Once it’s upright again, the golem charges at me. I brace for impact and catch it by the arms, but go sliding backward, my toe claws gouging the floor. Eaves mutters something else and a fiery detonation occurs between me and the rock man, blasting us apart. The detonation hits me like a baseball bat striking an armored vest and almost (but not quite) knocks the wind out of me. I cough up smoke. If he aims that one better, he might hurt me from the impact force, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Idiot. You can’t burn me.” I’m sorely tempted to show him what a real firebolt looks like, but one, I need information, and two, I’m still an extreme novice at that. I’m not sure I can even get it to work in the middle of a fight yet, and it’s so damn tiring.
Looking away from the golem long enough to verbally snipe at Eaves costs me a stone fist to the side of the head. I spin with the hit and take a few steps to the side before landing bent over the long table on the right, knocking two jars and a bunch of candles to the floor.
The golem lumbers up behind me, fist raised. Grunting, I push myself up into a spin and hammer the construct in the face. It totters backward, but keeps its balance. While it’s occupied trying not to fall over, I claw at its chest, but leave only tiny white lines on the stone.
After landing a left hook across its cheek, I spot another glowing mark on its forehead. Unlike the one in the closet, this one’s not a sigil. It’s more like a word made of four non-English letters. Something clicks in my mind that Natalie said ages ago. Glyph magic lasts forever―unless something damages the carving/painting/ink.
I lunge in at it, punching it in the chest with my left as a distraction while raking my claws at its forehead.
“No!” shouts Eaves, and mutters something arcane.
I try to keep him in sight while pressing my attack on the golem’s forehead. It pounds me in the shoulder, which knocks me to one knee. My arm throbs, but it’s still attached. The instant I stand again, a metallic clatter comes from Eaves’ direction.
Black chains sheathed in green light fly like serpents from his outstretched hands and coil around me, pinning my arms. An odd sense of heaviness presses on my mind, probably from the eerie green glow, but whatever it’s trying to do, the effect is only a mild, annoying distraction. The golem grabs me, clamping its stony hands over my arms where the bundle of chain wraps over my elbows. It lifts me off my feet and starts trying to crush me. I can’t reach its face anymore with my arms trapped, and all the strength I’m throwing at trying to break free isn’t doing anything.
“Amari!” yells Lawrence.
The mage tosses a firebolt at him, but Lawrence hits the deck, suffering only a mild burn on the outside of his right arm.
I growl something inhuman, staring at the glowing letters on the golem’s forehead.
Eaves disregards Lawrence and laughs at me. “Aha. Got you.”
If only I could reach the damn glyph. I grunt, struggling to force my arms apart, but manage only to stalemate the golem trying to squeeze me to death. Pretty sure without that chain, I’m stronger than this thing. How warped is that? Something swats me in the leg.
Fuck. I’m an idiot.
I thrust my tail up between my legs, and jam the bladed tip straight into the middle of the golem’s forehead, since it’s holding me obligingly high off the ground. Orange sparks crackle around the lettering. Eaves’ eyes go wide with alarm; he ducks behind his desk. Shit, this thing is going to explode, isn’t it? At least it’s stopped moving. I curl up in a ball and drive both feet into its chest, flinging it over backward while launching myself out of its grip.
We land at the same time, both flat on our backs.
Did I mention I hate being tied up? I hated it as a kid being arrested, and I hate it even more now when someone’s trying to kill me. Scratching at the chains with my claws doesn’t help, but I get a grip on one and yank hard while again pushing outward with my elbows. Straining becomes grunting, which advances to growling.
With a thunderbolt-like crack, the chain bursts into a spray of shrapnel, individual links flying everywhere. One by one, the glowy green aura around the ink-black chain bits fades away. The faint fogginess in my head clears.
Sparks shoot from the golem’s head with greater intensity. Sensing imminent doom, I leap to my feet and rush toward the door, trying to put my body between Lawrence and death.
Boom.
The golem goes off like a bomb and a concussion wave hurls me forward. Clunks from stones hitting wood come from everywhere. Clicks from stone darts bouncing off my armored ass sound a lot closer. A few fleshy thuds emanate from my left and right along with a metric shitload of pain.
