Chapter 20
Colt
The first round chews through the tree beside my head, spraying bark across my shoulder before the sound reaches me, and my Glock is already in my hand by the time the second one tears through the space where I was standing.
Guess we’re skipping the polite introductions.
I duck behind the trunk while another volley punches through the trees, the hunters firing far more lead than accuracy.
Whoever’s giving orders over there clearly believes enough bullets can solve any problem, which is adorable considering they’re trying to win a gunfight against an immortal witch inside a forest that actively hates them.
“They’re a little eager,” Mihai calls from somewhere to my left.
“They paid for all the ammo. Might as well use it.”
A laugh escapes him just as another rifle cracks somewhere deeper in the woods.
It isn’t one of theirs.
The shot is clean enough that I don’t hear a second one from the same direction. Instead, I hear a body crashing through branches before it hits the forest floor with a heavy thud that leaves the hunters shouting over one another.
“Sniper!”
“No shit,” somebody yells back.
The return fire immediately swings toward the canopy, half a dozen rifles lighting up the tops of the trees while the guy they’re looking for is almost certainly no longer there.
Damien doesn’t hire amateurs.
A burst of automatic fire erupts farther east, walking across the forest in controlled bursts before cutting off as suddenly as it started.
Almost at the same time, another scream rolls through the trees from somewhere to the west, deeper this time, louder, carrying the unmistakable sound of somebody who has just realized getting close wasn’t the brilliant idea he’d convinced himself it was.
I don’t know exactly what the others are doing, but I don’t need to. The hunters are already breaking formation. Which means it’s working.
Another round punches into the trunk beside me, close enough that splinters sting my cheek. I lean out just far enough to catch three of them advancing through the mist, weapons raised, each one trying to watch a different direction while pretending he isn’t terrified of the one behind him.
The man in the middle wears the talisman.
I glance toward Mihai.
“The one with the necklace.”
“I see him.”
“He’s mine.”
“You planning on collecting jewelry now?”
“I’m planning on making sure my witch doesn’t end up kissing the dirt again.”
His eyes flick toward me for the briefest moment.
“…Your witch?”
“You really picked the wrong part of that sentence.”
Gunfire drowns whatever smartass reply he had waiting.
I move.
Years of contracts have taught me that hesitation gets expensive, and I’m not in the mood to pay today.
I cut across the trees while the hunters keep firing toward where I used to be, the mist swallowing me almost immediately before opening again just enough to show me somewhere safe to put my feet.
Amara.
Even while she’s somewhere else entirely, she’s clearing a path.
The first hunter finally spots me and swings his rifle around, but the roots beneath him shift at the exact wrong moment. His footing disappears, the barrel jerks high, and the shot vanishes harmlessly into the canopy while I close the last few feet between us.
I slam the Glock into his jaw hard enough to snap his head sideways, catch his rifle before it falls, and shove him straight into the man carrying the talisman.
They crash together in a tangle of limbs and curses.
“Friendly fire!” one of them shouts.
The guy with the talisman manages to stay on his feet, abandoning the rifle altogether as he reaches beneath his jacket.
Bad choice, pumpkin.
I catch his wrist before the chain clears his collar, twist until I feel something pop, then drive my shoulder into his chest hard enough to send him stumbling backward into an exposed root.
The forest takes over from there. The roots coils around his ankle so quickly it almost looks eager, yanking his leg out from under him before another snakes across his waist.
His eyes go wide.
“Oh, now you notice the forest.”
He claws desperately at the earth as it’s already dragging him away, fingers carving deep lines through the mud while the talisman slips free from his hand.
I dive for it before it disappears beneath the leaves.
The metal burns against my palm with that unnatural chill I still remember from watching Amara collapse.
That isn’t staying in circulation. I shove it into a pouch on my vest just as the third hunter raises his rifle.
The crack of the shot never comes. Instead, a branch thicker than my arm whips sideways with enough force to smash the barrel clear off target before another wraps itself around his throat.
He gets one horrified gasp, as the branch lifts him clean off the ground.
I stare for half a second as he kicks uselessly above the forest floor before disappearing into the canopy, swallowed by leaves and mist until only the violent shaking of branches gives away where he went.
“…Remind me never to piss her off.”
“You flirted with her,” Mihai says.
“In my defense, she’s ridiculously pretty.”
“She also threatened to kill you.”
“Well… shit happens.”
I glance deeper into the forest as laughter begins drifting between the trees.
