Shadow City

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  “You’ve been keeping secrets,” Giselle murmured speculatively, her brows rising as she clearly wondered what else he was hiding.

  “I am not the only one.” His chin jutted. He would not apologize.

  After a moment, she nodded. “Call him. See if he will come.”

  Alexander watched her walk away, still stunned that he had volunteered to call Holt. He hated the bastard. But if anyone could help, it was the mage. Alexander rubbed a hand over his mouth and swore softly.

  “What’s wrong?” Oz asked.

  “Holt may come help because of what he owes Max, but he will most certainly make me pay for it,” Alexander said.

  “Sounds like a mage after my own heart.”

  “Just wait until you meet him. You will want to strangle him before he says ten words.”

  “If he can keep this place from being destroyed, I’ll kiss his ass.”

  Alexander grinned. “I will be sure to tell him so. He does like a good ass kissing.”

  The Shadowblades were housed in the lower regions of the Keep. The Sunspears’ quarters were higher, where they could have windows to let the sunshine pour in. Blades lived deep underground, where darkness ruled.

  At the bottom of a steep stairway, Alexander turned down the hall and keyed the wards of his room. He glanced down to the end of the corridor at the door leading into Max’s apartment. His knuckles whitened on the handle of his door as a storm of emotions swept over him. He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the door, waiting for it to pass. How was it possible to miss anyone so much? The hurt was almost unbearable. When she got home, he was going to kill her for putting him through this.

  Beyul nosed him curiously. Alexander started. Unworldly intelligence shone in the depths of the Grim’s green eyes.

  “Wait until you meet her,” he told the black beast. “Then you will understand.”

  Beyul tipped his head as if asking a question. Understand what?

  Alexander winced. He was most certainly going crazy, explaining himself to the Grim. “She is—”

  No words came. She was so many things, and he felt like he was bleeding to death without her. It did not even seem possible. He had known her for less than two months. Hell, who was he fooling? He had been completely hypnotized by her within minutes of meeting her. She was different from any other Shadowblade—no, any other woman—he had ever met. Finding her was like finding a piece of himself he had not known was missing. And now she was gone. She might not be coming back.

  He drew a harsh breath. No. He refused to even consider the possibility. She was strong and stubborn and very skilled. She would return. But whether or not she would be coming back to him, that he did not know.

  He straightened, his body aching with pain that was too great for him to contain. Beyul whined at him. Alexander grimaced and scratched the Grim’s ears before wondering if the beast would snap his hand off for taking liberties. But Beyul leaned into his touch, his tail wagging twice.

  “She agreed that we had something,” he said. “I will not let her forget it. Whatever it takes.”

  He went inside, and Beyul immediately sprawled across his bed.

  “Do not get used to it. I have no intention of sharing. Not with you, anyway,” he told the Grim, who only pawed at the bed and rolled onto his back.

  Alexander went to his dresser and pulled open the top drawer. Inside was a polished cherry-wood box. He lifted the lid and took out a folded piece of paper smudged with dried blood and dirt. He flattened it, reading the number written on it in bold black letters.

  Holt had given Max the number after she had rescued him from certain death. He had been trapped inside a landscape of deadly magic. Holt had been wounded, and if Max and Alexander had not carried him out, he would have been eaten by a bunch of giant carnivorous plants. Enchanted forests were nothing but dangerous, and these plants had been very hungry. When he had given her the number, Holt had told her that if she ever needed anything, she should call him. He would not be pleased that it was Alexander on the other end of the line.

  Alexander tapped his fingers on the top of the dresser, delaying the inevitable. Whatever he had told Giselle, the truth was, Holt would not come because of Max. Only she was going to be able to collect on what he owed her. But there was another way to get the mage here. Alexander sighed and punched a number in his speed dial.

  It rang twice before Valery picked up, her voice rich and sensual. “Alexander. Is everything all right?”

