Master and Apprentice

by Bateman, Sonya

  “Yes.” Something resembling relief eased across Ian’s features. “That may work.”

  “Course it will. But I’ll go first.” At this point, I doubted Ian cared how many humans we scared or pissed off. But I didn’t want to create unnecessary confusion. The compound was close to the town too—and the harder we made it for them to find us, the better. People would remember a bunch of strange men turning up from out of nowhere in a hotel bathroom. And they’d talk about it.

  Ian nodded his assent. I turned back, concentrated on the hotel mirror, and said the spell. It worked this time. Gleaming silver resolved to a shaded view of shower curtains and undisturbed towels. I hoped that meant the room wasn’t occupied. With only a second’s hesitation, I crouched and stepped through.

  Chapter 16

  It didn’t take long for the novelty of walking through the forest at night to wear off. I’d had enough the second time I tripped on an exposed root, and long before the fourth time I got a stinging faceful of branch.

  We’d gotten lucky and slipped out of the hotel unnoticed. Maybe because we’d both decided Calvin needed to die after all.

  Or maybe because the universe was saving all the bad luck for the woods.

  I played the beam of my Maglite ahead on Ian and Tory, who forged through like there weren’t a thousand sticks clawing for their eyes. The bastards. Ian turned in response to the light and frowned back at me. “Can you not move faster, thief ? We have much ground to cover.”

  “Sure, no problem,” I retorted. “You move all these goddamned trees out of the way, and I’ll start running.”

  “You have a light.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t have wolf vision. Or depth perception.” I stumbled along a little faster and narrowly avoided walking smack into a protruding limb that would’ve lumped my head nicely. “Any idea how much more nature is between us and the monastery?”

  “Mile and a half, maybe a little more,” Tory said. “I think.”

  “You think?”

  He gave a careful shrug. “We’re following the only magic we can sense, but it’s faint. He must’ve put up more protections. They just aren’t as solid as the first time you guys came across the place. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to find it at all.”

  “Great. So how do we know that whatever you’re sensing is actually Calvin? That compound of theirs is around here somewhere too.”

  “We don’t.”

  The distant, hackle-raising cry of an animal broke through the trees, as though the forest wanted to punctuate his statement. I tried to shake the chills that clung to my arms and the back of my neck. If I believed in premonitions, I would’ve thought I’d just had one—that we were headed into something we didn’t have a shot in hell at walking away from.

  The brief conversation strangled itself on urgency, and we got moving again. Ian and Tory could’ve been ghosts for all the noise they made. But I produced enough racket for all three of us. I tromped on twigs, broke branches, and cursed every stick and thorny weed that tore my clothes and skin, right along with the ones that didn’t just for thinking about it. The wildlife chorus didn’t help either. The more I tried to tune out the various hoots, chirps, squeaks, and howls that punctuated the air at irregular intervals, the louder they seemed to get, until I was convinced we’d been surrounded by an army of rabid wolverine-mounted squirrels. A low and ominous rumbling almost solidified my delusions before I recognized the sound as thunder.

  I had a few seconds to reflect that rain sizzling on leaves sounded like fire before the downpour penetrated the branches and soaked me.

  With a mental note to refrain from saying things couldn’t get worse, I hustled to catch up with Ian. I’d closed half the distance when I discovered that water makes leaves and pine needles slippery. My front foot shot forward like a rabbit at a greyhound track, and I plopped on my ass in a puddle of muck.

  I groaned and looked around for the flashlight. A feeble glow to my left revealed that I hadn’t killed it, but it had landed half submerged in forest floor slime. I made a grab for it. My fingers closed around the barrel—and something in the mud slithered against them.

  I drew back and shouted. What emerged from my mouth was something like yee-urgle-eck. Footsteps approached me, but my attention stayed on the slender, sinewy shape making its lazy way across the damp patch of light. At least it was headed away from me.

  “What are you doing?” Ian demanded.

  “Taking a mud bath,” I said weakly. “I slipped. And there’s a snake.”

  “Where?”

