return it won’t be tonight. The roads won’t be passable and the mist is excellent cover for the fires. Light the one in the rear of the cave. Cole, go to the hunters’ blinds and tell them it’s safe to keep the fires going as long as the ice and mist last.” Cole disappeared into the night. Dragon faced Kevin. “It worked. Your sprites saved us.”

  Kevin shrugged, and then grimaced in pain. “They’re not really my sprites. They just like my blood.”

  “Because it holds the power of our ancestors, who were once as much a part of this land as these rocks,” said Sylvia Redbird. “And because it is good, honest blood—not tainted by lies and hatred. Do you believe now, Dragon Lankford?”

  “I believe your grandson saved us. But there is still the question of how the Red Army knew we were here, and why they came here the same night as Kevin.”

  “I can’t answer either of those questions right now,” Kevin said. “Not from here. But I can get answers for all of us from inside the House of Night.”

  “You expect me to let you go?”

  “No. I expect you to let me join you. I want to be part of the Resistance. I want to spy for you—for us.”

  “Impossible!” Dragon said.

  “Why is that impossible, Bryan?” Anastasia crouched beside Kevin again, reexamining his back while her raven found a perch on the craggy wall of the cave. Kevin thought his black eyes seemed as judgy as Dragon’s.

  “He’s a red vampyre! He can’t be part of the Resistance. We’re fighting his kind.”

  “You’re not fighting my kind,” Kevin said. “There are no more of my kind in this world, and that’s why I’m the perfect spy. No one at the House of Night will pay any attention to a Red Army lieutenant. They don’t give a crap about us except as expendables. I can go anywhere—listen to anyone—and they’ll barely notice.”

  “You could also rise to the rank of general in the Red Army and have a squadron of men follow your orders. Why would you choose to put yourself in harm’s way instead?” Dragon asked.

  “Because I am a decent person!” Kevin blurted. “Sheesh, what’s wrong with you? Anyone who isn’t a monster or a greedy ass would do the same.”

  “That simply is not true, Kevin.” Anastasia rested a soft hand on his shoulder. “There are many people we’d all call decent—vampyres and humans alike—who aren’t willing to do more than sit on the sidelines and shake their heads at the state of the world.”

  “Well, I think if you’re a decent person and you don’t stand up against monsters, then you’re worse than one of them,” Kevin said. He turned his head and met Anastasia’s distinctive blue eyes. “You can go ahead and start sewing again. I’m as ready as I’m ever going to be.”

  She smiled kindly at him. “That won’t be necessary. Not after Old Magick did its work.” Anastasia nodded at the back of his shoulder.

  Kevin reached carefully behind his back to find a tender, raised scar and smo
oth skin where just minutes before there’d been a deep, bloody slash. “But that’s impossible!”

  “Apparently not. When the sprites drank from you, they also touched you—all along your wound—and their touch healed you. Although, not completely. You’ll be weak and stiff and sore for a while, and you’ll have a long, nasty scar. But you no longer have need of my sewing skills.”

  Grandma Redbird shuffled to Kevin, bending to peer at his naked back. “That is remarkable! U-we-tsi, the sprites truly did close your wound.”

  “Huh,” was all Kevin could think to say.

  “Does that tell you anything about his character?” Dragon asked his mate.

  “Only that the sprites like him, and as they are neutral—neither good nor evil, that does not tell us much,” Anastasia said. Then she stood and took her mate’s sword-callused hands in her own. “Bryan, I believe we know about Kevin’s character already. He most definitely is not like the other red vampyres. We should trust him.” Dragon opened his mouth, obviously protesting, but Anastasia’s words silenced him. “He is different. His humanity is intact. And he can wield Old Magick. Not even Neferet can do that.”

  “Yet,” Kevin said.

  Dragon turned to him. “Explain that yet.”

  “In my sister’s world, they did defeat Neferet, but they didn’t kill her because she’d become immortal.”

  Anastasia gasped in shock. “She learned to wield Old Magick!”

  “G-ma, do you have the journal?”

  She nodded weakly and motioned to where the supplies from the Polaris had been piled in the rear of the little cave. “I do. It is in the basket I packed with cookies.”

