Solomon's Seal

by Skyla Dawn Cameron

  I paused, started to turn, when something whispered through the air. Color flashed in my peripheral vision and I had barely the time to dodge when a ball of fire whirled past me. I hit the carpet, skidded with the guns painfully in my hands, and glanced up. The fire collided with the potted fern ahead and knocked the plant over, pieces of ceramic and dirt spitting across the floor among tiny flames.

  I glanced over my shoulder, hair cutting across my eyes. Ashford stood off to the side, the Seal of Solomon on his index finger and glinting in the light. Blackness rose above him, starting behind his shoulders and unfurling—wings of black smoke, twisting and snapping as if with a sentience of their own. Fire played under his skin, as if his flesh went translucent to expose the red, orange, and yellow that combined to make him.

  I lifted my guns and aimed them at his head. They couldn’t kill him, no, but maybe they’d hurt like hell in the meantime.

  But it was the sudden yelp at my back that froze me from head to toe.

  I slowly turned to see Thomas with my daughter, his fingers gripping her shoulder so tightly she winced, and dragging her into the room. Pulaski appeared through the doorway and followed, his steps slow and body rigid. Fire flickered red in their eyes and both looked helplessly at me.

  Shit.

  “Miss Talbot.”

  Ashford drew my attention again, my body shifting, guns aimed straight at his smug forehead.

  “Thank you for my ring. And Pulse-born to test it on.”

  And that was what they’d warned, no? They send humans, Ashford would kill them immediately; anyone else might be stronger but could be controlled by the ring if he got it.

  Motherfucker. “Just let us go.”

  “You know...” He walked slowly, eying me, those horrible black wings twisting behind him. His flesh had returned to normal but I had no doubt the smokeless flames I saw beneath his skin moments ago remained in some capacity. “It’s too bad—I had high hopes for you. You could’ve gone far under my employment but at your first chance, you betrayed me.”

  “You kidnapped my kid.”

  “Yes, but someone compelled you to double cross me before that. Isn’t that right, West?”

  West had gone back to a prone figure on the floor, as if I’d shot him dead. Of course, Ashford had to know he was faking, even if he didn’t acknowledge it.

  Unless he actually is bleeding to death. Which would be my luck.

  “I’m not a fan of betrayal, Olivia. So how about we watch your offspring torn limb from limb before it’s your turn.”

  I swung around again as Ashford gestured to Pulaski and Thomas.

  “Subdue her,” he said.

  Thomas cast Em at his partner and started toward me, eyes still glowing, hands clenching into fists. “I’m...s...sorry,” he managed to get out and I believed him—believed he had no desire to hurt me or Em, that it would kill him to do so.

  But I also believed he didn’t have a choice.

  I squeezed off multiple rounds, guns popping, bullets peppering his torso, but he kept moving—whatever kept him from dying when hit by Tucker days ago didn’t slow him down now either. Pain shone in his eyes but he’d been compelled not to care. Two feet away he knocked my arms to the side and I eased off the triggers with too great a danger of hitting Em. Thomas towered over me over by a foot, a wall of solid muscle.

  His fist came toward me; I dodged, whipped my gun across the side of his face. Bloody spittle flew but didn’t stop him. Another punch and I went ahead and dropped my guns, raised my hands, redirected and countered with a strike to his throat.

  One foot stepped back but that was the only reaction I got. He came at me fast and a powerhouse punch struck my jaw, snapping my head to the side so suddenly I thought my neck could’ve broken. I staggered back, blinked, tasted blood as it welled against my stinging cheek and over my tongue. He followed through with another punch but my feet kicked in, taking me another two steps back so the hit glanced by my face. I reached, grabbed his shoulder, jerked, thrust him past me and bolted toward Em.

  An arm wrapped around me from behind in a bear hug. My arms were trapped with little space but I got my right hand behind me, grabbed his groin and twisted.

  Thomas huffed against my ear, started to double over, but didn’t let me go—didn’t matter what I did, what pain he went through, he couldn’t fight Ashford’s control. His other hand clasped my braid close enough to my scalp to control me and wrenched my head back until my neck was awkwardly bent and a pained yelp left my lips.

