“Didn’t your mother teach you it’s rude to eavesdrop?”
“Rude, but fun.”
As he drove, Emma slid a hand over and rested it lightly on his knee, enjoying the shift of hard muscle under her hand. They’d been married for fifty years now, and Truebonded for most of that time. She’d never regretted forming the psychic link that bound them soul to soul.
And now they had Noah. She looked back over her shoulder at her son, who was still chattering about Danger Man. With Arthur’s permission, they’d decided to take an eighteen-year sabbatical to raise the boy. Sometimes she missed the adrenaline rush of fighting beside her handsome husband for Merlin’s Great Mission.
But hell, they were immortal. There would always be missions, but there was only one Noah.
The moonlight pouring in through the Lexus’s rear window set her son’s blond hair ablaze as it traced the line of the boy’s snub nose and round little chin. He looked so much like his father, he made her heart ache.
Thomas turned into their driveway, and Emma glanced around just as the headlights swept across the front of the house. She stiffened. “What the hell happened to my roses?”
Which was when she realized there was something far more wrong than a few uprooted bushes. She froze. “There’s something inside the house.”
Tom’s head snapped toward her, dark eyes going narrow. His mental voice reached out to her through the Truebond. “What kind of something?”
“Something with power.” She reached for the door latch.
He grabbed her arm. “Not without me, you don’t.”
“We can’t both go in and leave Noah out here by himself. And we’re sure as heck not taking him inside.”
“Then I’ll go.”
“This thing is radiating magic, Tom. You don’t do magic. That’s my job.”
“Mom?” Noah’s voice sounded crushed tight and small with fear. “Momma, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. You just sit here with your daddy and I’ll go have a look.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Thomas said in the link. “Let’s call Morgana and get some backup.”
“Tom, whatever it is isn’t that powerful. We are not talking about a Dark One here. I can take care of it.”
“You don’t even know what ‘it’ is.”
“So I’ll go find out. I’ll be back in a minute. If I need help, I’ll give Morgana a yell.”
“Dammit, Emma . . .”
But she’d already unbuckled her seat belt and thrown open the door. She was out before the Lexus had even rolled to a complete stop.
Emma moved fast and low toward the garage, adrenaline singing through her veins. She’d almost forgotten how much she loved this. She adored being a mother, but nothing made her feel so thoroughly alive as knowing something waited inside the house. Something with power. Not much power, true, but enough to be interesting.
It had been way too long since she’d fought anything interesting.
She conjured her armor and went in.
Tom watched his wife steal into the garage, moving like the warrior she’d been for more than eight hundred years. He ground his teeth, as sick tension gathered in the pit of his stomach.
Damn Emma anyway.
“Where’s Momma going?” Noah asked in a shaking voice.
“She’s just going to check on something. It’ll be fine.” If overconfidence wasn’t about to bite her on the ass. Of course, Emma had good reason to be confident. She’d fought and killed one of the powerful, demonic Dark Ones who’d tried to invade Avalon a couple of years back. She was no lightweight.
Neither was he. Between the two of them, they’d battled every nasty breed of human you could think of for half a century. Al-Qaeda, Nazis, communists, all kinds of spies, traitors, assassins, and serial killers. Emma herself had been at the job even longer, casting spells, shooting guns and knifing various bastards for centuries. Whatever was in the house was simply more of the same.
He just wished he was in there, too, watching over her. Just as he’d been doing for the past fifty years.
Keeping Emma alive had gotten to be a habit.
“Would you calm down?” Emma said through their bond. “You’re making me twitchy.”
“Yeah, well, I’m twitchy. And I’d feel a lot less twitchy if I could fucking watch your back.”
“You’re watching something far more important—Noah.”
He couldn’t argue with that. Noah had added so much to their lives as they’d watched him grow from helpless newborn to active little boy. Tom knew he’d die for his son without hesitation, just as he’d die for Emma. She’d already slipped into the house and was padding silently toward the source of the faint sounds she could hear coming from the living room. Tense, worried, Tom focused hard on their link, trying to identify those noises.
