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  Billos stood still for a moment, then stripped off the black coat and hat. He withdrew his gun, cocked it up by his ear, and strode for the door.

  Time to hunt.

  ohnis plunged into the Black Forest, gripping the horse with his knees so that both hands remained free for his water bag, his left clenching the leather seam, his right shoved into the water for the teaming Shataiki above to clearly see. Silvies horse pounded the narrow forest trail behind him.

  Without so much as a word, they’d approached the precipice that fell into the hole and headed down a path cut from the cliff. Throngs of the beasts circled and squawked on all sides, keeping just beyond the reach of any water flung their way. At the top Johnis had knocked two of them from midair with a single flick of his wet fingers. Clearly, fire wasn’t the beasts’ only fear; the lake water was poison to their skin—even a tiny spot of mist would kill one of these vampires. Had they known this several weeks ago, their task might have been simpler.

  Still, the Shataiki dove in as close as they dared, desperate to catch one of them unaware.

  “Watch your back!” Silvie cried behind him.

  Johnis spun as a mangy bat veered into the thick jungle and slammed into a trunk. It fell in a heap. Killed by Silvie’s water.

  He whirled back and flung water in a wide arc. “Aaaargh! Stay back!”

  Then to Silvie. “Douse your hair and your back!”

  “What if we run out of water?”

  “We’ll take that risk. Douse them!”

  The sound of splashing water followed immediately; she hadn’t needed much encouragement. Johnis cupped cool liquid in his palm and dumped it on his head, then on his shoulders. As long as they remained wet, the bats would not touch them.

  They each had three bags and were on their first. The way Johnis had explained it, one bag each for the journey in, one for the lair, the last for the escape. But they didn’t know how deep the hole went or if this path really did lead to the lair. And with the dousing, the water in his bag was more than half-gone.

  “You good?” he yelled.

  “I’m in hell,” she panted. “Alive, but not good.”

  “Good. Keep the extra bags wet too.”

  They pounded in, deeper, deeper, until the light that had peeked through twisted branches was darkened by the massive overhang they’d seen from above. The Black Forest had gone underground. They plunged ahead into pitch blackness.

  “Just keep yourself wet!” Johnis yelled,

  He could hear them, flapping and wheezing on every side. He could feel the wind from their wings when they swooped in close, missing him by mere inches. He could smell the putrid, sulfuric stench that stuffed his nostrils, forcing him to breathe through his mouth to keep from retching.

  But he could see nothing. Fighting a fresh wave of panic, Johnis dumped more water on his head, rubbed more on his arms, splashed his face, his shoulders, his thighs.

  “Johnis?”

  The frantic tone in Silvie’s voice betrayed her own fear.

  “Are you wet?” he demanded. “Your thighs and sides, everything, Keep wet.”

  “I’m running out of water!”

  The tip of a talon brushed Johnis’s cheek, and he jerked back. The offending creature screeched, then hit a tree with a dull thump.

  What if they tried suicide runs? Blasting in with claws outstretched knowing they would die on contact but killing him in the process?

  No, they are too selfish to consider anything so noble, he decided.

  “Good?” he called.

  Silvie didn’t respond. He could hear her breathing loudly, but she wasn’t answering.

  “Silvie! Are you good?”

  “Don’t ask such stupid questions.”

  They pounded deeper, deeper.

  Johnis didn’t know what they would find. He only knew that Darsal had come here looking for a book. The fact that they hadn’t found any tracks headed back toward the forests meant she was still here somewhere, either dead or alive. Unless she had found a book and followed Billos, in which case she was somewhere else, either alive or dead.

  Beyond that he could only make wild guesses, of which he’d made a hundred since the Roush Hunter had bounced up and down with the news of Darsal’s betrayal.

  His mount pulled up sharply and came to a stop. The air had gone strangely quiet. The musky smell of muddy water announced a change.

  “We’re out of the forest,” Silvie said, breathing hard. “This is the lake?”

