The Last Dance: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (Scions of Magic Book 8)

by TR Cameron

  “I guess you’re right. Well, I suppose a good night’s sleep is the best thing we can do at this moment.”

  “Unless you might want some hot chocolate.” He chuckled.

  “You mean unless I want to give you marshmallows,” she countered.

  “I’ve heard they’re good pre-battle food.”

  She laughed. “From who?”

  The Draksa affected a haughty tone. “Reputable sources.”

  “Which reputable sources.”

  “Jenkins.”

  Cali shook her head. “Is this true, Jenkins?”

  The disembodied majordomo’s prim voice replied, “I cannot tell a lie. It is true, in fact.”

  They all laughed together and she raised her hands. “Okay, then. I bow to the collective wisdom of the room. Let’s have some hot chocolate and marshmallows. We’ll follow that classic advice—‘Have sugar tonight, for tomorrow we may die.’”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Cali woke late and padded to the kitchen at lunchtime. Everyone else was already awake and seated at the big table. “Finally,” Emalia said, “and just in time. Open a portal to the tavern.”

  Many appropriate replies flicked through her mind—most of them involving faux outrage at the continued lack of respect for her noble status—but she complied. Zeb looked impatient as he stepped through carrying a stack of pizza boxes with the name of her favorite slice restaurant in New Orleans. He deposited them in front of the others and took a seat. She let the portal close and joined him. Fyre nuzzled her foot from his hidden position underneath the table, and she patted him with her toes.

  She tried to talk, yawned instead, and tried again. “Carb loading. I like it.” Laughter and discussion ensued, and they spent an hour and a half having their version of the celebration from the night before. Thereafter, they relocated to one of the dens for more important conversation and outlined tactical situations they might face that evening. She and Fyre shared a couch and the others pulled up comfortable stuffed chairs to make a circle.

  Tanyith related his activities alongside Ozahl, Usha, and Danna, which had resulted in a reduction of both the available Malniets and the potential hires for Styrris. He promised more detail on how that had all come about at another time.

  “So, the others plan to swoop in and take over Malniet when they’re defeated, is that it?” Zeb summarized.

  The man nodded. “Or Leblanc. They didn’t hide that. But they also think we’re more worth saving, apparently.”

  Emalia shook her head. “Or they’ll move on both. We’ll have to stay on guard after this is over for however long it takes things to normalize.”

  The ex-convict smiled. “Definitely. As a backup, I might have noticed where they’ve sent all the Malniets who choose to live. So, if they do decide we look tasty, we can retrieve them to cause trouble. Assuming they did exile them and not kill them once they got there, of course.”

  “Where is there?” Cali asked.

  He chuckled. “Out of all the potential places where they could have stashed them, they chose an old Zatora warehouse I did recon on once. I noticed the view out the window, which shows the tip of the casino building in the distance. I think Ozahl must have used it for his purposes when he was with the organization. Nothing of note registered when I investigated it before.”

  Zeb folded his arms and looked satisfied. “That’s a good backup plan. If you tell me where it is, I can get the magical council to put some eyes on it.”

  “Will do,” Tanyith confirmed.

  Emalia asked, “So, once you win tonight, what then?”

  Cali stretched, patted Fyre’s scales, and drew a sigh from the power-napping Draksa. “My main focus has to be saving Atreo. When we win, we come back here, activate all the wards to ensure we won’t be disturbed, and take care of that.”

  Her great-aunt shook her head. “No. You’ll need to rest first and eat, and wait for all the stuff that comes with the battle you’re about to fight to fade. Your brother has waited for years. He can endure a little longer so you can do it right.”

  She frowned but had to acknowledge the truth of the other woman’s words. “I hear you. We’ll do it your way. Do we have guards?”

  Emalia grinned. “We have purchased mercenaries and both Terriau and Jehenel are sending some of their best on loan for as long as we need them. Barring all-out war among the houses, we should be as well protected as we can be.”

