Magic Bites kd-1

by Ilona Andrews

  “Considering how the upir plans to use you, it might not be a bad idea.”

  Nick stepped to me, reached out slowly, and brushed my hand with his fingers. A sharp tingle of magic nipped at my skin and his fingers glowed with white radiance, as if he had dipped his hand in fluorescent paint.

  I pulled away. “Would you stop doing that?”

  His gaze probed me. “Who are you? Where do you come from?”

  “I’m pretty sure I came from my mom and dad,” I said. “See, when a man puts his penis inside a woman’s vagina . . .”

  “I know how to kill him,” he interrupted.

  I shut up.

  Nick crouched next to me. “Back in Washington, I tracked him down to the Shrine of the Gorgon. He’d helped himself to the priestesses and slaughtered the priests, but before Archiereus of the shrine died, he told me how to kill him. But I need my tools. Help me make it out of here, and I’ll come back with a weapon to fight him.”

  “Why not just tell Curran?”

  He shook his head. “The Beast Lord won’t listen. He’s got tunnel vision: keep the Pack safe. He won’t let me out.”

  “Tell me,” I said.

  “Will you help me?”

  “Tell me first and I’ll do what I can.”

  Nick leaned toward me. “Bone of prey,” he whispered. “You kill him with bone.”

  “I’ll help,” I said. “But while you’re out, I need you to do me a favor. Bring me a present, Nick.”

  CURRAN LOOKED AT ME. HE WASN’T GIVING ME A hard stare. He was just looking at me with no expression at all.

  “Where’s the Crusader?” he asked. His voice was level.

  “He needed some ‘me’ time,” I said. “I might be wrong, but I don’t think he’s a team player.”

  There were seven of us in the room: Curran, Jim in his jaguar shape, Mahon, two lupine sentries, the stable master, and me. The sentries and the stable master looked decidedly uncomfortable. Their eyes still watered from the wolfsbane and the left sentry had a full-blown allergic reaction, complete with red rash and a running nose he probably desperately wanted to wipe. If it wasn’t for Curran, he might have made a mad dash for the handkerchief, but the Beast Lord’s presence kept him rooted at attention, and so he just stood there, both faucets dripping.

  Curran nodded calmly, feigning understanding. He was too composed for my liking. In his place I would’ve exploded. I flexed my wrist lightly, feeling the edge of the leather bracer full of silver needles rub against my skin. Mahon had politely requested to hold Slayer for me while Curran and I had our little talk. Just as well. It’s not like I could kill Curran now. Should. It’s not like I should kill Curran now. I could always try. Later.

  The Beast Lord crossed his arms on his chest. His face looked placid. Calm before the storm . . .

  The jaguar at my feet tensed and tried to look smaller. Nick needed a bit of a distraction while he rode like a bat out of hell on the horse commandeered from the Pack stables. I’d provided that distraction by leading Jim and his posse of pissy shapechangers on a merry chase through the countryside.

  “Just so we’re clear,” Curran said. “You did understand that I didn’t wish you or the Crusader to leave Keep?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Curran said.

  He grabbed me by the throat and slammed me against the wall. My feet felt no floor. His fingers crushed my neck.

  I clasped the hand that held me and jammed a long silver needle into his palmar nerve between the index finger and thumb. Curran’s fingers trembled. His hand opened releasing me. I slid to the floor, dropped, and swiped at his legs. He fell. I rolled away and came to my feet. On the opposite side of the room Curran rose to a half crouch, his eyes burning gold.

  The whole thing took maybe two seconds. The stunned audience never got a chance to react.

  Curran reached for the needle, pulled it out, and dropped it to the floor, never taking his eyes off me.

  “It’s okay,” I told him. “I have more.”

  He lunged from a half crouch into a spectacular pounce. I dashed forward, aiming to come under him and flick the needle into his stomach. And we both crashed into Mahon.

  “No!” the Bear growled.

  I bounced off his leg and sat onto the floor, stupidly blinking. Mahon grabbed Curran by his shoulders and struggled to keep him still. Huge muscles bulged on his shoulders and arms, splitting the seams of his sleeves.

