Sage drove Nana White across the grounds in the golf cart. She kept to the main roads, not wanting to disturb the guests. When the road ended, they drove around the barricade onto a trail. When the trail ended at a seemingly impenetrable deadfall, Sage got out and pressed a button concealed in the knot of a fake tree, and the entire deadfall lifted silently out of the way. Sage drove through quickly, then the deadfall lowered again.
It was still dark outside, still pre-dawn, and Sage shivered. She followed the dim path lights on the ground to the vehicle elevator. The door was open and Sage drove in. They sat silently while the elevator took them down into the sinkhole.
Once down, a large door on the other side of the vehicle elevator opened. They were inside another cave. Sage drove out of the elevator, through a narrow corridor just big enough for the golf cart, lost in her own thoughts. She didn’t go into the hole often, and it was always an eerie experience for her. The sinkhole was old enough that a true Illinois forest grew tall and thick inside of it, with animal trails everywhere. There were a few vehicle trails down here, but they didn’t go far. Starlight was hard to see because of the canopy of trees overhead.
The cart had headlights, but they weren’t strong. The darkness and the feeling of the trees looming overhead added to Sage’s jitters.
Ahead, she saw a light. She slowed down, creeping along. The light was Number Six, waving them on. He was an older guy, but thick and tough-looking. To Sage, he looked like he was in his 70s, with a silver brush cut, leathery olive-toned skin, no facial hair, and sharp, cruel features. He had the silhouettes of a mouse and a mink tattooed behind his left ear. He wore green coveralls with WHITE over the left pocket and SIX over the right pocket. He pointed his flashlight at a grove of bushes, waving them toward it. In his other hand, he held a large strange-looking gun, pointing toward the ground.
Sage pulled up close and turned off the engine of the golf cart. She got out slowly, her body on high alert. The sinkhole held a conglomerate of strong animal scents that Sage didn’t want to think about. She couldn’t scent her friend at all.
“Reynard,” she called out.
Nothing answered her. Even the small animals of the forest and the bugs were silent.
“Reynard,” she called again. “It’s me, Sage. Are you here?”
A stirring in the underbrush caught Sage’s attention and she held still, breathing shallowly, trying to hear and see everything all at once. She thought she heard something like a sighing, then a wind passed her face. She stood strong and as tall as she could.
“Reynard, please,” she said softly.
Sage felt a hand on her arm, then Reynard seemed to suddenly appear next to her, and then he was hugging her and clutching at her and wrapping himself around her. Sage set her feet and held him up as best she could.
“Sage,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “He got me. He marked me.”
He was dirty and looked wasted and exhausted. His clothing was dark and stained and smelled like blood. He yanked at his shirt, pulling it out, flopping back a little so Sage could see the red, raw, weeping, split-open flesh.
“Marked,” he said again, his voice breaking.
Sage choked and clutched him back. “Yourrenqua?” she said, not wanting to know, but needing to know. Reynard’s flagrenquahad always been his pride and the pride of his entire family. It was strong, not faint or nonexistent, and he showed it often.
“Gone,” he said, his voice rough and hurting. “He scraped it off.”
Reynard yanked at his shirt and turned and bent so that Sage could see the back of his left shoulder. There, where his bold, proud flag had been, was now only a meaty mess, an unnatural scab starting to form. Sage cried. She couldn’t help it.Hisrenqua! It was just gone. How dare Khain? How dare he?! She would kill him if she could. She would sneak up on him andseparate his stinking head from his neck before he could take his next nasty breath. She would rip his—
Nana White stepped out of the golf cart and spoke, her voice commanding.
“Reynard Van Crimson. Come to me of your own accord.”
The frantic energy seemed to leak out of Reynard. He dropped his arms to his sides and turned his head to Nana White, then he walked that way, dragging his feet slightly. Sage watched him, her hands clasped together in front of her, her heart in her throat.
“Khain is planning another poisoning,” Reynard said dully. “Today. Dred needs to know.”
“And so he shall,” Nana White said.
Reynard reached Nana White and stopped. The woman crooked her finger at him, indicating he should bend down to her level. He bent.
SMACK.
Nana White smacked him in the center of his forehead with the flat of her palm, making Sage jump. Reynard dropped to the ground like a ragdoll, face up, unconscious. Quick as a cat, Nana White bent over him. Light and a searing sound split the night like a visual scream, and then all was quiet and dark.
Sage covered her mouth with her hands, sick to her stomach. She shuffled toward them, tears spilling from her eyes, unspent rage circling around her skull.
Reynard’s shirt was now split down the middle. The mark stood out starkly on his chest—three claw marks from shoulder to hip, three deeply furrowed streaks in flesh that made Sage’s heart hurt and her blood boil hotter. If only she could kill the monster. If only she could tear him from existence and stop this pointless, devastating bullshit.
White touched the mark lightly, then looked at Sage, speaking uncharacteristically softly. “Number Six will bring me back. You take the cart and go. You don’t want to see this.”
Sage nodded and backed up, her hands still covering her mouth.
