Magic Triumphs

by Ilona Andrews

  Someone had waited until I came home, then dropped it off on my doorstep. They were in our neighborhood, watching our house, and I didn’t notice when I came home, because I was a moron. I’d gotten comfortable in the past eighteen months. Sloppy, Voron’s voice said from my memories. Yeah, I know.

  I stepped outside, carefully padded past the box, and jogged to the end of the driveway. The street was deserted in both directions. I didn’t feel anyone watching me. Whoever had delivered it had come and gone. Didn’t bother to stick around to see if I got it.

  I turned back. The box looked perfectly harmless. Right, and as soon as I touched it, it would sprout whirring metal blades and carve me to pieces.

  I crouched and poked the box with Sarrat. The box didn’t seem impressed.

  Poke. Poke-poke. Shove.

  Nothing.

  Fine. I slid the tip of my blade between the lid and the box and flipped it open. A thick layer of ash filled the box. On it lay a knife and a red rose. And that wasn’t freaky. Not at all.

  The knife was about twenty inches overall, with a fourteen-inch blade, sharpened all the way on the left and to a half point on the right side. Plain wooden handle, no guard. Simple, efficient, brutal. Reminded me of a skean, an Irish battle knife.

  The rose was burgundy red, the color of merlot. Or blood. Long thorns. I sheathed my saber and picked up the box. It smelled faintly of fire. Not sulfur or smoke, but that particular heated scent when the wood got very hot just before it was about to burst into flames. There was something else, too. The hint of a darker and sharper odor I couldn’t quite place.

  I took the flower out, picked up the knife, and shifted the ash with the blade. Nothing hidden in the ashes.

  Was this some sort of threat?

  Whatever it was, it seemed inert enough for the time being. I’d have to deal with it after I found my son.

  I went into the garage, got a plastic bin, put the knife and the rose back into the box, placed the box into the bin, and carried it to the shed in the back. The shed served as my depository of weird crap I didn’t want to have lying around the house. I set the plastic bin in a salt circle on the floor, locked the shed, ran back inside, washed my hands, and bounded up the stairs two steps at a time.

  It was quiet. Way too quiet for comfort.

  I unlocked the door, stepped inside, and locked it behind me. From my vantage point, I could see through the arched entrance to the small nursery area Curran had sectioned off from our room. Conlan’s crib was empty, his blanket hanging halfway over the wooden rail. The bathroom door on my left remained shut, secured by a small latch bar only an adult could reach. That was the only way to keep Conlan out of the bathroom. He kept trying to eat soap and then cried when he realized it didn’t taste delicious.

  The only good hiding place was under the bed. Curran liked to sleep high, and our bed was a massive beast that rose a full eighteen inches off the floor, not counting the box spring and mattress. Plenty of space.

  “Conlan?” I called. “Where is my boy?”

  Silence.

  I moved forward on my toes. Curran and I played hide-and-seek with him all the time. Usually one of us would grab him and hide while the other one counted. Conlan was ridiculously easy to find, because he cracked up when you got close. To stay quiet wasn’t in his nature.

  A step toward the bed. “Where is Conlan?” I sank right into the rhythm of the game. “Is he in the corner? No, he isn’t.”

  Another step.

  “Is he in his crib? No, he isn’t.”

  Another step. “Is he under the bed?”

  A clawed paw shot out from under the bed and swiped at my leg. I jumped a foot in the air and three feet back.

  It couldn’t be.

  I dropped down on the floor. A pair of glowing gray eyes stared at me from under the bed. Gold light rolled over them, the telltale shapeshifter fire. I’d seen that gold glow just five days ago, when our idiot poodle tried to throw up by Curran’s chair.

  “Conlan?”

  A low growling noise answered me.

  Oh crap. Crap, crap, crap.

  He’d shifted. He’d turned into a baby lion.

  Oh my God.

  I stared at the eyes. Maybe I was imagining it.

  “Conlan?”

