When she saw me, the woman on the blood bay mare laughed. It was the sound of bones dancing, of dead bodies floating on still water, of ravens on a battlefield, laughter that ruined her harmless eighties style statement. Terror skittered up and down my spine at the sound and the thoughts stimulated by her laughter. I dropped my arms and put back my shoulders. Holding my comfy, shabby sweater closed was not saying good things about my self-confidence.
The woman in red looked me over and lifted her eyebrows, mocking. “You’re not what I expected, Molly Megan Everhart-Trueblood.” She had a caustic high-class Southern accent, maybe Georgia. Rich, old-money Atlanta. Servants, cotillions, and finishing-school money. “Such a tacky cardigan.”
“What’s it to you, Sally?” I said.
The woman’s gaze razored in on me, and when she spoke, the words went rough and sharp, like broken glass, her silly eighties façade cracking. “How do you know my name?”
I didn’t answer. “What do you want, Sally? And who’s your pal?” I glanced at the man. His face was pale, his eyes the bright white of the moon.
I heard the front door open, and Big Evan’s air sorcery lifted my hair. We had created the wards to allow him access to air currents and weather outside the magical protections. He whistled a long note and the security lights brightened about a hundred percent. The two uninvited visitors turned aside, blinking. “I asked you a question,” I said to the woman.
“Two,” the man said. “You asked her two questions. Specificity is vital to such as we.”
I tilted my head slightly. “Fine. I asked two questions. I still haven’t received replies.”
Behind me, Big Evan’s whistling trilled. A harsh wind sprang up and blew back Sally’s scarlet locks, whirling, playing havoc with the mounts’ manes and tails, wrapping the man’s hair around his face. The chilled breeze fluffed my own red curls. The heavy animals danced from hoof to hoof.
The woman sniffed, scenting the magic, and focused on my hubby standing on the porch. “You know my name,” Sally said, sitting forward in the saddle and gathering her reins into one hand, “but you don’t know his?” She flicked a thumb at the man.
Her question and change in posture sent more fear skittering across me, and I had no idea why. She swirled the fingers of her free hand, amassing power, curling it into her palm. In response, Evan started to hum. The ward began to glow a pale red at the corner of my witchy-eyed vision. My eardrums fluttered as if the barometric pressure had changed with a fast-moving weather front. Sally’s magic spread around her in a slow spiral. I had no idea what she was, or what her gift was, but she was powerful. Fear skittered up my spine like baby spiders hunting.
I wanted to gather my own power, my earth magics, which were still available to me, but death magics taunted, whispering of the brimstone on the man’s boot. So easy to blast these unwelcome visitors and be done.So easy, it whispered.Just reach and out crush the threat.
But death magic was powerful, a nuclear arsenal compared to the slow, life-giving energies of my earth magics. I might use it—but at the risk of destroying everything. My earth magics were weaker but came with a much lower price.
I shoved down the desire to rip the visitors apart and said, “All I know about you two is that Death is the Truth and the Lie. And you are a piece of work, Sally.”
The magic in Sally’s hand tangled, fell to the ground, a reaction I felt as much as saw. Eyeing me the way a cat eyed a goldfish in its bowl, Sally said, “No one insults a Death.”
“It isn’t an insult if it’s the truth.” I pressed my small advantage, repeating, very carefully, as if in some mild warning or threat, “What. Do you want. Sally. And who is your pal?”
The pretty man smiled. “I am Death come riding, one of Seven am I. Not youngest nor eldest, Death of Magic, I cry. Untested, unconquered, waiting beyond the veil. Till a ruby-haired lass calls, ‘Death Magic, Avail!’ ”
Riddles. I hated riddles.
Sally said, “You know what your sister thinks about prophecies.”
“Death of War is tired,” the man said, his eyes on me. “What she wants will soon be unimportant. It’s my time to rule.”
I narrowed my eyes at the two, absorbing and dissecting the riddle and the banter. I had red hair; so did my child. There was no way I’d avail myself of death magics. “Death of Magic. Death of War. Titles, not names.” It wasn’t sneering, it was stalling so Evan could finish whistling up his working. I added, poking the bear only a little, “Death of Magic sounds like a Marvel Comics character.”
Evan chortled on a breath and went back to whistling softly. In the sky clouds started to build. “Do you kill all magic or everyone who has magic? Either way, you die too, and no one left alive likes you much.”
Sally said, “Death of Magic has come to offer you a bargain and assistance.”
I said, “Not interested. Not now, not ever.” A cat interrogative sounded. KitKit mewled, winding around my ankles, her tail looping, a steady caress.
“A pet,” Sally sneered. “I expected more of you.”
KitKit leaped at the ward, claws spread, ears back, fangs showing. She hit and screamed a challenge, sticking to the magics for just a moment. The blood bay bolted. The yellow gelding sat back on his haunches, nearly unseating the man. Sally used her entire body to regain control of her mount and Death lunged forward, his arms around his horse’s neck. KitKit slid and dropped to the ground. I laughed as my non-familiar cat sat, lifting her back leg to clean her nether regions, bored. “Name,” I said, taking my cue from the cat and sounding jaded. When neither answered, I said, “Come,” to the cat and turned my back on the uninvited visitors. The man growled at my pointed insult. I kept walking, KitKit loping in front of me. Big Evan’s eyes were on me, my husband not questioning my decision to toy with predators, but offering support and protection. In the distance, I heard the howl of wind. KitKit raced inside.
I climbed the steps and stood beside Big Evan, his bulk and height dwarfing me. I took his hand, his magic surrounding me, surrounding us. Rising, humming with power. My earth magics responded and the ward, the upgradedhedge of thorns2.0, was glowing so brightly red now that any witch could have seen it even without aseeingworking. Even a human could have seen it.
“Tell me,” Big Evan said.
“Brimstone on his boot.”
My husband muttered an imprecation. The two looked silly. They weren’t. Outside, the wind grew stronger.
