Prophecy of Magic (Sasha Urban Series Book 6)

by Dima Zales

  He goes transparent and leaps back, and the shard lands exactly where he was standing.

  Everyone looks up.

  It’s Lilith.

  She’s floating down from the hole in the ceiling like a dandelion seed on a breeze.

  Looks like she can defy gravity here on Earth as well—for a Cognizant-only audience, in any case.

  First to recover his wits, Woland rushes for the exit. Boris races after his boss, as does the spikey-haired chort and a few others.

  The rest of the chorts stare at Lilith as if transfixed—and maybe they are. Maybe they see her godlike visage, or maybe she’s using some other power on them—it’s hard for me to tell.

  Reaching his destination, Woland puts his shoulder to the door and runs outside at the same time as Lilith gestures toward the hypnotized chorts that remain.

  With a flash of red energy, small punctures appear on everyone’s necks—including Boris’s, who’s by the door.

  “Yes,” Lilith coos creepily. Then she makes a new gesture, and a tiny stream of blood extends from each of the wounds, flying straight into her mouth in a gravity- and logic-defying feat.

  The chorts seem to come out of their stupor, gaping at Lilith in horror.

  I can’t blame them.

  They must be thinking the same thing I am: she can feed on her victims remotely?

  Looking fatigued, Lilith lowers her arms, and the blood stops flowing.

  The chorts keep staring.

  Lilith lands on the ground and loudly swooshes the liquid in her mouth.

  “Complex.” She grins like a shark. “Velvety with floral tones. And the best part is, no more phasing for you.”

  Tearing his eyes away from her, Boris leaps for the door but immediately stumbles back.

  With a loud growl, Marius-the-werewolf rips into Boris’s right thigh.

  Screaming in pain, the chort falls and tries to punch the werewolf—only to get his arm decimated. He moves to kick, but that just delivers his other leg into Marius’s jaws.

  Seeing the werewolf busy, the spikey-haired chort sprints for the exit—which is when Nostradamus shows up as if from nowhere, and slices at the chort’s throat with a curved dagger.

  The chort evaporates. Permanently.

  Apparently deciding that Nostradamus might be an easy target, four other chorts face the blind seer head on.

  As if he can see them, Nostradamus strikes with his dagger, his movements swift and precisely calculated—like those of a special forces soldier or a well-programmed robot.

  He must be using his power to help him fight like that.

  Quickly dispatching his attackers, Nostradamus kills more chorts to reach me. He then stands by with his dagger ready—no doubt to prevent the remaining chorts from using me as a hostage.

  Meanwhile, Lilith grins in excitement as she reaches for the largest chort she can find. A blur of motion, and she’s holding the chort’s head with his ripped-out spine attached.

  The surrounding chorts whiten.

  Grinning wider, she floats off the ground and swoops down, aiming for the chort who killed my gallbladder.

  Almost playfully, she punches him from midair—causing the guy to fly ten feet and slam into the cement wall with such force that his body literally explodes.

  The rest of the chorts stampede away from her, but anyone who goes for the exit meets Marius’s jaws.

  I’m too lightheaded to follow the rest of the fight, only registering bits and pieces of what happens.

  Lilith lands, grabs the guy who stole my tonsils, and kicks him in the groin. He flies almost to the broken ceiling, then crash-lands and dissipates.

  Nostradamus dodges a swipe from the lanky, shashka-wielding chort, then buries a knife in the chort’s belly.

  Lilith rips the leg off the round-faced ovary expert and flies around, clubbing other chorts to death with it.

  Marius growls and disembowels the kidney expert.

  Lilith sinks her fangs into the gallbladder guy and drinks him dry in one giant gulp—then burps exaggeratedly.

  My vision starts to blur at that point, which is a blessing, as Lilith’s killings get even more creative.

  Nightmares-for-years kind of creative.

  Eventually, the only chorts alive are Boris with his ripped-to-shreds body parts and a few others, who are too wounded to move.