  Johnis glanced up and saw them then, a hundred thousand sets of red eyes above and extending around what must be their lake.

  He looked ahead and now just barely saw the dim reflection of so many eyes in the dark water. “This is it.” But he couldn’t see which way the path went.

  He tried to force his horse left. It snorted and backed up. Right. This time it walked reluctantly forward.

  “This way. How much water do you have left?”

  “I’m on my second bag,” Silvie said.

  “Already?”

  “You said keep yourself wet.”

  “I didn’t say take a shower.”

  “I’m alive.”

  The horses kept to the darkened path, which gradually made its way around the lake, Johnis’s eyes began to make out mote details: the ring of leafless trees that bordered the lake; the black water, perfectly still without a breeze or a creature to move the surface; the thousands of red eyes, peering down, mostly in silence now.

  And then the faint outline of a platform ahead as the path widened so that the horses could walk side by side.

  “You see that?” he whispered.

  “I see it,” Silvie said next to him. “It looks familiar.”

  They’d seen another one of these platforms above Teeleh’s lair. Though the Shataiki seemed to be imitating Elyon’s creation of the forests and lakes, they were limited in their expression. Where Elyon’s forests were circular and green, the Shataiki’s were circular but black. Elyon’s lakes were blue with a hint of green; Teelehs dark and nasty. The Roush lived above the ground in the open air.

  Teeleh’s lair was deep underground.

  “Let’s pray we’re right about the lair,” Johnis said.

  “Did you ever think you’d pray to find hell?”

  He hesitated. It was madness. But then this whole business with the books had been madness from the start.

  The horses stopped at the edge of the round platform. The air had grown even quieter.

  “Now what?” Silvie whispered.

  “Bring your water.” Johnis swung off his horse, hoisted both bags of water from the saddlebag, and faced the platform, joined by Silvie.

  “The horses?” she asked.

  Good question. “We don’t have enough water for them. Can’t cover every angle, can we?”

  He started to his right, following the platform’s edge.

  “That’s a pretty important angle, wouldn’t you say?” Silvie demanded, hurrying up beside him.

  “Shataiki have no taste for horse meat,” he said.

  The form of the lair’s opening loomed to his left. It reminded Johnis of the opening to the root cellars Thomas Hunter had suggested they build to store up food. Like a mouth in the ground.

  He reached a trembling hand forward, felt for a handle, then pulled the door open. It creaked, not loudly, but easily heard above the still lake.

  They stared into a darkness even thicker. Oily. A complete absence of light.

  Silvie’s cool fingers touched his elbow. Gripped him tight. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Douse yourself,” he said.

  They both scooped fresh water over their heads.

  “This feels wrong, Johnis,” Silvie said.

  “You want to go back then?”

  Silence.

  “Follow me,” Johnis said and mounted the steps that led down into the lair.

  he first thing Billos saw upon exiting All Right Convenience was the empty warrior buggy
sitting in front of Smither’s Barbeque. Cops, Black had called them. A cop buggy.

  No sign of anyone else on the streets. A face stared out from a window in the house across the street. Another person stood at the corner of a large temple-looking structure, watching him. The commoners had cleared the streets, knowing that Billos had suhupow at his fingertips. Still, it was amazing to him that there weren’t more warriors crowding the streets.

  It struck him in that moment that there was something amiss with this place called Paradise. It reminded him more of a staging from one of Thomas Hunters battle schools than a fully formed village. No matter, he had his objective.

  He strode for the eatery, gun held up by his right ear, ready for the slightest presentation of the enemy. He leapt up the steps and spun once to make sure he had the time he needed to do what needed doing.

  Still no warriors on the street. Good.

  He whirled for the door, threw it wide, and went in, gun blasting before the door had fully opened. Boom, boom! A beat. Boom!

  Billos took care of where he sent his suhupow, of course. Two cops held guns on Darsal, who’d handed her weapon over to them. Their distraction by whatever threat they assumed she represented gave him the moment he needed to cut through them both.

