Priceless

everything in between, there was only one thing they all had in common besides their equine bodies.
    The gleaming golden horn jutting from the middle of their foreheads.

~19~
    “Y up,” I said. “You’re seeing things all right.”
    The herd of unicorns split into formations, four to be exact, surrounding the Harpies, who wailed and screeched, obviously pissed off at being tricked into crossing over the boundary line. I knew though they wouldn’t back down. A Harpy rarely backed away from a fight, especially when it came to their mortal enemies.
    It was a bit like watching a show, the kind you go to the local fair to see, where riders take their horses through complex patterns, barely missing each other as they gallop past one another. This was in some ways no different, only it was unicorns and no riders. The Tamoskin herd swirled and dove, moving like water, smooth and effortless as they engaged the Harpies.
    I glanced over at O’Shea, who sat transfixed by the sight. Even I was hard pressed to tear my gaze away from the awesome scene in front of us. It wasn’t every day you saw a childhood story come to life in front of you, that you saw legends held power in them still.
    “Never in my life . . . .” His voice awed to a bare whisper.
    Alex leaned forward and put his head on my shoulder. “Beautiful.”
    It was that; even though the sight was a deadly game the two species played, it was no doubt one of the most amazing, beautiful things I’d ever seen. A tightening started in my chest, a pang I’d pushed away for so long. It wasn’t for O’Shea I’d done this.
    It was for me.
    The dark side of the supernatural saturated me, was all I saw anymore. Most days I didn’t pause, I just assumed everything around me was dark and ugly. Like losing Milly, like Giselle losing her mind, like me losing Berget.
    But this was the bright side, literally, of the supernatural. I found myself standing outside of my Jeep, the pang in my chest thrumming as I walked toward the battle. One of the Harpies was down, her body pin-cushioned by horns, her chest rising in shallow breaths.
    A hand grabbed me from behind. “Get in the Jeep,” O’Shea said, biting off each word with a tug on me.
    I looked at him, giving him the full force of my eyes, knowing the three colours would shift and swirl with the emotions rising in me. “No.”
    There was no way I could explain what it was I needed, or why in this moment I chose to find something bright to cling to, only that I had to. Something about this case, something about dealing with O’Shea was, in a sense, forcing my hand. If I was being honest with myself, it was the guilt this case brought up, the ugliness from my past. I needed to know there was more than the blasted ugliness in this world where I lived.
    A need for the bright, for the brilliant and pure side of the supernatural, called to me, and I heeded that cry.
    My feet carried me to the edge of the battle, where the remaining Harpy screeched well above the unicorns, her voice echoing out across the badlands.
    “Tracker, you will die for this. I will gorge on your heart.” The words weren’t all that unexpected, and it wasn’t the first time I’d been threatened.
    I nodded. “I hear you.” Even as she threatened me, I could show the respect due. I was a mere Tracker, a human that had somewhere in her family history gained some funky abilities. But Harpies were legendary, creatures that had been around far longer than humans.
    She peeled away from the herd, swirling back into her own territory. It was going to be difficult to get past her. No doubt, she would sit on the mineshaft waiting for us to come back.
    The herd, or Crush as they were known, if you want to get specific, turned their attention on me. Eyes of all colours, from pale grey to black, the traditional violet to bright blue and green eyed me with open curiosity.
    But it was the lead Stallion who stepped out of the Crush toward me, jet-black body gleaming in the sun, sparkling with iridescent rainbows across the black satin of his coat.
    Child, you are broken.
    His words sliced through my mind, as if his horn had pierced me clean through. O’Shea gasped, and I had no doubt he’d heard the same words.
    Tears slipped from my eyes. “Yes.” I lowered my face.
    The tip of his golden horn lifted my chin up, my eyes meeting his. A wave of warmth washed over me, empathy, pity and faith flowed from him to me. He manipulated my ability to sense