by Karen Chance
Even with the flood, that put them well over my head. But they were topped by sturdy metal safety rails. I threw a lasso, but it hit the side of the channel and bounced back, almost snaring me. I let it dissipate and tried again, just as I was sucked into the yawning mouth of the next tunnel. My spell caught on something but I couldn’t see what; rain and waves of filthy runoff slapped me in the face, blinding me.
But the lasso held, holding me back from taking a wild ride beneath the Strip. I concentrated on shortening it, slowly pulling myself out of the tunnel’s mouth and toward the wall. My reaching hand grazed something rough and I looked up to see a sheer expanse of wet concrete, with the top looking impossibly far away.
Lassos are not usually difficult to maintain, but then, they’re not designed to be used for climbing a concrete mountain where one little slip can mean disaster. It was just as well my shields were gone; I couldn’t have concentrated well enough to maintain two spells. But the result was that I got battered against the side of the channel as I slowly pulled myself up, my injured shoulder screaming every inch of the way. I shredded my palms hoisting myself over the top, but I made it.
I rolled through the bottom opening of the safety rails and lay flat in the muck and dead leaves, trying to listen past the sound of my heart slamming into my ribcage. What I heard was the same thing I saw—steaming hot rain pouring down like ark-building wouldn’t have been a bad idea. After a moment, I staggered to my feet, swaying a little from sheer exhaustion. But there was no time to rest. Ahead, the Strip was backlit by garish plumes of dark clouds, like a Vegas showgirl in full regalia, and in front of that backdrop two dark shapes were engaged in a fight to the death.
The flickering taillights of passing cars cast bands of ruddy light over them, causing their shadows to sprawl monstrously behind them. But even in the dim light, it was obvious where Grayshadow got his name. He moved like gray smoke, faster than any Were I’d ever seen. Faster than Cyrus, who was very obviously losing.
Grayshadow hadn’t bothered to change to his wolf form, a studied insult to his opponent. Despite being in what should have been the stronger, faster body, Cyrus had dripping wounds covering his torso, and his right leg was trailing, almost useless. It wasn’t hard to see why. There were four jagged gashes in his thigh, each at least six inches long, a mess of crushed and mangled muscles and tendons awash with blood. The skin around the edges was white, crinkled like tissue paper.
It was a bad wound, almost to the bone. In a formal challenge, a wound like that would almost certainly mean death. But this wasn’t a formal challenge and I had no compunction at all about cheating.
If only I had something left to cheat with.
My potions were gone, my guns empty, my magic reduced to little more than shields, assuming I could get them up again. I still had my knives, but I’d have to throw them the old-fashioned way and they’d probably do nothing more than make him mad. And hand to hand with a Were was just a messy method of suicide.
Before I could settle on anything, Grayshadow saw me. He gave me a brief contemptuous glance, and the world exploded in pain. My shields had snapped back into place, but they were weak and the assault was like nothing I’d ever experienced. It was as if lightning had struck the ground at my feet. The world went soundless for a moment, full of white light and savage, tearing pain.
And then it was gone, veering off with the fickleness of all wild magic with no proper spell to hold it in thrall. And the final piece of the puzzle slipped into place. “You’re the mage,” I said, gasping in surprise and pain.
Grayshadow paused, his face twisted in anger. He looked like he thought I should be dead. And I probably would have been, if I hadn’t been storing up my magic for most of the day. But that reserve was mostly expended now, along with my remaining strength. My legs felt like jelly and I had to fold my arms to keep them from shaking.
He threw another volley at me, combining the brute force of wild magic with the speed of a Were. It was a deadly combination. The best I could do was to deflect it and send it crashing into the railing, melting a section larger than my body. Grayshadow scowled, watching metal drip down the side of the channel, while I struggled not to let my shields collapse completely.
“Wild magic is difficult to control,” I told him, trying not to wheeze. My whole body was clamoring for rest, for oblivion, but I couldn’t afford to look like it. “You’ve obviously been doing some studying.”
