He stared at me, uncomprehending. I reached for the lamp, remembered that the magic was up, and took a candle from the night table instead. I struck a match. The narrow blade of a candle flame flared into existence. Curran stood before me, his eyes wide, unblinking. Tiny red marks covered his face and hands, blending into a uniform coat of crimson. I reached out and touched his palm. Magic stung my fingertips. Blood. Curran was covered with blood, miniscule drops of it swelling from every pore. He had broken through my ward and it had exerted a price.
"Curran?"
He gave no indication of hearing me. He must be dazed from shattering the spell.
The headache pounded at my skull like a hammer. Gaining my feet, I took Curran by the hand, led him to the bathroom, and nudged him into the shower. I turned on the cold water and let the icy cascade splash on his face.
Lowering the toilet cover, I sat down and rested my head on my hands. The water poured. I would've killed for an aspirin.
Curran drew a sharp ragged breath and exhaled. Awareness crept into his eyes. "Cold," he said. Shuddering, he shut off the water and shook himself. The drops extinguished the candle and darkness swallowed us.
I reached blindly and threw a towel at him. Finding the door, I started toward the kitchen. Halfway through the short hallway something fell onto my head. I leaped to the side and grabbed at it. My fingers held a twig.
What the hell?
I looked up and saw the night sky. A large, irregular-shaped hole gaped in my roof. Curran had picked the highest point of the building, where the ward would be the weakest and punched through the ward and the roof with it.
I ground my teeth, went into the kitchen, and found a feylantern. With a little coaxing, it ignited, its gentle blue flame spreading soft light. Curran appeared in the doorway.
"You broke my roof," I told him.
"It was easier than the door," he said. "I knocked. You didn't answer."
I rubbed my temples. From now on, no more wine.
Something clanked. I looked up. Curran put my dagger on the table.
"How's your shoulder?"
"Sore," he said.
Telling him that I had been aiming for his throat wasn't in my best interest.
"You were right," he said. "It's not over."
"I know," I said softly.
"There is an upir."
"I know."
"He has Derek."
I stared at him.
"I sent Derek and Corwin to the Wood," Curran said. "He attacked them at the pickup point and took Derek. The last Corwin remembers, the kid had a broken leg, but was alive."
"What about Corwin?"
"He's hurt," Curran said.
"How bad?"
"He's dying."
"THIRD TREE FROM THE LEFT," CURRAN SAID.
We stood on the porch, shoulder to shoulder, the night stretching before us.
"I see him." A reptilian-looking thing crouched in the branches of the poplar, its long scaly tail wrapped around a tree limb. The watcher Bono had left to keep an eye on me.
"We can't kill it. Bono thinks I'll sit in the house and hide behind my wards. If we kill it, he's going to know. He has some sort of telepathic bond with them."
Curran strode to the tree. The thing watched him with huge round eyes. Curran jumped, caught a low branch, and pulled himself onto it. The reptilian monster hissed. I went to the shed and brought back a coil of cable wire. Curran grabbed the thing by the neck. It squealed and let go of the branch. He hurled it down and I stepped on it and tied the wire around its neck. Its skin was translucent and colored pale olive, glistening with transparent scales. Curran jumped down and we tied the other end around the tree.
We headed toward the ley line.
WE SAT ON A NARROW WOODEN PLATFORM, hastily thrown together from bits of discarded lumber. They were called ley taxis, cheap wooden constructs that lay in stacks near every ley point. Nothing living could ride the ley line without having some sort of support under its feet. If you were foolish enough to try, the magic current would sever your legs just above the knee.
The ley line dragged us north toward Atlanta at nearly ninety miles an hour. Magic held the taxi completely immobile, so much so that it appeared the rough wooden platform hung still, while the planet merrily rotated past it.
"Explain the bone ward to me again," Curran said quietly.
"He killed the vampires and fed on them. The flesh he consumed created the bond between their bones and him. By bringing the bones inside and binding them to the stone foundation and the walls, I forced him to fight against himself. It's nearly impossible to break this kind of ward. I had also dropped the ward-markers all around the yard so he would have a clear passage to my porch. He was too happy to see me to notice."
