Mercenary

by Jennifer Blackstream

  “Shade?!”

  “What?” I yelled into the phone.

  The EMT working on Peasblossom tensed, but didn’t stop singing and didn’t take her attention from Peasblossom. The other EMTs loading the surviving carnies into the second ambulance stared.

  I scowled and turned my back to them. “I’m here, and I heard you. Bring the contract to the apartment.”

  “Now,” Flint said evenly.

  I held the phone away from my ear long enough to glare at it, then put it back to my ear. “Peasblossom’s wings were broken in the fight. The EMT is working on her. I’ll be there as soon as she’s done.”

  “Are you defying me?”

  “Defying you?” I echoed. My free hand curled into a fist. “Are you saying you want me to leave now—without my familiar?” I gritted my teeth. “And here you’ve always been so clear that you want your property to be at peak performance.”

  “As if a lame pixie could possibly add to your performance.”

  It was through sheer force of will alone that I resisted the urge to hurl the phone as far away from me as I could, oath or no oath. My pulse pounded so loud in my ears, I almost missed what he said next.

  “Where are you?”

  “At the National Acme Building. I’ll be there in—”

  “I’m sending a cab. Watch for it.”

  He ended the call.

  I stared at the phone, my hand shaking and my mouth opening and closing without managing to form any words. Even for Flint, that had been cold.

  It took over twenty minutes for the EMT to finish with Peasblossom. Mostly, she helped with the pain. Her wings were too delicate and too small for a brace, and for the most part, only time would heal them all the way. The sort of magic that regrew that many bones all in one sitting were beyond even the Otherworld EMTs.

  My chest tightened as she handed me a sleepy Peasblossom.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked, heading for the cab that had pulled up five minutes ago.

  “My wings hurt,” Peasblossom said in a tiny voice.

  I stopped and frowned. “The healer said you were okay. Didn’t she do a proper job?” I raised my voice a little, infusing it with hope. “Is this something a few honey packets could fix?”

  Peasblossom smiled sleepily. “Maybe a few.”

  I smiled and climbed into the waiting cab. “Good. You help yourself. Bizbee, encourage her to keep it under five packets.”

  “I’ll not be withholding good food when the lass needs to recoup her strength,” the grig chastised me. He grabbed the zipper and closed the pouch. “Ye just mind yers,” he said, his voice muffled.

  As always seemed to be the case, I didn’t feel the full weight of exhaustion until I sat still for ten minutes. The cab’s interior was just warm enough to weigh down my eyelids and soak into my sore muscles. By the time I was walking up the stairs to my apartment, I was ready to have a honey packet and head to bed myself.

  I fumbled with my keys, already entertaining images of hurling the contract at Flint and making myself a giant cup of tea. Let him deal with the vampire. Let him be Barbara’s hero as he strode triumphantly into the hospital room to wake her husband. That’s all he cared about anyway. Connections.

  A tiny voice inside my head chastised me, reminding me that there was no guarantee Flint would break the contract. For all I knew, he wanted the contract so he could control Roger. Or Barbara. Really, what did he care if Roger died? After all, he’d said she could run things herself if—

  I stopped, biting my lip as I looked at the door. It sounded like something Flint would do. Let Roger die and form a partnership with Barbara. Conveniently put himself in an influential position.

  He never said I couldn’t tell anyone about the contract.

  I took out my phone and sent a quick text to Anton Winters. There. Now he knew I’d found the contract, and he knew it had been Ian all along. Let Flint worry about it now.

  The unfamiliar smell of the apartment tried to suffocate me when I crossed the threshold, but I pushed it away. Maybe now that the case was over, Flint would let me go home. I glared at a mixture of knickknacks and art around my living space that had not been there before. Some were things Flint had brought in to make the place look like my home, some he’d obviously put here because he liked them. Like the sensual art, and ridiculous sculptures that didn’t look like anything.

  It wasn’t until I was halfway into the room that I realized Scath was staring at the bedroom door.

  I stilled. “Flint?”

