Dispocalypse Read online

He shrugged and looked directly into Willow’s eyes. “Well, you do.”

  She wasn’t sure if he was being serious. It was the first time he’d ever given her a real compliment. Well—it was the first time he’d given her that kind of compliment. And by the look in his eyes… yes, he meant it.

  John opened his mouth to say something, but evidently thought better of it. Instead, it was Brad who broke the awkward silence. “What does everyone want to drink?”

  Willow hoped the sudden heat she felt in her cheeks wasn’t too obvious. “Do we have any ginger ale?”

  “I just made some earlier today. I’ll go get it.”

  As Brad rose from the table, Willow yawned and turned to Tristan. “I hope you don’t mind, but I don’t think I’ll be awake for long after we eat. I’ll have to show you around town in the morning.”

  “Why would I mind? A meal, sleep, and a tour in the morning sounds like a great plan.”

  It did sound like a great plan. Though as she shifted uncomfortably on her stool, Willow couldn’t help but wonder whether she was going to be able to walk straight in the morning.

  “Absolutely not! I refuse,” Tristan said when Willow tried to offer him her parents’ room to rest for the night. He lowered himself to the floor next to the fireplace. “There’s no way I’m going to be the first person to sleep in your parents’ room after their deaths. I won’t do it. Besides, I’ve spent a good portion of my life sleeping on the floor, from back when I lived with my mam. Trust me, all I need is a nice warm fire and I’m good.”

  Willow couldn’t imagine making the Lord Governor’s son sleep on the floor. But if he’d done it before…

  “Are you sure?”

  Stretched out on the stone floor, Tristan smiled up at her. “The stone is nice and warm from the fire.” He made a shooing motion and laid his head on his outstretched arm. “I’m fine like this. I swear it.”

  As Willow retired to her own room, she didn’t quite know what she was feeling about Tristan. She couldn’t forget that this was the Governor’s son—yet he truly acted like… like just a regular person. It was so unexpected. And something about it made her feel queasy inside.

  How many more surprises will Tristan have for me?

  Willow thought she would have trouble sleeping, knowing Tristan was lying in the other room, no more than twenty feet away. But the day’s ride had taken a lot out of her, and as she snuggled under her thick blanket, stretching her sore muscles, sleep quickly overtook her.

  Except… it wasn’t actual sleep.

  Though her body rested, her consciousness did not. Instead, it detached from her body and hovered overhead.

  She was in a dream-like state and not in control. She could only watch, bemused, as her mind’s eye wandered from her bedroom, paused briefly over Tristan’s sleeping body, slipped from the house, and raced across the darkened lands of the Dominion.

  She had no idea where she was going, or why. She was being drawn somewhere. Toward someplace she was meant to be.

  She continued across hills and valleys, faster than any arrow could fly. Blurs of light streaked past as she flew over the farmlands west of the Academy.

  And then in an instant, she came to a stop.

  A mansion loomed ahead.

  A Dominion member’s home.

  She knew this because the windows, dozens of them, were all made of crystal-clear glass. Nobody else had access to the glaziers who could produce such wonders.

  Willow’s sense moved forward again, more slowly this time, and she passed ghost-like through solid walls. When she came to a stop a second time, she was hovering in an opulent bedroom—and the sight below her made her want to scream.

  A man who looked very much like Tristan lay half-naked on a bed, smiling with approval at a woman standing at the foot of his bed.

  But she was anything but a woman.

  She stood naked, her dark skin revealing all the right parts… but not only the right parts. She also had an elongated tail and two sharp horns.

  Willow’s mom had once told her about demons that traded favors for souls. Such demons were said to look exactly like the naked creature that stood below Willow now.

  The demonic woman spoke, and the sound was like shards of broken glass grinding against stone. “Your father sent me to remind you of your obligations.”

  The man gave a derisive snort and curled his finger, beckoning the woman forward. “My father is an old man, Sheba. Soon enough you’ll be answering to me. You do realize that, don’t you? Just get yourself in here. Later we’ll talk about what Father wants from me.”

