Chapter 21
As the sun crept toward the horizon on the longest day of the year, Arthur found himself, for once, hoping night would never come.
They pedaled fast on their tandem bike, now unified in purpose. Arthur had even closed his umbrella for an increased aerodynamic advantage. The town flew by, and soon they were in the woods, nearing the start of the trail to Trident Falls.
“A shame she couldn’t have picked somewhere more civilized,” Sal said as they brought their bike to a stop by a large sign that showed all the nearby hiking paths. “Or closer to our home.”
“That’s rather the point, I think.” Arthur took his helmet off, then paused.
The entrance to the trail that led to the falls was roped off. A sign hung on it that read CLOSED DUE TO WEATHER.
“Well, then, I suppose she can’t have gone to the falls,” Sal said breezily.
“What kind of weather could close the trail in summer?” Arthur examined the area. There were a few cars in the parking area, the owners likely on some other path.
“I’ve heard there can be horrible fires in Oregon.”
“Do you smell smoke?”
Sal shook his head, then put a finger to his temple. “You think she put the sign up to keep visitors out. A clever ruse!”
“It won’t stop us, though.”
“Oh, trespassing! Such a delicious treat for a vampire.” Sal took Arthur’s hand and tugged him forward. “Let’s be bad.”
“We’re here on a rescue mission.” Arthur ducked beneath the rope and sign, following Sal’s eager urging. “I think that makes us good.”
“You know what? We can be both.” Sal turned and walked backward up the trail. They’d been on this path twice before, but that could hardly have engendered enough familiarity with the terrain to warrant such a reckless action. “So, my darling VAMP PI, what’s the attack plan?”
“Attack plan?” Arthur hesitated. “I don’t know. We should be able to overpower her. It’s two against one, and her magic doesn’t work on us. Her magic barely works at all, if we’re right about this ritual. She’ll be practically depleted until she finishes casting it.”
“I love fighting dirty.” Sal began to pat down his pockets. “I didn’t bring any weapons, though. Unless you count cilantro soap.”
“Why do you have cilantro soap?” Arthur asked. The hike was a couple miles, so they might as well entertain themselves. If it had been night, they could’ve run the whole way, but the sun sapped their energy too much for that. Not to mention, if it were night, they’d be too late.
“You never know when you’re going to need it.”
“I meant, where did you get it?”
“I bought some at the festival from Lore’s friend, Stephanie. She’s a delightful lady. Very enthusiastic. Probably not a murderer.” Sal’s heel snagged on a rock and he nearly fell. Arthur caught him.
“Why don’t we walk forward, for now?” Arthur said.
“A wise suggestion.” Sal linked his arm with Arthur’s before carrying on.
Around them, a lovely summer evening stretched on. Mosquitoes buzzed and birds sang in the trees. They were walking at a quick pace, but it didn’t seem fast enough. Arthur longed to check his watch, but that wouldn’t slow the passage of time.
“Whatever happens,” Arthur said in a soft voice, “we can’t let Ambrosia finish the spell. If we can stop the casting, she’ll be powerless. Or…at least not as powerful as she wants to be. I’m just not sure how difficult it will be to interrupt.”
Sal grinned. “Luckily, being disruptive is my specialty.”
They hurried on. The trail curved up a steep slope.
As they neared the falls, the roar of the water drifted through the trees.
The air turned humid, and deep red blooms of wild ginger became more frequent.
This was it. They were almost there. Arthur steeled himself for the inevitable confrontation.
At the very least, he knew he was in the right.
Ambrosia Celestine was a murderer and a fraud.
She wouldn’t take their arrival well, that was for certain.
As if by prior agreement, their chatter fell silent, and Sal slipped his arm out of Arthur’s.
Arthur ran his tongue along his fangs. Hopefully they wouldn’t have to resort to biting to defend themselves.
He lowered to a crouch and Sal followed without complaint, though he gave Arthur a significant pout.