  “Not now,” Mahon grunted. His reasonable voice had no effect. Curran locked his hands on Mahon’s arms. I could see the beginnings of a judo style hold there, but Curran did not follow through. Instead it degenerated into a brute contest of strength. Mahon’s face went purple with effort. His feet slid.

  I got up. Mahon’s arms trembled, but Curran’s face had gone pale from the strain. The Bear against the Lion. The room was so thick with testosterone, you could cut it with a knife. I looked at the sentries.

  “You and Jim might want to leave,” I told them.

  The younger lycanthrope stirred. “We don’t take orders from . . .”

  The older male cut him off. “Come.”

  They filed out the door, taking the jaguar with them.

  I went to the locked men and very gently took Curran’s right wrist and tugged on it. “Let go, Curran. Please, let go. Come on. You are mad at me, not at him. Let go.”

  Slowly the tension drained from his face. The gold fire ebbed. His fingers relaxed and the two men broke off.

  Mahon puffed like an exhausted plow horse. “You are bad for my blood pressure,” he said to me.

  I shrugged and jerked my head in Curran’s direction. “I’m even worse for his.”

  “You left,” Curran said. “You knew how fucking important it was and you still left.”

  “Nick knows how to kill him. He needs a weapon and you wouldn’t let him out,” I said.

  “And if the upir had caught you,” Mahon said softly. “What would you have done then?”

  I took a sphere Nick had given me from my pocket and showed them. The size of a walnut, it was metallic and small enough to perfectly fit into the palm of my hand. I squeezed the sides gently and three spikes popped from the sphere, moist with liquid.

  “Cyanide,” I explained.

  “You can’t kill him with that.” Curran grimaced.

  “It’s not for him. It’s for me.”

  They stared at me.

  “People were dying,” I said. “He was laughing, and all I could do was to sit tight and be safe.”

  Curran growled. “You think it’s easy for me?”

  “No. But you’re used to it. You have experience with responsibility for people’s lives. I don’t. I don’t want anybody else to die for me. I’m up to my knees in blood as is.”

  “I had to send three patrols out,” Curran said. “Because of you. None of them died, but they could have. All because you couldn’t stand to not be the center of attention for a few minutes.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I started sniffing. “What the hell is that stink? Oh, wait a minute, it’s you. You reek. Did you dine on skunk or is that your natural odor?”

  “That’s enough,” Mahon roared, startling both of us into silence. “You’re acting like children. Curran, you’ve missed your meditation, and you need one. Kate, there is a punching bag in your room. Make use of it.”

  “Why do I have to punch the bag while he meditates?” I mumbled on the way out.

  “Because he breaks the bags when he punches them,” Mahon said.

  I was almost to the room when it occurred to me that I had obeyed Mahon without question or even doubt. He had that eternal father-thing about him that managed to throw me off track every time. There was no defense against it or at least I didn’t know of one. He didn’t use it when he fought with Curran. I tried to figure out why while I dutifully punched the bag. My punches were rather pathetic. Then exhaustion settled in.
A mere twenty minutes later I gave up, took a shower, and fell onto my bed without finding an answer.

  CHAPTER 10

  SOMEONE STOOD OVER ME. MY EYES SNAPPED OPEN and Curran’s face slammed into focus. He leaned against the wall next to the bed looking at me.

  “What?”

  “He called,” Curran said.

  I sat up in bed. “He decided he wants a fight?”

  “Yeah. He put Derek on the line. He broke the kid’s legs and is keeping him in the leg irons so the bones can’t heal.”

  Better and better. “Bono give you any terms?”

  “Me, the Crusader, and you. Tonight.”

  How nice. A party for the top three on the upir’s most wanted list. “Where?”

  “South-eastern ley point. He says he’ll let us know from there.”

  “Are you bringing backup?”

  “No,” he said. He didn’t mention any reasons but I knew them all: his word, his pride, his duty, the fact that the upir would kill Derek. Any one of those would do.