  As always, she did not waste time but cut right to the heart of things. He did the same. “No. We are in trouble, and we need Holt.”

  Silence. Then, “It must be really bad if you want him, of all people.”

  “It is. He will not come without something to make it worthwhile. There is only one thing he wants.”

  Another silence. “You know what you’re asking?”

  “I will make him promise to give you a head start when everything is done. All you have to do is be here while he is. He will not refuse the chance to be face-to-face with you.”

  “Dammit, Alexander!”

  She said nothing more. Alexander waited. He considered her a sister. Both of them were Caramaras—gypsy folk who had fled from Egypt ages ago. He would do anything for her and she for him. But this was more than he had ever asked. She and Holt had been married, but a couple of years ago, she had left him and taken with her something he desperately wanted back. He had been chasing her ever since. Now Alexander was asking her to let herself be caught, if only for a while.

  “I would not ask if—”

  “I know. If there was any other way, you would try it. All right. I’ll come.”

  “How long will it take? We have little time.”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to ride the smoke. It won’t take long. I’ll home in on you.”

  “Should I go out beyond the shield ward?”

  “Your shields won’t stop me. See you soon.”

  She hung up. Alexander let out a slow breath. Now for Holt.

  To his surprise, the mage picked up almost instantly. “This must be big if you are calling me,” came the low baritone voice.

  “I need your help.” The words cut at Alexander’s throat like broken glass.

  “Do you? And why would I help you?”

  “Because Valery has agreed to be here while you are. But you cannot try to take her by force, and you have to give her a full day’s head start when it is over.”

  Holt laughed, a bitter, angry sound. “That’s not much of an offer.”

  “You have not been able to corner her in the same room with you for two years. If you want to talk to her, this is your chance.”

  “All right. Suppose I do come. Why do you want me?”

  “We have an Erinye rising. She will be born very soon, and we would like to keep her from wiping out the covenstead when she does.”

  Holt gave a low whistle. Then his surprise turned to anger. “You fucking ass. You called Valery into that mess? She could be killed.”

  “Then you had better get here quick. She is on her way.”

  Alexander snapped his phone shut, his blood pounding in his chest. Holt was right; he should not have asked Valery to come. But there was no other way if Horngate was going to have a chance of survival. If the angels were right about what a newborn Fury could do, the coven was not strong enough to defend itself. He was Shadowblade Prime now, and that meant giving everything he had to protecting Horngate. Even if one of the things he gave was his sister.

  If it came to it, she could escape on the smoke, he told himself as he headed for the door. But it was a cold comfort. If the shit hit the fan, there would be no time for her to catch the smoke. Besides, Valery would not abandon the fight if she thought she could help. Which meant that Holt damned well better have a few aces up his sleeve.

  He yanked open the door, waiting as Beyul launched himself off the bed. He had better hurry. He wanted to be there when Giselle met Holt. It would be noth
ing if not interesting. Max was going to be pissed that she’d missed the fireworks.

  MAX CARRIED SCOOTER OVER HER SHOULDER, leaving one arm free to hold her sword. The other, which he had dropped when he fainted, she held hilt down as she balanced his body.

  There were no gates within sight. Inside the iron fence was a busy pulse of people—for lack of a better word. The shadows were thicker here, and torches burned everywhere. Hence the name of Torchmarch, she guessed. They put off a thick, greasy smoke that burned in her lungs.

  Only a few people passed by on the boulevard, and most of them gave her a wide berth. She kept up a quick pace. She didn’t want to give anybody time to get too nosy about her or Scooter. Especially Scooter.

  She’d gone ten miles when she finally found a gate into the Torchmarch. It was tall and wide enough to drive two semi trucks through. An arch spanned the width of the road, decorated with ornate scrolling metalwork depicting haunted faces full of suffering and fear hiding in the branches of twisting trees and crawling vines. On either end were enormous torches shooting flames a good fifty feet in the air.

