Magic Slays kd-5

by Ilona Andrews

  The access road spat us out into the field. It was half full—search parties trickled in via the other two roads. A vampire completely covered in purple sunblock rose at our approach and waved his claws.

  I parked. The moment I stepped outside, Andrea was there. “The Keepers took over the MSDU.”

  “How?”

  “Remember that buddy of mine I called to check out de Harven?” Andrea said. “He has three kids. All of them chock full of magic. So I called him.” She held up her hands. “I know, I know. I wasn’t going to say anything. I just wanted to suggest to him that he take his family on a trip to the coast or something. He wasn’t at his number. So I called the reception in his building. Some guy I never spoke to answered and said that my friend was on bereavement leave. I was right there, so I dropped by his house. His wife says he didn’t come home last night. She called the base, and MSDU told her they were holding him overnight due to an emergency. She didn’t think anything of it. So I came by here. Look!” She thrust a pair of binoculars at me. “Third bunker from the left.”

  I looked through the binoculars. First, second, third . . . A leg in urban fatigues and an Army-issue steel-toed boot stuck out from behind the bunker. I waited a couple of seconds. It didn’t move. Either he was suffering from a sudden bout of severe narcolepsy or we had a dead soldier. A body like that wouldn’t be left lying about if the base were still under military control. The Keepers must’ve taken the base.

  I passed the binoculars to Curran. He looked through them.

  Jim came striding up, his cloak flaring behind him. “The gate’s shut down. The ward’s blocking the approach.”

  “Did you try the emergency channel?” Curran asked.

  “Twice. No response. The People tried it on their end as well, and nothing. The base is shut down. Phones are working, but they aren’t taking any phone calls.”

  “All right,” Curran said. “Send up the flares. Get everyone here.”

  Jim turned and raised his hand. A young shapeshifter ran from group to group. At the far end of the field, mages raised their staves. Magic popped, like a large firecracker, and seven green bursts exploded in the sky.

  * * *

  THE SHAPESHIFTERS LINED UP ALONG THE WARD’S perimeter. Some I knew, some I didn’t. I sat on top of the Jeep. I’d need the energy for the fight.

  Next to me Ghastek stood, leaning on the Jeep’s hood, looking slightly absurd in a formal black suit and a gun-gray shirt. Two vampires sat at his feet like bald, mutated cats, both coated in bright lime-green sunblock. Ghastek had enough range to navigate vampires from the other end of the city. Unlike us, he didn’t have to be here in person.

  “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be off hiding in some armored bus miles away?”

  Ghastek glanced at me. “Derision, Kate? How unlike you. I’m here because when this unfortunate affair is over, people will remember who was here and who wasn’t.”

  “I take it Mulradin chose to evacuate.”

  Ghastek bent his lips a little. It was almost a smile. “It’s an unfortunate fact of life that some people value discretion above valor. As the saying goes, fortune favors the brave.”

  Or the foolish. “And of course, the fact that if we survive this, you’ll come out looking like a hero has nothing to do with your decision.”

  He widened his eyes. “Why, Kate, you might be right. If only I had thought of that.”

  Maybe one of the Keepers would shoot him.

  Below us Kamen stared at the ward. Two younger volhvs watched him. He said that about twenty minutes before the activation, the device would send out a “plume” of magic. Whatever the hell that meant. When the shit was about to hit the fan, we’d get a short warning.

  Kamen also said that raising the device off the ground extended its range by about a mile. We thought the Keepers were aiming for the city center. We were wrong. They were aiming for the densely populated neighborhoods just outside. The MSDU provided protection in case of emergency. Real estate next to the Unit was highly priced, and the Pack owned a quarter of it. That was where the shapeshifters who worked in the city built their homes.

  All the Keeper claims of “we regret casualties” had been complete bullshit. They aimed for casualties. Wiping out these neighborhoods would snap the backbone of the city. Atlanta’s citizens would panic and flee, and the Keepers could purge the entire city at their leisure.

