Tooth: An Alpha Like No Other (A Song of Starlight Book 1) Read online

  The wizard is dressed in a long, wine-colored robe, his fingertips sparking red.

  Chapter Ten

  Lila

  “Stop the car,” Tooth says.

  I feel the light in my stomach grow hotter at his words. It’s as though I can feel his emotions inside of me. He is angry, I sense. He is angry at the Horde, at the ease with which this wizard attacks the school. He is angry because the Horde have caused mayhem for thousands of years. He is angry at all the lives that have been lost at their hands. I sense this through the starlight in my belly.

  He looks across at me as gives the command. And that’s what it sounds like. A command. I can see in his face that he feels me just as I feel him. He knows the answer I’m going to give before I give it. Telepathy? I think. An idea which would’ve been beyond ridiculous an hour ago. But now no cards are off the table. But it doesn’t feel like telepathy. I don’t hear his thoughts, just his feelings.

  He knows what answer I’m going to give. No.

  “Stop, now,” he says. We are on the outskirts of the school car park. My plan is to drive as fast and hard as this rickety old hunk of metal will go, straight into the wizard, pinning him to the wall.

  Flames dance from the wizard’s hands and smash into the doors. They fly open and the wizard laughs. But he doesn’t step forward. He paces up and down in front of the school, letting out cackles and giggles, hopping up and down on the spot like a kid in line for his Christmas presents. His hair is long and flows all the way down to his boots.

  When I don’t stop, Tooth grabs the steering wheel. I try to fight him, but it’s like fighting against a giant piece of machinery. He turns the wheel and directs us away from the school, toward the bus stop. I strain, arms screaming, but Tooth doesn’t even flinch.

  “Stop the car or we’ll just drive out of here.”

  I curse at him, but take my foot away from the throttle and press down on the brakes.

  “I could’ve got him.”

  He looks at my calmly. “He’s a Mad Mage, a wizard who’s become addicted to feeding off the Other. He’s a wizard, Lila, which makes him more dangerous than a warlock. Some wizards can actually touch the Other, like me.”

  “I don’t care what he is or what he isn’t!” I snap. “Look at him!”

  He throws his hands into the air. Fire sprays above him in a long stream. I watch in disbelief as the fire forms the head of a dragon. The fire-dragon’s mouth opens, and then the stream of fire sprouts wings. When it flaps, smoke hisses into the air. It flaps until it is high above the wizard. And then it plummets to the ground like a helicopter with broken blades. The explosion is blinding, but when the smoke and the debris clears, the wizard stands unharmed amidst it all. He lets out another cackle.

  “I will kill him,” Tooth says. “But I can’t be distracted. You must wait here.”

  I throw my hands up. “Go, then, quickly!”

  “Good,” Tooth grunts.

  He climbs from the car.

  Can he do it? I wonder. He jogs toward the school confidently. I watch his body as he runs and despite the situation—or because of it—I admire his form. Every movement looks purposeful, every muscle tight and honed.

  Is he really as old as he says he is? A stupid question, unimportant, and yet I can’t help but wonder. Eight-thousand lifetimes old, all that time waiting for me . . .

  When he’s almost upon the Mad Mage, I realize I’m not just worried about Casey. I’m worried about Tooth, too. I can only put this down to the bond we share, the inexplicable, preternatural bond, the bond which exists outside normal human closeness—the bond that makes normal human closeness look small and silly. I have known him for minutes but it feels like weeks. When I touched his face, I felt the grand weight of his years and his purpose surge inside of me.

  Stop it, I tell myself. Focus.

  But even telling myself this, I mutter under my breath: “Please, Tooth, don’t get hurt.”

  Then the Mad Mage turns, sees Tooth, and laughs.

  I dig my fingernails into the driver’s seat and watch with wide eyes.

