Magic Bleeds kd-4 Page 14

  The dog wagged his tail. Either Saiman smelled tasty, or my poodle had good instincts.

  I mounted, swaying a bit, and nudged Marigold into action. Even if I did fall along the way, I’d likely land in a snowdrift. Any landing you could walk away from was a good landing.

  CHAPTER 13

  THE MAGIC WAVE KEPT GOING. MY APARTMENT would give any meat freezer a run for its money. I couldn’t avoid the woodstove forever.

  I’d been thinking about the female Steel Mary the entire time I rode to my apartment and was getting nowhere. A woman’s voice came out of the undead water mage’s mouth but I couldn’t recall it well enough to compare it to the Steel Mary’s. So either there were two women working together, or there was only one woman, six and a half feet tall, expert with a spear, with the ability to pilot the undead, use power words, and create pandemics.

  Nothing I’d read even remotely fit that scenario. I’d have to rely on Saiman’s ability to read the parchment.

  I pulled my shoes off and trudged into the kitchen. The red light on my answering machine was blinking.

  I pushed the button.

  “Got your note,” Christy’s voice said. “Someone ripped out the lock on your screen and pinned the paper to your front door with a nail. It’s rain-stained, but I think it says, ‘I’m here, you’re not. Call me.’ ”

  He did come to see me with broken bones. A day too late and a dollar short.

  The second message was from Andrea.

  “Hey. It’s me. Raphael says that Curran’s been a real bastard since about mid-November. He’s in a bad mood, he’s snarling at everything and everyone, and he stopped hearing petitions. The big items that have to be done get done, but no new projects have been approved. Raphael’s been trying to get financing from the Pack to buy out a competing business. He says the last time he brought it up, Curran almost bit his head off. He apparently stalks the Keep halls at night, looking for someone to chew out.”

  “He needs to get laid!” Raphael’s voice called out from a distance.

  “Shush. Raphael’s mad because he can’t get his thingie approved.”

  “My thingie would make us money,” Raphael yelled. “Not getting it approved is costing us money we could be making.”

  “Anyway,” Andrea said, “I thought you ought to know.”

  The message ended.

  The answering machine was still blinking. There was another message and I had a pretty good idea who it was from.

  For a while I sat in the kitchen and petted the attack poodle, deciding whether I should listen to the message or just erase it. Finally I pushed the button and Curran’s voice filled the room.

  “You can run, but it won’t matter. I will find you and we will talk. I’ve never asked or expected you to deal with me on shapeshifter terms, but this is juvenile even by human standards. You owe me an answer. Here, I’ll make it easy for you. If you want me, meet me and I’ll explain my side of what happened. Or you can run away from me the way you always do, and this time I won’t chase you. Decide.”

  “You’ve lost your mind,” I told the answering machine.

  I played the message a couple of times more, listening to his voice. He’d had his chance and blown it. I’d paid for it. It would be stupid to risk this kind of pain again. Plain stupid.

  I slumped in my chair. The rock in my chest cracked into sharp pieces. Thinking about letting him go hurt. But then he wasn’t mine to let go in the first place.

  My father taught me many things. Guard yourself. Never become attached. Never take a chance. Never take a risk if you don’t have to. And more often than not, he proved right. Taking stupid risks only landed you into hotter water.

  But if I let Curran go without a fight, I would regret it for the rest of my life. I would rather drag a dozen rocks in my chest and know that he wasn’t my chance at happiness, than walk away and never be sure. And that’s all he wanted—to be sure. We both deserved to know.

  As much as it pained me to admit it, Curran was right. I never made allowances for him being a shapeshifter. I always expected him to deal with me as a human. He didn’t think I could meet him on his home turf and play by his rules.

  Big mistake, Your Majesty. You want me to act like a shapeshifter? Fine, I can do that. I pulled up the phone and dialed a number from memory.

  “Yes?” Jim answered.

  “I was told that shapeshifters declare their romantic interest by breaking into each other’s territory and rearranging things.”

  There was a slight pause. “That’s correct.”

  “Does the cat clan use this ritual?”