  A long forlorn cry rolled through the sky. I raised my hand to my eyes, shielding them from the sunlight. A huge dark bird circled the dome once, enormous wings stretched wide, and landed in the far field. A man slid off its back and jogged over. Amadahy, one of the Cherokee shamans.

  Amadahy came to a stop near Curran. His voice carried to us. “The bunkers have no roof. There is a catapult in each one and a small cheiroballista. There are guns, too.”

  “Are there people in the bunkers?” Curran asked.

  Amadahy nodded. “They were priming the catapults as I flew over.”

  The catapult would lob something nasty our way, and the cheiroballista would shoot us with bolts while we ran around trying to avoid it. Great.

  Thomas and Robert Lonesco came along the line of the shapeshifters. Thomas was tall, well over six feet. Robert, his spouse, leaned toward dark and delicate, with large brown eyes and a narrow face. They spoke to Curran.

  “Just out of curiosity, does your paramour have an actual plan to breach this ward, or is he just making it up as he goes along?”

  “Ghastek, do you want to lead this attack alone?”

  “No thanks. I’m after the benefits, not the responsibility.”

  “Then shut up.”

  Robert Lonesco stepped forward to the ward and raised his hand. Behind him members of Clan Rat formed into five columns, four people wide, three people deep. Robert closed his hand into a fist. The columns split into an upside-down V formation, with Robert at the head of the center V.

  Robert stripped off his sweats. For a second he stood nude, and then his skin burst. Muscle whipped and stretched like elastic cords, and a wererat crouched in his place, one enormous clawed paw leaning on the ground. A green glow washed over Robert’s eyes. Behind him the rats shed their humanity. Robert raised his muzzle to the sky. A deep ragged voice broke free of his mouth. “Foooooorrrrrrwaaaard.”

  The rats crouched down as one and dug into the ground. Dirt flew.

  “Interesting tactic,” Ghastek murmured.

  We wouldn’t need to break the ward. We would simply tunnel under it. Nice.

  Andrea ran up to the Jeep and climbed up next to me. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  Teams of four shapeshifters began dragging wooden beams and laying them down behind the rats to reinforce the tunnel.

  I glanced at Ghastek. “Aren’t you going to help them dig?”

  Ghastek shrugged. “A vampire is a precision instrument, not a bulldozer.”

  The front lines of the rats had vanished into the ground. They only had to go about fifty feet or so. The ward itself was narrow, but to get under it would take some effort.

  Twenty minutes later the ground on the other side of the ward shifted. The first of the wererats emerged from the dirt.

  Something sparked with orange in the slit of the bunker’s narrow window. Probably the catapult inside. Sound rolled, and a bright orange ball shot from the roofless bunker. It whistled through the air and crashed right at the middle column, exploding into orange liquid. The liquid splattered in a wide arc. Two other bunkers followed suit, adding more orange goo to the mess. Yellow lightning danced on its surface. The fluid caught fire.

  Hoarse screams, half growls, half yelps followed. The tunnels on our side of the ward vomited the wererats in a dark flood. The front ranks of the diggers bore blisters where their fur had been burned clean. Robert was the last to emerge. His left arm was a mess of scalded muscle, the skin charred, almost black. He snarled and walked over to Thomas. The rat alpha clasped his mate’s hand into his and pointed a
t Doolittle and his medics, set up in the field behind us.

  The fire raged beyond the ward. The shapeshifters continued to carry wooden beams into the tunnels, reinforcing them.

  I petted my sword. Every second counted.

  “Does Curran not involve you in his strategic sessions?” Ghastek asked.

  “Nope, I’m just here to look pretty.” Curran didn’t need me. I wasn’t a general; I was a weapon in need of a target. Arranging large groups of people into an attack force wasn’t my thing.

  Finally the flames subsided. A group of volhvs stepped forward, led by Grigorii. The druids formed up next to them behind Cadeyrn, their leader. The two groups split among the five tunnels and went in.

  Silence claimed the field. The three bunkers closest to the tunnel blazed with orange, ready and primed to throw more burning crap on our heads.

  Above the tunnel exits, beyond the ward, the air shimmered like heat rising from the pavement on a scorching summer day.

  “What is that?” Ghastek squinted.

