Hard to Handle

by Christine Warren

  Ash gave a mighty shove and freed herself from the window a bare instant before a bolt of kinetic force exploded against the brick where her head had been just a moment ago. She spread her wings and soared upward, reaching for her axe as she flew. She could almost feel the satisfying impact resonating down the haft as the blade slammed into its target. It was a bloodthirsty thought, but hers was a bloodthirsty race. Wars, every Guardian knew, were not won without bloodshed. All one could do was ensure that the enemy spilled more in the end.

  She executed a graceful tumble in midair that changed her direction to face the evil below. Hovering just above the rooftops, she let her wings extend to their fullest spread and glared down at her foe. “Name your Master,” she ordered, investing her tone with the full weight of her authority as a Guardian and her fury as the lover of the target of this villain’s attack. “Tell me which of the Seven you serve, minion, and reveal your plans to me, or I shall bring the wrath of the Light down upon your head.”

  The nocturni tilted his head back to meet her gaze, and even at a distance she could see the light of madness in his eyes. “You will fall, Guardian, you and your pet Warden, and all the others of your kind. My Masters are risen, and your precious Guild is no longer here to help you. Four have returned to us and the fifth waits below our feet for his chance at freedom. It’s not long now, female abomination. Your existence shows that your kind have grown weak, while we have only gained in strength.” He laughed, the mad cackle of an excited zealot. “Not long at all till you die!”

  With his last exclamation, he hurled his power into the sky. The sickly, blackened stream of red light surged forth until it gathered in a solid mass not ten feet from where Ash remained treading air. The corrupt energy twisted and writhed until it took the shape of a skeletal firedrake, a miniature dragon with wings made of ragged flame and claws like rusty sabers. It opened its bony muzzle to pour out a deafening roar, followed by a ball of polluted fire.

  Ash cursed and dodged to the left. She recovered quickly and twisted to meet the creature’s charge with one of her own. She felt the heat and rush of air that accompanied its approach and realized that this thing had mass, making it something she could fight. She swung her axe at its head. It ducked, causing her to miss, but the movement sent its next missile to sputter out uselessly in the night air.

  A shout from the window distracted her for a second, and she turned to see Drum stick his head out to assess the situation. She yelled for him to get back inside, which served both to thwart the drake’s next attack, and to draw the nocturni’s attention to the man in the window. A fiery claw raked across her rib cage, slicing through her tunic and the tough hide beneath.

  In the same moment, Drum gave a hoarse shout and attempted to hit the drake with the same burst of magic that had driven off the shadelings. This time, however, the energy bounced harmlessly off its target, and the monster didn’t so much as twitch. The nocturni got luckier. His blast missed hitting Drum straight on, but it did glance off his shoulder and send the man stumbling back into the flat with a cry of pain.

  Ash screamed her fury and threw herself at the firedrake. The dumb creature had not anticipated a frontal assault and failed to dodge in time. Using the slightly smaller blade on the back of her axe, Ash hooked the edge of her weapon in the vulnerable spot beneath the thing’s front leg and spun it around like a discus before sending it flying straight at its creator.

  The monster belched out another stream of fire, but this time it found a target. The flame ignited the nocturni’s black robe, lighting up the demon worshipper like a Roman candle. The man screamed and ran, which only fed the fire, but it also broke his concentration so that the firedrake blinked out of existence.

  Ash turned immediately and flew back to the open window. The minute her hands closed about the frame, she shifted back to her smaller human form and threw herself inside. She found Drum sitting on the floor propped up against the back of the sofa. He swore a blue streak through a grimace of pain as he pressed his head into the upholstery. She could see the skin on his left shoulder had already blistered, and the red of the burn continued down over the upper portion of his biceps. She fell to her knees beside him and leaned in to get a closer look at the injury.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Hurts like bloody everlasting hell,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “But I suppose I should be glad it wasn’t my head. Burned hair smells like shite.”

  “Was that meant to be funny?”