“Do not presume to think you know me, human.”
“Laurentia of Lobizon was my mother,” I reminded him.
“You are human.”
Great. The only one who agreed with me was the bad guy.
“Pot, kettle. If you didn’t have some human blood yourself, you wouldn’t be a mage. Somewhere back in the family tree—”
“You know nothing about me!”
“I know you murder your own kind.”
Rage paled his eyes to silver. “Better that than have them remain enslaved to the humans!”
“As opposed to what? Enslaved to the Fey?” It had been a stab in the dark, just something to keep him talking instead of tearing out Cyrus’s throat. But I saw when it hit home. “That’s how you developed your talents, isn’t it? There are almost no Weres born with magical ability, and certainly none as strong as you.”
“Because your people made the substance that would free us illegal! Your only advantage over us is your monopoly on magic. Break that, and Weres will rule instead of serve!”
I didn’t try to point out that Weres in no way served the magical community, much less the Corps to whom they were much more likely to give orders than to take them. Because you don’t argue with a madman. And unless I was very much mistaken, that’s what I was dealing with here. His voice was husky with feverish vehemence, his eyes were bloodshot and his hands shook.
“What substance?” Cyrus demanded, shifting Grayshadow’s attention back to where I least wanted it to be.
“Fey wine,” I said, scowling at him. “It brings out all sorts of latent talents.”
“It also drives people mad,” Cyrus pointed out, glaring right back. He must have guessed how close to bottoming out I was, or maybe he was picking up on my thoughts as I’d done his. Damn it, Lia! Get out of here!
The words rang in my head as loudly as if he’d spoken them. How the hell did you do that? I demanded, but got only a scowl in return.
“The weak-minded, perhaps,” Grayshadow was saying, with the arrogance of all addicts. “It will weed out the feeble among us, enhance the power of the strong and make us invincible!”
“And subject you to the whims of your suppliers,” I pointed out again, trying to calculate how long it would take Jamie and Caleb to find us. Too long, echoed in my mind. I wasn’t sure if it was my thought or Cyrus’s, but either way, it was likely correct.
“The Fey are weak. They fight amongst themselves too much to be anything else.”
“And we don’t?” Cyrus demanded, pulling those flat, silver eyes back to him.
“Once Sebastian and his human sympathies no longer divide us, that will cease to be a problem.”
“Good plan,” I said. “Unfortunately, there will be a dozen war mages here in a couple minutes to drag you off to face charges ranging from kidnapping to murder.”
It was a lie, because I doubted Jamie and Caleb had the bars underground to call for backup, even if they’d managed to avoid getting their phones drowned. But there was no way for Grayshadow to know that. And if he got spooked enough, maybe he’d decide that a discredited war mage and an outcast who nobody would believe weren’t worth the trouble.
“I answer to wolf law,” Grayshadow told me haughtily, before glancing around like he expected my backup to come crawling out of a drainage ditch. Which, okay, fair enough.
“Wolf law takes a dim view of those who kill Clan.”
“This one is vargulf,” Grayshadow said, glancing scornfully at Cyrus. “No one cares what happens to him. Not even his
own brother!”
“And White Sun? Last time I checked, he wasn’t vargulf. And you had at least three other victims, two more of which were High Clan wolves!”
“None of which can be linked to me once you’re dead!”
The final volley came fast and hard, my shields collapsed, and blood made a dark gash across the ground. I waited for pain and worse—and was still waiting when the smoke dissipated. I saw Grayshadow writhing on the ground, his coat half melted to his skin, one arm and shoulder a livid mass of black leather and red meat.
I glanced behind me, because no way had I done that, but there was no one. And then there was no time to worry about it, because Grayshadow stumbled back to his feet, snarling. I stared back at him, my hands hanging limp and nerveless at my sides, like they were attached with string. I was going to die, I thought blankly.
Then Grayshadow took off, clutching his ruined arm.