When I open my eyes, I find myself standing in the doorway, clinging by claws to the doorjamb. My wings, stretched out to either side, are functionally stapled to the walls through the thin membrane by several dozen stone daggers. Holy crap this hurts. I think I’m crying.
What sucks even more is that I know I can’t stand here vulnerable, especially with my back to the mage. I chant ‘I will heal’ over and over in my head a few times before bracing against the doorframe and pushing myself backward. The stone shards stay put, firmly planted in the wood, but wing membrane pulls off them, every wound widening and scraping. My leathery bits tear in a few places. The pain is so bad, I let out an anguished roar. The last two, farthest at the edges, bring more tears to my eyes when they rip loose, and I’m free.
My roar seems to have stunned Craig and left Lawrence with his hands clamped over his ears. I stomp across the room and pick the mage up by a two-fisted grip of his pink button-down shirt. I’m definitely stronger in this form. Maybe I could’ve thrown that Civic across the street like this. Lifting this guy isn’t even taxing.
“Where’s Morris?” I growl. “And if I even think you’re trying to invoke magic, I’m going to tear your arms off.”
Eaves shakes.
I bump him into the wall a few times to jog his memory.
“I don’t know. Morris is only the guy who brought me the crystal to work on and picked it up after. I did the job as a favor to Vittorino because I thought it would be helpful to have them friendly later on. I have no idea why they wanted it or what they intended to burn with it.”
Lawrence, still a bit dazed, walks over. He gives me another wide-eyed stare before swatting dust out of his hair. “It all circles back to Michael. Sad thing is, this guy’s not really all that involved, but he’s probably going to go down harder. Unless the Mob pays him back that favor with a lawyer. Oh, and he did try to kill you.”
Craig emits a strangled laugh. “You’re not going to take this to court. They’ll be as sympathetic to you as they are to magic users.”
“Now what?” I ask.
Lawrence pulls out his phone. “Now, we write a detailed report. We’re not the police. We have no powers of arrest.”
“This guy tried to kill me!” I shake the mage until he gurgles.
“Technically, the golem tried to kill you,” mutters Craig.
“Firebolts? That exploding thing?” I shake my head. “Directed attack.”
“That you’re immune to,” parries Craig, sounding a bit more confident. “It’s not a threat to you, so it won’t count for charges.”
Lawrence moans. “I hate arcane shit. The law’s so damn muddy. Does intent count even if it had no way to harm you?”
“He made the golem, and he told it to drazh me. And I don’t think that’s Czechoslovakian for ‘make her a nice tea and biscuit.’ The golem existed by his magic so it counts―”
“Azhdre Morh!” shouts Craig.
Before the words ‘I’m gonna rip his arms off’ can even form in my head, a blinding white flash accompanies an explosion that hurls me off my feet. The next thing I know, I’m lying on my back with quite a bit of former house laying on top of me. Beams, some shingles, a couple boards.
I’m sore, but nothing hurts.
“Oh, that’s it. This isn’t even going to make it to court.” I
fling the beam off and stand.
Craig’s sprawled on the deck outside by the pool, arms and legs spread like he’s making a snow angel. A potion bottle held only by his lips drains a cherry-red liquid into his mouth. That bottle’s about to go into another hole.
I make it three steps toward him before a pained moan emanates from the room behind me.
Lawrence lays curled up on his side clutching a broom handle-sized shard of wood that’s impaled him in the gut and sticks out his back. He looks like he got into a fistfight with a pack of bears and lost. I can’t even count the cuts.
“Oh, crap.” I run to him. “Lawrence!”
Craig wobbles to his feet and spits the potion bottle to the side. Gripping his right thigh, he limp-runs around the pool, scurrying off into the trees.
“Get him,” wheezes Lawrence. “I’m okay.”
