Hawaiian Shirt laughed. I found it odd that he had no minions around to protect him from us, which could only mean two things—one, he was incredibly powerful and needed no minions. Or two, he had a plan for his minions, but the time wasn’t right yet.
As though someone had read my mind, I began to hear shouts from below us. I took a few steps backward to reach the edge of the crenellation and quickly peered over. Below us, vampires raced through the crowds, attacking tourists and families.
I swore. “Call Fua or Bianca. One of them. Get them here, Hank.”
I thought he’d say “why can’t you,” but he didn’t. He just did as I asked.
While it would have been nice to take in this scene slowly, gather the evidence and make a careful plan, I was in no mood. Additionally I didn’t know how much longer I had before his spell started working.
It didn’t help that I couldn’t tell just by looking what he was about to do. It didn’t look good. It looked… sacrificial. I also didn’t understand what the fourth empty circle and symbols were for, which made me even more nervous.
Vivian needed to get her ass out of that circle immediately, before any magic started working that would harm her.
I did a quick internal check, putting out feelers to check my mana levels. I’d guzzled that fruit and veggie smoothie on the way in, so spell-casting power should be regenerating already. Based on my cursory scan, I was running at half power.
That meant relying on spells wouldn’t be wise. Not yet. The only logical thing to do in that case was to take a couple shots at Hawaiian Shirt. I squeezed off two.
He hit the deck and the bullets missed, connecting with the granite walls of the temple spires behind him.
His distraction meant the circles weakened and their light dimmed. I heard the high pitched vibrations recede in the process and I saw the victims in the circles relax visibly.
That broke my heart. It meant the circles were doing something, draining them, hurting them.
That fueled my will to get the show on the road and undo what was being done faster.
I barely heard Hank’s conversation with Fua, and before I knew it, my partner was standing right beside me, assessing the situation.
“What do you think, Dred?”
“Oh, I think we just need to destroy him.”
“You’re talking my language, sweetheart. I agree. But how?”
As we spoke, Hawaiian Shirt began moving his hand. I squinted and saw that he held a stylus.
“He’s a mage,” I hissed.
“I caught it right when you did.”
“What’s he casting, then?”
“Looks like he’s summoning a weapon,” Hank said, moving to begin summoning his Glock, writing the runes in the air with his stylus.
I fired my Colt again, just to distract the bastard, not because I thought I’d hit him—he was too powerful for that.
Hank’s summoned Glock was suddenly in his hand, dripping golden light like he’d just pulled it out of a freezer and now it was melting. My partner aimed and squeezed the trigger, sending four precise shots at Hawaiian Shirt.
The villain was too quick. He held up a round shield comprised of green light. The golden bullets struck the shield and blinked away as I watched.
“Keep him distracted,” I said, seeing my chance to move to free Vivian.
“Hurry up. My magic doesn’t last forever either, Dred.”
He was wrong about that, at least where it compared to mine. Runic magic relied on the runes, and the runes could last as long as Hank wanted them too. But once a runic spell was discarded, there was a recharge time on the same class of spell—he couldn’t throw away the Glock spell and then immediately draw another weapon spell. He could summon a shield spell, however.
Which meant we knew the strengths and limitations of Hawaiian Shirt. In this skirmish, at least, he had a shield and when he summoned a weapon and used it on us, that would be his weapon of choice for at least a half hour.
It gave us some knowledge about how the battle would play out and what we could expect from it.
Hank kept firing at him, dodging, and moving around the roof to keep him engaged.
But that didn’t mean that Hawaiian shirt didn’t also keep his eye on me. He deflected another volley of fire from Hank, then I watched as he used his stylus to summon a weapon.
A sword.
“A sword?” I shouted, looking over my shoulder at Hank.
“I guess he likes traditional fights,” Hank shouted back.
Or he was intending to come after me, since I was progressing toward the circles that lay in front of him.