  The gates were wide open and guarded by two hulking gargoyles. They looked roughly made, with hooked horns and massive paws. Their eyes bugged, and their noses covered half of their broad, squat faces. Their arms were longer than their powerful legs, and their backs bowed to accommodate the mismatched height. They had stubby wings that couldn’t possibly have lifted a dead cat, much less the massive creatures they were attached to.

  As Max turned to enter, they snorted loudly at her. One of them thudded forward, the ground shaking beneath its heavy stone steps. One swipe of a paw would crush her. Max stopped, waiting to see what it would do. Her fingers tightened on the hilt of the sword. It wasn’t going to do much good. Gargoyles were made of animated rock. Nothing cut through them short of a jackhammer.

  It lumbered closer, and its mouth fell open, revealing a set of short, triangular teeth. Streaks of rust smeared the cavern of its mouth and dribbled down over its chest. Gobbets of flesh were wedged between its teeth. It had eaten recently. A dark wet patch on the ground a few feet away told her that if she didn’t pass whatever test was coming, she’d be dessert.

  The gargoyle snuffled over her body, its eyes gleaming red in the torchlight. Its breath was hot and smelled of rotten meat. The beast shifted its attention to Scooter. It started grunting in excitement, or maybe anger. She shifted her burden away, putting as much of herself as possible between the rock beast and Scooter. Its grunting grew high-pitched, and it raked a claw at her. Fast. The damned thing sure didn’t move like a statue. Max twisted aside before it could make contact.

  It made a harsh barking sound and lunged. She leaped back, the angel feather embedded in her hand making her glide lightly up into the air. She landed on the top of the iron fence, balancing precariously. The gargoyle slammed against the fence, clutching the metal and shaking it fiercely. Max tilted sideways and leaped. She soared over a building and tangled in a net. She clutched it, hanging by one hand, the other grappling Scooter, who had begun to slip from her shoulder.

  Both gargoyles began to bay with deep, bellowing noises that sounded like foghorns. Who were they summoning? She wasn’t going to wait around to find out.

  Below her, the top of the building was flat, with a variety of pots and benches arranged in a pretty garden setting. She let go of the net and landed in the middle of a raised bed of fragrant greenery. Instantly, she ran to the edge of the roof and peered over. Below, the street was teeming with people drawn to the noise. She pulled back out of sight. Across the way was a taller building anchored on four corners with needle-sharp minarets. In the middle was a glass dome. Between the towers ran a small stone ledge.

  Without pausing to think about the stupidity of her plan, Max made a running jump and flung herself across the gap between the buildings. She crashed into one of the minarets and clung to it as she found footing on the narrow ledge. Scooter made a sighing sound and tried to push himself away from her.

  “Hold still,” she hissed, then eased around the spire to the ledge on the other side. She trotted down to the next tower and jumped to the street below. She crossed to the other side and ducked into a recessed doorway before setting Scooter on his feet. He swayed, and she steadied him. The hood fell from his face. He looked bad. His scales had grayed, losing their luster.

  Max brushed a lock of lank hair from his face, more worried than she cared to admit. When it came down to it, Scooter had treated her fairly, and that was saying a lot, given how desperate he was. She respected him. “What happened to you back there?”

  He rubbed his chest. As he did, the robe fell open, and Max saw that the bruise had returned full force, staining a spot the size of a watermelon.

  “They went after your heart again, didn’t they?” she asked, her teeth grinding together with fury and disgust.

  He nodded. “So it seems.”

  “All right. We have a shitty hand. So let’s play it carefully. First things first: where can we go? If I can put you someplace safe, I can go hunt for your heart. They can’t bleed it if they don’t have it. It might buy enough time for me to find your horn and silk.”

  He put out his hand, fumbling for hers holding the sword. “You should know—if you go into the abyss, they can only follow you if you take one of the established roads. Very few can travel through the abyss without a road the way we can, and it’s impossible to track anyone across it. Remember that if you have to run.”

