The Moon Warriors

  The Moon Warriors

  A Novella

  Kayla Krantz

  1.

  I LOVE THE serenity of the pumpkin patch at night. It’s so quiet, I can nearly hear my heart beating. It’s as if time is suspended, meaningless, and I like that I’m disconnected from the world around me. During the day, this place is packed full of people—parents with tiny children and couples out for a romantic autumn stroll—but at night, it’s abandoned, and in the nothingness, I find peace. It helps, in a way, that the city cemetery is nearby—just a short walk through a strip of woods.

  There are urban legends about ghosts of course, but the only one who haunts these grounds is me. I’m drawn to this land for reasons that at one time had been inexplicable. I understand them now, all too well. The orange leaves crunch beneath my combat boots as I walk through the entrance of the black gate. Today’s a cemetery day. I trudge up the path in the grass created by nothing more than the constant travel of hundreds of pairs of feet, letting the moonlight bathe my face.

  The moon is full and bright, beckoning me onward and I listen like an obedient child. The crystal around my neck warms at the contact and begins to glow as I unclasp it, removing it from its safe place around my neck. I nestle it into the hollow of a grave at the rise of the hill, sure that it’s in the best possible place to gather moonlight.

  The more my crystal absorbs, the better off I’ll be in the long run. I sit and wait, feeling the grass tickling my bare legs beneath the hem of my dress as I read the name on the tombstone that I’ve chosen to use tonight. My heart clenches in the way that it does when something really stings deep down to my soul. I had known the person who is buried here once, when he had been alive.

  Ian Morris.

  He had been my friend, my confidant, my lover, my everything. And now he’s gone. Just a haze of memories and blurry reminders clinging on. Tears dot my eyes as I stare up at the night sky, trying to identify constellations, and take my mind off of the pain that’s always lurking right beneath the surface of my mind.

  Ian should be here with me, charging our crystals in the moonlight and living amongst the dead, but because of them he never will be again…or so they think. My skin flushes with anger as I scoop my crystals up and stuff them into my pocket. The biggest, an amethyst which had been flattened out into a ten pointed star, hangs back in its place around my neck.

  As soon as the crystal touches my skin, it flashes with color and I feel its power right down to every blood cell in my veins. I flex my fingers, open and closed, just feeling the tingle of power in my skin. It’s the sensation that anything is possible, that I can do anything, that motivates me at this point. Even though I’m still near Ian’s tombstone, I no longer think of him.

  I’m a warrior on a mission.

  I give a parting glance to the mount at my feet, whisper a prayer for my dearly departed and a prayer to keep him safe, and leave the cemetery.

  In my community, there are two things that are frowned on—the craft being used for vengeance or for dark matters. With the deepest apologies to my Coven, I will break both of the golden rules tonight or I will die trying.

  2.

  THE BOUNDARIES BETWEEN our Coven’s land and their hunting grounds had been established centuries ago by a group of witches and demons who wanted nothing more than to finally end their feud.

  The story, as I have come to understand it, says that at one time witches and demons worked together side by side with one goal in mind—cleaning the human population of its less than savory members. Witches would use their magic to try and change a person’s ways but if that wasn’t enough, the demons would simply do away with them. It was simple and for a long time, it worked, but for every simplicity in the world comes things to complicate it.

  There were demons and witches who did not follow through with the job that had been trusted to them. Everyone is a pawn to their own devices. Those things which lift us up can also take us over. I have heard many variations of the story of how things crumbled away to war and chaos but the most popular is that there were witches who turned to black magic and demons who let prisoners go just for the satisfaction of watching them commit chaos in the world.

  And with just a few bad souls in the mix, all trust was lost on both sides.

  That’s how the split between us and them began. For as long as the war raged on, neither side came out victorious. For centuries witches and demons slayed one another with no one coming out better for it. Finally, they had had enough and wished for nothing more than peace. The boundaries had been the solution they had finally come to. Them over there and us over here. Forever.

  Until Ian’s death.

  The other witches in my Coven—the Moon Warriors, as they like to call themselves— don’t believe the demons to be responsible for what happened. Our lifestyles are dangerous. Everything is dangerous. Especially the humans. When news first reached me about his untimely demise, I had assumed it was one such beast who had taken away my beloved.

  After all, Ian was young and healthy, but when I saw his body, I knew the truth. See there was something about him that the other Moon Warriors didn’t know—he had a habit of dabbling in black magic. At first, it was nothing too serious, just a curse here or there but curiosity is a double-edged blade and even though it may help you to wield it, it can hurt you on the backswing.

  The materials for his projects weren’t cheap, or easy to obtain.

  Obtaining them meant doing the one thing we had vowed to never do—cross the boundary. It meant consorting with them, befriending them. My heart hurts at the thought. I had known about his habits, known about everything he was doing, but instead of stepping in, of stopping him before something could happen, I turned a blind eye.

  For some reason, I trusted them to care for him, to consider him as one of their own and look after him. But they hadn’t. They had murdered him in cold blood and tonight, I’m determined to find out why. Not to mention kill whoever, or whatever, was responsible.