  I pointed. After a few seconds, Tory laughed.

  “Well, it’s not a Morai, anyway,” he said. “Do you want us to save you from it, Donatti? That thing’s gotta be, what, a whole foot long. A truly terrifying specimen.”

  “I hate snakes. And I hate the damned woods. When we get home, I’m going to shoot an environmentalist.”

  I thought Ian might’ve smirked, but it was too dark to tell. “Perhaps you should stay closer,” he said. “There may be frogs here as well.”

  I glared up at him. “Ugh.”

  “Here.” Ian held out a hand. “We should remain together. This is no night for—”

  He broke off and stared down. A faint shimmer of light pulsed into existence around the index finger of his extended hand. The narrow band grew brighter by the second, until an intense golden light poured from it to throw angular shadows in every direction and illuminate the horror etched into Ian’s features. For a moment the ring appeared cast in molten flame, impossibly bright, like a miniature sun.

  And then it shattered.

  I couldn’t even hear the rain anymore.

  The glowing fragments of Ian’s ring drifted in the air, fading slowly, like ashes scattered from a fire. No one moved, no one spoke. The frozen tableau stretched on forever, until I let out an involuntary gasp when my body realized I’d stopped breathing.

  Nobody had to say what this meant—only death could shatter the bond. They’d killed her.

  Tory dropped to his knees. Ian remained stiff and silent, slightly bent, his hand still outstretched, as though he could take it back if he didn’t move.

  A thousand things I couldn’t say battered through my head, trying to reach my tongue. I refused to speak. Nothing would matter. There were no words that wouldn’t feel like salt on an open wound—especially coming from me. My woman was still alive.

  The rain kept falling. Eventually I heard it again, a thousand cold teardrops beating down on the world. Heaven mourning. With a shaking hand, I reached for the flashlight and made a halfhearted attempt to mop away some of the mud. If I stayed busy with pointless tasks, maybe I wouldn’t scream.

  “Gahiji-an.” Tory’s voice. A mere scrape of sound.

  Ian gave no sign he heard, or cared. He didn’t even blink against the water beading and dripping down his face. His eyes were blank, his pupils constricted to hard black pinpoints.

  Immobile in the dim backwash of light, he appeared drained. Lifeless. A cadaver shocked upright.

  Tory coughed out a hoarse sob and lurched to his feet. “Gahiji-an,” he repeated without strength. “My prince. What can I do?” He laid a hand on Ian’s shoulder.

  At his touch, Ian snapped.

  He straightened like a shot and stumbled back. A sound somewhere between a growl and a wretched cry issued from his clenched teeth. In a blink, he lobbed a fist at Tory’s jaw that stopped a hair shy of connecting. Tory didn’t even flinch. Ian’s arm remained there for long seconds, the muscles twitching in visible erratic spasms beneath his skin. Finally, he lowered it and whipped around to face me.

  The sheer madness in his eyes robbed my breath.

  “Leave.” It was a command, fortified with an unspoken threat. “Go back. Survive. The barrier must be maintained.”

  I shook my head and loosened my reluctant tongue. “Fuck the barrier.” He’d told me before that living Dehbei blood was the only thing preventing the Morai from returning to the djinn rea
lm, that if he died, Cyrus and I had to stay alive. A spell the Dehbei had managed to cast before the Morai finished them off. “Let them deal with the bastards. I can’t just leave—”

  “You will go back.” Something deep and vicious laced his words, as though the wolf in him had seized control of his vocal chords. “Taregan. Kesura lo ani esa q’rohi ka-et.”

  My spine crawled at the translation my mind offered. Bind his small soul to me. I didn’t know exactly what that meant, but I was pretty sure I didn’t want it to happen.

  Tory blanched. “Maybe you should reconsider.”

  “Do it!”

  “I … I don’t think I can. It’s a big spell.”

  Ian vibrated with fury. He sank his teeth into the meaty part of his palm, drew them out dripping with blood, and held his bleeding hand out to Tory.

  “Jesus,” Tory whispered. Shivering, he took Ian’s blood offering without another word.