  Emaleth was held six feet away and there was nothing I could do.

  She looked at me with huge, frightened eyes, sputtering sobs, as Pulaski held her shoulder in one hand and arm in the other. He watched me too, the flicker of flames in his eyes. He shook from head to toe, face red and sweating. His lips were clenched together as if he fought the hold Ashford had on him.

  No no no... I struggled, twisted. Screamed until I was hoarse. I wanted to tell her to close her eyes, that Mommy was here, that everything would be okay but I couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t even think as I launched into full panic mode.

  A growl permeated the haze around my head, cutting through the confusion; movement to my right drew my attention as a large white tiger leapt. Ashford turned just as the beast landed on him and the afreet went down, skidding across the floor.

  Thomas’s grip on me loosened and I kept wiggling, gaining more space so I could slam my elbow into his ribs, stomp back on his foot, twist until I could slip from his arms. I jerked my foot behind his ankle and threw my shoulder into his chest to knock him down, then ran for Em.

  My daughter, to her credit, had it engrained in her from the time she could walk that if anyone ever grabbed her, she had to get away, and in this instance I was glad; she didn’t stand there passively as Ashford’s hold slipped and Pulaski slackened, but twisted and punched at his lower half until she slipped away. She stumbled a few feet back and looked at me.

  “Run!” I shrilled and she hesitated for barely a second before she listened, bolting away from Pulaski and from the room. She didn’t look back and I hoped like hell she wouldn’t stop for anything.

  For a moment I nearly followed. But Ashford remained, the Seal in his possession, and if he defeated West, he’d come after us next. So I turned back to face the room.

  West flew off of Ashford, struck the ground, skidded and then righted himself, climbing to his four feet and growling again. For a brief moment, he snarled at Thomas and Pulaski, who perhaps spoke tiger as they backed up and ran. His white coat was streaked with red and blood dripped on the floor, whether from his gunshot wound or tussle with Ashford, I didn’t know.

  Ashford began to rise, his lips curling and exposing his teeth. “‘And beasts are bound to obey him.’” The air charged hotly, the Seal of Solomon on his finger flaring bright.

  Oh shit, so I’m going to have to fight off West, too—

  West stepped forward.

  My breath caught.

  The afreet’s eyes narrowed, flashing dangerously. Sweat beaded on his forehead but still the tiger strode forward, whatever control the ring promised not touching West.

  Ashford tilted his head to the side, taking a step back. “What are you?”

  What is he?

  Slowly my gaze shifted to West again.

  The tiger growled and ran, eating ground in seconds, powerful paws thumping. Muscles tensed and bunched as he leapt for the djinn.

  Ashford swept his arm to the side, striking the tiger midair and knocking him back—shit, so maybe whatever the hell West was, they were still evenly matched. West scrambled again, took a swipe with one heavy paw, claws bared.

  I scanned the room, saw my guns, and discarded the idea of grabbing them. There had to be something—

  My gaze swept to the fireplace again.

  I ran, casting a look at Ashford, though he was preoccupied and didn’t notice me; when I was sure he’d all but forgotten my presence, I picked up my spee
d and narrowed my focus. The fireplace was massive, so I dragged over a divan from beside it and climbed on the edge. My fingers clasped the scabbard displayed on the wall and I pulled.

  It held tight.

  I rose on my tiptoes, swaying as my balance threatened to fail me, and grasped the hilt with both hands. A yank nearly sent me tumbling but the scimitar slid from its sheath, humming, firelight gleaming on the metal. The scimitar’s weight was less than I expected, easy enough to handle, though I had exactly zero experience with swords.

  I hopped off the divan and glanced back at Ashford just as fire swept across the floor in an arc straight for West. He dodged but flames singed and I could feel the heat even fifteen feet away.

  For a moment the tiger’s gaze struck me; whether or not he knew what I planned, I couldn’t say, but Ashford saw the look too. The djinn glanced over his shoulder, his black brows deep in a frown and hair cutting across his brow. His jacket and pants were torn, whether he bled I couldn’t tell. But his gaze traveled the scimitar in my hand.