  “Guess it doesn’t matter.” He straightened his head and looked down at her side. “What about you? I thought I saw that dragon thing get a good whack at you.”

  Ash had forgotten all about that. She had been too worried about Drum to remember the slice she had taken in her side. She paused to assess. She could feel a slight sting but no serious pain, so she shrugged. “It is nothing serious. Come, we should apply ice to your shoulder.”

  She reached forward to drape his right arm across her shoulders, intending to get him to a more comfortable seat while she tended to his wound. He pulled away with a frown, his eyes focused on a spot just below her left breast. Had his burn somehow affected his eyesight?

  “Bullshit,” he growled. “That’s blood on your shirt.”

  “I told you, it’s nothing.”

  Drum ignored her. His right hand darted out and caught the fabric of her shirt. He raised the hem to reveal a long, shallow cut that ran all the way along the curve of her lowest rib. He cursed again, this time in Irish. She had noticed he tended to do that when he was most upset. “We have to get this cleaned up.”

  Ash slapped his hand away. “It barely broke my skin. Guardians have tough hides. Your burn is much more serious. Ice. Come on.”

  He scowled at her. “Won’t help. Once the blisters form, it’s too late for ice. Ma makes a cream, though. I keep a jar in the drawer in the kitchen.” She rose to her feet without a word and turned toward the archway to the other room. She hadn’t taken more than two steps when he called out behind her. “Bring a soapy flannel, too, so we can clean that slice of yours.”

  She ignored him. She rummaged through two drawers before she found a small jar filled with a white cream. A flowered label on the glass read simply BURNS in neat block letters. She grabbed it along with a clean, white towel with blue stripes. She ran it under a cold tap, but ignored the soap. Her wound didn’t require cleaning, and the stuff might irritate Drum’s burned skin.

  Returning to the sitting room, she found that he had managed to lever himself off the floor and around the side of the sofa. He had slumped against the far side with part of his back and his right shoulder against the rear cushions, leaving his left shoulder and upper arm out in the open.

  He looked at the items in her hands and held out his own. “You first.”

  Ash held the cloth out of his reach until she could drape it over his burns. He hissed and then relaxed as the cool compress provided a small amount of relief. He narrowed his gaze on her. “Ash—”

  She rolled her eyes at the warning in his tone. Did he think he could overpower her, wrestle her to the ground, and clean her scratch by force? Ha! Not even had she been the one sporting second-degree burns. But she didn’t want him to exert himself in the attempt, so she lifted her shirt herself this time to show him her torso. The cut had already sealed itself and scabbed over. Within a few more minutes the scabs would come off and shortly after that, no one would be able to tell that the drake had even touched her.

  As she had said, Guardians healed quickly.

  Drum looked surprised for moment before relaxing back into the sofa cushions. His eyes closed on a grunt. “Fine. Do your worst.”

  Ash took her first stab at sarcasm. “Why, thank you.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked upward, but his eyes stayed closed.

  Refocusing on her task, Ash lifted the cloth from his shoulder and noted that the fabric felt warm now. The heat of his skin had raised the temperature by several degree
s, and she could easily see why. The burn stretched straight across the top of his shoulder and down onto his chest and upper arm. Turning her head, she could even see reddened areas on his ear and the side of his neck. The blast of fire had gone directly over his shoulder, probably less than an inch from the surface of his skin. The blistered areas had gotten closest, but if the flame had actually touched him, the burns would likely have been even worse. His chest and upper arm had escaped the blistering and instead appeared more like an angry sunburn. It probably caused no less pain, but it would heal faster and more cleanly.

  It took an effort of will for Ash to rein in her anger. Her first instinct was to scold Drum for putting himself in danger after she had repeatedly told him to leave their attackers to her. Her lips actually parted to let out the sharp words before she caught herself. She might not have known Michael Drummond for very long, but she already knew him well enough to understand that haranguing him would get her nowhere. He would only dig in his heels and insist that his actions had been justified.