  Invel, who had been mostly silent throughout the afternoon, added, “I’ll assess the state of the wards and add power to those that can take it.”

  “I’ll help with that,” Zeb told him. “And I’ll stay here until tomorrow at least. I’ll only need a portal before you all go so I can get Valerie and close the Dragons.” His tone was mild but she was sure he regretted not being part of the battle to come. He’d offered but she’d felt she owed it to Tanyith, who had been at her side all along, to be the one to accompany her. She’d given him an out but he had met her expectations by refusing to take it.

  Cali stood and rolled her neck with a loud crack. “Okay. Let’s do the portal and then I’ll get dressed. We leave for the big event in an hour.”

  Emalia slipped into her dressing room before she had a chance to start changing. Her great-aunt pointed Cali to a chair, pushed the clothes off a small table, and dragged another seat across from her. She sat, pulled her tarot deck out, and unwrapped the heavy cloth that protected them. “Let’s see if the cards have anything to tell us.”

  She shrugged. “They knew about the Empress so could be useful.”

  The older woman nodded and shuffled. “We’ll choose three. I’ll move through the deck one by one and you tell me when to pull a card. The first is your past, the second your present, the third your future. Think about the battle to come.”

  Cali closed her eyes and let her magic slip free of its bounds to assist with her selection. The sound of the other woman working through the deck became her only sensation. When she felt a twitch from her power, she said, “That one.” They repeated the process twice more before she opened her eyes.

  Emalia wrapped the unused cards and set the bundle aside. On the table between them, face down, were three cards. “Ready?” she asked.

  “Let’s do it.”

  The first card to be revealed was a naked woman with a wand in either hand. It was upside down. Emalia’s voice, deeper than usual, intoned, “The World, inverted. Lack of closure or something left incomplete.”

  She nodded and whispered, “Atreo.”

  Without reply, her aunt flipped the next card. It showed the same woman, her hands locked on the jaws of a lion. Strength. “Your present is about strength, both inner and outer. But remember that the card also refers to compassion, which is in itself a mighty force.”

  Cali didn’t reply. She’d done all she could to build her strength in all the ways she knew how. It would either be sufficient, or it wouldn’t, and nothing would change it now. But she would keep compassion in mind as much as she could under the circumstances.

  The older woman placed her palm over the last card. “This, then, is your future.” She turned it to display the High Priestess and chuckled. “Intuition and inner voice—it suits you well. Also often seen as a challenger to the Empress.” She opened her eyes. “Trust your feelings, Luke.”

  The girl groaned. “Really? Star Wars quotes now before the biggest fight of my life?”

  She grinned. “It was the biggest fight of his, too.”

  “I love you. Now, go away, crazy woman.”

  Emalia picked her cards up, her smile still in place. “Seriously, though. Trust yourself. You’ve got this.”

  Cali nodded and made a shooing motion with her hands, and as the door closed behind her great-aunt, she whispered, “Yeah. I got this. Sure.” With a deep breath and matching exhale to push her worries away for a while, she rose and crossed to where her gear awaited her on the dresser.

  First on were her uniform pants, solid and
black. A tear from a previous fight had been hand-stitched by Invel, who had proven to possess a wealth of unexpected talents. They had pockets in the usual places, plus thigh pouches with Velcro flaps.

  Next came her socks and boots. The footwear was heavy, reinforced for kicking or blocking. They climbed to mid-calf and buckled instead of lacing. She’d often thought they were as fashionable as they were effective. When she’d made the mistake of sharing that opinion with others, a torrent of abuse about her inability to judge good fashion had resulted. It hadn’t changed her mind, though.

  She’d decided to wear the khaki t-shirt Cara and Diana had provided. Something about it gave her confidence, and she could use every ounce of that particular resource she could get. Next was the good luck charm Sensei Ikehara had given her. The thought of her teacher made her smile. He’d been overly generous to her from day one, and she was glad to wear his token into battle. She hoped to return it with its string of successful uses unbroken. Carefully, she pulled her hair out of the way of the chain and tucked the pendant under her shirt.

