It was almost sad to see him this way, fighting on the edges of civilization, all by himself. Together, the Five had been nearly unstoppable. Apart, each of us were formidable, but none of us were invulnerable. Now, he was the Trust’s last loyal agent for missions like these. Spirits continued to emerge from the woods and the lake, the restless dead called to his hand with a simple effort of will.
“About damn time,” Ewan muttered. “Let’s go talk to the spooky bastard.”
“Not yet,” I hissed. “Let him finish this first.”
This was a surprisingly low-level attack from Cayman, all things considered. Like their vampire cousins, the strzyga were insanely fast and bloodthirsty, even if they lacked the ethereal allure. The lead creature flared its leathery wings wide and prepared to take to the sky with its prisoner.
The soldier hefted his automatic weapon and squared it into one shoulder before opening fire. The bullets, reinforced with Cayman’s magic, tore into the creature rather than passing through harmlessly, as they might have without him. The strzyga crumpled to the ground, pierced in a dozen places by the ghostly bullets. A second strzyga tried to leap onto the soldier and open his throat with her talons. The scaly hand slid through the soldier without harming him.
I shivered. This was the reason I’d been afraid to face off with Cayman during the Dawson job, and why he’d made a good foil for me in battle. His strengths perfectly matched my weaknesses. I could waste entire magazines trying to shoot the ghostly constructs he made and go nowhere. If he had a mind, he could create illusions so real that even my finely tuned magical senses couldn’t tell them from reality.
As we watched, the ice split and a dozen of the strzyga were subsumed by the ice, dragged in to the waist and locked in place. Most of the remaining strzyga scattered in every direction, but a particularly bold group circled back towards the shaman, their shrieks clawing at my ears.
Cayman didn’t have my keen eyesight, and they were nearly impossible to track by moonlight. Now that they’d escaped his supernatural mousetrap, he was unlikely to see them until it was too late.
“Shit,” I hissed. “We’ve got to help him.”
“It was your idea to wait, darlin’,” Ewan grumbled, following me out of our densely wooded hiding place.
I sprinted out onto the lake with superhuman speed, skirting the edge of Cayman’s enchantment lest I become trapped as well. The tread on my boots wasn’t ideal to deal with the thick ice and I would have cracked my nose on the surface of the lake if Ewan hadn’t caught me.
“Fuck’s sake, Valdez, use your demon at a time like this. We’re about to lose the only mage within a thousand miles who can pull off your harebrained scheme.
He was right, but I didn’t want to say as much. When I opened my mind to him, Valerius was there, the infernal heat of him chasing away the chill that nipped at my nose and cheekbones. My next steps were surer, my stride longer, and I had a sense that my magic would be more potent when I finally unleashed it.
Ewan and I reached the edge of the lake at the same time the first strzyga struck. Cayman spotted his attacker just before they could swing, and weaved to dodge the worst of the blow. One hooked talon snagged on the gauge in his earlobe and tore it loose from his earlobe. Blood streaked through the frigid air and landed in a scarlet stream on the snow behind him. Cayman rarely needed weapons, and didn’t like guns. He reached for the hooked spear on his back, swiping the creature’s neck and then pinning it to the ice, before puncturing its heart. But two more were just behind him.
“I’ll take the right, you take the left,” I hissed.
It didn’t matter that I hated him. It didn’t matter that he was my enemy. Right now the fate of the world depended on whether or not we could save Cayman.
My chosen target was the larger of the two, standing just under six feet. She pivoted, sending snow flying, attempting to blind me before she struck. With a wave of my hand, the snow turned into a fine mist, the heat of Valerius’ power evaporating the powdery stuff in an instant.
A ways off, Ewan had conjured a small inferno around the strzyga, holding the shrieking monster in place as it crisped. Its wings went first, blackening to char under the onslaught. Its cries died to gurgles as it inhaled the smoke of its own burning body.
The strzyga facing me lunged, claws extended. I danced back a step, though it wasn’t fast enough to keep the very tip of a talon from grazing my throat. Crimson liquid rolled sluggishly down my neck, pooling under my collarbone.