“You think two puny mortals will stop me from my task? Cagnus the Dark is beyond your abilities,” Hawaiian Shirt boasted.
Of course he boasted. How cliche.
“Dred, this one thinks he’s immortal,” Hank shouted at me.
I laughed. “Clearly an egomaniac. Cagnus the Dark? What kind of name is that?” I knew that it was very playground-bully to ridicule his name. But I was above nothing when it came to a psychopath doing evil stuff.
I’d skirted the edge of the circles, taking a wide curve around them in order to avoid Cagnus. He had a sword and shield, resembling a fighter out of a fantasy film. They were illuminated with a green light that reflected in his glasses and cast his face in a strange colors.
I hoped Hank kept distracting him until I could get closer to Vivian and pull her out of the circle.
The circle’s strength would need to weaken, first, which Hank could do if he got closer and drew Cagnus’ attention.
I glanced over my shoulder to see what Hank was doing, and felt a surge of gratitude that my partner had seemed to read my mind. He was inching closer to the madman, popping shots at the guy’s feet, while Hawaiian Shirt danced and used his shield to absorb and disintegrate the magical bullets from Hank’s summoned Glock.
If Hank could keep the bullets flying, there was a chance the magic on the circle holding Vivian would diminish enough that she’d be free, especially if I could break the circle.
I was close enough that I could have tapped her with an outstretched gardening rake, had a vampire not popped over the wall and landed square in front of me, ready to fight.
“Looking for someone?” the vampire asked. Shoulder-length blond hair blew in the slight wind that stirred across the roof. He smiled at me, showing off his fangs. Head to toe he wore black leather, except for the white colored button down base layer under a jacket.
“That’s an impractical outfit if I ever saw one. Sweltering yet?” I asked, turning the sarcasm up to eleven. “Come to think of it, do vampires sweat?”
Vampires. Well, now I knew how Cagnus had gotten three prisoners to the roof of the temple. So he was even more in league with the vampires than I’d understood. What sort of faction was he forming that he, a human, despite his claims to immortality—commanded void demons and vampires?
I gave him a nanosecond to answer, then pulled the trigger on the Colt. I wasn’t going to mess up this chance to free Vivian just because a vampire appeared at the last minute.
And if I could help it, the dragon and demon would be leaving with me as well.
Not that I wanted to hang out with a demon at the moment—but I was trying to respect that whole Fabric bull that the Fates had tasked me with.
But if worse came to worst, my allegiance was with my team. Not the Fabric.
41
Vampires are usually painted as either incredibly good looking and sleek, or so hideous they’re like green swamp monsters. Two extremes.
If you’re going to be a perfect predator, evolution turns you into another creature entirely—because humans are not great natural predators—or, barring that divergence, the developments become something designed to lure your prey to you, like an angler fish with its bioluminescent lights in dark waters. A curious thing enthralling its victims until they’re too close to escape. I mean, I’m just spitballing here. I could be wrong
.
Needless to say, it doesn’t matter if I’m right or not. The pretty, sexy vamp crowd wins.
The enemy vampire dodged my fire with ease, then smiled at me. He was like a male siren, drawing me toward him, luring me into his thrall.
He was incredible. There was the aforementioned long hair that the breeze tousled and fanned like he was posing for a model shoot. An angular face with pale blue eyes full of fire. He moved sinuously, with the confidence that he knew I would be his no questions asked, like a Fleetwood Mac song.
I could smell him as the dry desert breeze caressed the rooftop, carrying his musk toward me. I knew he was getting in my head through my strongest senses and if I didn’t do something quickly, he’d win. These tricks were something vampires could do at will, and were usually employed in one on one situations. Which was why it didn’t happen after the Red Iguana skirmish—there were too many of them. All those tricks would have ripped us humans to pieces as we warred over which beautiful monster to succumb to.
And if they’d wanted Vivian alive, like I now suspected, turning on their charm would have been a massive miscalculation.
