by Linsey Hall
Roughly two minutes later, thudding footsteps sounded at the end of the hall. His cell was the third and last. It would buy him some extra time, since the other prisoners wouldn’t be alerted that something was wrong when their dinner didn’t appear.
For old time’s sake, he’d love nothing more than to bust some of these assholes out just to fuck with the university. He’d never liked authority figures. But his end goal was more important than his whims.
He shifted on his feet, and when the key finally scratched in the lock on his door, he moved forward. The heavy wooden door swung open and a gruff voice said, “Slop time, Ian MacKenzie.”
The guard’s eyes widened when Logan’s fist came at him. They rolled back into his head upon impact. Logan snatched the tray before it clattered to the ground. The guard started to slump against the wall, but popped upright half a moment later.
So that’s why this bastard was a guard. He was damn hard to knock out.
Logan grabbed the guard by the collar, dragging him into the room. It looked like this might be a fight and he wanted privacy. The guard swung at him and Logan ducked, put the tray on the floor, then slipped behind him and reached up to grasp his head. It took a second to snap his neck. He turned it halfway around to be sure he completed the job.
Logan eased the massive body to the ground and thanked his buddy Ian for being such a model prisoner that there’d been only one guard.
Logan quietly shut the door. In seconds, he had the guard’s hands bound behind his back and a makeshift gag over his mouth. Though he’d broken the guard’s neck, it certainly wouldn’t kill a Mythean. And whatever type this one was, his recovery period was ridiculously quick. He really should have been passed out for hours from Logan’s first punch.
The last strip of bed sheet went around the guard’s ankles. He imbued it with magic to make it hold. Logan figured he had a solid ten minutes to make it off campus. Maybe even fifteen, if he got lucky.
He’d need only five. Quickly, he laid a hand on the guard’s burly shoulder and envisioned himself shedding his own face and form and adopting the guard’s. When the knuckles of his hand widened and bristly hairs sprouted from the backs, his face had transformed as well. He magically adopted the guard’s uniform.
Without a backward glance at the miserable four walls that had been his home for the last three months, he walked out the door and down the hall. He remembered it from his time sneaking in to free Ian, so it wasn’t hard to act like he knew where he was going.
The hall was empty and silent but for the humming of the fluorescent lights above. They were out of place amongst the otherwise ancient architectural features, primarily stone for the walls and wood for the floor. The huge door at the end of the hall beckoned. Freedom.
When he reached it, he placed his palm against the metal. Magic zinged up his arm as the lock registered the guard’s palm. It would have been a hell of a lot harder to break out had he not been a shapeshifter. Only the handprint of the guard, willingly given, would open the door. The ability to shift into another person was such an exceedingly rare talent that the university didn’t consider it a threat.
He grinned as he pushed the door open and climbed the stairs to the first floor of the Praesidium, the university department that dealt with security and protecting those individuals important to humanity. Basically, a bunch of heads-up-their-asses, full-of-themselves morons who thought they were the world’s police. Any species of Mythean could work for the university, but he’d never met one he liked.
When he reached the door at the top of the stairs, Logan straightened his shoulders and scowled, trying for an expression as stupid as the guard’s. If he was going to meet anyone on his way out of the building, it would be here, in the halls of the Praesidium. And whoever he met wouldn’t be bad in a fight, given that only warriors worked for the Praesidium.
Still, they’d be no match for him. He wiped what he knew must be a cocky grin off his face and relaxed his features into bovine boredom, then pushed out into the rich, wood-paneled hallway.
A shock of familiar energy hit him in the chest. He stiffened.
Sigyn. She was close. His chest ached, his soul seeming to pull away from his body in search of her. He hadn’t felt her presence in centuries, not since he’d left Norway. The enchanted shields on the prison must have blocked out the magic that filled the university buildings above, including hers.
He’d known she worked for the university and he’d intended to seek her out once he’d destroyed the labyrinth, but he hadn’t expected to ever be so close to her that he felt her. She had to be in this very building.
Ironic that the two things he wanted most in this world—Sigyn and access to the labyrinth so that he could destroy it—could be found in the same place.
He slammed a fist against his chest, trying to quiet the pulling of his soul. He was in control of himself, damn it, and he had a job to do before he could seek out Sigyn.
But seek her out he would. Once he’d destroyed the labyrinth and ensured his own safety—and hers—he would come for her. He’d been waiting.
With a shake of his head to banish thoughts of the woman he still wanted, he turned right and strode down the hall to the enormous atrium at the entrance of the building. He held his breath as he skirted by an open door, but no one called out to him. The paintings on the wall seemed to frown pityingly at him as he walked by. With memories of Sigyn driving through his brain, he probably deserved it. He should be focusing on the labyrinth, not her.
Escape loomed ahead, the wide open space of the atrium calling him to freedom. The great double doors lay just beyond. But every step he took carried him farther away from Sigyn. Her pull was so strong, she had to be in this building.
But he had to keep going. He focused on what was at stake—eternal imprisonment, not just in the labyrinth, but within his own lost mind, once the River Lethe stole his memory. And he had to keep going for her. She was a demigod and would suffer the same terrible fate if he failed to destroy the prison. The thought spurred him forward. He pushed out through the great double doors into the cool night beyond.