  “Insects.”

  The shimmers condensed into dark clouds. For a long second the five swarms hung above the ground, and then they streaked across the field to the bunkers. The swarms sank into the fortifications as if sucked in. Sharp screams followed. A man dashed from the right bunker, chased by a dark insect cloud, ran ten feet, and fell. The cloud peeled off. He didn’t move.

  The volhvs and druids emerged from the tunnels and into the open.

  Ghastek took a box from his pocket and checked it. “One hour and three minutes until activation.”

  I rose. First ward down. Two to go.

  THE SECOND WARD OF TRANSLUCENT PALE BLUE wasn’t a bouncer. Less than two miles in diameter, it covered the concourses and the inner buildings of the airport. It also looked thick and hard to break. Solid concrete stretched for twenty-five yards on either side of the ward. Digging under it would take forever, and we were short on time.

  Beyond the ward, a barbed-wire fence rose. The ground directly behind it looked freshly plowed. Odd.

  To the left, a gate opened in the bottom of the concourse. Bodies poured out, about six feet tall at the shoulder, dark, with sharp bristles rising in a crest along their necks and humps on their backs. The animals galloped along the inner perimeter, flooding the space between the strip of the plowed ground and the tower.

  “Are those buffalo?” someone asked behind me.

  The leading beast braked directly in front of us and dipped its head. The colossal maw gaped open, displaying twin pairs of yellow tusks; the larger set looked bigger than my arm. A deep grunting roar burst from its mouth and broke into pissed-off snorts. It wasn’t a buffalo.

  “Boars,” a druid next to me said. “Calydonian boars.”

  I’d fought a Calydonian boar before. They were strong and aggressive as hell, and pain only pissed them off. Their bristles cut like razor blades. It took four mercs to bring one female down, and two of us had automatic weapons. There were at least three dozen pigs out there, and all of them were male. Each pig was six and a half feet at the shoulder. Two and a half tons of pure stupid rage. Curran might kill one in single combat. Mahon could as well. Aside from that, a regular-sized shapeshifter didn’t stand a chance. Not even in a half-form. The pigs would bulldoze over them.

  Curran came up to me. A group of alphas followed: Mahon and his wife, Martha; Daniel and Jennifer; Thomas Lonesco; Aunt B; Jim . . .

  Curran nodded at the tower. “Can you break that ward?”

  I glanced at the tower. Six hundred yards away. About two thousand feet of distance, full of boars. “If you can get me to it.”

  My blood would break almost anything, with enough magic. The question was, did I have enough power in me? I guessed we’d find out.

  Curran grinned, looking slightly evil. “Get ready to run.”

  Daniel and Jennifer stepped in front of me. I looked at Jennifer. Should you really be here?

  Her upper lip trembled in a precursor to a snarl. Right. She would do her job, and I had to do mine.

  Derek took a spot to my left, Jezebel to my right. Aunt B and Thomas brought up the rear. Behind them six shapeshifters formed into two rows, three people in a line. The renders.

  Bob from the Mercenary Guild shouldered his way into the group and heaved his sword.

  Eduardo emerged from the tunnel, dragging a huge sack. Over six feet tall, the werebuffalo was slabbed with thick muscle even in his human form. Behind him three members of Clan Heavy pulled identical sacks.

  Eduardo dropped his burden on the ground. The canvas fell open. Inside, thick tangles of leather belts and chains connected a mess of spiked armor plates and chain mail. “Get your glass slippers and fairy wings, ladies.”

  Members of Clan Heavy began pulling the tangles apart. Mahon gripped a mess of belts, arranged it on the ground, and stripped. He took a deep breath, and a giant Kodiak bear boiled forth, filling out the belts with his shaggy body. The harness caught him, stretching and sliding into place. A row of armored plates sheathed the bear’s back and hindquarters, flaring down on the sides to guard the vulnerable flanks. Mahon stretched his front limbs and rose up, testing the armor, and dropped back down. On all fours, he was at least a foot taller than me.

  All around us werebears, some gray, some brown, and one white, rose up. A wereboar snorted next to a huge moose.

