Magic Burns kd-2

by Ilona Andrews

“Kate, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that if you had watched Julie, she wouldn’t have left with Red and we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  What? “No. Not at all.”

  “I just want you to know: when I took her off that cross, she was calling his name. Neither you nor I can do anything to break what’s between them.”

  “Andrea, I don’t blame you. I don’t blame anyone.” Except myself. “You went out there and tried against impossible odds and almost won, while I played footsie with Bran in the mist.”

  I rose. “I’m going to see Jim and then I’ll see about sending a runner to the Order, since the phones are dead.”

  She raised her head from the pillow, her eyes wide. “Why?”

  After Bran had run out of curses, he’d condescended to explain a few things to me. “From what Bran says, the gray bubble Morfran made is some sort of ancient druidic ward. Morfran is buying time and working the cauldron, packing the sea-demons into that bubble. When it bursts, they will spill out onto the Honeycomb and then onto Warren. We’ll need the knights and MSDU.”

  Her face fell. “There will be no help, Kate. Everyone’s gone. Even Maxine.”

  “Where the hell did they go?”

  “There’s an emergency,” she said softly. “All the knights and the Military Supernatural Defense Units are being pulled to counter it.”

  “Andrea, in less than twelve hours, Atlanta will be full of demons. They will kill, feed, and release more demons. What emergency is more important than this one?”

  She hesitated. “I’m not supposed to disclose this. There’s a man. His name is Roland…”

  I almost punched the wall. “What is he doing that’s so damn crucial? What, is he building another tower? It will fall like all his other ones. Or did his eye finally grow back and he decided to have a battle to celebrate?”

  Andrea gently closed her muzzle. “Kate? How do you know that?”

  Shit.

  “Even I don’t rank high enough to know about the eye and the towers. I was only told because I would be staying behind alone. You’re not even a knight. How do you know this?”

  How do I fix this? I have to kill her. Wait, I can’t kill her. She’s my friend.

  “Are you planning on walking into Ted’s office after the flare and telling him that you’re beastkin?”

  She winced. “No. He’d throw me out. The Order is all I know.”

  I nodded. “You have your secrets and I have mine. I didn’t say anything about Roland and you didn’t hear anything.” I offered her my hand. “Deal?”

  She hesitated only for a moment. Her fingers grasped mine and I was relieved by their strength. “And I’m not a beastkin. Deal.”

  I found Jim in the next room. He sat in the bed, propped up by a pillow, and sharpened a short thick knife with a whetstone.

  “You fucking owe me.” He showed me his teeth in an ugly snarl. “You had a beastkin buddy. Didn’t tell me. Made me look like I don’t know my business. Made me look like a fool.”

  I came in and sat on the edge of his blanket.

  “Get the fuck off my bed.”

  I sighed. “How are the legs?”

  “Doc says I’ll be walking by tomorrow.” He pointed the knife at me. “Don’t change the fucking subject.”

  The same injury would take at least two weeks to heal during normal magic.

  “You remember that time you put a rat scout into an apartment above me to spy on me and Crest?” The scout who had heard everything that went on between me and Crest.

  “What about him?”

  “We’re even.”

  He shook his head and went back to sharpening his knife.

  “You still here?” he asked a few seconds later.

  “Leaving as we speak.” I got up. “Jim…Why did you go?”

  He gave me his hard stare. “He promised the child she would be safe. The alpha stands by his word and the Pack stands by the alpha. That’s how it works.”

  He went back to his knife, signaling the end of the conversation.

  * * * *

  I needed to find a sink and splash some water on my face. A small room to the left looked promising. I entered. No bathroom. No furniture, either. Just a straight shot to a square balcony connected to something with an outside stairwell leading to the left.

  The door barely had a chance to close behind me before it flew open with a bang. Curran appeared in the doorway. He was human again, but only in shape. Sweat drenched his face. His hands gripped the door frame as if they still had claws. His yellow eyes glowed with feral need. He snarled, his face wrinkling, and rushed past me to the balcony. He burst outside, leaned on the stone rail with both hands, and stared down below.

