Magic Burns

by Ilona Andrews

  Red had said that reeve hair grabbed like a lasso. The hair was only active during a magic wave. Then the reeves attacked my apartment, also during the magic wave. And finally, they struck at me just when the magic wave had ended. It was as if an invisible magic scent somehow stained Red, then Julie, then me, and the reeves followed it like hounds.

  Red, Julie, me. Was there a pattern here? What could’ve connected us all? Perhaps Red became polluted with some weird residual magic. Julie touched Red, and I touched Julie, transferring the traces onto myself. But residual magic usually didn’t survive technology, and the magic had been shifting like crazy.

  Maybe I was thinking about it wrong. Maybe the reeves were tracking something specific. Something that exuded a definite power signature. Something that only acted up during the magic waves, a beacon like Whomper. Something that passed from Red to Julie and from Julie to me. But what?

  The monisto. Red gave it to Julie, and Julie gave it to me.

  I pulled the necklace out and tried to examine it, glancing at the road once in a while. A simple cord, knotted together from dirty shoelaces. There were probably two dozen coins on it. Let’s see, a Kennedy half-dollar, a quarter, a twenty-peso coin, a Georgia peach quarter—wow, rare, a token from the mall carousel with a little horse on it, a Chinese coin with a square hole in the middle—where did he get this one? A miniature, dollar-sized CD marked Axe Grinder III, a video game maybe? A rough disk with a loop in the center to pass the cord through. A Republica NC Pilipinas coin, Philippines? A little triangular charm with a loop on top, inscribed with an Egyptian hieroglyphic symbol. A round coin, too worn to determine if anything was on it originally. A square bronze charm with a rune on it. A Jefferson nickel…

  One of those was special. Which one? It would have to be one of the older-looking ones. Of course, with my luck, the Shepherd could be a crazy numismatist just dying for a Kennedy fifty-cent piece. Maybe I could set a trap with a handful of change. Here, Shepherd, here boy, look, I have a Susan B. Anthony dollar, you know you want it.

  I put the monisto away. I could stare at it all night trying to pinpoint the reeve magnet, or I could just ask Julie, the human m-scanner extraordinaire, which one felt weird to her. If I was right.

  I felt no protective spells on the monisto. Perhaps Red found something that belonged to the Shepherd, a charm, a magic trinket. More likely, he stole it and added it to the monisto to hide it. Unfortunately, the object emitted magic, and whoever carried the monisto became an instant reeve magnet. If I was right, Red had realized he was being tracked, and he handed that thing to Julie knowing that the reeves would return to claim it. He didn’t give it to her to protect her. He gave it to her to shift the focus off himself, to point them to a new target. Kid or not, that was a lousy thing to do.

  By the time I pulled up in front of my apartment building, I was pissed enough to thrash him. Red was a problem. Julie loved him beyond all reason, and he pretty much used her whichever way he wanted. I tied the reins to one of the posts in a metal row set up for precisely that purpose. Something was seriously wrong with Red. I understood why: because he was on the street, alone, hungry, bullied, left to fend for himself. But I’d known street kids that grew up into people with a decent moral code. I had a feeling Red’s moral code consisted of one line: Red does best for Red.

  I ran up three flights of stairs to my apartment only to find a solid door blocking the way. I had no key.

  I ran down to the first floor and banged on the super’s door. “Mr. Patel?”

  Mr. Patel was the nicest super I had ever had to deal with…and also the slowest. Brown like a walnut, with sleepy, heavy-lidded eyes, he moved with luxurious leisure, too dignified to accelerate. Trying to nag him into hurrying up would slow him down to the speed of chilled molasses. It took him a good five minutes to find the key ring, after which he proceeded to climb the stairs with venerable decorum. By the time he finally opened the door and deposited the right key into my palm, I was dancing in place with frustration.

  I ran into the apartment, grabbed Esmeralda’s books, ran out, slapping the door shut behind me, and rushed down the stairs, passing bewildered Mr. Patel on the way.

  THE VAULT DOOR STOOD AJAR.

  A single bulb illuminated its round contours, and the door shone with reflected light at the bottom of the narrow stairwell, like an enormous metal coin.

  It should’ve been locked tight.

