Blackbird Broken (The Witch King's Crown Book 2)

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Blackbird Broken (The Witch King's Crown Book 2) Page 19

by Keri Arthur


  “Then ring him,” Ginny said. “Demand he get his ass back here to help us ASAP.”

  “Mo has said she’d handle it, so we’d best let her. But if he does happen to ring either of you, fob him off. ” I scooped up the last bit of egg and then pushed upright. “I better go get ready. Just … be careful today. Don’t lower your guard, and keep your weapons handy. Given how easily they got past the protections surrounding the Blackbird building, it might not matter how many spells Mo and Barney lay down here.”

  “Thanks for that cheery thought,” Mia said, voice dry.

  I smiled and headed out. By the time I’d brushed my teeth and retrieved my phone and all three knives, Mo had finished spelling and was waiting near the front door.

  “Where’s Barney?” I shoved my arms into my coat and followed her outside.

  “He and the girls have gone into the library so they can spread out the scroll and the notes.” She clicked open her car. “I’ll drive.”

  “You’ve got a broken foot, remember?”

  “And the car is automatic. Get in. I’ll be fine.”

  I knew that tone of voice well enough, but I nevertheless felt obliged to keep arguing. “So why did you call in Mia to drive us around?”

  “Because I thought we might need help. And I was right.”

  I rolled my eyes and gave in. “If Max is intent on finding us, he’s got plenty of options—a whole damn building filled with them, in fact.”

  “I know.” She grimaced. “I did gather—and burn—your toothbrushes, combs, and brushes so they couldn’t be used in any sort of tracking spell.”

  I glanced at her sharply. “But not yours?”

  “I’d rather he come after me than you.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  She chuckled and patted my knee. “It’d take some pretty strong magic to take me out.”

  “It’s not magic I’m worried about. They used a goddamn metal bar on Gianna’s cousin, remember.”

  “I doubt they’d attempt that with me. Max is aware how swiftly I can raise a retaliation spell.”

  “Even you can’t retaliate against a bullet.”

  “Which is why I think—once we speak to Vivienne—we need to turn the tables on him.”

  “He’s never been easy to track down. I doubt that’s going to change, especially now.”

  “I suspect it will depend how much he thinks we know.”

  “He’d have to be aware we have Gianna and his kids.”

  “There were no survivors from either the attack at the house or the attempted kidnapping in the forest, so it’s possible neither he nor Darkside are aware it was us rather than the preternatural boys.”

  “Preternatural doesn’t have witches who can smoke bad guys with lightning that shoots out of daggers, so I think that’s pretty much a giveaway.”

  “Why would he assume it’s you, when you’ve never been able to access the power of the daggers?” She glanced at me, eyebrow raised. “And how do you know the preternatural team don’t? More importantly, how would he know? He’d have far less contact with them than us.”

  “That would depend on whether he—or whoever he’s working with—has one of them on the payroll.”

  “True.” She paused, waiting for some traffic to pass before pulling out onto the road. “We still have to try, though.”

  “I take it you gathered some of his items when you cleaned out mine?”

  “Of course I did, though it was a bit of a risk. If he goes home and notices, he might decide to hit us first.”

  “I really don’t want to believe that he’d hurt us, Mo.”

  She didn’t say anything for a very long time, concentrating instead on the road and the morning traffic. Once we were past Preston and on the M6, she glanced at me. Her expression was both serious and sad. “You do realize that—if all this goes down as I suspect it will—we may have no choice but to—”

  “Don’t say it,” I cut in. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  Not now. Maybe not ever. He was my twin, for god’s sake … I swallowed heavily and fought the rise of tears. The need for confrontation and drastic action would come, and there was nothing I could do to avoid it. But as long as I didn’t acknowledge it, I could still believe there was a chance—a hope, however slight—of redemption.

  “What we need—what I need,” I continued, aware of the catch in my voice but unable to do anything about it, “is to talk to him first.”

