Chapter 2 Whitney #2
“Thanks for not being a hater.”
I hug him.
He grunts. He doesn’t hug me back, but he doesn’t incinerate me, either. I feel like it’s a good first step toward making him a Brooks-Archer. “Take care of Izzy while I’m not around to do it.”
“I’ll sure try.”
Then I watch, a little sadly, as he and Izzy climb into a big, black SUV and drive away. Izzy’s face is pressed to the glass until the very last moment, and then she sticks out her tongue. I’m smiling as my sister drives away—headed very far away indeed.
I have three hours before my competition, and since Izzy gave me her key—she’s paid up on her apartment for four more months, apparently—I decide to take a little nap before I compete. I’m one of those people who goes hard and rests hard, too. A nap always helps me focus.
When I wake up, I realize I’ve overslept. That’s hardly a shock to me, since I sleep in about once a week. I snatch my bag, brush my teeth, and slide into my boots. I’m going over my mind-calming exercises as I open my new truck and climb in.
“Hey,” a guy says. “Who are you?”
I startle. “Uh, I’m Whitney. Who are you?”
“Theo,” he says. “I live next to your apartment.” He points. “You must be Izzy’s sister.”
I frown.
“Izzy’s single little sister, right?” He shrugs. “I saw you visit, like September maybe?”
“Oh.” I nod. “Yeah—early October. I came for a school thing and stayed for a Halloween party.”
“Black cat,” he says.
And now it’s getting a little creepy. “Alright, well, I’ve got some bullets to fire.” I pull my gun out of my holster and show it to him. “You into guns?”
He blinks. “Uh, no, not really.”
I can’t help my smile as he walks away. Failed the litmus test. I doubt Leonid would have run from a gun. Most all the other guys I meet do.
A few minutes later, I’m surrounded by guys who like guns.
You’d think I could find my perfect match here, but I’ve discovered that my skill makes it even less likely.
Most of the men I compete against resent the fact that I’m a better shot than they are.
It’s funny—guys think they’ll love the idea of a girl who can shoot.
And they do, right up until I shoot a perfect circle around their one lopsided, off-center shot.
Not many guys like to be shown up in the activity that makes them feel manly.
So I keep beating them all and going home by myself.
Every guy I meet’s either not manly enough, or too ‘manly’ to handle being shown up by a girl.
Today’s a little different, though. In the middle of my third round, there’s a massive earthquake.
I glance at my watch and realize my sister’s plane’s already in the air.
It’s probably for the best. Another huge earthquake would have her freaking out for sure.
I’m not sure I buy that there’s some kind of horrible death-monster lurking underneath the mountain, but they all seem worried about the prospect.
After watching Leonid wrap cars in air—I’ll take their word for it.
The competition takes a hiatus, and they’re making calls, and people are frantically rushing around when there’s another quake. This one’s much larger, and it’s loud.
People all around me start screaming, and then the mountain behind our targets rips open with a horrible screeching wail.
Everyone loses their ever-loving minds. That’s very, very bad when they’re all holding guns.
In spite of what we’ve been taught, at least two people fire a shot off—at what, I’m not sure.
“Knock it off,” I say as loudly as I can. “Everyone should have their safety on.”
Only, in that very moment, there’s another grinding sound, the loudest yet, and then a crack like Thor struck the mountain with a hammer the size of an elephant. And then a large, long, dark crack opens up in the earth and starts running right toward us.
People are screaming even louder now, and most of them are racing for their cars. Because that makes sense. Trap yourself in a small, metal box while we’re running for our lives.
And that’s when a massive black horse leaps through the opening in the side of the mountain and lands on his spread hooves, his mane and tail billowing out around him, smoke pouring from his flared nostrils, and flames burning where his eyes should be.
It’s the most beautiful horse I have ever seen.
I pick up my phone, and I call Izzy. It goes right to voicemail, so I leave her a message. “You’re never going to believe this, but I’m standing right in front of Xolotl.” I chuckle. “He’s the most magnificent beast I’ve ever seen, and I want him.”