I watched him blankly for a second, until the pelting rain hid him from view. And then my knees gave out and I hit the muddy concrete, stunned and dizzy. Cyrus was staring at me, looking equally bewildered as I crawled over to him. He didn’t change back—he probably didn’t have the energy—but it didn’t matter. As soon as I laid my head against the silkiness of wolf fur, the hard ball of panic in my chest shrank until I could almost ignore it. I took the opportunity to breathe deeply for the first time that day.
Someone fumbled a hand over to grab mine, holding it so tightly that my fingers throbbed with both pulses. And I looked up into Cyrus’s whiskey dark eyes. It seemed he’d had the strength to change, after all. “You okay?”
“Yeah, but I’m not sure why,” I told him.
His nod of agreement was a ripple of shadow. “What the hell just happened?”
I felt something on my arm and looked down to see the dragon tat, frozen in place with a superior look on its tiny face. And something Caleb had said came back to me. “I think somebody decided to change sides.”
“What?”
I held up my wrist. “It came off a dark mage, but it chose to help us out.”
Cyrus looked at me strangely as he tried to heave himself to his feet. He slipped on his own blood and went down to one knee. “Lia. Wards don’t think.”
“Depends on the ward,” I said, and stunned him.
A few minutes later, Jamie’s head poked over the side of the channel, red-gray curls plastered to his skull. Caleb followed him out, both looking like hell but still standing. Jamie limped over and looked from the numb stick in my hand to Cyrus’s slumped form. “Isn’t that your boyfriend?”
“Yeah.”
He frowned. “He won’t be out long. That isn’t strong enough to incapacitate a Were, even an injured one.”
I dragged myself to my feet, stiff and soaked. “So take him in.”
“On what charge?”
“Suspicion of…something.”
“Suspicion of something? I don’t think that’s on the books.”
“Just give him to Michaelson to process once the docs get through. It’ll take at least a couple hours.”
“And what are you going to do in the meantime?”
“Something stupid.”
12
TWO huge Weres in wolf form guarded the almost invisible path that served as an entrance to the meeting place of the Clan Council. One of them moved to intercept me, changing fluidly from Were to human without so much as missing a step. His ebony skin gleamed in the light of a torch that had been wedged into a crack in the wall behind him. A lantern would have been a more practical choice, or nothing at all since I was the only one here without decent night vision. I assumed it was for ambiance.
It did add to the overall mystery of the place, not that it needed it. A sheer rock face rose five or six stories high, striated in uneven bands of cinnamon and gold. It wasn’t raining here, and the black, clear sky with its pinprick stars and the sighing wind sliding over the cliff was beautiful and more than a little eerie.
The guard was doing his best to add to the effect. His skin melted into the night, leaving only the rippling muscles of his chest visible in the torchlight. His dark eyes gleamed, pricked with reflected flame. He might have been a creature out of legend, some mythical god of the desert.
And then he ruined it. He looked me over and one eyebrow went up. “Bad day?”
My clothes were streaked with mud, cobwebs and runoff, I smelled absolutely foul, and I had at least three pebbles in my boot courtesy of the hike here from my bike. I was in no mood to exchange banter with a naked guard. “Lia de Croissets, of Arnou.”
“I know who you are.” A slight smile crept over his face. “I thought you’d be taller.”
If he’d treated my mother that way, she’d have ripped his face off. “Are you issuing a challenge?” I snapped.
His eyes widened fractionally. “No, I—”
“Then get the hell out of my way!”
I brushed past him and through the entrance, an oblong gash in the rock. The sides of the passage were inches from my fingertips, with no way out except straight ahead. It was the perfect place for an ambush should any unwanted visitors be stupid enough to try to enter. I hadn’t asked Caleb and Jamie to back me up, because they’d have never made it past the guards. And Cyrus would have been killed on sight for daring to sully with his presence a place meant only for Clan.