  The man’s voice sounded identical to Tristan’s. Could this be Tristan’s older brother? And that would mean this demon woman… was she sent by the Governor himself?

  With an amused sniff, the woman climbed into the bed.

  To Willow’s relief, whatever force had drawn her to this place released her at that moment, and she found herself back in her own bed, covered in sweat from head to toe.

  Yet the nightmarish scene was still burned in her memory, and she shuddered with revulsion.

  That family is demon-possessed. And one of them is in my home.

  Willow rose early the next morning. She’d spent a great deal of time last night thinking about her visions and what to do about them. Now, in the bright of day, the answer seemed simple.

  Do nothing.

  She would be a gracious host to her guest.

  She stepped out into the living room and found Tristan right where she’d left him, though he’d kicked off his blanket while he slept. She lowered herself down beside him—discovering with relief that the horrible ache had subsided, though it had been replaced with a terrible stiffness—and studied the tiny scar just above his right eyebrow. She’d seen it before, but had never asked him about it. It was the only blemish on his otherwise perfect face.

  She still had an uneasy feeling about him being here. Why would the son of the Lord Governor want to spend time with her, of all people? What was he even doing in the Academy in the first place? Everyone knew that the members of the Dominion class had private tutors, so he wasn’t at the Academy to learn anything that he couldn’t otherwise learn at home.

  Of course, there was one obvious reason a boy would want to spend time with a girl—but she’d made it quite clear that she wasn’t going to take him to her bed, and he knew better than to even try anything with her against her will. Besides, if that was what he wanted, there were plenty of much prettier Dominion girls who’d gladly throw themselves at him. Even among the merchant girls, he could do far better.

  As Willow mused, Tristan stretched his arms and legs, let out a long yawn, and opened his eyes.

  His gaze met hers, and he smiled. It was a warm smile that infused her with a buoyant feeling.

  “Good morning.” They both said it at the same time, and laughed.

  Before any awkwardness could ensue, John’s voice boomed from across the living room. “Well, Good morning, kids. So what do you guys have planned for today?”

  Tristan looked to Willow. “Actually, I was thinking, do you mind if I watch you guys work? I’ve always loved archery, but I know nothing about how the equipment is made. If that’s okay with you, Willow. I still want you to show me around later.”

  Willow shrugged. “If that’s what you want, I think that’s a great idea.”

  Brad appeared behind John. “Actually, we won’t be working at the shop today. John and I are going to the woods to look for some yew.”

  Willow’s eyes widened. “You guys aren’t going to—”

  “No,” John said. “There’s a wood merchant in the market who suddenly came up with a supply of yew that he refuses to sell to us. We asked around, and rumor has it that he accidentally found a grove nearby—so we’re going to see if we can find his secret. But perhaps you two can come to the shop in the afternoon? We’ll be back by then, and we can show Tristan what a real fletcher and bowyer do.”

  The two brothers headed
for the door, and on the way out, Brad tossed a fist-sized leather pouch to Willow. “In the meantime, why don’t you take Tristan out for some breakfast?”

  Willow could tell by the heft of the pouch that he’d given her enough of the Dominion-stamped wooden coins to buy breakfast for a dozen people.

  Alone with Tristan once more, she held up the pouch. “Ready for breakfast?”

  Tristan nodded toward the table. “Isn’t there some bread left? I’m pretty simple when it comes to food. Bread, maybe with some butter or berry preserves, is what I prefer, especially for breakfast. Besides, I’d rather not have a full stomach when giving Charger some exercise.”

  Willow shook her head and smiled. “Tristan, I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to be frank with you. You aren’t anything like what I’d expected.”

  Tristan stood and held his hand out, helping Willow to her feet as well. “Let me guess: you expected a spoiled brat because I’m the Governor’s son. If that’s what you’re looking for, I’d be happy to introduce you to my brother Karl…”

  “No, that’s okay. As Governor’s sons go, I much prefer you.”