Was that . . . chewing?
Sword in one hand, the other ready to conjure an energy shield, Emma stepped into the house’s two-story great room. With its fireplace, bookshelves, and soaring ceiling, it was her favorite room in the house.
She’d never expected to see a monster in it.
The beast crouched in front of her precious collection of rare spell books. Huge, black, and furry, it looked like some kind of enormous bear. How the hell had a bear gotten into the house?
Emma felt a draft of cool night air and flicked a glance to the side. The glass door that led out to the deck was shattered into jagged chunks on the carpeted floor, as if the beast had rammed right through it. The animal had been injured in the process too; drops of blood snaked along the floor in a trail leading to the bookcase. What the hell would a bear want with the bookcase when the trashcan was right down the hall, complete with tonight’s leftovers?
Books were scattered all around the creature’s huge paws. The bear turned its head to look at her, and she realized it wasn’t a bear at all, but the biggest fucking wolf she’d ever seen. It had to be ten feet tall at the shoulder. And there was a piece of paper hanging out of its mouth. She sensed a fading flicker of magic, and realized what it was doing.
“You’re eating my spell books?” she demanded, outraged.
“Yeah,” said the giant wolf in a growling rumble. “I’m sorry, but I’m so fucking hungry.”
And then it lunged.
Tom gasped at the searing agony as the creature’s jaws clamped onto his wife’s forearm, which she’d thrown up in an instinctive attempt to protect her throat. He heard the crunch of bone through the link as Emma’s shrill scream rang out.
“Daddy—Mommy’s screamin’!”
“I know!” He threw the car door open and threw himself out into the garage, wanting only to rescue his wife from the thing that hurt her.
Then he heard the rear door open and the slap of Noah’s little sneakers.
He wheeled. “No, Noah, you’ve got to stay—”
The pain chopped his legs right out from under him. He didn’t even feel himself hit the cement floor. From somewhere very far away, he heard his boy yell “Daddy!”
Pain. Pain, a blazing pressure in his chest. Knowing he had only seconds, he fumbled his BlackBerry out of his pants pocket. “Call . . . Belle . . .” he panted, and the spell Emma had cast on the phone did its job.
“Hello.” He could barely make out the familiar voice of his oldest friend.
“Emma . . . Some . . . thing’s killing Emma . . .” Tom rasped, fighting to speak through the cold pressure that crushed his chest. “Save . . . Noah . . .”
Belle jumped up from the couch in Arthur’s living room and cast a gate to the source of the cell phone’s magic. She knew the sound of a dying man’s voice when she heard it.
Which meant Tom’s son was in one hell of a lot of trouble.
Tristan rose to his feet and grabbed his sword. “What’s going on?”
“Did he say a ‘thing’ was killing Emma?” Arthur drew Excalibur as his wife summoned his armor, then did the same for Bors.
The six
of them, including Morgana, had been meeting at the Pendragon home to discuss the Direkind’s ultimatum. Eva and Smoke had remained behind at the Livingston Center so they could follow Tanner; Smoke thought the councilman smelled as if he’d been keeping company with Warlock. Which in retrospect sucked, since they could have used the powerful couple in the current situation. Belle conjured armor and weapons for herself and Tristan. “Don’t know, but it’s not good,” she told Arthur. “Tom sounded hurt. Bad.”
Tom was worse than hurt.
The gate took them to the long curving cement drive in front of the Jacobs’ big brick house. They could hear the boy screaming hysterically from inside the garage. “Daddy! Daddy, get up!”
Weapons drawn, the six fanned out and moved fast into the garage.
Noah’s father lay on his back not far from his still-running Lexus. His empty eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling, past the tear-streaked face of his son, who lay across his body. There wasn’t a mark on him, but Belle’s magic told her they were too late. Grief stole her breath.
Tom Jacobs was dead.
“Daddy, Daddy!” the little boy cried in a repetitive heartbreaking wail. His thin arms wrapped around his father’s cooling neck, and his chest worked with furious sobs. “Don’t die! Please don’t die!”
