Lost Talismans and a Tequila (The Guild Codex: Spellbound Book 7)

by Annette Marie

  Screaming like a banshee, I charged straight at them. My stare locked on the woman’s shadowed hood, and as she turned to me, the dim light caught on her lower face, illuminating that same smile I’d seen as she’d forced Kai to kiss me before electrocuting me.

  Controlling people wasn’t enough for her. She wanted to rip out their hearts too.

  I aimed my gun for her chest.

  My steps slowed, then stopped. Adrenaline burned in my blood, but fear was a distant fizzle in the back of my brain. I turned, my stare finding Kai as he charged past, Aaron over his shoulder and Makiko right behind him. I raised the gun, tracking Kai’s movement, then pulled the trigger.

  Click, click, click.

  At the hollow clack of the empty weapon, the mentalist hissed angrily—and terror flooded back into my brain. As I wheezed from the sudden onslaught, the mentalist turned her hooded face toward Kai and Makiko.

  Whirling, I sprinted after the others, my legs pumping. If we could get out of here and into the trees, we might have a chance. Up the stairs, through the cemetery, to the car—

  Crimson light blazed.

  A streak of red power launched past us and hit the ground in front of the rough doorway out of the reservoir. The light pooled upward into a shape over seven feet tall. A demon manifested—gangly-limbed with skin like armor plates.

  As Kai skidded in a frantic attempt to stop, Makiko leaped forward, thrusting her hand toward the demon. His glowing magma eyes flared as he swung his long arm.

  The air boomed, and the lightweight aeromage hurtled backward. She crashed down and curled into an agonized ball, arms wrapped around her ribs.

  The demon swung his other arm, and Kai could only twist so that the blow hit his side and not the unconscious pyromage he carried. He crumpled, barely keeping Aaron’s head from cracking on the concrete.

  Halfway between them and the cultists, I could do nothing. I had no magic in my belt and no bullets in my gun. The only thing I had left was the Vh’alyir Amulet, and I was too far to use it on the demon.

  The assassin pressed a fingernail to her smiling lower lip. “We only need one to question,” she murmured in a throaty contralto voice. “Who would you prefer?”

  “Miss Dawson should suffice, I think,” the Magnus Dux replied.

  Her smiled widened.

  The demon lifted his arm, his two-inch claws extended as he aimed for Kai. Gasping, I ran toward them, even though I was too far. Even though I had no magic. Even though there was nothing I could do.

  With a flash of crimson, a rune-marked circle appeared around the demon’s upper arm. He jolted, his arm immobile inside the hovering circle.

  Another ring flashed around his other arm. A third blinked into existence around the demon’s waist. He jerked against the spells, trapped in place.

  “What—” the Magnus Dux began.

  Scarlet light blazed from the doorway behind the demon—and his chest burst apart in a spray of dark blood.

  A ring of crimson spikes jutted from the creature’s torso. With a final flash, an even thicker spear erupted from the center of his chest, ripping through his sternum. The immobilizing spells dissolved, and the demon dropped like a marionette with cut strings.

  Standing in the doorway behind the fallen demon, crimson magic snaking over his outstretched arm and his left eye glowing with fierce power, was Ezra.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Ezra.

  Ezra was here.

  Ezra had just slaughtered a demon with a single attack, and all I could do was stare.

  Lowering his arm, he stepped out of the doorway. Dressed in combat gear with his steel-plated gloves covering his arms, he carried no weapons.

  His gaze slashed across Kai and Aaron, then shot to me. The relief and terror filling my head battled for dominance with such violence that it made me dizzy—or maybe I was dizzy because I’d forgotten to breathe.

  We’d decided not to tell Ezra where we were going because it would’ve been too much of a heart-rending, trauma-inducing trial to face the cult that had ruined his life, caused his parents’ demise, and condemned him to an early death. We’d thought he wouldn’t be able to handle it … but here he was, and his face was a calm, eerily emotionless mask—except for his blazing left eye.

  And I didn’t know whether that was a good thing.

  “Well,” the Magnus Dux breathed. “Well, well, well.”

  The crooning pleasure in the man’s tone made my stomach heave.

  Ezra turned toward the two cultists.