  Alrighty then.

  I followed and rested on the rail next to him. A staircase led up to a parapet connecting the main Keep with a half-built tower to the left. When they finally finished this place, they would have to rename it. “Keep” simply didn’t do it. It begged for a more appropriate name like Doom Bastion of Shapeshifter Superiority. Probably with a big sign underscoring the sentiment, in case some dummy failed to get it. Pack to the Outside World: We don’t like you. Stay out!

  And Curran would brood and stalk along the walls.

  “Who won?” I knew he would answer that one.

  “I did.”

  “How?”

  “Threw him into the smaller water tower. He doesn’t like water. He shrunk.”

  Below us the trees shivered in the morning breeze.

  “Do you want it to be your turn now? Do you want to tell me what an idiot I am?” The violence in his voice sent shivers down my spine.

  “Hold on, let me make sure there are no water towers around…”

  He dragged his fingers across the stone rail. If he’d still had his claws, they would’ve left white scratches.

  “You put that damn thing in my hand and I gave it away. I’ve got no necklace, no kid, two of my people dead, three are in the medward. There is a ward spell over the Honeycomb Gap and scouts tell me it’s full of monsters. Impressive performance all around. Go on. Take a shot.”

  “I would’ve traded the necklace for Julie in a heartbeat.”

  He glanced at me. The next moment I was pinned against the wall, his teeth an inch from my carotid. He sucked in my scent, his eyes still flooded with molten gold. His voice was a contained storm. “Knowing all I know now, I would do it again.”

  “So would I. Let go of me.”

  He released me and stepped back.

  “If you can’t save a child, what’s the point of it all?” I told him. “Julie’s worth saving, and I don’t want to buy my safety with her blood. I’d die first.”

  I leaned against the wall. “I should’ve put it all together sooner. Better yet, I should’ve left her with you. That little shit Red couldn’t have taken her out of the Keep. I’m sick of being a day late and a dollar short.”

  Our stares connected and we were quiet for a long minute, united by our misery. At least he understood me and I understood him.

  “A fine pair we make,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  In the yard I saw a small figure stumble from the ruins of the water tower. I nodded at him. “He screwed up, too. Bran teleported all over the place like a nitwit looking for the cauldron. It was right there under the pile of crates. The first place he should’ve looked. We all got outsmarted by a guy with tentacles and his brood of undead mermaids.”

  Curran shrugged his massive shoulders. “It’s never fucking simple. Just once I want it to be easy and neat. But no, there is never a good decision. I pick what I can live with.”

  We both knew he blamed himself for every last scratch his people got.

  The sun broke above the treetops, flooding the world with sunshine, but the staircase shielded us and we remained in the cool blue shadow. Curran pushed away from the stone. “I take it, that gray bubble in the Gap will burst soon?”

  “Fifteen hours from th
e moment it appeared. If Bran can be trusted.”

  “So around seven tonight. The thief…”

  “Bran.”

  “I don’t give a damn what his name is. He can close the cauldron, you said. What will that do?”

  “How much do you know about what’s going on?”

  “Everything you told Andrea.”

  I nodded. “The cauldron belongs to Morrigan. Morfran, the ugly one, stole it from her, so he could be reborn through it. The creature with tentacles, the reeves, and the giant all serve Morfran. They are the advance party of Fomorians, the sea-demons, who are now climbing out of the cauldron. Closing the cauldron will stop more demons from being reborn. Those who are on the field will become mortal. Morrigan will gain the ownership of the cauldron again, which will be the end of Morfran and his happy Fomorian tent revival.”

  Curran thought about it. “The Honeycombers are moving their trailers to prevent the demons from climbing up the walls into the Honeycomb. The demons have only one way to go: southwest, along the bottom of the Gap. The Pack will block the Gap. We’ll take on the brunt of the assault. Jim says there is a tunnel leading into the Gap from the Warren.”

