Shailaja — cackling like the crazed teen she was — rolled ass over head. She crashed into a pile of treasure, knocking the Buddha over and sending my mangled katana flying.
The pile of artifacts collapsed over her in an avalanche of gold and platinum and gems, burying her from my sight.
“Was that necessary?” Pulou asked mildly from behind me.
I looked back over my shoulder at him. “Yes.”
He shrugged, not even remotely concerned.
The pile of treasure shifted. Shailaja stood, coins and jewels cascading from her head and shoulders as she stepped out from among the artifacts. She was coated in all the magic that had been contained in the jeweled crown.
She stumbled toward me, not laughing now. Her eyes were ablaze with golden dragon magic.
“Alchemist,” she gasped, pained. Her upper lip was bleeding. It hadn’t yet healed from my slap.
We’d reached the point of no return. I wondered if I chose to break my promise at this vulnerable point, whether or not the magic siphoned from the crown would consume the rabid koala. Or whether she’d just suffer until it faded, unabsorbed.
“Now,” she demanded. “Now!”
She lunged for me, grabbing my upper arms. Though she was far too strong for her size, I could have shaken her off.
I glanced over at Pulou.
He nodded wearily.
I reached up and grabbed Shailaja’s face. Her skin was oddly moist, so much so that I nearly let go of her. She convulsed, losing her grip on me. Her eyes rolled back in her head.
“Please,” she whispered.
I pushed. I pushed every drop of the magic she’d gathered like a gossamer cloak around her into the core of magic that was … simply her. I forced the power from the crown to unite with what I felt was Shailaja’s magical essence.
She screamed in pain.
She screamed in delight.
She ripped herself away from my hold, magic rippling up and over her arms, legs, torso, and face.
She began to grow. To expand.
First a year, then two. An eighteen-year-old stood in front of me, then a twenty-year-old.
The magic surrounding her began to settle, to fade.
Then Shailaja — easily twenty-five years old in appearance, practically my height in bare feet, and skinny as a goddamn cinnamon stick — threw her arms in the air and screamed in triumph.
She opened her glowing golden eyes, locked her gaze to mine, and whispered, “Time to play.”
I pulled my knife, but she grabbed me far quicker than even I had expected her to move. She pinned my knife arm, then slammed her mouth across mine.
Yes … she … kissed me. If I could even call it a kiss. It was a brutal assault.
I slammed the heel of my left hand up underneath her chin, snapping her head back hard enough that she lost her hold on me.
“That’s enough!” Pulou bellowed. Guardian magic blasted through the chamber, as if he’d just released everything he’d been holding at bay.
The magical tsunami washed over me. I stumbled to maintain my footing.
Only a few feet away, Shailaja twirled in the magic, her silk dress lifting up around her knees.
I shielded myself with my arms just in time to block the kick I saw coming. Her foot slammed across both my forearms, throwing me back into the pile of treasure behind me.
“An eye for an eye, sister!” she shrieked.
I scrambled to my feet, attempting to throw myself clear, but my legs were tangled among treasure chests and armored breastplates and golden chalices.
Uncounted centuries’ worth of hoarding collapsed over me. Something heavy hit the back of my head, followed by a few hundred more unidentifiable but weighty items. I fell, curling into a ball and protecting my head as best I could.
The avalanche settled over me.
An eye for a freaking eye. Freaking bitch. I was going to have to dig myself out.
The weight of the treasure lifted off me. The entire pile flew back, leaving me curled in a ball on the cleared white marble floor.
Shailaja giggled. Then she was abruptly silenced.
I peered through the arms I still held crisscrossed over my face. The treasure keeper was holding the rabid koala by the back of her neck and head. His arm was ramrod straight, held at an angle that forced Shailaja to dance on her tiptoes. Pulou was barely allowing her feet to brush the floor.
“Alchemist?” Pulou asked.
I rolled to my feet. “All good. No problem.”
“She started it,” Shailaja said jokingly.
“Still rabid,” I muttered.