  “Ian, what the hell?” I scrambled back in the mud, trying to stand, convinced I couldn’t let them go through with whatever this was. “Don’t. You’re not thinking straight.”

  Tory finished and wiped a crimson trickle from his mouth. He advanced toward me. “I’m sorry, Donatti.”

  Stop. The word failed to materialize beyond my thoughts. He’d cast a lockdown on me. He knelt, put a hand on my chest, and beckoned to Ian, who edged close enough for Tory to touch him at the same time. Tory closed his eyes and murmured a chant, barely audible above the sweep of the rain and the soughing wind.

  A strong tugging sensation bloomed in my gut. Pain drove up from there to my chest, and I could almost feel a lump of something that was purely, vitally mine pass through my breastbone into Tory’s hand. He shuddered when it happened, and again seconds later when I guessed the thing left him and entered Ian.

  At once, I felt like I’d sprinted a hundred miles uphill. It took everything I had not to pass out in the muck.

  Tory dropped his arms, gasping, and gestured at me. My motor control returned, and with it came an overwhelming dose of nausea. I managed to turn my head before I could throw up on my legs. What came out felt like a gallon or so of superheated motor oil—thick, smooth, and odorless, scalding every inch of flesh it touched.

  I knuckled a drizzle from the corner of my mouth and moved my hand toward the beam of the dropped flashlight. Viscous black fluid glistened on my skin. The same stuff that had leaked from Lynus when Ian drained his soul.

  “What the fuck did you do to me?” My voice sounded papery and ancient, a wheedling scrawl. “You can’t do this. You can’t …”

  Lines of crackling light crawled around Ian like trained lightning. “Forget the monastery. I am going straight to their nest. I will tear them all apart,” he grunted. His upper lip lifted to reveal lengthening eyeteeth, and he struggled visibly against the transformation that seemed to grip him involuntarily. “As many as possible, before they bring me down. You will know when I am finished.” His hair thickened, formed rough points. He shook his head with a snarl. “And you will end me then. Destroy my tether. You must survive.”

  “Ian! Goddamn it, don’t be an idiot. I don’t know anything!”

  The glow consumed him. He bent and warped, and became the wolf. For an instant his eyes met mine—and the anguish in them filled me completely, turning my blood to liquid fire. Then he whirled and ran.

  Tory stood a few feet away. “Do what he’s told you to,” he said. “I have to help him. I’ve got just enough left to transform.”

  “Wait,” I croaked. “This is stupid. I can help too. He’s stronger when I’m around—he said it himself.”

  “Didn’t you feel what happened?” Tory shook his head. “He’s taken part of you with him. Your presence won’t boost him any more than what he’s carrying now. He wants you to live … because he can’t. Not without her.” The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but moisture still streamed from Tory’s eyes. “Tell Lark I’ll return if I can. Don’t let him come after me.”

  I shivered. Before I could lodge another weak protest, the light of Tory’s transformation blazed from him. The hawk rose above the trees with a mournful cry, leaving me with the most important question unanswered.

  If two djinn and a descendant couldn’t best five of these bastards, how was I supposed to survive them alone?

  Chapter 17

  We’d lost the war before the first real battle ever started.

  Akila was dead. Ian was about to join her. Tory … I didn’t even want to think about how he’d end up. One of his clan, Shamil, had been held captive and tortured for years by the Morai clan leader so the bastard could have a constant supply of fresh djinn blood to amplify his power. We managed to rescue him and send him back to the realm—eyeless, forever tormented, but still alive. But that had been four of us against one djinn and his psychotic human puppet. Now, it would be me against an army.

  And I was supposed to just go home and forget about it.

  I’d have to destroy Ian. Jesus. Every Morai hated him, with good reason, and I couldn’t leave him in their hands. Even if they had his tether, I doubted they’d kill him anytime soon. They’d torture him forever. And they’d use him to track me down. Still, I had no idea how the hell I would know when he’d done all he could. I didn’t know a goddamned thing, and there were no djinn left for me to ask.

