“Is this how you seal all your deals?” She shivered when his fingers found her ready.
“With my consort,” he said, sliding home. “Absolutely.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“How can an army—hundreds—of mud men just up and vanish overnight?” Isela shook her head.
Gregor shrugged with nonchalant grace. He’d whistled a jaunty version of “London Calling” in response to Isela’s surprise on seeing him instead of Lysippe when they’d finally made it down to training. Being late hadn’t put him in the best mood.
The only indication of his current focus was the speed at which he danced a toothpick over his knuckles. Its motion ceased abruptly, and Isela was able to see it wasn’t an ordinary wooden toothpick. It looked to be made of some precious material with a slight iridescent sheen. Probably horn of a unicorn he’d hunted himself. And choked the life out of with his bare hands.
“All but one. Thanks to you.” The toothpick resumed its steady path over his knuckles. She took a little satisfaction at the broken skin and the stiff movement of his wrist. She hadn’t known it could be so much fun slinging a human body around by the thumb.
For fun, Isela concentrated on the levitation trick. The toothpick floated off his knuckles. He reached for it as she sent it spinning out of his grasp. But with one eye still swollen mostly shut her depth perception was off and she lost control of the spin. It clinked against the silver whiskey flask on the table and bounced off. Dante reached forward with the tip of his pen and slid the toothpick in Gregor’s direction.
Her gaze lingered on the flask on the table. It fairly thrummed with latent power. She could smell it even with the container tightly capped—an impossible combination of midnight and old wine and dried flowers. Gregor and Tariq had immediately argued over whether to call it the Elixir of Life or Amrita. Dante corrected them both with Soma and a rather tedious explanation of that since etymologically even the word ambrosia, inaccurate as it was, had Indo-European roots, but it could apply. Soma was likely a more accurate name, though Soma was thought to be distilled from a plant, not found dripping from a subterranean rock. Or rising, as it were.
“Call it manna or the Peaches of Immortality for all I care,” Gus barked.
“The peaches—” Dante began.
“Enough,” Azrael said, calling their attention back to the matter at hand as he dabbed at the cotton in his nose. It had bled for an extraordinarily long time, but she supposed taking an ax eye to the face would do that. The swelling had gone down, but the bruising spread across his eyes like a mask still made her wince.
Isela resigned herself to understanding what exactly the liquid in the flask was capable of later. She shifted in her seat, the bruise on her backside making sitting uncomfortable. Gregor smirked.
“The one your car managed to damage, or the remains of it,” Dante went on.
“In any case,” Gus said, “it shows that they’re willing to flirt with pushing not only the leeway Azrael gave them but the very code of engagement of conflict.”
Isela frowned, muttering at Dante under her breath. “Is there a CliffsNotes version somewhere?”
Dante’s eyebrows furrowed in question.
“Of these codes. I can’t keep up.”
His laugh slipped free before he could catch it. All eyes flashed to them as he tried to cover it with a dry cough.
“You’ve had a chance to examine it.” Azrael’s voice brought her back into the room. “Madame Witch?”
When Azrael had requested the presence of a witch to examine the creature from the bottom of the river, there had been some heated discussion among the coven. It was Bebe who cheerfully volunteered. She thought her sister-in-law rather enjoyed the hint of danger and independence from the others. Isela bit back a smile at the memory of Bebe striding into the study regally with her four-legged guardian at her side.
She’d caught sight of Azrael and Isela and her brows shot up. “What the Grace happened to you two since yesterday?”
“Late to training.” Isela glared at Azrael. He had the decency to look chagrined as he limped to his seat with a pointed look at Gregor’s back.
Now Bebe’s large dark eyes kept returning to the flask with the look of someone who had seen a miracle.
“They appear to be a kind of automaton, sir,” Bebe said. Curled watchfully around her feet, Tobias flicked his ears at the sound of her voice
“Appear?” Gregor kept his face carefully blank.