  While Ash would not go so far as to agree, she could at least understand his reasoning. He had already held his own against two attacks by the shadelings, and he’d had no way of knowing how much greater the threat outside would be. She could also admit that she possessed no greater skill than he at standing on the sidelines when she saw another in danger.

  All this ran through her mind as she smoothed a thin layer of the cool cream over his injury. Drum remained silent, but she could see him wince now and then when her fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot. She could only hope that his confidence in his mother’s abilities as an herbal healer were not misplaced. She could admit that the balm felt pleasant and silky on her undamaged skin and bore a light, refreshing scent of citrus and herb, but the proof would be in the pudding. She wanted to see his wound healed before she passed judgment.

  Drum opened his eyes as she replaced the cap on the jar. “Do you think that was the same idiot who attacked us at the abbey?”

  She shrugged. “It is impossible to be certain. I did not see the nocturni’s face during that first confrontation, and tonight I caught no more than a glimpse. But I cannot tell you whether it would matter either way. If it was one cultist or two, they both had the same intent. Both belong to the Order, and both serve the same Masters.”

  “Then that means that Maeve’s visions were right.”

  Ash thought about his sister’s revelations that afternoon and then recalled the words the sorcerer had spoken. Maeve had said that she had Seen that five Guardians were awake and confronting something so terrible that her mind’s eye could not bear to look directly at it. That described one of the Seven quite well. But their attacker tonight had said that four of the Demons of Darkness had already been released into the human world.

  She shuddered. Was it possible? Or had it been an idle boast designed to strike fear into the hearts of those who opposed the Order’s plans? The idea of four of the Accursed Ones loose together on the mortal plane would be a greater disaster than Ash had allowed herself to imagine. Even with five of the brethren working together, it could take months, or even years, to recapture that many Demons. They could hope the creatures remained weak, not at their full power, but they could not count on such good fortune. They would need to be prepared for a battle the likes of which had not been seen on earth in thousands of years.

  “It would mean that we must move forward as if she has seen the true future,” Ash said. “The chance exists that the future remains in flux, but it is a Guardian’s duty to prepare for the worst.”

  He reached out with his good hand and hugged her into his lap. “And a Warden’s duty?”

  “That does not change. A Warden serves his Guardian, and when the battle is won, he revokes the summons to return us to stone.”

  Drum made a noncommittal sound. His gaze swept over her face as if searching for something. Had she known what he looked for, she would have provided it gladly. He gave nothing away, but pulled her closer to his uninjured side and forward until his lips hovered a bare inch from hers. “I told you I wasn’t Warden material,” he murmured before closing the distance and capturing her mouth in a kiss.

  Ash didn’t bother arguing. She was too busy trying to devour him whole. They could discuss destiny and duty another time. Or argue about it. She didn’t care. At that moment all she cared about was the rising tide of desire she felt for this man. Everything else could be sorted out later.

  Including the other feeling that swept in beneath the tangle of heat and attraction. The soft, inexorable force that threatened to upset her balance forever. There would be time enough for contemplation when she was trapped once more in layers of unyielding rock. For now, Ash had better things to do.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The phone rang well before Drum had any intention of clawing his way to consciousness. Try following wild monkey sex with a frantic battle against the forces of evil and see how perky you felt after less than five hours of sleep. He let voice mail take the call. Seven seconds after the ringing stopped it started up again.

  He cursed. In his head, because he lacked the energy for full-on vocalization. Ash stirred beside him.

  “You should answer.”

  No, she was the one with the power of audible speech, he thought. She could get it. He lay still. The ringing stopped only to start again after five seconds.

  Did Warden training cover the ability to lay curses on people? If so, maybe he should look into enrolling after all.

  “What if it is important?”

  He managed a grunt, which he supposed signified progress, and a twitch of his fingers. She still had him beat.

  And the phone kept ringing.