The strzyga’s elated cry turned to a squawk of confusion as its attack not only failed to kill me, but served to piss me off. I pivoted, planting one foot against the base of a tree and using the other to deliver a roundhouse kick that sent the strzyga flying feet into the air, its wings splayed out for balance.
Before it could get its bearings and fly away, I unholstered my Beretta and fired into the misshapen face of the monster above.
The strzyga’s head exploded, sending clumps of gray matter and bone raining down on our party. A glob landed on my firing arm and I shook it off, a disgusted noise catching in my throat.
I was just turning to discern the outcome of Ewan’s battle when something hit me hard in the back of the head. For a befuddled second, I was sure I’d miscounted the number of enemies we were facing. But when I turned to face my adversary, I didn’t find one of the strzyga. I was face-to-face with a luminescent spirit.
The icy fingers of a slain fishwife curled around my throat with unnatural strength and lifted me from the ground. Though I didn’t need the air any longer, my primal hindbrain still panicked at the crushing pressure. Her dull stare, paired with the bloody gash that ran from scalp to chin, made for horrifying pre-death viewing.
Cayman was attacking me. Why? Hadn’t we just proved we meant him no ill? The fishwife’s grip tightened around my throat. Then again, I’d been touted as a traitor for weeks now, and the battle we’d fought at the Swiss Alps against whammied Trust members couldn’t have helped that impression. After the assassination of Algerone Lamonia and the destruction of Wolf Isle, I could only guess what my former colleague thought of me.
My foot slid through the specter’s bloodied chest when I attempted to kick her off of me. My gun would probably produce similar results. Cayman’s spirits could slide from corporeal to non-corporeal in an instant, and even scattering the essence of a ghost didn’t eliminate it entirely, merely removing it from play for several minutes. If I shot up this grisly attacker, one of the other soldiers would take its place.
“You are the servant of death no longer, my host.” Valerius’ whisper was a caress of warmth along my frozen body, unlocking my limbs from their rigid positions at my sides. The opalescent sigils on my arms writhed like snakes and the death ideogram glowed subtly in the moonlight.
I hesitated for the briefest of moments. Necromancy was frowned upon by most mages. Even Cayman’s natural talent was pressing the boundaries of acceptable death magic. Turning my ill-gotten abilities on his shades was not going to endear me to the shaman. If I used my new abilities, the gulch of mistrust would only widen.
On the other hand, if I did nothing Cayman could order the shades to rip me apart. While it wouldn’t leave me perma-dead, it was a lapse in consciousness I couldn’t afford. My trust in Ewan was nil, and I didn’t want him to renege on his word and start the apocalypse whilst I was unaware. It would be just like the backstabbing psychopath to kickstart Armageddon the moment I was off the playing field.
Alright then, death magic it was.
Valerius’ power filled me, rising to the surface like a swell of molten rock. Slow, inexorable, and undeniably deadly. The sigil on my arm burned like a brand and I grit my teeth to contain a scream. The power washed over me like a scalding wave, the press of death pricking my aura like a million stinging bees. It was so much worse than pressing up against a vampire.
The fishwife drew her hand back as though my blood had suddenly become co
rrosive and stared at the stump where her hand used to be. The nothingness that claimed her hand crept up her forearm and within moments, it had consumed her whole body, sweeping her from this plane entirely in a puff of blue flame.
I slid into a crouch, eyeing the rest of the shades arranged in a loose circle around me.
“Come at me,” I hissed. “I dare you.”
When not one of the empty-eyed specters moved toward me, I slammed my fist into ice, discharging ring of dark magic that swept out on all sides. A tidal wave of death, washing away spirits to the afterlife in a torrent of fire and smoke, leaving Ewan and I facing the shaman alone.
Deep disquiet reflected in his dark gaze as he considered us, gripping his spear tightly.
“What are you?” he asked, his sonorous voice echoing in the still air.
I wished I could satisfactorily answer the question. Ewan let out a short bark of laughter.
“Pissed off at the moment. Why’d you sic the spook squad on us for? We came to save your tatted up ass. Those strzyga would have happily given you new piercings, Bello.”
