ROSE awoke early. She had slept badly, in short bursts, waking up every hour or so to check on the kids. Twice she thought she heard something outside, and she went out onto the porch to investigate. She found nothing. Just the night, which, so mundane a day before, suddenly seemed sinister and full of danger.
When she did fall asleep, she dreamt of monsters, children screaming, and sliding out of control on wet mud that seemed never to end. By five, she gave up on sleeping and dragged herself upright to make coffee.
She passed by her father's bedroom. The door was closed. Last night she had given "Declan" a brief tour of the house, starting with the bathroom. He seemed to have matters well in hand. Rose wasn't surprised. The existence of the Broken wasn't exactly public knowledge in the Weird, but some nobility were aware of it, just like a few select Broken residents were aware of the existence of the Weird. He was probably high enough on the social ladder to be privy to secret information.
Tour finished, Rose gave Declan a spare toothbrush - his doubloon had paid for it and more - and a fresh towel, and made up Dad's bed with clean sheets and blankets. The kids told him good night, and he disappeared behind the door. She hadn't seen him in her midnight wanderings. Whatever phantom noises had troubled her failed to bother him.
Rose briefly considered knocking on the door but decided against it. She didn't have to leave, not yet, and she could use a calm moment with a cup of coffee before the kids rose.
She opened the windows to let fresh air in, boiled coffee in a small metal ewer her father called an ibrik, allowing the coffee to foam up twice before permanently taking it off the heat, poured herself a cup with a little bit of milk, and sat down at the table, fully intending to savor the drink. In front of her, wide windows offered the view of the lawn running into shrubs bordering the grass. Beyond them she saw the path curling into misty gloom between the trees. In the pre-dawn light, the leaves and the grass were dark and wet with dew. A chill filtered through the screen on the window. On mornings like this, she was grateful for a roof over her head and coffee. Rose brought the cup to her lips, blew gently, and touched the rim. Still too hot.
The creatures disturbed her. She'd never sensed anything so . . . so alien. All magic had a natural connection, even the vilest kind, but the beasts were disconnected from everything. They weren't undead; they weren't conjured, animated, or transmuted. To do any of those things, one had to start with a natural element: rock, metal, living tissue, and that base left an imprint on the final creation. The beasts' magic had no ties to anything.
As much as it pained her to admit, she was deeply grateful that Declan happened to come along to save Jack. That, far more than the doubloon, had earned him a stay in her house. Her memory served up Declan, bursting with power, his eyes iced over with radiant white . . . He was something else. She'd thought of him several times last night, during her relay of catnaps and paranoid wakefulness. She still wanted to touch his face just to reassure herself that he was indeed flesh and bone.
Rose dragged her mind back to the problem of the boys. Without her truck, she had no way of getting the kids safely to and from the bus stop. Letting them walk by themselves was out of the question, not with those creatures around. She had to be at work by seven thirty and would likely stay there until five, if she was lucky, or six. The kids were released at three thirty in the afternoon, and the bus dropped them off at three forty-five. They couldn't walk up to the house by themselves, not with those beasts around, and she didn't feel comfortable making them wait that long by the main road. Grandma was likely still at Adele's. The old woman lived deep in the Wood, and whenever Grandma visited her, she usually lingered overnight.
The boys couldn't wait for two hours by the bus stop. The Broken had its predators as well. They would have to skip a day.
A movement on the path made her stretch her neck to get a better look. Declan emerged from the shadowy trail, running. She jerked upright, expecting pursuit. He ran to the lawn, leaned forward for a moment, shaking his head, and began to circle the house slowly in that telltale jogger way, walking off the burn in his lungs. Rose dropped back into her chair. Her pulse hammered. Prickly needles of adrenaline rush nipped at her arms. Damn him.
He probably didn't know the meaning of running from his attacker, arrogant ass that he was. Chew slowly, indeed.
