6. Song in the Night #5
"I think so, sir. I know I need to get better with the shotgun before I can, but I'd like to help more with the house stuff, and bagging a deer will mean less beef to buy." She'd clenched her fists.
Did she think they lacked for resources? Or did she seek to prove herself in some way? Not the time or place to ask. He tucked the observation aside for the moment. "Cleaning a deer is a bit trickier than cleaning a rabbit."
"Do they shed as much?"
"Per square foot of hide? Not at all. Unit volume? Yes."
He heard a yawn in the back seat, then, "Rabbits shed bunches."
Claire had both hands over her mouth, probably hiding a giggle.
After six years, she still concealed her mirth, or tried to, still shrank back from anger and possible anger.
His own anger at her mother burned, and he pushed it aside.
Not your legal prey, Hunter. Child Protective had begun looking more closely into her mother's conduct, all the more reason to abide in peace.
That night, after everyone else had gone to sleep, he went out to check the shields and taste the night.
Shadow power rose closer to the surface of the land as the nights lengthened.
The last crickets had gone with the hard freezes, the pond frogs' songs stilled until spring.
The distant rumble of diesel-powered generators touched his ears, and an owl's warning hoot.
The faint whisper of a jet high overhead passed from south to north, then silence returned.
Something small rustled in the leaves at the edge of the woodlot, a mouse or other little beast. Wood smoke scented the night breeze, and a hint of meat. He bared his teeth and smiled.
He hummed, then sang quietly, "O why should I wander a stranger from Thee/ Or cry in the desert, Thy face to see?/ My comfort and joy, my soul’s delight—/ O Jesus, my Savior, my song in the night.
" He spun a little power from his pocket-watch focus into the words, then flowed them into the shields on the house, strengthening them.
More power came from the night itself, cold and sweet.
Ah, magic flowed so easily in the dark of the year.
He released the power and bowed to the One who made it. "Sleep," he reminded himself. Shoim dozed on his perch, the others slept, and his day had started early. Gertie seemed inclined to take after her mother's preference for sleeping until ten if permitted. Alas that life so rarely cooperated!
"How much snow?" Mrs. Scharbauer's eyes grew wide over her dust mask.
"Between two and four feet, the weather gal said." Despite the mask, Jeff's horror was plain to see as well as hear. The others stared at the journeyman. He'd grown up in Florida. Granted, even for natives, snow in mid-October was not fun in Pennsylvania.
Jude rolled his eyes. "We will get a quarter of an inch, and everyone will drive as if they've never seen snow before. Excuse me." He hefted the tray of a half dozen pie crusts off the work counter. Jeff moved, opened the oven door, and set the timer for him. "Thank you."
Or we will have cold rain with an ice chaser, and I will be working accidents and traffic instead of making pie crusts. Since the last three weeks of Indian Summer had passed with two rain showers and otherwise crisp weather, they were due for a change.
The air tasted wet as he left the bakery just before noon. Shoim waited on the sign at the end of the alley. "Weather to the northwest," he warned. "The winds are getting strange."
Jude pulled on the right gauntlet. They started toward the courthouse square. "Storm strange or our sort of strange?"
"Storm for now. The big boys are staying low. The Elementals ..." He half-spread his wings and ducked his head a little, his shrug.
That decided him. Jude changed directions.
"I go to the house. I need to do some things before the storm moves in, whatever sort of storm it is.
" The generators had not been run for six weeks, and that came first, then moving wood for the stoves.
They'd gotten propane on Tuesday, so the house heater was ready.
And move the shovels so they are easier to reach, and see if we have driveway sand, and ...
At least they were not piling manure around the crawlspace for insulation.
He recalled hearing far too much about those days, thank you!
By nightfall he'd run and topped off both generators, confirmed the amount of propane in the tank for the kitchen stove and the heater, brought in more wood, and started the woodstove in the new part of the house after triple checking the chimney and stovepipe.
He'd also topped off the bird bath and made certain the circuits for the outdoor plugs remained safe.
Levi helped move the three remaining rabbit hutches closer to the house, into shelter if they got a nasty wind, and set up the hutch heaters as well as securing the covers over the cages.
Still, something itched. "Uncle Jude, do they really make tire chains for motorcycles?" Claire looked up from her homework later that evening.
