Boss Fight (Beyond the Aura Book 1)

by Helen Adams

  “Is there some kind of summoning ceremony?” I asked as Raz stopped. We’d reached a section of the lake that looked exactly like every other section.

  “Not as such,” he remarked. Handing me the torch, he put two fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle.

  I winced. Subtle, Raz.

  Just as the echoes were fading I heard the splash of water. Shapes broke the surface. I shone the light.

  The shapes were heads. Hair slicked against their skulls, rippling out behind them like seaweed. Blonde, brunette, redhead – the classic trio of temptation. Great. They stared at my mentor with obvious interest; me, they ignored. Big surprise.

  “Hello,” he called, low and intense.

  “Raz al-Essa,” one called back, all sultry smoke. A blonde with huge blue eyes.

  “It’s been a while since you came to play with us,” the brunette sighed.

  I looked at Raz. I’d suspected he’d been here before, from the excitement he’d tried to control. When had he come? When Saifa was alive, or after she died?

  “Kassandra.” He turned to face the brunette. “I have a question.”

  “Don’t you want to see your daughter first?” the mermaid asked.

  Dammit, I thought, furious. What burning question did you have that was so fucking important that you had to get a mermaid pregnant?

  “I… I…” He stumbled for words. I swung the torch back so that I could see his face. He was sweating and pale despite the chill night air. “Does she… ask about me?”

  “No. Why would she?”

  Ouch. Raz closed his eyes.

  “Is she well?”

  “Is that your question?” Kassandra asked.

  “Stop messing with him,” I growled, swinging the torch back to her.

  “Spoilsport,” Kassandra pouted. “I could tell Raz everything he might wish to know about his daughter, if he just asked.”

  “I know she’s well cared for,” he said, ragged. “Well loved. That will… that will have to be enough.”

  He had another kid. Great. He’d kept it secret for who-knew how many years. This totally wasn’t going to rise up and bite him in the arse. Nope, no future problems there.

  The mermaids exchanged a look. The blonde and redhead dived, jade and aquamarine tails flashing in the torchlight as they vanished from view.

  “Ask your question,” Kassandra demanded, sullen. “You know our price.”

  “Who is creating and sending golems against us?”

  “I know the answer. Are you willing to pay?”

  “God, yes!”

  I smacked his arm. He glared at me. Kassandra, seeing the exchange, smirked. I gave her the finger.

  Still smirking, Kassandra started to chant. I only understood about one word in ten, but I felt the power. The water around her shivered in movements that had nothing to do with the gentle breeze.

  She rose out of the lake, posing like an ancient Greek statue. A plinth of water solidified beneath her, lifting her higher and higher into the air. The plinth formed the shape of a giant hand – complete with long, shaped nails – and stopped when the mermaid was level with the shore. Kassandra whispered a single word. She said it again, and again, and again, each time louder, so that she finally shouted the word on a single, resounding note that made my bones ache.

  As the final echoes died away her sleek, wet hair coiled and writhed around her head. When the movement stopped her rich mahogany locks were dry, bouffant and perfectly coiffed. Show off.

  Kassandra was beautiful. All mermaids were beautiful. Grey eyes looked out from a classic, heart-shaped face; her nose was small and delicate, lips scarlet and ripe. Full, firm breasts – bare, of course – thrust from her chest. Her stomach was flat and muscular. A narrow waist flared into wide hips. A wide triangle of hair marked what Harpy’s Bestiary said was a human vagina and – really? She’d twined tiny white flowers in her pubes? How did they even survive under water? No… no… I didn’t want to know.

  Below that the human part of her ended. Delicate, peaches-and-cream skin gave way to brilliant silver scales, small at first but increasing in size as a powerful fish tail swelled and grew. A membranous fin flapped where her feet should have been, lazily moving back and forth.

  “Close your mouth,” I whispered to Raz.