  They staggered back, clutching their chests. They slammed into the bar behind them and fell to the ground like dumped firewood.

  Dead by Billos.

  He swiveled the gun on the large Scab. Hesitated for only a moment. Then pulled the trigger.

  The boom crashed around his ears, and Papa toppled backward. He landed with a thud that shook the whole building.

  Dead by Billos.

  “What?” Karas dove at the Scab’s laid-out body. “Papa!”

  “Papa’s dead,” Billos snapped. “As you will be if you don’t do exactly what I say.”

  The power of his own dominance was nearly suffocating. Until that moment Billos wasn’t sure what he would do, but feeling the gun buck in his hand and seeing the bodies drop, he now knew.

  “You killed him!” Karas screamed. “Why’d you kill him?”

  “Because he annoyed me. As do you. Now, kindly hand me the books and …”

  The shelf where he’d seen the books was now bare.

  Billos whirled and looked at Darsal for the first time since entering. “Where are the books?”

  “You didn’t take them?”

  “Where are they?” he screamed.

  “You tell me, O Wise Slayer of Men,” she retorted, eyes fiery.

  He knew her well enough to be sure she was immovable. Either she didn’t know where the books were, or she had decided that the knowledge would remain with her.

  “Then you’ll be kind enough to walk ahead of me, out the back, before the warriors crash in and kill us all.”

  “I can see you’ve taken complete leave of your senses,” she said.

  “Why did you kill Papa?” Karas asked again.

  Billos directed a blast of suhupow toward the shelves behind the bar. Boom! Glass shattered; bottles crashed to the ground.

  “Move it! I’m not beyond taking a limb in this state of mind.”

  “Why not just kill us and be done with it?” Darsal demanded.

  Billos hesitated, then spoke what he thought must be the truth. “Because I still love you.”

  “Love me? With a suhupow gun pointed at me?”

  “You’ll see. This will all make perfect sense when it’s over. I’m chosen, Darsal. I was born for power, and this is the time of my making.”

  She refused to budge.

  Billos shifted his gun so that it lined up with Karas. “Don’t make me.”

  Darsal spit to one side, turned her back on him, and walked for the back door.

  “You too.” He motioned at Karas with the weapon.

  “I don’t know what kind of love you think this is, and I certainly don’t know why Darsal ever loved anyone as mean as you,” she snapped. Then she fell in behind Darsal.

  Billos paraded them out of Smither’s Barbeque, down the now-empty back alley, and through the stores back entrance.

  “You see, now we’re back to where we started,” he said. “If you would have listened to me, Papa and the two cops would still be alive.”

  “We are listening to you,” Darsal said. “And there’s no doubt but that plenty of death awaits us all.”

  Billos searched the store for Marsuvees Black. That the man was putting him through this incredible test of loyalty, forcing Billos to betray Darsal, could only mean that what lay ahead was equally incredible.

  Surely Black could have walked into the eatery and done what he wanted rather than give Billos the task. This was like battle school, and Billos was being put through the final test before being handed the sword of power.

  As soon as Billos had proven himself, Black would undoubtedly give Darsal her freedom, and all would be forgiven. There was always the chance that Billos was wrong on this point, but he refused to take that slim chance seriously.

  “Stop,” he ordered.

  Still no sign of Black.

  “He wanted you to get the books for him, didn’t he?” Darsal asked, turning to face him.

  Billos wasn’t sure what he was expected to do at this point. Maybe leave them locked up while he went after the rest of the village.

  “He’s after the books, Billos. For all we know, he’s the Dark One. You’re making a terrible mistake.”

  Billos had considered the possibility but refused to dwell on it. The lure of greatness was too great to be bothered by such unlikely risks. And even if it wasn’t that unlikely … Billos had been chosen, what could he say?

  “He’s going to eat you up and spit you out,” Darsal said.

  “You’re as smart as you look, peach plum.”