  Except Calvin. And I sure as shit wasn’t asking him.

  I groped for the flashlight and shook some of the mud from it. At the least, I had to get up. Couldn’t sit here all night—if the descendants didn’t find me, the animals would. I hunched forward and pushed off the ground. Standing wasn’t too bad. I was sore and a little queasy, but otherwise solid. Apparently the side effects of that soul spell were temporary.

  That didn’t make me feel any better about being subjected to it.

  A quick gust of wind forced a miserable sneeze from me. I trudged over to the nearest tree and leaned against it while I wiped rainwater and dirt from my eyes.

  Playing the beam around the area didn’t exactly lift my spirits. The soaked forest seemed even more confusing and impenetrable than before. With every tree and branch and bit of ground the same slick, dark color and consistency, I had no clue how to get out of here—or what I’d do when I did. If I did. I couldn’t even tell which way Ian and Tory had gone a minute ago. The thought of leaving them for dead and spending the rest of my life running from Calvin and his crew held about as much appeal as eating a bowl of thumbtacks. But it looked like I had no other choice.

  In less than twenty-four hours, I’d lost everything that mattered to me. I almost wished I’d get mauled by a bear or struck by lightning, but if I died, Cy would inherit the curse. And there was no way in hell he’d survive it.

  I sneezed again. My stomach cramped with the force, and gooseflesh tightened my shoulders and made my arms crawl. It’d be just my luck to catch pneumonia or something on top of everything else. I considered climbing a tree and waiting until dawn to look for a way out, but I couldn’t risk staying in one place for that long, and the damned woods wouldn’t look any friendlier in the morning. Besides, I’d probably fall asleep, do a header, and break my neck.

  I picked a random direction and walked, trying to stay in a straight line. The woods had to end eventually. For the first few minutes I moved the light in a sweep pattern and checked as far as it would reach, hoping for a big puddle so I could try to get myself through a mirror somewhere. But the natural forest floor covering refused puddles in favor of big piles of mush and little patches of muck. Unless I happened to trip over a stream, I was stuck slogging on foot.

  Eventually, the misery lodged in my gut gave way to cold panic. The endless unchanging landscape smothered me—tall black trees, somber sentinels determined to imprison me; the clutch and splash of sopping, lumpy mud beneath my plodding feet; the unrelenting stench of wet dirt and decaying leaves. My heart picked up the alarm and pounded light and fast. My pulse fluttered in my throat.

  I stopped think
ing. And ran.

  Dark, rain-slicked shapes blurred past. Somehow my feet planted themselves on solid patches of ground. I failed to plow face-first into a single unyielding trunk. Part of me realized I’d dropped the flashlight somewhere, and the rest of me recommended that I not think about that. My vision made adjustments to the darkness. I ran, and my breath pistoned in and out of my lungs, short pants instead of long gasps. I sailed over roots and ducked under branches without seeing them until I’d already made the motions to avoid them.

  I wasn’t sure how long the reckless sprint lasted, but my pace slowed when my calf muscles started to burn. I reined myself in and targeted a tree to rest against. When I jogged over and threw an arm up to catch my breath, my hand encountered something cold and smooth where I expected rough bark.

  It was a pay-phone booth.

  I went invisible before my brain could sort things out.

  Not far ahead, dim light shone from a few windows of the monastery. Three shadowed figures stood in a loose cluster in the yard. The orange flash of a cigarette illuminated one of them briefly and cast a glow around the rest. They weren’t monks, unless someone had changed the dress code to denim and guns.

  While I stood there weighing my extremely limited options, a muffled and prolonged scream rolled from the shadow of the building and made a decision for me. I drew my piece and sprinted for the bastards.

  They weren’t taking Ian without a fight.

  I brought one of them down before I crossed the wall.

  The Sig handled beautifully. I issued a silent thanks to Jazz for giving me her best weapon, and drew a bead on the next one. The few seconds they engaged in looking around for the source of the shot were enough for me to fire again. One of them flew back and hit the ground.