Toby rose onto his forepaws, but his head stayed low, ears swiveled back as his lips curled in silent warning. Gregor’s brows rose in return. Bebe settled a hand between her husband’s ears.
“Golems,” she said, meeting Gregor’s eye. “Of a kind. We are in Prague, after all.”
“Folktales,” Gregor growled.
“I recall a particular American fancy about a headless horseman who may or may not have been Hessian by birth,” Dante said.
Gregor sat back in his chair. “You know how I feel about horses. Loew’s creation was benevolent. And there was only the one.”
“The golem was part of Jewish folklore long before Loew raised his man of clay from the Vltava, if the story is to be believed,” Bebe said confidently. “The mechanics are the same. Created from mud or clay, impressed with the command of their master.”
“It’s a geas of some power,” Dante filled in. “And a command for obedience. A necromancer’s mark, which will activate them when called.”
“Two guesses who.” Isela sighed. “But where are the others? And what will activate them? And how do we deactivate them?”
“All excellent questions,” Dante said. “Answers presently unknown.”
“What they are tells us something of their purpose,” Bebe interjected eagerly. “These are not complex creatures. They are stronger than humans or zombies, but they are not intelligent in any respect. Once activated, they do not deviate.”
“If the Allegiance means to attack Azrael,” Gregor said, “it could be that the golems are intended to divide his attention.”
“The city,” Isela murmured. “They could turn them loose on the city while Vanka makes her move to summon a god. Gold showed me a tear in the wall. Yana may be a ballerina, but she’s also my friend.” Her voice cracked. “And if Vanka found the ambrosia first… Well, could it make it easier for her to hold a god? Madeline said it would take something special—”
She found all eyes staring at her in the sticky silence that followed.
“Tell us about this Madeline,” Azrael said quietly. His face had gone unreadable again.
Isela flushed. She wasn’t sure what Madeline was, but after all she had seen, she was positive Madeline wasn’t quite human. She was also sure that, until this moment, the librarian had managed to somehow remain below the radar of the necromancer.
Only Azrael’s eyes never left Isela’s. Little wolf. We made a bargain.
Isela tried to keep her face still as her mental voice strained with desperation. She has been my friend and my guide.
Then tell me what she is and how—
Isela sighed. I don’t know. But she’s part of my family at the Academy. If we must involve her, please let me handle it. She trusts me.
“Madeline is a librarian,” she said aloud, spreading her palms to indicate the perceived harmlessness of the occupation. “For the Academy.”
“She seems to know quite a lot,” Dante murmured. “Perhaps, Azrael, I might have a conversation with her. Two old librarians might have a thing or two to talk about.”
Gregor’s nostrils flared. “I say we bring her here and extract the necessary information. No time for a palaver, old man.”
“Isela will go.” Azrael spoke to Dante, ignoring his second. “To earn her goodwill. Assure her that no harm will come to her if she cooperates.”
“Master,” Gregor growled.
“You will escort them,” Azrael interrupted. “For the protection of my consort.”
And if the w
oman does not comply… Isela barely needed to hear the finished sentence in her head. You will bring her here for questioning.
Gregor looked satisfied, if not entirely pleased. Dory objected to being left behind, but on that Azrael and Isela agreed.
“You’re still healing,” Azrael said. “And I don’t want Isela distracted by your pain. Not until both of you are strong enough to manage it. The Academy is secure and the city is clean. Gregor will be fine.”
Dory looked miserable, and Isela squeezed his forearm. “She’s just a librarian. You won’t miss anything exciting, I promise.”
“Madame Barbara.” Azrael’s eyes turned to Bebe and she sat up.
“It’s just Barbara, sir,” she said. “Or Bebe—that’s what everyone calls me.”
Azrael nodded. “I have already taken much of your time, but I must ask one more favor before you rejoin your coven.”
Toby pricked his ears, pressing his fur close to Bebe’s thigh. Her hand slid to his back.