  A man stepped out of the room. Not Flint.

  Ian Walsh.

  Chapter 26

  Panic ripped my magic to the surface, and the word for a spell burned on my mouth, but I wasn’t fast enough. Ian had a weapon raised—pointed at Scath. The feline snarled, but even she wasn’t fast enough this time.

  The gun went off and the air filled with the hiss of tiny metal slivers. Scath screamed, a bloodcurdling feline sound, and collapsed on the floor. Blood pooled underneath her, smeared into a large red stain as she thrashed. Bile rose in my throat, and I hit my knees, vomiting what little was in my stomach, barely missing the cat sith. Her dark fur made it hard to see what had been done to her. When I did see, my blood ran cold and I fought the urge to vomit again.

  Iron slivers. He’d shot her with some sort of buckshot, only they weren’t steel balls, they were iron splinters. Scath was covered in them, and the iron ate at her flesh, hissing as they burned. The more I stared, the more I felt her pain, my imagination supplying all the gory detail for me to experience it as if I were the one being poisoned with the dark metal. I put my hands on her side, letting her blood coat my palms as I pressed my magic into her, stabilized her in a desperate effort to keep her heart beating.

  Ian kept the weapon trained on me. But when he spoke, he sounded as if we were old friends who’d just run into one another by chance getting a cup of tea.

  “I’ve heard rumors about you,” he said conversationally. “I must admit, I dismissed them at first. I hope you’ll take no offense, but when I heard that Mother Hazel’s apprentice had decided to try her hand at crime-fighting of all things, I thought that surely it must be a joke.” He tilted his head. “But here you are. Deeper into my affairs then I ever thought possible. How is that?”

  Scath stopped screaming. Her breathing was labored, and she slumped on the floor, conserving her energy. She couldn’t heal, not with the iron in her flesh like that. Too much iron.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I said numbly, wiping my mouth with the hem of my shirt. “She’ll die.”

  “Gods willing, yes,” Ian agreed. “But of course I had to do it. This beast has saved your life before, I have no reason to think she wouldn’t do it again. And how am I to be sure you’ll take my threat seriously, if I know that somewhere in the back of your mind, you think the beast is going to save you?”

  “If you think I’m going to hand over the contract now, then you’re out of your mind.” Anger heated my voice until every word burned my lips. My magic thrashed inside me like a living thing, ready and eager to lash out. The exhaustion that had been so overwhelming a moment ago was nothing more than a memory. In that moment, I thought of Flint, thought of all his lessons. Fighting wasn’t just about strength. It was about scaring your opponent. Getting in their head.

  “I already contacted Anton.” I thought of what Anton would do to Ian for his attempted deception, and I let it show in my eyes. “He knows you’re the one who bound Roger, and he knows you lied. He knows you went out of your way to frame Aaban.”

  “It’s a shame that Arianne forced you to tell him such lies,” Ian said, following the sad announcement with a soft tsking sound. “But then, it’s understandable. After all, the sorceress is mad with grief, determined not to believe that the men she trusted killed her centaur friend. And her powers and hatred for you is well known.”

  “Anton won’t believe that.”

  “I think he will.” He ge
stured at me with the gun. “The contract, please.”

  I shook my head. “You’ll kill me anyway. I see no reason to give you what you want.”

  “You know, movies have really poisoned the well,” Ian muttered. “There was a time if you told someone you’d let them live and killed them anyway, there was no one around to ruin your good name.”

  “Not that you would lie,” I reminded him. “You have a wizard for that.”

  “I used to.”

  I stared at him. “You killed Stavros too.”

  Ian shrugged. “He did fail me rather spectacularly.”

  So the wizard was dead. Pity the magic of the contract didn’t die with him. “I’m not working alone. It’s only a matter of time before someone shows up.”

  “If you’re referring to your werewolf partner, then he’s still overseeing the fallen wolf. My agent informs me that he’s taken him to one of the pack safe houses.” Ian frowned. “He’ll regret that decision. Edwin is a broken man, in more ways than one.”

