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  Since she and Dylan were going to go straight for the Gate while the others kept the Blackthornes distracted and off balance, Staci only had a water pistol full of the stuff. She and Dylan would need to move fast, which meant they couldn’t be weighted down any more than they already were. Staci just hoped that she and Dylan would be able to take out the Gate quickly; every moment that the others were fighting was another chance for them to get hurt. If the Gate could be shut down fast, maybe the Blackthornes would lose their taste for fighting, and just leave. Was that so much to hope for? She just wasn’t thinking past that moment. Dylan had sworn that shutting it would weaken them a lot. Maybe the shock of suddenly finding themselves with about as much power as Staci had would make them cut and run.

  So long as Dylan is there with me, I’ll be brave.

  She watched him as he took the rest of the group through the ad-hoc training. He never scolded or talked down to them, only gently correcting when necessary and always praising whenever someone did something well. He didn’t even get angry when Seth almost clocked him with a wildly swung buckler; just laughed and cracked a light-hearted joke about Seth’s “enthusiasm to bash things.” The entire gang seemed to have become emboldened since they all first decided to fight. They were visibly determined; only Riley stood out as being subdued during the practice, but it was clearly not that she was less determined than the others, but more that she was still afraid. Staci figured that it was Dylan; his confidence in himself and in them transferred over, gave them energy and enthusiasm. Or at least…willpower.

  Clearly, all of them must have gone insane. She most of all. Who would have thought that the fate of an entire town, maybe of the world, rested on the shoulders of a group of geeks and outcasts? In the movies, it would be the well-toned and handsome jocks, along with their drop-dead gorgeous girlfriends, that took out the bad guys and only got a cosmetic and oh-so-manly cut on the cheek for their trouble. Maybe a flesh wound to the arm. But this was real life. A bunch of teenagers that got most of their kicks from playing pen-and-paper role-playing games—or at best, had run around in the woods playing some LARP or another--were now practicing to storm a fortified mansion filled with evil beings bent on murder and suffering.

  It’s not as if we have any choice, she thought, a little numbly. Numb, because as crazy as it seemed, she was getting inured to the whole situation. Wanda’s right. I’m not the only one who has no choice here. None of us can leave. Or at least, none of us is willing to leave. Because really, what would happen if they actually gave up on their friends and family and tried to make a run for it? Within a day, they’d probably all get picked up by the cops and brought home…or at least, back to Silence. And then we’d become the next “test batch.” Or maybe a set of matching Patient Zeros. Or as lunch for those hounds and Hunters. She couldn’t tell which would be worse. That didn’t stop the whole situation from being tragically absurd. Tim’s words came back to her, but she quickly dismissed them. She still hurt from that last talk, and didn’t want to think about it. She couldn’t afford to get angry, or feel anything about Tim right then.

  They planned their attack to take place while the Blackthornes were at dinner. Staci knew from her weekend visits that the time never varied by as much as a minute, and Dylan had affirmed that elves tended to be creatures of habit. Wanda had borrowed the family van; by a small miracle that Staci had decided to treat as a good omen, she’d easily gotten permission to take it for the evening. Wanda herself had been shocked; she said she’d only ever gotten the van a handful of times in the past, and only by dint of a lot of begging. They planned to leave the vehicle out of sight, but within running distance. With that in mind, they figured to be in place about fifteen minutes after dinner had started.

  But as they gathered up their things and prepared to head upstairs to pack up the vehicle and move out, an unexpected, literal “roadblock” presented itself.

  Staci’s mom was sitting on the top of the basement stairs, where she had been hidden in the shadows. Her eyes gleamed down at them from the darkness. There was a half-empty liquor bottle at her feet.

  “Ma’am—” Seth began, but was silenced by a wave of her hand.

  “I need to talk with my daughter. The rest of you can wait outside.”

  After exchanging a few looks, and getting a nod of assent from Staci, the gang started shuffling up the stairs and past Staci’s mother.

  “You stay,” she said, pointing at Dylan. He stopped walking, coming to a stop next to Staci where he stood firm. Once she heard the front door close, she picked up the bottle that had been at her feet, and walked-stumbled down the stairs. It was very clear, from her state and that of the bottle, that she had been tying one on not long ago. “It’s all true, isn’t it? Everything you have been talking about?”

