Hard Breaker

by Christine Warren

  “We had hoped to have all seven of us together before we reached this point,” Ash said, her stern expression drawing into a frown, “but finding our sixth is better than having only five.”

  “I am overwhelmed by your effusive welcome, sister,” Baen said, and Ivy found herself holding her breath waiting for Ash to fly at him again. This time, she felt pretty confident blood would be shed.

  Instead, the female Guardian must have caught the teasing note in Baen’s voice because she merely kicked him in the thigh with a desultory motion. “I have no doubt I could overwhelm you with both wings pinned to my back,” she said, “but as my Warden has already indicated, we all have better things to do.”

  “Aaaannnnd now the world has stopped making sense,” Ivy muttered to herself. “But never let it be said I can’t play along.” She raised her voice and glared at the room at large, unsure who was irritating her the most at the moment. “You all want to go to Dublin, we’ll go to Dublin, but I need a few minutes to pack my passport and my toothbrush. The oncoming apocalypse is no reason to neglect dental hygiene. Or spend seventeen hours getting searched and interrogated by airport and national security forces.”

  No one responded to her sarcastic tone, but she saw Drum’s lips twitch before he covered them and coughed into his palm. Baen simply nodded.

  “You should also check for a message from your French contact. Perhaps he can offer more information about the situation into which we will be arriving.”

  Ivy felt a twitch at the corner of her eye. “Thanks.”

  She spun on her heel and stalked out of the kitchen. If she didn’t get thirty seconds to herself right then, she felt positive a brain aneurysm would feature prominently in her immediate future.

  Luckily, none of the others followed. She assumed they remained in the room to bond over the best way to behead a nocturni, or maybe which spells best simulated gallows hangings. How the hell should she know? She only cared that they stayed where they were and gave her some breathing room.

  What the hell was happening?

  The question rattled around in her brain like a pinball while she sank onto the desk chair in the little front room and waited for the computer to boot up. She had thought the change in her life from being a carefree New York technical writer—whose biggest problem was how to translate High Geek into a form of English understandable to the average person with an eighth-grade education—to becoming an undercover vigilante working to smuggle Wardens between nations had felt surreal. Ha! The last eighteen hours had taken her from the foundational concepts of Freud’s psychology to the middle of a Max Ernst painting without passing go, let alone collecting two hundred bloody dollars. Her mind wasn’t just reeling; she had to wonder if her grip on reality was slipping.

  After all, here she was with the Warden she had been trying to save apparently run off to join the enemy, while in the other room, two creatures of legend and an Irishman who supposedly had magical powers were probably sipping tea and chatting like old friends. And she was about to leave with them to visit foreign countries and save the universe from the ultimate evil.

  Put that way, she should stop wondering about her sanity. Clearly, that cat was already out of the bag and galloping away on the back of the horse who’d gotten out through the barn door she hadn’t closed. And any other animalian metaphors she could possible come up with.

  Well, if she were to look on the bright side, maybe she could use her obvious descent into mental illness to explain away her nagging attraction to Baen. Only a lunatic developed the hots for a shapeshifting gargoyle she’d only met a few hours ago, right?

  It had to be the hots—basic chemistry, elemental sexual attraction. The product of going too long without a date, let alone sex or anything even remotely resembling a romantic relationship. If she could just dismiss it as that, Ivy could almost forgive herself for those pesky little feelings. After all, when he wasn’t seven feet tall and made of stone, Baen was gorgeous. Like drop-dead-sexy, male-model, movie-star gorgeous. He had that rugged, masculine face that kept him from looking prettier than she did, and his body could make her grandmother sit up and fan herself. And granny had been dead for twenty years. It was no wonder Ivy found him physically attractive. No one could blame her for that.

  But could they blame her for the something else she felt when he got close to her?

  She tried to shove the thought away, but it kept creeping back and poking at her, like a fingertip to the rib cage. Jamie used to do that to try and rile her at the dinner table during family visits. It had always worked when she was a kid, and damn it, but it was working now.

  The problem was that she didn’t know precisely what that something was that she felt whenever Baen was near her. Sure, the zip of attraction was there, but it felt like something else simmered in the background along with it, she just couldn’t figure out what to call it.

  Affinity, maybe?

  No, that was a weak word. Hell, she had affinity for cheese and onion crisps and a nice glass of milk. It didn’t describe her reaction to the Guardian. She just always seemed aware of him when he was close, like she could reach out with her eyes closed and point out exactly where he stood and what expression he wore and how he was carrying himself in that moment. Like she knew him on a level she didn’t think she had ever known anyone, not friends, not lovers, not even family. And she couldn’t figure out how that could happen.

  Ivy hated not being able to figure things out. She explained things for a living, for God’s sake; she had to be pretty good at understanding concepts and breaking them down into easy-to-comprehend language. If she couldn’t she didn’t get paid. Yet here she was, entirely baffled by one man—sort of—with a strange effect on her. If she could, she would have fired herself over this.

  “Well? Do you have news from France?”

  Baen’s voice made her jump half out of her chair and land back on her butt with a jolt. She felt her face flushing lobster red and tried to hide it by keeping her head turned toward the computer. Stupid fair skin.