  Billos turned to face Marsuvees Black, who stood with legs spread, arms crossed, watching hard. There had been no sound of entry, but then Billos hardly expected any. The man moved in mysterious ways.

  “I brought them,” Billos said.

  “Did you, now? Did I want the flesh alone? No. The word became flesh. I need the word. Where are the books?”

  “So this is Black?” Darsal said. “Looks like the Dark One to me. A human form of Teeleh himself.”

  “Teeleh?” Black cocked his head and flashed Darsal a wicked grin. “Do tell.”

  Darsal didn’t look like she was interested in backing down.

  “Don’t make trouble,” Billos snapped at her. To Black: “The books—”

  “Shut your slit. I said, ‘Do tell.’ Does that sound like an order to zip her yapper? Now, do … tell.”

  Billos wasn’t sure what to make of Black’s perturbed nature.

  “Teeleh,” Darsal said, “the black winged beast who leads the Shataiki, where we come from. An evil bat who despises Elyon, the creator of the Great Romance and all that is good.”

  “You’re suggesting that I’m not good?” Black asked, stunned. “Me …”—he spread his fingers and pressed them on his chest— “not a bowl of cherries on a cool summer’s eve? Not a butterfly who whistles ‘Dixie’ in the face of the coming storm? Not a worm dancing in a top hat with a grin as wide as the moon?” He took a calming breath. “How dare you suggest I’m not all those things. And more.”

  The images made no sense to Billos. More suhupow talk. The power that rolled off Black’s tongue was enough to make a grown warrior surrender his sword.

  “And for the record,” Black continued, “where you come from is here. If you die here, you die. If, on the other hand, you help me retrieve the books, I’ll let you live.”

  “Find the books yourself,” Darsal said.

  “Unfortunately, due to a small glitch in the system, they aren’t available to me. For that I have chosen Billos. Isn’t that right, chosen one?”

  Billos blinked. “Yes. That’s right.”

  “I’m begging you, Billos.” Darsal’s eyes pleaded. “You’re making a terrible mistake!”

>   “Stop it!” Billos snapped. She was going to ruin everything! Even if she was right, they were now thoroughly committed to whatever path of glory Black had chosen him for. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

  “It’s you who’s lost his mind!” Karas cried.

  They all looked at the young girl, who stood small to one side.

  “They’re waiting, Billy-baby,” Black said. He nodded at the door. “Lead them outside to the back of the church. The lynching party’s waiting there.”

  “For what?”

  “For a lynching. Not you. Them.”

  “I thought you wanted me to kill the villagers …”

  The muscles on Black’s jaw bunched. “I’ve changed my mind. A grown man’s got that prerogative, don’t you think? Give me the books now, and I might change my mind again.”

  So this was Black’s game. He was forcing Billos’s hand.

  “I don’t have the books!”

  A dark shadow crossed Black’s face. His lips flattened, “Paradise has a history of lynching, and today’s starting to feel like a history lesson.”

  It’s a test. And I’m no fool. Billos faced Darsal, torn between frustration and anger. “Satisfied? Where are the books?”

  “Even if I did know—”

  “Outside,” Black said. He snapped his fingers. “Take a look.”

  Billos looked from Darsal to Black, then back.

  “Now you’re starting to irritate me,” Black said.

  Billos crossed the room, put his hand on the doorknob, and pulled the door open, expecting to see a posse of cops waiting with drawn guns.

  Instead he faced a windblown street, covered by sand. Black storm clouds crowded the sky so low that the instinct to crouch made him flinch. The buildings were stripped of their colors, and the glass was broken on most of them. The town had changed with the snap of Black’s fingers.

  But what surprised Billos the most were the villagers. Two dozen, gathered on the street facing the store. Clothes tattered. Staring hard, with slits for eyes.

  Their flesh looked to be bloodied and rotting. Like human Horde, without the disease. They were half-dead, maybe all dead. Others were joining solemnly, filling the street behind.