  Her heavy uniform top came next. She buttoned it slowly from the bottom and secured the collar at her throat. A pin with the compass logo of her house went over the top button, and the symbol appeared on both arms and over her heart as well. The wide belt with the toys Kayleigh had provided wrapped at her hips, and she attached her daggers at each side.

  Cali took each of the metal flasks that contained her potions and checked to ensure they were properly sealed. Healing and energy went into each thigh pocket, and she nestled an extra healing potion behind the prototype disc Kayleigh had given her and the glass orb Invel had provided in her belt pouch.

  Her consciousness narrowed as she donned each item, bringing the battle ahead into clearer focus. She drew the vest over her head and strapped the sides tightly against her ribs. Satisfied with her progress thus far, she opened the top drawer of the dresser and retrieved the magic deflector crystals the agents had given her. The slots were perfectly sized for them and she snapped them into place one after the other. She put the safety fabric over them again when they were all secured.

  Next, she looped the strap that held Defender’s sheath over her head and a shoulder. She yanked it tight and checked the draw of all her weapons—sword, daggers, and throwing knives. Touching each of the grenades in turn, she reminded herself of their locations—incendiary, flashbang, gas, and smoke. Finally, she set the charm necklace on top of everything with her last shield and light charms hanging from it.

  She turned for the first time to the full-length mirror that stood in the corner. A woman with crazy hair looked out. With a sigh, she found the elastics she’d forgotten to use and pulled her curls back to tame them into a tight ponytail. When she looked in the mirror again, a warrior stared at her—one who would defeat one of the other Atlantean noble houses. And, she told herself, one who would free her brother. The warrior wouldn’t stop until she accomplished these things, no matter what. She nodded at her reflection. Game time.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The slow walk through the city reminded her of the journey to the first battle with the Malniets only this time, her skin crawled like she had a target on her back that any number of people might be aiming for. Her only real defense was that any attack by the rival family at this point would be very visible and thus difficult to deny. Which won’t matter much to me if I’m dead.

  Fortunately, Fyre walked at her side. The Draksa continued a running commentary in her mind and pointed out potential assault vectors she might have missed while he generally maintained a watchful eye on their surroundings. It was useful both practically and emotionally. Keeping her head straight was more challenging than she’d expected. Probably because I’m fighting for Atreo’s survival too, not only mine. The sense that her parents watched from somewhere added another stone to the rickety support of her emotional state.

  She walked on the right, Fyre in the middle, and Tanyith on the left. He had dressed almost identically to her, save for the vest and the new belt. Emalia had provided him with a compass pin for his neck and even fashioned one as a necklace for the Draksa. The streets were more crowded than usual, and people stared at them as they passed. Some radiated support, some hatred, and many of the rest a simple bloodlust. A trailing line formed behind them as this fight would be a public show by decree of the Empress, who had also selected the venue—the Championship Arena.

  The perfectly round structure was made up of a combat field at ground level with rising tiers of seating encircling it. Entrance passages existed at the four cardinal points. Cali and her allies would enter from the West. Styrris was required to be part of the Malniet procession, even though he wouldn’t join the fight, and would enter from the East. The Empress herself was unlikely to attend, but a representative would probably be present to witness the conflict.

  The arena came into view as they walked the ring road around the palace. It still lay at a distance, positioned along the next outermost circle that separated the noble houses from the rest. The same white stone that made up the Empress’s seat of power had been used in the arena’s construction. It appeared to glow in the diminishing light, and the illumination that filled the combat field spilled upward from the inside. She spoke only loud enough for Tanyith and Fyre to hear, although lip-readers or magical eavesdroppers could doubtless be found among the thickening crowd on the sidewalks.