  This is when Nostradamus frees my hands and feet, then takes off the blood-splattered bib from my neck and tosses it on the floor. I can’t get up, though, partly because I’m in too much pain, and partly because the lack of blood circulation gave all my limbs enough pins and needles to make an army of porcupines.

  Lilith goes over to the small table that managed to survive the battle and picks up the bottle of water.

  Walking toward me, she pricks her finger and squeezes the tiniest droplet of her blood into the bottle.

  Stopping next to my chair, she gives the water a good shake and examines my face. “You poor dear.” She presses the bottle to my lips. “Drink this, and you’ll be good as new.”

  Since Felix didn’t seem to get hooked on this—and because I’d do anything to stop the pain—I greedily gulp a big sip of the blood water.

  An almost orgasmic relief whooshes through my body. It’s like eating after starvation or drinking after being dehydrated to a husk.

  The bones in my face are the first to heal, but the rest of my pains disappear also, as do nausea, lightheadedness, and the pins-and-needles feeling in my limbs.

  Wow.

  Felix was right. This is Isis-level healing, if not better.

  Though I don’t think I’m addicted, I can see why a more direct blood-tasting might be a problem.

  “Thank you,” I say, marveling at how my voice is completely back to normal. Turning toward Nostradamus and Marius, I thank them as well.

  “Of course,” Lilith says. “We’re family. I’m sure you’d help me if I needed it.”

  Hmmm. Would I, though? What do I reply to that? This is really awkward.

  “Does your blood heal internal organs?” I ask, deciding to switch to a much more important topic.

  “Of course,” Lilith says with more than a tinge of pride.

  “Even if it’s chort damage? Because they killed my spleen and a bunch of other things.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Lilith says and looks at Nostradamus, who shrugs. “But since I’ve never tested it, we should probably take you to a human hospital to check.”

  “Great idea,” I say and stand up with ease. Gleefully, I take a few steps on my newly steady legs.

  The recovery is amazing.

  “Before we go, we have to finish them.” Lilith nods at the still-moaning Boris and his surviving crew. “Which one do you want?”

  For a few moments, I actually consider it.

  I’d like nothing better than to walk over to Boris and bash his stupid head in with a blunt object—or kick one of his injuries and say something cold, like, “Payback is a bitch, bitch.”

  Thankfully, my rational side kicks in, and I remember Rasputin’s visions of little me turning into a killing machine. Lilith clearly has some weird agenda when it comes to this, and I’m not about to go along with it.

  I’m not going to let her turn me into a monster.

  Unless, of course, I already am a monster.

  I certainly have the genetics for it.

  But no. Sure, I’ve killed enemies in the heat of battle, but I’ve never murder-tortured anyone, and I’m not about to start.

  “Still squeamish,” Lilith tells Nostradamus disappointedly. “Oh, well. Her loss is my gain.”

  With that, she prances over to a wounded chort and snaps his neck.

  “Sure, let’s call it ‘squeamish,’” I mutter, looking away as she finishes another one.

  “But this is the one who hurt you the most, right?” She points the toe of her shoe at Boris. “I think he also hurt your little friend.”

  “That’s him.” I can’t hel
p rubbing my chin and cheek—the completely healed parts of my face that Boris damaged.

  “Yet you don’t want to finish him?” She looks genuinely puzzled.

  “Maybe another time,” I say as politely as I can. “You can do the honors right now.”

  “Oh, I will,” she says menacingly. “I think he needs a lesson in etiquette.”

  She kneels next to Boris and casually rips his ear off.

  He screams.

  She forces some blood-water from the bottle into his mouth, and his injuries begin to knit. As soon as they’re gone, she creates new ones.

  I look away again.

  Lilith starts to do something new to Boris—something that sounds like she’s making hamburgers from scratch… without any kitchen appliances.

  Boris screams like a banshee, and keeps screaming until I plug my ears to keep my sanity.

  Muffled, the screaming continues for a very, very long time.

  When it stops, I turn and see that Boris’s body has already disintegrated, like those of the rest of his kind.

  “I know,” Lilith says, looking at the empty spot. “I had to make this quick so we can take you to the hospital.”

