Bereft: Foretold

18 | A Mortal's Endurance

The rhythm of the Aos Sí drums rose in tempo until it was not only in my dreams and in my thoughts, but under my skin and in my chest. The music became something else, more rapid and more discordant, accompanied by shouts and the familiar pinging of broken stone raining upon the earth.

Not a dream. Not music. Those were explosions—and they were very much real. 

I jerked myself awake in the balmy dark of my coven bedroom, attempting to suck essence into my lungs, trying to find my equilibrium as I jumped, but the essence didn't come. The imbalance of air struck my chest in an unblocked punch. Stumbling, I landed on a knee and shook my head to clear sleep's delirium. 

Human, I told myself, grinding my teeth. You're human. Not a Sin. No essence to be found. 

The door swung open and struck the wall with a tremendous bang. The Baba Yaga witch stood silhouetted at the threshold, a ragged book clasped in one hand, the other planted on the door's blank face. She was trembling with fear or anxiety, neither of which were my concern, though her knees seemed close to giving below her slight weight. The dog was behind her, growling, his hackles raised.

"We have to leave!" Saule yelled, her voice like broken claws cleaving through slate. Around her rose the sounds of chaos, of women half-asleep and confused rising from their beds to face a sudden threat. Red light bathed the hall, and somewhere an alarm was blaring without end.

"Obviously!" I snarled as I leapt to my feet, thrusting the woman aside as I came into the hall proper. A thin miasma of smoke crawled across the unfinished ceiling, and as I breathed it in, I could taste metal tingling on my tongue.

Mages. Of course. 

I knew the syndicates wouldn't overlook the La Voisin coven simply because it was remote and recalcitrant, but I hadn't thought they'd arrive so soon when there were plenty of easier targets to apprehend in the cities and towns. We should have been safe for a night at the very least—and yet they were here, the harshness of their arcane magic like a mouthful of razorblades I couldn't bring myself to swallow. 

"King's breath," I swore into the ensuing commotion, breathing in the smoke and heat of an unquenched fire. Somewhere ahead of us came the raucous popping of a firearm being discharged, followed by a feminine shriek of indignation.

I'd only seen one entrance into the bunker. It wasn't as if the witches had given either of us a tour, so if there was an alternative exit, I didn't know of it. Logically, I'd seen the building and its layout from the outside while driving in the desert. I knew its walls sloped toward the hill it was built against.

No egress from the back, then. Escape would only be found from the bunker's front.

I set out with the Baba Yaga witch and her mutt at my heels, her fear a palpable force at my back. We were rushing straight toward the heart of the conflict, centered as it was at the building's entrance. The La Voisin women were smart to understand the necessity of breaking free of the mage blockade and getting outside, where they could spread out and scatter if needed. My dislike for witchkind ran thick in my veins, but I could respect their fortitude when faced with a mage attack. 

My hatred for the syndicates was far greater than my dislike of witches. 

One of the men had slipped through the witches' ranks and was sneaking along my hall, his shifty eyes peeking into the abandoned rooms in search of anyone who was too weak to defend herself and had remained behind. I sucked air through my bared teeth and marched up to the mage, startling the fool as he blinked, puzzled, clearly trying to decide who and what I was.

I threw my fist into his face and ground my teeth against the answering pain in my knuckles. Taken unawares, the mage dropped without protest and sagged against the wall.