  There wasn’t any recrimination in her voice, which surprised Staci. Just a quiet, almost sad wonder. Staci glanced at Dylan, then looked back to her mother. “All of it. Every word.”

  Her mother sat down, hard, and began crying quietly. “For so long, I thought I was crazy. I thought that I was going to turn out like my mother, locked up in some loony bin. It was easier when I was drinking; I didn’t have to remember, didn’t have to see.” She looked up at her daughter with eyes shrink-wrapped in tears. “I didn’t want to. I lost your father, and he couldn’t understand. I lost you, too. I didn’t want you to end up like me, and…and I…” Her sobs grew deeper, wracking her entire body. Staci had never seen her mother like this; she was always the “party girl,” always blissfully ignorant or blissfully drunk. The memories of the early years when her mother had been the bright and whimsical woman who had been so wonderful to her flooded back, and she found herself crying, too. She moved to her mother’s side, kneeling down and wrapping her arms around the other woman’s shoulders.

  “Mom, it’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry. It’s okay.” She finally understood who her mother was. It was heartbreakingly tragic, and she felt guilty for all of her past feelings of indifference or disgust with her mother. “It’ll be okay, I promise.”

  “Be careful, my precious girl. Please be careful.” Slowly, the sobs subsided, and when Staci looked down, she saw that her mother had fallen asleep in her arms. Dylan walked up to the other side of her mother, kneeling down opposite of Staci.

  “Let’s get her into bed,” he whispered. Staci nodded, wiping away some of her tears with her shoulder. Gently, Dylan looped his arms under her mother’s knees and arms, then picked her up as if she weighed nothing. They took her upstairs to her room, where Dylan set her on her bed on her side while Staci pulled the covers over her. She had begun snoring ever so lightly, and Staci couldn’t help but laugh a little, if only to break the tension and to stop crying. Dylan waited until they were back downstairs in the living room before he spoke.

  “She’s got elven blood, like you. Not as much, and not…in quite the same way. She can’t do magic, for instance. But she has seen things that normal people can’t. That’s what she was talking about, down there.”

  “I know,” Staci replied, sniffling and wiping her face with the back of her hand. There was more that she wanted to say; she wanted to go back upstairs, lay down in bed with her mother, and talk with her when she woke up. Help her get through it all and let her know that, really, it would be okay. That they would make it okay together. But she couldn’t, and she knew it and hated that. So instead, she joined Dylan in the living room, where the others were taking the last of the stuff out to Wanda’s van. It was down to the jacks actually. They came in small boxes that weighed about five or ten pounds each, and that meant a lot of boxes. The gang was going to take the van as far as the start of the Blackthornes’ driveway where it met the road, then wait for Dylan and Staci to come. Dylan was going to scout for the closest spot to safely—if that term could actually be used in this situation—leave the van within sprinting distance of the mansion. Then he’d come back and guide them in.

  Seth had just gotten the
last of the boxes and was carrying it out while Jake held the door open for him as Dylan and Staci got to the living room. “Everything okay?” Jake asked, uncertainly.

  Staci grimaced. “Is anything okay?” she replied, rhetorically. “It’s as okay as it’s going to get,” she qualified. “I’ll…explain more, later.” If there is a later…

  “Right. See you up there, then,” Jake said, and let the door fall closed.

  After the van had sped away, Staci turned to Dylan. “So, we’re totally doomed, right?”

  He regarded her for a moment before grinning. “It’s either that, or we kick serious ass. No other way we can go about it. We’ll win, or we’ll lose. We’ve prepared as much as we can in this short time, and now it’s up to us to do the deed.”

  “You’re way too calm for all of this crap, you know,” she said, putting a hand on his chest. “It’s annoying.”

  “I’ve been told that before.” He put his hand over hers, squeezing it lightly. “Truth be told, I’m just as scared as the rest of you. But it doesn’t help to show them that. We can only do our best, and hope it’s good enough to see us through. When you think of it like that, things tend to simplify. It’ll be what it’ll be, one way or another.”