"Yes, but not for on-road driving. Have you ever ridden a bicycle over very rough surfaces, like a cattle guard or rumble strip?"
She nodded and winced. "A boardwalk. My wrists hurt, and my teeth rattled."
"Like that, but more so. Motorcycles can have snow tires, but since we have cars, I do not ride in true winter." He'd also need very well-insulated coveralls, and heavier gloves.
Just after eleven that night, he heard a faint sound from under the stack of clothes in the corner of the bedroom. He eased out of bed and into the hall, casting a sound shield as he did. "Tainuit here."
"Sir, I'm really, really sorry to bother you, it's Haven. I'm home visiting family, and something really bad that's purple-green to magic sight just ran past the back gate, going west. I didn't go see what it was."
"Thank you for calling, and good. Do not go out. Stay behind shields, and I will check."
"You're welcome! Good luck, sir."
"Thank you." He ended the call, dropped the shield, and dressed silently. He lifted the karabela down from the pegs. A quick kiss, then he hurried down the steps.
Once outside, he lowered his shields. "Partner," he called quietly.
"Anno? Oh—" colorful phrases followed. "North and west, coming toward us. I track." The harrier took to the sky, his mage following.
Three quarters of an hour later, as he took the blood, Jude considered the dark green and brown beast. "I've never seen something this round that could still walk.
" The legs were not all that long compared to the thing's girth, giving it a look like a stuffed toy.
The sharp teeth and claws, and that it spat plant-wilting venom, warned against bringing one home as a pet.
"No." Shoim slurped a bit of pig lung, then added, "I wonder if magic helped it walk."
"Ne skian," I don't know.
He disposed of the remains, tidied the site, and started toward home.
Low clouds reflected back the farm lights, and he could see a reddish glow in the direction of town.
Moisture filled the air. Elementals hurried past, water and air both.
A storm was indeed coming. Cold rain before we get home, with bits of ice just to finish making the night perfect.
They'd not gone a quarter of a mile when the night shuddered.
Shoim hissed something anatomically impossible but apt that turned October's night into August's afternoon. His mage did not disagree.
They turned north and east. "I fly. Go wary, Hunter." Once unencumbered, Jude sped into a Hunter's lope, covering the ground at speed.
He risked lowering his shields a tiny bit.
The presence to the northwest brooded, watchful and deadly but quiet for now.
The wild magic under the Graff farm shifted as if troubled but did nothing more.
There! Movement, darkness that should not be in Devon County, moving east, and a new sense of swirling wrongness that remained still.
Lady of Night, guide your servant Hunters, that feels like a breach still open.
Defender lend me your wings, if the Great God and His Lady will.
"Here, here," Pasaru called as he slowed.
Woodlots and pastures outnumbered open fields in this part of the county where the land grew rougher.
Jude followed the dark form into a clearing where a woodlot bordered state hunting land.
Reddish-yellow laced with queasy green seemed to hang in mid-air, giving a glimpse of black land under a sky he lacked words to describe.
He set a bit of magic on the gauntlet. Pasaru landed.
"The breach is open. The others track the beast."
"Thanks be we took blood earlier," he murmured. "I draw not from the night, not here."
"Nie," and he made the sign for strong agreement. "Bring no attention to this."
Jude reached into himself, then pulled a little power from the pocket-watch focus as well, and a thread from his Familiar.
"To everything there is a season and a time.
A time to mend," he whispered as he reached for the edges of the breach.
He stitched them closed, lacing a little Healing magic into the spell, mending the gap between worlds.
It did not resist, slowly drawing together, then touching like a stitched tear or wound.
The breach faded away. He pulled the magic back, giving as much as he dared to Pasaru.
"I am glad those are simpler to undo than are gates," he murmured.
"Anno. Accident versus deliberate makes a—"
Haaaarrreeeeeeeeeewww. The howl, and shriek that followed, did not come from a proper animal.
Without thinking, Jude turned, hurrying toward the sound. I will hurt later. Already his knee had rude things to say, his left shoulder complained about the weight on his hand, and his magic threatened to give him a headache in proportion to his years. He pushed the sensations away.
"There, get it," a voice called in his own tongue.