Magic Rises kd-6

by Ilona Andrews

  “What book?” I asked.

  “Some fantasy book she carries around. Something about a princess on the throne in some kind of crystal. There is this older knight who has known her since she was a child, so he goes on some sort of journey to get a magical blue rose gem to rescue her. He gets the gem, frees her, and she makes him her king.” Desandra stared at me. “Lorelei wants her throne. She knows in her heart she is entitled to it. In her head Curran is the only way she can get it. Kate, she will do anything to get it. It’s so close, she can taste it. If I were you, I wouldn’t stand near cliffs when she’s around, because she will push you over.”

  “At this point she would have to get in line.” What Lorelei did or didn’t want mattered very little. Lorelei had promised me nothing. Curran, however, had promised me everything. If he was planning on pulling the plug on us, I wanted to know why.

  I would sleep on it, and tomorrow morning, I’d get my answers, whatever they would be.

  The sound of steps came from behind the door, followed by a knock. If it kept going this way, we’d have to invest in some iron bars and one of those sliding windows, so I could open it and yell at people to go away.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s me,” Hugh said.

  Andrea reached for her SIG-Sauer.

  What the hell was he doing here? Just what I needed. I walked up to the door. “Whatever you’re selling, we’re not buying.”

  “Open the door, Kate. I’m not going to attack you in Desandra’s room.”

  Fine. I unbarred the door and opened it. Hugh stood on the other side in all his glory: black boots, dark pants, dark leather jacket thrown over a blue T-shirt. His dangerously square jaw was freshly shaved. Well, well. Someone had dressed up for dinner.

  He glanced at my shoulder. I looked out of the corner of my eye. Black streaks from Desandra’s eyeliner stained the green fabric of my T-shirt. She must’ve brushed against me when she was crying. Considering that it was also smudged with dried blood from the ochokochi, my shirt was beginning to look tie-dyed.

  “Can I help you?”

  “You weren’t at dinner,” Hugh said, leaning one arm on the wall. “I came to see if all was well.”

  That was quite a pose. “Couldn’t you just send another vampire instead? I haven’t gotten my evening exercise.”

  “I’m sorry. Next time, I’ll be sure to find some lambs for your slaughter.”

  He showed no signs of leaving.

  “Did Hibla tell you that a djigit was killed on the tower? A woman. Her name was Tamara.”

  “She did.”

  “Are you behind these attacks?”

  He smiled. “And if I were, wouldn’t telling you defeat the purpose?”

  “I don’t know what your plan is, but if you interfere with my ability to do my job, you will regret it.”

  “Do I look scared to you?” he asked, his voice lazy.

  He was trying to goad me into a pissing contest. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. “No, and that worries me. You’re supposed to provide a safe environment for this pregnant woman. Instead your guards are dying and some creature tried to kill her two hundred yards from your dining hall. Why aren’t you foaming at the mouth? Doesn’t it bother you that someone’s making a fool of you in your own castle?”

  Hugh opened his mouth.

  Curran walked up the stairs carrying a platter heaped with food with one hand. George walked next to him. Curran saw Hugh and focused on him with a single-minded intensity.

  “Here comes the cavalry.” Hugh winked at me.

  Curran stepped between me and Hugh. His voice was cold. “One of us isn’t supposed to be here.”

  “Let me guess, would that be me?”

  “Yes. Your guests miss you.”

  Hugh chuckled. “We’ll continue our conversation later, Kate.” He walked away.

  “Couldn’t you have waited thirty seconds?” I growled. “I wanted to hear his answer.”

  “No. He has no business talking to you and anything he says is a lie.”

  “Is that food?” Desandra called out. “I am so hungry.”

  “We were just leaving,” Andrea said.

  “Yes, we were,” George confirmed. “I came to walk you to your room.”

  They took off. I sighed and passed the platter to Desandra.

  Later, after we ate, Desandra fell asleep, exhausted, for real this time. Derek came back from dinner, saw Curran, and excused himself to the bathroom. Curran and I barred the door and checked the balcony door and the windows. I put a spare blanket on the floor. He stretched out on it and I lay next to him. Around us soothing darkness filled Desandra’s cavernous bedroom.