  “Yes. Where are you going with this?”

  When on shaky ground in negotiations, shovel on some guilt. “Do you remember when I stood by you during the Midnight Games, even though you were wrong and your people attacked me?”

  He growled quietly. “Yes.”

  “I need access to Curran’s private gym for fifteen minutes.”

  Silence stretched.

  “When?” he asked.

  “Tonight.”

  Another pause. “After this, we’re even.”

  Jim was an ass but he paid his debts. “Deal.”

  “He’s in the city tonight. I’ll keep him here. Derek will meet you at the Keep in two hours.”

  I hung up and punched in the second number. What do you know, I actually pulled it off.

  “Teddy Jo,” a gruff voice answered.

  “You owe me for the apples,” I said into the phone. I was calling in all favors tonight.

  “That’s right. What can I do you for?”

  I smiled. “I need to borrow your sword.”

  THE NIGHT WAS FREEZING AND I TOOK KARMELION, my old, beat-up truck of a bile green color. It was missing the front light assembly and had more dents than a crushed Coke can, but it ran during magic waves and it would keep me warm. It also made enough noise to wake the dead, but I didn’t care. Being warm won.

  It took me two hours to get the sword and leave Atlanta behind. Before the Shift, many of Atlanta’s residents had had the luxury of commuting from nearby towns, driving in through the countryside. Aided by magic, nature had reclaimed these undeveloped stretches with alarming speed. Living things generated magic by simply being, and when put against inert concrete and steel, plants had the advantage. What once were fields now had become dense forest. It swallowed gas stations and lone farmsteads, forcing people to move closer together. Trees flanked the road, their branches black and leafless, sharp charcoal sketches in the snow.

  I peered into the dark and petted the attack poodle. I had to lay the front seat flat for him—he was too big. “I always miss the damn road.”

  The poodle made a small growling noise and curled up tighter.

  A long howl of a lone sentry rolled through the night, announcing our arrival.

  We made a sharp turn, picking up a barely perceptible narrow road between the thick oaks. The trail veered left, right, the old trees parted, and we emerged into a wide clearing. The enormous building of the Keep loomed before us. A hybrid of a castle and a modern fort, it jutted over the forest like a mountain, impregnable and dark. It was built the old-fashioned way, with basic tools and superhuman strength, which made it magic-proof. Since I’d been here last, most of the north wing had been completed, and the wall of the courtyard now rose about fifteen feet high.

  I steered through the gates into the courtyard. A familiar figure sauntered to the truck. Derek. I’d know that wolf gait anywhere.

  Three months ago Derek had been handsome. He’d had one of those perfect male faces, fresh, almost bordering on pretty, and dark, velvet eyes that made women wish to be fifteen again. Then rakshasas poured molten metal on his face. It healed. He wasn’t disfigured, although he thought he was, but his face had lost its perfect lines.

  His nose was thicker, his jaw bulkier. His eyebrow ridge protruded farther, making his eyes appear more deep set, the result of the Lyc-V thickening the bone and cartilage in re
sponse to trauma. The skin along his hairline on the left temple showed permanent scarring, where bits of his shattered skull had become lodged in the muscle. I touched it once and it felt like grains of salt under the surface of the skin. With longer hair, it would be practically invisible, but Derek kept his hair short. There were other small, minute things—the slight change in the shape of the mouth, the network of small scars on the right cheek. His face now made you want to call for backup. He looked like an older, scarred, vicious version of himself.

  And his eyes were no longer velvet. One look into those eyes and you knew their owner had been through some heavy shit and, if he got pissed off, you wanted to be miles away.

  I shut off the engine. The sudden silence was deafening.

  Derek opened the door for me. “Hey, Kate.” He had a wolf’s voice, raspy, harsh around the edges, and occasionally sardonic. The ordeal at the Midnight Games had permanently damaged his vocal cords as well as his face. He’d never howl at the moon again, in fur or out, but his snarl made you cringe.

  He looked my truck over. “Nice vehicle. Inconspicuous. Stealthy even.”