He sucked in the air and grinned. The idiots at the university couldn’t keep a god chained. But then, that’s why they were building the super prison. Regular Mytheans might not be able to chain the gods—but the gods could chain themselves. If they lost their memories, they’d lose the ability to fight their way free.
It was an excellent plan. Evil, but excellent.
The cobblestone courtyard and parking lot spread out in front of him, surrounded on all sides by enormous stone buildings. Old fashioned street lamps shone yellow lights on their ornately carved facades and ivy crawled up their sides. The courtyard was empty save for an individual sliding into a car.
Sigyn?
No. He wanted to see her so he was imagining her. He forced his mind away. He would come back for her once this was all over, as he’d planned. She was his end goal. He just had to clear the way to get to her, which meant escaping so he could find a way to destroy the prison to save both their lives.
To do that, he needed to find privacy to transform. Ever since his aetherwalking had been bound by the other Norse gods, he’d relied upon his ability to shapeshift into the form of a falcon for transportation. He sorely missed the ability to travel instantly through the aether—that ephemeral substance connecting the earth and the afterworlds. It was far easier to envision a place and appear than it was to fly there, but he had no choice.
The courtyard was too well lit, so he trotted down the stairs and jogged around the side of the building. By his calculation, he only had a few minutes to spare until the other prison guards noticed their dimwitted colleague was missing.
He slid into the shadows at the edge of the stone wall of the building. It was dark enough to hide the green light of magic that swirled around him when he transformed and no other buildings looked directly out at him. It was perfect.
He glanced right to confirm the c
oast was clear and caught sight of a scene in the window next to him. A woman danced within a large, well-lit wooden room. A wall of mirrors reflected her form.
His heart pounded, beating itself senseless against his ribs.
Sigyn.
She spun about the room, a blue cloak waving behind her as her lithe form leapt and lunged and dodged. Golden hair trailed behind her and it was only once she spun toward him that he noticed the long wooden staff in her hands. Pale wood and elegant, she spun it about her form almost faster than the eye could see. Her cloak flickered. It wasn’t real, just an illusion.
She wasn’t dancing. She was training. Her motions weren’t those of a ballerina, but those of a warrior. He’d never seen her like this, but he’d heard of her. The woman he’d cared for eight hundred years ago had been far quieter than the shining warrior goddess within the room. She’d been strong—capable of protecting herself—but nothing like the woman on the other side of the glass.
This woman was all power and grace, strength and motion. She took his breath away. Fire flashed in her green eyes as if she saw her foe while she practiced her motions. She moved so fast, a mortal would never be able to see her. It was magic. Quite literally. Her talents had grown over the years.
His head buzzed as he watched her and he was helpless to draw away. After so many years, here he stood, actually near her. He’d only seen her a few times for a few breathless moments after he’d driven her away all those years ago. He hadn’t been able to help himself, as he couldn’t now.
He’d made sure she never saw him, though it had torn at something in his chest to maintain his distance. It was the only way to stay away from her, though. If he spoke to her, he’d be unable to leave her. The last time he’d seen her had been over five hundred years ago.
He’d forgotten so many things over his life, so many faces and names and places, but he’d never forgotten her. Not the curve of her slender arms, the length of her legs, or the shine of her hair. She was beautiful—tall and strong and everything the Norse gods were supposed to be, though she’d been a demigod when they’d both left Asgard, home of the Norse pantheon.
He was supposed to wait until he’d destroyed the labyrinth to come for her because she was a distraction. Yet he couldn’t take his eyes off of her as she continued to leap around the room, the apparition of the blue cloak swirling around her marking her as a Vala, a student of the magical teachings of the goddess Freya.
A cry sounded in the night. Shouts followed.
Shit. He’d fucking forgotten he was on the run. He dragged his eyes from Sigyn, his heart clutching as she left his vision, and focused all his energy on envisioning the falcon form he would take. If he could just make it to the air, he could get—
A shot rang out, a harsh blast echoing through the quiet night. Pain tore through his gut.
What the fuck? They’d used fucking guns? Fucking mortals used fucking guns.
Agony streaked from his stomach through his extremities. Another shot rang out, and this time pain bloomed in his shoulder. Guards charged toward him through the shadows, only a few dozen feet away.
He cursed internally at the idea he’d have to transform in front of them, and thereby possibly give away his true identity, but there was nothing for it. If they caught him when he was this injured, he wouldn’t even be able to hold the false form he normally went by. They’d know he was a god and imprison him accordingly. In the labyrinth.
Logan gritted his teeth. He tried to ignore the pain bombarding him long enough to force the magic through his veins, transforming his muscle and bone to feather and flight.
It was sluggish, but the transformation worked amidst the swirls of green magic he’d never learned how to diminish. Soon he felt the wind under his wings as he climbed into the air, a fraction less graceful and effortless than normal. Pain ripped through him with every stroke of his wings and he faltered on the breeze.
