by Tara Lain
“Dash, you need to take me.”
Dash turned and met Khadija’s steady, somber gaze. Okay, maybe that made sense. The Dusans were more powerful than he even understood. He started to nod when a soft, small voice said, “No, my sister. He should take me.”
Khadija turned, stared at the awesomely beautiful face of Fatima, and bowed her head. “As you say. Dash will take Fatima.”
Dash mentally shrugged. They must know what they were doing. “We’ve got to go now.”
Fatima nodded and held up a finger. She ran out the door, and he heard her steps in the hall. Two minutes later, she hurried back in wearing a black hoodie that disguised her headscarf. “BeBop, may I have your trousers?”
“What?” He was shaking his head and coming out of his teleportation stupor.
Carla said, “Give her your pants, BeBop.” They hauled him into the bedroom and a couple more minutes after, Fatima emerged wearing BeBop’s clothes plus the hoodie. “Now I am ready. Please act toward me as if I am BeBop.”
“Okay. Wish us luck.” He gathered little Fatima against his chest, held her tightly, and pushed all the desperation he felt about saving Jazz into his heart and limbs. He pictured every shiny, shaggy hair and beautiful eyelash of that face he loved. “Take me to Jazz.”
Even if Lysandra hadn’t warned him, he’d have known that this teleportation was “aided.” No Mixmaster here. He and his passenger sailed through space on a magic carpet, straight to Nardo’s arms.
Chapter Thirty-Four
HE EVEN landed standing up. Releasing Fatima, he spied Nardo and fired a blast of power. Hell, no use not trying.
It bounced off a power shield and dissipated to nothing. Behind the shield, Nardo smiled, sitting on the edge of a daybed on which Jazz lay, hands tied and mouth gagged.
Dash’s heart slammed, but he set his jaw and watched Nardo. From the corner of his eye, he could see Fatima, curled in a ball, propped against the wall.
Nardo said, “I didn’t know if you’d be stupid enough to accept my invitation.”
Dash shrugged.
“But why did you bring the boy?”
“I couldn’t leave him. He was too weak.”
“Umm, yes. They had little sympathy for his wild story about appearing doors and rescue attempts for moi.” He passed a hand in front of his chest with a graceful gesture.
Dash looked around the place they’d landed. It was large and looked like a warehouse. More of Nardo’s waterfront property in New York, probably. Dash said, “So why am I here, and why are you holding Jazz? You’ve escaped and have a snootload of rabid fans and followers. There’s nothing we can do to you.”
“Ah, but it’s not what you can do to me, but rather what you can both do for me I care about. I knew, unlike your biggest admirer, Eustace Hillebrand, that you could not have been persuaded by him to break me out of jail. On the other hand, I believe I can make you and Jazz a proverbial offer you can’t refuse.”
“I doubt you’re doing much in terms of persuading him with your zip ties and that gag.”
Nardo looked at Jazz, and a tiny flicker of some kind of concern passed over his face. “Well, he’s a rather uniquely powerful boy. I didn’t want to have to cope with him behind me as I was waiting for you to appear. But I agree. I can control you both if I can see you.” He leaned forward and pulled the gag off Jazz, then extracted a small sharp knife from his pocket and sliced through the zip ties.
Dash released a breath as he saw Jazz rubbing his wrists. His golden eyes met Dash’s, flooded with all kinds of emotions—anger, frustration, sorrow, and the good one, love.
Nardo waved toward Dash. “Pull up a chair.”
Dash grabbed a straight-backed chair that stood against the wall. He glanced down at Fatima, but she stayed where she was, her head bowed. She was powerless while Nardo’s shield was up.
Nardo leaned back against the wall, looking very relaxed and cool. Somehow, in the few moments he’d had between his arrival at this place and Dash’s following him, he’d changed from the gray jumpsuit he’d worn in the prison to black jeans and a white sweater. It was hard to tell how old the mage was. In human terms he appeared maybe forty, but it was hard to say with wizards. He could be much older. And of course he was part werewolf, which gave him even greater longevity.
