Magic Bites kd-1

by Ilona Andrews

  “Their magic strengthens me.” Bono grimaced. “But they taste like shit.”

  His fingers touched my hair. He picked up a strand and raised it to his nostrils.

  “I bet the original plan was to put a bun in Olathe’s oven.”

  He bared his teeth. “The bitch was barren—can you believe that?” He twisted my hair around his fingers and looked through it at the moon. I pulled away and he let the strands slip from his hand with a chuckle. “But then I stumbled onto you. And you’re not barren, Kate.”

  “Why me?”

  He leaned close, his breath hot on my cheek. “I know what you are. I’ve climbed the hill and sniffed the grave of that rotting sack of bones you called Father. I smelled his stink and I know his blood isn’t in your veins. And I know whose is. All of that power crammed into a tight, sweet little package. Did you know your real father hunted my kind thousands of years ago? Your puny little mind can’t comprehend the extent of my hate for him. You will give me a son, Kate. And all of the magic of your bloodline will belong to me.”

  He laughed softly and I had to swallow a scream. “Why did you kill Greg?”

  “He was getting too close to me. Olathe’s little subterfuge failed to fool him. I knew I would have to kill him sooner or later. The trick was to do it so you’d leave your precious warded house and come after the killer.”

  “You wanted me to confront Olathe. You wanted to know if my blood was stronger than hers.”

  “Yes. It took you so long to figure it out. I practically drew a map for you. I hand-fed you every crumb. All you had to do was to follow the trail but you meandered and backtracked. An ape could’ve gotten it faster. But then, you and an ape are only a small step apart.”

  He licked my cheek. “The magic is thick tonight and I grow hungry. There is a fresh corpse waiting for me at my place. And more will be coming. There are many necromancers among the People who would rather serve me than that fool on his gilded throne. Let’s end this, what do you say?”

  I said nothing.

  “No clever remark? Are you scared, Kate?” His voice dropped to a whisper, but the words he said thundered with power. “Estene aleera hesaad de viren aneda.” And now, you are forever mine.

  Oh Dear God. For him power words were a language. The strength of the ancient magic gripped me, crushing my mind with its enormity. The whirlwind of light swirled about me, carrying me away into unknown depths. I bit my tongue and tasted my blood. Something furious and defiant rose inside me and screamed. Blinded by the light, I heard myself speak a single word.

  “Dair.”

  Release.

  The light dimmed and I saw Bono’s eyes staring into mine. Unfamiliar words came, surfacing from someplace long forgotten, their meaning somehow clear. “Ar ner tervan estene.” I’ll kill you first.

  I smashed the bottle against the stairs. The glass shattered, spilling across concrete. I rammed the razor-sharp edge into his throat. Blood sprayed over me.

  “Ud.” Die.

  The ground shook with the power I sank into the word. The upir fell, blood gushing from his throat. I lunged to the door and dove through. The ward flowed closed behind me.

  An odd gurgling noise came from the upir. It struggled from his ruined throat, bubbling forth with the gushes of dark blood. Bono reached for the bottle. His fingers closed about the blood-slicked glass, slid, fastened around the edge, the glass slicing into the flesh of his fingers. He pulled and ripped the bottle from his neck, dropping it gently onto the boards.

  The gurgling noise strengthened, expelling blood with each tortured cough. Glass shards slid from the wound, carried down by the crimson flow. A hideous creature crept onto the porch to sniff the bloody bottle. Bono grabbed it with one hand and flung the forty-pound thing over the rails like a kitten.

  His fingers grazed the awful cut, wiping away the blood. The wound was closing. As it sealed shut, the gurgling noise mutated, growing louder, and I realized that Bono was laughing.

  “Nice try,” he said, displaying his unscarred neck. “My turn.”

  He leaped at the open door. An explosion of crimson rolled through the doorway and he howled, thrown back. He flipped and spun about, his eyes blazing. Silver from his eyes leaked onto his cheeks, staining the skin. There was nothing at all human about him now.

  He lunged again and saw the sharp, angular vampire bones guarding the doorway from the inside.

  “Bitch!”

  “Rock, wood, and bone, Bono,” I said dully. “Your ward is reinforcing mine.”

