by A. L. Tyler
“There were some phone calls,” she said quietly. She looked from Nick to me. “I didn’t answer them.”
“This was a plot to get your hands on the money and the Vault,” I said. She didn’t need to know that the father she remembered didn’t care if she lived or died in his end game. “Had this plan succeeded, he would have wanted a way to whisper in your ear.”
“Gods,” she whispered. She covered her face with her hands before running them back through her hair. “Gods. And my mother? He killed her, too?”
I had to focus to keep my eyes on her pained face. It was all too tempting to stare at the canned beans on the shelf instead. “No. Skyla, I’m afraid your mother was collateral damage. Cal is here to collect Axel’s head, and also to kill me. The poison that killed your mother was meant for me. It was in the drink that Cal poured me that night, but your mother drank it instead.”
“I always said she drank too much.” Skyla stared at me through tears of rage. She brushed them away with a hand, refusing to let them fall as she forced an angry smile. “But it wasn’t him. Thank the gods...” She blinked, suddenly frowning through her guilt and relief. “I suppose that makes me a terrible person. I mean, he killed two people, but if he had killed her...”
Speechless, I wanted to look away. I couldn’t bring myself to do it, because she knew the real lay of the land now. Her father had done a terrible thing—a thing she might never forgive him for—and she still couldn’t let go.
“You’re not a terrible person,” Nick said. He handcuffed Rogers to part of the wire shelves near the floor. “You’re just a person, and he’s your family. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t hold out hope.”
His eyes landed heavy on me. I went to the door to check my spell work one final time. Closing my eyes, I listened to the layers of music that formed my orchestra of protection. “I’m going to need the gun, Nick.”
“No,” he said without hesitation. “We’re all staying here.”
“He’ll come for me.”
“He won’t. And if he does, then let him come.”
“I’m taking the gun. He’s not getting away.”
Nick finished checking his work on Rogers’ cuffs and straightened up to face me. “Then I’m coming with you.”
Rogers’ shifted his weight, trying to find a way to stay comfortable with both hands cuffed at face-level. “Don’t leave me alone with them—”
“Shut up, Rogers,” I snapped. The man had hexed his fiance before going to bed like nothing was wrong. Beneath his civilized appearance, he was as ugly as any wolf outside our door. “You can’t go out there, Nick. Wolves are tearing this place apart, and they’ve already made a mess of the containments on the dangerous bits. I can navigate this disaster.” I tapped my ear. “You can’t. Someone needs to apprehend the suspect. Someone needs to stay here with the victims. The job comes first.”
I had him there. At least, I thought I did.
“You’re exhausted to the point of incapacity,” Nick said. “Agent Driftwood, I’m afraid I’m going to have to relieve you of duty until you’ve slept. You’re making this personal.”
“You’re choosing to ignore that a criminal wanting a payday is loose at a sensitive location. Gods know what he’s going to take and who he’ll sell it to.”
Nick gave me a long, pitying look. He knew it was personal, and he wasn’t going to budge.
Neither was I, and the look on Skyla’s face said we were on the same page.
I pointed to the door. “That man killed Molly Wolffkyn. She died because he came here to kill me. He’s going to get away if I don’t go out there.”
That was all it took. Skyla grabbed her throat and started choking, eyes bulging, and Amos yelled in shock. Nick jumped into action. I fell back against the pantry doors. The spells stretched and gave to let me out before slamming the door shut and sealing again.
I crouched low behind the kitchen island, grimy fingers resting on the cold, sterile, white tile floor, listening. The pantry doors looked bizarrely normal from the outside. While the music still played in my ears, the gentle swoop of the door handle gave no clue as to the fortress hidden inside.
The natural rhythms of the whole house were off. Spells buzzed like television static as the occasional curse or hex shrieked in the halls. I could hear things breaking, the magic dissolving into showers of cascading chimes.