Appearing right at home, in his element as a master teacher, Nardo said, “Now boys, the ascendency of magery is inevitable.” He held up a hand as Jazz started to speak. “Yes, there are more humans, but there are more poor humans than rich, too, and we know who runs the world currently. Once the rich humans realize that magery is beyond their power, they’ll ally with us, and we’ll take our rightful place at the apex of the world order.”
Jazz frowned. “What does that look like for the rest of the world?”
“They’ll barely notice. Most humans are so oppressed, they might even welcome a more intelligent, enlightened leadership.” He waved a hand toward Jazz. “You already know, Jasper. When confronted with the reality of supernatural beings, your adopted human relatives accepted and embraced you and your werewolf brethren.”
“As equals! Not as some kind of ruling class. For the gods’ sake, my human grandfather is the alpha of our pack. He guides us all.”
A stormy expression passed across Nardo’s face like clouds over the sun. “He’s not your grandfather. He’s an adopted human surrogate. And he’s alpha in name only through your indulgence. Any of you could decimate him in a single blow.” He smiled indulgently. “I’m sure our relationships with rich humans will be the same, giving the impression of autonomy.”
Dash shifted in his seat. Enough of this crap. I need an opening.
Nardo glanced at him. “So to my offer. I propose to make both of you leaders of the young mage coalition. You’ll nurture and develop power in the next generation while making sure that their revolutionary spirit remains channeled in the, uh, appropriate directions. This will, of course, give you both great authority and autonomy, to say nothing of power and wealth. I understand that neither of you are motivated by money, but then you’ve never had to be. These positions will assure you never have to worry.”
Nardo looked over at Dash. “You, Dashiell, will head up the education program for imparting skillsets to our younger mages. Professor Hillebrand will continue as your mentor, although he recognizes, as do I, that your capabilities far exceed his own already. You, Jazz, will work directly with me as my protégé, since our natures are so uniquely matched.”
Dash’s heart thumped at the expression on Nardo’s face when he said that last bit to Jazz. He looked anxious and even a little shy.
Nardo spread his hands. “So what do you think?”
The thunderstorm on Jazz’s face seemed ready to break and rain all over everybody. Dash shot him a quick frown and a headshake. It was tough for his werewolf to lie, even in his own best interest, but this time he had to make an exception.
Jazz swallowed visibly, as if all his harsh words went down his throat.
Dash rushed in. “Obviously, Jazz is going to have a lot more sensitivity to the treatment of humans than I.”
Nardo reached out and patted Jazz’s knee. If Nardo weren’t so eager to please, he’d likely have noticed that his hand was in danger of being eaten by a werewolf. Nardo said, “That’s why you’re such a perfect mentee. You can keep my impatience with human idiocy under control.”
Okay, time to get on with it. Dash didn’t have a lot of cards to play, but time to lay some on the table. Dash took a breath, jumped up, and knelt beside Fatima. “What? BeBop are you okay?”
Behind him, Jazz yelled. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Fatima, smart Dusan that she was, totally caught on to Dash’s drama and moaned. Dash bent over her, blocking most of the view of her with his body. “Where does it hurt, BeBop? Are you having trouble breathing?”
Fatima provided an accompanying wheeze.
Jazz yelled, “Let me out of here, dammit! BeBop. B
eBop!”
There was a faint sound, like a soft hiss, and Jazz landed on the floor beside Dash, bent over the so-called BeBop. Dash put a quick hand on Jazz’s knee to stop any reaction when he realized it was Fatima. His eyes widened, but Jazz said, “Hey, buddy, what did they do to you?” His voice became a wail. “BeBop!”
Footsteps behind them raised Dash’s hackles. He tightened one hand on Fatima and one on Jazz. Get ready.
Nardo bent down over their backs in a scenario that couldn’t have been more perfect if they wrote the script. “For the gods’ sake, what’s all the yelling? Let me see.”
Nardo leaned forward between Dash and Jazz, staring at the hoodie over Fatima’s bent head.
Dash breathed deeply and closed his eyes, squeezing Jazz’s hand tightly in hopes he’d do the same.
“Ah, ohhhh!” There was a thrashing around them, and what must be Nardo’s body flailed backward. “No. N—”
Silence.
Dash was scared to hope, scared to breathe, and definitely scared to open his eyes…
…until he heard the soft maniacal laugh.