  Something shifted behind his eyes. “And if you’re speaking of Flint, then let me assure you he is otherwise engaged. The man is annoying in his tenacity, but sadly predictable in far too many ways.”

  I stood up and glanced out the window, noting the growing shadows. “It’s almost sunset. Anton should be calling me any minute.”

  “Then you’d better hand over the contract so we can be finished.”

  “No.”

  Ian sighed. “Let me clarify something for you. I don’t need the contract. I have one for the vampire, one with someone else’s name on it. And Roger is going to die soon. With his death, the contract will be nothing but a sheet of paper, with no magic to test. The contract you possess is merely a precaution.”

  I shook my head, my palm tingling with the spell as it coalesced in my mind. I had to stop him. If I could hurt him, just bad enough to buy some time for the vampire to—

  Ian pulled the trigger. I didn’t see the projectiles, but I felt every one of them. A hundred cuts, so fine, and so sharp that they didn’t hurt right away. They didn’t hurt until they bled. The pain and shock stole my breath and for a moment I just stood there, bleeding. Feeling the warm liquid from my own body wet my cheeks, drip down my scalp, soak into my clothes.

  Ian tapped a finger on the trigger. “This weapon of yours is quite remarkable. Though if you’ll forgive the observation, hiding it under the bed was a novice mistake. It was the second place I looked.” He hefted the gun thoughtfully. “So much iron. I’ll admit, it makes my teeth hurt to hold it. Even with the titanium casing.”

  I stared at him, confusion slowing my thoughts. “That’s not—”

  “Let’s not waste time trading insults.” He looked down the barrel as he aimed for my heart. “I have another shot. Why don’t we avoid the unpleasantness and you just hand over the contract? If you don’t, I’ll take it anyway. And don’t think your little grig will catch me by surprise the way he did poor Trent. I’ll dump it out.”

  I shook my head, trying to breathe through the pain. Blood dripped down my lip and I spit it out. “You can’t be that stupid. Do you have any idea what I have in this thing? The potions? The weapons?” I snorted, then winced. “You’d blow yourself up or worse. Even I don’t know what all is in this thing.”

  The zipper moved to the side an inch, and a sheet of paper poked out the gap. I frowned and took the paper, smearing it with my blood. “An inventory?”

  “Partial inventory,” Bizbee corrected me. “It’s only been a day.”

  I read the list. My gaze locked on one of the oils, and my heart lifted. Flint. Bless your bossy, control freak, power hungry heart.

  “Bizbee, are you sure about this list?”

  “Are ye questioning me powers of organization?”

  He made it sound like a grave insult, but I didn’t have time to smooth his feathers. I looked at Ian and smiled, the expression slick with the blood dripping from a cut on my forehead. I wiped more blood out of my eyes, not even caring that I must look like a slime covered swamp troll crawling out from under a bridge.

  The sidhe’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “I’m going to be magnanimous and give you a head start,” I said, unable to contain my pleasure. “Run now, and maybe the vampire won’t catch you right away.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Bizbee,” I said. “Get the anti-spell oil. And the contract. If Ian tries anything, rub the oil on the contract.”

  Ian frowned. “You would destroy the binding. The contract would become mere paper, pathetically easy for me to label as a fake with no magic to tie it to Roger. You do realize that aligns rather nicely with my goal?”

  “You’re bluffing.” I smiled, feeling the blood from my split lip smearing my teeth. “You need to hold onto the contract until Roger dies.”

  I tilted my head, and the pain of the cuts suddenly didn’t matter at all. Part of it was shock, but part of it was absolute pleasure. I knelt and put my hands on Scath as if I could will my strength into her, share the pleasure of the thoughts swirling in my head. “Or do you have no problem with the fact that breaking that contract would release Roger from his binding? No problem with him being in a hospital surrounded by Anton’s guards? It wouldn’t conflict with your goals if the hospital staff realized the binding broke and woke Roger up?” I tapped my lip with one bloody finger. “I wonder what he’ll have to say.”