Pulou nodded and released Shailaja. She stumbled forward, falling to her knees in front of him.
“Look at me,” the treasure keeper said.
Still on her knees, Shailaja pivoted and lifted her chin.
“Shailaja, daughter of Pulou-who-was,” the treasure keeper intoned. “You shall be brought before the Guardian Council and judged for your past crimes against humanity. Then, I have no doubt, you will meet your end at the edge of the warrior’s sword.”
What? That was the plan? Restore Shailaja’s magic, only so they could try her for —
“No,” the rabid koala said.
No? Interesting choice. I was pretty damn sure that begging was probably the way to go in this situation.
“You think to stand against me?” Pulou asked, clearly amused by her defiance.
“Of course not, treasure keeper.” Shailaja slipped her hand into her bag. “I intend to take my rightful place.”
“We shall see.” Pulou folded his arms as if he didn’t appreciate the potential danger kneeling before him.
“I intend to take your place.”
Pulou frowned.
I called my knife into my hand, already stepping toward them. Why hadn’t I started moving the second Pulou freed me from the treasure? I was so slow. Compared to a full-blood dragon, at least.
Shailaja pulled a small box out of her bag, opening it and flicking it toward the treasure keeper in the same forward motion.
I managed another step.
It was a platinum box, encrusted with raw diamonds. Deadly magic exploded in the chamber. The taste of metal instantly clogged my senses.
Pulou already had his shortsword with the huge emerald embedded in its guard raised. He would easily knock aside the assault.
My foot hit the marble a third time. Jesus, I’d only managed three freaking steps? Though it was a tiny bit sad that the rabid koala was insane enough to attack a guardian. And that I was stupid enough to believe —
Portal magic sizzled through the air between Shailaja and the treasure keeper. Portal magic that inexplicably tasted of cream cheese and sugared carrots and cinnamon.
Shailaja’s magic had always tasted of burnt carrot cake. Now, fully restored, that cake was paired with delicious cream-cheese icing. The portal was her creation, not Pulou’s. This was the magic I had helped her reclaim. The magic she must have inherited from her father as the former treasure keeper.
I caught sight of a gleam of silver and a series of spiked legs at the edge of the box, then it and the evil it held at bay popped into the portal and disappeared.
I slammed into Shailaja, lowering my shoulder to check her directly in the ribs and throw her aside. Pivoting back, I tasted the magic of Shailaja’s miniature portal a second time.
“Treasure keeper,” I screamed, lunging and lifting my hand toward the magical bloom that was behind him now. But I was too far away … too late … too slow.
I was always going to be too slow.
The box flew out of the miniature exit portal, completely blindsiding the treasure keeper. It smashed into the side of his head.
The last time I’d seen that box, it had been in the hands of the far seer, with the silver centipedes I’d collected in Peru safely contained within it. It had been sent on to the treasure keeper, who would have put it into his coat for safekeeping. Into the chamber of the treasure
keeper. Where we were standing right now.
But the instruments of assassination weren’t contained any longer. The three silver centipedes tumbled out of the box, instantly latching onto Pulou’s shoulder and neck.
Pulou fell.
Just like that. No stumbling or preamble. It was as if he’d been hit with some sort of uber-powerful binding spell.
The marble floor underneath him cracked, throwing me up in the air and a few feet back. Unfortunately for Shailaja, I landed on my feet. Still running.
I threw myself toward the treasure keeper. The centipedes were twined around his neck and moving steadily upward. Pulou was frozen in the midst of a full-body convulsion. His face was twisted in pain, every vein and tendon stretched and distended.
I reached out with my dowser senses for the metallurgy — the magic that had created the centipedes — even as I stretched my fingertips across Pulou’s mountain of a chest. The taste of metal flooded my mouth. I just had to claim it —
Shailaja kicked me in the back. I flew over the treasure keeper, rolling forward onto both feet, then spinning around in a low crouch to meet her next attack. But that attack never arrived.
