Damn it all to motherfucking hell, this was about to get ugly. The last time I’d faced Harpies had been five years ago, and that had only been one Harpy. It’d taken Giselle and Milly at my side to knock her out, and we’d barely made it out alive.

I pulled a sword out as the first Harpy struck, her claws skimming precariously close to my stomach, ripping through my thin t-shirt and exposing the flak jacket below. Spinning, I swung my blade overhead, arcing toward where the Harpy’s wings should be. My aim was true and the spelled sword cut deep into what would be the bicep of the Harpy, taking her right wing completely off. Howling and flailing, she rolled on the ground, brilliant red blood spurting in a fountain from where her wing had been only moments before. She flopped on the ground, arterial spurts shooting out around us.

That had been lucky, like as in ridiculously so. Of course, there were two more, so I wasn’t counting us out of danger just yet.

“Get in!” I ran for the Jeep.

O’Shea listened for once, and the doors slammed shut as I peeled out.

“No smell Harpies.” Alex whimpered. Of course he hadn’t smelled them before; no doubt, they’d watched us from a distance, flying in high enough.

“It’s okay,” I said, though it wasn’t. “O’Shea, you’re going to have to take the wheel, or take one of my swords and try to fend them off. They’re territorial, so you just have to buy us time.”

“You drive, I’ll fight.”

“Don’t look them in the eyes, no matter what.”

O’Shea took my offered—and bloodied—sword and rolled down the window.

“Why?”

We hit a bump and I fought with the steering wheel, no longer enjoying the pot-hole filled road. “Think a version of the spell that was on you and me, except you’d get to ‘knock boots’ with them, and then they’d eat you.”

Without a word, he slipped off his seatbelt and slid halfway out the window, his butt hanging on the edge. A part of me was starting to admire the former agent. He was not only doing as he was told, but he did it without arguing. Damn, I really didn’t want to like him.

A screech from above us that might as well have been inside the cab lifted the hair all over my body. Alex howled, adding to the noise, but it didn’t affect my concentration. Ahead was a Y in the road. To the right waited the main highway and possible safety. To the left waited more of the badlands. Decisions, decisions.

O’Shea hollered and his body flexed as he swung. I didn’t have to see to know what was happening. I could almost feel the missed thrust of the sword.

“Get back in!” I hoped O’Shea could hear me. One of his hands slipped back in and gripped the Holy Shit handle, and he yanked his body back in, the sword dented.

“We’re going to pit species against species,” I said, gunning the Jeep and cranking the wheel hard to the left. The four-wheel drive was a godsend as we blasted across the open badlands with nowhere to hide from the two remaining Harpies.

O’Shea clicked on his seatbelt. “What do you mean species against species?” He had to yell to be heard over Alex and the Harpies.

I gripped the wheel and kept my foot on the gas. “Just wait. You’ll see.” A part of me wondered at my reasoning. Maybe I didn’t want O’Shea to think all the monsters were nasty. Some of them were downright stunning in their beauty.

“I’ll give you a hint,” I said. “Ever read anything by Peter S. Beagle?”

We hit a bump and then something, presumably a Harpy, hit the Jeep and we teetered on two wheels. There was the screech of metal meeting and giving to talons as the Harpy dug into the hard top.

“This side!” I motioned with my head for the two boys to throw their weight to my side of the Jeep. Alex obeyed, as did O’Shea. His body jammed against mine. Our eyes met for a split second, and I thought I saw something there in those dark depths. This was bad, we could die, yet I’m sure I saw fire flare inside him as if he were . . . enjoying this.

Then the moment was over; all four wheels hit the ground and we careened down a slope, the Jeep skidding sideways as Alex whimpered in the back.

Wind whistled through the new tears in the metal roof; flashes of dark brown between the bursts of sunlight were all I could see of the Harpies, but it was enough. At the bottom of the slope, the ground levelled out into flat hard surface, perfect for the Jeep to pick up speed. In a few short moments, we were doing over sixty.

“They’re well behind us,” O’Shea said, half turned in his seat, and I glanced at him, his eyes still glittering. He was enjoying this.

I didn’t let up on the throttle, though; I knew what was coming. Ahead of us was a large rock that stuck out of the ground like a mini mountain. Spinning the wheel, I tucked the Jeep in beside it, facing the Harpies. They hovered for another split second, and then they exploded toward us with a flurry of wings.

“Oh shit,” O’Shea said.

I lifted a hand and turned the Jeep off. “Just wait.”