  “Uh, I don’t know yet,” she said, fiddling with the mouse. “This is an old system, so it takes a while to boot up. Here we go. Now I can check.”

  She felt him step up behind her and tried not to go all tense and idiotic, but when his hands rested on the back of her chair, knuckles accidentally brushing her shoulder blades, she had to fight to force her shoulders down from around her ears.

  She also had to fight to remember what she’d been doing. The Guardian’s presence really did scramble her brain.

  Her e-mail server’s Web page popped up in response to her earlier command, and thankfully pointed her in the correct direction. Message. France. Asile. Right. She could do this. Honest.

  A couple of clicks, and the brief lines appeared in the e-mail window. There was no salutation, no idle questions about the weather or her health. There were less than two dozen words, brief, stark, and to the point.

  If sincere, bring your new friend immediately. Meet tomorrow 6 P.M. Louvre pyramid, north side. Will wear blue, yellow flower. Secrecy vital.

  It was signed “Asile.”

  Ivy frowned at the screen, an uncertain feeling tightening in her belly. “That sounds … urgent. And kind of alarming.”

  “How well do you know this person?”

  Ivy swiveled her chair to see Ash and Drum enter from the hall, both looking serious. Not that Ash didn’t always look serious, but Drum usually appeared more relaxed. “We’ve been working together since I first got to England and got involved with moving the Wardens. Asile basically runs the network, and he set up the safe house in Paris and oversees that, too. Why?”

  “But you have not actually met,” Ash prompted.

  “No. He’s in Paris and I’m here. Why?” Her mind flashed to their conversation over Martin, and she scowled. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to imply that Asile is another traitor? For God’s sake, he’s gotten dozens and dozens of Wardens away from the Order; he doesn’t work
for them!”

  “How do you know? Have you maintained contact with the Wardens once they arrived in Paris?”

  Ivy froze, her throat tightening. “Well, no. But that wouldn’t be safe. Too much chance of me being identified, or communication being intercepted and leading the Order to me or to them. But I get word when they get to the safe house to let me know everything went smoothly.”

  “Word from Asile.”

  “Who else?” Ivy snapped.

  “Then you cannot be absolutely certain that the Wardens are safe,” Ash said, her expression hard. “You cannot be certain that this safe house even exists, let alone that it is where the Wardens go after you leave them in France. You have no proof that this contact of yours does not collect them from you and pass them straight into the hands of the nocturnis.”

  Bile welled in Ivy’s throat. Reflexively, she pressed her fingers to her mouth and swallowed hard. It took a few deep breaths before she could manage to speak again. “You think I’ve actually been helping the Order all this time? That I’ve been handing survivors over to their deaths. Is that what you’re telling me? That I’m an accomplice to murder? Am I?”

  Drum stepped forward then, laying a hand on Ash’s shoulder when she would have spoken again. “No one is accusing you of being on the side of the Darkness, Ivy. We all know you’ve been doing what you thought you needed to do to save the Wardens. Ash is just worried that you could have been lied to. These days, it’s hard to know who to trust.”

  Ivy knew the man was only trying to make her feel better, but he wasn’t. She wanted to vomit. The very idea that she had been sending Wardens to their deaths when she had wanted so desperately to save them from the same fate that had taken her uncle and cousin felt like a punch to the heart. A Guardian’s punch, since it packed an inhuman amount of force. How was she supposed to live with it if that turned out to be the truth?

  Her hands shook as she struggled to keep control. Spewing her breakfast all over the shoes of the assembled company wasn’t going to do anyone any good, and she had the definite feeling that it wasn’t going to make her feel any better, anyway. She wasn’t sure anything could make her feel better.

  “So what do I do, then?” she asked, her throat so tight she had to force the words through it. “Do I not reply? Do we not go to France? What happens now? Asile has a whole network of people like me all over the world. We can’t just let him keep collecting Wardens for the Order. We can’t let those people keep dying.”

  Baen crouched down beside her chair and took Ivy’s hands in his. “Calm yourself, little human. We have no proof that your contact is involved with the nocturnis. Ash merely speculates on one possibility out of many. Don’t you?” He turned his head to glare at the other Guardian.

  Ash shrugged. “We have no proof that my speculation is incorrect, either.”

  “Not helping, love,” Drum murmured.

  Ivy looked at Baen. Somehow his dark gaze made her feel steadier. Stronger. She drew in a shaking breath. “So what do we do?” she repeated, asking just him this time. He was the one she trusted, even as short of a time as she had known him.

  “I think we must go to France,” he said, squeezing her hands. “We may discover that Ash suffers from paranoia where your contact is concerned. If that is true, he can take us to the other Wardens and we may begin to plan a way in which we may strike back against the Darkness.”

  “But what if she’s right about Asile?”

  Baen’s mouth firmed and his eyes bled back into the fiery darkness of his natural form. “If she is right, then I will kill him, and I will destroy any who have assisted him in strengthening the Order. The Wardens will be avenged.”

  “We will destroy them, brother,” Ash corrected. “You should not go to Paris alone. If my worst fears are confirmed, there must be an entire sect of nocturnis in the city. They would need numbers in order to operate such a highly organized system.”