  The Magnus Dux opened his arms as if to embrace Ezra from across the forty feet between them, his cloak rippling. “It’s been such a long time, Enéas. You’ve grown from a talented boy to a powerful man.”

  For a moment, Ezra’s expression didn’t shift. Then he smiled—and it was the coldest smile I’d ever seen. Ten years of loathing had chilled it beyond the coldest depths of the Arctic Ocean.

  “Xever. If I’d known you were alive …”

  I shuddered. There was as much undiluted hatred in Ezra’s smooth voice as there was in his smile.

  The Magnus Dux pushed back his deep hood. As fabric pooled over his shoulders, the scarlet light from the pillars illuminated the face of a man in his late forties, with brown hair and a square jaw. His visage was entirely forgettable except for the ugly scar that ran up his chin and into his lower lip, permanently twisting his mouth.

  “So calm, Enéas. Your control is superb, as always.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  Xever arched his eyebrows. “Are you suggesting your control is inadequate?”

  “That’s an interesting question.” Ezra walked past Aaron and Kai, his steps slow and steady. Crimson light crawled up his left shoulder and streaked the side of his face. “If my demon and I both want the same thing, which of us is in control?”

  The slightest twitch of confusion touched Xever’s face.

  As the red light formed a pair of horns above his left temple, Ezra raised his left arm, palm aimed at Xever. “If we both plan to kill you, does control even matter?”

  A pentagram flashed around his wrist, twisted runes flaring inside and around it.

  “Xanthe!” Xever barked, not taking his eyes off Ezra. “Take him!”

  “I did!”

  Power blazed over Ezra’s arm—and a hint of crimson gleamed in his brown, human eye.

  “Whose mind do you have in your grasp, though?” he asked, his voice deeper and the words tinged with a guttural accent. “Not mine.”

  Xever’s eyes widened.

  Magic pulsed across Ezra’s palm—and he swung his arm, pointing it at the mentalist instead. A blast of power exploded outward.

  She sprang away, but not fast enough. Her scream echoed for an instant before the magic struck the reservoir wall and a thunderous crash of stone drowned her out.

  Xever was on his feet, but the assassin was a scarlet-cloaked heap on the floor, unmoving. He glanced at her, then back to the demon mage.

  “Interesting, Enéas,” he remarked calmly. “I’ve been watching you for months, waiting for your inevitable collapse into madness. After all, it’s been ten years.” A crimson glow lit on his chest, shining through his shirt. “But I never imagined you would have found a way to evade that fate. Shall we test your new approach against another old friend?”

  Crimson light streaked off his chest. It struck the floor halfway between the Magnus Dux and the demon mage, pooling upward—and outward.

  The light solidified into a demon six and a half feet tall, his huge wings spread wide. His black hair was tied back, revealing a sharp-featured face that, aside from the glowing magma eyes and horns rising above his temples, was the most humanish demon countenance I’d seen aside from Robin’s demon.

  Crimson snaked up Ezra’s arms, and power blazed in his eyes.

  “Nazhivēr,” he snarled. “Vulanā vh’reniredh’thē īn Ahlēavah, karkis dahganul.”

  As the demon’s lips pulled back in
an answering grin, I stared at the radiant scarlet that had overtaken Ezra’s brown iris. Eterran was in full control—without any sign of resistance from Ezra.

  The demon—“Nazhivēr,” I was assuming—and the demon mage faced each other, unmoving. With a crackling sizzle, red power lit Nazhivēr’s hands and swept up his arms—and my terror increased tenfold. This wasn’t a demon mage against a contracted demon puppet. It was a demon mage against a demon with magic.

  They sprang for each other.

  Phantom red talons sprouted from their fingers, and they slammed together. Eterran gave way to the demon’s superior strength, evading the claws that would do horrific damage to his human host’s body. Magic flashed. They broke apart—and crimson power exploded.

  They leaped backward, opening a gap. Circles flashed over their arms, each demon conjuring a different spell. Blazes of light, shrieking explosions.

  Rubble rained down from the ceiling, and I stumbled backward, retreating from the danger zone. By the door, Kai and Makiko were pulling Aaron up, the unconscious mage’s arms over their shoulders.