  Derek was still in the bathroom. The boy wonder was giving us an illusion of privacy.

  “Are we being listened to?” I asked.

  “If we are, I can’t hear them.”

  Figured. Once we nuked the vampire, the hiding place was exposed.

  “I saw Doolittle at dinner,” Curran said. “He said he has something important to tell you.”

  “Is it urgent?”

  “He said it would wait till the morning. We couldn’t really talk. Too many people around. What did you want to talk about?”

  This would have to be done carefully, with some finesse. I opened my mouth, trying to find the right words. Think subtle . . .

  He raised his eyebrows. “What’s the holdup?”

  “Trying to find the right words.”

  “Why don’t you just say it?”

  “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re letting Lorelei stand next to you naked, kill your crap, and do your hunting? Are you out of your mind or do I need to pack up and leave?”

  Damn it. Subtle, really subtle.

  He smiled at me. “I love you. You don’t need to worry about Lorelei. She’s happy she’s grown up, so she flaunts it. It’s harmless.”

  “What about the hunt?”

  “Who else would she hunt with?” Curran shrugged and pulled me closer. “I have no interest in Lorelei. She’s a kid.”

  “So this is not part of some plan you thought up?”

  “No.”

  This should’ve been the end of it, but the suspicion remained, nagging me. I crushed it. He said he wasn’t interested. End of story.

  “What did you and Hugh talk about while we hunted?”

  “He said he killed Voron.” I tried to keep the hurt out of my voice and couldn’t.

  Curran paused. “Is he lying?”

  “I don’t think so. Voron raised him the way he raised me, then abandoned him. I took him away from Hugh and then Hugh took him away from me. I suppose that makes us even. I still want to murder him.”

  “Maybe we’ll get that chance,” he said.

  “Maybe.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “Nothing important. He feels shapeshifters are ruled by their urges.”

  “If I were ruled by my urges, he’d be dead.”

  Or you. “Curran . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I saw him fight. You remember my aunt? Hugh is better.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Curran said. “I will end him.”

  But it did matter to me. If Curran killed Hugh but died fighting him, it wouldn’t be worth it. I just had to kill Hugh first. Piece of cake.

  “It’s this place,” I told him. “It’s driving all of us out of our skin.”

  “We’ll go home soon.” He closed his eyes.

  A deafening crash shattered the silence. I jumped to my feet. Derek burst out of the bathroom.

  The familiar grating roar, like gravel being crushed, rolled down the hallway, followed by an enraged deep bellow, pure fury expelled in a single mindless torrent. I’d heard that sound before and it was impossible to forget. It was the war cry of a werebuffalo.

  CHAPTER 13

  Curran flung the door open and charged into the hallway. I slammed the door shut behind him, just as Derek tried to run after Curran. T
he boy wonder spun on his foot at the last moment, avoiding the collision. Desandra was our first priority. If she died, Maddie and our chance at the panacea died with her.

  “What’s going on?” Desandra rolled off the bed.

  I barred the door and pulled Slayer free. Derek yanked off his clothes. Fur dashed up his frame.

  In the hallway a chorus of vicious snarls broke into yelps of pain and deep growls. Something howled. The hair on the back of my neck rose. I flipped the light switch. Bright yellow light flooded the bedroom.

  “What’s going on?” Desandra yelled.

  “I don’t know. Get behind me.”

  Something smashed into the door with a loud thud. The boards creaked.

  Another thud hammered the door.

  I backed away, Slayer ready. Next to me Derek bared his monster teeth.

  The door boards snapped with a sharp crack, the sound of splintering wood like a gunshot. Two bodies tumbled into the room, one gray, one gold. Curran landed on his back, a scaled yellow beast on top of him. The beast raised its feline head and snarled at me, stretching two enormous wings. Two green eyes stared at me with a hot, terrible hatred.

  Curran’s mouth gaped. He jerked the beast down and bit into its shoulder. The giant lion fangs cut into the flesh like scissors. Thick red blood wet the scales.