Gwen swept forward and bent to place a hand on the child’s bright blond head. “Shhhhh. We’ll take care of you, baby.”
The boy slumped sideways, and she caught him up in her arms. His body hung limp with the bonelessness of a child’s deep sleep. Gwen’s spell had put him out like a candle flame.
“I’ll get him to the healer,” she said, glancing up at them. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” As she headed for the dilating spark of her dimensional gate, she added to her husband, “As I don’t want to end up like that poor bastard, try not to get yourself killed.”
When one partner in a Truebond died, the psychic shock tended to kill the other. That was one reason Magekind agents thought twice about entering the bond, though it did enhance one’s strength and magical abilities.
All of which meant little Noah had lost his mother as well as his father.
Arthur turned to Morgana as his wife slipped through the gate. “Any idea what’s in there?”
The witch frowned. She was Avalon’s most powerful Maja, so it was possible she sensed more than Belle did. “I’m not sure. There’s something with power in there, but its magical signature is muddied. It reads like werewolf, but there’s a strong Magekind signature too.” Which couldn’t be coming from Emma; her death had apparently killed her husband.
“Could we have anyone else on the scene?” Arthur asked.
Morgana’s frown deepened. Belle sympathized. She couldn’t tell what the hell was going on, either. “No. It’s not a Maja.”
“Then let’s go in and find out what the hell it is.” Arthur hefted his sword and started for the front door.
Tristan stepped into his path. “Arthur, we’ve had this discussion before. You don’t take point. We can’t afford to lose you.” The point man had a tendency to get killed.
Sweat rolled down Belle’s back, and it occurred to her she had no desire to lose Tristan, either.
Wait. Did she even have Tristan?
Arthur frowned, but he dropped back reluctantly. “Does anybody know the lay of this house?”
“I’ve been here several times,” Belle told him, forcing herself to concentrate on a question she could answer. “I think whatever attacked Emma is in the great room. There’s a deck with a glass door on that side. It might have gotten in that way.” Which also made it a possible escape route for the killer.
Arthur jerked his head in that direction. “You and Bors go around and cover that door.”
“Aye, my liege,” Bors said, turning to lead the way.
For a moment Belle wished she’d been partnered with Tristan, but she thrust the thought aside. Tris was Arthur’s bodyguard and right arm. He belonged with Arthur.
So she strode after Bors as he stalked out of the garage and around the back of the house. The night was clear overhead, the stars as sharp as bright needle pricks in black silk. As they went, she moved in close to the knight’s back and cast an energy shield in front of him to protect him from magical attack.
Bors paused, frowning up the deck’s wooden steps. “Looks like whatever it was broke in.”
He was right. The glass door was not only shattered, its metal frame was warped out of shape as though something huge had forced its way through.
“I don’t like the looks of that,” Belle murmured.
“I do.” Bors hefted his sword and gave her a reckless grin. “Suddenly I’m no longer bored.”
Tristan frowned as Belle disappeared around the corner at Bors’s heels. His instinct was to go after her, to protect her from whatever had killed Emma. But his duty was to watch Arthur’s back, and besides, Belle was safer outside than inside with whatever was killing agents.
Still, he felt his stomach coil into a sour knot of anxiety. Take care of her, Bors, dammit. He hoped the bastard hadn’t been drinking.
“We don’t have all night, Tris,” Arthur growled.
“No, my liege.” Lifting his sword, he turned and slipped into the house through the garage entrance, Morgana and Arthur padding after him.
There was a rattling scrape, like something metallic being dragged across the floor. Inhaling, he tasted the air. Fur. Blood. And the heavy ozone reek of magic.
Lengthening his stride, Tristan moved through the dark, silent kitchen and stepped into the great room.
The armored figure of Emma Jacobs lay sprawled in the middle of the room, surrounded by a puddle of bright red blood that spread out across the cream carpet. An enormous furry beast crouched over her, its muzzle buried in her belly, past armor ripped open and peeled back like a tin can. The thing’s jaws worked as it fed.