  He screamed. The windows vibrated. I threw my hands against my ears. Bono pounded his fists against the porch floor and the boards exploded.

  “Won’t work,” I told him. “You can demolish the whole house. The ward will still stand.”

  He stared at me, silvery streaks wetting his face as if he cried metal instead of tears. His offspring shivered and hugged the ground. “This isn’t over,” he howled. “I will murder all that give you protection. I’ll kill the cat and I’ll devour his flesh. His magic will be mine and then I’ll come back. No ward will guard you then!”

  He leaped from the porch, racing into the night, and his brood followed him.

  I leaned my head against the wall. The booze made it hard to think. He didn’t die. I hadn’t expected him to. One who can weave the power words into sentences wouldn’t die from a single word.

  The cat? He said he’d kill the cat. Was he talking about Jim? No, Curran, it had to be Curran. Jim wasn’t strong enough to threaten my ward. Curran was. All shapechangers had a natural resistance to warding spells. It had to do with the animal part of their nature. Curran’s resistance was the strongest. I could call Jim and warn him.

  Who would believe me?

  “ ‘And men my prophet wail deride!’ ” I mumbled and dragged myself to my feet.

  I called Jim anyway. He didn’t answer the call and the answering machine did not pick up.

  * * *

  THE JOLT OF A WARD BREAKING RIPPED THROUGH my skull. My headache exploded and sleep fled.

  Someone was in my house.

  I slipped my hand under the pillow, found the handle of a throwing dagger, and pulled the blade free.

  I lay awake, breathing quietly. Silence and dark filled the rooms. There was no need to go hunting. Whoever it was would come to me.

  A man-sized shadow loomed in the hallway, a deeper darkness against the wall. It hesitated for a breath and approached. I closed my eyes, watching it through my eyelashes.

  Six yards. Breathe in and breathe out.

  Five.

  Four. Close enough.

  I hurled the dagger. The black blade spun through the air and bit into the shadow’s shoulder. Crap. Missed.

  The shadow lunged for me. I went for Slayer, but the bastard was too fast. I kicked, both feet hard. The shadow swatted my kick aside and grabbed my right wrist. Steel fingers squeezed, and my hand went numb. I hit the shadow in the throat with my left hand. It growled and I found myself staring into yellow eyes.

  “Let go of my hand, asshole!”

  Curran let go, and I rubbed my wrist. “Damn it, don’t you know how to talk?”

  He stared at me, uncomprehending. I reached for the lamp, remembered that the magic was up, and took a candle from the night table instead. I struck a match. The narrow blade of a candle flame flared into existence. Curran stood before me, his eyes wide, unblinking. Tiny red marks covered his face and hands, blending into a uniform coat of crimson. I reached out and touched his palm. Magic stung my fingertips. Blood. Curran was covered with blood, miniscule drops of it swelling from every pore. He had broken through my ward and it had exerted a price.

  “Curran?”

  He gave no indication of hearing me. He must be dazed from shattering the spell.

  The headache pounded at my skull like a hammer. Gaining my feet, I took Curran by the hand, led him to the bathroom, and nudged him into the shower. I turned on the cold water and let the icy cascade splash on
his face.

  Lowering the toilet cover, I sat down and rested my head on my hands. The water poured. I would’ve killed for an aspirin.

  Curran drew a sharp ragged breath and exhaled. Awareness crept into his eyes. “Cold,” he said. Shuddering, he shut off the water and shook himself. The drops extinguished the candle and darkness swallowed us.

  I reached blindly and threw a towel at him. Finding the door, I started toward the kitchen. Halfway through the short hallway something fell onto my head. I leaped to the side and grabbed at it. My fingers held a twig.

  What the hell?

  I looked up and saw the night sky. A large, irregular-shaped hole gaped in my roof. Curran had picked the highest point of the building, where the ward would be the weakest and punched through the ward and the roof with it.

  I ground my teeth, went into the kitchen, and found a feylantern. With a little coaxing, it ignited, its gentle blue flame spreading soft light. Curran appeared in the doorway.

  “You broke my roof,” I told him.

  “It was easier than the door,” he said. “I knocked. You didn’t answer.”