  Drum reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. “If we’re not going back to Dublin first, I need to contact the others and tell them the new plan. Should they just head straight to Paris and meet us there?”

  Ivy listened to the others debate strategy for a few seconds before a pinging sound from the computer drew her attention back to the monitor. A new window had opened on the screen. It looked like a news bulletin. Harris must have set up some sort of alert system to notify him whenever certain headlines appeared on designated Internet sites. This one came from a major international news outlet. As she scanned it, her eyes got wider and wider.

  “Um, guys.”

  They continued debating behind her back.

  “Guys!”

  This time, at least Baen turned to look at her. “What is it?”

  “This.” She pointed at the news blurb. “There’s been a major bombing in Belfast. They’re calling it the biggest terrorist attack in more than twenty-five years.”

  “That’s unexpected,” Drum said, frowning and moving closer to read the article for himself. “The Troubles have calmed down quite a lot. They still have incidents in the North, but nothing on this scale. They’re right about that. Not in years and years.”

  Ivy moved her finger down to the bottom of the story. “The authorities are claiming the explosives were accompanied by some sort of nerve-gas release that caused hallucinations in many of the witnesses, who claimed to have seen hooded figures and demons in the chaos.”

  Drum swore, creatively enough that Ivy actually learned a few things. “We need to get there fast and find out what’s happened. We know the nocturnis have been actively searching for an opportunity to release the last of the Seven, and we can’t let that happen.”

  “What about Paris? And if anyone says we’ll always have it, I will hurt them.” Ivy glared at the others.

  Drum snorted, but the Guardians just looked confused.

  “We must not fail to meet your contact,” Ash said. “If I am wrong and he is honest, to do so might frighten him into hiding and lose us access to the surviving Guild members. And if he is corrupt, it might show him that we are aware of his betrayal, which would also send him running. We can afford neither outcome.”

  “Then Ivy and I shall go to Paris as planned, while you and your Warden head for Belfast.” Baen outlined the plan in firm tones. “We shall investigate both situations.”

  “You know, there’s a chance this thing in Belfast is only a distraction,” Drum said. “A few months ago, the Order did something similar. They staged an attack in Boston to distract from their true target in Dublin. That plan resulted in the escape of the fourth Demon.”

  Ash nodded. “It could also be a trap, an attempt to lure us into a vulnerable position. The Order knows that a Guardian has been in Ireland after the incident in the cave, but can we afford to assume that either possibility is the truth? If this strike is indeed intended to bring another of the Seven to this plane, we have no choice but to prevent it.”

  “Then we’re caught between a rock and a hard place.” Ivy grimaced.

  “Not necessarily,” Ash said. “We have allies to call upon. Drum, you will contact the others. Have Ella, Kees, Fil, and Spar meet us in Belfast. Wynn, Knox, Dag, and Kylie can head straight for Paris. None of us will be without backup, as the humans say.”

  Baen nodded. “A sound plan. We should all leave immediately.”

  Ivy turned back to the keyboard and started typing. “I’ll confirm the meeting with Asile.” And cross my fingers that he’s not an evil fuck, she added to herself. “But I still need to go back to my flat to get my passport and a couple of other things. We can still be on the road within an hour or two.”

  Well, that would have been true. You know, if a loud crash from the direction of the kitchen hadn’t preceded a flood of black-clad figures racing toward them with magic, weapons, and evil leading the way.

  Bloody hell.

  Chapter Nine

  Baen heard the kitchen door crash open an instant before the stench of Dark
ness hit him. It never changed. No matter the time or the place, evil always carried the same smell—old blood, rotten meat, sickness, and corruption. Sweet and sickly and stomach turning, it made the attack of the nocturnis immediately identifiable.

  It also meant that Baen and Ash were ready for them by the time they rushed through the door of the front room. They each moved forward to place themselves between the entrance and the humans, knowing Drum and Ivy to be much more vulnerable to both magical and physical attack than the Guardians themselves.

  The nocturnis knew it too, and it quickly became clear that the enemy had planned this attack carefully. More than half a dozen black-clad figures swarmed into the tight space while two more hung back in the hall just outside the entrance. The one on the left raised his hand and let loose a foul stream of demonic chanting before pushing his palm forward and sending a rusty red ball of corrupt energy shooting toward Ivy’s head.

  The female instinctively raised her hands to defend herself, but the gesture was futile in the face of the magical attack. Baen roared his outrage and tried to move toward her, to knock her out of the way, but he found himself hemmed in by four nocturnis armed with heavy blades and obvious training in their use. They slashed at him, coordinating their attacks to distract and occupy him, to keep him from rushing to the defense of the humans. He could see Ash facing the same problems a few feet away, but Drum took action.

  The male human stood too far away from Ivy to physically rescue her, but he, at least, had clearly gotten the sort of Warden’s training that Ivy had been denied. He shouted a few words of his own and threw a wave of energy at the woman that knocked her off her feet, sending her stumbling hard against the nearest wall even as the angry red pulse of the nocturni’s spell flashed by close enough to ruffle her hair.