  “I brought a copy of a journal Neferet wrote when she was still a human. It’s from my sister’s world, but in it there’s proof that Old Magick had been influencing Neferet since she was a kid.”

  “And just because the journal was written by another version of her does not mean it holds no relevance for us,” Grandma said. “As Kevin already explained, who we are in each world remains essentially the same. It is only our experiences that change us. I will give you the journal. Have copies made of it. Pass them around. We must all read it to have as much knowledge as possible about ways to combat Neferet’s evil.”

  “Agreed. We need all the help we can get, especially if that help comes in the form of a young vampyre who brings us knowledge and can also wield Old Magick,” said Anastasia.

  Dragon blew out a long breath and went to Kevin, crouching beside him, as had his mate. “I don’t like being put in a position where I must trust an enemy.”

  “I’m not your enemy.”

  “Prove it.”

  “I just tried to,” Kevin said. “And I’ll keep trying to prove it to you. I’ll go to the House of Night and spy for you. I’ll tell you everything I learn. I’ll help in any way I can.”

  “My grandson speaks the truth, Dragon. You will see,” said Sylvia Redbird, through teeth that chattered with cold.

  “G-ma, you need to move to the back of the cave where the fire is.”

  “I’m fine here. It’s much too smoky back there.”

  “Boy, if you want to do something to get in my good graces, figure out a way Old Magick can help us make this cave habitable.” Dragon spoke softly, more to the night than to Kevin, as he stood, staring out at the freezing rain and mist.

  Kevin looked from his g-ma to Anastasia. “Do you think I could actually do that? Get the sprites to help make this cave bigger and better?”

  “Of course,” Anastasia said without a pause. “As I said when they appeared, sprites are always tied to the elements, and earth is one of the elements. It would not be a stretch to imagine earth sprites fashioning a cave from the bosom of this ridge.”

  “Cool! I’ll just call them or something and ask if they—”

  “Remember, Kevin, you must never use Old Magick flippantly,” Anastasia interrupted. “It is one of the most powerful magicks in the world—and one of the most unpredictable.”

  “But the sprites did exactly what I asked them to do,” Kevin said.

  “Oh, they always keep their word—as long as they are paid. The problem comes with the payment,” Anastasia said.

  “Please explain,” said Grandma Redbird.

  “It is simple and complicated. Simple because the sprites agree to a payment for a service. When it’s something like they just did—a specific task for a specific service—all is usually well. It’s when the payment isn’t rendered immediately that you can get into trouble, and by trouble I mean soul-deep, often deadly trouble.”

  “If I understand what you’re saying, then Kevin should only agree to a payment that is immediate and very specific, correct?” Grandma Redbird asked.

  “Well, yes and no. He can still have problems. That’s more of the complicated part of the process. The ancient texts warn that using such power is dangerous and can hurt the vampyre wielding it.”

  “But I already have an affinity for the five elements. So does my sister in the other world I just visited. She’s a good High Priestess—really good. She defeated Neferet there. I really don’t think she’s been hurt by it.”

  “Elemental affinities are gifted by Nyx, and thus they are not Old Magick. It is impressive that you have such affinities. That, mixed with your Cherokee blood, is probably why the sprites heard your call,” Anastasia said. “And as to what the texts meant by being hurt by wielding the power—I am sorry to say I simply don’t have enough knowledge to explain further. I have never known Old Magick before, or anyone who could call it. All I know is what I have read in ancient texts.”

  “Well, I’m willing to take the chance and use it—at least one more time. You think they’ll hear me again?”

  She hiked her shoulders. “I cannot answer that, Kevin. Nor can I answer if you should call to them again. I do not know the nature of your soul. I do not know how susceptible to Darkness you are.”

  “I do,” said Grandma Redbird. “His soul is good. Truly good. He is not prone to Darkness or hatred or evil. Even before Nyx restored his humanity in that other world, he fought the hunger and the mindlessness of what so many of us are calling the Red Curse. U-we-tsi, I believe you can help us set the balance of Light and Darkness to right because you can wield Old Magick. But do not forget Anastasia’s words. Remember—the payment must be specific and immediately given.”