  I rubbed my temples. From now on, no more wine.

  Something clanked. I looked up. Curran put my dagger on the table.

  “How’s your shoulder?”

  “Sore,” he said.

  Telling him that I had been aiming for his throat wasn’t in my best interest.

  “You were right,” he said. “It’s not over.”

  “I know,” I said softly.

  “There is an upir.”

  “I know.”

  “He has Derek.”

  I stared at him.

  “I sent Derek and Corwin to the Wood,” Curran said. “He attacked them at the pickup point and took Derek. The last Corwin remembers, the kid had a broken leg, but was alive.”

  “What about Corwin?”

  “He’s hurt,” Curran said.

  “How bad?”

  “He’s dying.”

  “THIRD TREE FROM THE LEFT,” CURRAN SAID.

  We stood on the porch, shoulder to shoulder, the night stretching before us.

  “I see him.” A reptilian-looking thing crouched in the branches of the poplar, its long scaly tail wrapped around a tree limb. The watcher Bono had left to keep an eye on me.

  “We can’t kill it. Bono thinks I’ll sit in the house and hide behind my wards. If we kill it, he’s going to know. He has some sort of telepathic bond with them.”

  Curran strode to the tree. The thing watched him with huge round eyes. Curran jumped, caught a low branch, and pulled himself onto it. The reptilian monster hissed. I went to the shed and brought back a coil of cable wire. Curran grabbed the thing by the neck. It squealed and let go of the branch. He hurled it down and I stepped on it and tied the wire around its neck. Its skin was translucent and colored pale olive, glistening with transparent scales. Curran jumped down and we tied the other end around the tree.

  We headed toward the ley line.

  * * *

  WE SAT ON A NARROW WOODEN PLATFORM, hastily thrown together from bits of discarded lumber. They were called ley taxis, cheap wooden constructs that lay in stacks near every ley point. Nothing living could ride the ley line without having some sort of support under its feet. If you were foolish enough to try, the magic current would sever your legs just above the knee.

  The ley line dragged us north toward Atlanta at nearly ninety miles an hour. Magic held the taxi completely immobile, so much so that it appeared the rough wooden platform hung still, while the planet merrily rotated past it.

  “Explain the bone ward to me again,” Curran said quietly.

  “He killed the vampires and fed on them. The flesh he consumed created the bond between their bones and him. By bringing the bones inside and binding them to the stone foundation and the walls, I forced him to fight against himself. It’s nearly impossible to break this kind of ward. I had also dropped the ward-markers all around the yard so he would have a clear passage to my porch. He was too happy to see me to notice.”

  “You baited him?”

  “Yes.”

  “So the bone ward can be reversed, but blood wards can be overcome by a person of similar blood?”

  “Apples and oranges,” I said dully. I felt tired and restless at the same time. “The blood ward draws its power directly from the blood, while the Rock-Wood-Bone ward is an environmental ward. It draws power from the magic itself. The presence of bones just defines it, similar to a lens that allows only light of a certain color to pass. He can’t enter my house when magic is up. And since he is magic, he must be too weak to try during tech.”

  I watched the planet rotate by, the darkness-drowned valleys and hills rolling on both sides of us. Poor Derek. I clenched my teeth.

  “Don’t,” Curran said.

  “I should’ve found somebody to listen.” We didn’t look at each other, choosing instead to stare into the night’s face.

  “Wouldn’t have mattered,” Curran said. “I would’ve still sent them to the Wood. It was the safest place for them.”

  “In retrospect, it all fits.” My voice was bitter. “He was Ghastek’s journeyman, right in the middle of the People’s recon crew. He knew when vamps went out and where they headed. He knew which route your people took coming back into the city from Keep. And he spent all his free time picking up women at the bar.” I leaned back. I’d had the benefit of Anna’s vision and I still missed it. “So stupid.”

  Curran didn’t say anything.

  The stars shone bright, mocking us from above, laughing at two humans on a piece of junk. I closed my eyes, but sleep refused to come.

  “I put a broken bottle into his throat,” I said.

  “I saw the bloody glass.”

  “He laughed. The bottle was in his neck. He was bleeding all over and laughing at me.”