The treasure keeper was holding the leg that Shailaja had kicked me with. She was struggling to get away from him.
He gurgled a terrible, frustrated fury.
Taking the opening Pulou was holding for me, I ran, completely primed to thrust my jade knife deep into Shailaja’s heart.
A centipede slipped into the treasure keeper’s nose. He began to convulse, foaming at the mouth and bleeding from his eyes.
A second centipede slipped into his ear.
He lost his grip on Shailaja.
She flipped backward and away from my killing strike. I only managed to cut her across the chest.
She rolled away, then settled on her haunches like a cat. “Too late. It’s done, now. And you’ll have to help me with the next part, or his magic will be lost forever.”
Keeping my blade raised between Shailaja and me, I dropped to my knees by the treasure keeper. He’d gone terribly still, but his magic was undiminished. I couldn’t see the third centipede anywhere, but it must have been … inside him. With the others. Ripping through his brain.
Choking back a sob of fear, I placed my free hand on the side of his face. His potent power ran up my arm, instantly setting my nerves on fire.
Ignoring the blistering pain, I reached for the magic of the centipedes. The iron-bright taste of their metallurgy flooded my mouth once again.
I didn’t know what else to do …
I wasn’t a healer. But I was a dowser and an alchemist.
I captured the metallurgy of the centipedes and held it fast. “Mine,” I whispered. Then I yanked that magic toward me.
“No!” Shailaja screamed.
Answering my call, the centipedes ripped out of Pulou’s face, spraying blood and flesh and brains all over his chest and my knees.
Just as they’d done in Peru, the three gore-covered centipedes clicked into place on my necklace and went instantly dormant.
Pulou’s face was destroyed. He was completely missing his left ear. But I could already feel the power that he’d been radiating shifting to concentrate on healing him. I just had to hope he’d managed to call out for help before he fell, and keep Shailaja occupied until the big guns arrived.
I reached up to touch the three silver centipedes looped through individual wedding rings on my necklace. Interestingly, they’d attached on the left as far away as they could get from the betrothal rings. I lifted my gaze to meet Shailaja’s.
“He’s dead,” she said, but her tone suggested she didn’t believe the words.
Pulou took a shuddering breath.
“You want to play with the instruments of assassination?” I whispered. “I’m game.”
Rising to my feet, I tickled my fingers across the centipedes. They dropped into my left hand, then slowly began curling around and around on my palm.
Across from me, Shailaja rose, pulling a wickedly pointed runed-etched rapier out of her bag.
I stepped around the treasure keeper’s body, placing myself between him and whatever else Shailaja had stashed in her bag. “Let’s see what happens when I murder you in the chamber of the treasure keeper,” I said, not worried in the slightest at my own viciousness.
“I hate, hate, hate you,” Shailaja snarled.
But she didn’t attack. Actually, she backed off a few steps. Unfortunately, I couldn’t press her without leaving Pulou vulnerable.
“The miniportal trick is cute,” I said. “But probably only good once against a guardian.”
Shailaja sneered. “You think you can hold me off, alchemist?”
“I think the warrior is about to walk through the door.”
She laughed. “You’re so utterly stupid. If it wasn’t for your tasty magic, I’d think Warner was completely addled.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Even guardians have to be invited to walk here … each and every time.” The all-grown-up-but-still-rabid koala took another step toward the pile of artifacts by the laughing Buddha. The mangled and malformed katana it had once worn as a crown was lying among the scattered treasures a few feet away. “No, you’ll step aside and allow me access to the treasure-keeper-who-never-should-have-been … and who soon won’t be anything at all.”
“Meaning what? You’re going to take his place?” I laughed harshly. “If it didn’t mean more pain for Pulou, I’d like to watch you die trying. And Shay-Shay? You’re wrong about the warrior being locked out. Yazi already had an open invitation to this particular party.”
Somewhere behind me, the door to the chamber slammed open. Portal magic blasted through, lifting my hair from my shoulders and rippling Shailaja’s silk dress around her ankles.