  I rubbed the sleep from my face. “What time is it?”

  “Noon.”

  The patrols caught me at seven in the morning and I had gone to bed around eight, which gave me a grand total of four hours of sleep. “When do we have to leave?”

  “Seven thirty.”

  I lay back down, pulled the blanket up, and yawned. “Fine, wake me up at seven then.”

  “So you’re coming?”

  “Did you expect me to hide here?”

  “He referred to you as his little snack.”

  “He’s a sweetie.”

  “He’s also all about screwing you.”

  I raised my head enough to look at him. “Look, Curran, what do you want from me?”

  “Why does he want to mate with you?”

  “I’m a good lay. Go away, please.”

  Curran brushed my quip aside. “I want to know why he’s got a hard-on for getting you knocked up.”

  There was a pun in that sentence somewhere but he didn’t look like he was in the mood to notice. “How should I know?” I said. “Maybe the idea of torturing my child gets him hot. I’ve had four hours of sleep. I need at least four more, Curran. Go away.”

  “I will find out.” He made it sound like a threat.

  “You read too much into it.”

  He peeled himself from the wall. “How will I find the Crusader?”

  “He’ll be here in a couple of hours. He thought he’d get an invitation. Please don’t take his weapons away this time. He comes of his own will.”

  Curran walked out. I took a deep breath and forced my mind to go blank.

  NICK WALKED THROUGH THE DOOR AT TWENTY minutes till four. I was awake and putting on my boots.

  He closed the door and leaned against it. His face had gained stubble and his hair looked greasy again.

  “What do you do to your hair?”

  “Dust, hair gel, and a little gun oil.”

  “Ever thought of patenting the recipe?”

  “No.”

  I stood up. He locked the door and took a leather roll from the inside of his trenchcoat. He put it on the table, untied the string securing it, and unrolled it with a snap. Inside lay two yellowish blades, one almost a foot long and the other about the size of my hand. I picked up the larger one. It was filed from a human femur split in half, and a long groove ran along the center of the blade where the bone marrow had been.

  “Too heavy,” I murmured.

  “And brittle,” he said softly. “I broke four.”

  “Why didn’t you have one when you and Bono fought over Derek?”

  His eyes flashed. “I did,” he said. “It shattered in my coat when he kicked me.”

  I ran my finger along the blades. Considering how little time he had, they were amazingly well made.

  “I won’t get anywhere near him with this one.” I put the large blade down and picked up the smaller one. With this one I’d have to get close to the upir. Very close.

  “You get one shot,” Nick said.

  I nodded and tucked it into my knife sheath.

  “You still have the sphere?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Still planning to use it?”

  My hand twitched to check the comforting weight of the metal in my pocket. Somewhere deep down I knew I wouldn’t use it. I would fight to the end, fight until he would be forced to cut me to pieces. I would make him kill me if I had to. After all I was only human. It wouldn’t take much.

  I glanced at Nick and realized he knew exactly what I was thinking. “Only if I have no choice,” I said.

  * * *

  I RODE ONE OF THE PACK’S HORSES, A SOLID, THICK-MUSCLED creature of undeterminable shade somewhere halfway between mud and soot. He pounded the ground with his hooves as if suspecting that the thin layer of soil masked a nest of wriggling snakes and he could get at them if he just stomped hard enough.

  “Wind,” the surly werewolf had told me after presenting me with the reins. Given that I had smothered his face with wolfsbane less than twenty-four hours ago, I wasn’t high on his list of favorite people. “His name’s Wind.”

  I had thought of asking him what possessed someone to give this illegitimate offspring of a knight’s war stallion and an oversized plow horse a star-of-the-racetrack name but had decided against it. Now Wind was merrily pounding his way through the darkened city at the velocity of a tired speed walker. Curran’s howling jeep wasn’t even getting a workout and Nick I couldn’t see. His red gelding had taken off at the first snarl of the magic-powered engine and insisted on maintaining the distance.

  I patted the charger’s neck. “At least you’re not skittish.”