The ground was only a hundred feet below him, not nearly far enough to get out of the range of bullets. He pushed himself higher, nearly blind from the agony. He’d never make it off the campus like this. There was no way he had more than a couple hundred yards left in him, and the guards were right behind him.
CHAPTER TWO
In the dance studio, Sylvi jerked to a halt when a gunshot tore through the quiet. The swirling blue cloak that appeared whenever she turned her magic toward fighting disappeared, but she clutched her staff. Sending it into the aether would be unwise.
Her staff allowed her to draw power from the aether, which thrummed with magical energy from earth and all the afterworlds, and getting rid of it when there were gunshots would be damned stupid.
She raced to the door of the studio and yanked it open, but the hall was empty. What the hell was going on? Nothing ever went wrong at the Praesidium. They were too good at their jobs for that.
But something had been off tonight—particularly these last ten minutes. She’d had that itchy feeling at the back of her neck, as if she were being watched. There had been a tightness in her chest. She hadn’t felt that combination of weird symptoms since she’d left Norway nearly five hundred years ago.
Shaking away the impossible thought, she ran out into the hall toward the atrium. Whatever was happening was going down outside, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to miss the fun. That, and she didn’t like the idea of anything bad happening to the university. It was her home. She loved this place like nowhere else.
The great double doors at the end of the atrium were swung open to the black night. Someone had left them open. She charged across the shining parquet floor, through the great wooden doors, and down the massive stone stairs, following the shouts echoing from the side of the building. Half a dozen guards and members of the Praesidium pointed to the sky. Some fired shots.
“What’s going on?” she shouted as she stopped beside them. She squinted into the dark, moonless night. There was nothing.
“Prison break,” one of the guards said.
Her heart dropped to her feet. “What? That’s never happened before.”
“Turns out Ian MacKenzie was no normal prisoner.”
“What was his crime?”
“Thievery.”
At least he wasn’t a murderer. But she didn’t recognize the name. She didn’t know any of the names of the prisoners. Though she worked for the Praesidium, the protection division of the Immortal University, and her department shared a building with the prison, they were two entirely separate departments.
But whoever was locked up down below wasn’t someone who should be out in the world.
“Why are we all standing around then?” she asked.
“The bastard turned into a bird and flew off,” her boss, Warren, said. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with messy blond hair and handsome features. His Scottish brogue rumbled in his words. “I arrived just as there was a swirl of green magic, then the bastard turned into a big black bird. By the time he got a hundred feet off the ground, he was impossible to see.”
A chill raced over Sylvi’s skin. A flash of green magic and a great black bird? There was no way. They’d said the prisoner’s name was Ian MacKenzie. She forced the thought away. It was wishful—and terrible—thinking. Of course she didn’t want him to be here.
“But we shot him,” a prison guard said. His bushy brows drew low over his eyes. “He looked hurt. No way he’ll make it far.”
“Aye, perhaps not.” Warren turned to a man who stood a dozen feet away and shouted, “Magee! Are you going to send your men to search the grounds?”
“Aye! We’ll find him before he heals enough to get off campus.” Magee, the head prison warden, turned to his men and began shouting orders.
Sylvi was sure they would. The university was excellent at what they did. An escaped prisoner wouldn’t remain free for long.
“Isn’t it about time you got home, Sylvi? You’ve been here nearly fourteen hours,” Warren said.
She glanced at her boss. “How do
you know that? You weren’t in ’til nine. Speaking of which, you don’t come into the office nearly as early as you used to, now that you’re with Esha.” Warren was fun to tease since he was so good natured about it.
The corner of Warren’s mouth kicked up at the mention of his wife. “Aye. Lea mentioned she saw you.”
“Ah, ratted out,” Sylvi said at the mention of Lea, whose office she walked by on the way to her own. “But you have a point. It’s about time I got out of here.”
She nodded her goodbyes to the guards and went to collect her things from the studio where she’d been training for the last several hours. Though she still got to fight occasionally as part of her job as an Immortal Guardian, she hadn’t been in a good battle in over a century. Her moves were getting rusty.
She grabbed her bag and banished her staff to the aether. She used it to focus and manifest her power, a bit like a big wand, and if she needed it, she could call it back out again in a flash. It was also handy for bashing people over the head, which she was inordinately fond of doing.
On her way down the great stone stairs at the front of the building, she barely managed to avoid bowling someone over. She sidestepped and looked up.
“Hi!” Sylvi smiled at Esha, ignoring the feeling of her power being temporarily drained away by her new friend. Esha couldn’t help it, so Sylvi didn’t mind. It wasn’t permanent.
Esha grinned, all white teeth and red lips in an even more beautiful face. “Hey.” Her American accent was always pleasant to Sylvi’s ears.
The scruffy black cat at her feet gave a deep meow, more of a hey, acknowledge my divine presence than a hello.
“Hello, Chairman Meow,” Sylvi said to Esha’s familiar. The big tom just stared back at her, his citrine eyes unblinking in the night. His scruffy black fur matched Esha’s straight black hair perfectly and she’d always wanted to ask if it was a familiar thing or just coincidence.
“How’s it going?” Esha asked.
“Fine. You here to see Warren?”
