Shadow City

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  She circled the garden. There were a couple of good buildings that offered a flat landing. She returned to Scooter. “Can you handle the rooftop route? I’ll have to sling you over my shoulder again. If you can stand it, we can get a lot further faster.”

  He shook his head reluctantly. His breathing was short and shallow. “It’s probably best if we stay on the ground.”

  Max touched his cheek. He skin was clammy, and he was starting to shake. “How can I help you?”

  “Besides finding what they stole from me? Water would help. Food. A place that’s warm. Sleep.” His breathing sounded wet and thick.

  “They have hotels with room service in the Torchmarch?”

  “Nowhere that’s safe for us.”

  “Yeah, well, I’d risk a lot for an IHOP or a Denny’s right about now,” Max said.

  He chuckled. “Chadaré has a wealth of good food, but I admit I wouldn’t turn down a bucket of fried chicken.”

  “A deep-fried man? I wouldn’t have guessed that. I’d have thought you’d be more into the kind of thing they serve at the Four Seasons.”

  “I wouldn’t turn that down, either.”

  “You and me both, Scooter,” Max said as she swung him up into her arms to carry him down the stairs. “You and me both.”

  “Why do you call me Scooter?” he asked, looking blindly up at her.

  “It’s a nickname. In place of the fact that you never told me your real name.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “It means . . . You probably don’t want to know.”

  “It’s an insult, then,” Scooter guessed.

  She grinned. “Maybe a little.”

  “Only a little? You tend to be very focused in your anger, and you don’t like me.”

  “I don’t know. You’ve been growing on me.”

  “Like a bad rash.”

  She eased down the stairs, swiveling her head to watch for attackers. “Now, Scooter, that sounds like something I would say.”

  “That doesn’t make it any less true.”

  “You were the one bashing me against cliffs in order to get me to find the door into the abyss.”

  “That’s also true.”

  She stepped off the last stair and set him back on his feet. “Do you have a point?”

  “I know that you serve me here in Chadaré because of our bargain.”

  Max turned to look at him. “I am helping you because I want to.”

  He shook his head. “You didn’t want to come here.”

  “True. But now that I have some idea of what’s going on, there’s no way in hell that I’m walking away. I’m not letting these assholes butcher you.”

  “Too late, I’m afraid. They hacked away the best parts of me long ago.” He pulled up his hood and took a firm hold on her arm as she started to ease back onto the street.

  “Not the best parts, and you’re going to get them back.”

  “I have better parts? Do tell.”

  “Are you fishing for compliments?”

  “Just curious about which you think are better.”

  “Must be your sparkling personality and the scales—I really go for scales on a man.”

  “Do tell,” he said with a faint smile.

  “On the other hand, I could be wrong. It’s not like I’ve seen your horn, your heart, or your silk.”

  “That’s not entirely accurate,” he said. “Look up there.” He waved upward at the tangled tapestry spreading across the Torchmarch.

  “You made those?” Max asked incredulously.

  “Not all. Not even most. It has, after all, been thousands of years since I held power in Chadaré. The city has grown a great deal since then.”

  “And they lasted all this time? Impressive.”

  Max was impressed. Awed, even. She’d known Scooter was powerful, but somehow knowing that he’d created so much of the web above the Torchmarch and that it had lasted so very long made what he was more tangible than anything else she’d seen him do. It was like seeing the ruins of the Parthenon or the Aztec pyramids.

  “My silk is—”

  He broke off, and Max could almost feel his agony over what he’d lost. She knew that pain. There was no relief. It hurt in a place that tainted everything. It was betrayal and bitterness and never being able to catch your breath. It was always as if there were a hand around your throat and a knife forever twisting in your gut.

  “I’ll make you whole again,” she said softly, and despite the noise of the people around them, she knew he heard her. “I’ll make you whole or die trying. I promise.”

  With her promise, a wash of magic poured out over her, running away on a rippling red tide. Suddenly, they became the center of attention as the surrounding crowd turned to look at them.

  “We should hurry,” Max said, and shouldered her way through the thicket of bodies.