"You baited him?"
"Yes."
"So the bone ward can be reversed, but blood wards can be overcome by a person of similar blood?"
"Apples and oranges," I said dully. I felt tired and restless at the same time. "The blood ward draws its power directly from the blood, while the Rock-Wood-Bone ward is an environmental ward. It draws power from the magic itself. The presence of bones just defines it, similar to a lens that allows only light of a certain color to pass. He can't enter my house when magic is up. And since he is magic, he must be too weak to try during tech."
I watched the planet rotate by, the darkness-drowned valleys and hills rolling on both sides of us. Poor Derek. I clenched my teeth.
"Don't," Curran said.
"I should've found somebody to listen." We didn't look at each other, choosing instead to stare into the night's face.
"Wouldn't have mattered," Curran said. "I would've still sent them to the Wood. It was the safest place for them."
"In retrospect, it all fits." My voice was bitter. "He was Ghastek's journeyman, right in the middle of the People's recon crew. He knew when vamps went out and where they headed. He knew which route your people took coming back into the city from Keep. And he spent all his free time picking up women at the bar." I leaned back. I'd had the benefit of Anna's vision and I still missed it. "So stupid."
Curran didn't say anything.
The stars shone bright, mocking us from above, laughing at two humans on a piece of junk. I closed my eyes, but sleep refused to come.
"I put a broken bottle into his throat," I said.
"I saw the bloody glass."
"He laughed. The bottle was in his neck. He was bleeding all over and laughing at me."
"He won't be laughing when I find him." He said it without bravado, flat, the same way most people promise to pick up a loaf of bread on the way home.
The Almanac said that the upir was immune to metal, wood, stone, tooth, and claw. How the hell were we going to kill him?
Curran reached over. His warm hand rested on my forearm for a moment and moved on. For some reason that made me feel better. There was no reason why it should have, but it did. I closed my eyes, put my head on the damp-smelling boards, and fell asleep.
A LIGHT TOUCH ON MY SHOULDER WOKE ME. "LEY point," Curran said. I sat up and saw the break in the ley line up ahead, where the view of the normal world grew distorted. Several tall figures waited for us.
"Friend or foe?"
"Friend," Curran said.
The platform buckled, trying to contract on itself. The old boards creaked, taut under the strain, and grew slick as the damp wood expelled the moisture. The line quaked with a spasmodic jolt and spit us into the deformed arms of a dozen shapechangers. Clawed hands reached to help me off the platform. I got up to my feet on my own.
"How many are left?" Curran asked the head female.
She snarled, mismatched jaws snapping, and a shapechanger in a human form stepped forward. "Two groups, m'lord," he said. "A small family from Waynesville and nine people from Asheville. There was a freak mudslide and they have to dig through the sludge to get to the point."
Curran nodded and strode up the dirt road, flanked by dense brush. F
ar ahead I could hear the horrible growl of a reconditioned vehicle.
"A horse would be quieter," I said.
"I don't like horses," he said.
All around us the brush was alive with lithe shapes. Glowing eyes watched us, drinking in every movement. The Pack was mobilizing, pulling into Keep. No shapechanger would remain outside its walls, and until the last of them crossed the threshold of their fortress, the roads leading to it would remain heavily fortified.
"Nobody can remain on full alert forever," Curran said, as if answering my thoughts. "After we killed Olathe, I'd let them go."
Except that it wasn't over.
The roar of the water-powered car grew too loud to talk. We rounded the bend in the road and I saw the reconditioned Jeep guarded by three wolves. We climbed in and Curran drove to Keep.
CORWIN'S LABORED BREATHING ECHOED ACROSS Pack's infirmary like the toll of a mourning bell.
His misshapen face looked haggard, gray skin sagging from the bone. His feverish eyes fastened on me.
"The Wood is calling," he whispered. I touched his hand, and wicked claws shot out, tearing my skin. "A good hunt," the lynxwere said.
"He doesn't know who you are," Doolittle said over my shoulder.