  I cross through the woods with that at the forefront of my mind. In the back of my mind, however, I can hear a faint attempt to contact me by Abigail, my closest friend in the Coven. I can’t let her in on what I’m about to do. IF she talks to me, she has the power to calm me. If I lose my anger, I won’t have the nerve left to do this, to do any of it.

  I suck in a breath and finally come to it—the boundary between our land and theirs. It’s not a physical distinction, just a creek in the woods to those who don’t know, but I do know and my heart beats erratically as I toss stones into the water to cross over the imaginary but oh-so-real boundary line.

  I step down carefully, hunching down as if I expect alarms to go off the second I come into contact with the ground on this side but nothing happens. The woods are just as cold and unreliable as they had been on my side of the boundary line so I push onward, into the dead of night.

  I don’t know much about what I’ll find on this side. Nearly nothing at all about what to expect. For all of my questions, Ian would never tell me a thing about his travels. I know why. He thought he was protecting me. The less I know, the better, right?

  Wrong.

  This is going to be hard. With no information on the proper way to proceed, this could become very dangerous, very fast. And yet I feel no fear. If Ian could walk these paths with ease, then I can do the same. The crystal around my neck only seems to grow brighter as I move and I know that’s partly because it’s feeding off my emotions, taking away every negative thing that I should be feeling.

  Abigail makes an attempt to contact me again but the connection is even weaker on this side and I hope she doesn’t already know what I’m doing. If anyone could take a guess about my crazy side, it’s her.

&nb
sp; I pull my shawl tighter around my shoulders even though the heat of Indian summer brings beads of sweat to my temples. I don’t want to be seen before I’m ready for a confrontation, before I’m prepared on what I’m going to do. My best chance of survival, and success, depends on staying hidden for as long as possible, scoping out not only the land in case I need to make a quick escape, but to also delve as much information from whatever I see as possible.

  When the trees come to an end, I’m surprised to see that the city on the other side is very much like our own. The houses and buildings are beautiful though structurally I’d guess they’re a few centuries old. Built before the war? I muse. We have nothing left from that time, our land taking the worst of the damage from the war. Many of our buildings are less than a few decades old. It’s like our town is always under construction, the work never quite complete.

  As I gaze around, I have just a moment where my brain contradicts itself. My entire life, I’ve been told of the demons’ savagery, of their brutality being so severe that they couldn’t even be around one another for fear of getting into a fight. The town before me says otherwise. If I didn’t know differently, I never would’ve guessed this place was filled with demons. It looks no different from my home town, from my Coven’s town, and now I know I’m really in danger my curiosity is piqued.

  I move onward into the shadows, walking seamlessly along the sidewalk of the nearest road as if it’s a road I’ve walked my entire life. I pass a bakery, a post office, and a clothing store and once again, I’m at a loss for words. They enjoy the pleasures of humanity too.

  With that thought in my mind, I’m not surprised when the street ends in a bar. There are cars outside and even on the street, I swear I can hear conversations going on inside. It makes sense that they would crowd as many as possible inside.

  Based on what I’ve seen, I’ve come to the conclusion that the demons won’t make their darkness obvious. Maybe there are humans who live here too but whatever the case, the demons won’t have a shop labeled “Supplies for Black Magic.”

  That information is more of a need-to-know basis, Ian had said once. I thought it had been a sarcastic way of him avoiding telling me the truth but now, it might have a double meaning. The seller is most likely underground.

  If that’s the truth, what better, more cliché place to begin looking than somewhere like the sleazy bar before me? I force myself onward before my internal dilemma decides to take me in another direction. There are two demons by the entrance, girls whispering to one another, but neither of them look my way as I pass into the bar.

  The hood of my cloak is still up over my head, concealing my hair and most importantly, my eyes. That’s the difference between them and us. While their eyes are endless pits of blackness, ours shine with the same color as our chosen crystal. For me, that means purple just like the amethyst around my throat. Until they see my eyes, they’ll know no different.

  I take a seat at the bar, hood pulled low to shadow my face, and try to observe the scene around me without looking at anyone directly. The bar is full, so full that it’s almost impossible to find a seat anywhere. Music blasts from the speakers in the ceiling. A few demons dance but other than that, they’re huddled at the tables, in the booths, at the bar just talking away.

  I wonder what things demons have to talk about. With the thought of their average looking village, I have to suppress a giggle at the idea of them fretting about minimum wage jobs and clothing stores.

  Then a voice says, “You don’t belong here,” and my blood runs cold.

  3.

  I DON’T TURN to look at him. Instead, he shoos away the girl who had been seated in the stool beside me and sits on it. He drums his fingers on the bar for a long moment and I’m sure he can see the tension in my shoulders and my ramrod straight spine. Why isn’t he talking? And for that matter, why haven’t I run yet? I stare at his fingers, the sound like a metronome controlling my panic, and contemplate my options. My identity has been compromised and it hasn’t even been five minutes since I entered. I glance around the bar but no one else seems to have taken notice of me. If what I am is obvious, they don’t care. Should I run while I still have the chance or leave my fate in the hands of this demon?