I watch Craig for two seconds before taking a knee by Lawrence. “No. You’re not.”
can’t let Lawrence die. Someone can track down Eaves later on, but if I don’t do something now, Lawrence will never wind up sipping funny-colored drinks on a Florida beach. I’ve had enough training to know that yanking out a giant impaling object like that will only hurt him more. That’s for the doctors and/or Lifemages to do. I shorten it with my claws to make it easier to move him at least.
As gently as I can, I get my arms under him and lift. “Hang on, man. I’m gonna get you to help.”
He moans past gritted teeth. Seeing him in agony fans my rage, but I have to stuff it back down. If I ever find Eaves again, he’s not going to need to worry about what a judge thinks of him.
“Sorry if this hurts a little.”
Again, Lawrence moans.
I jog a few steps while stretching my wings. When I leap into the air, he stifles a wail. My flight is magical in nature and the wings are more of a steering mechanism-slash-parachute. In my fully-shifted form, it feels like I’m even stronger in regard to flying. When I carried Dunn out of the hotel, I hadn’t understood anything about how it worked. Now that I’ve had some practice, carrying a grown man is no big deal.
The sun makes it relatively easy to steer east toward Philadelphia, and I pour as much desire as I can into going fast. A chilly gale hits me in the face like I’m on a motorcycle without a windscreen, but it doesn’t get in the way of me seeing. Habit makes my wings beat every so often, but mostly, I glide on air currents and magic.
A few minutes after we’re underway, he passes out.
“Come on, Lawrence. Stay with me. You’re gonna make it.”
He doesn’t react.
Grief tears dribble out of the corners of my eyes, forced back over my cheeks in the wind.
“You still got ten years left before you can retire. Florida beaches and those weird drinks, man.”
A weak smile appears on his face.
Whew.
I lean into the flight, trying to claw and scrape up every scrap of speed I can find. All the while, I keep talking about Florida, or babble about how I think I’m half-human and half-something from another plane.
“I know you don’t like magic and enchanted things, but you don’t need to be afraid of me. Don’t worry about anything but staying with me, okay? We’re hauling ass. I think I can outrun a medical helicopter. I’m gonna get you to Temple U Hospital.”
He murmurs a not-word.
“Forget Craig. I’m not letting you die.”
A glimmer of gold-white off to the left rises up from the ground and angles toward us. For a moment, I wonder if someone fired a surface-to-air missile at us, but as the comet draws closer, I make out the form of a blonde woman with white, feathered wings, the source of the dazzling light.
Mythology associates angels with healing, but Elestari aren’t angels. I also don’t have time to waste on another prissy, stuck-up snob right now.
The Elestari gains on us with enough ease that I get worried. Are they better in the air, or is carrying Lawrence slowing me down that much?
“What are you doing?” shouts the woman once she’s closed enough distance to be heard.
Her eyes are gemstone red, and radiate light like mine though they still look human. She’s about my age, has a skimpy white toga-like garment that covers her breasts and body, extending down her legs enough to hide her naughty bits―as long as she doesn’t bend at all.
I ignore her, continuing to focus on speed.
The Elestari pulls up alongside and enough above me that our wings don’t smack together. She seems to be flapping a lot more.
“You’re being reckless,” she shouts. “Someone will see you! Your kind are always so impetuous.”
Shoot me now. She sounds like a spoiled rich girl throwing a wobbly over a store running out of perfume.
The woman gasps. “And what are you doing with that human? That’s cruel!” She pulls a slender sword, also silver-and-gold, out of thin air and points it at me. “I’m not going to let you drag him off to wherever you’re taking him to finish your evil work. Put him down this instant.”
I blink. I guess what they say about blondes has some truth to it. “You do realize we’re like five hundred feet up. If I drop him… Look, sweetie, I don’t give a fuck about being obvious right now. Lawrence is going to die, and I have to get him to a hospital. If someone sees me, oh well.”
“What?” She gawks at me. The sword dissipates in a flash of sparkles. “You’re helping him?”
“Yes, I’m helping him. I’m not like you. They’re not ants to me.”
The girl pouts. “We’re not all like that. Some of us take care of the humans. They’re so cute and defenseless. You’re really his friend?”