In a heartbeat, I realized I’d been moving toward him. He was within arm’s reach. His face was so close to me, I inhaled, shutting my eyes, offering my neck to him. Surrender sounded so delicious. I was made for this, I thought breathlessly.
The thoughts were cotton on water, light as air, masking the depths of fear within me, the primal screams to run, to wake up, to understand that something wasn’t right here. My arm with the 1911 in it was as heavy as a lead vest. Something told me to drop the gun, just let it go, as simple and fulfilling as a sigh.
My fingers on their own accord tightened around the grip. I clung to it.
His hand was slipping behind my back, cradling me like a lover. My back burned with flame where his fingers pressed through the thin cotton of my tank, lighting up like neon signs flashing with desire. I’d never been so aroused by the simplest of touches. I leaned back into his embrace like we were dancing across clouds beneath the moonlight, Cyd Charrise and Gene-freaking-Kelley. The tips of white fangs descended from his mouth, where a faint smile tugged at his red, red lips. His other hand traced the line from my earlobe down my jaw and across my neck.
When his fingertip touched the artery beneath my skin, it throbbed beneath the sensation, “suck me, suck me, suck me,” it seemed to chant rapidly.
What a whore.
But that touch, so dangerous against the carotid, also broke the spell.
My mind shook free of his enthrallment and I blinked.
I began to tense, realizing how close to being a vampire steak dinner I’d come. I put the Colt to his chest and pulled the trigger.
Honestly, a part of me wept at the demise of such a gorgeous creature. It was kind of disgusting how bonded to the bastard I now felt—he’d nearly eaten me!
There was no time to go into the connection between predator and prey, though I knew there was something there. It was some kind of creepy and massive concept that would crush me beneath it if I dwelled on it, something frail like a quivering antelope lying down to let the wolf feast.
This wasn’t the time for it. This was the time to fight the nature within me, whose dictates demanded that the strongest survive.
Strength has many forms. And guns were the great equalizer.
And magic, even more so. Magic was the field where geeks and the bookish played for keeps against titans and leviathans whose primary threats were to crush them.
Handsome as fuck vamp fell towards me. I’d really hoped that despite our dipping-in-the-dance pose—you know, that Gene and Cyd reference—that despite that, the silver bullet through his heart would take him in the opposite direction.
It didn’t, because physics, and he crushed me beneath his weight as he fell forward, a hiss escaping his mouth.
As the lust of his spell wore off, I saw that he was really rather plain looking, or at least, not quite so fabulous as I’d been seeing. Certainly not worth the ecstasy of being his dinner.
He flattened me, and as I struggled to get out from under him, he whispered, “Whyyyyyy?”
“If you need to ask, you’ve been a vampire too long,” I muttered, pushing him off with my knees, then feet, and arms.
“You OK, Dred?” Hank called as I finally extricated myself from him and stood up and adjusted my clothes.
“Oh yeah, never been better!” I shouted, point-blank lying. My tank was soaked with the blood of the vampire’s previous victim.
“Glad to hear it!”
I needed to get Vivian freed before another vampire showed up and we did that dancing with the stars bullshit. I was as susceptible as any human, which was frankly frustrating. Why couldn’t having magic make me above that crap? It didn’t. No sense crying over it.
I took in the scene that had changed during my rapture.
The glow emanating from the circles and symbols was flickering on and off like a weakened neon beer sign in a bar, which was good news. The bad news was that the victims in the circles seemed to also be weakening.
I ripped my tank top off, and ran to the circle that contained Vivian and put the piece of clothing down on the perimeter of the circle, breaking the spell.
Cagnus shrieked something unintelligible at me, something like, “Glurbity dirk drack mufffle, muffle!”
“Was that even English?” I asked Vivian as I holstered my Colt and picked her up under her arms and dragged her out of the circle.
Her mouth was still bound by whatever magic Cagnus had placed over her.
