The hall was lined with Azrael’s Aegis. The four she knew and three others she did not. At the head of the line, Gregor’s black sword was clearly visible. Beside him, the hint of a black bow and quiver crossed Lysippe’s back. Rory and Dory needed no weapons, but their hands and shoulders seemed to emanate the same fearsome energy. The others all bore some semiopaque weapon—their visibility a message.
She tried to look back at Azrael, but he was too close. His hand settled on her hip, and his cheek brushed her temple as he nodded.
One by one, the guards went to one knee, faces as still and implacable as stone. All except Lysippe, who fought the knowing grin tugging at her mouth as she lowered. Gregor looked as though he wanted to kill something.
“What is this?” Isela breathed.
“It is an acknowledgment of your new status in my house,” he said simply. “And their new responsibility. Two are absent on surveillance. They send their regards. Come.”
His hand slipped around her own, and he released her from his chest. They walked down the hall, past the kneeling men and woman. Isela couldn’t help herself. As they reached the elevator, she looked back. Gregor liberated his wallet as he rose with the others. Lysippe snapped the bill from his fingers with a wily grin.
Isela flushed, turning her attention to Azrael to find his eyes had never left her face. “There were bets on if—”
“When,” he corrected. “Not if.” He shrugged before she could decide to take offense. “Soldiers and wagering have gone together since the beginning of time.”
“I suppose you’d know,” she said lightly, as they entered the elevator. “Since you were there.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Isela snugged her warm-up sweater over leggings and her most serviceable black leotard as she came down the stairs from the bedroom. She’d forgone dancing slippers for a pair of comfortable running shoes and braided her hair tightly, pinning it to the back of her neck. Azrael looked up as he slid on his long midnight coat, the material of which she still couldn’t name. Even its scent defied her nose—something spicy and vaguely reptilian, with the hint of old char. It should have been off-putting but was strangely intriguing instead.
He paused, watching her without comment. She buckled the leg holster and checked the pull on her knife. When she was ready, she looked at him. “I’m going with you.”
“No.”
Isela laughed. “You can’t expect me to stay here. What if something happens?”
“Aleifr will remain behind,” he said. “I’ve asked the witches to protect the city from any fallout. If I fail, he’ll take you to your mother until the rest of the Aegis can regroup to get you all out of danger.”
He started toward the door. She hurried to block his path, unable to speak for a moment over the flash of anger.
“I meant if something happens to you,” she said. “Everything I studied says that the proximity is key. This kind of dancing doesn’t work as well if I’m far away.”
“This won’t be like the other times,” Azrael said. “I know what Róisín is capable of.”
She followed him out of his apartment. Tyler waited attentively beside the door. She held up a hand as they passed.
“I’ve arranged to have the cathedral opened for you.” Tyler called after her.
“Later, Ty,” she said, ignoring the discomfort in her hip to hurry after Azrael.
When the elevator doors closed and they were alone again, she spun to face him. “She’s the most powerful necromancer in the allegiance. That’s what you said. And you have to stop her—alone.”
“Róisín will be distracted by her spell, and we have surprise on our side.”
“She’s been ready for us at every turn,” Isela argued. “I’ve been thinking about what happened at Zeman’s, and I think I found a way to boost your defenses, along with the power transfer. But the closer I am to you the more effective it will be when you need it.”
“I won’t.” Azrael said. “And you will remain here.”
The door opened, and Gregor stood in the hallway, waiting. All warrior tonight, he wore black from head to toe; some kind of old-new amalgam of bodysuit and armored plates that resembled a lightweight, mobile version of old-fashioned armor.
“Dancer.” It was a greeting and a dismissal as they stepped into the gallery hall.
“Aren’t you supposed to be immortal? What’s with the suit?”
“Cut me into enough pieces, and even I can’t come back from that,” Gregor said.
Knowing Gregor felt threatened enough to armor up didn’t reassure her. Azrael caught her by the shoulders, drawing her eyes to his with a simple telepathic entreaty. Consort, mine.
I will not beg you. She grit her teeth.
I ask you not to.
“Please,” she hissed anyway, ignoring Gregor.
Azrael’s face lit with the shadow of a smile as his thumb settled in the corner of her downturned mouth. “I will be your shield. That is my vow.”
“What about you—”
“That’s what my Aegis is for,” he said.
Isela wanted to resist, but it was useless against the wall of his resolve. She should have been relieved to be far away from the danger. Instead, the sense that she was going to lose him clutched her by the throat.
“Lysippe and the twins are en route,” Gregor announced.
“It’s almost sunset,” Azrael said, dropping his hand. “The glass in the cathedral is beautiful this time of day.”
“So I’ve heard,” she said miserably.
He joined Gregor, and they walked away.
“Azrael!”
When he turned, she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. It seemed to take him a moment to understand before his hands slid around her back. She pushed her face into his collar, drawing in a deep breath of his scent.
“Don’t let your guard down, not even once,” she demanded in a strangled whisper. “And kick her ass.”
His laughter sent her heart stuttering unsteadily in her chest. “As my lady commands.”
She stepped back when he let her go, clasping her hands together so she didn’t reach for him again. Gregor cast a gimlet eye in her direction.