  “Rawwr rawwr rawwroo.”

  Nope. Not imagining it. He’d shifted.

  I reached out and Conlan scooted back deeper under the bed.

  Crap.

  “Conlan, come out.”

  “Rawrwr rawr!”

  The phone rang. Maybe it was Curran. I grabbed it.

  “Kate Lennart.”

  “Hello,” a saccharine male voice chirped. “I’m calling from Sunshine Realty. Are you interested in selling your home?”

  “No.” I hung up and dropped down again.

  “Rawrrawr!”

  “Conlan Dilmun Lennart, do not growl at me again. Come out from under the bed.”

  He backed farther into the darkness, squeezing himself against the far wall. The bed weighed a ton. I could probably heave an edge of it up for a few seconds, but that was it. A fat lot of good that would do me.

  I could get a broom and poke him with it. It would be long enough. But then that might just panic him more. Maybe if I sat on the floor and waited?

  The doorbell rang. If the delivery boy was back, Sarrat and I could give him a piece of my mind.

  I jumped to my feet, walked over to the window, and carefully edged the curtain aside, just enough to see. A Pack Jeep sat in the driveway.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” I told Conlan.

  The doorbell rang again.

  I left the bedroom, shut the door, ran downstairs, and jerked the door open.

  Andrea grinned at me. “I finally got away. Lora called me ‘Andrea the Merciless’ to my face. Can you believe that bitch? Wait until I tell you what she did. I should’ve given her a month of rock hauling. We can have lun—”

  I grabbed her and pulled her inside.

  “Okaaay,” she said. “Hello to you too, sweet cheeks.”

  “I need you to help me catch my kid.”

  “A one-year-old gave you the slip. How the mighty have fallen.”

  “He’s hiding under the bed. I need you to help me get him out.”

  “Why did you let him crawl under the bed?”

  “Shut up and come with me.” I dragged her up the stairs.

  “Okay, okay.”

  I unlocked the bedroom door and dropped by the bed. Andrea dropped flat next to me. “What am I looking at?”

  Two shining gold eyes stared back at us. “Arraawrooo rawrrawr.”

  She opened her mouth. It stayed open.

  Conlan backed into the wall again.

  Andrea sat up and pointed under the bed, her blue eyes opened as wide as they could go.

  “Yes,” I told her.

  “When?” she squeaked.

  “Just now.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “I don’t know. You can see for yourself once we get him out from under the bed.”

  We both looked under the bed again.

  “Okay,” Andrea said. “Okay, he shifted, so he should be hungry. Do you have meat?”

  “All the meat is frozen.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” she demanded.

  “Curran is off on one of his hunting trips. It’s just me and Conlan. I’ve been eating salami sandwiches and ramen for the last three days.”

  “Why would you do this to yourself?”

  “Because it’s easy?”

  “What do you feed him?” She pointed under the bed.

  “Chicken, oatmeal, apples, vegetables . . .”

  Andrea stared at me. “Do I even know you? What do you have for a treat?”
<
br />   “Cookies.”

  “Your son is a lion.”

  “I know that!”

  “Cookies aren’t gonna cut it. Do you know any lion hunters who bait their traps with cookies?”

  “I don’t know any lion hunters, period. And you know what, apple pie worked for me.”

  “I’ve got news for you, it wasn’t your apple pie Curran was interested in.”

  She had me there.

  “Do you have any salami left?”

  “No.”

  Andrea growled. “Go get the cookies.”

  One minute later we sat on the bed, staring at a plate on the floor with two chocolate chip cookies and a small puddle of honey.

  “I don’t think you understand the whole predatory cat thing,” Andrea informed me.

  “He likes honey.”

  We sat in silence.

  “This isn’t working,” I growled.

  Her eyes sparkled. “You should try calling, ‘Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.’”

  “I will kill you and nobody will find your body.”

  She chuckled.

  Another minute. Sounds of muffled chewing came from under the bed.