  “You promised,” Scooter said, and he sounded shocked. “Why would you do that?”

  “Some say I’m stupid. That’s probably it.” She knocked an outstretched arm aside and swept the legs from beneath a thin creature covered in bark. Its rootlike feet clung to the ground, and it swayed all the way to the side as Max shoved it over like a weak grass stem. Instantly, it bounced erect with a greedy smile. It reached for her with a mass of branchlike arms. With hardly a pause, she swiped the sword through the reaching limbs, and they sheared away, green ichor spraying from the stubbed ends.

  She ducked away from the burning blood, yanking Scooter into a jog. The wounded plant creature screamed like metal tearing apart. The gargoyles would come running to find out what was up. There was no time for hanging out. Max reached down and slung Scooter over her shoulder. He gave a thin moan of pain and then fell silent, his body clenched and trembling.

  Max broke into a flat-out run. She leaped over the crowds, up onto roofs, and back to the street. She held Scooter as tightly as she could, trying to absorb some of the shock of her escape.

  In minutes, she’d put a couple of miles between them and the scene of her fight, but she didn’t slow. She wanted a much larger margin of safety.

  At last, she passed through a little plaza. There were few people here. She slowed and set Scooter on his feet. He straightened slowly, as if he’d aged two hundred years. There was no time to let him recover.

  “How far to your safe house?” Max asked. “Are we going in the right direction?”

  “I think . . .” He turned like a compass arrow searching for north.

  Before he could say anything, something plummeted out of the sky. Golden wings arched wide. They were deeply pocketed, with hooked talons tipping each bony span. Within was a man. He wore a gold helm that covered his eyes. A sharply hooked beak curved down over his nose. Armor covered his shoulders and gauntlets circled up to his elbows. They bore razor talons that stuck out straight over his fingers. Over his hips was another layer of armor that circled his waist and ran in scales to disappear inside the greaves encasing his feet, shins, and knees. Like his gauntlets, these had sharp points that protruded from his toes.

  Within the helm, his eyes were a tiger-eye brown. Where his skin was exposed, he was deeply tanned, his body ridged with powerful muscle. He had no body hair that Max could see or any weapons besides those on his armor and wings. They looked plenty deadly enough.

  Even as she studied him, he was examining her and Scooter.

  “Who are you? Why are you in my territory?” he demanded when he was at last finished. His voice was raspy and deep, like Johnny Cash after he’d put away a fifth of whiskey and smoked a carton of cigarettes.

  “Who wants to know?” Max returned.

  He’d started to let his wings fold, and now they flared wide again. The muscles in his biceps bulged. “As you are the intruders, I believe that you must answer my questions.”

  “All right. My name is Max, and this is Scooter, and we’re passing through,” she replied unhelpfully.

  His cheeks flushed, and his mouth twisted with fury
. “No, you’re not. Not anymore. You’re coming with me, or you will die.”

  “Or the third option, you let us go on our merry way, or you stop moving. Your choice.” Max pulled away from Scooter and stepped to the side to give herself room, both swords ready. “Let’s get this over with. We don’t have a lot of time to waste screwing around with you.”

  His eyes inside the mask narrowed. He faced her. Magic suddenly balled up between his palms. “Oh, it will be quick, I assure you.”

  Shit. He smelled of Divine magic, but she hadn’t thought he was a witch. Max tensed, watching his chest. It would signal the launch of the magic torpedo. She’d need to jump instantly. She’d go over his head and slash his wings. She had only one good shot. If his magic struck her, he’d probably have enough time to close in and kill her. She had to hamstring him quickly, or she wouldn’t have a chance.

  He wasn’t the sort to chat as he fought. Max found it both refreshing and unnerving. His chest muscles tensed, and he suddenly shoved the ball forward. It streaked at Max with lightning speed. But she was already in the air, her two blades wheeling as she slashed at his wings.