  Eterran cast his hands wide, and a dozen spells appeared on the floor all around Nazhivēr. The demon snapped his wings open and vaulted upward while gesturing at the floor. His magic swept down as Eterran’s spells erupted—and when the two forces collided, an even more violent explosion ripped through the room.

  I scrambled behind a pillar as chunks of concrete shot past like fist-sized bullets. The altar shattered and the lectern toppled, breaking into pieces.

  The book-sized wooden case that had been resting on the lectern tumbled to the floor and the lid flipped open. Inside, the glossy black cover of a large, leather-bound tome reflected the flickering ruby glow of the demons’ magic.

  “I’m disappointed, Enéas.” Xever’s low voice echoed as quiet fell. “Your demon is very skilled, yes. I dare say he’s evenly matched with Nazhivēr. But to let him fight for you … After surviving ten years, you would surrender your mind so easily?”

  “Surrender my mind? I don’t remember doing that.”

  Peeking out from behind the pillar, I froze in confusion. That—that was Ezra’s voice.

  He stretched out his hand and power blazed over his palm. “I told you, Xever. Eterran and I want the same thing.”

  Runes flashed over and around his hand. A red streak shot up from his palm, and as he closed his fingers around it, it solidified—forming a phantom blade in the exact shape of Ezra’s long-destroyed short sword, with its foot-long handle and equal-length blade. He stretched out his other hand, and with another flare of light, the twin sword, made of glowing crimson power, formed in his grip.

  My breath caught, disbelief flashing through me. In the same way a demon could shape his magic into phantom talons to tear into enemies, Eterran had created phantom swords—and Ezra, who’d been fighting at a disadvantage for so long without his switches, was armed with familiar blades.

  Both eyes gleaming with demonic power, he stretched his arms out. He inhaled, shoulders shifting, and from fifteen feet away, Nazhivēr curled his talons in readiness.

  Ezra slashed his phantom blades sideways, crisscrossing them in front of his body. The air rippled out from him, and Nazhivēr snapped his arms up to shield his head and upper chest.

  Blood sprayed from the demon’s forearms as two slicing wounds in the shape of an X cut deep into his flesh.

  Ezra launched for the demon. Nazhivēr dropped his arms and slashed—and with a flick of Ezra’s sword, wind slammed into the demon. Crimson runes spiraled up Ezra’s other arm, and he thrust the blade. A blast of demonic power flung Nazhivēr backward.

  Ezra was using aero magic and demonic magic at the same time. He and Eterran—they were fighting together. Not Ezra borrowing Eterran’s power. Not their two minds switching back and forth.

  Seamless, shared control of two magics and one body.

  As he lunged for Nazhivēr, phantom blades flashing, I crawled out from behind the pillar. Light flickered, the ceiling trembled, debris showered down. With an ear-splitting crack, the concrete floor split. Dust hazed the air, obscuring the battling demon and demon mage.

  Ignoring the grit peppering me, I scuttled through the rubble to the broken lectern. I scooped the ornate grimoire from its box, unzipped my jacket halfway, and shoved the large book down the jacket’s front. I zipped it back up to my throat, then snapped the lid shut and shoved the box into the rubble where Xever might not notice it right away.

  The floor shook.

  Ezra spun past Nazhivēr’s slashing claws, his swords whirling. Blades of air caught the demon and blood splattered. A punch of red power blasted off his wrist, then one of those short swords thrust out.

  Ezra drove it into Nazhivēr’s gut. The blade pulsed—then exploded.

  Nazhivēr reeled back, blood spilling down his stomach. His second sword dissolving, Ezra slammed both palms into the demon’s chest and the air boomed. A concussive blast of wind hurled the demon twenty feet and into the concrete wall with bone-breaking force.

  As the stunned, bleeding demon sagged against the wall, Ezra whirled on the Magnus Dux. I looked at the cult leader too—and my gaze stuttered. The mentalist’s body was gone from where she’d fallen.

  “I am impressed after all, Enéas.”

  My attention shot to Xever, and even from across the room, I could see his smile.

  “I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you as a child that you were gifted.”

  For the first time, Ezra’s calm, steely façade cracked. He bared his teeth, hatred twisting his face.