With his warrior magic stirring the chamber’s smaller treasures and artifacts, my father strode toward us. His timing was freaking perfect … well, if I ignored the fact that Pulou was seriously injured.
Shailaja dove behind the pile of treasure she’d been creeping toward. I let her go. She wasn’t my problem.
I turned to kneel back beside Pulou, adhering the centipedes to my necklace again as I leaned over him. I lifted my gaze to the warrior of the guardians as he came into view — and realized only in that moment that it might look as if I was the one who’d attacked the treasure keeper.
Seeing my father in full warrior gear was like looking into a hurricane. Or what I imagined a F5 tornado would look like. Except with golden magic in place of rain and cloud — gold wind, gold thunder, gold lightning.
The warrior raised his broadsword. The golden blade and its pearl-and-gem-encrusted pommel were the flashiest thing about my father … and the deadliest. The magic emanating from the weapon made my eyes water … or maybe they were bleeding.
I raised my now-empty hands, ready to profess my innocence, yet knowing I wouldn’t be able to get a coherent word out before he ran me through.
“Where … is … she?”
I stared at my father, mouth hanging open to plead for my life. He was glaring down at me. I could barely think. The portal to the nexus was still open, and combined with the magic of the chamber, the treasure keeper, and my father, it was all scrambling my brain.
“Jade?” he asked again. “Where is she?”
I threaded my fingers through my necklace, pulling more of its protective magic around me like a dampening cloak. Then I raised my hand and pointed toward the spiced carrot cake I could just barely taste, behind and to the left of me.
Yazi stepped over Pulou, brushing against me as he passed.
“Dad,” I said with a sickening realization. “She might have the braids.”
The warrior’s gaze dropped to the centipedes on my necklace. He nodded. “Even if she does, she’s incapable of holding them herself long enough to kill me.”
“But she can do this miniature portal thing. That’s how she hit Pulou. It tastes like her mag
ic right before it opens.”
Yazi’s lips curled into a smile full of pride. “Yes. Drake is not the only one envious of your dowsing abilities.” He stalked away, drawing his power with him.
My head cleared further. I placed my hand on Pulou’s chest. He was breathing, but the dreadful wounds on his face hadn’t begun to heal yet. I glanced around as my father stepped between piles of artifacts and out of my sight, the loose coins rattling as he passed. There had to be some sort of fabric nearby that I could staunch the treasure keeper’s wounds with. I eyed, then dismissed, a rolled carpet propped against the ebony statue of a multi-armed deity I couldn’t readily identify. Even I knew mixing magical carpets and the blood of a guardian was a seriously bad idea.
My mangled katana was gone. I was certain it had been lying on the ground just beyond the laughing Buddha.
I scrambled to my feet, then … I hesitated.
I shouldn’t leave Pulou until the healer arrived. My father was capable of handling the rabid koala, even if she had armed herself with the katana. He was the freaking guardian of the guardians.
Except … except … except Pulou had locked the katana away. He’d taken it from me without discussion. Then a breath later, he had declared the sacrificial knife I’d created with blood magic a trifle. And it was a secret between us. The terrible secret of how I could drain all the magic from an Adept.
My father stepped out from between the piles of treasure to my right, exactly opposite from where he’d entered. He glanced over at me, then made a decision.
“I’ll stand over Pulou,” he said, turning back toward me. “You go for the healer. He was called away again. Apparently, the heretic set up multiple distractions with her demon leeches.” He curled his lip derisively.
“She’s crazy but smart. Wily.”
Yazi snorted. “Go. Even with Pulou unconscious, the healer will hear you if you call for him from the nexus.”
I rose, turning away. Then I tasted sugared carrots.
“Dad!” I shouted as I spun back. But I was too slow.
Another miniature portal opened up, this one about a foot from my father’s head. My mangled katana spun through it in a maelstrom of multicolored magic, as if it had been thrown like a Frisbee.
Artifacts, Dragons, and Other Lethal Magic Page 8