  But he was faster than she imagined. One second he was there, and the next he wasn’t. She landed as the ball exploded and the air shook. Debris flew through the air, cutting and pummeling. She spun around to find him. Already, another magic ball was heading for her. She dropped flat to the ground, and it flashed overhead. The heat of it scorched her skin, and flames erupted on her back. Behind her, another explosion and more debris. Stone, metal, and wood rained down. She rolled aside and leaped to her feet just in time to dance away from another one.

  “Stop!”

  Scooter’s voice rang loudly in the now empty plaza. Anyone with sense had beaten a hasty retreat from the war raging inside it.

  To Max’s astonishment, the winged man paused, magic swirling around his hands.

  “Are you ready to leash your servant and tell me who you are and what you want?” he demanded. He didn’t look away from Max.

  “Yes.” Scooter pulled his hood back before Max could tell him not to, turning blind eyes toward the eagle witch. “You know me, Ilanion. You know what I want. I’ve come back to get what was stolen from me.”

  The magic faded from the winged man’s hands. He took a step toward Scooter. Instantly, Max blocked him.

  “Not so fast.”

  Ilanion looked at her, examining her again from head to toe. Then his gaze slipped past to Scooter. “I expected you a long time ago and at the head of a large army, old friend.”

  “I brought all that I needed. She is enough.” He paused, his head tilting. “We were friends. Are we still? Or did you have a hand in what they did to me?” There was thick strain and exhaustion in his voice.

  “I had no part of it.”

  “And now? What will you do?”

  “Whatever I want. You’re toothless, and your little wolf can’t hurt me.”

  Scooter smiled, slow and sure. “You’re wrong, Ilanion. She won’t just hurt you, she will kill you.”

  Ilanion flicked a searching look at Max. “She’s hardly shown any such prowess so far. I was about to char the flesh from her bones.”

  “You always had more pride than sense. If you like, you can finish your brawl. Though I’d hoped we could negotiate an alliance. Go ahead. But Max, do be quick. We should be getting on.”

  She grinned and pushed all of her emotions down into the cold fortress within. Her Shadowblade rose, overwhelming all her senses. Hyper-awareness swept her, just as it did before she went into the abyss. She felt every cell, every sinew, every pulse of blood. She could see that Ilanion registered the change in her. Before, she’d been holding on to herself, not letting the predator inside her free. But now she gave herself entirely over to it. She circled, and he turned to keep her before him.

  “What is she?” Ilanion asked Scooter, respect coloring his voice.

  “She is Max.”

  The answer frustrated the winged witch. “What is a Max?”

  “She is . . . unique. And she is about to kill you.”

  DRAWN BY THE ALARM CHIME, MOST EVERYONE was already gathered in the Great Hall despite the late hour. The newcomers were especially frightened. They had come to Horngate to escape the magical upheaval sweeping through the country and the rest of the world, but they had no idea what they had really stepped into at Horngate. It was certainly safer than almost anywhere else—or had been until the Erinye started to rise—but it was never going to be a tame place to live. Nowhere in the world would be, now that magic had returned full force.

  Giselle stood at the center of a large anneau floor talking to her small cadre of witches. Beside her was Judith, a newly recruited witch with long brown hair that she wore in a pair of braids. She was haggard and worn. She’d not yet recovered from the long, difficult healings she’d performed on Alexander and others a short time before.

  Next to her stood Gregory, a tall, gaunt man with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Brown hair fell around his face in an unruly mop. He looked twitchy and nervous. He was a Triangle-level witch, just like Judith, but his covenstead had been destroyed, and the two had barely escaped with their lives. It had crippled his ability to use his magic. No one knew if he would ever regain what he had lost.

  Magpie came next. She was a Circle-level witch and head chef of Horngate. She had long black hair with two streaks of white on each temple, giving her her nickname. Alexander’s gaze lingered on her. Although she was only a Circle-level witch, her gift for true prophecy made her unique and very special. She had given Alexander the prophecy about the amulet and becoming Prime but had refused to talk about it since. His jaw clenched, and the coil of hot frustration in his gut twisted tighter. His Prime clawed inside him.