  I remember when I sat in this car once before, gripping the seat in the same way, watching with the same eyes. Isaac had just bought the car and Mom and Dad were angry. But not just angry like normal parents get. No, these were drunks, people barely able to function who had thrown themselves completely into their addiction. They saw the world in terms of alcohol. Where could they get their next drink? Where would the money come from? And so when they found out that Isaac, at seventeen years old, had bought this car with money saved from his fast food job instead of giving it to them, they flipped.

  Isaac was driving and Dad was in the passenger seat when Dad backhanded Isaac across the face. Isaac didn’t fight back, just slumped against the glass. Dad hit him again and again. Isaac, far too calm for a seventeen-year old kid who’d just been cracked in the nose, pulled up to the side of the road.

  Dad seemed to take this as his signal. He beat Isaac bloody and I, eleven-years old and weeping silently, could do nothing but watch. When the beating was done, Isaac started the car and drove to the liquor store. He returned with three bottles of whisky and Dad took them and grunted like an animal and held them to his chest like they were his children, never mind that his real children were sitting beside him.

  Isaac drove us home and that night Mom and Dad laughed into the early morning, dancing and singing and falling into the walls and making the house tremble like it was alive. Isaac held me despite his wounds, held me close to his chest and whispered to me that everything was going to be okay. He was going to keep the car. He’d won. He said this proudly, but even then I knew there was no such thing as winning when it came to Mom and Dad. Nobody ever mentioned it again, not even Isaac.

  I swallow, shocked by the force of the memory, and then I can’t focus on anything but Tooth and the Mad Mage. As I sit there, gripping the seat, I realize that I am as on-edge now as I was then.

  For Casey. For Tooth.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tooth

  The Mad Mage’s eyes are shot with blood, a by-product of drinking freely from the Other.

  Smoke curls in the air around him. The concrete at his feet is blackened and burnt. And when he smiles, I see madness in his eyes. It’s the same madness I’ve seen hundreds of times throughout history. In the eyes of Vikings determined to die so they could go to Valhalla, the eyes of men who’d lost their wives and wanted to go over the top every day, waiting for a stray bullet to catch them. The eyes of a person who no longer cares what happens to him.

  I hear screams from within the school. No doubt the teachers and the kids think a bomb has just gone off near the entrance. I listen, hear dozens of footsteps scramble into the gymnasium, hear the screech of something being dragged across the court and the bang it makes when it’s shoved against the door.

  And I feel Lila. The starlight inside of her is awake now and the connection between us is already growing strong. An invisible chain of starlight spreads out from her and hooks inside of me. Did I really think I was going to deny her? Restrain her? Leave without her sister? She’s the Woman of Starlight. There is no denying her.

  The Mad Mage giggles and dances on the spot. “You’re not him, are you?” he says. “You’re not really him? The Man Who Never Dies, the God on the Earth, the Bane of the Horde, the Slayer of a Thousand Wars?”

  “Leave,” I say. “Leave now, and I’ll let you go. My fight isn’t with you. Not here, not now. Just let me pass and I’ll let you live.”

  “He-he!” He claps his hands together. “He-he-he-he!” He hops from foot to foot. “Do you really think, Mr. Tooth, I would pass up this chance? My name is Merlin. Maybe you’ve heard of me?”

  “You’re not Merlin,” I state. “I knew Merlin and he wasn’t half as sane as you.”

  The man’s face twists into a pout. “That’s not fair,” he says. “Everybody else believes me.”

  “I am not everybody else. Leave. I w
on’t tell you a third time.”

  “Leave? And why would I do that? Don’t think I can’t hear my friends in the town over there. They’re having a fine feast but soon they’ll come over here and ruin my fun. And don’t even get me started on nightfall. When the vampires turn up it’ll be doom and gloom all round.”

  Vampires. Abraham. My blood runs cold at the thought. The only vampire I’ve ever trusted. I would enjoy ending him for what he did. But I don’t plan on being here that long.

  “Okay,” I say. I spread my hands. “I guess we’re fighting.”

  “He-he!”

