Page 29 of Lost

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 wordsOld 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 reallymysprites. 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 fightingmykind,” Kevin said. “There are no more ofmykind 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 Iama 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 smooth 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.