They had to be light on their feet and prepared for anything, no matter what they found.
The falls really were gorgeous. Water cascaded from the cliff, plummeting until, near the bottom, it hit a curious outcropping of rock and split into three separate falls, making the shape of a trident pointed down.
It was beautiful in the way of dangerous wild things, but now wasn’t the time to appreciate the natural splendor of their surroundings.
The trail ended in an overlook bordered by a wooden railing dotted with informational plaques about the history of the falls.
The ground here was rocky and treacherously damp.
In the center of the bare clearing, Ambrosia sat on a pink Celestine Coven–branded blanket.
Her legs were crossed, her back straight, and her eyes closed as if she were meditating.
But her lips moved ceaselessly, speaking words lost to the crash of the water.
Across from her, lying on the damp stone without even a blanket to cushion his head, was Brody.
He appeared to be unconscious, or asleep.
Arthur wasn’t sure which, but it hardly mattered.
Dappled light danced across them, though the area was quite shaded, refracting unnaturally like a miniature aurora borealis.
It shifted and split the scene in an almost painful way that reminded Arthur of his migraine auras.
Arthur’s plan had been an optimistic one. He’d assumed it would be Sal and Arthur against Ambrosia, since all the other witches would likely view Ambrosia’s forbidden magic with the same abhorrence Hailey had shown, but he was wrong. She wasn’t alone.
Chet Oakley stood between them and Ambrosia, his arms crossed, muscles rippling in his sleeveless shirt. There was no way to sneak around him—not unless they wanted to risk scaling a slippery rock wall. At night, it would be easy, but that wasn’t an option.
Arthur eased himself behind the cover of the trees. Sal followed.
“Seems we need a new plan,” Sal said. “What if I climb onto a branch over his head, then drop down on him while screaming, and you run past him and tackle Ambrosia, then throw her over the railing into the water?”
“Perhaps something less outlandish.” And less likely to end in someone’s death. They wanted to stop Ambrosia, not kill her. “Maybe we can reason with Chet?”
“Reason with him? He’s in on it!” Sal whisper-shouted, hand pressed to his chest. “For all we know, he’s a huge fan of murder and stealing magic and lying to people. I bet his fitness potions don’t even work.”
“But if we tell him Brody is just a teenager—” Arthur cut himself off.
That was probably a hopeless approach to take.
Chet had to know Brody’s age. And besides, from what Arthur understood, the spell would only take someone’s magic.
It might not actually hurt Brody physically, which could make it easier for someone to justify.
If Chet was in on it, and it seemed as though he was, a rash plan might be necessary.
“Climbing a tree is a risky idea,” Arthur told Sal slowly. “But a distraction could work. Are you up for another rendition of that Fromage character?”
“Absolutely not,” Sal said. “He wouldn’t be caught dead in the woods. No, I’ll need to create a new persona.”
“We don’t have time for that!” Arthur rubbed his eyes. “Maybe if you start screaming, and I hide behind those trees there, I’ll be able to slip past him when he comes to investigate.”
“No, that won’t work, it’s too obvious. I need to dazzle him!”
“We just have to get close enough to Ambrosia to stop her. If one of us goes straight at Chet, the other can get past him. Two against one, remember?” Arthur said. If this went on much longer, he’d make an executive decision and rush Chet himself.
“Your plans suck.” Chet Oakley stepped around a tree, his shadow looming over them. He paused, rocking back on his heels as a grin split his face. “Hah, suck. Get it? Because you’re vampires. The loudest ones in the world, maybe. I could hear you over the waterfall.”
“Oh, thank you,” Sal said, with the air of someone who’d just been given an award.
Arthur shot to his feet, pulling Sal up with him. “That wasn’t a compliment.”
“I disagree—” Sal began, but Chet cut him off.
“I don’t know how you found out what’s going on here, but you’re too late,” Chet sneered. “The spell’s all but done. Now, turn around and skedaddle back to town.”