  I am very much like a stray, the wild ones who duck down when you approach, hoping to not be seen, to let my existence go without passer-bys being any the wiser. When someone sees through my guard, I don’t know what to do and I duck down, assuming that detection means death, but I know what my gut tells me to do—run away like an alley cat with its tail between its legs.

  “Barkeep,” the demon says, his deep raspy voice perfectly calm as if we’re not both aware of the fact that we are mortal enemies and I’ve broken the treaty between us by just being here. “Whiskey on the rocks for me and my date.”

  I still at the words but don’t say anything as the bartender readies the drinks and approaches with them, placing one in front of the demon then one in front of me. He stops for a moment as the glass clinks against the bar, and for a heart stopping second, I wonder if he knows the truth as well.

  Finally, he turns away to get a drink for another demon. The demon beside me smiles down at the cup in his hand before he swirls it subtly and takes a large sip of his whiskey.

  “Your date?” I ask at last, turning slightly toward him but not enough for him to see much of my face.

  “Would you rather me say the truth?” he asks, sideways smile on his face as he sets the cup back to the bar.

  I say nothing.

  His eyes move to the untouched glass before me. “Drink,” he orders.

  “I don’t drink,” I say, also staring at the frosty glass before me. The last thing I trust is a drink from a demon. He could’ve signaled the bartender to put anything in it and I’d be none the wiser.

  The demon raises his eyebrows as if he thinks I’m insane, and maybe he does, who knows? He finishes off the rest of his drink with a strong gulp before he sets his completely empty cup on the bar and clicks his tongue. “Now, I think I’ve done my charity work for the day. You owe me answers.”

  Now I raise my eyebrows. I have heard stories of demon arrogance but it still surprises me just the same. “Do I?”

  “If you plan on relying for me as your cover,” he replies coolly. “Otherwise, I can simply call you on what you are and throw you to the wolves.”

  “You wouldn’t,” I say but my heart is already beating with the anticipation that he can and he will.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks flatly and glances over his shoulder to make sure no one is paying attention to our conversation.

  I do the same but the demons seem engrossed in their own activities which leaves me to wonder why the one beside me is suddenly on edge. I sigh and let my gaze drop back to the glass on the counter. “I’m looking for someone,” I say at last.

  “You’re a long way from home, Dorothy,” he sneers and picks up my glass to drain the amber liquid inside as well.

  “Not necessarily. Black magic is always just around the corner, isn’t it? Even when you least expect it.”

  The corner of his mouth pulls up. “So many witches turning to the dark side. What are they doing to you on that side of the border, I wonder.”

  On reflex, I turn and look him full in the face for the first time. His black eyes stare back at me from his handsome sculpted face and only too late do I look away again. If there’s one thing my Coven has been careful to tell me is to never look into the eyes of a demon.

  Especially when you’re in a dangerous situation.

  He looks back and by the expression on his face I can tell that he really sees me, both inside and out, and the look scares me. Despite my multiple layers of clothing, I feel naked and exposed as if he can see every fear, doubt, and weakness in my mind.

  “The guy I can understand but you? You look like you could be a goddess,” he says at last and slams the second glass onto the bar.

  I’m not sure which of th
e comments hits me harder. “You’ve seen a…male witch in here?”

  The demons lets out a little scoff of a laugh. “Sure did.”

  “What did he look like?” I ask, heart pounding.

  Is it possible that this demon is the one who killed Ian? Seems too simple for me to have found him so easily but who knows? Maybe the Gods are working in my favor for once.

  “I can’t tell you that right now. It’s dangerous to talk here,” he says, glancing over his shoulder yet again. “There are too many eyes and ears.”

  I narrow my eyes but manage to avoid looking at him this time. “I’m not leaving with you.”

  “Surely you’re not all looks and no brain?” he asks.

  “I’m smart enough to know that it’s never a good idea to go somewhere with a demon.”

  Then I feel a tap on my shoulder on the opposite side from the demon I’m currently talking to. “Excuse me, Miss,” the voice says, smooth as honey.

  I tense but don’t look at him. My eyes stay on the bar and I reach for the empty glass beside me without making it obvious. The demon beside me shifts, sitting higher to glare at the demon over the top of my head. Before anyone says another word, I feel cold fingers grasp into my hood and rip it off my head, exposing my curly black hair and purple eyes for everyone here to see.

  “You’re not welcome here, witch!” the demon behind me hisses and lunges forward as if he’s planning to hit me in the face.

  I’m prepared for it. The glass is light in my hand and it shatters easily when it makes contact with his face. Blood and glass rain to the floor and he screams in agony, lifting his hands to desperately try and remove the stubborn shards. The demon who had been sitting beside me pulls me away from him as every head in the bar turns in our direction. There’s not a single friendly face among the group as they converge, all of them glaring at me. The demon who had been sitting beside me doesn’t seem fazed by how grossly outnumbered we really are. He grabs a pool cue from a nearly table and cracks it over the head of a different demon who attempts to throw a punch at me.