“Do your job,” she growled at him. “Because you don’t want me for a boss.”
He angled his head, and the light caught the bright blue of his eyes. It was too much to think she might have actually made him laugh. “Indeed.”
Tyler caught up while she stood in the empty hall. He puffed, out of breath. Behind him, the towering Nordic bruiser Aleifr kept a silent watch.
Tyler sucked in a breath to speak. “The cathedral?”
“Tyler, I don’t give a shit about the windows,” she said miserably.
Isela mentally reviewed the dance for the third time, marking the movements in abbreviated motion and mental notation. When the sequence was complete, she stretched before the windows overlooking the city. The last of the golden light bathed the red roofs and flared off gilded domes, spires of smoke rising from chimneys to soften the edges of everything.
She turned at the sound of a bell. The door opened and Tyler emerged, bearing a tray crowned with an evergreen wreath.
“What’s this?”
“Something special the kitchen sent up,” he said proudly. “It’s the solstice. The shortest day of the year. It’s practically sacred around here.”
What had Azrael said about the effect of planetary energy on power? She shivered, though the room was warm enough. “The longest night.”
Tyler nodded, setting the tray down. She scented molasses cookies and spicy ginger tea. She prowled the room, circling the table as he set out cups and poured. By the time she paused behind her chair, he was watching her strangely.
“What?” she asked.
“Your hands,” he said, blushing. “It’s like they’re dancing for you.”
She laughed, looking down at her still twitching fingers. “It’s my way of marking choreograph
y.”
He nodded, as though she’d shared a great secret. The knot in her stomach eased. She sat down.
“It’s just a kind of visualization,” she said, letting the conversation distract her. “My friend Kyle, from the garden the other day, does this mini-marking thing with head and neck.”
She imitated Kyle’s head throws and shoulder shrugs with dramatic emphasis.
Tyler smiled. He relaxed visibly, joining her at the small table. “Is that how you memorize all the steps? I was at the fall gala, and it was amazing to watch the troupe all moving together.”
“Ballet dancers have it much harder,” she said. “They’re memorizing choreography that’s been given to them. I design my own. Still, the attack is the same. Break it down into small pieces, learn the section, and then layer section onto section until you know the whole thing without thinking about it.”
“Chunking,” he nodded. “I did a paper in undergrad on language acquisition. It’s similar then.”
Isela nodded, accepting the plate of cookies and the tea.
Tyler cleared his throat. “Is it warm enough in here? I could turn up the heat.”
“It’s fine, Tyler.”
She waited, sensing he wasn’t finished.
“You’re not afraid,” he blurted out. “Of all this.”
Isela choked on her tea.
“When Lord Azrael called on you for the allegiance,” he said. “You walked in. . . fearless. Even after—the demons—and Gregor. . . and I saw the car they brought that thing back in. An incubus, I mean. . .”
He took a deep breath, and his hand trembled so hard he set it down on his knee. She poured him more tea.
“But you don’t show it,” he said, “and you hold your ground with Gregor, and Lysippe likes you, and you can tell the twins apart. Twelve years, and I still mix them up.”
“Dory laughs,” she offered, sliding the plate of cookies his direction. “Twelve years, huh? Can I ask why you. . .”
“Became a zombie?”
She flushed.
“It’s okay.” He nibbled at a cookie. “I know that’s what people call it. I get it. When I took the contract, all I could think of was my work. I just thought, this would be the best way to get the kind of long-term inheritance data geneticists dream about. Part of my obligation to Azrael includes applying my expertise to other services at his request. He asked me to help him analyze samples. Samples I didn’t understand at first, they were so alien from human tissue. Things I couldn’t explain. Creatures. I started. . . losing it.”
“So you got banished to reception?”
“He thought I needed a break,” Tyler said, deflated. “At least that’s what I was told. Then you came.”
“I’m a performer,” Isela murmured. “I spent my whole life learning how to show the world what I want it to see.”
Her laugh sounded strained, even to her own ear.
“Every time something weird happens, you just go with it.”
“Have you met my family?” she asked. “My brothers? They’re not exactly human.”
“Actually they are.” He pushed his glasses back up his nose, and she saw the confidence come back in a breath. “They’re as human as you or I. What’s curious is that the same isn’t true when they’re wolves. There are six key sequences. . .”
“There,” she said, lifting her hand. “That’s something you can understand. Start there, and add a little more, bit by bit.”
He smiled faintly. “Chunking.”
She lifted her teacup. “We’re in this together. . .”
His cup rose in solidarity. A shock of gold touched her when the cup met her lips. She flung it away, staring after the broken pieces with wide eyes.
“What’s wrong—” Tyler yelped. “Aleifr!”
The Viking burst through the doors with a grunt, sweeping the room as though expecting thwart an attack with the force of his glare.
Isela kept her gaze unfocused as Azrael had advised, letting the gold flicker come to her. She gasped as pain lanced through her ribcage and down her leg. Isela pushed away from the chair, staggering to her feet. She touched her skin as the sensation faded like the aftereffect of a camera flash. The gold streaked across her vision, moving in erratic imitation of the dance she had prepared for tonight. She felt the tug of the connection that enabled her to communicate directly with Azrael the night of her attack.