  The Mad Mage jumps back, his magic levitating him through the air—around thirty feet away. I’m about to rush him when he claps his hands together. Fire explodes in a huge wave, gushing over the concrete and directly at me. I bow low, meaning to let the fire splash over my head, but at the last second the fire branches like a river. It branches hundreds of times until there are countless strands of fire dancing in the air.

  The Mad Mage claps his hands again, and each river of fire transforms into a fiery beast. Some are of human, carrying flickering shields and burning swords. Most are animals, big cats and bears, their eyes burning.

  As one, they open their mouths and scream. The sound is like an earthquake. The ground trembles and splits, zigzags of ruination spreading through the concrete. Streetlamps collapse and power cables tumble to the earth. I jump back just in time for a streetlamp to smash into the concrete in front of me. Then the fire monsters close their mouths and charge.

  I stand up straight, arms flexed at my sides. My entire vision is filled with fiery creations. Over their heads, I see the Mad Mage, stood on the roof of a car, eyes closed in intense concentration. The Other must be overfilling him, I think. Overfilling him to his toes and his fingers. He must be strong; most wizards, even Mad Mages, would explode under such immense pressure.

  The front line of the creatures is comprised of men. They charge at me as thousands of other men have charged at me in all the ages of this world. I am reminded of the shield wall, standing shoulder to shoulder with Ragnar Lodbrok, spitting with rage as King Ecbert sent his Horde-tamed zombies against us.

  I lift my fists and launch myself forward, throwing my entire body into the weight of my strike. My fist smashes against the face of the first attacker and crushes him into ash. I follow through, the momentum of my fist getting faster, stronger, and crush through five more. They lash at me with their fire-swords, strike all over my body. White heat sears into my skin. Pain implodes all over me. But it is just pain. I have had thousands of years to get used to pain.

  I shrug them off, extend my arms, and spin around as fast as I can. I am a tornado slashing through jaguar and man and tiger and bear, their ashy remains pouring over my skin. I spin and spin until I am in the center of the fray. I don’t think. I just fight. Bloodlust has taken me and I feel my teeth tingling.

  They jump at me like men piling on the ball in a football game. My head whirs with the spinning but I don’t stop. I cut through dozens of them a second. The ash of their corpses piles so high around me it’s almost shoulder height. I am relieved; I have not had to touch the Other. I’m dimly aware that my hands are on fire, eating away my skin. But that doesn’t matter. I have been the canvas for a thousand cuts. My skin will grow back.

  Finally, I stop spinning. Only one creation is left. A dire-wolf. It tumbles at me, mouth wide, tongue spitting flame into the air. I duck low, roll aside, and bring my fist down on the back of its head. My fist goes clean through and smacks into the concrete. I grunt as the pain shoots up my arm.

  Then I turn to the Mad Mage. He leans heavily on his side, looking down with trembling lips from his place on the car.

  You tried to come between me and the Woman of Starlight.

  You came here when you scented her and if my ward was not masking her, you would kill her, use her.

  You mean to unleash the power of the Other upon this world. This world filled with innocents who don’t want any part of the pain.

  With each thought, I take a step forward, until I am standing directly beneath him.

  “You—” I punch his ankles. He slides onto the charred concrete with an audible crunch of bone.

  I stand over him. The skin on my fists is starting to grow back. Faster than usual, I realize. I feel inside myself. All-father, you never warned me of this. Lila’s starlight spreads from the car, through the smoke-tinged air, and into my wounds, speeding up the healing. Her power . . . Awe grips me.

  “You truly are a god,” the Mad Mage whispers. “You truly are Tooth.”

  “Yes,” I say. “I am. And you are a man who wanted to kill women and children and innocents for no other reason than you enjoy it.”

  “Please, don’t kill me. Let me serve you. I’ll fight for you. I’ll become your pet. I’ll do anything you ask of me—”

  I crunch my boot into his face. He dies with a gurgle.

  Then I turn to the school.

  Her name is Casey, I think, glad this is almost over. Go in, get her, leave. Get the Woman of Starlight to safety.