“Are you crazy?”

I rolled down my window and prayed I was right. The distant thunder of hooves answered my pleas. This was the territory of the Tamoskin Tribe—or more accurately, herd.

I felt more than saw O’Shea go still beside me.

“Tell me I’m seeing things.”

From off the plains thundered the Tamoskin Herd, their coats a myriad of colours, shining and glossy in the sun. From Paints, to blacks, chestnut and white, and a little of everything in between, there was only one thing they all had in common besides their equine bodies.

The gleaming golden horn jutting from the middle of their foreheads.

19

“Yup,” I said. “You’re seeing things all right.”

The herd of unicorns split into formations, four to be exact, surrounding the Harpies, who wailed and screeched, obviously pissed off at being tricked into crossing over the boundary line. I knew though they wouldn’t back down. A Harpy rarely backed away from a fight, especially when it came to their mortal enemies.

It was a bit like watching a show, the kind you go to the local fair to see, where riders take their horses through complex patterns, barely missing each other as they gallop past one another. This was in some ways no different, only it was unicorns and no riders. The Tamoskin herd swirled and dove, moving like water, smooth and effortless as they engaged the Harpies.

I glanced over at O’Shea, who sat transfixed by the sight. Even I was hard pressed to tear my gaze away from the awesome scene in front of us. It wasn’t every day you saw a childhood story come to life in front of you, that you saw legends held power in them still.

“Never in my life . . . .” His voice awed to a bare whisper.

Alex leaned forward and put his head on my shoulder. “Beautiful.”

It was that; even though the sight was a deadly game the two species played, it was no doubt one of the most amazing, beautiful things I’d ever seen. A tightening started in my chest, a pang I’d pushed away for so long. It wasn’t for O’Shea I’d done this.

It was for me.

The dark side of the supernatural saturated me, was all I saw anymore. Most days I didn’t pause, I just assumed everything around me was dark and ugly. Like losing Milly, like Giselle losing her mind, like me losing Berget.

But this was the bright side, literally, of the supernatural. I found myself standing outside of my Jeep, the pang in my chest thrumming as I walked toward the battle. One of the Harpies was down, her body pin-cushioned by horns, her chest rising in shallow breaths.

A hand grabbed me from behind. “Get in the Jeep,” O’Shea said, biting off each word with a tug on me.

I looked at him, giving him the full force of my eyes, knowing the three colours would shift and swirl with the emotions rising in me. “No.”

There was no way I could explain what it was I needed, or why in this moment I chose to find something bright to cling to, only that I had to. Something about this case, something about dealing with O’Shea was, in a sense, forcing my hand. If I was being honest with myself, it was the guilt this case brought up, the ugliness from my past. I needed to know there was more than the blasted ugliness in this world where I lived.

A need for the bright, for the brilliant and pure side of the supernatural, called to me, and I heeded that cry.

My feet carried me to the edge of the battle, where the remaining Harpy screeched well above the unicorns, her voice echoing out across the badlands.

“Tracker, you will die for this. I will gorge on your heart.” The words weren’t all that unexpected, and it wasn’t the first time I’d been threatened.

I nodded. “I hear you.” Even as she threatened me, I could show the respect due. I was a mere Tracker, a human that had somewhere in her family history gained some funky abilities. But Harpies were legendary, creatures that had been around far longer than humans.

She peeled away from the herd, swirling back into her own territory. It was going to be difficult to get past her. No doubt, she would sit on the mineshaft waiting for us to come back.

The herd, or Crush as they were known, if you want to get specific, turned their attention on me. Eyes of all colours, from pale grey to black, the traditional violet to bright blue and green eyed me with open curiosity.

But it was the lead Stallion who stepped out of the Crush toward me, jet-black body gleaming in the sun, sparkling with iridescent rainbows across the black satin of his coat.

Child, you are broken.

His words sliced through my mind, as if his horn had pierced me clean through. O’Shea gasped, and I had no doubt he’d heard the same words.

Tears slipped from my eyes. “Yes.” I lowered my face.

The tip of his golden horn lifted my chin up, my eyes meeting his. A wave of warmth washed over me, empathy, pity and faith flowed from him to me. He manipulated my ability to sense others, but I didn’t care.

You have a far way to journey yet, do not lose heart. A bright spot in the darkness; that is what you can be, if you choose. Steel your resolve. You are not alone. There are those who cheer you on, those you cannot possibly know; those who believe you will be the one to break his hold on us. Do not let your guilt blind you to the future that awaits you.