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Standing in front of it were four figures—three with their backs to the rift, one standing facing it. The solo person was the dark-cloaked, hooded figure I’d been following; the other three . . .
I shuddered even as I instinctively raised my weapon and fired. The other three were tall and thin, with pale translucent skin through which you could see every muscle, bone, and vein. There was no hair on their bodies and they didn’t really have normal faces—just big amber eyes and squashed noses.
Wraiths.
And they reacted even as I did. Though none of them had anything resembling a mouth, they screamed—it was a high-pitched sound of fury I doubted any human would be capable of hearing, and it made my ears ache. The two figures closest to me—the cowled man and the figure I presumed was the wraith’s leader—leapt sideways, out of the firing line of my weapon. But the other two came straight at me. I kept firing, but the machine rifle’s wooden bullets bounced harmlessly off their translucent skin.
I quickly sheathed the rifle, unclipped the guns from my pants, then turned and fled into the soupy darkness. Just because I could fight didn’t mean I had to or wanted to—especially not when it came to wraiths. And two of them at that.
The darkness enveloped me once more. My pace slowed to a crawl but my heart rate didn’t. I had no idea whether this muck would affect them as it did me, and all I could do was pray to Rhea that it did. I didn’t want to die. Not here, not in this stuff, and certainly not at the hands of a wraith.
I forged on, hurrying as much as the heaviness would allow, my breath little more than shallow rasps of fear and every muscle in my body quivering with effort. While I couldn’t hear any sound of pursuit, I knew they were behind me. Ripples of movement washed across my spine, getting stronger and stronger as they drew closer.
Fear forced fresh energy into my legs. I surged on, desperate to reach the crater’s rim. I might not be any safer there, but I could at least run and fight a whole lot better out in the open.
The ground slipped from under my feet and I went down on one knee. Just for an instant, I caught a glimpse of starlight; then a thick wave of movement hit my spine and knocked me sideways. Stones dug into my side as the air left my lungs in a huge whoosh. Claws appeared out of the black—they were thick and blue and razor sharp, and would have severed my spine had the wind of their movement not hit me first. Luck, it seemed, hadn’t totally abandoned me.
I fired both weapons in a sweeping arc. I had no idea where the wraiths were, because the darkness had closed around those claws and the rippling movement seemed to be coming from several directions now. Something wet splashed across my skin and face—something that stung like acid and smelled like egg. I hoped it was blood, but I knew there were Others who could spit poison. With the way things were playing out tonight, it was probably the latter rather than the former.
I scrubbed a sleeve across my face, but succeeded only in smearing whatever it was. I cursed softly, then thrust upright and scrambled toward the rim of the crater and that brief glimpse of starlight. If I had to fight, then I at least wanted to see my foe.
The ripples of movement didn’t immediately resume and, for an all too brief moment, I thought maybe I’d killed them both. It was a thought that swiftly died as those damn waves started up again.
There was nothing I could do. Nothing except keep running. Wraiths weren’t stupid; now that they knew I had weapons that could actually hurt them, they’d be a lot more cautious.
But, cautious or not, they were still moving through this muck a whole lot faster than I was. I had one chance, and one chance only—I had to get out and put as much distance between them and me as possible.
The heavy darkness began to slide away from my body. I sucked down big gulps of air, trying to ease the burning in my lungs. It didn’t really help. I ran on, my speed increasing as the darkness retreated further, lifting the weight from my shoulders and spine. Then, finally, I was free from its grip and racing over the edge of the crater. I didn’t stop. I didn’t dare. I needed to gain as much distance as I could . . .
Movement to my right. Instinct had me leaping left. Claws snagged the edge of my coat’s sleeve, ripping it from cuff to shoulder but not cutting skin. I twisted away, raised the guns, and fired.
At nothing.
The creature was gone. I had no idea whether speed or magic was involved in that disappearance, and no time to contemplate it. I just kept on running. Stones bounced away from my steps, but this time there were no ghosts to dance in time to the sound.
More movement, this time to my left. I fired again. The shots ripped across the night but found no target. The stony hillside appeared empty even though the foul presence of the wraiths stained the air itself.
If they were so damn fast—or, indeed, capable of hiding their presence through magic—why weren’t they attacking? Had they been ordered not to? Or were they like cats, preferring to play with their prey before closing in for the kill?
If it were the latter, then they were in for a shock, because this little mouse wasn’t about to go down without at least taking one of them with me.
The crest of the hill loomed above. Tombs and crosses reached for the stars like broken fingers reaching for help. But there was no safety to be found there, and the tombs themselves were just a reminder of my fate if I wasn’t very careful.
Stones clattered to my right; I swung a gun that way but didn’t fire. There was nothing there. They were playing with me. Fear pounded through my body, but there was little I could do but ignore it. I’d been in far worse situations than this and survived. I could survive this.
With luck.
I hoped.
The graveyard ghosts gathered near the top of the hill as I drew closer, but their energy was uneasy. Wary. I very much doubted they’d help if I asked for it. There was none of the anger in them that was so evident within the Carleen ghosts, and that probably meant this graveyard—and these ghosts—were pre-war. In which case they’d have no experience with or knowledge of wraiths and no idea just how dangerous they could be.
To my left, one of the creatures appeared out of the night—or, rather, his arm appeared. I ducked under his blow and fired both guns, but in the blink of an eye his limb was gone again. The bullets ricochet off nearby rocks, sending sparks flying into the night.
How in Rhea could I fight—kill—these creatures if I couldn’t see them?
I guess I had to be grateful that I could at least hear them. Sometimes. More than likely when they actually wanted me to.
More sound, this time to my left—claws scrabbling across stone. If that noise was any indication, the wraith was closing in quickly. Perhaps it had decided playtime was over.