  I descended the gloomy stairs, one at a time, saber in hand. I had smelled wolfsbane out front. Wolfsbane was used to throw shapeshifters off track. Somebody knew I had Derek with me. If it was directed at me, that is.

  Derek slept securely on the landing. I had meant to carry him into my office, but I was tired and he’d been eating his Wheaties. He probably weighed close to one fifty in wolfform. I gave up midway.

  Two drops of blood stained the step in front of me. Another glistened two steps lower. I smelled gunpowder. Andrea had fired. Her bullet must have only grazed him, otherwise there would be a body, not just blood droplets. Andrea never missed.

  I conquered the stairs on soft feet and stopped with my back to the wall. An odd hoarse breathing echoed through the vault, like a dull saw being drawn against the wood.

  I leaned and glanced through the doorway.

  A mangled body curled on the floor among shreds of clothes. Deformed or battered, it lay crumpled in a grotesque heap of mismatched limbs, a patchwork of raw beef, red and mud-brown. Another hoarse breath sent tiny echoes scurrying into the corners. Julie was nowhere in sight.

  As I stood there, the body turned its head. I saw a clump of blond hair and a single blue eye, the other hidden by a flap of flesh.

  Andrea.

  I closed the distance between us in a single leap. The dirty patches on her limbs weren’t grime. They were fur. Short brown fur, with traces of spots dappling the skin.

  Her chest was misshapen, too flat. The skin on her stomach ended abruptly, not torn or cut, but simply falling too short of its goal, as if there wasn’t enough of it. The coils of her intestines glistened through the opening. Her left leg melted into a paw, while her right stretched too long, twisting backward. Her jaws protruded, mismatched, her lips way too short, her fangs puncturing her cheeks.

  Dear God. The Lyc-V got her after all.

  Andrea’s left eye focused on me, her iris baby-blue. A long gurgling sound broke free of her throat. “Heeeeelp.”

  This was beyond me. I’ve never seen a shapeshifter stuck between forms.

  I had to find someone who could help her. Doolittle. But he was back at the Pack Keep. It would take me hours to reach it. Her skin had taken on a sallow, pale gray tint that meant the shapeshifter’s body was scraping the last of its reserves dry. Andrea might not have hours.

  Wait. Doolittle was loyal to Curran. He’d give her up in a minute. And then the Pack would test her to ensure she wasn’t a loup and then she would have to confront Curran. You can’t be loyal to Curran and the Order at the same time. The second her shapeshifter status was discovered, she’d be expelled from the Order. Andrea lived and breathed the Order. I might as well let her die.

  But if I did nothing, she would die, as well.

  Doolittle was out. So was Derek. Who could I take her to?

  A tremor ran through Andrea’s limbs. Her right foot stretched. Bones crept forward with agonizing slowness. She moaned, her voice charged with so much pain, it sent my heart hammering. Her stomach contracted, her buttocks tightened, and then the convulsion was over and she slumped back onto the floor.

  A distinct acrid stench spread through the room. I’ve smelled it before. A hyena.

  The Keep was shared by all shapeshifters, but each clan had its own gathering place, just as each clan had its own pair of alphas. The hyenas had to have their own spot. They weren’t nearly as numerous as wolves or rats, but there were enough of them to form their own little pack. I’ve met their leader—an older woman called Aunt B. I’d rather fight a wolf pack than cro
ss her. She had a bun on her head and a sweet smile, and I was sure she’d be smiling just as sweetly when she tickled my liver with her claws. Hyenas and lions didn’t get along. Curran recognized this. They were still his to command, but he left them enough autonomy to solve their own problems.

  I had to take her to Aunt B. She was a scary bitch, but I’d rather reason with her than with Curran.

  I bent over Andrea. “I’m going to take you to the hyena pack.”

  Her eye widened. She shuddered, moaning. “No. Can’t.”

  “Don’t argue. We have no choice.”

  I slid my arms under her. Lymph wet my hands. I smelled the sharp odor of urine. She probably weighed close to a hundred and thirty pounds. I locked my teeth and heaved. Her deformed arms clutched at me.

  God, she was heavy.

  I headed for the vault door.