  “A greater success than your other experiments, Xever.” Xanthe strolled out of the dusty haze to join her fellow cultist. Her hood was off, revealing raven hair and her sweetly mocking smile. If Ezra’s attack had injured her, I couldn’t tell. “Had Enright gone differently, he would’ve been a magnificent asset.”

  A low sound rasped in Ezra’s throat—an enraged snarl more demon than human.

  Xever stroked his cleanshaven jaw. “He’s an even greater success than we imagined. I’m excited to discover what makes him and his demon so special.”

  “If only you could thank his parents for giving him to you,” Xanthe purred. “But really, you should thank me. I acquired so many pretty toys for your experiments. Like sweet little Lexie, our first female demon mage.”

  Xever’s gaze locked on Ezra. “An instant failure, as I’d expected.”

  Ezra lunged toward them. Magic blazed over his arms—and shimmered across his back as phantom wings and a snaking tail took form. Power rippled off him, shimmering, twisting.

  He was losing control.

  “Hoshi!” I yelled. “Hoshi!”

  She appeared beside me, tail quivering with fear and little paws gripping my sleeve.

  As Ezra charged the cultists, Nazhivēr shot at his blind side. Ezra pivoted on one foot and his swinging fist smashed into the demon’s waiting palm. A blast of wind pushed Nazhivēr back a step.

  Behind Ezra, Xever slid his cloak up his arm. Silver bands encircled his forearm, and he extended his hand toward Ezra’s back.

  “Hoshi, I need a diversion!” I gasped.

  Her sickly green fear swirled in my mind, streaked with dark blue determination. The sylph rose into the air. Her tail lashed, and all the crystals that adorned her small body—the ones tipping her antennae, the one in the center of her forehead, the one on the end of her tail, and her crystalline eyes—glowed with fierce pink light.

  Nazhivēr smashed a fist into Ezra’s chest, throwing him backward.

  “Ori nov—” Xever began.

  Hoshi snapped her insect-like wings open—and a shrieking whirlwind erupted inside the reservoir.

  The howling wind picked up all the loose debris and flung it in every direction. Dust turned the gale brown, and I ducked as a rock flew past my head. Scrambling up, I bolted for the exit, Hoshi hanging off the back of my jacket.

  “Ezra!” I yelled. “This way!”

&n
bsp; The dark doorway appeared in the gray wall—and a shape filled it. Kai, a hand outstretched toward me. Leaping over the demon corpse in front of the exit, I grabbed for his hand. He steadied me as I twisted to look back into the violent whirlwind.

  “Ezra!” I screamed.

  Crimson light flashed in the hazy tornado, then a shadow appeared. Ezra sprinted through the wind, his aero magic deflecting the airborne projectiles. As he reached us, Kai turned and dashed up the stairs. I ran on his heels, and Ezra followed right behind.

  Up, up, up. Light flicked ahead—a flashlight at the entrance, beckoning us to safety.

  Kai shot out of the hidden staircase, and I bolted after him and onto the grass, Hoshi clinging to me. Ezra flew out after us, then whirled around. Crimson blazed up his arm, and a corresponding circle of light appeared on top of the cenotaph, circling the weatherworn angel with her false crown.

  Runes popped up across the tangled lines inside the spell, then it flashed. The stone floor shattered and caved inward. The pillars toppled and the heavy ceiling tumbled down. It all sank into the collapsed underground staircase with a hideous grinding of rock.

  Panting, I looked from Ezra to Kai, then to Makiko, who was bracing Aaron’s side, a flashlight in her other hand. Aaron was standing under his own power—mostly—but his face was tight with pain.

  Wordlessly, I pointed toward the trees. Together, we fled.

  Despite our best efforts to hurry, it took us longer than it should’ve to reach the parking lot. Kai’s motorcycle—not the red one he’d driven down into the States, but the one he’d left at Aaron’s house when Makiko had forced him to move out—was parked beside the SUV.

  And on the vehicle’s other side was a monstrous black SUV that dwarfed Aaron’s.

  As we approached, the driver’s and passenger’s doors opened. Two men in suits leaped out and bowed.

  “Miura-dono,” they said in unison. “Yamada-dono.”

  “I called them,” Makiko said breathlessly, limping beside Kai. “They’ll take us to my family’s healers.”