  Horses, Taekwondo and Some Advice

  Willow weaved her way through the crowds. The familiar smell of leather goods and spices wafted through the air as she was hit by the cacophony of sounds coming from the people haggling over prices in the New Memphis market. As they walked through the market, Tristan spewed a never-ending stream of questions as he asked about life on the frontier.

  “I’d always heard that everyone in the frontier has some kind of pet. You know, like a dog, cat or at least a chicken, is that true?”

  Willow paused as she considered, then nodded. “I’d never really given it much thought before, but I think you’re right. Most of us have some kind of hunting dog or something. Heck I even know someone who managed to train a hawk to help catch werebits.”

  “Do you have a pet?”

  “I used to.” A sense of loss washed over her as she thought of Growl. “I actually found a wolf puppy a couple years ago while I was hunting. Its mother got caught in a werebit trap and had died. His eyes hadn’t even opened yet, and anytime he heard anything nearby, he let out a high-pitched growl. I ended up naming him Growl. He was the dearest little thing.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He ran away.” Willow shrugged. “My parents had warned me that he was a wolf and wouldn’t be a good pet, but after he left–I just didn’t have the heart to look for another one.”

  Her skin tingled with an uneasy feeling as she recalled the rumors about what had really happened to Growl. Things she’d never tell Tristan.

  It was the summer before her parent’s death. The Governor was on an inspection tour, and, as always, he’d brought a large contingent of his Steel Fist, the steel-wielding soldiers that were the Dominion leader’s personal guards. One of their neighbors said that they’d seen a Steel Fist soldier using Growl for archery practice.

  She could only imagine that Growl was dead somewhere. So much death and destruction followed in the wake of the Dominion’s leadership, yet here she was, walking with a Vanden-Plas.

  What am I thinking?

  Willow’s attention was torn from her private musing as Tristan pointed toward a merchant’s stall and asked, “Didn’t your brothers say they were looking for yew? That merchant seems to have some.”

  Tristan veered toward the merchant and Willow followed as they hurried toward the large wooden stall with piles of various-sized branches and logs of different types of wood. The portly wood merchant spied her approach, his eyes narrowed and he tugged at the whiskers on his chin.

  “What may I do for you, Miss Park?”

  Willow pointed to the sign that announced the availability of the rare wood. “So you have some yew for sale?”

  His double-chin wagged left and right as the merchant strongly shook his head. “I won’t be selling to you Parks.” The sneer in his voice was a surprise to Willow. She couldn’t fathom why he suddenly had animosity toward her family. “Your brothers have been very successful lately with their new bow and arrow designs, and it wouldn’t be fair to give them access to the best woods as well. Besides, I’d get endless grief from the other bowyers, and I need their business. Sorry, but I won’t be selling to any of you Parks my best stuff now or—ever.”

  Tristan pushed forward and asked, “Shopkeeper, I might ask you to reconsider that decision. You might find issues having your license renewed if you’re treating customers unfairly.” The threatening growl behind his voice was one that Willow had never heard before. She glanced at Tristan, the merchant, and back to Tristan.

  The merchant’s face got red and he began wagging his finger at Tristan, “Who the hell are you to threaten me, I’ll have you know that I’m—”

  The shopkeeper choked on his words as Tristan withdrew from under his tunic a gold necklace that Willow had never seen before. Strung onto it was a small red-and-green-enameled medallion emblazoned with the symbol of the Dominion.

  Taking advantage of the suddenly tongue-tied merchant, Tristan introduced himself. “My name is Tristan Vanden-Plas, and I’m a bit surprised that you’d choose to withhold goods and services from the Park family just because they’re successful.”

  The merchant’s face blanched, his eyes focused on the gold medallion hanging prominently from Tristan’s neck. It alone was likely worth more than what the wood merchant would earn in the next five years.