Once Grayshadow passed into these walls, no one but another Clan member could touch him. So this was my fight. And, as exhausted as I was, I was glad of it. Some war mages specialized in the hunt, painstakingly piecing together clues, interviewing suspects, gathering evidence. I was a competent investigator, but I’d never pretended to enjoy it. I’d take a direct confrontation any day.
I just hoped I’d put the clues together right, or this was going to be a very short fight.
The passage twisted and curved, so I expected to hear the commotion before I saw it. But there was only the haunting sigh of the wind, a tendril of which reached down into the chasm to ruffle my hair. And then I was spilling out into open air and a wide expanse of hard-packed red sand.
The Clan Council met in a natural amphitheater, with jagged ledges of stone cascading down to a flat bottom. It was huge, maybe the size of a football field, and open to the sky. The wispy glitter of the Milky Way arced directly overhead, bowed along the curved surface of the heavens. Were elders stood on every side in ranked rows, torches flickering here and there to highlight craggy faces and brilliant eyes. Most were only a dark presence, a texture of shadow. I could feel them waiting.
I wasn’t sure for what.
And then I spied Grayshadow, striding across the sand, heading for the dais on which the Council sat. Any Clan member could attend a council meeting, but only the leaders were supposed to speak. It looked like Grayshadow wasn’t feeling much like following the rules tonight. Luckily, neither was I.
I put on a burst of speed and caught him just as he reached the dais. There was no time for subtlety—once issued, a challenge couldn’t be rescinded. Grayshadow was opening his mouth to speak when I arrived, so I put my fist in it.
He didn’t go down, but at least I had the pleasure of seeing him spit blood. Right before he lunged for me. It might have been over right there, but the flat side of a spear caught him in the chest, holding him back. It was in the hand of the Speaker, the elder charged with voicing the decisions of the Council. He also kept order when needed, as it often was.
The current Speaker was Night Wind of Maccon, a grizzled powerhouse more than a century old and still built like a Mack truck. His straight black hair, streaked with silver, sharp dark eyes and strong, hawklike nose revealed his mother’s Native American ancestry. But I wasn’t stupid enough to think that our shared human blood would bias him in my favor.
“Accalia of Arnou, why have you broken the sanctity of Council?” he asked, in a voice loud enough to carry to every corner of the vast space.
“To challenge,” I said quickly, before Grayshadow could cu
t me off. And before I could talk myself out of it.
“Whom would you challenge?”
I thought that was kind of obvious, considering I’d just punched him in the mouth. But for once I bit my tongue. “Grayshadow of Arnou.”
As soon as the words were out, I almost felt relieved. The die was cast now, one way or the other. To back out of a formal challenge meant death.
“Until this moment, Grayshadow was presumed to be dead,” the Speaker said, his sharp black eyes flicking between us.
“As he arranged. He killed a vargulf and mutilated the body to make certain it would be mistaken for his.”
“This is ridiculous!” Grayshadow hissed. “She can’t issue challenge. She is human!”
“The challenger speaks first, by Clan law,” the Speaker informed him.
Grayshadow sucked in a breath. “You would put the claims of this creature before mine?”
“She is Arnou. It is her right.”
“She isn’t Arnou! She isn’t anything! And even if you accept that ridiculous adoption, I am Third. I outrank her and I will speak!”
I rubbed my fingers together, trying to get rid of the tacky feel of Cyrus’s blood drying between them. Some of it had settled into the lines of my palms and left a dark stripe underneath my nails. And suddenly I was so angry I could hardly see. “I am the daughter of Laurentia of Lobizon, wolf born, Clan reared. And an adopted daughter of Sebastian of Arnou. You do not outrank me!”
Grayshadow started for me again, but the Speaker’s spear point was back against his chest. “She is allowed to speak.”
I made it fast, but not because I feared another interruption. I was afraid I’d go for his throat and get killed before I ever found out if my theory was right. “There is no Hunter; there never was. Grayshadow killed four wolves—three High Clan and one vargulf—to pave the way to the bardric’s position. With White Sun out of the way, he could challenge Sebastian and take it all. He killed the others as camouflage.”
