side. “But maybe you could be sensing something innocent. Hunters do that. And you’re kind of a hunter. So maybe it’s a raccoon. Or a frog.” He squinted into the woods.
“Ribbit?” he ventured hopeful y.
Cassandra had also closed ranks. But she’d turned so that she could detect movement behind them. “Is your gun going to be effective against whatever you’re sensing?” she asked Cole.
Cole shrugged. “It’s loaded with holy silver. So it’l slow down a vamp or kil a Were. It’s just that this thing doesn’t
Dave and Jack rejoined the group so quietly that even Bergman forgot to jump. “I found the grave site,” Dave said. “But it’s being guarded.”
“By what?” Cole asked.
Dave rubbed his jaw, which made Cassandra start to play nervously with her rings. Already, like a good poker player, or a loving wife, she’d begun to pick up on Dave’s stress tel s. He said, “It’s a Rider.”
Cole swore under his breath, another sign of bad mojo. Only Bergman stil hadn’t ful y caught on to their predicament. He asked, “What’s a Rider?”
Neither Dave nor Cole acted like he wanted to answer, so Cassandra clasped her hands together, her eyes so luminous she might have been channeling her inner oracle as she told him, “It’s a big, hulking brute that latches on to its victim, digs in, and then sucks out al the thought and emotion, until there’s nothing left but a staring, slobbering husk.”
“So it’s a vampire?” asked Bergman.
Cole turned to him. “Think of it as the first vampire. In the same way that scientists consider Neanderthals the first salsa dancers. Not quite, but without that link you’d never have Vayl.”
“So…” Bergman struggled to stay in the classroom part of his brain. “It’s, what, less evolved?” Dave nodded. “It doesn’t turn its victims. It tortures them. Gets into their blood and melds their minds into truth machines. Tel me something, Miles. Have you ever seen a person take a good look at himself in the mirror?”
Bergman shook his head.
Dave said, “I did once. Friend of mine, ended up punching the glass so hard he needed twenty stitches to put his hand back together.” He leaned in closer, trying to explain a creature whose power even he had only heard whispers of. “Most of us spend our whole lives tucking our weakness under the mattress, hiding our fears inside the closet, pretending we’re not miserable shits to our spouses and kids. Not because they deserve it. Because that’s just who we are. Riders turn people into horses, jerking the reins so they have to face their own miserable bitchiness, prejudice, and petty crap. The more you fight, the harder those spurs dig in until you’re literal y bleeding al over the carpet. Feeding the monster on your back. If you don’t give in, pretty soon you’re dead. But if you can face the horror, walk through your own nightmare without flinching too much, you can buck that Rider and cut his fucking throat.”
Dave pul ed a knife from a sheath he’d hidden inside the pocket of his cargo pants. “So which one of you thinks you can pul that off?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I’d heard al the talk in Cole’s camp and it had made me half crazy. It was my job to go decimate the Rider, not hear that one of my crew was about to risk his or her life in my place. Especial y since the creature couldn’t have picked that particular cemetery to guard randomly. It had been sent by Roldan and Brude in another attempt to destroy us. I hated that we couldn’t deal with the Rider directly, and that the pain of watching one of our dearest friends fight, and possibly die, in our place would make those two bastards crow.
Plus I knew Astral’s mutterings about cowboys weren’t random at al , but another push to find Zel Culver. And
I could almost see her lying there, surrounded by her children and loyal servants. Mourned aloud even as they silently divided her loot among themselves. That alone would’ve given me reason enough to return. I’d have haunted those bastards to the fifth generation. And I kinda hoped she stil scared the shit out of them on a daily basis.
“So what are we doing?” whispered Aaron. “Is this like a seance?” He held his hands in ours delicately, as if he thought Raoul and I were stil pissed enough to break a couple of fingers.
I said, “I’ve never seen a seance yet that wasn’t three parts stage show and one part bul shit.
Real Raisers use an inborn power cal ed the Lure to pul spirits from the Thin. From what I understand it makes them smel extra good to the dead, especial y when they’re dancing. It’s like a gazel e flirting with the danger zone of a lion pride. The pride’s fascinated, right? Glued to the picture. But if they’ve already eaten, they just watch. Raisers have a similar ability to convince the spirits they’re stuffed. Since none of us were born with that power, we’re going with this simpler, less entertaining technique.”
We final y stopped, which must have meant Raoul had coiled our energies around the spot to a satisfactory degree. Aaron’s arms crossed over his chest as he watched my Spirit Guide pul a silver dagger from the sheath hanging at his side. He’d looked so relieved to be able to strap it back on when we were pul ing our weapons out of the trunk of the Galaxie that I’d felt a fresh spurt of guilt for making him ditch his uniform. Sometimes you just need your familiars around you. Aaron didn’t see that, maybe because the dagger was glinting like a razor as Raoul put it into motion. “What’re you going to do?” he asked.
“Sacrifice,” I said.
Vayl grimaced at me. “Must you taunt the boy?” he asked.
I considered the pudgy youth who stil refused to dump his country’s fear of
Raoul stepped forward. “Hold your arms over the chaise,” he commanded, just like he’d dropped back into the field and we were his loyal troops. We did as we were told, even Aaron, and Raoul made a smal slash above