  Kassandra raised both narrow, elegant hands in a complicated movement above her head. A water-tendril emerged from the hand and stretched toward the shore. It thickened as it grew so that when it finally touched the path it had become a narrow, glittering bridge.

  Kassandra lowered her hands and made a ‘come hither’ gesture. Raz almost dashed across, hands already lifting the hem of his polo shirt.

  I had a brief, vivid mental image, a dozen or so men sitting in a circle. ‘Hi, my name is Raz, and I haven’t had sex with a mermaid in six weeks.’ I shook my head.

  The water-bridge collapsed. The hand’s giant fingers curled around the man and the mermaid, hiding them from view. I heard a single shouted word – a magical command from Kassandra – and the closed hand turned into a round, smooth globe. Liquid swirled and glinted in the torchlight.

  I hoped the damned thing was soundproof.

  I found a rough seat on a broken stump and made myself as comfortable as possible, letting my eyes drift over the ethereal glow of Kassandra’s water boudoir. I tried not to check my watch, but damn, how long was Raz going to take?

  The hour that passed proved that he wasn’t a ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’ kind of lover. I should have known. He had about a million kids (well, seven), mostly grown up, and had loved his wife deeply if the family photos were anything to go by. Saifa had died before I’d met Raz. I wished I could have known her.

  Had she been aware of her husband’s other child?

  As I played the torch over the globe it collapsed, sending water splashing in all directions. It lapped against the shore, but I was far enough back that it didn’t reach me.

  Kassandra had what she wanted. Harpy’s Bestiary was too detailed about some things; the chance of conception between human and mermaid was a hundred per cent. Now she’d abandoned my friend and left him to swim back alone. She threw his clothes after him and dived, tail splashing with a contemptuous flick.

  Raz floundered. I didn’t know if he was exhausted or just a weak swimmer, but either way, he was struggling.

  I looked around for somewhere to brace the torch, finding two gnarled tree roots that had broken through the soil. I pulled off my coat, trainers and socks and ran down to the waterline. Without hesitation I waded into the lake, wincing as freezing water climbed my legs. Mud squeezed between my toes. Marvellous.

  Trying to persuade myself that the mud would leave my skin soft and conditioned, I squelched out to Raz. The water rose to my knees. Another few steps. Up to my thighs. I steeled myself against the cold and went deeper.

  When the water was waist high I crouched, leaned forward, and pushed off.

  I held my breath against the shock of night-chilled water hitting my chest. I swam out with powerful strokes, letting the exercise warm my body, only breathing when I had everything else under control.

  Raz was sinking. I grabbed him and trod water.

  “Take it easy,” I said. “Deep breaths, nice and slow, come on. Hold on to me. That’s it.”

  I bullied and cajoled him back to dry land, where he spent the next few minutes coughing up lake water. He was buck-naked but neither of us had time for shame. I went back for his clothes and helped him dress; wet clothes were better than none at all. I was glad I’d taken my socks off – my feet were freezing as I got back into my gear.

  I began to feel the full effects of the cold. My teeth chattered and my muscles tightened. If I didn’t get warm soon I wouldn’t have to wait for the golems to get us. We were going to freeze to death.

  “Warm first, talk later,” I said through stiff jaws, my arm around him. He looked dazed in the torchlight. I doubted it was from the swim.

&nb
sp; It took us longer to reach the van than it had to get to the lake. How I got him up and over the gate I’ll never know, but he landed badly; his ankle buckled as he went down. He didn’t make a sound.

  A miracle – his keys were still in his soaked trouser pocket. I got him inside and whacked the heater up to full. I sat there and shivered. He didn’t move.

  “Raz?” I tried, touching his arm.

  He didn’t look up. k'12

  “Come on, talk to me. You alright?”

  He stirred, finally staring at me. His eyes were… I’d never seen that look before. He was all mixed up, passion warring with abandonment and anger and lust.

  “She’s a goddess,” he rasped. “And I hate her.”

  He covered his face with both hands. But I still heard him sob.