  “He’s eating something. What could he be chewing under there?”

  Andrea frowned. “Electric cords. Old tissues. Dead bugs.”

  Kate Lennart, mother of the year. What do you feed your son? Dead bugs he found under the bed, of course. I jumped off the bed. “We need to get him out now.”

  Andrea rolled her eyes. “Have I told you that you’re a helicopter parent?”

  “I’m going to be the Wrath of Hell parent in a minute.” I crouched by the bed. “You lift, I grab.”

  “Okay.” Andrea gripped the edge of the massive bed and jerked it up like it weighed nothing. A black lion cub the size of a small Chow Chow darted toward her. I lunged for him and missed. He snarled and locked his teeth on Andrea’s shin.

  “Ow!”

  “Don’t drop the bed on my kid!”

  I grabbed Conlan by the scruff of his neck and yanked him back.

  “Get him off my leg!” Andrea howled.

  I slid my arm under Conlan’s furry throat and squeezed, sinking steel into my voice. “Let go. Let go right now.”

  Andrea snarled and the noise that came from her throat was pure hyena. I squeezed harder, applying a choke hold. Conlan released the bite and gasped. I rolled out of the way, moving my son so I landed on top of him, and Andrea dropped the bed. The floor shuddered.

  A red stain spread through her jeans.

  “Your son bit me!”

  “Sorry.”

  Conlan bucked under me. I held tight.

  “He bit me!” She pointed at her leg.

  “He can’t help it. You smell like a hyena, and you’re scary.”

  “I’m not scary. I’m nice! I’ve babysat him like twenty times. I gave him ice cream! Ungrateful brat!”

  The brat gave up on trying to throw me off and went flat on the floor. I got up. Conlan shook himself. He looked just like a lion cub. His fur was black and velvety soft, with faint smoky stripes, and his ears were round and fluffy. He blinked at me and twitched his ears. I cracked up.

  “He’s adorable,” Andrea said. “I’m still pissed off, but he is so fluffy. Baby B used to be that fluffy.”

  “Rawr rawr,” Conlan told her.

  I reached out and popped him on the nose with my fingers. “No.”

  He recoiled like a chastised kitten and blinked.

  “You bit Aunt Andrea. We don’t bite our friends.”

  Conlan noticed the plate and wandered over to it. A pink tongue slid out of his mouth. He licked the honey.

  “Now I’ve seen everything,” Andrea said. She hiked her jeans leg up and showed me a red wound on her shin. “I felt his teeth scrape bone. He’s got a hell of a bite. That’s a lion right there.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Oh, you’re going to have to do better than ‘sorry.’ Your son assaulted the alpha of Clan Bouda.” She wrinkled her nose at me.

  “It’s already closing, you big baby.”

  “It will close better if you buy me a late lunch and some margaritas.”

  Conlan licked the plate clean, crawled into my lap, and draped himself over me. He had to be at least thirty-five pounds. Probably closer to forty.

  “Lunch might have to wait. I’ll tell you what, give me a crash course in shapeshifter toddlers, and I’ll give you some of our homemade sangria.”

  The sangria started as an experiment. Before the Five Hundred Acre Wood formed, someone in the area must’ve grown grapes in their backyard, because we came across a clearing with several old vines. Christopher mentioned that he grew up on a vineyard in California, I asked him to teach me how to make wine, one thing led to another, and now I made forest sangria. I had also planted some of the vines in the backyard, but they were too young to produce fruit.

  Andrea’s eyes lit up. “Did you make a new batch?”

  “I did.”

  “Deal. Usually they shift at birth and then about once or twice a week, so you get a chance to get used to it. But your boy never turned before, so your mileage may vary.”

  My mileage always varied. “How long does it last?”

  “He’ll shift back when there is something he needs hands for or when he gets tired. Same rules as an adult shapeshifter: one shift, maybe two per twenty-four hours, and after that second, he’ll need a nap. The babies don’t know their limits yet, so be prepared for him to try two shifts in a row and flop right on his face. It’s kind of funny. They just go boop and fall over.”