  She sighed heavily. “It’s even more annoying when you’re right. Especially when I don’t want you to be.”

  “We’ve got to get moving.” Metalhead, parked a few yards away, rumbled his agreement with a throaty roar from his engine. “People to see, things to do, catastrophes to avert. Average day.” Staci nodded, and they both walked to the elvensteed-motorcycle. They both pulled on helmets—the last thing they needed was to get pulled over for violating helmet laws at this stage. She waited until Dylan was astride the bike, then climbed on the back, hugging him tightly around the waist.

  He turned his helmeted head around; she couldn’t see his face. But she could hear his voice.

  “Okay, babe. Ready to light this candle?” And without waiting for her answer, Metalhead gunned his engine, and they were off.

  And all she could think of was…Babe. He called me “babe.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The van was waiting just a little way from the gate to the Blackthorne Estate, half hidden by bushes, as Dylan and Staci pulled up. They had made the ride in uncanny silence; without the need to counterfeit that he was a “real” motorcycle, and with every need for stealth, Metalhead had made the entire journey with no more noise than the rush of the wind past their helmets.

  Staci got off first, followed by Dylan. And as soon as she had…there wasn’t a motorcycle there anymore. There was a horse. A gold and black, metallic-looking horse, which nodded once to Dylan, and ran off soundlessly through the gate, fading into nothing as it did so. “Metalhead is going to scout the perimeter,” Dylan explained, as Staci stared. “I’m going to look for a good way in.” By this time they’d been joined by the rest of the gang, looking…odd…in their chainmail shirts and hoods. “Do you think if you had to, you could sprint from the Blackthorne manor to here?”

  “If it gets to the point where that is an option I have to consider, I don’t think I’ll have a problem with it. Getting chased is great motivation.” She knew that from personal experience. Remembering that night in the maze, and the hounds…she wasn’t quite getting cold feet, but all of her surety about their chances drained from her.

  “All right then. The first thing I want you to do is put a good barrier of those caltrops around the van.” Dylan indicated with his hands how wide he wanted the barrier to be. “The last thing we need is for the thing you retreat to turned into a trap.”

  The gravity of the situation seemed to have settled in on the gang, as well. No one was joking or smiling now; most of them were gripping their weapons and shields with white-knuckled fists. They were all scared, but none of them were backing out, so she supposed that was a good sign. Each of the would-be warriors grabbed a sack of caltrops, and started spreading them out as Dylan had prescribed, leaving space for the tires of the van in the direction that it would have to go if they were forced to run. They would be using some of the caltrops inside of the manor, too, to confuse and hopefully hurt anyone that got near them.

  “Will there be some sort of signal when you guys take down the gazebo thingy?” Riley was shifting from foot to foot, staying close to Jake.

  “If we take it down, you’ll definitely know. It’ll be immediately noticeable, both in the bad guys and the entire manor.” Staci picked up on the fact that Dylan had said if, not when. She appreciated that he wasn’t feeding the rest of them any bull, but still…not helping with her confidence.

  But he looked them over without any hesitation or doubt in his expression. “All right, wait here. I won’t be more than fifteen minutes. I’m going to clear a path for you to get to the mansion, and once we’re there, you know what to do.”

  There was no warning, at least so far as the gang was concerned. One moment Dylan was there, the next—he wasn’t. Except Staci could see a sort of shadow-Dylan sprinting towards the wall, leaping for the top, and pulling himself over, to disappear on the other side.

  The silence was spooky. Seth startled everyone when he cleared his throat. “Anyone else get the Return of the Jedi vibe? Like, on Endor, when they’re trying to take out the shield generator?”

  “Yeah, except we don’t have any muppet cavalry to come save us if we screw the pooch,” Wanda responded. Her normal sarcasm wasn’t evident; her heart didn’t seem into the retort.

  “Hey, if we stick to the plan, we’ll be okay,” Jake said. He nudged Riley with his shoulder, smiling. “Dylan looks like he knows what he’s doing. Like Staci said, he’s been doing this sort of thing for a long time. And besides…it’s not like we can back out now.”