“You’re just going to let us go?” Sal asked. “You’re not worried we might tattle? You’re not going to have all the power you want if we go tell all your followers what a fraud you are.”
“No one will believe two vampires who got banned from coven events over their beloved, powerful, beautiful leader.”
“Hey! We’re beautiful, too!” Sal exclaimed.
“It’s not going to come down to whether people believe us or you.
” Arthur took a step forward and puffed out his chest. It felt weird, wrong.
He did not believe in asserting his physical space as a form of intimidation.
He believed in reason and logic and arguing with his ideals, but perhaps that wasn’t the only way. “We’re going to stop you right now.”
“Just go. You’re embarrassing yourself.” Chet’s gaze swept over Arthur’s rather lacking physique and gave him a pitying look. “It’s almost over, anyway.”
“But it isn’t over. Not yet. Night is still a few minutes away,” Arthur said, confident he was right. The light might be fading, especially in the woods, but a vampire could always feel the difference.
“Yeah,” Sal agreed. “We’ve got plenty of time to distract you while one of us makes a break for it.”
Without warning, Sal darted forward. Chet intercepted him with his right arm. With the other, he grabbed Arthur, who’d tried to run past only a moment after Sal.
“I don’t skip arm day,” Chet said. “Or magic practice.”
He mumbled something under his breath, and power sparked in the air. Whatever it was supposed to do, nothing happened. Arthur blinked at him.
“Witchcraft doesn’t work on us,” he reminded Chet.
Chet let out a howl not unlike a wolf as Sal bit the arm holding him back, drawing blood.
Sal didn’t stop to drink any (it wasn’t exactly ethically sourced), rushing away before Chet could stop him.
Fortunately, a bite from a vampire during the day wouldn’t risk passing on the curse.
It succeeded in making Chet terribly angry, however.
He turned and shot after Sal, leaving Arthur free. Chet was fast, which made sense, Arthur supposed. He did spend an awful lot of time at the gym, whereas Sal and Arthur were fonder of afternoon naps and cozy nights at home. Chet grabbed the back of Sal’s shirt, tearing the collar.
“No, wait! That’s vintage!” Sal shouted, ineffectually wriggling in Chet’s grasp.
Arthur took his chance to run past, but Chet stuck out a leg and tripped him. This wasn’t the first time today Arthur had landed face-first in a bit of nature. It was more embarrassing than painful, but it also meant he was on the ground, yards from Ambrosia.
Sunlight was fading. There were seconds left in the day, not minutes. Arthur tried to scramble to his feet, but Chet kicked him over. Pain spliced his ribs.
“You kick my husband?” Sal shrieked. Chet had picked him up and was holding him on one shoulder. Sal’s arms and legs flailed ineffectually in the air. “You kick him? Jail! Jail for a thousand years!”
Maybe they should’ve brought reinforcements to the falls.
Arthur couldn’t believe that a single witch was overpowering them both, without magic, no less.
The sun would be gone soon, the spell would be finished, and Arthur would’ve failed Brody as thoroughly as possible.
His mother was likely dead—killed by Ambrosia months ago—and his power would be gone.
No. Arthur couldn’t let this happen. With one last burst of strength, he pushed himself up and dashed toward Ambrosia. Something heavy hit his back, flattening him again.
Sal lay atop him.
“Chet threw me!” Sal rolled off Arthur, his voice indignant. “What kind of person—?”
Night closed in around them. He could feel it down to his bones as his vampiric senses awakened. They were out of time. Ahead, the magic began sparking in brilliant rainbow shades, and all the hair on his arms rose. Chet had won. Ambrosia had won.
Silent and dangerous, a shadow burst from the trees, streaking toward Ambrosia. It launched itself at her face, a confusing blur of fur and claws.
Ambrosia’s scream rent the air. The magic dissipated. And perfectly poised, landing directly on her feet between Arthur and Ambrosia, was Rumble the cat.