  “So, there it is. I’m starting to think this one battle to end it was a bad idea.”

  Tanyith laughed softly. “All your ideas are bad and yet they seem to work out. This will no doubt be the same.”

  Fyre snorted a frosty mist from his nostrils but made no effort to disagree. “You suck,” Cali replied. “You both suck. How did I wind up with such jerks for friends?”

  Into her mind, the Draksa observed, Dumb luck, I guess. With the emphasis on dumb.

  “In other news,” the man said, “how do you think the Malniets will cheat?” It had been a topic of discussion throughout the afternoon. Not if they would try to bend the rules to the point of breaking. That was a given. How they would do it was the ongoing question, especially under the allegedly neutral eyes of the Empress’s representative.

  She shook her head. “In every way they can. I can’t imagine what it will be, though. I suppose we’ll simply have to roll with it.”

  “Are you worried?”

  Cali chuckled. That word was so inadequate to describe her feelings. “Hell yes, I’m worried. Anyone with a brain would be. Which, I guess, leaves you two out. You’re lucky like that. It must be nice to be so unburdened.”

  They shared a laugh and lapsed into silence as the crowd grew bigger and they moved closer to the arena. She had a pair of primary concerns other than the cheating. The first was who or what Fyre would face. After experiencing Kraken, Giant Squids, and a Draksa of unusual size, she imagined something Lovecraftian showing up. The second and only slightly less worrisome issue was what spanners the Empress would throw into the works. When she’d decided to intervene, Cali hadn’t been able to refuse. Being the monarch has its privileges. But she didn’t trust the woman for an instant. Shenni probably had a hundred ways to subtly skew the contest in the Malniets’ favor.

  Palace guards lined the last part of the walk. Her skin crawled as she passed between them and entered the darkened passage under the seating that led to the field. Fyre, doubtless sensing her agitation, sent a feeling of calmness and confidence across the channel that connected them. She took the hint and walled her concerns off, pushed them into the alcoves in her brain made for that purpose, and bound them there with crime scene tape. No matter how much magic she learned, her old habits sometimes remained entirely useful. By the time the tunnel finished, she was as ready as she could be.

  Nothing could have prepared her for the throngs that filled the stands or the sight of three large circles painted on the grass—one in Leblanc scarlet, one in Malniet green, and one in the palace’s unique shad
e of blue. Across the arena, her enemies entered at the same time she did, and far more of them were present in the retinue. Three figures in armor, another six in suits and gowns, and at the head of them, Styrris Malniet looked as fashionable and corpse-like as ever.

  She’d been instructed in the process by a missive from the palace that had been delivered that afternoon. They were to walk to the exact center, turn, and approach the royal box. The Empress’s designee would address them and thereafter, the combatants would each enter a circle. The fights would be individual until the first death or incapacitation, at which time it would become a free for all.

  Styrris had a smug smile on his face that grew bigger as they approached. Oh yeah, he’s up to something. The crowd sent support and vitriol at both of them, which made it feel like the start of a New Orleans Saints game. They turned in tandem and walked to where the representative of the palace was concealed behind a thick curtain. When they reached the appointed distance, the audience fell silent.

  The fabric swirled aside to reveal three people standing between four guards. The sight elicited a loud gasp from the crowd, who then started to cheer. Cali only recognized the least important one from Emalia’s description, but her forlorn expression confirmed she was Brielle Cormier, Styrris’s new bride. Even though she hadn’t expected the palace to be truly neutral, to have the wife of her foe in the royal box was a significant slap in the face. The woman’s white gown, reminiscent of a wedding dress, was merely icing on that particular cake.

  The next most relevant was the Empress’s seneschal, Gwyn, who maintained an indifferent aspect with apparent ease. The older woman wore a tunic over a skirt, both of which were appropriate for the throne room and seemed overdone in this setting. A sword hilt protruded from the scabbard at her left hip.