  Oh fuuuu—

  Fire reamed toward me and I dove, missing it by inches. My coat flapped behind me, catching the flames, fabric crackling. I hit the ground, rolled, smothering the fire, then scrambled up and raced again just as West slammed into Ashford with a roar.

  Tiger and djinn hit the ground again, West’s aggression heightened further as he snapped, clawed, and did his damnedest to keep Ashford down and busy. I didn’t waste the chance but ran, closing the distance rapidly with the scimitar at my side. My gaze narrowed on the Seal of Solomon sitting on his right index finger.

  As his arm extended on the floor beneath the weight of West’s paw, I swung the scimitar above my head and then let the blade drop.

  36

  ’Til You Burn...

  The polished edge of the sword sliced through skin and bone, severing Ashford’s hand from his body.

  He howled, thrashed. I backed up but West didn’t, digging claws into his chest and tearing. Ashford’s remaining hand grasped the tiger’s neck and jerked him off, slammed him with a heavy thump against the floor. West struggled to rise but slumped, blinking.

  Bleeding heavily from the stump, Ashford managed to rise, glaring at me. Those black wings unfurled again and this close I heard them, screaming and howling, faces twisting in the smoke. My stomach flipped and I took a step back as Ashford stood straight. My right foot sank back and I brought the scimitar up between us. Like I had a fucking clue how to wield it, but still.

  Ashford lunged. I braced. But no hit came, no formal attack; instead his hand locked on the scimitar’s blade. Heat flared out to brush my fingers and I dropped it on instinct. Metal hissed and bent under his touch, then he released the blade. The damaged, useless sword hit the floor between us.

  Motherfucker. I gazed up at him wide-eyed, praying Em had made it out of the house and wasn’t waiting in a corner for me.

  I leaned back, started to turn, to run. His remaining hand jerked out again, clasped my throat, lifted me. I kicked wildly as his fingers tightened, tried to gain hold of the situation—jerked his pinky until it broke, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t acknowledge me, just hate edging his eyes. I had no doubt that once he put me down for good, he’d put the Seal on his other hand and make the others hunt my daughter no matter where she was, if he didn’t do it himself.

  A blur of movement and we fell, Ashford on me, heavy weight slamming into us as West pounced on his back. When the djinn twisted and slammed an elbow into West, I scrambled back. My heels dragged against the carpet and I was sweating under my tangled jacket but didn’t have time to remove it. Ashford backhanded West and flames leapt again; the tiger dodged but not in time and let out a yelp of pain as fire cut across his shoulder, singing fur and blistering skin.

  He’s not going to stop. Shit. I could grab another sword, maybe take his head off? They said it wouldn’t kill him, but would that even slow him?

  Another flame leapt for West, still in tiger form.

  I twisted onto my stomach and scrambled forward on my hands and knees, Ashford’s missing hand and ring in sight. I clasped the bloody appendage, bone and meat peeking through, bile rising in my throat, and jerked the Seal off. Light hit the brass and it was warm to the touch; the stones on it blinked and sparked.

  Bad idea, bad idea, bad—

  I slipped the ring on.

  I braced, though nothing happened. Of course, nothing had happened back in Ethiopia, either.

  You have to want to use it.

  Oh, I wanted it.

  My gaze shot to Ashford; I turned, sitting, the idea of standing to face him too much for me to contemplate, and I clenched my hand into a fist. I watched him reach for West, grasp the tiger by the scruff of his neck, and slam him against the ground again—remembered the feel of his hand on my throat, the moment when he looked at my daughter with detached cruelty and directed innocent men under his control to kill her in the most painful way possible.

  Anger, hate—it twisted in me, tearing through my veins, rushing to where the ring sat on my middle finger.

  It hears your want and if you pay the price, its power is yours.

  Em was somewhere outside of the building—if I didn’t stop Ashford now, he’d kill me and go after her. Whatever price it required—even my own life—I’d pay it.

  I panted, sucking in breaths though not fast enough to ease the ache in my lungs, my parted lips trembling. Heat rushed through my body, a painful tingle shooting down my forearm, wrist, and straight into my finger.