  A finger poked hard between his ribs, and Drum muttered a word that would have made his mother’s wooden spoon quiver. A superhuman feat of strength brought his fumbling hand to the bedside table and closed his fingers around his mobile phone. He tried bringing it to his ear, but Ash’s head lay nestled in the way, forcing him to switch hands. He brought the device to his other ear and winced when his burned shoulder protested the movement.

  “H’lo?”

  “About time, lazybones,” Maeve chirped into his ear. “It’s after nine and you’re still lounging in bed like a pasha, hm?”

  “Hanging up now,” he muttered, sliding his thumb around in search of the appropriate button.

  “Wait! I have news. You’ll want to hear this, Michael.”

  “Doubt it.”

  “Well, I know that Ash will. I think I found a way to find those other Guardians.”

  Ash stiffened against his side, her supernatural hearing allowing her to eavesdrop without difficulty, and lifted her head to meet his gaze. Drum knew this because his own eyelids had finally opened in reaction to his sister’s news.

  “How?”

  “After you left last night, in such a hurry”—Maeve emphasized the last phrase with a note of mischief—“I had an idea, so I decided to do a bit of research online.”

  Drum scoffed. “Online? You? How long did Ma’s computer hold out? Three minutes?”

  His sister sniffed with disdain. “Don’t be a child, Michael. I asked Meara to help me.”

  “I’d have thought she’d have left right after we did.”

  “Don’t be daft. You think she came all the way from Cork just to stay for dinner? She’s visiting with Ma through the weekend.”

  “Oh, right.” He hadn’t been thinking all that clearly over the last couple of days. He should have known that.

  “What did she find?” asked the distraction snuggled against him. She had raised her upper body and braced her forearm against his chest, while her gaze monitored his expressions.

  “Right, then. So, what did you come up with?” Drum asked.

  “Well, I got to thinking that no matter how ancient the Guild and the whole Guardian organization might be, in this day and age there would have to be something about them floating around on the Internet. So,
I asked Meara to Google a few keywords.”

  Drum let a note of skepticism seep into his voice. “And you found the home page of the Wardens Guild? Tell me, did they have an application and a list of classes scheduled for next semester?”

  “Honestly, Michael, you can be such a child.” He could almost see Maeve rolling her eyes at him. “What I found was a series of very interesting news articles from America. It turns out that they had their own little dustup at the same time that the Easter riots were turning Dublin on its ear.”

  Drum frowned. “Okay…”

  “Apparently, this all happened in Boston. There was some sort of high-profile conference being put on by that American philanthropist fellow. Richard Foye-Carver. It turns out that the event was interrupted by a very violent incident, one of those terrible mass shootings that keeps happening over there.”

  “What does this have to do with the Guardians?”

  “Patience, big brother. I’m getting there,” Maeve said. “I told you we were searching for keywords and some interesting ones popped up around this conference. Apparently, a few of the attendees who had witnessed the attack claimed that it wasn’t a couple of men with assault rifles like the police said, but real-life monsters who killed the victims.”

  Ash met his gaze as he felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand to attention. “Monsters, huh?”

  His sister hummed. “Monsters,” she confirmed. “And to make these witnesses sound even crazier, a couple of them said that a few of the creatures seemed to be trying to protect the conference attendees. They described those as being huge, muscled figures with gray skin and wings.”

  Ash murmured something under her breath, but Drum’s heart beat in his ears too loudly to hear. He had to force himself to calm down enough to listen to the rest of Maeve’s story.

  “The authorities, of course, dismissed all the talk of monsters,” she continued. “The official version of the story is that three men with ties to a white supremacist organization and individual histories of mental illness registered for the conference for the sole purpose of staging the attack. Apparently, the medical examiner felt that what looked like bite wounds could be explained away as the damage inflicted by rounds of fragmentary ammunition and homemade grenades tossed into the crowd. The other stories resulted from mass hysteria, simple hallucinations induced by the trauma of the events.”