  FIVE

  I stared at Raz in shock – he was crying. What had that bitch done?

  I hugged him close; my body heat would warm him further, remind him that mermaids weren’t capable of true love but humans were. Yeah, I loved my crotchety, smug, mermaid-addicted mentor. So sue me.

  Raz drew a deep, shuddering breath, then wiped his face on his still-damp sleeve. I half expected him to push me away, but he didn’t.

  “Sorry,” he croaked into my ear. “You shouldn’t have to see this.”

  “Hey, what are friends for?” I said, trying to make light of the whole situation. “You’ve seen me sob like a baby.” Mostly after he’d pushed me too hard in training, but still.

  “Forget it happened. Please?” he asked. “I don’t want it to spoil my macho image.” He gave a watery sniff and pulled back.

  “Already forgotten. Did Kassandra answer your question?”

  “Yes.” He tensed, then relaxed. “She gave me a name.”

  “And?”

  “I’m sorry, Daphne… you were right. It’s Kristjan Vargas.”

  “Great.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, anger buzzing between my ears like a pissed off wasp. “Kristjan’s only the most powerful warlock in the country, and just happens to sit on the Midnight Conclave!” I punched my thigh, frustrated, wincing at the pain. “I knew those bastards were involved!”

  “Don’t let being right go to your head,” Raz cautioned. I glowered at him.

  “We need to think about this,” I said, lips pursed. “I mean, you know, Midnight Conclave. Root of all evil, right? We can’t just knock on his door and ask to come in for tea and biscuits.”

  “Why not?” Raz asked.

  “What?”

  “Why can’t we go to his home?”

  “Uh, aside from the fact that an evil warlock lives there? Raz, you’re shagged. Literally. And I had to haul your arse out of the lake. I don’t know about you, but I’m still freezing.”

  “The heater’s on, we’ll warm up on the way.” Raz didn’t bat an eyelid at my bluntness. “And berserkers thrive on exhaustion.”

  “I refer the honourable gentleman to my first point,” I grunted. “Warlock of Suburbia.”

  “I didn’t mean take him on. Consequences – if we want to neutralise him we need to bring a wizard. And then maybe emigrate, because every warlock who followed him will be out for our blood.”

  “Ah… right. Hadn’t thought about that.”

  “That’s why I’m the mentor.” Oh yeah, he had a nice line in smug.

  This was what being a berserker and staying alive for twenty or thirty years did for you. It was more than just learning combat skills, more than just improving the body. It was improving the mind, too. You had to consider the angles – if I punch a troll through a wall would ten of his mates come after me in a dark alley?

  I’d never been much of a one for forward thinking. It was coming, but it was slow. I was still learning to manage my anger, and I liked hitting things way too much.

  I was beginning to think that last part was never going to change.

  “Alright, then,” I sighed. “Dazzle me with your plan.”

  “Reconnaissance.”

  “That’s… OK, that’s a workable idea. Raising golems uses primal magic,” I added after a thoughtful pause.

  Primal magic was old and dangerous, stolen from an ancient race long before dewdrop humans decided that it might be a good idea to climb down from the trees. Whenever it was worked it left a taint, detectable as a scent, feeling, or psychic touch. For me it was the odour of burned chicken.

  “Now you’re thinking along the right lines.” Raz was approving. “Let’s do this.”

  Raz drove, leaving me to slump beside him and think. Forward planning, right?

  I was worried. Kristjan must have known he’d be found out sooner or later. You couldn’t hide primal magic, not for long. And then what? Most berserkers would hesitate to take on a member of the Midnight Conclave, but we’d do it anyway.

  Aside from revenge, there was another issue to consider: - removing Kristjan would create a vacuum, one other warlocks would race to fill. They usually kept their squabbles among themselves, but a power struggle like this would intensify their turf wars and turn the town into a war zone. People – unknowing dewdrops – could get hurt. Killed.

  There were only two of us. If we took action against Kristjan, two of us would be all it took to start a war. It would take many more to end that war.

