Shadow City

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  “You said this mage, Holt, was a man.”

  “He is.”

  “Then who the fuck is this?”

  “This is my sister.”

  “We’re not having a family reunion, Slick.”

  Alexander’s teeth gritted at the nickname. It was what Max called him and no one else. “Turns out I was wrong. Holt would not come for what he owed Max. So I played my ace. There is nothing Holt would not do to find Valery.”

  Giselle’s eyes narrowed, magic still coiling around her body. “Explain.”

  “He’s been hunting me for more than three years,” said Valery, her voice deep and rich.

  “Why is that?” Giselle’s attention riveted on the woman behind Alexander.

  “I’m that good in bed,” came Valery’s irreverent response.

  Alexander grinned and held his hand blindly out to her, watching Giselle all the while.

  Valery slid warm fingers into his and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Sweetness, I’m glad to see you.”

  “Why don’t you introduce us?” Giselle said quietly. The snakes of magic still roped menacingly around her. She waved at her bodyguards to step back. They did so reluctantly.

  Alexander pulled Valery forward. She was as tall as he was, with golden, sun-kissed skin and black hair cut in a jagged fringe that swept across her forehead and sharply chiseled cheeks. She wore skin-tight black jeans with threadbare knees, a silky green blouse, and red high-topped tennis shoes covered in black skulls and cross-bones.

  “This is my sister,” he said. “Valery, this is Giselle, the witch who holds Horngate’s anneau.”

  Giselle studied her for a moment. “You came quickly. We appreciate it,” she said finally, her switch to courtesy shocking the hell out of Alexander.

  “He called, I came,” Valery said with a shrug. “I’d do anything for him. Even put up with Holt for a while.”

  Giselle glanced speculatively at Alexander. “Then I am glad he is on our side,” she murmured. “Why is Holt trying to find you?”

  Before Valery could answer, a light burst into brilliance above their heads. Flames licked around it, and colored sparks cascaded down like fireworks.

  Valery rolled her eyes. “He has to make an entrance.”

  “I take it this is Holt?” Giselle asked, her wreathing magic intensifiying, even as Niko, Oz, and the wall of Sunspears closed around her again.

  Valery grimaced. Her entire body was tense, and she looked as if she wanted to run, though whether toward or away from Holt, Alexander was not sure. “I’m afraid so.”

  His fingers tightened around hers. Despite whatever it was that had driven Valery to divorce Holt, she was still in love with him. Seeing him tore her heart out. He wished he had not had to ask it of her.

  Giselle eyed the other woman shrewdly. “Will you be all right?”

  “He has promised not to try to kidnap her, and he will give her a head start when she leaves,” Alexander said. “He knows I will kill him if he tries anything.”

  “You can try, anyway,” came Holt’s liquid voice as the sparks dissolved and he appeared out of thin air.

  Slightly taller than Alexander, he had a slim waist and brown shoulder-length hair that was caught behind his neck in a ponytail. He had thick, straight eyebrows and bloodshot green eyes, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days. His arms were covered with blue hex marks that disappeared under his rolled-up sleeves.

  “I will do better than try,” Alexander said. He stepped protectively in front of Valery.

  “He’ll have some help,” Niko said, and shockingly, Oz stepped up beside him. Menace rolled off them in palpable waves.

  Beyul made a sudden growling sound and paced slowly forward until he stood in front of the mage. The Grim’s lips wrinkled back from his teeth in a silent growl. Alexander stared. He had almost forgotten the beast.

  “Friend of yours?” Holt asked, looking coldly down at Beyul and completely ignoring Niko and Oz.

  “Something like that.”

  “Maybe you should put a leash on him. Wouldn’t want to have to hurt him.”

  Alexander remembered how Xaphan’s fire had not bothered Beyul. “I wonder if you can.”

  Holt narrowed his eyes at the Grim, his head tilting to the side, his thumbs hooked in his pockets. He was not an imposing man, and no one would imagine he was a mage with the power of ten or twenty witches rolled up in one. He looked more like a surf bum or a house painter. He continued to look at Beyul for another long moment, then back up at Alexander, one brow raised. “Interesting friend you have. What is he?”