  The beasts of Clan Heavy formed an armored line around us, with Mahon in the lead. Eduardo stomped over to his right, a colossal buffalo, almost eight feet tall at the shoulder.

  Curran kissed me. “See you there, baby.”

  “Try to keep up,” I told him.

  His body twisted, sprouting fur. The gray lion shook his mane, winked at me, and took his spot on Mahon’s right.

  To the left, the mercs finished hammering long wooden platforms, brought together board by board through the tunnels. They’d had the same idea I did—touching that strip of plowed ground wasn’t a good idea. It just didn’t look right. There was no reason for it to encircle the base, unless something nasty hid in it.

  The mages formed into a semicircle near the ward, right between the two closest bunkers. Behind them the witches formed their own line, and then the druids and the volhvs. Three vampires crouched on the ground across each bunker, hugging the dirt.

  The mages raised their hands.

  “On three,” one of them called. “Remember, low spectrum. And three. Two. Go.”

  Power burst from the ten mages, flowing into a single bright current, threaded with flashes of green and yellow. The current smashed into the ward, dancing on its surface.

  The druids and the volhvs raised theirs staves. Between the two lines the witches snapped into a rigid pose, their arms outstretched. Magic poured from the volhvs into the witches and out into the mages. So much magic. The current shook, sliding back and forth against the ward, like caged lightning.

  On the left one of the druids went down. Then another. A volhv fell.

  Hairline cracks formed in the ward.

  The witch on the left screamed.

  With the sound of a collapsing building, the ward fractured and broke. Chunks of it floated to the ground, like weightless shards of foot-thick ice, melting into nothing as they fell.

  The vampires charged, clearing the fence with laughable ease.

  The three lines of magic users collapsed onto the ground.

  The bloodsuckers swarmed the bunkers.

  Before the first mage rolled to his feet, the vamps emerged, their claws bloody.

  On the left a shapeshifter tossed a rock at the strip of plowed ground. A green fiery glow shot from the ground, licking the stone. The rock sparked with white. The glow vanished, leaving the stone, smoking on the ground. Trapped. That was what I thought.

  Behind us, the shamans conferred and began to chant in unison, their voices like a beat of a human heart, rhythmic but overlapping. Magic flowed from the shamans and condensed directly in front of us. The mercs heaved the platforms fo
rward. The boards slid over the plowed ground and froze, suspended three inches above the dirt by the shamans’ magic.

  The wereboar on my left roared, snorting and pawing the ground.

  The four boars in our view raised their heads at the challenge.

  The wereboar lowered his massive head and charged across the makeshift bridge with a fierce screech, hurtling like a cannon ball.

  For a split second the Calydonian boars stared in shock, and then as one they gave chase. The group galloped behind the buildings, out of sight.

  Mahon started forward. We followed. The bear picked up speed, at first moving slowly, then faster and faster, until I was running full speed in the middle of a stampede.

  A boar shot out from behind the concourse. The bear on the left peeled off to intercept. Another boar came from the right, a grizzled scarred male. Eduardo sped into a charge and rammed him head on. The boar and buffalo went down in a tangle of tusks and hooves.

  I could barely see. The huge furry backs blocked my view. A snort, and another shapeshifter went down. Again. Again. And again. Mahon and Curran made a sharp left and suddenly I saw the tower, a hundred yards in front of us, and three giant pigs rocketing toward us like shots from a sling.

  “Get her to the tower,” Curran roared, and charged toward the pigs. Mahon followed. Our armored barrier was gone. It was just me, Bob, the alphas, and a handful of renders.

  We ran. The air turned to fire in my lungs. Blood pounded through my temples.

  Eighty yards.

  Sixty.

  Forty. I pulled Slayer from its sheath.

  Above us, within the ward, magic streamed from the tower, unfolding in iridescent feathery smudges. The plume. We had twenty minutes before the device went active.

  To the left, a squat building flew by, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a huge boar rushing at us, mouth open, tusks ready to gore. He looked as big as a house. Vicious eyes glared at me.

  I sprinted, squeezing every last drop out of my muscles.