  I didn’t want to force Kristjan to take the iron. I really didn’t. But if it was the only way to stop the attacks then we’d do it, and deal with the consequences later. An attack on one of us became – eventually – an attack on us all.

  We had to make the hard calls. However shitty they were.

  Kristjan Vargas lived in Kempshott. It was a good part of town – no tower blocks, no cracked front doors. We drove down the main road, slowing as we went over speed bumps. All the houses were detached with space for two, three and sometimes four cars. I noticed more double garages than single.

  This area didn’t scream money. It whispered it, with quiet, understated taste. The place made me itch.

  Raz pulled the van into a side street and cut the engine. We got out. My clothes were almost dry but I was still cold, despite the coat. I wanted to get this done so that I could go home and grab some sleep. Then, tomorrow, we’d decide how to tackle the warlock.

  We watched Kristjan’s house from across the street, tucked out of sight behind a couple of parked cars. He had a neat, detached pad with a gravelled drive and immaculate garden. So Evil had time to take care of the roses? I wondered what he’d done with the back garden.

  The off-putting reek of charred chicken curled up my nose. Primal magic. Shit, the mermaids were right – Kristjan had been making golems here.

  “Nails over a blackboard,” Raz said. “Feels wrong.”

  “Crap. Yeah. What do we do now, then?” The spectre of bloody conflict loomed on the horizon. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t terrified.

  A crash disturbed the late-night silence, coming from Kristjan’s house. I nudged the falchion out of my duffel and loped across the road.

  “Daphne!” Raz hissed. He muttered something unintelligible in Arabic and followed. “Magical defences?”

  I paused as I reached the garden. I felt nothing, no warning tingle along my spine. The place was dead and so, I suspected, was its inhabitant.

  Relief – hard and hot – flooded my system. If we weren’t forced to give Kristjan the iron, if he was already dead, we’d still have warlock turf wars… but they’d be contained, directed at themselves. Not a war against berserkers. In other words, situation normal.

  Closer to the house now, I saw that Kristjan’s front door was open. Just an inch. I hadn’t been able to see it from the other side of the street. My nose wrinkled as a fresh, cloying scent pushed through the stench of burned chicken. Blood.

  I prodded the door with my foot. It swung open. That slaughterhouse reek swept out, clogging my throat, thick enough to make me step back. I tried not to gag.

  “Daphne?” Raz asked. Turning, I saw him scan the upper stories of the house. />
  “Don’t come any closer!”

  “Who’s the experienced berserker?” he demanded.

  “Who’s the expendable berserker?”

  “Daphne –!”

  I ignored him and stepped over the threshold, sword held in a defensive position.

  The rich reek of blood was thicker in the hall. The lights were off, but I could make out darker patches on the walls. I didn’t need to touch them to know that they’d be tacky and dripping. This had happened minutes ago. The soft tread of feet told me that Raz was following.

  “Don’t touch anything,” I whispered. “Police.”

  “We shouldn’t even be in here!”

  “We have to find out what’s happened!”

  “When did you get so damned bossy?”

  “I followed your lead?”

  He said another word that I didn’t understand.

  “It would serve you right if I learned what that meant,” I threatened.

  “You should!”

  We crept along the hall. I headed for the thin strip of light I saw under a door and pushed it open with the tip of my sword. See, Officer? No forensic contamination.

  What I saw in that living room was just… I’d seen some nasty shit in my time, done some nasty shit, but nothing had prepared me for this. My stomach clenched. I covered my mouth, desperate not to vomit.

  “Daphne!” Lukas called. “You’re the very next person I was coming to visit!”

  “Hi.” My voice was a bare exhalation. I was terrified and revolted in equal measure; if I didn’t get out of here soon, I was going to be ill.

  Lukas stood in the middle of Kristjan’s living room. His suit was gone, replaced by a polo shirt and jeans. A soaked polo shirt and jeans. His eyes shone like neon lamps.