  The beast howled in pain and raked Curran’s side with its hind claws, trying to rip his stomach open. Blood drenched the gray fur. The two cats rolled, clawing and snarling.

  The balcony door exploded in a glittering cascade of shards. A second amber beast shot into the dark room.

  “Down!” Andrea barked from the doorway.

  I shoved Desandra into the corner. Andrea’s gun barked, spitting thunder and bullets. Boom! Boom!

  The beast jerked, each shot knocking it back.

  Boom! Boom!

  She kept firing. The bullet tore through the creature’s flesh.

  The magic wave crashed into us in an invisible flood. Tech vanished from the world in an instant. Lights went out, the sudden darkness pitch-black and blinding. Andrea’s gun choked on the bullets.

  The lavender feylanterns flared into life, spilling eerie purple-tinted light into the room.

  Andrea spun to the side, and a spotted bouda shot past her and leaped onto the creature, tearing into it with a yowl. Raphael.

  The beast shook, an amber blur, and batted Raphael aside with a clawed paw. The bouda landed in a roll and ran back at the beast.

  I lunged at the orange monster. Claws raked my thigh, ripping my jeans and skin in a hot flash of agony. I ignored it, thrust, sinking Slayer deep between its ribs, and withdrew. Derek jumped, clearing the wings, and clung to the beast’s back, clawing into its spine. The creature howled and spun, its wings straight out. I ducked under the wing and the massive tail took me off my feet. My back hit the wall. Ow. The world swam.

  No. No, you sonovabitch, you won’t kill a pregnant woman today. Not on my fucking watch.

  I bounced onto my feet and slashed across the creature’s flank. The beast shook, trying to throw Derek off its back. Derek hung on. On the other side Raphael snarled, biting and clawing.

  Desandra lunged at the beast, grabbed a wing, and wrenched it to the side. Bone snapped.

  The beast spun again. I dropped, ducked under, and sliced a deep cut along the beast’s gut. Innards spilled out in a hot bloody mess. I stabbed the scaled flank again and again, trying to cause damage. Die. Die already.

  A massive shaggy shape shot into the room and a thousand pounds of furious Kodiak crashed into the beast like a runaway train. The impact drove the creature back into the bed. The heavy piece of furniture flew, knocked aside by their bodies. The beast crashed against the wall. The Kodiak’s enormous paw rose like a hammer. The thick bones of the beast’s skull crunched, an egg dropped on the pavement. Wet mush splattered the wall.

  The Kodiak moved, and I saw Curran rise at the opposite wall, his arms locked on the winged creature. Covered in blood, his eyes glowing, he looked demonic. The Beast Lord strained. A rough growl ripped out of his mouth. The left arm and a part of the orange creature’s chest moved away from the right side and its head, the bones wrenched apart. Blood gushed from the gap studded with broken bones.

  The beast flailed, screaming. Curran bit into its exposed throat, grabbed its head, and ripped it off the body, hurling it to the floor.

  The Kodiak melted into a human shape. My brain took a second to process that it was female and not Mahon. George’s wide eyes stared at me. She grabbed my hand. “Doolittle is hurt!”

  * * *

  “Go,” Andrea yelled at me. “Go, we got this!”

  I ran after George into the hallway. My right side and thigh screamed. Blood soaked my jeans, most of it my own.

  Chunks of orange corpses littered the floor: a wing, a scaled leg. I never understood why a dead shapeshifter turned human, but chunks of him torn in a fight stayed in the animal shape. “What happened?”

  “Aunt B and Dad,” George yelled over her shoulder. “Faster, Kate.”

  I chased her, slid on gore, and half stumbled, half ran into Doolittle’s room. A werejaguar blocked my way and snarled in my face, big teeth snapping.

  “It’s me!” I yelled into her open maw.

  Keira shook her furry head and half stepped, half swayed aside. Blood soaked her left side.

  The furniture lay in shambles. Broken glass littered the floor. In the corner Eduardo slumped, breathing in shallow gasps, his human body slick with blood. Jagged gashes crossed his chest and stomach. Red muscle crawled in the wounds—the Lyc-V was scrambling to repair the damage. I crouched by him. Good strong pulse.