His eyes bounced from one of us to the other, trying to keep us both in sight, as though we might suddenly disappear if not viewed directly by the human eye.
“You’re supposed to be dead.” Cayman directed the statement at Ewan. He jerked his head toward me next. “And she allegedly killed Vogel at the summit in Hamburg. Give me one reason why I’m supposed to trust a word that dribbles out of either of you?”
The remaining members of our band finally jogged into view. Dom had his weapons in hand, and Findlay was trailed by a pair of fluffy white wolves that made me skip back a step, despite their outwardly cute appearance. I sort of wished Findlay had joined the fight against the strzyga. That fight would have been something to see.
“Actually,” Findlay began, nervously rubbing the lining of his heavy coat. “I was the one who killed Sienna.”
Bello’s piercings flashed in the moonlight as his eyebrows traversed his forehead. “Pardon?”
“He had a good reason,” I said, surprising even myself by coming to Findlay’s defense.
“My uncle and his daughter were being held captive to ensure his cooperation,” Dom added, though the clarification only seemed to befuddle Cayman all the more.
Bello struggled with the onslaught of new information for about ten seconds before giving up, shaking his gray head once. He muttered something unintelligible beneath his breath before shoving a hand into his pocket, withdrawing a smooth river stone inscribed with runes from his thick, woolen overcoat.
He spun it once in his hand, the caress of his thumb activating the rune inlaid on its surface before tossing it into the nearest drift.
A shimmering golden portal bloomed in its wake. It expanded quickly until it reached the height and width of a pair of French doors.
The portal opened onto a familiar street corner. Cayman had taken us to this cozy nook once before after we’d finished a grueling yeti hunt in the tundra. The red window frame was peeling and every pane had been plastered over with art, obscuring the shop’s interior. Despite its rather shabby exterior, it had some of the best hot chocolate I’d ever tasted.
“I need a drink,” Cayman announced, turning on one heel to face the portal. I felt the sentiment in my bones. Unfortunately, whiskey neat was probably out of the question right now. We were on a mission, after all.
“You have thirty minutes to explain yourselves.” Cayman stared us all down, daring us to argue. “And if I find your story lacking, I will kill you for the treason you have committed. Am I clear?”
“Perfectly, chief,” Ewan drawled. It was impossible to miss the sarcasm thick in his tone. The arrogant bastard wasn’t afraid of the shaman one whit. “Now let’s get some damned coffee. I’m freezing my damn fine ass off out here.”
And with that cheerful little pronouncement, we stepped onto the bustling streets of Novosibirsk, leaving Lake Baikal behind us.
chapter
5
OF ALL THE ATROCITIES THE vampires had foisted onto me, this was perhaps the most irritating. I stared down into the rich brown liquid in my cup in dismay. The sprinkles and dab of whipped cream appeared to mock me, spinning jovially in the wake of my spoon.
“Fucking vampires,” I muttered. “Just because they can’t taste human food they want to deprive the rest of us of the privilege, too.”
Well, it was a bit of an exaggeration. I could technically still taste the hot chocolate. It just didn’t taste good anymore. It seemed fundamentally wrong that Valerius should provide me with cosmic powers beyond the ken of mere mortals but steal my taste buds in the bargain. It wasn’t the Faustian deal I’d have made, that was for damn sure.
To my right, Ewan chuckled. “Come on, sugar. It ain’t so bad. I never did care for hot chocolate.”
“Further evidence of your psychopathy. I should have seen it sooner. All the signs were there. Middle-aged, white, average-looking, and incapable of basic joy.”
Ewan smirked and tipped back a shot of vodka, seemingly unperturbed by his diminished sense of taste. Maybe it actually improved the experience. He’d been chugging the stuff like water since we’d arrived. Only pride kept me from doing the same.
“So let me see if I’ve got this right,” Cayman rumbled, setting his mug aside with a frown. “You want me to bring Sienna Vogel back from the nether realms to guide you through the Aztec underworld?”