“Jette!” Nick struggled to keep the door open an inch as he glared through the gap. I knew protocol dictated that he couldn’t leave a suspect alone with victims.
“I’ll be fine,” I mumbled.
He shouldered the door open another six inches as it fought him to close again. “Get back in here! You are a consultant, Driftwood!”
“I’ll be fine.” I wasn’t sure if I was saying it to reassure him or me.
“Jette! Jette!”
He knew he couldn’t leave without the door shutting behind him, and once it closed, we were both stuck in the open. It would be up to Amos or Skyla to open the door for us, and we both knew which side Skyla had chosen with her excellent imitation of Amos’ hex.
I left before Nick could make a plan, listening hard for wherever Cal had hidden himself a spare gun. If I attacked him with magic, it would draw the wolves, and then I was hosed.
The gun would draw wolves, too, but at least a few bullets might bring down an attacker. The first attacker, anyway, and maybe the second. After that, it was time for another plan.
As long as I didn’t do anything to draw attention to myself, I would only be in for some minor scrapes and broken bones. I could heal those—maybe—if I could get back to Nick’s room and find his stash of healing antidotes.
I could do this.
I hoped.
Chapter 25
If I was a killer, where would I look?
I moved down hallways at a deathly slow pace. My heart was hammering in my chest, beating not in rapid terror, but with slow, deliberate, heavy strokes. It was like a sledgehammer inside of me, trying to pound its way out, and the magic that shared the same cage didn’t like it. Contained within the wards of my jacket, it was beginning to make a sound I hadn’t heard before.
Low and growling, like a menacing, grinding, angry creature within me. It knew what I knew: someone had come here to kill us both. Beneath the backdrop of wolves slashing the walls and crashing displays, magic violently unleashed and destroyed, it rumbled within me. It was centuries old, and it had no intention of dying today.
My palms were starting to pulse uncomfortably. A burn was coming, and I had to hold it in. The use of magic upset the wolves.
I slid my feet down the hall, one step at a time, trying not to take notice or act surprised by the lost wolves that were ripping up furniture like chew toys.
A wolf came tearing into the hallway, claws destroying the carpet as he ripped toward me at a run. I flattened myself against one wall, closing my eyes and saying a small prayer as he huffed past...
Then stopped.
The magic in my chest swelled uncomfortably. I clenched my fists in a futile effort to contain it. I opened one eye to peek.
The wolf was sniffing the air, growling in irritation. He turned, sniffing harder and edging toward me.
I clenched my fist harder, trying to reel back in what so desperately wanted to get out. If I let loose now, the wolf would tear into me like I was a bag of potato chips.
BAM!
The wood wainscoting next to my head exploded in a shower of splinters. The wolf and I both turned to see Cal standing thirty feet down the hall, ruined purple carpet beneath his feet and a gun in his hand.
Nick’s right. Sergio hires shit assassins.
Cal took off running as the wolf bounded after him. I ran, and not entirely of my own volition.
I’d been warned before that magic didn’t like killing or dying. This magic—the stuff I’d stolen from the Topaz—didn’t seem to mind killing. Not if it prevented dying, anyway. I’d tasted its driving need for pre
servation before, and I didn’t savor the memory.
It rang in my ears like loud tinnitus, blocking out all other sounds as my fists filled with tremulous balls of fire. I fired one off at Cal and barely had time to see it smack into the wall inches from the back of his head before a wolf slammed into me.
Drool-coated teeth glowered over me as the other wolves circled.
Think, Driftwood! The wolves were eyeing the burning spot on the wall. One had gone over to scratch at it in frustration as a nose poked toward me in confusion.
They think I’m one of them. They don’t know where it came from.
I used every last ounce of my will to reel the magic back in, throwing water on the fire. I had to make myself less interesting than the fireball across the room.
I breathed out slow, crossing my arms tight across my chest to reduce the chances that one was bitten. A few more snarls were directed at me before the wolves descended into chaos, massive feet stopping and jaws snapping as they vied for the charred spot in the hall.