  “Spare me.” I got out, carrying Teddy Jo’s sword wrapped in flame-retardant cloth, and shut the car in the poodle’s face. “Stay.”

  Derek nodded at the vehicle. “Who is that?”

  “Your replacement.”

  He led me away from the front gate to a narrow side door.

  “You replaced me with a shaved poodle?”

  “He’s got mad skills.”

  Derek’s eyebrows crept up.

  “He can vomit and urinate at the same time and he doesn’t make fun of my car.”

  He laughed under his breath.

  We entered the door and started up a long winding staircase. “Let me guess, he’s up at the very top.”

  Derek nodded. “Curran has the top floor to himself.”

  “It’s good to be the Beast Lord.”

  We kept climbing. And climbing. And climbing. Five minutes later the stairs finally ended in a large door. Derek opened it, inviting me into a small room, ten by ten. Another door blocked the exit at the far wall.

  Derek waited a moment.

  The second door swung open, revealing two shapeshifters, an older bald man and a woman about my age, both in superb shape. They gave me the evil eye.

  Derek nodded at them.

  They plainly didn’t want to let me in.

  Amber rolled over Derek’s eyes. “Move,” he said quietly.

  They stepped aside. Derek motioned me in. “Please.”

  The boy wonder had moved up the ranks.

  We passed between the shapeshifters into a hallway. On the left was a small room. A third shapeshifter, a man about Derek’s age, sat there.

  We strode down the hallway, the older man and the woman shadowing us. Curran’s guards definitely had doubts about my presence here. They were right. I was up to no good.

  “The gym will be on the left.” Derek nodded at the hallway, where the stone wall ended, replaced by glass. “His living quarters are upstairs. There is a small stairway down the hall.”

  He pointed to the doors as we passed them. “Private meeting room. Sauna.”

  “And that?” I nodded to another door.

  The bodyguards looked like someone had stepped on their feet.

  Derek’s face turned perfectly neutral. “It’s reserved for the female guests.”

  I opened the door. A huge canopied bed occupied most of the room, gauzy curtains drawn up like clouds above the snow-white comforter. The furniture was pale, blond oak with golden accents, elegant and light, almost floating above the polished wooden floor. A large dresser stood against the wall, next to a vanity table with a three-panel mirror. The middle of the floor was taken over by an overstuffed sofa facing a fireplace with a thick white rug by it. A flat screen hung on the wall above the fireplace. The far wall was frosted glass, strategically interrupted by clear stretches forming a bamboo design. The door stood ajar and through it I saw a pristine hot tub.

  “Where is Barbie?”

  The female shapeshifter snickered and choked it off.

  “Is there a stripper pole?”

  The older man winced. Derek looked pained. “No.” “Speakers for the mood music?”

  Derek pointed at the corner above a small refrigerator. I bet there was cold champagne in that fridge.

  I stepped out, shut the door, and pulled on an oven mitten. The shapeshifters watched me with great interest. I untied the cord securing the flame-retardant cloth on Teddy Jo’s sword and handed it to Derek, revealing a thick, asbestos-lined scabbard. “Hold this, please.”

  He took it.

  I grasped the onyx-colored hilt and pulled the sword free. It was a classic Hoplite blade, leaf-shaped, about two feet long. A spark ran down the metal, from the hilt to the point. The blade burst into blinding white fire.

  The shapeshifters jerked back.

  Derek’s eyes went wide. “Where did you get this?”

  “It’s a loaner from the Greek angel of death.” I aimed the sword at the lock and touched it to the door. Blue sparks flew.

  “What are you doing?” the female bodyguard snarled.

  “I’m welding the bimbo room shut.”

  She opened her mouth and clamped it closed without a word.

  I lifted the sword. The lock had melted into a blob of quickly cooling metal. Lovely. I held the sword straight up and turned to Derek. “Where did you say the gym was?”

  They led me down the hallway into a large room. The gym was state of the art: a free-weight rack, filled with custom dumbbells, a curl bar for working the biceps, a station for dips and leg raises, and in the middle of the floor the bench press—a leather bench with a bar rest. You lay flat on the bench and raised a bar loaded with weights above your chest. Curran’s bar was already loaded. I checked the numbers etched on the disks—custom made, two hundreds and a fifty on each side. Five hundred pounds. The bar had to be specially made to support the weight. Curran truly was a scary bastard.