“Oh very nice. Very nice indeed. Wouldn’t it be lovely if I could have harnessed all that creativity for myself.”
Slowly Dash opened his eyes and stared at Fatima who was crumpled in a heap. “Fatima!” He felt for the pulse in her neck. Still beating strong.
Nardo sneered, “She’s alive, more’s the pity, but they’re powerful those Dusans. Good thing I didn’t trust you fully, or I wouldn’t have pulled back in time.”
Dash turned.
Nardo stood, one arm wrapped around Jazz’s throat. The other hand hung at his side, the fingertips crackling with blue fire. He waved a hand and a wall of force like a suspended liquid rose around Dash and Fatima. Nardo said, “Let me constrain my little protégé here, and then I’ll deal with you two.” Hauling Jazz, he left the room.
Dash knelt again by Fatima. She was breathing fine. Her hoodie had been pulled far over her face and Dash left it that way in case her headscarf had come undone. He might not know what was under that headscarf, but he did know he couldn’t look and come out alive.
He rose and approached the force field. Carefully, he touched it with a finger. It dented in like soft plastic but didn’t give way. He focused power in his finger and sent out a narrow blast straight at the force field. It sizzled on contact and then spread out in a sheet of zapping lightning that made Dash jump back and cower against the wall.
Well damn. Right behind his frustration came a stab of desire to learn how to set that force field and the horrible realization that all that was gone. Power in Nardo’s world would always be centered in the “appropriate” hands—and Dash wouldn’t even be alive. Too much of a threat. Too dangerous.
But maybe, just maybe, Nardo would let Jazz live. He seemed to uniquely covet Jazz, possibly because Jazz was the only other werewolf mage anyone knew about. So Jazz might make it, but Fatima? Other supernaturals? What would Nardo do with them?
Up till that moment, stopping Nardo had been a scary challenge. Now the horror and hopelessness poured across his brain like poison oil and—wait. Everything in him stilled as his hand slid into his jeans pocket and closed around the tiny glass vial Kitty had given him.
What can I possibly do…?
Nardo strode back into the room, minus Jazz. He was chuckling. “That kid’s madder than—what is it the human’s say?—a wet hen. He’s got spirit, that’s for sure.” He grinned as he approached the bubble. The bubble of power that kept Dash from attacking Nardo, but also kept Nardo from attacking Dash. “So, what shall I do with you, Mercury?”
Play this by ear. He dropped to a crouch, shoulders sagging, head hanging. “Are you going to let me be with Jazz?”
“No, of course not. Even if you hadn’t tried to kill me, I would have kept you two apart. Together, you get into too much trouble. Besides, Jasper’s destined for great things.” He glanced at an old industrial clock on the wall. “Hillebrand and the others should be here.” He paused, then said, “Soon.” Still he frowned.
A little leap of hope sparked in Dash’s chest. Maybe Lysandra had managed to intercept them at Arcantaria? She couldn’t defeat Nardo in direct combat, but she’d match up fine with Hillebrand. Maybe Warden too. Gods, he wanted to believe that a force of Nardo-loving assholes wasn’t going to show up here any minute.
He kept hanging his head.
Nardo said, “What? Did getting defeated break your spirit, little mage? If you’re that fragile, I don’t know what Jasper ever saw in you.”
Is there a chance? Dash looked up slowly. “You don’t get it, do you? Jazz and I are in love. If we never get to be together for the rest of our lives, what’s the fucking point of living?” With great ceremony, he pulled the vial out of his pocket and held it up.
Nardo squinted at him. “What’s that? You don’t think you can use it on me, do you?”
Dash looked at him. “No. I think I can use it on me.” He raised the vial and emptied it into his mouth.
Nardo screamed, “No! No. If you die, he’ll never forgive me. He’ll never love me!”
Dash’s mind flared white as the barrier sizzled and Nardo grabbed his shoulders, leaning in close. “What did you take? Tell me. What?”
As his lips and teeth parted, Dash spat the potion into Nardo’s open mouth.
“What? No!”
Dash spat the rest and hoped to hell it was the last.
