Magic Strikes kd-3 Page 15

  Saiman retrieved his club. The trance dissipated from his face. He looked around, shook his head as if surprised to find himself there, and raised his weapon.

  A lonely male voice from the left screamed, “Yeaaaaaahhhhh!”

  The audience exploded in an avalanche of cheering.

  Saiman turned, buoyed by the applause, and stumbled, favoring his blood-drenched leg. He was about to make history as the first man with regeneration to bleed to death.

  “This way!” I jumped and waved my arms. “Come this way!”

  Saiman shambled about in a bewildered daze.

  “Here!” Jim’s roar momentarily overwhelmed the noise of the crowd, punching my eardrum. I stuck my finger into my left ear and wiggled it a bit.

  Saiman jerked and pivoted toward us. Recognition ignited in his eyes and he limped to us, dragging his club behind him. The guard swung open the fence door and took off like a frightened rabbit. Saiman paused at the fence. Oh, for God’s sake.

  “Come on, this way.” I waved my arms at him. “Come on!”

  He limped through the gate, using his club like a crutch, sagged, and would’ve fallen but Jim slid his shoulder under him. Suddenly the hallway was full of Red Guards. They closed about us like a wall of black and red.

  “Blood loss.” Saiman’s voice came in a gasp.

  “Next time, remember to heal,” Jim grunted, keeping him upright.

  “I won.”

  “Yes, you did,” I agreed. “Very well-done.”

  Saiman dropped his bloodied club. I picked it up and fought not to bend double under the weight. Sixty pounds at least. I maneuvered it over my shoulder.

  We moved down the hallway, shielded by the guards on all sides.

  “You plant the bug?” Jim murmured.

  “Yes. Pushed it into his chest. I need to sit down.”

  “Keep it together, almost to the room.” Jim’s face showed no strain, but the muscles on his arms bulged with effort.

  “It’s over,” Saiman gasped. “I’m so glad it’s over.”

  “ALL RIGHT, GENTLEMEN.”

  I thought to point out that I wasn’t a gentleman, but Rene’s voice had that “shut up, I’m working” tone that left no room for discussion.

  She surveyed us. Saiman sat on the floor, with his back against the wall. He had drunk almost a gallon of water before the bleeding finally stopped. The wound sealed and now his eyes were closed. Jim stood next to him, making everyone feel unwelcome in the close vicinity of his personal space. Behind Rene four Red Guards blocked the entrance to our room. Two more stood inside, watching us as though we were thieves in a jewelry store.

  “The Reapers are a new team. This is their first loss.”

  Second, technically, if you counted the fellow in the parking lot.

  “We’re going to do this by the book. The Reapers are grounded. You have one hour to clear the premises and be on your way, which will give you a reasonable head start. I strongly urge you not to linger. We want to avoid unpleasantries outside the Pit.”

  There was a slight commotion outside.

  “The Reapers are here to congratulate you.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” I stepped between the door and Saiman. Slayer was in my hand. I didn’t recall drawing it.

  “It’s a twenty-year tradition,” Rene said.

  The guards parted, and Mart and the tattooed Reaper stepped into the room. Rene and the Red Guards looked like dogs who had just sighted a deer.

  Mart leveled his thousand-yard stare at me.

  “We congratulate you on your victory,” Cesare boomed.

  “Very nice. They heard your congratulations,” Rene said softly. “Be on your way now.”

  Mart was still staring at me.

  “On your way,” Rene repeated with a bit of force.

  He turned toward the door and hurled a narrow stick at me. I dodged but I didn’t have to. The Red Guard next to me slashed at it with his short blade, cutting it in midflight. Two halves of my hair stick fell to the floor. A little souvenir someone had plucked from the body of the snake man in the parking lot and delivered to Mart.

  Rene’s rapier pointed at Mart’s throat. “One more and you and your team are permanently disqualified.”

  Mart smiled at me: a charming smile full of genuine joy.

  I showed him my teeth. Bring it.

  He bowed slightly, unconcerned by the point of the poisonous rapier an inch from his neck, turned on his toes, and left.

  Rene followed him out.