  Three others stood in the little group. Two men and a woman. Maggie hung back, looking terrified. She was a new witch, just awakening into her talent. A couple of weeks ago, she had not known that witches existed, and now she was one. If Alexander and Max had not rescued her in California when the Guardians attacked, she would have died. It might have been better for her. She was not sure how to handle her newly discovered powers, and neither was her husband, who could hardly stand to be anywhere near her, much less let her hold her own baby.

  The two men crowded close to Giselle, both of their faces alight with eagerness and delight. Never mind that she was telling them that Horngate was in dire straits; they were like kids in a toy store. The younger one was Kyle. He was probably at least Star strength, but it was too soon to tell. He had never been in a coven before. The older one was Peter. He was in his late sixties, with nearly white hair. Despite his age, he was hale and hearty. His magic was minor, lower than Circle, and he would not ordinarily have been invited into Horngate. But beggars could not be choosers, and more important, he was Max’s father. Kyle was her younger brother.

  Alexander could not help the disgust he felt for them both. Neither seemed to be bothered by the fact that Scooter had taken her. They were too excited about learning magic. Bastards.

  Max’s mother was off in a little cluster with Tris—Max’s sister—and her two daughters, including Tory, who was dressed in a pair of sweats, a half-shirt, and the usual earbuds. When Alexander walked in, she stood and started toward him. Tris grabbed her hand and pulled her back and whispered something against her ear. Alexander grimaced. Tris did not like him at all and definitely wanted to keep her lovestruck daughter away from him. That suited him fine, but her dislike rankled. She hated anything smelling of magic, which made living at Horngate nearly unbearable for her, and the thought of one of its magical residents fooling around with her daughter set her off. Alexander snorted inwardly. As if he would have anything to do with that carnivorous little child. She was as appealing as a dead fish.

  Tris made no effort to hide her repulsion for Horngate and everyone in it, and that is what stuck in Alexander’s craw. Especially after everything he and Max had suffered to rescue her and her fa
mily from a pack of very hungry shape-shifters. Both of them had nearly died more than once, but all Tris cared about was her own petty prejudices. It was all right for him, but Max would be deeply hurt by her sister’s antagonism, and that Alexander would not forgive.

  The rest of the people in the hall included the few unmagical civilians who had survived the devastation wrought by the angels, and a handful of people Alexander and Max had rescued when they’d gone to California. All of the Sunspears were there, as was Niko, who saw Alexander and strode over to meet him.

  “Well? Oz says you were calling in a mage to help. What’s the story? Is he going to come?”

  “He is coming. As is my sister.”

  Niko’s brows rose high. “Sister? Seriously? Aren’t you over a hundred years old?”

  Alexander winced. “Valery is of my blood. We are Caramaras—a kind of gypsy to you,” he explained when Niko looked confused. “But blood is enough. She is my sister in every way that counts.”

  Niko shrugged. “I’m not arguing. So who is this mage you’re bringing in to help? Can we trust him?”

  “His name is Holt. He is very powerful, and he says that he will help. He is an ass, and you will dislike him on sight. Far more than you hated me.”

  “I’m not sure I’m capable of that level of hate.”

  “You will find more. I am sure.”

  “I can hardly wait. But you didn’t say we could trust him.”

  “No, I did not. I guess we will find out soon. Here comes Valery. Holt will not be far behind.”

  A lazy black smoke had filtered in through the rock, gathering high against the uneven ceiling. It sifted down, condensing into streamers that wound together into a shadowy figure. A moment later, the figure became a woman. Everyone had gone silent, and Alexander could feel Giselle gathering her power. He shoved through the assembly, thrusting himself between her and Valery, even as Niko, Oz, and the other Spears closed around Giselle in a protective wall.

  “There is no threat.”

  Giselle stared at him, magic twisting around her like black pythons. Strange how much her magic resembled Valery’s, and yet the reality was that they were entirely different. Giselle’s magic was elemental, coming from stone and nature. Valery’s came from somewhere else. Alexander had never understood it, but hers had little in common with the magic of coven witches.