Gently I freed my hand and patted the furry throat.
"It won't be long now," Doolittle said.
"I hurt," Corwin rasped.
I looked to Doolittle, but he shook his head. "There is nothing I can give him to stop that kind of pain."
"He was impaled on a broken lamppost when we found him," Curran said softly.
Corwin jerked upward. Massive hands gripped my shoulders and green eyes blazed, suddenly lucid. "I'm dying," he rasped.
"Yes," I said, while Doolittle said "No" at the same time.
The cat clung to me. "You never came to the Wood," he said.
"No." I held him gently. His chest shuddered, raked by pain. "I never did."
"Too bad…" the cat whispered.
He sagged in my arms and I lowered him to the pillow. He trembled. A bloody waterfall drenched the sheets, leaving a lynx among the tangle of bandages. His fur was matted and bloody.
"Shit!" Doolittle spat, shoving me aside.
I backed away from the bed, as he feverishly grabbed for a syringe. Curran took me by the shoulders and turned me toward the bed at the opposite wall.
"There is someone I need you to ID for me," he said.
I looked at the bed and saw a man lying on his back covered to his chin with a blanket. There was something unnatural about his rigid pose. Curran pulled the blanket aside and I saw that the man was strapped to the bed. I took in the filthy brown hair and the hard face. There was something familiar about him. I'd seen him before. The man's eyelids snapped open and I took a step back, instantly recognizing the promise in the pale eyes. The bum from Ted's office. The pieces clicked. How stupid of me.
"We found him next to Corwin, knocked out cold," Curran said. "Apparently he jumped into the fight for Derek, but he won't tell me why."
"Untie him," I said.
Curran looked at me. "He has trouble controlling himself."
"Untie him," I repeated. "You shouldn't keep a Crusader of the Order tied up in your infirmary, Curran."
A tortured noise came from Corwin's bed, the hoarse painful yowling of an animal in agony. For a moment Curran looked like he would pound his fist into the wall, but the slip lasted a mere breath and the calm expression reasserted itself on his face.
"Get him to behave," Curran said," and I'll untie him."
I sat down on the edge of the bed. The Crusader's gaze had a touch of insanity to it. All Crusaders were crazy. It was in their job description. If at this moment, he broke free of his restraints, he would try to kill everyone in the room.
"I know who the upir is," I told the Crusader. "I know what he wants." The Crusader's eyes fixed on me. Once he looked at you, really looked you in the eyes, you started to sweat, your muscles tensed, and you knew you had only two options: fight or flight. He wasn't giving me his hard stare now. He was listening. "The upir can't stay away," I said. "Soon he'll come here and then I'll fight him." I pointed to Curran. "So will he. While Curran and I are fighting and bleeding, a man will be lying here, tied to the bed because he was too stubborn to compromise."
The Crusader spoke. "They took my weapons."
Curran nodded. "He can have them back if he promises not to assault my people. And to stay in Keep. I can't have him running around, fucking shit up right now. He cooperates or he stays tied to the bed."
I looked to the Crusader. The madness flared in his eyes and died. "Agreed," he said.
I took a knife from my belt and sawed through the restraints securing his arms. The Crusader sat up, rubbing his wrists. I offered him the knife and he cut the bonds on his ankles.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Nick," he said. He wore the Pack's trademark sweats and smelled clean.
I looked to Curran. "Did you force him to bathe?"
"We dipped him," Curran said. "He had lice."
"My weapons," Nick said.
Curran motioned us to follow and we did. He led us out of the room to the hallway, down the corridor, and to a small room. "I have to go," he told me, his hand on the door handle. He turned to Nick and the two men locked stares, sizing each other up. "Stay put," Curran said.
"He will," I told him. The Crusaders were insane, but they were still Knights of the Order. Their word was binding.
Curran opened the door for us and walked away, while we entered the room.
A lone bed flanked the wall next to a small dresser and a desk cluttered with metal. The place didn't look lived in—no personal items on the furniture, no loose clothes. A heavy punching bag hung from the ceiling and I wondered if that was standard equipment for Keep's rooms. Nick went to the desk, while I sat on the bed.