“No!” Nardo raised his hands to fire power, and Dash blocked him with a wall of energy; a wall so deep and dense it seemed to suck every particle of his force. The wall, shining red and blue and gold, hit Nardo, slammed him to the ground, and held him in place as the nerve agent did its blessedly fast work and Nardo passed out comatose on the floor of the warehouse.
Well, I’ll be damned.
He tried to run toward the door where Nardo had taken Jazz but stumbled and hit the settee. One knee collapsed, then the other, and what was left of Dash’s conscious mind sent up a prayer to the goddess that Nardo stayed unconscious longer than Dash.
“ARE YOU sure he’ll wake up? Oh Gods, are you sure?”
The sound of Jazz’s frantic voice pulled at Dash’s heart and then his brain. Like he was swimming up from deep, deep water, he let his awareness rise and pop into consciousness as his eyelids flickered open.
“Dash!”
Suddenly he was caught in a warm, wriggling wrapper of werewolf mage as Jazz hugged and kissed alternately between words. “Oh—” Kiss. “—gods.” Kiss. “You’re—” Kiss. “—awake!” Kiss.
Dash grabbed him around the shoulders, held him still as Jazz let him, and kissed him properly. Or as properly as he felt he should try in front of Fatima. Then he scooted to sitting and looked around.
They were still in the warehouse, just the three of them. No, make that four since Nardo lay motionless on the ground.
Dash tensed. “So he didn’t wake up?”
Fatima smiled. “No, he did wake up.”
“What?”
“Whatever you gave him made him react very slowly.” She glanced down demurely. Her headscarf was tightly in place, and the hoodie pooled around her shoulders.
Dash cocked his head. “React, as in close his eyes?”
“Yes.”
Dash stared at the unmoving Nardo. “So he’s—”
“I can bring him back if everyone wishes. He may have some missing memories.”
“Well, damn.” Dash reached out and wrapped his arms around the two of them as they heard a door opening in the distance.
They all froze. Dash and Jazz jumped to their feet, both in battle posture. Fatima rose more slowly beside them, their little secret weapon he was damned glad to have.
Suddenly, a magic-amplified voice called out, “Nardo, you’re surrounded. Your coconspirators have already been apprehended. Release your prisoners and give yourself up.”
Dash looked at Jazz, then at Fatima. All the fear, anger, subterfuge,
and stress of the weeks that had gone before exploded out of his chest, and he laughed. Jazz stared at him openmouthed and then joined in. Finally, Fatima added her soprano, and they were howling with laughter and hugging each other as Lysandra ran into the room moments later with Carla, Khadija, and BeBop close behind.
Carla stopped and planted her fists on her hips. “Okay, what the hell is going on?”
Jazz gurgled, gasped, and managed to say, “Dash—” He laughed again. “D-Dash just graduated from Ar-Arcantaria!”
Chapter Thirty-Five
“WHO WANTS more pizza?” Carla and BeBop circulated among the bodies spread across all their limited furniture plus the floor as they distributed slices of margarita or all-meat pizza. The kitten, still without an official name, purposely followed every slice of the meat pie as it made its rounds, getting nibbles in the process.
The living room of Jazz and Carla’s apartment was straining under the load of the six superordinary friends, almost all of Jazz’s werewolf pack, including his human mom and grandfather, Lysandra, and Kitty, the one amazing friend from Arcantaria whose help had made all the difference. Pop-Pop had supplied the six extralarge pizzas since werewolves eat a lot and Jazz, Carla, and BeBop were once again starving college students. Well, at least they were college students, while Fatima and Khadija had returned to their mysterious work.
Lysandra was saying, “Thank you, Fatima, for restoring Nardo to sentience. This will allow him to stand trial and eliminate any discussion about a master mage being killed by another supernatural being.”
Dash snorted. “First off, no one is to mention Fatima or the existence of the Dusans to the council. That’s our agreement, correct?”
Lysandra nodded. “Beyond that, I’ll be happy to supply a boatload of details about what that so-called master mage had in mind for other supes and humans had he been allowed to go free.”
“I’m sure you’ll get that chance.”
“I’ll also supply a perfectly reasonable explanation for how he was defeated, thanks to Kitty.” He grinned at her blond perkiness sitting on the floor across from him.