  “A Grim,” Alexander replied unhelpfully.

  Holt’s hex marks glowed faintly. “What kind? Where did he come from?”

  “I am sure this is very fascinating, but if you two don’t mind, I’d just as soon you sorted this out after we deal with the Erinye,” Giselle said, pushing out from among the Spears. She waved them away. Oz glowered at her.

  Holt nodded, facing her. “Of course. You must be the territory witch here.” He examined her from head to foot, taking in her diminutive size, her nearly emaciated state, the magic snakes still coiling around her, the unrelenting set of her jaw, and the flat, unwelcoming glare. “I understand you need my help.”

  “That depends. Can you contain a rising Erinye?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea. I haven’t seen one rise before.”

  That irritated her. “Your confidence is underwhelming.”

  “Would you believe me if I told you I could handle it with no problems?”

  She looked like she was chewing rusty nails. “No.”

  “Then why complain?”

  “Maybe because my covenstead is about to be destroyed for the second time in two months. It would be nice to know you are worth betting on. Or should I be looking for someone else?”

  Holt smiled arrogantly. “Oh, I doubt you can find anyone as good as I am. Even Alexander will admit that much, won’t you?”

  Alexander ground his teeth together. The worst part was, the bastard’s arrogance was entirely justified. “You are a talented son of a whore,” he grated.

  “So, now that that is settled, why don’t you take me to see the Fury?” Holt said, ignoring the insult. His gaze slipped to where Valery had knelt to pet Beyul. The beast responded just as any dog would, leaning into her scratching hand, his eyes drifting closed with obvious delight.

  “First things first,” Giselle said. “Do you accept that your payment is Valery’s presence while you’re here and that when it’s over, she gets a day’s head start?”

  Holt’s smile vanished, his eyes going cold. “Yes.”

  “Good.” She turned to Valery. “What do you expect for payment?”

  In the world of magic, you never said thank you, you never made promises you did not have to, you never said you owed someone, and you never accepted gifts without knowing what the cost was going to be. And there was always a cost.

  Valery rose slowly, her fingers smoothing over Beyul’s wide head. “I’m here because Alexander asked me to come. I don’t expect anything from you.”

  Giselle said nothing for a moment, then nodded shortly. “Good enough. I’ll leave it between the two of you, then.”

  “That’s where it belongs,” Valery said.

  Holt made a low sound in his throat, and Alexander grinned maliciously. Holt had always thought there was something going on between him and Valery, never accepting that they considered themselves family. The idea of anything romantic between them was both ridiculous and repulsive. Valery winked at Alexander and put her hand in his. She was not above putting the screws to her ex.

  “So, Furies aren’t born every day. Why now? Why here?” she asked.

  “Her name was Cora,” Giselle answered softly. “She was fourteen. A couple of months ago, her father made a blood sacrifice out of her in order to attack Horngate.”

  Valery stared, one hand rising to cover her mouth. “Oh, shit.”

 
She was not alone in her horror. Clearly, Giselle had not informed anyone else of this. The news spread across the Great Hall in a whispering ripple, followed by a spike of crackling anger and, from many, fear.

  Even Holt was affected. “Fucking bastard son of a bitch,” he said, revulsion twisting his face, and for the first time since they had met, Alexander almost liked him. The mage collected himself, taking in the gathered people, his gaze lingering on the small group of witches. “This is all you have left?”

  “Yes,” Giselle admitted, though she clearly did not like revealing Horngate’s weaknesses. “Now, if you will come along, I’ll show you the Erinye.” She did not mention the Memory or Beyul’s twelve brothers and sisters.

  Alexander’s mouth curved. Holt was in for a big surprise.

  Oz and Niko fell in beside Giselle, and Holt followed. Alexander and Valery walked behind.

  Valery glanced around, searching the gathering. “Where’s your Max?”

  The expression on his face must have said enough.