  George grabbed my arm and pulled me to the corner. A huge honey badger the size of a pony lay on the floor, his head twisted at an odd angle. Oh no.

  I dropped by the body and searched for a pulse on his neck. A vein fluttered under my fingertips, weak, so weak. My hand came away red. He was bleeding and with all the damn fur, I didn’t even know where.

  I began to chant, pulling the magic to me. Whatever little healing I could do was better than nothing. Come on. Come on!

  Doolittle lay unmoving. He hadn’t turned, which meant he was still alive. It also meant Lyc-V didn’t have enough juice to change his shape. He was dying.

  No, no, God damn it. I chanted, putting all of my magic into the healing. Without knowing what the injury was, all I could do was hold on to him. I wasn’t a medmage, but I had raw power.

  George stood next to me, tears running down her face. “Save him. You have to save him.”

  I chanted, focused on the body and the fragile weak shiver of life inside it. It pulled me in, drawing me deeper and deeper, until it was just me and the weak fragile spark of Doolittle’s life. I cradled it with my magic, trying to anchor it.

  Magic boiled inside me, sucked into Doolittle’s body in a painful whirlpool. It felt like my flesh was ripping off my bones.

  “How is he?” Aunt B asked, far away.

  A shadow loomed over us. I caught a glimpse of dark fur—Mahon towered by me.

  Doolittle’s body shuddered. A tremor shook his limbs. Slowly the fur melted. The medmage drew a hoarse breath. Blood slipped from his bruised lips.

  Doolittle’s kind eyes stared at me, bloodshot and glassy. “Broken spine.” His breath came out whistling. His voice was weak and hoarse, barely a whisper.

  Shit. Shapeshifters healed broken limbs, but a broken spine was a different story. “Don’t talk. Did you bring any tank powder with you, Doctor?” It was the same powder used for the solution in which Maddie rested back home.

  Doolittle smiled, a weak sad smile. My heart broke.

  “Yes.”

  “Get the tank.”

  “What?” George bent over me.

  “Find the powder for the healing solution and get the tank ready.”

  “We don’t have a tank!”

  “Use whatever you can find.” It wasn’t the tank that mattered
, but the solution inside it.

  I heard her tear through the room, throwing debris out of the way.

  “It won’t help. C2 and C3 are fractured.”

  Cervical vertebrae. The higher the number, the closer to the skull and the worse the injury. “Don’t talk.”

  “C4 is crushed,” the medmage whispered. “Spinal cord damaged. It hurts to breathe.”

  I resumed chanting, pulling the magic to me in a desperate rush. His neck wasn’t just broken. Broken would be okay. The fight had flattened Doolittle’s neck. The crucial upper vertebrae had shattered, cutting the link between his brain and his body. He was shutting down.

  “Nonsense, Darrien.” Aunt B crouched by him. “Of course you can. Kate will heal you.”

  No, I can’t.

  “I’m bleeding internally. I can’t stop it.” His voice dissolved into a hoarse groan.

  Heat rolled down my cheeks.

  “Don’t cry.” Doolittle smiled. “Please don’t. I had a long life . . . A long useful life.” His voice broke into a horrible noise. He sounded like he was choking. “I’m . . . ready.”

  “We’re not!” George cried out.

  My lips moved. I willed him to live with each whispered word, but he was fading, slipping through my fingers. Doolittle had saved me more times than I could count. I would keep him alive. Whatever magic I had, it was his. It would have to be enough.

  Live, I willed. Please, please live. Please don’t go.

  He slipped further away from me. I was losing him, just like I had lost Bran.

  I chanted, concentrating all my will on that little spark.

  The world faded. The noises receded.

  My lips moved, whispering the words on, and on, and on . . . It was a very simple chant that most people in my line of work learned. It was designed to boost the body’s regeneration, and I poured all of myself into it. Only the next word and the tiny bit of magic it invoked mattered. If only I could claw myself open to get at the magic to keep him alive, I’d do it in a heartbeat.