  “S-sir, you’ve misunderstood my intent.” The shopkeeper stammered and shifted his gaze back to Willow. “Miss Park, I’m afraid you maybe misheard me.” The sneering voice had vanished, to be replaced with one that had a more pleading quality to it. “It would be my pleasure to give you a small supply of the yew I’ve discovered as a token of appreciation for your family’s long history of patronage. If you find it to your liking, it would be my pleasure to provide you with excellent prices on future quantities as I’m able to retrieve them.” His eyes shifted from Willow and Tristan. “That’s fair, right?”

  Willow couldn’t believe what had happened. The rotund merchant wasn’t fooling anyone; there had been no misunderstanding whatsoever. His turnaround was completely due to Tristan. She glanced at her companion who was still glaring at the merchant. Tristan slyly tossed her a wink as he deepened the frown he shared with the merchant. Willow nodded. “That’s fair.”

  “Oh how wonderful.” The merchant seemed to deflate as he breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll have a bundle of my best yew packaged and delivered to Park Family Bows no later than midday.”

  After a simple lunch of venison stew paired with a bowl of fresh berries and spending a few hours with her brothers as they showed Tristan how bows and arrows were made, Willow decided to take Tristan out to the grasslands for a jog.

  However, as soon as they stepped foot on the wide-open fields, Tristan faced Willow, jogging slowly in reverse. “Come on, slowpoke,” he teased. “It’s time to see if you’ve gotten any better at this running thing.”

  With that, Tristan dashed ahead, and Willow pushed herself to keep up with the long-limbed Governor’s son.

  Her breath puffed visibly in the crisp cool air as she ran through the brown shin-deep grass. No longer carrying the characteristic green smell of the summer, the loamy smell of the soil permeated the air.

  As they ran, Willow studied the length and smoothness of Tristan’s stride. Flying like the wind across the grassland, it was as if he were a deer trapped in a human body. Yet after only fifteen or twenty minutes, she realized that all those breathing exercises and practice had had their effect. She’d far surpassed, by nearly any measure, the running abilities she’d possessed before having met Tristan.

  Willow could tell that Tristan was pushing hard because, unlike the times they’d run before, he remained silent, conserving his breath.

  It was just at the moment when her lungs began to ache and she felt the burning in her legs that she noticed movement in the gras
s and a flash of white.

  Tristan must have seen it too, since he veered to the left, opposite of where Willow had detected the motion. She again spied flashes of white fur and breathlessly called to Tristan, “I think it’s a couple of werebits.”

  Out of some hidden location under his clothes, Tristan pulled a knife. A real steel blade that gleamed with a honed razor’s edge, one that only the Dominion-born or those otherwise licensed to possess weapons of steel could carry.

  He halted and spun, protectively putting his arm around Willow and putting himself between the approaching animals and her.

  Willow grabbed the arm holding the blade. “Wait, Tristan, I don’t think we have to worry about them.”

  “Willow,” Tristan pulled from her grasp and shook his head. “These things run in packs and can be vicious.” He lowered his voice as the bobbing blobs of white fur and glinting fangs streaked toward them across the sea of grass. “Some of my father’s soldiers told me that werebits often roam the Forbidding and swarm over lone wildlings, leaving nothing but bones in their wake.”

  Something about the animals had always left Willow feeling uncomfortable, but she’d never been scared. And as they approached, she pushed Tristan’s weapon arm down and whispered, “Trust me. I don’t think they mean us harm.”

  As he protested, she boldly placed her index finger on his lips. “Shhh.” She pushed him aside and moved forward as two werebits approached, then four, and soon a dozen werebits were arrayed in a semicircle in front of her. They were no more than six feet away making an odd chittering sound.

  One larger werebit moved closer. It was probably anywhere between ten and fifteen pounds and flashed six-inch-long fangs. Willow lowered herself on the balls of her feet as Tristan hissed, “Be careful.”

  Willow held her hand out and the dark soulful eyes of the werebit stared at her; its pink nose quivered as it sniffed and drew even closer. A foot away, six inches, and finally it nudged her hand with the top of its white furry head.