“Get a car,” she said. “Azrael’s in trouble.”
Aleifr crossed her path, silent and immobile.
“Yes, you can come,” Isela said, her finger in his substantial chest. “But don’t try to stop me.”
His nostrils flared over the great, blond mustache, and the small bells and trinkets in his beard jingled. He jerked his head.
“Shouldn’t I call Gregor or something?” Tyler asked as they ran to the garage. “Let him know we’re. . .on our way?”
Isela shook her head. “They need to stay focused on protecting Azrael.”
Rory’s Land Rover was closest to the doors, but they all hesitated when Tyler held up the keys. Aleifr shrugged and climbed in the back.
“You don’t drive?” Isela glared at him. “How is that possible?”
“He’s set in his ways,” Tyler muttered. “Hasn’t said a word in the entire time I’ve known him, either.”
“That explains the grunting,” Isela said, glancing balefully at the keys.
Resolutely, Tyler gripped the keys and climbed into the driver’s seat. “I’ll drive.”
As she pulled open the passenger door she noted he was paler than usual. “It’s okay to stay here.”
He swallowed hard but fixed his hands on the wheel.
“In this together,” Tyler confirmed, grim but determined. “What’s the plan?”
Isela jumped in and shut the door. “Drive.”
Isela never thought she would long for Gregor’s psychotically precise driving skills. Her phone rang as she gripped the dashboard against another hard turn and she opened it without checking the number.
“I can’t talk long,” Bebe said. “Evie says you’re about to do something dangerous. . .”
“How did she—”
“That’s Evie’s knack,” Bebe said, the hint of a shrug in her voice. “Mom’s sending the boys your way, just...be careful Issy.”
The call disconnected.
Tyler yanked the wheel, bumping over the curb toward the gates of the Olšany Cemetery.
“Stop!” Isela screamed as familiar flash of black fur caught in the headlights.
Tyler slammed on the brakes and the car slid to a stop. The black wolf lowered his head and growled at the brush guard. The grey and white wolves emerged from the brush, circling the car like cornered prey.
“Sorry,” Tyler yelped.
Aleifr climbed out of the car, ignoring the wolves. As the Viking strode toward the cemetery gates, his open hands went to the small of his back. Two leather wrapped hilts solidified as his fingers closed over them. Twin axes materialized from the hilt up, the moonlight glinting off sharpened blades as he slid them free.
He glanced back at the car expectantly.
When Isela looked at Tyler, his hands shook as he stared into the vast darkness of the cemetery.
“Stay here,” she said. “You did your part. Aleifr and the boys will get me the rest of the way.”
The muscles in Tyler’s jaw worked; protest warring with the relief knotting his brow. “But I. . .”
“That’s an order.” Leaning over to kiss his cheek she whispered, “Thank you.”
She climbed out of the car after Aleifr. The three wolves bounded to her side. Tobias pushed his head under her palm. Christof reared up on his hind legs to swipe at her face with a long tongue. Markus wouldn’t quit growling, but he paced a small circle around them all.
Isela saluted Tyler then quickened her step after her guard. The wolves fell into loose formation around her as they left the living city behind and entered the realm of the dead.
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Relying on her connection to Azrael, they left behind the well-tended graves heading northwest to the oldest section of the necropolis. There, the bushes grew thick between broken headstones. The reflective quality of the unbroken snow dimmed under the dense canopy of overgrown trees. Even bare for the winter, their tangled limbs turned vast swaths of shadow into a shattering darkness. Dilapidated tombs had surrendered to the steady assault of nature; many of their doors and barriers had crumbled to reveal glimpses of the interred beneath. The statues of angels and saints marking tombs seemed to follow their progress with faces eroded by time.
Róisín must have known she would be vulnerable once she began the spell and she wasn’t relying on the sheer size of the largest cemetery in Prague to hide her. With an estimated two million interred over centuries at her disposal, even a fraction made a formidable army of undead. Most they encountered seemed little more than mindless shamblers, but others, runners, were sharp, agile, and battle-trained.
Aleifr handled most easily, his twin axes singing through the air. The wolves took care of the stragglers. But when a wave of particularly rabid looking zombies raced toward them, Isela drew her blades and prepared for a fight.
The Viking went swinging into the fray. There were too many, with their desiccated, grasping fingers and sunken, blank faces. They pushed around him and Isela couldn’t avoid the fight. The reek of rotted flesh and old earth made her gag even as brittle bones snapped easily under the impact of her blows. Every bit of Trinh’s training served her well, but her blades were for personal defense, not beheading zombies. She stumbled backward on her bad hip and the wolves closed rank around her.
A familiar black-clad shape plunged into the fight with his black blade bared.
“You couldn’t”—Gregor grunted—“just”—two fell to his sword. A third zombie managed to get around him and dive for Isela—“stay put?”
He spun before she could reach for her blade and severed the emaciated head from a dirt-crusted body. A ball that was more skull than head rolled to a stop at her feet. Isela stared into the empty eye sockets and felt the bile rising in her throat.
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