  When I was a child, my father made me run grueling marathons with a loaded rucksack on my back. Back then the only thing that kept me going was knowledge that the pain would eventually end. And so I murmured it to myself now, as I slowly climbed the stairs. Pain was good. Pain would end. Every moment I delayed, Andrea edged a little closer to dying.

  I unloaded her into the buggy. “Julie?” I whispered.

  “Boy. Shaman boy. Took Julie.” Her voice died in a gurgle.

  Damn it, Red. At least, without the monisto, the reeves shouldn’t be able to find her. “Hang on for me. Stay alive.”

  I ran back inside, taking the stairs two at a time. Derek was still out like a light. I shook him. “Wake up!”

  He snapped at me, his fangs scratching my hand, and instantly was up on his feet, whining in embarrassment.

  “Never mind. I need help.”

  He followed me down and froze midway on the stairs, his hackles up, his back humped, growling and snarling.

  “Derek, please. I know it smells weird, but I need your nose. Now. Please.”

  I coaxed him down the stairs. He gave the buggy a wide berth and looked at me.

  “Can you pick up Julie’s scent?”

  He put his nose to the ground and jerked back as if struck. He backed away, circled the buggy, circled wider, sniffed the ground, recoiled again, and whined.

  Too much wolfsbane. Red covered his scent well.

  A hushed moan emanated from the cart. Julie would have to wait, because Andrea couldn’t. At least I still carried the necklace. If I were right, the reeves would chase me instead of Julie. They were welcome to it. As pissed off as I was, I’d welcome an assault with open arms.

  “Change of plans. Take me to the hyenas. We don’t have much time. Please hurry.”

  Derek trotted down the street. I hopped into the driver’s seat and we were off. Slow enough to make me fight against the urge to grind my teeth, but we were off.

  All was not well in Atlanta. Magic sang through my bones as I piloted the cart through the rubble-framed streets as fast as the draft horse would allow. Strange things flew through the night sky, dark shapes blotting out the stars, gliding without sound. Twice we had to stop—first, to avoid a vampire patrol, four bloodsuckers in a diamond formation, and second to let a phantom translucent bear pass before us. The bear’s head was crowned with horns. It looked at the buggy with mournful eyes as rivulets of transparent fire cascaded down its back in a tangled waterfall, and ambled on its way, down the street.

  A ghost river ran parallel to the road, its water inky—black and dense like liquid tar. I tried to stay away from it. The things that howled and cried in the night stayed silent. Listening. Waiting. If by some miracle, the pulse of the city could be captured and played back, a single phrase would echo: “A flare is coming, a flare is coming, a flare is coming…”

  Andrea’s convulsions came faster now, every fifteen minutes or so. I knew when one gripped her because she let out a small pain-choked cry that made me wince.

  Finally we left the city behind, heading down the familiar road past the ruined industrial district and down the overgrown highway. The night expanded, the dark sky pierced with tiny lights of stars reaching impossibly high. The colors were muted; the shadows darkened; ordinary trees, so mundane and cheerful in the light of day, twisted into gnarled monsters lying in wait for their prey. This was the way to the Keep, the fortress where the Pack gathered in times of trouble.

  We passed an abandoned gas station, dark, its door missing, its windows broken. Small, gaunt creatures crawled along the windowsills and slunk in the doorway. Sickening yellow, like pus from an infected wound, they stared at us with glowing eyes and stretched their gnarled clawed hands in our direction, as if trying to rake us from a distance.

  Derek trotted down the road in that lazy wolf gait that ate up miles without effort. We reached the tree line. Massive oaks hugged the road, stretching to clasp at each other with their branches. Derek stopped, raised his head to the starry sky, and howled. His cry floated into the night, lingering, haunting, full of sorrow and chilling to the bone. Announcing us. He waited for a long moment, flickered his ears, and trotted down the overgrown road under the shroud of the trees. I followed.

  The buggy creaked, the beat of horse hooves steady and measured.

  An eerie cackle echoed through the night. A high-pitched, deranged sound, tight like a guitar string about to snap. Lithe shapes appeared, gliding through the brush on both sides. They ran upright, gray silhouettes in the gloom, too tall and too fast to be human.