He had been loaded for bear when the shapechangers took him. A dozen shark-teeth gleamed on the table, next to a 9mm Sig Sauer, a .22, a shotgun, several clips, and boxes of assorted ammo. A long chain lay coiled by the shotgun. Silver, judging by the color of its metal. A short gladius-shaped sword lay on the side, flanked by several sharp dirks and a crescent-shape serrated blade designed to slice the throat. A tangle of cord and wooden parts occupied the corner of the desk—a garrote. There was a utility belt, two leather bracers, designed to hold the shark teeth, a back sheath, an r-kit, and bandages.
Nick stripped to the waist, displaying a hard scarred torso. His left shoulder was bandaged. He pulled the bandages off, exposing a raw, jagged wound, and slapped the r-kit onto it. Taking a fresh roll of gauze from the table, he began to dress the shoulder. I got up, stood behind him, and passed the bandage over his back.
We worked in silence until the wound was dressed. He put the shirt back on and strapped the utility belt over his waist.
"How long have you been tracking him?" I asked.
He didn't look at me, his attention captured by the metal on the table. "Four years." He slid the shark teeth one by one into their places on the bracers. "First Quebec, then Seattle. Tulsa."
I touched the desk. "Nothing here will kill him."
He thrust the gladius into his belt. It didn't matter that he had nothing. He would still try.
"How did you know the upir would attack the kid?"
"The kid's been bound to you. A natural target."
"I'm a better target."
"No: He wants you alive. To breed." He stepped toward me and touched my arm. Pale luminescence shimmered on his fingertips and vanished. "Power," he said. "Draws him like a moth to a flame."
He didn't need demonstrations of power. He could tell by touch. I tried to remember if he had touched me back in Ted's office. We'd brushed against each other.
"You took responsibility for the kid," he said. "You let him be taken."
He was right. "Coming from a man who let himself be captured by the Pack and strapped to a bed, that doesn't carry much weight. Tell
you what, come back to me with the upir's head and then you can judge me."
He stared at me for a moment, his face blank and then said in his grating voice, "Fair enough."
We moved at the same time and I stared into the barrel of his Sig Sauer while Slayer's tip pressed against his jugular. I wasn't sure how I knew he'd move.
The door opened slowly. Someone stepped into the room and halted. Neither of us was willing to look away. A long moment passed, and the newcomer exited. The door clicked, closing. A loud knock broke the quiet.
I grimaced at Nick. "You going to do something, do it, so I can slit your throat and move on."
The gun barrel pointed upward and vanished back into the holster with a safety's click. "Not now," he said. I slid Slayer back into its sheath.
The knocking persisted. "Come in," I said.
The door opened, revealing a female shapechanger. She turned to me. "Curran wants you," she said.
The woman led me to the Council room in the back of the auditorium and held the door, motioning us to enter. I stepped inside and saw a dead girl on the floor. She lay on her side, her legs spread obscenely, her arms stretched forward. Moisture stained her torn T-shirt. A tiny heart on a long gold chain, the kind a teenage girl might buy for herself, spilled through shredded fabric to rest on the ground. Long scratches scarred the wooden floor, where her claws had scraped the boards. She must have changed shape before she died.
Her head stuck out at an unnatural angle, blind blue eyes staring at the ceiling. She looked young, frighteningly young, fourteen at the most. Someone had broken her neck, quickly, cleanly, in a single devastating jerk.
Curran was looking at her corpse from the gloom. Mahon sat at the wall, rubbing his forehead. There was a white piece of paper in his hand.
"The upir sent a phone number," Curran said.
Mahon put his hand over his face. A scene played itself before my eyes: the girl lunging forward, blue eyes insane with the upir's thoughts, changing into a snarling beast in midleap; Mahon stepping forward, huge arms grabbing her, snapping fragile bones on instinct, before the brain reacted; the girl changing back and falling to the floor… I didn't ask where on her body they found the note.
Kate Daniels Book 1 - Magic Bites Page 21
