The Dragon's Hunt. Jane Kindred
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into it, the notes of a herald or a mounted charge. Rhea braced herself, gripping the wheel as the ground rumbled with the impact of something heavy—or many somethings. It was like the vision in her living room, only this was right out in the open and there was no tattoo to read. But the riders were here.
This time, they’d taken on a more spectral appearance, the horses looking almost skeletal and the riders gaunt and wraithlike, dressed in contemporary clothing. The wet road was visible through their translucent forms as they thundered across the highway toward her. Rhea shrieked and ducked against the seat with her arms over her head as the riders began to leap across her MINI. She was sure they were going to trample the roof and crush her inside, but they somehow all managed to clear the top of the car—though some just barely, as hooves rattled and scraped across it.
As the last horse thundered onto the ground on the passenger side, the gaunt-faced horseman paused and turned, spectral gaze fixed on her as she sat up. Oddly, he was wearing a cowboy hat. He tipped it at her, sunken orbs in the hollowed spectral flesh flashing a vivid aquamarine, before turning and galloping away.
She’d finally started to exhale when something jumped onto the hood of the car and scrambled over it, making her heart leap into her throat. A wolflike hound trailed the hunt. Like the rider, the hound turned and fixed its wolfy eyes on her—pale blue and disturbingly sentient—before tearing off into the brush. They were all swallowed up—the vision and the thunder, the horns and baying alike—into the billowing, unearthly fog that traveled with them.
In their wake, the snow became a sudden, violent hail, with large marble-sized pellets hammering her roof and windows. She waited it out, making sure the worst of it was over before putting the car in Drive and turning around on the slick road to head home.
Delayed shock hit her once she was inside her apartment. Rhea collapsed onto the couch in the dark, shuddering and trying to catch her breath. She hadn’t had an asthma attack since she was a kid, but her chest was tight and her airway felt like it was closing.
She sat up and deliberately slowed her breathing, listening to her lungs make a peculiar wheezing rattle as she breathed in deeply, and finally got herself under control. Maybe it was time to get some expert advice, because this was getting too weird. Not from Theia, of course. And Ione would freak out and go into “mom” mode. It was hard for her oldest sister not to slip back into the role their parents’ deaths had forced her into—a teenager herself at the time—whenever anything threatened one of her siblings. But Phoebe, the middle child of the family, was used to dealing with weird.
Phoebe answered on the first ring. “Hey, kiddo. What’s up?”
“When you have shades stepping into you...do you ever see anything ghostly or is it just their presence you feel?”
“Well, hello to you, too. And, no, I don’t perceive the shades visually. Rafe sees them, of course. Dating someone who commands the dead has its perks.” Phoebe’s boyfriend happened to be the last scion of Quetzalcoatl. Because of course he was. “Why, did you need me to contact someone for you?”
“No.” Realizing she was scratching at her jeans over the healing tattoo, Rhea snatched her hand away. “No, it’s...never mind. I think I’m overtired.”
“Rhe. Come on, this is me. What’s going on?”
Her hand slid under the jeans, but Rhea curled her fingers and managed to stop herself. Damn this stupid tattoo.
“I thought I saw something a little...weird.”
“How weird?”
Rhea hesitated.
“Rhe? How weird?”
“Johnny Cash ‘Ghost Riders in the Sky’ weird. Only on Highway 89A and not in the sky.”
“Okay. That’s decidedly in the weird column.”
“And it’s not the first time I saw them. I had a vision while working on one of my tattoos. And then there was a fox in my living room, and she said I’d summoned her from the Wild Hunt.”
Phoebe was quiet for a moment. “Honey...are you still taking those antidepressants?”
Rhea let out an exasperated sigh. “I wasn’t hallucinating.”
“Sorry, but it’s a little hard to process. A talking fox?”
“And who has a boyfriend that turns into a feathered snake god, can shift into crow form and talks to coyotes? Jesus, Phoebes. Talking to a fox in my living room is hardly the weirdest thing anyone in this family does. Ione has sex with a goddamn dragon.”
“She doesn’t actually have sex with the dragon. Dev and his dragon demon are two separate entities who happen to share the same corporeal form.”
“Right. Okay. You’re absolutely right. I am being completely ridiculous with this fox-spirit thing. That’s way more normal. Good night.” Her thumb was poised to end the call.
“Rhea, wait.” Phoebe made a noise suggesting she was blowing her bangs out of her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a jerk. After everything that’s happened lately, I guess I owe you the benefit of the doubt.”
“Yeah, I guess you do.”
“What does Theia think?”
It was Rhea’s turn to blow at imaginary hair—or not so imaginary, as her spikes were getting way too long these days, and one in particular kept flopping over and hanging in her eyes. “I don’t know what Theia thinks.”
“You didn’t call her first?”
“I’m not really talking to Theia.”
“You’re what? Rhe, what’s going on with you?”
“Besides talking fox hallucinations? Just trying to deal with the fact that Theia kept Dad’s second family a secret for months.”
“I thought you two found the genealogical information together.”
“That part was all Theia. She knew we had three other sisters, and she knew one of them was living a few miles away from her. And she never said a word to me. Maybe if she had, Laurel wouldn’t have apprenticed herself to a psycho necromancer and tried to kill you.”
“Nobody’s to blame for that but Laurel herself—and that bag of dicks who took advantage of her vulnerability, Carter Hanson Hamilton.” Phoebe delivered the name of Ione’s ex with all due mocking disgust. Though “bag of dicks” was being kind, as far as Rhea was concerned. “You can’t let that come between you and Theia. Does she even know how you feel about it?”
Rhea sighed. “She knows. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to know if there’s any kind of precedent for seeing a ghostly hunting party. Can you check with Rafe to see if he knows anything about the Wild Hunt or if he’s seen anything out of the ordinary in the spirit world lately?”
“Of course.”
“And Phoebes? Don’t mention any of this to Ione or Theia.”
She lay awake later, unable to stop thinking about the haunting eyes of the straggling rider—and his straggling hound—as they’d paused to acknowledge her. The hound had lacked the skeletal appearance, but it certainly possessed the same unnerving gaze. Had all of the hunting party seen her? Or just those two? And why her?
According to Vixen, Rhea’s blood had summoned the Hunt. Of course, the name of the custom ink was Bloodbath. A bit macabre, maybe, but the color really was lovely. And unusual in its intensity. As was the damn itching. The healing skin was driving her mad again as she thought about it.
Rhea drew her leg from the covers. It could do with a little moisturizer. As she stroked the lotion over the Lilith mark, her fingers tingled with the precursor to a vision. Rhea pulled her hand away. She was so not in the mood for another vision.
But the pictomancy had a mind of its own.
This