  That was quick? How long would she have tortured the guy if she had more time?

  Maybe she didn’t lie when she said she’d treated Rasputin well. Compared to what she can do, those beatings from the guards were kindness itself.

  Slowly shaking his head, Nostradamus grabs hold of Marius and heads for the exit.

  I wait for Lilith to go next, then follow them.

  A sleek Ferrari is waiting outside. Marius and Nostradamus get in the back, while Lilith jumps behind the wheel.

  Great. Let the psychotic one drive. Why not?

  I gingerly get inside and buckle up.

  At least if we crash, I can always lick some of Mommy’s blood to feel better.

  Wait a second, is that addiction talking?

  Grinning, Lilith floors the gas pedal.

  The regular streets zoom by at NASCAR speeds, and when we reach the highway, Lilith manages to speed up more. I squeeze the bottom of my seat and check that my seatbelt is fastened as she brings us to the brink of one accident after another.

  She must be using her luck powers again. This is similar to what Chester did when he drove the other day—but on steroids and in need of antipsychotic drugs.

  “Did Woland escape?” I ask Nostradamus—mostly to think of something besides the impending car explosion.

  “I have no idea,” Nostradamus says, fluffing Marius’s fur. “Did you see him leave?”

  Marius growls.

  “Then why didn’t you kill him?” Lilith asks—and to my horror, she looks at Marius instead of at the road.

  Marius growls again.

  “You’re right,” Nostradamus says. “Sasha’s safety was the priority.”

  Are they pranking me, or do these growls actually mean something?

  “Woland lost all of his people,” Lilith says, this time looking at me instead of the road. “He’s probably tucking his tail and running all the way to St. Petersburg.” Returning her gaze to the road, she adds, “No doubt he’s going to get demoted for getting all the Enforcers killed.”

  Marius growls one more time.

  “No.” Nostradamus scratches Marius’s fluffy ear. “You can’t hunt him down. Without Lilith around, chorts are extremely hard to kill.”

  I’m on the verge of asking some questions when we violently screech onto a ramp—and almost right into a building labeled “NYU Lutheran Medical Center.”

  Marius gets funny looks from the medical personnel when we enter the lobby—at least until Lilith uses glamour on everyone. She also makes them admit me as quickly as possible, and I’m soon rushed inside and subjected to every scan known to science.

  “Her organs are perfectly fine,” the doctor tells Lilith, his voice sounding robotic due to the glamour. “In fact, she’s in as perfect health as I’ve ever seen. It’s extraordinary.”

  I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I was worried about my organs—especially the ovary and the kidney.

  As it turns out, I feel very attached to them.

  Lilith beams at me proudly. “My blood is extraordinary.” Turning back to the doctor, she asks, “What about my drink?”

  “Right.” The doctor hands her a blood bag. “Type O, as you commanded.”

  Lilith takes the bag from him and slurps on it like a poor-mannered kindergartener.

  Just as she’s almost done with this one bag, a nurse runs over and hands her another one.

  “What if they get a patient who’ll need that for a transfusion?” I ask as I get up to leave.

  “Would you rather I get the blood from one of those very convenient receptacles?” Lilith smiles predatorily and waves at a cute little girl down the hall from us.

  “No,” I say quickly. “I’m sure they have plenty of blood in the bank. You enjoy yourself.”

  We walk in silence as more medical staff bring Lilith bag after bag—Lilith because she’s slurping away and me because I decide to keep my commentary to a minimum lest I get people killed.

  Once outside, I check my phone.

  Still nothing from Nero, but I do have a voicemail and two texts from Lucretia, asking why I called before and whether I’m okay.

  I’m on a different planet from okay, I text back. Maybe a different galaxy.

  She writes back instantly:

  Want to meet up? I’m leaving the banya to go back to the city in a few minutes.

  “Sexting your boyfriend?” Lilith asks, noticing my phone. “You might want to pay him a visit. They say my blood makes—”

  “Please do not finish that thought,” I say and jump into the car, still thinking of what to reply to Lucretia.