  “Oh, no . . .” Her hand clenched on his. “Alexander—”

  “She is not dead,” he said, his throat knotting. Not yet, and never if he could help it. “She is not dead,” he repeated.

  He had not taken two steps when a scream ripped through the hall. He leaped forward, just in time to see Oz catch Giselle as she collapsed. Her face had gone white as glue, and she clenched into a fetal ball.

  “What’s wrong?” Oz demanded.

  “What’s happening?” Niko captured her face in his hands. “Giselle!”

  Valery pushed in. “Let me.”

  Lise pushed the smoke witch out of the way. “Not so fast, bitch.”

  Holt whirled on Lise, his hex marks glowing lividly. “I’ll kill you for touching her,” he snarled.

  Valery steadied herself and punched Holt in the arm with all her strength. “Shut up. I can take care of myself.” She looked at Lise, Oz, and Niko. “I am a healer. I may be able to help her.”

  “Fuck that,” Lise said. “I don’t know you, and we have our own damned healer. Judith! Where are you?”

  The witch wormed through the cluster surrounding Giselle. Oz lowered her to the floor, holding her against his chest as she convulsed.

  Judith knelt and pressed one hand against Giselle’s forehead, the other to her chest. Her hands glowed, and magic sank into Giselle, lighting her pallid skin with a golden glow. After a moment, Judith pulled her hands away and stood, her face grim.

  “It’s backlash. There’s nothing I can do. All she can do is endure it and hope her heart doesn’t stop.”

  “Who?” Lise demanded. “Who did we lose?

  Backlash referred to a returning blast of magic when a Shadowblade or Sunspear was killed. It came from the severing of the binding that connected the witch with the warrior.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” Niko repeated without stopping, scraping his fingers through his hair and pacing back and forth. He dug in his pocket for his phone and hit the speed dial. Tyler answered. One by one, he called the rest of the Shadowblades. One by one, they all answered. There was only one he could not call.

  “No,” Alexander rasped. “No. It cannot be. The prophecy . . . It is not possible.” But fear gripped his intestines in an iron grasp, and he wanted to throw up.

  “She’s gone. Oh, fucking Spirit, she’s gone! I can’t feel her. Max!” Giselle’s wail echoed in the whispering silence of the hall.

  Alexander could not breathe. He felt paralyzed, every single part of himself shattering. Suddenly, his Shadowblade Prime roared to life. His vision swam red, and his mind collapsed beneath the maddened frenzy of the feral beast inside.

  He wanted to kill. The small scrap of Alexander that still clung to sanity told him to bolt. Run before he slaughtered everyone in the room.

  He bulled through bodies blocking the door, beating at them when they tried to stop him. Flesh gave, and bone cracked. Heat seared his back like a brand straight out of the cauldron of the sun. He ignored it. A second later, he was through the door and running.

  He burst out of the mountain into the night and kept going. Branches whipped his skin, and he felt a distant agony from the wound on his back. Up and down ridges, leaping and lunging, he sped like the wind itself, barely touching the ground.

  He ran through the perimeter ward, feeling the tingle ripple across his skin. He had no idea where he was going. It did not matter. He wanted to hunt. To kill. To prowl. To slake his grief in the hot, thick blood of his prey as its heart beat its last.

  Deep within, the last bit of Alexander clenched around unbearable pain. Max was gone. His mate was gone.

  Death was the only explanation.

  Alexander dissolved into a crucible of loss.

  Vicious joy sang in the beast’s blood, free at last from the chains of the man. He was pure brutality, pure animal. He howled, and he ran, smelling prey in the night.

  MAX WAS NOT NEARLY AS CERTAIN AS SCOOTER was that she could kill Ilanion. Or even give him a stubbed toe. Battling him was like having a fight with the bastard child of Tutresiel and Giselle. She wasn’t going to beat him in a head-to-head battle. She was going to have to finesse him. With his ego, that shouldn’t be all that difficult, as long as she didn’t die first.

  She circled around him, a sword in each hand. He readied another ball of magic. Max tensed. This was so going to hurt.