  “I agree we need to talk to the lad, but we can’t risk a true showdown just yet, Gwen. We need to learn far more about his Darkside connections first.”

  I sucked in a breath and released it slowly. It didn’t do much to ease the inner tension, and I wasn’t entirely sure whether its cause was Max or something else. “Can you track him via his phone? At the very least, it would be handy to know where he is at the moment.”

  “I’m afraid when the roof collapsed into the living room, it took out the tracker phone. I haven’t yet had the chance to pick up another and replicate the spell.”

  I forced a smile. “Well, why not? It’s not as if you’ve been busy doing other things.”

  She snorted and slapped my leg. “Cheeky wench.”

  “Had a good teacher.” I watched the passing landscape for a while, although there wasn’t much more than grass and treetops to see, thanks to the sloped embankments on either side of the road. “What’s our next step if Vivienne can’t offer any info about the real sword?”

  “We might be forced to try the impossible.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “And that is?”

  “Wake the old bastard from his slumbers.” She grimaced. “As I said, it won’t be easy. But he did have a penchant for creating magical swords; if the sword in the stone is one of his, he’ll certainly be able to tell us why it was created and what it’s capable of.”

  “Did I not suggest this course of action some time ago?” She gave me what some might call the evil eye, and I grinned. “That look doesn’t scare me, you know.”

  She sighed. “What is this world coming to when my best means of frightening small children and nonsensical adults no longer has any effect?”

  “I’m not sure I’m pleased to be called nonsensical.”

  She reached across and patted my knee. “Present company excepted, of course.”

  It was at that precise moment, when her attention was more on me than what was happening around us, that we were hit.

  Not by another vehicle. Not even by energy or magic.

  By wind.

  Wind so fierce and strong, it was as if we were suddenly in the middle of a cyclone.

  It lifted us up and spun us around so fast, we were flung about bonelessly. Then it spat us out over the metal guard barrier and down into the wide river below.

  Chapter Eleven

  The water woke me. It crept up my legs, its touch icy. The car sounded like a dying beast, hissing and groaning as it tilted forward and down. It was only the seat belt holding me in place.

  What the hell had happened?

  For too many vital seconds, I puzzled over that question, even as I struggled to open my eyes. My head pounded like crazy, and there was moisture—warm moisture—running down the side of my face. Then memory hit, and so too did panic.

  We were in the fucking river!

  I sucked in air and tried to calm down, to think. We could escape this, but only if I acted calmly and quickly.

  I forced my eyes open. For an instant, all I saw was dark water. It had risen halfway up the windshield and was slowly climbing ever higher. It also poured in through the vents and from who knew where else.

  We had to get out. Now.

  I kicked off my boots and then braced one hand against the dash and undid my seat belt. The movement made the car rock unsteadily in the water, and I fought the surge of fear.

  “Mo?” My voice was urgent. Desperate. “Mo? You need to wake up.”

  The window on her side of the car had been smashed; the water
creeping up the windshield trickled in through the lower edge. A few more minutes and it would be a tide.

  “Mo! You need to wake up. We need to get out of the car—now!”

  Still no answer. I leaned over and pinched her cheek. Her response was muted—weak. And there was blood—lots of blood—on her face.

  I swore again and pressed the button to open the front windows on both sides of the car. The gods were obviously on our side, because the electronics hadn’t shorted out yet. As water began to trickle in through the windows, I slung the backpack over a shoulder, then grabbed the edge of the doorframe and pulled myself out into the river. The pack made movement a little more awkward, but it contained my knives and there wasn’t a chance in hell I was about to leave them behind—especially when I had no idea if this drowning attempt was but the first of a string of planned attacks. Or even if our assailants were, right now, watching from above and readying another …

  I thrust the thought away. Another attack was the least of my worries right now. The water was pouring into the car at a faster rate, meaning I had maybe twenty seconds, if that, to get Mo out.