“And of your mate.” Azrael inclined his head. “Will you also meet with this librarian?” He said the title with an edge of disbelief. “I would appreciate your expertise in assessing exactly what she is and her intentions in the city. If any information she provides is useful to the coven to determine how best to protect the city, that would also be appreciated.”
To her credit, Bebe kept her usually animated face still. Mostly. Her brows ticked upward slightly.
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
“Azrael,” he said, giving up on formality.
“Bebe.” She corrected him with a smile.
Well, that could have gone worse, Isela thought, crouching behind one of the overturned massive oak desks as another chair hurtled by.
Dante, crouched across the aisle behind another table with Toby and Bebe, peered around the table legs. He looked delighted. I’m not sure how.
“Maddie, I’m sorry. I had no choice,” Isela repeated in the lull between the librarian’s attacks.
“There is always a choice, Isela!”
Isela barely recognized the voice coming from the other side of the room. The musical patois of her accent had been replaced by what sounded like a choir of angry old ladies.
They’d taken Madeline by surprise, which Isela had both hoped for and dreaded. The tightness in her own chest flared as she saw the amiable greeting fade from Madeline’s face at the sight of Isela’s company.
Gregor had been no help, striding in like he expected to find the place crawling with zombies. Isela would speak to Azrael about the wisdom of sending a machine gun on a diplomatic mission later. At the sight of him, Madeline had shrieked in unearthly sexagenarian harmony before leaping from behind her dais to the wall, scuttling upward in a blur of motion. Isela admitted to staring slack jawed before Dante yanked her out of the way.
“Fucking spider,” Gregor swore, drawing his black blade and 9mm as he shadowed her progress on the wall.
“Arachnea—of course!” Dante straightened, forgetting his cover.
Isela tugged him back. “A what?” Isela’s attention whipped back at the gunshots that drowned out Dante’s explanation. “Don’t hurt her!”
Madeline doubled back as Gregor hurried to cut her off. He kicked a rug out of the corner, revealing a trapdoor. “They always have a back way out.”
Madeline screamed rage, scuttling back the way she’d come. Isela registered her familiar form, but Gold revealed something many-eyed and limbed beneath.
“Spider,” she murmured, entranced as the librarian slung herself from the wall to the chandelier, a thin thread of silk glittering behind her.
Isela and Dante crossed the room to join Gregor. His eyes never left the woman who was now spinning thin strands of silk into a web from the chandelier.
“I never thought I’d actually see one.” Dante sounded almost ecstatic, palms pressed together as he watched her work.
“I’d hoped I’d never see another.” The corner of Gregor’s mouth dragged downward. “Well, dancer?”
“We need her help.”
The librarian looked up from her web, and Isela had the impression that there were far more eyes turned on her than she could actually see. She experimented with initiating Gold’s vision, and rows of shiny black eyes surrounded by soft dark fur became visible.
Good job, Issy. You’re learning.
“Ungrateful child,” the choir voice chittered. “You bring this mercenary into my refuge.”
The librarian dropped to the floor, startling Isela. Even at a distance, she seemed larger than before. Isela swallowed hard.
“We mean you no harm.” Isela held up her palms. “But there are two necromancers planning—”
The nascent web trembled with the force of her rage. “My purpose is older than the children too foolish to use the grace in their blood for anything other than power struggles.”
Isela dimly registered Gregor moving in the corner of her eye. Her attention was on the glittering white ball attached to thread arcing toward her. Didn’t some spiders throw their webs at their prey, her brain wondered belatedly.
Gregor hit her a heartbeat before the web did. He flung Isela aside as it snared his arm, yanking him backward. She landed with an airless “oof” against the bookshelves. Gregor rebounded quickly, slicing the sticky web free from its tether. Madeline swung a chair at him. It struck a glancing blow as she scuttled away. He paused, trying to free himself from the remnants of the web.
Dante darted across the space to help Isela into a sitting position.
“They are only aggressive when threatened,” he said, fixing his glasses. “But the web is problematic.”
Gregor swore again as he backed into a defensive position between Madeline and the exits.