“Mictlan,” I clarified. “And yes, that’s pretty much what we’re asking. No one knows death realms like Sienna. She has to have done at least cursory exploration of Mictlan. Ewan and I can’t die topside and any battle we have in the mortal realm is going to be pointless and destructive.”
“Spirits are most powerful near the site of their deaths or graves. As far as I know, Sophia is entombed in her family’s mausoleum. If you want me to summon her, I’ll need something of hers.”
“Will this do?” I asked, pulling out Sienna’s pistol and placing it on the table. I’d found it on the ship and had it cleaned. “She carried this thing for years, always had it close to her. I was planning on giving it to you anyway. Some random vampire shot me with it, just before I ended him.”
“She won’t be able to cast magic,” Cayman said.
“She won’t need it,” Dom said. “We think there’s an entrance beneath one of the Aztec temples in the Yucatan. But the afterlife wasn’t made for mortals, and according to all the mythology, the path to Mictlan is dangerous even for spirits. We just need her to show us the way.”
Ewan stood up, leaned on the bar and started flirting loudly with the bartender. When she wasn’t looking, he reached over and grabbed another bottle.
“I still don’t see how that runt is going to destroy the world,” Cayman said, looking over Ewan skeptically.
“You should have seen what he did to wolf island,” Findlay said.
“He’s just the carrier,” I added. “Someone stupid or crazy enough to unleash the demon inside him. Lamonia wanted to use Cat or I to harness the demon’s powers, because he knew he could control us. Any sane human isn’t going to agree to the complete annihilation of the human race. Cat spent years fighting with Valerius, keeping him contained. Ewan is happy to roll over and let Bryne call the shots. This field trip is keeping his interest, for now. But if he starts his rampage again, Valerius and I will be forced to stop him. The world will burn and the violence will call up their mother, and you don’t even want to know what that’s going to look like.”
“And where does this detour to Greece come in?” Bello asked.
“Yes,” Findlay piped up. “I was a little unclear on that point myself. You didn’t go into much detail before we set off for Siberia.”
For good reason. I’d been pretty sure the fusty little bureaucrat would flip his lid when he heard what I had planned. I steeled myself and blurted out the truth.
“Because we need to steal the thread of A
riadne from its exhibit in Crete.”
A beat of stunned silence met the pronouncement. A vein in Findlay’s forehead throbbed visibly and his face purpled with indignation. He swelled up like an indignant bullfrog and I half-expected a croak to come flying out of his mouth.
“The thread of Ariadne? Are you insane, Valdez? That relic is priceless! One of the few recovered artifacts from the golden age of Greco-Roman magic. Even discussing this breaks about a dozen international treaties. Is it not enough that you’re wanted for murder and treason? Do you want to add grand larceny to your list of offenses?”
Findlay had risen to his feet in the midst of his tirade. I reached across the table and tugged him back into a sitting position.
“Say it a little louder, Findlay,” I hissed. “I don’t think they heard you in Madagascar! Besides, it’s your fault I’m wanted for treason.”
“What you’re proposing is insane!” he spluttered.
I frowned at him, suddenly remembering why I’d spent years hating this twerp. He’d somehow managed to compartmentalize his stint as Lamonia’s pet stooge, and now he was back to being a glorified hall monitor, fully committed to the letter of the Law.
“I have to agree with Findlay on this one,” Dom said, scooping the whipped cream from my hot chocolate with one finger. He popped it into his mouth, the thieving jerk.
“We need it,” I insisted. “Since when have you met a death god that likes to part with mortals that enter their realm? It could be our only chance at escaping Mictlan intact. We may need all of us to even get into Mictlan, past all the defenses. It’s a goddamn fortress. But getting out again will be just as hard. Don’t you think we ought to have a return ticket?”
“Forgive my backwater ignorance, but who the hell is Ariadne and why do we need her thread?” Ewan asked, downing another shot.
I couldn’t tell if he was pulling my leg or was really curious. As much as I would have liked to keep in the dark on our plans to enter Mictlan, he was going to be an enormous asset when the time came to test the exhibit’s defenses. The vault that contained the thread was so heavily armed it made Fort Knox look like a pushover.
Agent of Magic Box Set Page 46