  “Is there some reason I need to know that now, Scooter?” she asked, her voice sharpening dangerously.

  “There is little hope now for me.”

  “Fuck that. You’re alive, and that’s all the hope we need. Plus, I’m pretty good at this sort of business. So shut up and tell me where to go before our new gargoyle friends find us.” The baying had grown closer, though it didn’t sound like the beasts had found their trail yet.

  Obediently, Scooter closed his eyes and tilted his head as if listening closely to a sound Max couldn’t hear. He turned, searching. At last, he pointed. “There.”

  “Got any idea how far?”

  “Not close.”

  “Then we should get moving.”

  She was about to step out when the flapping of wings made her duck back into the doorway. She glanced up. Mother of fuck. Approaching was a giant gondola, the passenger basket the size of a Greyhound bus. It was buoyed by a gold hard-sided balloon three times as big and pointed on both ends. All around it buzzed a horde of rainbow fireflies. The bottom was shallow, with swans rising on either end, their wings upswept and curving back along the sides of the carrier. Long streamers attached to the underside of the ship gave the impression of a long, feathery tail.

  A merry spangle of music poured out, a combination of drums, flutes, and guitars. It in no way overwhelmed the loud laughter and voices of the passengers, most of whom were hanging over the edge and watching the street below. They were dressed elaborately in fine clothing and even armor. A few weren’t dressed at all.

  Surrounding them was a phalanx of flying creatures and smaller vessels, all joining in the rush to find out who had set off the alarms. They weren’t the only ones. Suddenly, the streets were packed. It was like Mardi Gras in New Orleans. There was little room to pass in the tide of oncoming people, and more were flooding in behind.

  “Don’t they have something better to do?” Max muttered. “Come on. Hold tight. I want my hands free.”

  She made sure that Scooter’s hood covered his face before pulling his taloned hand through the crook of her arm. They eased out into the crowd, staying close to the wall. Max reined in hard on her Prime, trying not to call attention to herself. It was hard. She wanted to clear some walking space with the swords, but she kept them pointed downward and used her shoulder to wedge through the press of bodies.

  At the corner, she turned, pulling Scooter with her. She pushed down another three blocks and then crossed, sifting through the wash of b
odies, shielding Scooter, who was clutching her like a lifeline. On the other side, they ducked under a broad portico running around a squat building. It was held up by fat pillars carved in the shapes of rotund men and women, all displaying something malicious in their expressions.

  Max stopped to look up. Far too many vehicles floated overhead. She had wanted to get back to the roofs so it would be easier to cover their trail, but it would make them too easy to spot from above. Suddenly, the baying of the gargoyles quickened and rose higher. They had found her trail. She had no choice now.

  She pulled Scooter around the building, staying beneath the overhang. On the other side, she crossed into a narrow alleyway and found a stairway leading up. At the top was a plain door painted a dirty tan. There was no handle on the outside.

  Without hesitation, she tossed Scooter over her shoulder and leaped up onto the roof. The building was topped by a series of dull metal juts surrounding a small garden. Max sprawled into a bed of prickly vines. She stood and set Scooter on his feet. “Are you OK?”

  He coughed, holding a hand to his side, deeply grooved lines bracketing his mouth. “I may have broken something.”

  She dragged her fingers through her hair. “Dammit.” He couldn’t afford injuries. He was teetering on the edge, and she didn’t need to push him off the cliff. “How bad?”

  His lips curved without much humor. “Bad enough. You may be free to go back to Horngate soon.”

  She scowled. “I’ll go when I’m good and ready. Now, sit for a minute. I’m going to scout.” She eased him down onto a wood bench and went to look out over the Torchmarch. The thicket of ropes and bridges was thicker there. They’d be handy, but she couldn’t risk dropping Scooter. Which left the ground and the rooftops.

  The streets were still packed, and the sky was still crowded, though no one seemed to have noticed them yet. Maybe she could outrun the mob while they were distracted by the baying gargoyles.