  The ball struck her in the chest, and she flew backward, landing flat on her back, the swords clattering from her hands. The breath exploded from her lungs.

  Max’s hands and arms twitched as the magic engulfed her in a fiery cocoon, its power searing through her flesh. She didn’t bother to fight it, letting it pour through her. It sizzled along every nerve. She gasped, letting out a desperate moan. It wasn’t such a stretch. She felt like she’d been dropped into a nuclear reactor. Then an idea struck her. Almost as if she had practiced it from birth, she opened the door into the abyss and let the magic drain away into it. It was no more difficult than putting away pain.

  Her relief was instant. Holy mother of night. She’d have to remember that trick.

  She drew sobbing breaths and made some whimpering kitten sounds that she hoped sounded like she was teetering on the brink of death. Ilanion paced nearer, his armor clanking softly.

  “It appears your faith in your pet was misplaced,” he said arrogantly to Scooter. “She’s hardly worth bothering with.”

  “It’s a possibility,” came the noncommittal answer.

  Max barely stopped her smile. Scooter wasn’t fooled. He knew she didn’t die that easy.

  Ilanion leaned over her. She flicked a frightened glance at him, keeping her eyes wide and staring—the international sign for paralyzed with helplessness. He totally bought it. He smiled arrogantly and did a stupid thing. He assumed that Max was done for and looked away to Scooter. Dumb shit. No matter how powerful someone was, more often than not, his Achilles’ heel was his vanity.

  She didn’t let him gloat. She wasn’t the idiot in this equation. She snatched his throat. In one lunging move, she scissored his legs out from under him and shoved him onto his back. She landed on his chest, pinning his arms and outstretched wings with her knees. She dug her fingers into the flesh of his throat and clamped down to rip it out.

  “Don’t kill him,” Scooter said. He sounded faded, like he could barely muster the strength to speak.

  “Why not?”

  “He can be useful.”

  “If I let him go, he’ll barbecue us both.”

  “True.”

  Max heaved an annoyed sigh and pulled the dagger from her waistband. It had miraculously not fallen out in the scuffle. The metal was hot, no doubt cooked by Ilanion’s magic. She shoved the point against his neck. He winced as blood flowed.

  “I only have to shove another inch, and your carotid is cut through,” she told him. “You’ll not live long enough to kill me. So play nice.”

  With that, she loosened her grip on his throat. He c
oughed and dragged in a harsh breath. Both actions made the blade bite deeper.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she said helpfully.

  His eyes narrowed at her, and he smiled, his teeth brilliant white against his tanned skin and the gold of his mask. “You’re a jewel. What children we could have.”

  “Dream on, buddy,” Max said, unable to resist grinning back at him. “You couldn’t handle me.”

  “But it would be delicious to try,” he said.

  “Why is it men always have sex on the brain?” she asked. “You’d think you’d be worried about dying right now.”

  “Nayan doesn’t want to kill me at the moment,” he pointed out.

  It took Max a second to understand that Nayan was Scooter. “Nayan? Is that your real name?” she asked him, never taking her eyes off Ilanion.

  “It is one of my names. But then, so is Scooter.”

  Max grimaced. It was like talking to a used-car salesman. Nothing was ever the exact truth. “Fine. It doesn’t matter. You’ll always be Scooter to me. But can we get on with this? We don’t have a lot of time, and you’re about to fall over.”

  “You have a choice to make, Ilanion. Max can kill you, or you can help me take back what’s mine.”

  “Help you? What do I gain?”

  “Your life, for one,” Max pointed out.

  He ignored her. “Helping you will win me significant enemies. My life won’t be worth much. Again, I ask, what do I gain?”

  “I’ll be your friend. Your ally.”

  “If you get your missing pieces back.”

  “Not if. When,” Max corrected. “He’s getting everything back that was stolen from him.”

  The point of her knife dug harder into Ilanion’s neck. He looked at her. “You have no idea what you’re up against. You have hidden depths, but I doubt it will be enough to beat the odds.”

  “With your help, we stand a better chance,” Scooter said.