  I’m halfway to the entrance when I hear the howls behind me. I press my face against the fabric of the Other. Shimmers. Hellhounds, spurred on by a witch, bound to the school. The Mad Mage must’ve had an Empath Pact with one of the Horde—a blood-pact which allows tracking through the Other. They’re coming straight at me.

  I turn just in time to see the hellhounds lurch into the car park.

  The witch at their rear, sitting on a sleigh made of human bones, pulled by hooks sunk deep into the hellhounds’ flesh, lets out a scream.

  “Tooth!” she screams. “You will pay for this!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Lila

  Tooth’s hands are stripped of their flesh.

  I feel—the Other, that is what you feel, it is the Other, the energy of the universes coalescing to reknit his skin—a disturbance in the starlight and his hands begin to heal, but slowly. I close my eyes and feel his pain, and when I open them the disturbance in the light has passed . . . and his hands heal with more speed. Star-infused speed.

  I watch as he brings his hands to his face, looking at them in disbelief. Then he makes his way to the school entrance.

  Thank God.

  He’s almost at the doors when something both terrifying and ridiculous appears. The woman sits on a sleigh made of interlocking bones, pulled by doglike creatures. They are large with hunched backs, long snouts, but oddly catlike legs and claws. Their fur is thick and ginger. They’d look funny if it wasn’t for their long, curving teeth.

  The woman is around my age and would look like any other person if it were not for the sleigh and the beasts. She has plain brown hair tied back in an everyday ponytail, wearing a shirt tucked into pants and boots.

  “Tooth, you will pay for this!”

  Tooth grips his fists at his sides. Even from where I’m sitting, I can see that his jaw is clenched. I wouldn’t want to be stared at like that by him.

  He takes a step forward. And then a cackle tears through the air. I look to the woman on the sleigh. Her mouth is closed. I look over her shoulder and that’s when I see them. Three women, sprinting faster than any person should be able to sprint. They screech to a halt when they reach the woman on the sleigh.

  Two are just as normal-looking as the first woman, one with shoulder-length blonde hair dressed like a librarian, the other with dark brown hair, short and wide, who wouldn’t look out of place stamping tickets on a train. The third is impossibly old. Her wrinkles turn in upon each other, causing more wrinkles, until the surface of her face is like a folded-up piece of parchment. Her fingers are long and bony; I am drawn to them as she rubs her hands together. Her hair is not grey and thin, like I expect it to be. It’s jet-black and swirls around her in an aura.

  She says something, but I am too far away to hear.

  But I feel. Stark fear. Panic. A sense of loss. All of it made worse by the sudden confide
nce of the women around her, the way they puff up their chests, the laugh which the woman on the sleighs lets out.

  She’s strong, I think. If starlight radiates from me, the essence of a black hole reaches out with deathly fingers from the black-haired woman.

  Tooth, I think. Tooth, be strong. Tooth, remember Casey!

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tooth

  “So,” she says, “we meet again. Sweet Tooth. When will you learn that a man like you is best left out of the nastiness of this world? When will you learn than you only make it worse?”

  Something—not fear, but something closer to fear than anything I’ve felt in a long time—lances through me at the sight of her.

  Her name is Ursa Blackwood and we have fought before. It was the ’twenties and I’d heard tales of a black-haired woman helping gangsters smuggle liquor during Prohibition. She cast charms on the gangsters’ shipments of alcohol, shrinking them down to the size of bottle caps and then expanding them once they were in the States. She was a close friend of Al Capone’s back in the day, a vicious woman capable of extreme evil. I arrived one evening in New York whilst they were unloading a shipment. We fought. And she wounded me. Not a mortal wound. There is no such thing as a mortal wound for me. But enough to force me to run away. And by the time I returned, she was gone. Can’t say I was too disappointed. Ursa is a Dark Mage, one of the rare wizards who can not only feed directly from the Other, but can stay sane, too. Not like the kid I just ended. Ursa’s been drinking from the Other for a long time. Instead of making her madder, it just makes her meaner.