Asylum (Causal Enchantment #2)(60)

They’re called Ambulans Mortem. Walking Death.

“Why are they called . . . that?” I faltered, watching as the four women assisting Julian’s nursemaid joined hands around them and began chanting.

Their touch is instant death to all—humans, vampires, werebeasts. Anyone except their own tribe. And they have no qualms about using it. The death tribe hates our kind—hates all kinds, except their own.

“Just a single touch?” I repeated slowly, uncomprehending.

Contact with their skin. Yes.

My eyes widened. “Where did they come from?”

Sofie made them. Accidentally. She was supposed to kill them years ago, but decided not to. I think they fascinated her. She kept them hidden from Viggo, of course, who would have sent a nuke here if he had known she was crazy enough to keep them alive.

“How on Earth does someone ‘accidentally’ create something like that?” I wondered aloud.

It’s that Fates magic. I don’t know . . . Sofie can explain it to you one day.

Another, more concerning thought popped into my head. “Why on earth would Leo send us to these people?”

Because Sofie told him to, if the need ever arose. Of course she expected that it would involve Viggo finding you . . . It’s probably the safest place for you to be right now. No vampire or sorceress in their right mind will enter these lands. Sorcerous magic doesn’t work around them. They’re like a black hole for the powers of vampires and witches. An anti-magic. They have their own kind of magic.

“But . . . ” I was struggling with all of this. “How did she know they wouldn’t kill me?”

Well . . . she didn’t, for sure. She created them, so they show some deference to her. But it only goes so far. Several years ago, she approached them with an offer in exchange for help, if this day should ever arise. That pendant was the signal. Max chuckled. That woman has more escape routes than an eel.

“And of course you knew this all along,” I said through gritted teeth.

There was no need to scare you. I never thought we’d end up here.

I angrily shook my head, but now was not the time to scold Max over his continuing duplicity. I needed information. “What did she offer them?” I whispered.

Tigers.

I screwed my face up. “What?”

Tigers. You know: rawr.

“But . . . ” Thinking about the headdress that drummer wore, I didn’t finish.

For some reason, tigers are immune to their touch. They think the giant fur balls are gifts from their fire god, so they surround themselves with tigers.

My eyes roamed the clearing, looking for the presence of these animals. “I don’t see any.”

Oh, they’re there. Look harder.Behind the huts.

I followed his direction, squinting into the shadows. There. A pair of glowing feline eyes. A few feet away, I saw another set. And another. Just beyond the huts, a ring of tigers surrounded us, watching. A shiver ran down my spine.

A male scream whipped my head from the tigers to Julian, now conscious, his teeth bared as he struggled to break free from the constraints around his wrists and ankles as the gloved woman inserted several bone-colored needles into his wound. The tribesmen holding Julian leaned in with their weight on the long poles, tightening their grip, securing Julian’s limbs before he accidentally grazed a bare leg. Now unable to move, he seethed, face contorted with pain as he watched the woman accept a steaming bowl of something. Leaning forward, she poured the hot clear liquid over his wound. Julian roared in agony.

“No!” I cried out, making to move forward. A spear jabbed the air dangerously close to my chest, stopping me.

My cry caught the attention of Featherman, who towered over the operation with his arms crossed over his chest. At a casual wave of his hand, four tribesmen turned and marched toward us, spears leveled. They prodded us, herding Max and me away from the scene. Farther and farther back we went, until we were forced through the narrow entrance of a tiny hut. A cloth door dropped, closing us in. Crouching, I peeked under the bottom of the door, and spotted heels. The tribesmen were on guard. I rose and turned to survey the hut, which held nothing but a wooden bowl and a reed mat in the corner, illuminated by the firelight shining through a tiny window near the ceiling.

I ran to the window. First on tiptoes, then jumping, I tried to reach the bottom sill so I could pull myself up and see outside. It was too high. “Max. Come here,” I hissed. In three steps, he was beside me. “Stand right here.” I pushed him up against the wall. “And stay still.” Throwing my arms over his neck, I hoisted myself up onto his back.

So this is what a horse feels like, he grumbled.

“Shut up, Max!” I retorted. “You owe me, after all of your lies!” I kicked off my winter boots. With my hands pressed against the cool, hard mud wall of the hut for balance, I stood on Max’s back and peered out the window.

I had a prime view of the bonfire and Julian, who lay unmoving, eyes closed, his face now pallid. They had stripped off the rest of his clothing and covered his entire body in what looked like soggy green leaves. The four women still encircled him, their hands linked, their eyes closed, their mouths moving in unison as they chanted softly.

“Is he going to be okay?” I whispered to Max.

I don’t know, Evangeline. I’m sorry. By his tone, I knew the big dog was being genuine.