I rolled over to a massive walnut clawfoot display cabinet and inched my way under. The piece of furniture seemed sturdy enough, having already survived some scuffles. From my position under it, I could see where it had been bolted to the wall to prevent tipping.
Cal had run toward the front door. He knew I was out now, so I hoped I didn’t have to worry about him going after the others. The wolves were still snarling at the place where my magic fireball had scorched clear through a wall.
I could use that to my advantage...
My cell phone vibrated in my pocket. The nearest wolf immediately turned toward me, narrowing his eyes.
Too slow! I let it loose—with just enough time to see Marge’s face on the screen—and it slid beneath a couch on the far side of the room. But the wolf had seen me. I scrambled out of my hiding place to run as he got body checked by a bigger wolf running to investigate the couch.
Snarls. Growls. Claws scraped clear through to the floorboards as the carpet ripped away—I didn’t look back. Not even when something—probably the couch—was thrown hard through a wall behind me, making the floor shake beneath my feet. I had to get back to Nick’s room.
Lost wolves played rough, and even with their own, and Cal had to be facing similar threats. Wolf or not, broken arms hurt.
But Cal had a plan, or they wouldn’t be in the house now. I needed a way to heal my injuries. My broken ribs were starting to pain me through my adrenaline high.
I ducked inside a wardrobe with a magic dampening enchantment that housed some Nordic curse shrouds and tried not to touch anything. I peeked out through the opening and waited.
Nothing.
The hall was quiet and still untouched by the wolves. Nick’s room was only fifty feet away. Cal was nowhere in sight.
He has to know. Where the hell else would I go?
My mind raced.
If I was Cal...
I took apart the curses that shared my wardrobe, a thousand years old at least, to quiet my nerves. I clutched the bulky, woven fibers in my hands. If not for Marge’s compulsive need to check in on me while I was trying to escape an insane, hound-releasing hit man, I would have texted Nick to let him know I was okay.
I guess I could understand Marge’s concern this time. That cell phone was probably five pieces inside a wolf’s stomach now.
And I couldn’t hide forever. I took one more peek out the crack in the door.
Cal was out there. I was sure of it, and I didn’t even know how. But Cal was relying on a gun, and I had magic.
Magic trumps a gun any day. As long as one of his magic-stripping bullets doesn’t hit me.
I slid out of the wardrobe, going slowly down the hall as I listened hard for any disturbances. It was all disturbances now.
This mess was going to take three teams of specialists working around the clock a year to fix.
Fieldwork, Driftwood! I pushed the mental paperwork aside, quickening my pace as I approached the door. Nick’s wards were still in place, but I knew something was wrong when I closed the door behind me.
Nothing was wrong. The bed was made. The lights were off.
The wind was in the curtains.
I bit my lip, trying to suppress the urge to light a fireball in preparation. I didn’t want to draw wolves if I didn’t need to, and the fact that Cal hadn’t jumped me yet said he wasn’t there anymore.
Neither was Nick’s collection of elixirs and potions. Shit.
The wards were untouched, the window was open, and that meant that Cal had entered—and exited—via the window.
I rubbed at my ribs, trying to think of the right spell as I unzipped my jacket. Nick used healing spells all the time, and there had to be one for the occasion.
My former job as a breaker meant that I was very adept at altering the existing spells on objects. Laying new spells on myself or another living person? Not so much.
Using my magic wasn’t wise, either, but neither was running for my life while injured.
Selersana. The word came to mind, and the heat came into my hand. I kept my hand next to my ribs, concentrating.
Nothing happened.
I pulled my hand away, pushing at the tender spot again. It wasn’t healed, but it was better. Maybe?
No time. I zipped my jacket and made for the window.
It was raining again. I peered out into the darkness—
BAM!