  “Well, we could, but then what? We’d end up as hellhound chew toys, or Patient Zero,” Seth pointed out before Staci could. He shook his head. “The only way out, is through.”

  They all fell silent, then. It was already dusk (the Blackthornes ate late) and there should have been lightning bugs and the sounds of crickets. But there was nothing but silence and growing darkness, as if even the insects had taken alarm and hidden. Each passing moment seemed to drag on forever, heightening the tension all of them were feeling. Staci wished they could just get on with it already, before they freaked themselves out too much.

  They were all so keyed up that they all heard the soft “thud” next to the wall, and all turned as one, weapons raised defensively, as Dylan faded into view again. “Got a corridor in,” he said shortly. “First thing, we go over the wall. I’ll boost you on this side. Everyone wait right there until we’re all over. Follow me.” Dylan set off at a trot; with his long stride, the rest of them had to hustle to keep up. It didn’t take long for them to reach the wall. “Jake, help me get the others over. I can’t touch your armor or weapons, so…be careful.” They both began boosting the rest of the gang over the wall, one at a time. Staci was one of the first, so she didn’t see how Dylan managed to boost Jake without getting near his armor. Maybe he didn’t; all she saw was Jake pulling himself on top of the wall, then letting himself down on the other side, with Dylan following.

  “All right. We’re going to give you guys three minutes once we hear the festivities. They should be freaked out enough by the steel that they’ll be all over the place, at least the more craven of them. That’ll keep them spread out, and will give us the best chance to get to the Gate. Spread caltrops if you get cornered. Remember to watch each other’s backs when you get in there; don’t take any dumb risks, and don’t get backed into a corner. Good luck. I would shake on it, but I’m a little allergic to your accessories.” A short chuckle rippled through the group, save for Staci. She kept wondering if this was going to be the last time she was going to see any of them.

  “You heard the man. Elf. Whatever. Let’s get this over with.” Wanda, to the surprise of everyone there, was the first to start running. Seth had to double-time it to
catch up with her, lugging around his water gun and the backpack with the feeder line. With a final hug, Jake and Riley trailed behind them.

  Staci and Dylan hung back, as was the plan, but it still felt wrong for her to watch her friends run into danger. Especially since it was danger that she had dragged them into. “God, I hope they don’t get hurt.”

  Dylan said nothing. They waited in silence until they heard faint screams and shouts coming from the mansion. Dylan didn’t meet her eyes, or otherwise signal her. He just started running. Staci was forced to sprint after him. The front door of the mansion was wide open, and light streamed out of it, but the gang was nowhere in sight.

  The armor was heavy, even heavier than it had seemed when she had been practicing in it. She was lagging behind Dylan as he charged in through the front door. He must have magicked up his sword and shield as he ran, because he hadn’t had them when he’d begun running, but when he hit the cone of light from the door, he had both. And, incongruously, he was still wearing his motorcycle helmet.

  “Stay close to me and keep your head on a swivel,” he growled. He was constantly scanning around, sword and shield at the ready. Staci moved closer to him. She could hear shouting and the sound of breaking glass, things being toppled over, and a couple of high-pitched screams. From the back terrace she saw bright flashes that threw everything into jagged shadows. Magic. They’re fighting back.

  “We’ve got to hurry! They’re outside—”

  “Quiet!” Dylan said in a harsh whisper. “Not alone.”

  They hadn’t taken more than three steps when there was a shout from their right. One of the Blackthornes came running at them, swinging two short curved swords above his head. Dylan brought his shield up in time to catch one of the blows, but the second sword cleaved into his helmet. Staci’s heart stopped; she thought he must have been dead, until he broke contact with the other elf, shoving him backward with his shield and striking him in the shoulder with its edge. Dylan’s helmet fell to the floor as he shook his head; there was a gash on his forehead, but he was otherwise intact. The dark elf smiled at the sight of the blood, and charged in again. They began trading blows, sword against sword, sword against shield. Dylan was staying on the defensive, probing with his sword with back cuts whenever the dark elf attacked; the dark elf was all rage and a flurry of strikes, overextending himself and cutting too far with each swing.