  “I know of it.”

  “That idiot and a small party of my people can go through the tunnel into the Gap, while the demons are concentrating on us. It will put them into the Fomorian rear. With luck, the demons won’t even notice him. Can he keep from throwing his hissy fit until he gets to the cauldron?”

  “I don’t know. You’re not impressed by his warp spasm, huh?”

  He grimaced. “It’s abhorrent. Total loss of control. No beauty to it, no symmetry. His eye was hanging out on his cheek like some piece of snot. No, I’m not impressed.”

  “I can try to keep a lid on him until we get to the cauldron.” I made a pun, but he wasn’t in the mood to notice.

  “No.”

  “What do you mean no?”

  “No, you’re not going with him.”

  I crossed my arms. “Who decided that?”

  He put on his “I’m alpha and I’m putting my foot down” expression. “I decided.”

  “You don’t get to decide. I’m not under your authority.”

  “Yes, you are. Without you the fight will happen, but without me and the Pack, it won’t. I command the superior force, therefore I’m in charge. You and your army of one can put yourself under my authority or you can take a walk.”

  “You don’t think I can do it, is that it?”

  “No, I want you where I can see you.”

  “Why?”

  His lip quivered with the beginning of a snarl. His face relaxed, as he brought himself under control. “Because that’s how I want it,” he said, using a slow, patient voice reserved for rowdy children and disagreeable mental patients. It drove me to the edge of reason. I really wanted to punch him.

  “Just out of curiosity, how do you expect to prevent me from coming with Bran?”

  “I’ll hog-tie you, gag you, and have three shapeshifters sit on you for the duration of the fight.”

  I was about to tell him that he wouldn’t, but his eyes assured me that he would. I wouldn’t get my way. Not this time. Good moment for a new strategy.

  “Very well. I’ll be good, but on one condition. I want fifteen seconds before the fight. Just me between the Fomorian ranks and your people.”

  “Why?”

  Because I had a crazy idea. I wanted to do something that would make my dad and Greg turn in their graves. I had nothing to lose. We might all die anyway.

  I didn’t answer. I just looked at him. Either he would trust me or not.

  “You have them,” Curran said.

  Chapter 24

  The pack had shit for blades. It figured: THEY didn’t need them. I went through the weapons in their armory one by one, and found nothing. I wanted a second sword and Curran said I could borrow any one I wanted.

  They did slightly better on the armor front. I found a good leather tunic studded with steel diamonds in strategic places. It was black, it fit me, and best of all, it relied on laced cords to adjust the fit. I’d have to have help putting it on and taking it off. I’d never been in a full-out battle before, but I’d survived some vicious large scale brawls and fought my way through a couple of riots. From experience, I knew I would lose myself in a fight and strip out of my armor to improve freedom of movement without ever noticing I’d done it. I needed armor that was hard to take off. Anything with Velcro was right out of the question.

  I was ready to give up on the armory, and then there it was, a single-edged blade, about twenty inches in length with a profile wider than, but strikingly similar to, Slayer. Perfectly balanced, with a distal taper, the sword was crafted from a single piece of spring steel with plain wooden panels for the grip. It was simple, unadorned, functional, not a medieval replica, but a modern age, no-nonsense weapon. It was perfect.

  I swung it a couple of times, getting used to the weight.

  “Two swords,” Bran said from the doorway.

  His spasm had torn his clothes, and he had cut and rigged the remnants of his shirt and pants into a makeshift kilt, showcasing the world’s greatest chest. Too bad the kilt gave me a flashback to Greg’s killer. He had worn a kilt, too.

  “Can you handle two swords?”

  I pulled Slayer from the sheath, lunged at him, drawing a classic figure eight around his body with Slayer, and blocked his arm with the flat of the shorter blade when he tried to counter.

  “Fancy. You missed,” he said.

  “You want something?”

  “I thought since we both might die tomorrow, you’d be up for a friendly roll-in-the-hay.”