I try to snap a photo, but my phone starts to melt in my hands. I drop it, unsure whether the message went through. I realize that I may be about to die. The woman next to me has begun screaming like a banshee, and then her head bursts into flame.
I pick up my gun, click the safety off, and then unload all eight bullets into the black horse, just in case.
It doesn’t appear to have any effect at all, until he rears back, throws his head forward, and screams at me.
I figure this is probably when I die, so I cock my arm back as far as I can, and I chuck my Ruger right at his head.
It spins, end over end over end, but my aim’s not as good with throwing as it is with shooting, and it winds up smacking him in the chest instead.
“Well, shoot,” I say. “That’s just going to piss you off, isn’t it?”
He throws his head again, his mane rippling beside him, and then he takes off at a dead run.
I’m sure he’s going to run me over, but instead, he swerves, and I realize he’s going to run right past me.
Only, there’s a crack following along behind him like a freight train, preparing to swallow me whole.
So when he passes me, I flip sideways, brace my arms on his withers, and leap onto his back. “If you’re going this way anyway, be a doll and give me a ride.”
He screams, but he doesn’t buck me off.
Good enough.
Only as he runs, I notice something. Houses on either side of us catch fire.
People run from them screaming, but he doesn’t slow or stop.
He just keeps galloping. He’s headed for town, and that seems like a very bad place for the fire-starting misery beast to go.
I decide to do something else that I’m sure is very stupid, and instead of simply clinging on for dear life, I use my legs to try and guide him to the side, and back toward the mountains where not many people live.
It works. He swings wide, and pretty soon, we’re not headed for town. We set fewer and fewer homes on fire, and I’m a little proud of myself for sparing all those people this miserable death. Plus, you know, property damage averted is always a good thing. Higher taxes on everyone and all that.
But mostly the death thing.
And then, abruptly, he stops. He swings his big old head around, and he neighs right in my face, smoke pouring over me.
I cough. “Dude, someone needs to teach you some manners. That’s just rude, and also you need some massive breath mints. Or maybe, like, a toilet bowl cake. Those are minty.”
He shakes then, and it forces me off his back. I land pretty hard on my butt on the ground.
“Yep, you’re a grade A jerk. I was trying to help with the peppermint suggestion. Plus, I hear horses like those.”
In a strange sort of flickering avalanche of lights and sparks and blackness, the big black stallion changes into easily the most terrifying man I have ever seen. Eyes black as night. Ebony hair flowing over his shoulders, and teeth so white they’re nearly blinding. “You.”
“Hey.” I shake my head and snort. “You learned a word. Nice work.”
“You are mine.”
“Yours?” I shake my head. “Nope. I’m mine. You are yours. But that was three words. Pretty good job for a newborn baby who throws fiery tantrums.”
He scowls.
“You are mine, human. You will help me restore the balance.”
Oh, shoot. He knows lots of words, which means all of mine probably didn’t make him less cranky.
He turns and starts to walk, his massive black boots tromping on the ground ahead. “Come.”
I try to turn and sneak the other way, but it’s like something’s tying me to him. I find myself tripping along behind him, stumbling and bumbling, and nevertheless walking as fast as I can to try and catch up.
After about twenty minutes of walking, I decide I’m done tripping along behind him on the side of a mountain.
I start to run the other direction, and joy of joys, I’m not dragged right back.
I’m so happy that I can move the direction I want to move, that I’m not paying enough attention, and I nearly run right off the side of a cliff.
Big, strong arms, and hands as rigid as iron bands snatch me back, saving my life.
Rocks clatter as they fall over the edge and bounce their way down the mountain.
I inhale sharply. If it was dark as pitch instead of the middle of the day, it could almost be my dream.
The heat from the breath on the back of my neck has me turning around slowly.
But when I look up this time, the horse-demon’s eyes must’ve cleared or something, and from this angle, I realize something I missed before. The man staring down at me is Mr. Cobalt Blue.
I’m so very, very screwed.
Because I should be terrified, but I’m actually a little excited.