Red eyes rolled up to glare at him. A chill rolled over Tristan’s skin as it lifted its bloody muzzle to snarl.
“Get the hell away from her!” Tristan roared, swinging his sword at the beast.
The creature jerked away from its victim and reared, its head hitting the ceiling fifteen feet overhead. There was a crunch, and plaster rained down around it as it swung a big clawed paw at Tristan’s armored head.
He ducked back as the creature hit the shield Morgana had generated in front of him. Sparks snapped and danced from the blow.
Arthur stepped in, Excalibur glowing white with magic as he swung at the beast’s massive chest. Tristan pivoted and thrust his blade at its exposed belly. Sparks popped. Apparently the thing had a shield of its own.
Not just a werewolf then, Tris thought. Not that I’ve ever seen a werewolf that size.
With a roar of fury, the monster whirled and plunged through the glass door’s bent frame. The agents ran after it as it leaped off the deck and hit the ground with an earthshaking thud.
Belle rounded the deck and shot a blast of fire at the monster’s head. The beast opened its jaws and snapped up the fireball like a dog catching a treat.
Oh, Tristan thought, that’s just not good. He bounded off the deck as the monster reared onto its hind legs and batted at Bors, who charged, sword swinging in wide arcs.
The knight roared a battle cry and dodged the swipe. Belle ran after him, her own blade raised as she shielded him. The monster fell on them like a house, hitting the hemisphere of her shield so hard, her knees buckled. Somehow she straightened under the creature’s great weight, knocking it back on its rear legs. It balanced on its haunches and bit into the shield as if it were an apple. Sparks flew from its mouth. It pulled back and snaked a foreleg through the hole its jaws had created.
Bors swung furiously at the encroaching claws. Belle shoved him down the instant before the beast could rip off his head.
Jesu, Tris had to distract it before it had Belle for lunch. His heart in his throat, he darted around and slashed at the creature’s elephantine haunches, hopin
g to hamstring it. Snarling, it twisted and lunged at him, jaws snapping down on the shield Morgana had thrown up around him. It ripped at the shield, pulling out a shining strand of magic, then gulping the energy down like a kid eating taffy.
“What the hell is that thing?” Tristan yelled at Morgana.
“Big,” Morgana snapped.
“Thank you, Lady Obvious!”
The beast fell to all fours, and Bors went on the attack again with flashing figure eights of his sword, dancing around just beyond the creature’s nose.
As she’d been trained to do, Belle stayed at Bors’s shoulder, moving with him like a dancer so she could maintain the magical shield. Her eyes were wide and wild in her white face as she stared up at the thing.
“Bors, get back dammit!” Tristan bellowed. “You’re too damned close!” And so is Belle.
Instead of retreating, Bors pressed closer, aiming blows at the creature’s belly and forelegs. The blade glanced harmlessly off its shield, but that didn’t stop Bors from continuing his attack.
Frustrated, Tris snarled at Arthur, “If that son of a bitch gets Belle killed, he’s a dead man!”
“Keep your mind on the monster, not the girl,” Arthur growled.
“Somebody just conjured a gate!” Morgana yelled. “And it wasn’t one of us.”
Tristan looked around as the gate dilated wide, far wider than any of them would have needed, but just the right size for Godzilla Furboy. The creature swung its head around and shot them a look, then stood up on its hind legs, opened its jaws, and breathed a gout of fire right at Belle and Bors.
“Belle!” Tristan bellowed, as the inferno hid her from view.
The monster whirled and leaped through the gate with a triumphant flick of its bushy tail. The flame winked out, leaving Belle and Bors unhurt. Thank God.
Tris felt Morgana’s magic swell, then fade away again as she swore in a half dozen languages.
“Did you get where the gate went?” Arthur demanded.
She shook her dark head. “Something blocked my spell. Something with one hell of a lot more power than the furball.”
Master of Shadows Page 15