She understood why he was the way he was. She'd read the Encyclopedia of the Weird and other books she bartered from the caravans. The nobles of the Weird enjoyed unmatched power. They ruled over their domains as individuals and over their countries as assemblies under the watch of a constitutional monarch. They were painstakingly bred, educated from birth, and brought up with the sense of belonging to the elite. Like purebred show dogs groomed for obedience training competitions. Their lives had strict rules. It was not really his fault for trying to impose them on everyone - he simply didn't know of any other way to be. But just because she understood where he was coming from didn't make him welcome.
Declan completed his circle and stopped right in front of the porch. He wore dark pants, a shirt with ripped-off sleeves that left his arms exposed, and light boots. Nice arms . . .
The way he had summoned an image of that beast yesterday; now that was impressive. She wanted so badly to learn how he did it, she'd almost asked. Almost. He'd laugh in her face. He already thought she was an ignorant, rude mongrel. No need to give him more ammunition.
The huge sword was still on his back. He shrugged it off and pulled off his shirt. Rose paused with the cup halfway to her lips.
His golden hair, damp with sweat, spilled down his back. Tall, big boned, layered with carved muscle, he was made with strength in mind, but the massive width of his shoulders and chest tapered to a flat stomach and narrow waist. His hips were lean, his legs long and powerful. Despite all his bulk, there was a honed sleekness about him - he was strong, supple, and quick, a man who spent all his life sharpening his body into a weapon. That's what they did, the nobles of the Weird. Their ultimate purpose was to lead armies into battle.
Declan turned very slightly. It was a tiny movement, but she caught it - he'd checked that he could be seen from the window. Ha! He was showing off for her benefit. Rose smiled into her cup. Blueblood or not, he was still a man.
Declan flexed a little, displaying a perfect chest to the grass, and stretched. Rose leaned her head to the side, following his movement as he turned, letting her stare trail the sharp line of his biceps to his muscled back, and over his chest to his flat, ridged stomach. They really did know how to make them in the Weird.
No hair on his chest or stomach. All of that muscle clothed in golden skin, slicked with sweat from running. Against the cold fog of the morning, he radiated heat as if lit from within by his own warm glow. He was beautiful. Even his iceberg eyes were captivating despite the menace.
She drank her coffee. He must've done something truly awful to have to look for a bride in the Edge. Maybe he was a rapist . . . No, she decided. She just didn't feel that creepy vibe from him. A killer maybe? Murdered the son of somebody important in a duel? That she could see.
He picked up his sword. Now what?
Declan held the blade above his head, pointing parallel to the grass. For a long moment he stood still, utterly focused, and then erupted into sharp strikes. He slashed and thrust, fluid muscles rolling under his skin, faster and faster, cutting down invisible opponents in a lethal dance born of melding the sword fight and art.
That was entirely more than a woman could take. Rose lowered her cup to the table, leaned her head on her elbow, and simply watched.
She harbored no illusions. The only value she had to him was in her ability to flash and bear children. If she agreed to become his bride or his mistress, she would live in the house of a cold frigid man who would probably despise her, among people who would be so busy looking down on her because of what she was, they would have no chance to find out who she was. Her brothers would be servants at best. It would be a terrible life. True, Declan was heartbreakingly beautiful and hypnotic to watch. But she would have even more fun when she watched that muscled back and that perfect ass recede as he walked down the path away from her house, never to return.
ELSIE sat in her room on the rocker, holding Mr. Clooney. Through the doorway she saw her granddaughter and her best friend, Leanne, talking in hushed voices. On the porch, Amy's daughter Mindy was trying to do the same with Kenny Jo, Leanne's oldest boy, but he wasn't answering.
The four-eyed creature sat in the doorway blocking Elsie's exit. She had spent the whole night drawing the ward glyphs on the floor with a Magic Marker. She would've drawn more, but the marker had run dry.