  I smiled and lowered the flaming sword.

  THE PHONE SCREAMED. I CLAWED MY EYES OPEN. Twelve minutes after 2 a.m. I had gotten in about two hours ago—Teddy Jo wanted to chat, and while we chatted, the magic crashed. It took me forever to get home, and my skull hummed like someone was beating a kettle drum between my ears.

  I yawned and picked up the phone. “Kate Daniels.”

  “That was a custom weight bench!” Curran snarled.

  My voice dripped bewildered innocence. “I’m sorry?”

  “You welded the press bar to my bench.”

  “Perhaps it would help if you started at the beginning. I take it someone broke into your private exercise facility in the Keep?”

  “You! It was you. Your scent is all over the bench.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why would I vandalize your bench press?” Think, Curran. Think, you idiot.

  A lion roar burst through the phone. I held it away from my ear until he was done. “Very scary. I feel it’s my duty to remind you that threatening a member of law enforcement is punishable by law. If you would like to file a petition regarding your break-in, the Order will gladly look into the matter for you.”

  The phone fell silent. Oh God, I gave him an aneurysm.

  Curran made an odd noise, halfway between a snarl and a purr. “There is catnip all over my bed.”

  I know, I dumped my entire supply on your comforter. It was a hell of a bed, too, enormous, piled with thick mattresses until it was almost four feet tall. I had to literally climb onto it.

  “Catnip? How peculiar. Perhaps you should speak to your head of housekeeping.”

  “I have to kill you,” Curran said, his voice oddly calm. “That’s the only reasonable solution.”

  Apparently, I had to spell it out. “There’s no need to be so dramatic. I understand that having someone enter your extremely well-guarded private territory, wreak havoc in it, and then escape,
unscathed, can be quite upsetting.”

  He said nothing. He didn’t get it. I treated him to a pass on his terms and he didn’t get it. I had just made a fool of myself again.

  “You know what, never mind. You’re dense like a rock.” I’d chased him as he had chased me and he couldn’t even figure it out.

  “I’m leaving the catnip where it is,” he said. “You will remove every piece of it. And you’ll do it naked.”

  “Only in your dreams.” And I meant it, too.

  “Of course you know this means war.”

  “Whatever.” I hung up and exhaled.

  The attack poodle gave me a bewildered look.

  “I’m in love with an idiot.”

  The dog turned his head to the side.

  “Just wait until he figures out I shut him out of his slut hut.”

  The poodle whined softly.

  “I don’t need any criticism from you. If you can go a day without barfing or destroying my house, then I might listen to what you have to say. Until then, keep your opinions to yourself.”

  I fell back into my bed and put a pillow on my head. I’d just had a conversation with a poodle and accused him of criticizing me. Curran had finally driven me out of my mind.

  CHAPTER 14

  I WOKE UP EARLY AND LAY IN BED FOR ABOUT TEN minutes, thinking of various ways I could kill Curran. Unfortunately, I still had the Steel Mary to catch, so I dragged myself out of bed and got dressed.

  Outside the world had turned completely white. The snow must’ve started shortly after I got in and at least three inches of powder covered the asphalt. Thick gray clouds smothered the sky. Cold burned my face. Winter had taken Atlanta into its mouth and bit hard.

  I looked at the attack poodle. “Are you cold?”

  He wiggled his shaved butt at me.

  I went back inside and added a T-shirt under my turtleneck and a green sweatshirt on top of it. Together with my old cloak, the layers would keep me warm. Next, I retrieved an old torn-up black sweater from the closet, cut off the sleeves, and stuffed the poodle into it. Since I’d shaved him, I now had to provide the artificial fur. He looked . . . cute. Some people got vicious Dobermans. I got a shaved attack poodle in a black sweater. His tough, spawn-of-hell image had taken a fatal blow, but at least he would be warm.