  The last time he fell over and got a knot on his forehead, I drove him to Doolittle like a bat out of hell.

  Andrea sat next to me. “Cheer up. Babies are easy. It’s the adolescents who make problems. Before you know it, he’ll be a teenager and Curran will start teaching him half-form.”

  “Stop.”

  “The worst is over. He’s well formed, he’s proportionate, no weird bones sticking out anywhere . . .”

  “I mean it, stop.”

  “Okay, okay. So what else? Oh, he will have a bit of a learning curve figuring out what he can do in each shape. Some things are instinctive. Like if he is chasing something, he may shift without thinking. But a lot of times, they’ll try to bite things while in human form or change shape and want their sippy cup. Baby B carried her spoon around in her mouth when she turned into a hyena. It was the funniest thing. I’d cut up meat for her and she still wanted me to put it on the spoon and feed her. Wait until I tell Raphael.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because your husband gossips like a church lady.”

  “Please. Don’t insult me. Church ladies line up around the block to take gossip lessons from Raphael.” Andrea grinned. “No, seriously, why?”

  “Because if you tell Raphael, the entire Pack will run over here to gawk at him, and I can’t do this right now. I have shit to deal with.”

  “Is it Roland?”

  “No.” I told her about Serenbe.

  “Well, fuck,” she said.

  “Yep.”

  We sat quietly for a while. Conlan was sprawled on my lap, making a low rumbling noise. It was almost like purring. It felt oddly comforting.

  “If you had to shoot a dog in the eye with an arrow from a regular bow, what’s the longest distance you could do it from?” I asked.

  “Regular bow, I could guarantee a shot at forty-five yards. If it was a highly trained archer who wasn’t me, maybe thirty, but an eye is a small target and dogs like to move.” Andrea sighed. “It can never just be peaceful, can it?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. The past eighteen months were pretty quiet.”

  She snorted. “What about
the Cherufe burning down City Hall two months ago?”

  “It only scorched City Hall.”

  “And before that there was the Raijū thing. And before that . . .”

  I held up my hand. “Okay, yes. But you know what I mean. All these were normal. This thing in Serenbe isn’t normal. This is magic on a massive scale.”

  Andrea sighed.

  As if on cue, a magic wave rolled over us. Conlan raised his head, shook himself, and lay back down on my lap.

  “I need Curran to come back,” I told her. “He was a baby lion before. It would really help.”

  “What is up with your lion anyway? This is what, his third one?”

  “Fourth.”

  Curran once explained to me in excruciating detail how he hated to hunt. According to him, he was a lion, he weighed over six hundred pounds, and the last thing he wanted to do was run through the woods chasing after deer. But since Conlan’s birth, he and Erra had hatched a plan to extend the Guild’s reach past Atlanta for a strategic advantage when my father eventually came calling. Usually this strategic outreach involved hunting some sort of monster on the outskirts of Atlanta. It took Curran three or four days to catch it, and my aunt insisted on going with him.

  “He takes Erra with him. That’s the most puzzling part.”

  “Maybe they’re bonding.”

  “My aunt, who continuously reminds me that I married a barbaric animal, and my husband, who thinks she’s an insane murderous bitch, are bonding?”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  Andrea reached out and petted Conlan’s head. He sniffed her hand.

  “You remember Andrea,” I murmured.

  “Of course he does. He was just a little scared. Changing is confusing. So, what triggered it?”

  I looked at her.

  “Baby shapeshifters turn because they get scared. That’s why a lot of them shift at birth. Leaving the womb is scary. He didn’t turn even when Doolittle terrified him. There had to be some sort of severe threat. What were you doing when he shifted?”

  The box. That had to be the thing.

  “I was answering the door. Someone left a present for me on my doorstep.”

  “Was it a nice present?”

  “No.” I got up. “I’ll show you, but I think we’d better leave him here.”