  Ian’s eyes paled, shifting from light blue to a glittering diamond. I watched him run through his options. But he didn’t have any. His life as he knew it was over. Anton would find out about his involvement, either when I handed it over to him, or when Bizbee destroyed it. Ian could kill me, but he’d never stop Bizbee in time. Right now, all he could do was bargain for time to get away before the vampire turned on him.

  “What do you want?”

  I nodded at Scath. “Can you heal her?”

  Ian shook his head. “No. With the iron in her body, no one can heal her.” He didn’t even look at her. “There’s too many tiny pieces. Even if I removed them, I could never get them out in time. She’ll be dead within the hour.”

  There was something in his tone that pushed my temper higher than I’d ever thought it could go. A grim satisfaction that even if I robbed him of his victory, I would suffer this loss. I could barely breathe let alone speak. “Give me the gun.”

  Ian took a step back. “I have no desire to end up like your pet. Barter for something else. Or I’ll end your life here as well, and take my chances with the vampire.”

  “Get out,” I said softly, my voice all but lost to the heat of the fire burning inside me. “Get out of my apartment, get out of my city. Get off my continent, and if at all possible, get off my planet, out of my world. I don’t ever want to see your face or hear your name again. I want to forget you exist.” I sucked in a deep breath, pressing my hands harder against Scath. “Get out now, and I’ll give you two hours before I dissolve the contract.”

  “Two hours?” Ian took a threatening step toward me, raising the gun. “You expect me to abandon everything I’ve built and run away? You’re giving me two hours head start on Anton Winters?”

  “It’s more than you deserve. And I have to think that a careful man like you would have been prepared for an eventuality like this. You must have a backup plan, an escape plan. And I can’t imagine it would take you much time to put it into action. With two hours, you might even be able to take some of your stuff with you. Maybe you won’t have to start from scratch.”

  Ian backed toward the door. “This isn’t over. I’ll see you again, Shade Renard.”

  I looked down at Scath, lying on the floor covered in blood and bits of metal. Death by iron was slow and painful. I’d stabilized her, so she’d last longer than an hour—but not by much. Ian was right. Healing from all those tiny iron slivers was all but impossible.

  “Oh, you’ll see me again,” I agreed quietly. “That’s a promise.”

  Ian slammed the do
or closed behind him, and that was all it took. Tears poured from my eyes, and I stared at the iron slivers in Scath’s body that made her look like a macabre porcupine. I picked out the slivers that I could grasp, slippery as they were, and a hysterical scream built in my throat. I couldn’t pull them all out. I couldn’t reach them all. She was going to die.

  I pulled out another sliver, then another. Too slow. There had to be a faster way.

  The door opened. Fury pulsed inside me, hot as molten lava, ready to find a target, any target, and make them pay for this loss. I registered Flint’s shocked expression a split second before I let go of the spell that would have turned him into a lightning rod. I closed my fingers into a fist, not letting the spell loose, but not dissolving it either. It was his fault too. He was the one who put me on this case, who put me in the path of that monster.

  Flint read my expression with his usual skill. I watched the realization dawn on him, watched a flicker of fear cross his hazel eyes as he realized I hovered on the edge of a very serious decision.

  “How can I help?” he asked quietly.

  I opened my mouth to say there was nothing he could do. Nothing but die a slow, horrible death like the one Scath faced. Then an idea struck, as sudden as the lightning spell I’d planned for my master.

  “Get a blanket out of the bedroom and wrap her up,” I said. “We need to get her to the Chiron.”

  I must have sounded as scary as I felt, because he did as I asked without question. In the blink of an eye he was standing beside me with the comforter in hand. “If you can put her to sleep, then this will be easier,” he said, wrapping Scath in the blanket.

  My hands were shaking, and the urge to throw up made my mouth water. I crawled around so I could look in Scath’s eyes, every movement a sharp reminder that she wasn’t the only one who’d been turned into a pin cushion. But the iron wouldn’t kill me.

  “Somnum,” I whispered.