  A shape leaped into the buggy and landed next to me. Red eyes shone in the dark like two stray sparks. A werehyena in half-form was a terrible thing to behold.

  “Hi, pretty.” His monster mouth slurred the words.

  Ahead three hyenas, two in beast-form and one human, circled Derek, hooting and laughing in berserk glee.

  The male lunged at me. I twisted to the side, caught him in an armlock, and squeezed his throat, putting pressure on the artery. “I don’t want to play. Take me to Aunt B,” I said into the round ear.

  His clawed hands clasped my arm. “Mmm, hurts so good. Hurt me more.”

  God damn hyenas.

  Ahead Derek snapped at one of the females.

  “You need to learn humility.” The human hyena uncoiled a whip from her hand. “Come, let me pet you, little wolf.”

  Shit. I wrenched the hyena male to the left and into the buggy, nose to nose with Andrea. A weak cry escaped from Andrea’s lips and washed over the male’s face.

  “She’s dying!” I squeezed the words through my teeth.

  The werehyena shoved me aside and screamed, “Open the way!”

  The human female put her fist on her hip. “You forget yourself…”

  “She needs Mother now!” He snarled and she backed away. He turned to me, eyes glowing. “Drive!”

  I drove between the hyenas, and they closed ranks behind me, blocking Derek’s path.

  “The wolf can’t pass. It’s the law.” The werehyena’s voice was grim.

  “Nothing will happen to him.” I loaded as much steel into my voice as it would hold.

  “Nothing will.”

  The hyenas followed the cart. Spurred by their scent, the draft horse picked up speed. Rumbling and creaking, we drove faster and faster, until the buggy bumped and flew over every pimple on the road. The trees parted, revealing a large ranchstyle house. I pulled on the reins and nearly lost my arms. Unable to stop, the draft horse thundered around the house and finally came to a stop. The male leaped onto the grass, scooped up Andrea, and ran to the porch.

  The porch light came on and Aunt B swung the door open. Middle-aged and stout, with graying hair rolled into a bun, she looked like she should be baking cookies, not ruling a brood of social deviants with a penchant for hysterical laughter and kinky sex.

  She took one look at Andrea and jerked her head. “Inside. You, too!”

  I ran inside, behind the male. A female in a human shape followed. At least I thought she was female. Aunt B looked out into the night and shut the door.

  The male ran d
own the hallway into a huge bathroom. An enormous tub sat sunken in the marble platform, enough for six or eight to comfortably fit. He padded across the floor strewn with sex toys and fruit, and jumped into the tub, holding Andrea above the surface.

  Aunt B knocked some sort of leather and steel contraption off the marble and sat on the edge. “Who else knows?”

  “She had a wolf with her,” the female said.

  “Who?”

  “Derek,” I told her.

  Aunt B nodded. “Good. The boy will go straight to Curran. I can reason with Curran. It’s our luck that the Bear is away. As long as none of the older guard find out, we’ll be fine.”

  What the hell was she so happy about? Curran was about as reasonable as a mad elephant.

  She leaned over to Andrea. “Stupid, stupid child. You know what you are?”

  Andrea nodded. The effort rocked her distorted body.

  “It will go easier then. Strip her.”

  The female leaped into the tub and brushed away the shreds of fabric, still clinging to Andrea’s flesh. My stomach clenched. Acid washed my tongue.

  “You’re going to gag, go outside.” Aunt B nodded to Andrea. “I will guide you into the natural form. Your face is turning gray. You know what that means, so concentrate if you want to live. Chest first. Picture two wings growing from your back. Large wings. Spread them, child. Spread them wide.”

  Andrea’s chest bone crawled down. Her shoulders lowered, stretching her chest…

  I ran out of the house.

  CHAPTER 19

  I SAT ON THE PORCH. THE DOOR BANGED AND A hyena female sat next to me. Or maybe she was a he. It was hard to tell with hyenas: they were a weird androgynous lot. In the wild, female hyenas were dominant. The hierarchy went females, pups, and only then males. Considering that spotted hyena females grew larger than males and sported a clitoris big enough to rival any male’s penis that could, and frequently did, get erections, the hierarchy made sense.

  This particular hyena was short and had blue hair that stuck out straight up from her head. She saw me looking.