Whatever she was, Madeline still considered herself the keeper of priceless treasures. She never threw a single book. The furniture was fair game though. Isela and Dante turned the two tables closest to the dais on their sides to form a barricade against the assault of paperweights, chairs, and balls of sticky web.
Isela scanned their group—Toby and Bebe crouched behind the other table. Gregor freed himself from the last of the webbing, murder in his eyes. She had to do something.
“Wise Madeline, spinner of the webs of knowledge and history of the world, hear me.” Bebe’s voice rang out as she rose from behind the table.
“Bebe, get down,” Isela hissed.
But Dante grabbed Isela’s arm and pressed a finger to his lips for silence.
“I’ve no love for your kind, little witch.” The angry choir chided. “Take your familiar and leave this place.”
Toby’s jaws snapped, but Bebe ignored him.
“The city you are sworn to protect needs your help,” Bebe said. “She is in danger, and without you she may be lost.”
Madeline appeared from the shelter of the dais, her gaze on the witch.
Bebe didn’t move forward, but her arms spread wide and her focus was solely on the woman in front of her. Tendrils of Madeline’s silver-gray hair had floated free around her face. Her small wire-rimmed glasses hung askew on the plump bosom that heaved wildly.
“You are guardian of her walls, as far as they extend, are you not?” Bebe said.
“Wise little one, you know your histories,” Madeline said, but the venom had gone out of her voice. She sounded almost admiring. “Unusual for someone so young.”
Bebe dipped her chin once in solemn acknowledgment of the compliment. “I am the scribe of my coven. I aspire to one day attain a glimmer of the greatness of your long memory and record keeping.”
Smart, Dante thought beside her. Like all old things, she responds well to respect from younger beings.
“Ah, a daughter of the Word.” Though Madeline had not physically transformed, her movement was almost human again. She adjusted her glasses on the chain around her neck, smoothing her blouse.
Isela’s mouth canted up at the corner. Bebe’s always been a diplomat.
; Out of the corner of her eye, Isela glimpsed a ripple of black and the smoky afterimage of a blade near the wall. She scanned the table across the aisle in time to see a flash of gray fur tipped with black disappear into the stacks.
Bebe had drawn Madeline into the early bits of a conversation, an apparent exchange of arcane knowledge about bookbinding. Isela tuned the conversation out, searching with Gold’s senses until she located Tobias and Gregor. They’d split up and were making their way around the perimeter of the room.
Don’t do anything stupid—
Isela popped up from behind the table in time to see Tobias launch himself at what he assumed was the librarian’s blind spot as Gregor lunged. Madeline screeched, flinging a ball of web behind her as she scuttled sideways, dodging Gregor’s grab by inches.
The web hit Toby square in the muzzle, blinding him. He crashed into the dais, bounced off the polished wood, and skidded across the floor. Bebe shrieked, running toward the wolf.
Gregor faced Madeline, naked sword bared. Her second web ball snatched the gun from his hand. She flung web after web at him. He ducked most, batted away a few, and sliced through rest. Whatever effect the web had on living things, his blade seemed impervious.
Bebe crouched over the thrashing body of the wolf. Her fingers tore at the thick, sticky netting on his face but that only left her stuck to him. The wolf’s movements grew more erratic. A horrible, pleading snarl stuck in his throat.
Isela snapped. Her palms flicked forward as the hair on her body rose, taking most everything that was not nailed to the floor with it. That included Gregor and Madeline. Two of the heavy chairs cartwheeled through the air. Madeline tried to move away, but without any purchase, she swam in place. The chairs struck the librarian and soldier square, pinning them to opposite walls under the seats.
“Issy!” Bebe screamed. “He can’t breathe!”
Isela’s skin crackled gold as she turned to the limp wolf. His paws twitched faintly as Bebe sobbed, her hands stuck to his muzzle and unable to either help or free herself.
Dancer's Flame (Grace Bloods Book 2) Page 26