  I quickly swam over the submerged engine bay to the driver side of the car, then grabbed the shoulder of her coat, pushed her back against the seat, and leaned in to undo the belt. She murmured something I couldn’t quite catch, but hope nevertheless stirred. Partially conscious was better than nothing.

  “Mo,” I yelled, even as I pulled her closer to the window. “You need to grab the top of the door and pull yourself out of the car. Now! Please!”

  For a second, she didn’t respond. The car was sinking fast, and the force of the water flowing into it made it all that much harder to hang on to her and keep us both afloat.

  “Gwen?” The sound was remote and weak, but nevertheless music to my ears. “What happened?”

  “Later,” I said urgently. “Just grab the top of the door and pull yourself out of the window.”

  It took a few attempts but, with my hands under her arms for support, she eventually pulled herself out of the car. I kept a grip on her and slowly kicked backward, away from the steadily sinking car and toward the shore and those who were now swimming out to help us.

  I wasn’t entirely sure what happened after that, as it was all a motion- and voice-filled blur. When full consciousness did return, it was to an awareness of soft beeping, people talking, and something tight around my arm. Blood pressure monitor, I realized after a moment.

  I forced my eyes open and looked around. I was obviously in a hospital emergency ward, and there was a middle-aged woman smiling down at me. “Glad to see you’re awake.”

  “Glad to be awake. Where’s my grandmother?”

  “In the cubicle next door—”

  “I need to see her—”

  I tried to get up but was pushed down by both the woman and the younger male nurse standing to my right.

  “She’s fine. Let’s worry about you first.”

  “Define fine,” I said. “And where’s my backpack?”

  “On the chair,” the doctor said. “Your grandmother has a large cut on her head that’s currently being tended and bruising down the side of her face.”

  “Has she undergone a CT scan?”

  “Yes, as have you—you’re both clear of any head or brain trauma.” Her tone was friendly enough, but it definitely held a hint of steel as she added, “Now, please settle down while we complete the rest of our tests.”

  I sucked in a deep breath and obeyed. They checked my memory, concentration skills, and other stuff, and eventually came to the conclusion that, other than possible concussion and the two-inch-long cut near my temple, I’d been pretty lucky.

  Once patched up, the cops came in and took my statements. The curtain between Mo and me was opened at my insistence, and I was relieved to see that she really was okay. We were kept under observation for a few hours and then set free with strict instructions to rest up and take it easy for the next couple of days.

  Like that was going to happen.

  I called a cab once we were outside and silently thanked past me for following the intuition to grab a waterproof phone when I’d updated. The cab driver took us to a nearby Travelodge, and the receptionist didn’t bat an eyelid at our sodden and woebegone state. Maybe because I asked for the business floor with everything included, or maybe because it was winter and no business could really afford to turn away good money even if we looked like semi-drowned rats.

  “I need a shower,” Mo said wearily. “It feels like there’s still ice in my veins.”

  “Do you need a hand?”

  “I’m concussed, not an invalid,” she said crossly. Then she sighed and patted my arm. “Sorry, I’m not angry at you. Just me.”

  “There’s no reason to be angry at yourself. You couldn’t have foreseen that attack.”

  “But I should have—especially given I all but set myself up for it.” She grimaced and peeled off her sodden clothes. “But the anger stems more from the fact I didn’t take the proper precautions when you were with me.”

  I crossed my arms and leaned my butt against the washbasin. “It’s just as well I was, because you would have drowned.”

  “Probably.”

  “Meaning what, precisely?”

  “Water is an element I have some control over, remember. I suspect the coldness hitting my face might have instigated survival mode.” She turned on the shower and held a hand under it, testing its temperature. “Is there tea in this place? I feel the need for a good cuppa.”

  “There’s no doubt tea; whether it’s good or not is another matter entirely.”