Fire sprang to my hands and shut out every other sound in the world. I swung out the window and lit up the night sky, luminous with lightning in the fat, hanging clouds, just in time to see Cal retreat across the roof and vault over a nearby balcony railing. Wolves scattered across the lawn, and at the sound of the gun and my use of magic, they’d taken an interest in climbing the side of the house.
The wards were repelling them, but the events of the night had made the wolves hyper. Persistent.
Fuck my life. I scrambled out the window and dropped a story and a half onto the slanted roof below, slipping five feet before I found my balance. I took a running leap for the balcony Cal had retreated to and broke my nose as I slammed into the floor.
I could hear them, scrambling to gain purchase on the gutters around the roof I’d just come from.
There was a storm drain next to the balcony. I climbed it until I could reach a window on the next floor, hoisting myself up on the shutters. I turned and blew the balcony off the house so the wolves wouldn’t follow me.
They were pissed now, seeing what I had and how close I was. Just out of reach.
I rub at my nose and spit blood, head pounding and chest aching as I tried to figure out where Cal had gone. The window was locked, but there was a lattice about four feet away that went up to the next roof.
Jumping distance. I was younger and fitter than Cal, but he appeared to know what he was doing. I got to my feet, staring at the drop and the wolves below.
Is this jumping distance for them?
I made the decision and leaped, grabbing hold of the climbing vines and the sturdy wood trellis behind. Splinters and stray nails bit into my hands, but I hugged my body close to the grille all the same.
Selersana, selersana! Slowly, I climbed.
When I got to the roof, the rain was still falling. I paused for a moment, seeing a thin line of gray beneath the clouds on the horizon.
Dawn was coming.
A noise! I whirled and raised my hands, dread filling my chest because I knew I was too slow. Fire filled up my palms and my feet lost traction.
I slipped.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
It ripped through my palm. The fire went out like a light. I screamed in agony, pulling my hand back to my chest.
Get off the roof! I turned and ran. Cal was reloading.
It was only a through shot. If there wasn’t any shrapnel, I might still be able to conjure, but gods did it hurt.
I need a way off the roof!
I jumped down to the roof of the next floor when I got to the en
d, and I could hear Cal following me, chasing me like the wounded animal I was.
I pitched myself down onto a balcony and hid beneath the eaves, pressing myself against the doors and away from Cal’s view. I stared down at my mangled hand in horror. It looked like I’d put it through a meat grinder. My arm felt like it was on fire.
Blood loss. Broken ribs. Probably a concussion, and no way to escape the wolves even if I could escape Cal. I couldn’t run all the way to the water from here.
If I die now, who would remember me? I tried to push the thought away, but Cal’s boots were grinding on the roof as he walked, and he was standing right above me. He’d won.
I closed my eyes, thinking about the family and friends I might have had I wasn’t consumed by thoughts of revenge for so many years.
I thought about my father, as I often did in my darkest moments, and the day I’d lost him forever.
I’m coming back. This is all a misunderstanding. He never came back.
He was my only family. No mother, no grandparents, no aunts and uncles or cousins. We had neighbors who were kind to us, and I made the occasional friend at school, but the rule of the Bleak was that humans could never know about the magic community. People suspected of breaking the rule disappeared, so humans stayed at a safe distance. You didn’t give them your phone number. You didn’t invite them home for dinner.
You didn’t entertain more than a functional working relationship: what was required to get by in life without drawing attention to yourself.
So it was just the old man and me most of the time. He brought home friends from work occasionally, laughing over some in-joke as he shuffled off his shoes and tossed his sweater over the back of the couch by the entryway. We always had pizza when there was company because neither of us could cook. The rest of the time we ate our dinners from cans or boxes, surrounded by walls and walls of books illuminated by the glow of the evening news on the television.
The Bleak took our house and left me—a fifteen-year-old-child—standing on the porch when they claimed it. I left all of our money, and memories, and comforts inside that house. Our family pictures. Everything that was us, and me.