  “He won’t be laughing when I find him.” He said it without bravado, flat, the same way most people promise to pick up a loaf of bread on the way home.

  The Almanac said that the upir was immune to metal, wood, stone, tooth, and claw. How the hell were we going to kill him?

  Curran reached over. His warm hand rested on my forearm for a moment and moved on. For some reason that made me feel better. There was no reason why it should have, but it did. I closed my eyes, put my head on the damp-smelling boards, and fell asleep.

  A LIGHT TOUCH ON MY SHOULDER WOKE ME. “LEY point,” Curran said.

  I sat up and saw the break in the ley line up ahead, where the view of the normal world grew distorted. Several tall figures waited for us.

  “Friend or foe?”

  “Friend,” Curran said.

  The platform buckled, trying to contract on itself. The old boards creaked, taut under the strain, and grew slick as the damp wood expelled the moisture. The line quaked with a spasmodic jolt and spit us into the deformed arms of a dozen shapechangers. Clawed hands reached to help me off the platform. I got up to my feet on my own.

  “How many are left?” Curran asked the head female.

  She snarled, mismatched jaws snapping, and a shapechanger in a human form stepped forward. “Two groups, m’lord,” he said. “A small family from Waynesville and nine people from Asheville. There was a freak mudslide and they have to dig through the sludge to get to the point.”

  Curran nodded and strode up the dirt road, flanked by dense brush. Far ahead I could hear the horrible growl of a reconditioned vehicle.

  “A horse would be quieter,” I said.

  “I don’t like horses,” he said.

  All around us the brush was alive with lithe shapes. Glowing eyes watched us, drinking in every movement. The Pack was mobilizing, pulling into Keep. No shapechanger would remain outside its walls, and until the last of them crossed the threshold of their fortress, the roads leading to it would remain heavily fortified.

  “Nobody can remain on full alert forever,” Curran said, as if answering my thoughts. “After we killed Olathe,
I’d let them go.”

  Except that it wasn’t over.

  The roar of the water-powered car grew too loud to talk. We rounded the bend in the road and I saw the reconditioned Jeep guarded by three wolves. We climbed in and Curran drove to Keep.

  * * *

  CORWIN’S LABORED BREATHING ECHOED ACROSS Pack’s infirmary like the toll of a mourning bell.

  His misshapen face looked haggard, gray skin sagging from the bone. His feverish eyes fastened on me.

  “The Wood is calling,” he whispered. I touched his hand, and wicked claws shot out, tearing my skin. “A good hunt,” the lynxwere said.

  “He doesn’t know who you are,” Doolittle said over my shoulder.

  Gently I freed my hand and patted the furry throat.

  “It won’t be long now,” Doolittle said.

  “I hurt,” Corwin rasped.

  I looked to Doolittle, but he shook his head. “There is nothing I can give him to stop that kind of pain.”

  “He was impaled on a broken lamppost when we found him,” Curran said softly.

  Corwin jerked upward. Massive hands gripped my shoulders and green eyes blazed, suddenly lucid. “I’m dying,” he rasped.

  “Yes,” I said, while Doolittle said “No” at the same time.

  The cat clung to me. “You never came to the Wood,” he said.

  “No.” I held him gently. His chest shuddered, raked by pain. “I never did.”

  “Too bad . . .” the cat whispered.

  He sagged in my arms and I lowered him to the pillow. He trembled. A bloody waterfall drenched the sheets, leaving a lynx among the tangle of bandages. His fur was matted and bloody.

  “Shit!” Doolittle spat, shoving me aside.

  I backed away from the bed, as he feverishly grabbed for a syringe. Curran took me by the shoulders and turned me toward the bed at the opposite wall.

  “There is someone I need you to ID for me,” he said.

  I looked at the bed and saw a man lying on his back covered to his chin with a blanket. There was something unnatural about his rigid pose. Curran pulled the blanket aside and I saw that the man was strapped to the bed. I took in the filthy brown hair and the hard face. There was something familiar about him. I’d seen him before. The man’s eyelids snapped open and I took a step back, instantly recognizing the promise in the pale eyes. The bum from Ted’s office. The pieces clicked. How stupid of me.