  “—sex much better,” Lilith says with relish, joining me in the Ferrari.

  Pretending not to have heard, Nostradamus pets Marius’s fur, and the werewolf growls contentedly.

  “So,” Lilith says. “What now?”

  That’s a great question.

  It’s been hours since I had my visions about Nero, and I bet there’s zero chance I can catch him on Gomorrah at this point.

  Do I still want to go there to talk to Rasputin and Ariel? I guess I do, but that’s not a priority—not when Nero is in trouble.

  Should I go to the dragon world to help Nero with those epic battles? Assuming I didn’t miss them, that is.

  He’d be pissed if I showed up—which is a bonus. But what about my current companions? Should I bring them along? Lilith certainly could be useful in a fight and might consider all the bloodshed a good mother-daughter bonding experience.

  No, wait.

  Asking Lilith to save my life in a moment of desperation is one thing; asking her to help out my boss/Mentor/crush is quite another.

  Actually, it’s a moot point anyway. When Nero attacked her on her world, she mentioned she had a contract with the dragon king, by which she was supposed to stay out of his world if he stayed out of hers. The very same dragon king whose wish to marry Claudia was the catalyst for Nero’s warmongering. Which reminds me of the million-dollar question: who is Cl—

  “Are you all right?” Lilith asks. “Was your brain scan clean?”

  Despite her mocking tone, she seems genuinely concerned for me, at least for a fraction of a second.

  But no. I must’ve imagined that concern.

  Maybe scanning my brain more thoroughly is a good idea.

  “I’m just shaken up,” I tell her honestly. “I know you wanted to hang out around New York, but I’d really like to see my therapist.” I wave my phone. “By sheer coincidence, she’s also in Brooklyn right now, so I’d love to meet her.”

  “If that’s what you need, then I’m sure her proximity isn’t a coincidence,” Lilith says smugly. “I want you to be well, and my luck powers undoubtedly brought this about.”

  “Great, thank you—and your powers,” I say. �
��Let me see where she wants to meet.”

  Lucretia and I text back and forth and settle on an Uzbek food restaurant where Felix and I once had lunch with his parents.

  I explain our destination to Lilith, and make sure to also explain that there’s no rush to get there.

  Starting the car, Lilith smirks, then floors the gas pedal anyway.

  As we barrel down the street, her driving feels extra reckless—probably because I’m not busy worrying about my organs this time.

  “I have to say, I don’t often meet other seers,” Nostradamus says over the roar of the engine. “Especially ones as powerful as you.”

  “Me neither.” I gladly peel my eyes from the road to look back at him. “It’s frustrating. Learning to wield my powers has been a headache.”

  “That’s a shame.” He clears his throat. “You know, I like teaching that sort of thing. If there’s something specific you ever want to learn, just ask me.”

  I’m so excited I almost forget about Lilith’s The Fast and the Furious audition.

  Nostradamus himself is volunteering to teach me how to use seer powers.

  Christmas has officially come early.

  Unless he has some agenda, of course—which isn’t out of the question given the company he keeps.

  Still, as far as evil shenanigans go, answering my questions is probably my favorite kind.

  “How do you target a specific time in a vision?” I ask, remembering my most recent Headspace-related dilemma.

  “Ah.” He mindlessly runs his hand over Marius’s fur. “You’re talking about an extremely advanced technique. Choosing a specific time in the future is costly in terms of seer power—and it’s also pretty difficult to explain.”

  “Oh?” I say disappointedly.

  “Well, let me try.” He looks thoughtful. “Okay, so at the core, what you need is to focus on the essence of time,” he says, pronouncing “essence” in a French manner.

  “Essence?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So a little bit like you would with a specific person, but with time?” I say.

  “Yes, very good. Only it’s harder to do with an abstract concept such as time.”

  “Harder?” Lilith looks back. “What is the essence of a second? Or an hour? Or a day?”

  Though I wish she’d focus on the road, she has a point—“essence of a second” is a pretty nebulous concept.