Lead Demon

The Outpost

Outpost 77 was home to him and maybe thirty other Hunters. For now.

These were the trenches. Those stationed here would fight until they died, and their bodies would burn or be tossed in the lake, and a fresh batch of Hunters from Outer Chicago would come in to take their place. Or they were transferred to die in service somewhere else.

Being a Hunter wasn’t glorious. But it did mean you were fighting back, trying to return the world to what it once was, rather than sitting around waiting to be eaten. After everything he’d seen during the Resurrection, joining the Hunters was honestly the only way forward. Revenge was the only reason he could live with himself.

A few Hunters mingled in the motel lobby. Maybe mingling was the wrong word; they were clearly all waiting for the alarm to sound. Their weapons were at hand, and though a few were reading musty paperbacks and another group was playing cards, there was a tension in the room that belied the apparent ease. Seven nodded at those who looked up, waiting for them to ask about what had happened in the field. About what he’d done in the field. But they said nothing. Even the new recruits—easy to spot, from the lack of scars and the life in their eyes—knew better. Someone had f****d up, and since Seven had been in charge of the food-scouting mission, it was on his shoulders no matter what.

He looked down and continued up the emergency stairwell to the top floor.

“What the hell happened out there?”

The words were out of Derek’s mouth before Seven closed the door behind him.

Whereas the rest of the encampment was cold and dark, this suite was warm and brilliantly lit, albeit far from welcoming. Flames danced across every surface, fires fueled by magic alone. It should have been beautiful, but it just set Seven’s hair on end. The Sphere of Fire burned brightly in Derek’s chest and his eyes darted with agitation. That was never a good sign.

Derek himself stood behind a grand mahogany desk, its surface coated in papers and maps and weapons. He was tall, commanding, his Mohawked hair burnt-red and his skin traced with scars.

“I didn’t mean to—” Seven began, but Derek cut him off.

“What do you mean, you didn’t mean to?” He stepped around the desk, hands clenched tight into fists. Small sparks flickered around his skin. “I felt your f*****g magic all the way out here!”

Seven wasn’t about to point out that none of them should be using magic and that Derek was betraying his own orders, but he knew that the amount Derek channeled wasn’t enough to give them away, and, frankly, Seven didn’t think Derek would appreciate the reminder.

“We were surrounded,” he said, lowering his eyes. “There were dozens of kravens. We wouldn’t have made it.”

“Then you should have died.”

Derek’s voice was so terse, so fully void of emotion, that Seven barely realized it sounded more like a command than anything else. It was a stab in the gut. Water churned over. You should have died, you should have died—your life is worth nothing, and neither is your death.

“I meant to,” he said. His words sounded small. “But Water took over.”

“The Spheres don’t control you. You control the Spheres.”

It was ironic, seeing as Fire users were notorious for the tempers their chosen Sphere gave them. But it was a phrase they’d all learned during training. It might not be true, but the meaning was clear: you didn’t give in. Ever.

“Not this time,” Seven said. He looked up then, just in time to see something new flicker across Derek’s features. Fear. “Water took over. It... I don’t know. It killed them. Every last one.”

“You aren’t that powerful,” Derek said, his voice muted. It wasn’t a dig; it was fact.

Seven didn’t have anything to say to that.

“I should have you killed for this,” Derek said. He stood up straighter, as though taking more control of himself and the situation. “You jeopardized the safety of everyone in this troop. Because of you, we have lost the element of surprise.”

This outpost has been here for over a year. We lost that element a long time ago. But Seven didn’t say that. Of course he didn’t say that. Outposts always changed locations. Keeping one in place had been a new tactic, decided by the higher-ups of Outer Chicago itself. If it was expected that base locations changed, having one stay put would be a surprise to the necromancers and the Howls. So long as it kept a low profile. So long as it wasn’t compromised.

“I’m sorry,” Seven said.

“Tell that to your comrades who are going to die tomorrow.”

Seven’s eyes shot up.

“Tomorrow?”

Derek turned and walked back toward the desk.

“Our scouts have spotted them. The armies are moving. They will be here by sunrise.”

A lump of dread twisted in Seven’s sSebastianch.

“We need every fighter we have,” Derek continued. “So I won’t kill you. Not tonight. I’ll let the necromancers do that in the morning.”

There wasn’t the slightest hint of humor or mockery in Derek’s voice.

Seven bowed his head and turned from the room.

It wasn’t until he was halfway down the stairs that he realized he hadn’t even mentioned that Mustapha was dead.

It didn’t matter. In the morning, thanks to him, they all would be.

The rain turned to a drizzle and the night bore on. Seven stood on the motel roof, watching water pool and stream below. The motel offered the best view in town—quite literally—and without magic to guide their sight, they needed all the vantage they could get. There was a small, guttering torch on the ground, the only source of light in the darkness. Beyond, everything was dark and sifting and slick with rain.

He knew that Derek hadn’t sent him up here out of necessity. He was up here for punishment. Far from the glory of battle. And, being so high up, he’d be the first thing the necromancers could target.

Seven turned at the sound of footsteps. Christal. She’d been chosen as the other lookout, probably on some sort of probation because of him. He wondered if this was the worst of her punishment for not killing him in the field.

“We need to talk,” she said.