  “I might die. You’ll be healed.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not immortal, dove. Do enough damage fast and I’ll kick the bucket like the rest of you.”

  I disengaged and moved past him to the door.

  His kilt fell.

  “It took me forever to fix this!” He grabbed it off the floor and it fell apart in his hand. I had cut it in three places.

  I walked out into the hallway and almost ran into Curran accompanied by a group of shapeshifters. Bran followed me in all his naked glory. “Hey, does this mean no sex?”

  Curran’s face went blank. I dodged him and kept walking.

  Bran chased me, weaving through the shapeshifters. “Get out of my way, don’t you see I’m trying to talk to a woman?”

  I made the mistake of looking back in time to see Curran reach for Bran’s neck as the Hound of Morrigan rushed by. With an effort of will that must have taken a year off his life, Curran curled his fingers into a fist and lowered his hand instead.

  I chuckled to myself and kept walking. The Universe had proven Curran wrong: a person who aggravated him more than me did, in fact, exist.

  Bran caught up with me on the stairs. “Where are you headed?”

  “To a balcony. I want some fresh air.” And maybe to doze off a bit. Although I was no longer sleepy. The magic hummed in me, eager to be released. Is this how it would be when the tech finally fell for good? I wasn’t sure I could handle that much raw power. I had to hold myself back, as if I was riding a crazed horse at full gallop and the reins kept slipping through my fingers.

  Bran strode next to me, completely unconcerned with his lack of clothes. I stepped into the first room I saw, pulled a pair of gray sweatpants out of a chest of drawers—just about every room in the Keep had them, since people who shifted shapes found it convenient to have extra clothes present—and handed the pants to him.

  “Can’t control yourself?” He slipped into the sweatpants.

  “That’s it,” I murmured, stole the spare blanket and pillow, and left the room.

  He followed me to the balcony, where I made a makeshift bed in the recessed doorway and curled up. The stone shielded me from the sun, but I saw it all: the sky veiled with sunshine and touched with feathery smudges of clouds, the bright greenery of the trees, rustling in the bree
ze, the stone walls, still smooth and warm to the touch. I smelled the honeyed flowers and the light scent of wolves on the breeze. I drank it all in.

  Bran perched on the stone rail. “A scrawny street kid. A throwaway human. Now you’ll go to war because of her.”

  “Wars have been started for worse reasons.”

  He stared at me. “I don’t understand.”

  How do you explain humanity to someone who has no frame of reference? “It has to do with good and evil. You have to decide for yourself what they are. For me, evil is striving to an end without regard for the means.”

  He shook his head. “Better to do a small wrong to prevent a big one.”

  “How do you decide what is a ‘small’ wrong? Let’s say, you buy the safety of many with the life of a child. That child means everything to her parents. You devastated them. There is no greater wrong you can do to them. Why would that be a ‘small’ evil?”

  “Because now more of you fools are going to die.”

  “We fools volunteered to fight. We have free will. I fight to save Julie and to kill as many of those bastards as I can. They came into my house, they tried to kill me, and they crucified my kid. I want to punish them. I want that punishment to be so hard, so vicious, that the next scum who takes their place wets himself at the mere thought of trying to fight me.”

  Slayer smoked in its sheath, sensing my anger. Normally I’d have to feed it, or its blade would become thin and brittle, but with the magic flowing this strong, the sword would last through the battle and then some.

  I pointed to the yard. “The shapeshifters fight to take a stand against a threat and to avenge their dead Pack mates. They fight to protect their children, because without them there is no future. What do you fight for?”

  He ruffled the wild nest of his hair. “I have no future anyway. I fight because I made a deal with Morrigan. Without mist, I’ll age and die.”

  “Would aging be such a bad thing? Don’t you want a life? A real life?”

  He sneered. “If I wanted a real life, I wouldn’t have asked to be a hero. When I die, I want to die strong, with a sword in my hand, sheathing it into the bodies of my enemies. That’s how a man should die.”