system he’d faithfully served to protect him.
But his mind’s eye was blotted out by the image of the dead girl’s face. His ears rang with the sound of the single shot that cut off her life, echoing off the school’s rooftop.
Cheatham grasped the pistol barrel, still pointed at his face, “So, sir. You gonna shoot me?”
“Hell, Dan,” Britton said, “you know I wouldn’t shoot you.”
Britton let go of the pistol, slamming his knee into the warrant officer’s groin, hauling Cheatham’s body between himself and the MPs.
“Sorry, Dan,” Britton said, and shoved him hard into the MPs, then turned and ran for the gate.
Britton heard the sharp report of a pistol and felt a burning in his calf. He struck the gate, rippling edges breaking apart to admit him.
Oscar Britton landed hard on rough grass, pitching forward under an unfamiliar sky.
CHAPTER III: THE OTHER SIDE
— Avery Whiting
Britton fell, skinning his hands.
He paused, breathing hard. All was silent and dark, a cool wind gently rippling over his back. He closed his eyes. His mind raced, trying to make sense of what had happened. The gunshot still rang in his ears, the shouts of the MPs, Cheatham’s grip on his arm.
His heartbeat finally slowed, and he stood.
The gate was gone. The landscape was washed in bright light from a full moon, massive and close. The light mostly blotted out the weird stars, but he could make out a few, shining bigger than any he’d ever seen. He shivered as the breeze picked up. To one side, the plain ended at a line of smooth-trunked, straight evergreen trees stretching past his vision. On the other, it extended into darkness and the faint sound of rushing water. From somewhere in the forest, a bird called — a mournful sound, haunting and alien.
The magical tide still coursed through him. He could feel it bleeding into the air, mixing with the flow surrounding him, currents within currents.
Raw magic, heady and powerful.
He sucked in air, the sweetest he’d ever tasted. It washed away his weariness. He blinked at the giant moon, marveling at its brightness. The ground glowed with vibrant color despite the dark.
One thing was clear. Wherever he was, it was not earth.
They’d talked about it in training, vague hints of the space where magic came from, but they’d also been clear that it was like the surface of the sun. No human could ever survive there, not for an instant.
But Britton was very much alive. And judging from the birdsong, so were others. What else was over here?
He limped toward the sound of running water.
After a few minutes, the sound grew louder, chiming like bells. Moonlight sparkled on a rushing stream. The grass grew shorter and softer as the ground dipped to form banks dotted with smooth pebbles, shining like diamonds under the moon’s glow. Fireflies darted above the water, bright with flashing patterns — purple, red, bright blue. He stared, amazed at the clarity of his vision in the strange air. After a moment, he realized that the fireflies were actually tiny birds, jeweled feathers dancing with inner light, pointed crystal beaks opening and closing silently. Their wings blurred in tiny circles, sounding faintly like clinking glasses.
Hard rocks ground into his feet as he picked his way to the streambed. The glowing birds scattered at his approach.
He thrust his hands into the cool water, the touch of the liquid as amazing as it was painful. He sat, hypnotized by the sensation, for a full minute before he brought his hands together, washing them clean. He took a double handful of water and drank, thrilling at the sharp, metallic flavor.
He turned to the slowly bleeding wound in his calf. He washed it, the water simultaneously agonizing and thrilling the wound. He took off one tattered sock, rinsed it as best he could, then tied it tightly around the calf. The fabric went tacky with blood, but the fibers sank into the furrow, sealing it temporarily.
He stood, the wind whipping over him, his mind going over the events of the past few hours. “I don’t believe this,” he said, his words carrying on the air.
“Dun beleeve thass…” a high-pitched keening answered, mocking his words. Across the stream, the moonlight silhouetted a cluster of horselike shapes. Each snout terminated in a single pointed spike-shaped tooth. Long catlike tails lashed as they sniffed the air.
“Dun beleeve thass?” the creatures crooned. One bent to lap the water.
The rest jogged forward, pausing and sniffing the water’s surface before splashing across.
Britton took a step backward, his calf reminding him of the wound. “Oh, God.”
“Aw gud aw gud aw gud…” the things keened excitedly, advancing to a trot. The two closest lowered their long necks and put on speed.
Britton turned and ran.
He ignored his calf, running for all he was worth. The rough edges of the grass sawed at his feet. He could hear the pack behind him, gaining steadily.
He risked a look over his shoulder. They were on his heels, necks straining, wind coursing through tufts of spotted hair. Their hooves pounded the ground, nostrils flaring, wicked distortions somewhere between demon and horse. The single spike tooth on each snout jutted toward his back.
He put on a burst of speed, his calf screaming. He felt the magical tide surge with his mounting terror. The tree line remained far away. He’d never make it.
He heard a snort. Hot breath gusted against his neck.
He cried out, and the pack answered him with keening howls. His magical tide answered as well, exploding and rippling out from him through the interlocking streams all around, opening a gate a few yards to his left.
He pivoted sharply, running for it. He felt one of the spike teeth slice through the air behind him. The pack keened in frustration, sliding as they turned to follow.
The change in direction bought him a few moments. He closed the distance, shouting as he leapt through a gate for the second time that night.
CHAPTER IV: HOMECOMING