  Might just as well have screamed into a tornado. The bloody jeep drowned any sound in its tortured battle for sonic supremacy.

  The magic was thick and growing thicker, flooding the sleepy city with untapped power. It mixed with the light of the old moon, swirling in the alleys, churning among the ruined carcasses of gutted buildings, feeding on concrete and plastic. As we rode through the derelict industrial district, heading toward Conyers and the ley point, we watched the crumbling wrecks of once proud structures disintegrate slowly into nothing while all things magic triumphed. It was impossible not to find significance in the situation. A superstitious person would’ve viewed it as an omen, a gloomy forecast of things to come. I scowled at the cemetery for human ambition and kept riding. Tonight I would have given ten years of my life to have the tech reassert itself for a few hours. As it was, I probably didn’t have ten years to give.

  The ley point shimmered ahead, a short, controlled jerk of reality pricked by a magic needle. We reached it at the same time, the snarls of Curran’s jeep sending Nick’s gelding into near panic.

  “Would you shut that thing off!” I screamed over the noise.

  “No! Takes too long to warm up!” Curran roared back.

  “Why won’t you ride a horse!”

  “What?”

  “A horse! Horse!”

  Curran’s gesture plainly told me what I could do with the horse in question.

  An animal scuttled forward and paused before us, poised until it was sure we noticed it. It resembled a bobcat but only vaguely. It was too large, close to sixty pounds, its spine and legs too long and disproportionately narrow, like those of an adolescent cat. The top part of its face was unmistakably feline, while the bottom half boasted an almost perfect human jaw with a small, pink-lipped mouth. The effect was too disturbing for me.

  At least now I had a good idea who had left those hairs at Greg’s murder scene.

  Convinced that we’d seen it, the nightmarish bobcat took off down the highway with unexpected speed. Nick chased it and so did Curran in his Jeep. After a few moments of prompting, Wind realized that I wanted him to move and happily obliged.

  We followed the bobcat out of the city and along the highway for the better part of an hour. The horses began to tire, but the beast showed no si
gns of slowing down. Finally it darted off onto a side road, under a canopy of tall pines. The pavement had crumbled, splitting under the pressure of the roots. It would slow the horses down and stop the car flat.

  Nick pursued the cat, while I lingered long enough to see Curran park his Jeep on the side of the highway and shut it off. He pulled himself out of the cab, showing every intention of running after us. I squeezed Wind’s sides with my knees—he didn’t seem to understand subtle clues—and my faithful mount pounded after Nick.

  I caught up with the Crusader at the end of the road, where the trees parted, bordering a large clearing. A massive, forbidding structure of red brick and concrete stood before us. An eight-foot-tall concrete wall secured the building and only the three upper stories were visible. I looked around. Overgrown and unkempt, the clearing showed signs of past landscaping, and a straight streak of pavement, half-choked by weeds, led to the gap in the wall, where heavy metal gates stood partially ajar, offering a glimpse of the inner yard. The bobcat thing bounded up the walkway and dove between the gates.

  There was something familiar about the building. It was simple, almost crude in construction, just a blocky box of about four stories with narrow windows blocked by metal grates, yet the sight of it filled me with dread.

  Curran came around the bend in the road, running at an easy pace. No sweat marked his face.

  “Red Point,” he said grimly, stopping beside me. “It had to be Red Point.”

  Nick looked at me.

  “A local prison,” I told him. “The left wing inmates kept complaining that ghosts were trying to kill them. Nobody paid attention until the walls came to life during a strong magic fluctuation and swallowed the prisoners. They found partially entombed bodies.”

  “Prisoners half-buried in brick,” Curran said darkly. “Most were still alive and screaming.”

  I shifted in the saddle. What I took to be a pile of debris to the left of the main building now took on a definite shape of a decrepit guard tower. How the hell did the trees grow so fast? They looked decades old.

  “I thought MSDU leveled this place years ago,” I muttered.

  “No.” Curran shook his head. “They just condemned it when the walls wouldn’t stop bleeding. They don’t kill it unless they know they can’t use it.”