  “I’ll remember. I promise. But, um, do you think I have enough blood right now for that?”

  “No, you do not,” Anastasia said.

  “I have an idea for an alternative payment.” G-ma’s hand reached up to rest over the small bag that made a mound under her shirt.

  “Wait, no. You can’t give up your medicine bag,” Kevin said.

  “I can and I will. Both of my medicine bags.”

  Kevin pressed his own hand against the replica that rested in the middle of his chest. “I dunno, G-ma. Is it a good idea to give away your power like that?”

  “Oh, u-we-tsi, a medicine bag holds no power on its own. It only symbolizes the power of its maker. And I shall simply make another, just as the other Sylvia Redbird has probably already done in Zoey’s world.” She pulled the beaded bag from beneath her shirt and lifted its leather thong over her head, handing it to Kevin. “Summon your sprites.”

  Kevin took the medicine bag after squeezing his g-ma’s cold hand. Then he looked up at Dragon. “Help me stand?”

  The powerful Warrior took Kevin’s elbow, lifting him to his feet. Kevin stood, swaying slightly as bright spots glittered in his vision, but he settled quickly. His back was stiff and hurt all the way from one shoulder to the other, but his dizziness passed. He couldn’t run a marathon, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to fall over. Again.

  Then he realized he had no clue about his next move.

  “Um, Anastasia, how do I call the
m?”

  “When they came to you before it was when you’d torn open your wound, so it was bleeding pretty heavily, and you’d just said something about wanting to make this right.”

  “So, do you think I should cut myself again and then call them?”

  “Are they not still here?” Grandma gestured out at the icy night. “Can you not simply ask them to return to you?”

  Kevin looked questioningly at Anastasia, who shrugged and nodded.

  He cracked his knuckles and shook out his hands as he moved closer to the mouth of the cave. Kevin cleared his throat, drew a deep breath, and opened his mouth to shout Goddess-only-knew-what, but he hesitated. Maybe I should think before I speak—or more specifically, pray. Kevin closed his mouth. Closed his eyes. And bowed his head.

  Please help me, Nyx. I’m way out of my league here—and not just with the sprites. I want to help the Resistance, but I’m just a kid. I’m not even as old as Zo. I promise I’ll try to do the right thing and follow the path you want me on. Could you give me a little help to keep me walking the path?

  Kevin raised his head and stared out at the ice and mist magick that had kept Stark away.

  “Water sprites protected us with ice and mist …” he murmured to himself, thinking aloud. “And sprites are tied to the elements.” Kevin thought hard. And then he sucked in a giant breath. “Earth sprites!” Grinning, he turned to catch the confused looks Anastasia, Dragon, and his g-ma were throwing him. “I think I’ve got it!” He faced the night again, and, with more confidence than he felt, spoke in a loud, clear voice. “Sprites of air, fire, water, and earth, I am Kevin …” He hesitated, and then knew exactly what he needed to say and how he needed to say it. “I am Kevin Redbird, and with my Goddess-given affinity and by the right of my blood—the same blood that once beat strong through those who were protectors of the land—I call to you, especially those of you who are earth elementals! Sprites already playing out there on the ridge, please come to me!”

  It was as if the night inhaled, held its breath, and then, with its exhale, released magick. Anastasia and Grandma Redbird gasped as a cloud of sprites, shifting form from firefly to winged fey, flew up from lower on the ridge. They hovered before the cave, lighting the icy night so that Kevin could clearly see the huge boulders that dotted the craggy area around them begin to shimmer. Then figures emerged, as if they’d been curled within the rocks sleeping, awaiting Kevin’s summons. They were larger than the firefly sprites—about the size of toddlers. The rock sprites were unbelievably beautiful. They didn’t appear to have genders. The skin of their bodies looked exactly like the tiny compacted veins of quartz that marbled the Oklahoma sandstone from which they emerged—they glistened as if lit from within—and Kevin realized they were what he’d at first mistaken for sprites that seemed to be Fourth of July sparklers. Their delicate feet didn’t touch the earth as they drifted toward him.