At first it sounds close enough that I’d swear somebody is standing just behind the nearest oak, but before I can place it another joins in from somewhere off to my right, then another behind us, until the whole damn forest is laughing.
The hunters hear it too.
One of them swings his rifle toward the sound, only to spin around a second later when it comes from somewhere completely different.
Another starts shouting orders that nobody seems interested in following, while the poor bastard beside him has already decided spraying half a magazine into the mist is the safest course of action.
Good luck with that.
I can’t see Amara anywhere, but I don’t need to.
I’ve spent the last three days listening to that laugh chase me through Hoia Baciu, watching wolves appear where there weren’t any, getting hopelessly lost on paths that changed every time I thought I’d figured them out, and questioning my own sanity often enough that I’d started considering apologizing to the trees.
Back then, I thought she was doing everything she could to get rid of me. Watching more than twenty armed men completely lose their shit, I finally realize I’d given myself far too much credit.
She’d barely started.
Another burst of gunfire echoes somewhere deeper in the forest before disappearing beneath the sound of men shouting over one another.
Whoever convinced these idiots that twenty armed hunters would be enough to walk into Hoia Baciu and kill its witch is about to have a very awkward conversation with Saint Peter.
Movement shifts through the mist ahead of us.
Four hunters.
“They’re pushing,” Mihai says.
“I can see that.”
Apparently somebody finally figures out standing fifty yards away and shooting at trees isn’t accomplishing much.
They come in fast, rifles raised, but the forest immediately reminds them why charging through unfamiliar woodland is a terrible life choice.
Branches catch against barrels, roots force them to shorten their stride, and by the time they close the distance, those rifles are more inconvenience than weapon.
My Glock drops against its sling as my knife slides into my hand.
The first guy swings his rifle like a club instead of letting go of it.
I step inside the arc before the stock reaches me, drive my shoulder into his chest, and bury the blade beneath his ribs.
His eyes go wide, more offended than surprised, and I shove him straight into the hunter behind him before he has the chance to collapse on me.
Steel rings somewhere to my left.
Mihai has already abandoned his gun as well, trading quick, tight strikes with another hunter who actually looks like he knows which end of a knife is supposed to hurt people. Neither of them wastes movement. Every block becomes another attack, every step another attempt to steal a better angle.
Good. At least somebody here knows what they’re doing.
The hunter in front of me apparently reaches the same conclusion because he comes at me with his own knife instead of trying to fight over the rifle hanging uselessly across his chest. His first slash misses my throat by inches.
The second forces me to give ground. By the third, I’ve got his rhythm figured out.
He always commits too much to his right side.
I wait for it.
The blade comes exactly where I expect.
I slip outside the strike, catch his wrist, and drive my elbow across his jaw hard enough to snap his head sideways. Blood sprays across the leaves as he stumbles back, grinning through what are probably several loose teeth.
“Oh, you’re one of those.”
He answers by lunging again.
“Yeah… definitely one of those.” I grin, giving him a wink.
I twist his wrist until the knife slips free, catch it before it hits the ground, and kick him square in the chest. He stumbles backward into an exposed root, arms pinwheeling as he fights to stay upright.
The forest doesn’t seem interested in helping him.
I close the distance, drive my own knife across his throat, and step aside before he finishes falling.
Something moves behind me.
Not close, but close enough to make every instinct I’ve spent years sharpening snap to attention.
I catch the reflection of a rifle barrel in the corner of my eye.
Too late.
The hunter already has me.
There’s no time to turn, no time to reach for the Glock hanging against my chest.
Then his expression changes. The smug confidence disappears so suddenly it almost makes me laugh, as a thin red line appears across his throat.
For a heartbeat, he just stands there, staring straight at me like he’s trying to understand what just happened.
Then the cut opens.
Blood pours down the front of his jacket as the rifle slips from his hands, and he crumples without managing so much as a sound.
The biggest man I’ve ever seen steps over the body with a blade that looks better suited to chopping down trees than opening necks.
Fresh blood runs lazily from its edge while he barely spares me a glance, gives the smallest nod imaginable, and keeps walking toward the next unfortunate bastard who wandered into his path.
I watch him disappear into the mist.
“…I’m buying that guy a beer.”
Mihai appears beside me, wiping his knife on the sleeve of the hunter lying at his feet.
“You don’t even know his name.”
“I don’t need to. Anyone who keeps me from becoming human Swiss cheese gets free drinks for life.”