  I filled the kettle and flicked it on, then stripped off and hung my clothes over the back of the desk chair. By the time I’d wrapped myself in a towel and made the tea, Mo was out of the shower and climbing into bed. I handed her one of the small cups and then sat down on the other bed.

  She took a few sips and then sighed. “Not great, but better than nothing.”

  “You’re just a tea snob.”

  “At my age, I’m allowed to be.”

  I guess she was. “So, what’s the plan now?”

  “We rest, as ordered.”

  “Why? Dusk isn’t that far away—”

  “I know, but Vivienne always preferred dawn.”

  I studied her for a moment. She looked pale and slightly out of sorts, and that had rage rising. For the first time in my life, she seemed vulnerable, and while I knew it was probably just a combination of concussion and the shock of the attack, I really didn’t like it.

  And I certainly didn’t like the fact my goddamn brother had more than likely been behind it.

  I took a sip of my tea and discovered she was right. It wasn’t great. “I suppose it’s likely there’ll be fewer people around at dawn.”

  The rage wasn’t evident in my voice, and for that I was thankful. It’d only make her worry about me doing something stupid—like ringing my goddamn brother. But what she’d said earlier made absolute sense—if I unleashed now, it’d not only drive him away from us but also drive away any chance we had of uncovering who he was working with.

  To kill a hydra, you first had to kill its minor heads. Only then could you tackle the immortal one.

  My brother wasn’t immortal, but it was looking more and more like he was the hydra’s main head.

  I gulped down some more tea, burning my throat in the process, and then added, “That being the case, I might go out and grab some fresh clothes for us both. We can’t run around in our current ones—they stink of river mud.”

  She nodded. “Grab something to eat on the way back. I’m feeling a mite peckish.”

  “Anything in particular?”

  She waved a hand. “Nothing too greasy.”

  I nodded and finished my tea. By that time, she’d drifted into an easy sleep. After pulling my sweater and wet jeans back on, I shoved my feet into her shoes and headed out.

  By the time I returned just over an hour late
r, dusk had settled in, and the skies were ablaze with color. Red sky at night, sailors’ delight … I hoped there was some validity in that old saying, because we could really use some calmer waters right now.

  The kettle’s whistling greeted me as I reentered the hotel room. Mo smiled. “You always did have perfect timing when it came to a cup of tea. What did you grab for dinner?”

  She was, I realized with relief, looking and sounding more like her normal self. “Beef in ginger, garlic, and coconut, nasi goreng, and dumplings. I also grabbed a banoffee pie for dessert, because we both deserve it.”

  She grinned. “Perfect—though I may not fit into my new clothes after all that.”

  I handed her a couple of bags, dumped mine onto my bed, then headed across to the small desk to open the containers and set out the paper plates and plastic cutlery. As the rich aromas filled the room, I hurriedly stripped off my still-damp clothes and wrapped the towel around me again. I could shower later; my stomach was loudly reminding me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  Mo tugged on a loose, bright-yellow sweater, then joined me at the desk, tucking one bare leg underneath her as she sat down. “So, did you succumb to temptation and ring your brother?”

  A smile twisted my lips. “No, but I did arrange a hire car.”

  “Clever girl.” She grabbed the beef and spooned some onto her plate, then repeated the process with the nasi goreng and dumplings. “However, I’ve been thinking, and it might actually be prudent to contact him.”

  I frowned. “Why?”

  “Because if he is behind this attack—”

  “Do you honestly think there’s a chance he’s not?” I concentrated on filling my plate, rather than dwelling on the sudden and stupid leap of hope.

  “It’s possible,” she said. “If only because we still have our uses overall—he must know by now the sword he claimed is not the true king’s sword.”

  “Why?” I repeated. “He obviously hasn’t tested it against the gate, because you would have felt it.”

  “Yes, but as I explained earlier, the king’s sword is, in very many ways, something of a gateway itself. It is the only way the Witch King can seal—or indeed open—Darkside’s main entrance.”

 

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