The creature leaned and nudged at the invisible wall of magic streaming from the glyphs. A spark shot from the twisted swirls and nipped the creature's chin. It sat back on its haunches and showed her its teeth: bloodred and nasty. It wanted to get her. She shook the teddy bear at it. It was the same one who killed Mr. Bana, she was sure.
"Thanks for coming," Amy said. "I don't know what got into her. She sat like that since yesterday noon. She won't come out, and I can't drag her out by myself."
"Older folks get like this sometimes." Leanne nodded in understanding.
Amy was tall and soft, with a round face and a round belly and round hair of little brownish curls. Leanne was about the same height, but skinny and wiry, with a sharp face. Like a blond ferret with boobs. All of the Meddlers' women bred that way. Elsie pursed her lips. Together they would drag her out. She'd tied herself to the rocker with her scarves, but she knew the restraints wouldn't stand up to them for long.
Two more creatures padded from the kitchen. One slunk by Amy, almost brushing her big butt. She shivered and glanced over her shoulder. The creature looked right at her. She shrugged and turned back to Leanne. Elsie sneered. Stupid girl.
The creature by the door smiled at her. Soon, its gray eyes promised. Soon.
"It's not that I want to manhandle her, but . . ." Amy leaned forward and said confidentially, "She's wet herself. I just don't want it to get around that I abuse my grandma and all that. You know how people are."
"You don't have to worry on my account," Leanne assured her.
The two creatures hooked their claws into the wall and began crawling up the side like two huge ugly lizards. Tiny flecks of plaster broke off and fell on the floor.
"No, I know. You don't gossip. I just . . . I sure do appreciate this. With Bob away hunting, I'm by myself here. I'd like to get it done before the younger kids are up. That's not something they need to see."
Leanne nodded. "Let's get it over with."
They headed to the door. The creature slunk out of the way, behind the couch. Leanne stopped in the doorway and stared at the floor covered with black lines. "Oh my."
"She's done it overnight. I don't even know what this is." Amy shook her head. "Last thing I need is some foulness to pop out of these glyphs. You know? I have kids in the house."
Leanne shook her head. "Sometimes the mind just gives out."
Amy crossed the room and stopped before Elsie. "Grandma. You've got to come out."
Elsie let go of Mr. Clooney and clutched the armrests of her rocker. They wouldn't be getting her out, not where the beasts could get her.
"If you're refusing to listen to reason, Leanne and I'll have to take you out by force."
Elsie dug her nails into the wood.
"Suit yourself." Amy sighed, leaned over, and tried to pull her free. "Oh, my Lord in Heaven, she tied herself to the chair. With her good scarves, too."
She went into a crouch to pull loose the knot by the chair legs, and Elsie raked her face. Blood swelled. Amy stared stunned, tears swelling in her eyes. "Grandma!"
Elsie raised her hands, her bony fingers curled like claws. "You leave me alone!"
Leanne struck at her left hand, pinning it down with both of hers. Elsie scratched at her, but Amy clamped her right wrist to the armrest. Elsie snapped, trying to bite, and Amy pressed her left hand onto her chest, pinning her to the chair. Elsie growled and gnashed her teeth, but couldn't reach Amy's arm.
They looked at each other.
"Now what?" Amy breathed. "I can't reach the knot, and if I let go, she'll claw us bloody."
"Kenny Jo!" Leanne called. "I'll get him to untie the knot, and then we move her just like this right into the shower. Kenny Jo!"
The screen door banged, and Kenny Jo crossed the living room and stepped into the bedroom. The glyphs shivered a little. Elsie buckled against Amy's hand. Kenny Jo wasn't a dud like Amy. "Run!" she yelled at him. "Run!"
"Ma?"
"I need you . . ."
The first creature padded from behind the couch and stared at Kenny's back. He turned and went white as a sheet. The creature stepped forward, rocking on its haunches. Kenny stumbled back. His mouth gaped open. He choked, struggling, gulped, and screamed, setting the glass on the windows ringing.