  If you actually try to use the Seal, it’ll kill you. It takes magic juice to power...fried from the inside out...

  Ah, fuck it.

  I pushed everything into the ring, forced my mind to empty and then focus on a single point: on Ashford stopping.

  Pain blasted me and even as I unclenched my fist, it didn’t abate, flesh beneath the ring sizzling. I screamed a wet, impotent cry but didn’t let up, didn’t turn my gaze.

  Ashford froze.

  Straightened.

  Looked at me.

  He started to take a step toward me but I pushed back, screaming again from the agony. No endorphins kicked in, nothing stopped the pain—not even the painkillers I’d taken for my bullet wound dulled it. Sweat beaded on my forehead, fell. Soaked my hair. All the air I breathed in was warm, scorching my throat and lungs. I was too exhausted, doubt filling me as I realized this was too much for me, and I slumped on my back. I couldn’t hold him—couldn’t keep him there.

  They were right—I was about to boil from the inside.

  My flesh blistered and sizzled under the ring, around it, and white hot spots played over my eyes. But I didn’t give in on the desire to close them, to rest, to let go. Instead I kept pushing at Ashford until he raised his remaining hand and pressed it to his chest. His eyes widened, black smoke wings shuddered.

  Only magic will do him in? Equal strength?

  I could make that work.

  Propped up on my elbows, struggling to keep my head up, heartbeat a blur like a hummingbird’s wings, I thrust the Seal’s power at him one final time until I saw the sparks fly from his fingers: pure red, smokeless flames spitting. Black spread across his skin, branching out farther and farther, twisting his flesh into singed flakes that trembled and faded.

  It would spread from there. When his torso was ash, head tilted back as his own magic ate him whole, I slumped back, shaking and crying. Ashford crumpled into flakes in my peripheral vision and fire around the room ceased.

  I released my hold on the Seal but the pain, motherfucker, the pain held on. It was too hot, too hot, too much, sweat drenching me as my body tried to cool, my temples flaring with the steady aching beat, my left hand in so much pain it was nearly numb.

  Then West was sitting over me. Human form. His skin was streaked with soot in places, cuts and bruises. The bullet hole remained in his chest, high on the right, just below his collarbone and as he shifted over me, blistered white skin on his side was
exposed.

  “Stay with me,” he said in a low voice. He tore the jacket—literally—from my body and my skin cooled, sweat drying instantly.

  I gasped. Couldn’t lift my left hand. Couldn’t do much of anything but lie there while West reached for my arm. I knew what he was doing, knew it would hurt, but didn’t have the energy left to brace for it or even beg him not too—instead I gave the barest of nods.

  He pulled the ring off.

  I screamed, arched, tried to flail but couldn’t move. Tears leaked, rolled down my temples. I managed a glance over to see my mangled finger. It was still intact, at least, but the skin below my knuckle was white and blistered in the shape of the Seal’s band, and the flesh around it varying shades of pink and red, signifying burns.

  I slumped and he let my hand go. West was panting as well, his expression pained. Black hair was soaked with sweat and if I looked close enough, I could see blood around his lips still from where his tiger mouth full of teeth sank into Ashford again and again. He was sitting but leaned heavily on one hand beside me, still gazing down. And I still couldn’t fathom moving, pain near unbearable.

  “I forgot my cell phone,” I said, my voice dry and monotone, as I stared at the ceiling. It almost seemed to be staring back and I strongly suspected I might pass out soon. “Maybe Ashford has a landline so you can get...the police or your department or something.”

  “Pulaski and Thomas are already on it.” His voice was more weary than numb like mine and he rubbed at his face, as if that might wake him up.

  Huh, maybe they did speak tiger. “Okay. I think I’ll just lie here.”

  “Good idea.” He didn’t move either.

  At least we were in agreement.

  And then a pale voice said, “Mommy?”

  I tried to sit up though my head spun, and barely got my shoulders off the ground when I saw Em running toward me. I hadn’t the brain power to chastise her for not leaving the building, just accepted her when she dove down and flopped against me. Her arms wrapped around my neck and she sobbed into my hair. My left hand was still useless but I raised the right and held her tight to me.