“Yes.” I roll my―no I don’t. My eyes are glowing pools of energy. Can’t really roll them.
“I’m Laniah.” She holds out a hand.
I disregard her offer to shake―mostly because I can’t―and keep flying.
Gold light swells into a sphere upon her palm, and she throws it into Lawrence’s chest. Some of his smaller cuts disappear.
Oh, she wasn’t offering a handshake.
“That should keep him until you can get to a Lifemage,” says Laniah. “What’s your name?”
Really? She’s trying to be BFFs now? A minute ago, she wanted to stab me.
“Brooklyn.”
“Nice to meet you. Sorry about assuming.” Laniah waves and pulls off to the left.
She goes into a steep dive, and soon becomes a comet of light, too far away to make out her body. Well, that was special. Lawrence is still breathing, which makes me feel somewhat better.
Philadelphia is obvious from the air. I know the approximate location of Temple University Hospital, and a giant, tall building stands out. As soon as I spot it, I zero in on the square, white helipad on the roof and dive.
There’s no one up here, which gives me a moment of surprising relief. Naked is a lot easier to explain than being a seven-and-a-half foot tall critter with horns, wings, and a tail, so I shift back to human form as soon as we touch down. Not even my boots survived the explosion. Well, no time to worry about that now.
I run down a ramp from the helipad, which hooks a right angle turn by a wall and continues to a heavy, automatic door on the left. Sorry for not radioing in before landing. I use my foot to hit the metal button beside the door, which opens on a mechanical arm, and rush in carrying Lawrence. Even in my normal form, he’s not much of a burden.
The hallway opens into a receiving area and an elevator on the left. A single man staffs a desk, and he looks up with a startled expression.
“Lawrence needs help. We got caught in an explosion.”
He mashes his hand on something out of sight and holds a phone to his ear. “Need a doctor and a trauma team at the helipad, stat.”
“Hang on, man,” I whisper to Lawrence. “We’re at the hospital. You’re gonna be okay.”
“How’d you get on the roof?” asks the guy behind the desk.
I look up from Lawrence and make eye con
tact with the man. “It was a big explosion.”
wind up warming a bed in the hospital for about an hour after their security staff asked me to stay. Since I don’t look injured and I’m not complaining about anything, I get the ‘she can wait’ treatment. Eventually, a doctor walks in. People only see Lifemages if they’re as messed up as Lawrence. Mostly, doctors deal with the minor stuff, except in more rural areas where there aren’t any mages.
“So, it says here you somehow wound up on the roof naked?” He looks up from his e-tablet. “And blamed an explosion?”
I pick at the hem of the hospital gown they gave me. “I think you ought to give that guy a brain scan. His sense of humor isn’t working.”
The doctor grins, stifling a laugh. “All right, so how did you wind up on the roof?”
“How’s Lawrence?”
“As far as I know, still in surgery.”
“Wait? Surgery? No mage?” I lean forward, mouth open in surprise.
“His condition wasn’t that severe.” The doctor pulls up a chair and sits. “The mages usually take care of missing limbs, failing organs, cancer, genetic defects, that sort of thing. Issues that doctors cannot address, or when doing so would require pain and suffering as bad or worse than the condition.”
“Oh. I thought they did everything big.” I swish my feet side to side. “Good to know. And I’m not hurt. The explosion was magical in nature, and about all it did to me was blast my clothes off.”
His expression shifts to concern. “That’s an odd effect. Were you attacked?”
“Yeah, but not like that. It wasn’t a perv. I don’t understand how magic works really.” I explain how Lawrence and I went out to this place to interview a suspect in an arson investigation, who turned out to be a mage. I’m mostly honest except for my shape-change. In the version I tell the doctor, I got a hold of a dagger and gouged the golem after a few close calls ducking its fists. “I found an enchanted feather that gave me wings when I used it, but they disappeared when I landed.”
He nods, adding notes to a file on his e-tablet. The usual questions follow: do I feel strange, headache, dizziness, soreness, etc. After that, he checks my eyes and heart rate, and declares me fit.
Nascent Shadow (Temporal Armistice Book 1) Page 16
