“Who’s that?” the mage asked, looking at Sol in surprise.
“Not now. Start the engine!” Selene blurted out, noticing that the guards were already aiming in their direction.
The engine roared, and the boat sped like a white arrow through the narrow channels, leaving the roar of gunfire behind.
Chapter 8
Their pursuit continued, turning into a race through the cramped streets of Venice. The boats maneuvered between buildings, skimming under low-hanging bridges to the surprise of onlookers. Finally, Frey steered their small craft out into the Grand Canal, where he accelerated, drawing them farther away from their pursuers.
Selene and Sol were constantly watching the approaching black speedboats, which were rapidly closing the distance. Suddenly, as if by ill will, the sky darkened, gathering into thunderclouds that absorbed the white light of day. The refreshing wind, laced with ozone, increased, dispelling the sweltering heat. The emerald waters of the canal rippled, heralding a storm.
People hurriedly left the streets, closing windows and doors, saving everything that could be saved from the impending disaster. A deafening rumble shook the city as crimson lightning streaked through the black sky, illuminating the entire space with infernal light. A downpour followed it, turning everything around her into a cacophony of howling wind, lashing water, and thunder.
Selene realized that the Prince, not wanting to let them go, was ready to unleash all his power on the city, plunging it into the abyss of chaos. Despite the heavy rain, the three of them continued on their way, fighting the violent pitching. The storm was raging, the sea was boiling, mercilessly smashing boats and gondolas, dragging everything that came in the way, into the depths of the sea.
Frey, gripping the wheel tightly, somehow managed to keep his balance and steer the boat. His blond hair was plastered to his face, and his glowing green eyes were fixed forward as if he was looking for something important.
“What’s he up to?” Sol shouted, trying to get over the noise of the storm.
Selene didn’t answer, because at that moment Frey turned the steering wheel sharply, and fog enveloped them, and the world and all sounds disappeared.
***
A thick milky veil covered everything, swallowing up sounds like a bottomless void. When the veil lifted slightly, it became possible to distinguish each other. Their ears were still buzzing, as if they were covered with cotton wool, but through it came the soft lapping of the waves and the muffled hum of the boat’s engine. Time itself seemed frozen in the dim light of eternal dawn, stopped on the threshold between sunset and sundown. After the chaotic storm, such serenity was disconcerting.
“Where are we?” Sol asked, looking around in confusion. His voice was muffled, as if coming from behind a closed door.
“On the fae trails,” Frey said. He kept his eyes fixed on the space ahead, guiding them along paths that only he knew.
“We could be trapped if we don’t find a way out soon,” Sol said anxiously.
The fae trails were dangerous to everyone but the Fae themselves. They used these trails for instant travel around the world and to their realm on Avalon9. Many travelers, whether through carelessness or malice, set foot on these paths, disappeared forever. The few who managed to find their way back would return to their native lands, finding that centuries had passed since their absence, for time in these ephemeral lands flowed according to its own incomprehensible laws.
“Don’t worry, he knows what he’s doing,” Selene reassured the werewolf, wringing out her long, damp hair.
Sol just gave Frey a dark look of doubt and disbelief.
“He saved the life of a fae once, who taught him to walk their trails in gratitude,” the girl explained.
Sol raised his eyebrows. After all, fae and witches fought a long and bloody war centuries ago. As a result of this conflict, the fae were forced to hide on the island of Avalon, becoming rare visitors to the human world. Despite the fact that war was a thing of the past, feuds between fae and witches still lingered unseen among their peoples.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Sol asked.
Selene told him everything from the Prince’s request to interrogate Sol to their escape from the city. Frey’s frown deepened as she talked about Victor.
“But how did you know I wouldn’t try to attack when you decided to free me?” the wolf asked, narrowing his eyes slyly.
“I decided to take the risk, because it was in our mutual best interests to get out, and the two of us had a better chance of escaping,” Selene shrugged and immediately grimaced.
The movement sent a sharp pain through her shoulder. The stuck bullet, which Selene had forgotten about for a while, stirred inside. She felt the wound carefully through the thick fabric of her black jacket, and her fingers turned scarlet.
“This costume is ruined,” the girl clicked her tongue.
Selene bared her injured shoulder and pulled out the bag of blood that Frey had taken the precaution of carrying. As she took a few sips through the tube, she felt the life-giving moisture coursing through her veins, filling every cell with strength. Her shoulder itched, and the healing tissue finally pushed the bullet out. The wound instantly healed, leaving not the slightest trace. Sol picked up the bullet from the bottom of the boat and examined it carefully.
“Aspen,” he said thoughtfully, twirling the piece of wood between his fingers. “You obviously weren’t meant to be killed.”
Selene felt Frey tense up.
“Yes, otherwise they would have shot gold,” she said.
Another pall of thick fog enveloped them, temporarily knocking them senseless. But it quickly dissipated, and the world was once again filled with sounds and colors. They were out on the open sea, under the cold light of the waxing moon and stars. The night had already passed in its chariot, covering the firmament with a gloomy veil. The setting sun left only a thin streak of golden-purple light on the horizon.
“You should do something about it, too,” Selene said, pointing to the long gash on Sol’s arm that stubbornly refused to heal.
“It’s just a scratch,” he said.
“We don’t have any hearts with us,” Selene warned.
She knew that, like vampires who need blood to survive, werewolves must feed on the hearts of other creatures. The exact reason for this was unknown, but legend had it that the hearts were a favorite treat of the mythical Fenrir wolf, whom the werewolves revered as their god and progenitor.
Frey stopped the boat and turned off the engine.
“I can help,” he offered.
Sol reluctantly held out his injured hand, and the druid carefully felt and examined it. Then he took out one of his travel bags and began sorting through the bottles and bottles of powders and herbs, searching for the necessary ingredients.
While her friend was doing the healing, Selene took out an ancient coin from an inner pocket, darkened with age. On one side of the coin was an image of the Aztec god Yakatekutli, and on the other – a crossroads. In the distant past, travelers made blood sacrifices to this deity, asking him to show them the right path. Selene gripped the cold metal with her bloodied fingers and hoped that this small offering would be enough to point the way for her old friend.
Chapter 9. The Port of Bristol, England, 1695
“Selene, are you sure?” Frey asked, looking doubtfully at the pirate brig bobbing in the dark water.
Its red lacquered sides glistened in the streetlamp light. In the velvet darkness of the night, the ship