I got her a safe distance from the row of circles in the center of the roof and went back for the others, using my dirty tank to break the circles and interrupt the magic. First I grabbed the demon, since he was closest. He was one heavy bastard, however, and I was only able to get him halfway out before I moved on to the young dragon. The key was just getting them partially out, even if I couldn’t carry them entirely away from the circles. The dragon wasn’t as heavy as the demon, but it still weighed more than Vivian.
I got it out halfway, grunting and straining as I pulled at its front legs. Its reflective silver eye watched me and I felt a pang of sorrow for its suffering. This fanned rage within me that in turn sent a fresh surge of adrenaline through my limbs. Power flowed through me and I pulled the beast entirely out of the circle.
Almost entirely.
But I didn’t notice that the young dragon wasn’t out all the way, until I was working on the demon again, feeling the same surge of fight-or-flight hormones course through me and give me extra strength to save the creatures.
The demon moved slowly, but soon I was going back to the dragon to get it completely over the rim of the circle.
Hank had continued to engage Cagnus—a really stressful environment to work in, honestly. The scream and frenzy of battle raged around me. Something happening between Hank and Cagnus caught my attention and I looked up from my own efforts. In the midst of their firefight, the madman had stopped and crouched behind his shield, his conjured sword vanishing.
He stretched his free hand out toward the empty circle, and began chanting. The symbols within it began to light up and throb with vapors of powerful magic, which seeped from the light of the white and red markings.
I didn’t know what was happening, but it made me want to work faster.
The dragon was still bound and couldn’t move, but the eye closest to me watched. I saw something inside the pupil, something that looked like fear. As Cagnus chanted and the circle’s power grew, it became impossible to move the dragon, as though it was anchored to something in the circle.
I shrieked for Hank to stop futzing around and kill the Cagnus, the loser, who was no longer attacking but finishing his spell. If he died, the dragon would be freed and whatever hell he was drawing on with the circle would stop.
I pulled and pulled on the dragon’s legs. Somewhere deep inside, I knew that the magic spell was going to end with so
mething totally shitty—something like Godzilla appearing or the devil appearing. It was a spell I wasn’t familiar with. I wasn’t sure what to expect, so I expected the worst.
Suddenly, a figure stood within the circle.
I knew then that Hank hadn’t succeeded in killing Cagnus.
Damn.
The figure in the circle wore white robes accented with purple and red, while fire rose around its head. Its skin bordered on gold, luminescent like the sun at noon, and the fire that danced around its naked skin was more the color of the sun than flames from any fire I’d ever seen.
An angel.
Like puzzle pieces snapping into place, things clicked together. The moving parts stopped and I could see the larger picture.
I recognized the angel as Uriel, an angel of flames. I’d just heard the name Uriel, somewhere, why hadn’t I put it together? If I had, I could have stopped the summoning.
Everything was about flames and fire. For whatever reason, this Mage was capturing supernaturals of whose primary element was fire. The angel was a crowning achievement, but the answers to why eluded me.
42
“No,” I said, pleading with the Universe. But I knew it was pointless. The spell to summon the angel had taken the life-force of the dragon.
Its body relaxed. The light in its silver eye faded, glazing to stare vacantly as I cradled its head in my arms. Such magnificence, gone, a sacrifice for the egomaniac fighting Hank.
I looked up—fending off a massive sorrow that fought me like an undertow—just in time to see Hank racing toward Cagnus. He pulled the trigger of his golden Glock as he moved. Cagnus, for his part, was staring triumphantly at the angel, wrapped up in his accomplishment. The fool.
Three bullets riddled the man’s torso, and one took him in the head. Just like that. No pauses, no hesitation, just the condemnation of a Flameheart balancing the scales. I felt no remorse about the man’s death. He’d just tried to kill three beings to bring one to Earth, and ultimately succeeding in his mission at the expense of the dragon.
Flames to Free (Dred Dixon Chronicles Book 1) Page 22