  CHAPTER 18

  WE DELIVERED THE GIANT TO DURAND’S ROOMS under the pretext of Durand wanting to meet him. Inside Saiman sank onto the opulent bed. His body shuddered and assumed the shape of Thomas Durand. He closed his eyes and fell asleep. I covered him with a blanket and we were off.

  We left the Arena without any incidents, mounted, and headed back to Downtown.

  Jim rode as if he were wrapped in barbed wire: stiff, shoulders rigid, keeping as straight and immobile as he could.

  “That horse deserves a medal for not throwing you.”

  A torrent of obscenities washed over me. Having spent a considerable amount of time in Jim’s company before, I was able to distill the gist of his displeasure from his filthy tirade: if he had known the tech was going to hit, he would’ve brought a gas-guzzling vehicle instead of two pieces of meat with skinny legs and a hysterical disposition.

  We veered south and circled Downtown, aiming for the south end of Unicorn. The Reapers always headed north in a straight line. Chances were, they might have caught a whiff of our scent, but would suspect nothing when it turned right, away from their route.

  We made it there a few minutes after four. The sunrise was still a long way off. Ahead Unicorn lay, a blighted scar on the urban surface. Crumbling office towers, twisted and gutted, sprawled on their sides among the rubble, like sterns of damaged ships about to sink into the stormy sea of mangled asphalt. Moonlight glittered on the piles of shattered glass, the remnants of a thousand broken windows. Yellow hairs of toxic Lane moss dripped from abandoned power lines, feeding on metal.

  Several blocks from Unicorn the terrain grew too rugged for horses. Unlike the northern end, where streets sometimes ran almost right up to Unicorn, here debris choked the passageways, making islands of gravel in the rivers of sewage. The stench brought tears to my eyes. I’d never had a burning desire to wear a used diaper on my face, but I’d imagine the effect on my nose would have been very similar.

  At our approach a man stepped from the shadows. I recognized the weredingo. He passed Jim a set of car keys. “They beat you here,” he said in a raspy voice. “ ’Bout half an hour ago. Came in from the north, rode for a mile or so, and stopped.”

  Jim nodded and the dingo took the horses and melted into the night. Jim ducked into a ruined building and I followed. Inside, a Pack Jeep waited. Jim got in and tapped a small digital display affixed to the dashboard. A green grid ignited on the screen, and I recognized the faint outline of Unicorn. A small green dot blinked near the center.

  Jim frowned. “Fast fuckers.”

  The Reapers had beaten us here despite an hour’s lead. True, we took a long way around, but still, that was inhumanly fast.

  Jim shed his cape and passed me a small rectangular box. I popped it open. Camo paint, three different colors, each in its own little section. Even a small mirror. Most camo came in a stick that was hard as a rock. You had to rub the damn thing between your palms to warm it up or your face ended up feeling scraped with steel wool.

  “Fancy. You went all out.”

  “I’ve got connections.” Jim grinned without showing his teeth.

  I smeared a thin layer of brown on my face and blobbed a few irregular blotches of green and gray here and there, trying to break up my features. Jim applied his with easy quickness. He hadn’t glanced in the mirror at all.

  The dot hadn’t moved.

  I checked my belt: bandages, tape, herbs. No R-kit. The regeneration k
its misfired about ten percent of the time. There was no telling what Unicorn Lane would do to it. It might sprout teeth and take a chunk out of my hide. I’d have to tend to my wounds the old-fashioned way.

  We left the vehicle and took off parallel to the Lane.

  Half an hour later we went to ground under the twisted plastic carcass of an enormous sign advertising long-forgotten cosmetics. We were about a half mile south of the dot’s location. Any closer and we were likely to run into the Reaper sentries. Nothing said the Reapers stationed sentries, but nothing said they didn’t either. We had to brave Unicorn Lane. At least the magic was still down.

  “Want to go first?” I offered.

  Jim shook his head. “You lead; I follow.”

  In Unicorn, my sense of magic was better than his. “I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

  “You may not see the end of it.”

  He just had to rain on my parade.

  Ahead a barricade of boulders blocked our way, wet and shiny with otherworldly perspiration. I slipped between them.

  Touch nothing.

  Don’t think.

  Trust your senses.

  I knew behind me Jim would step where I stepped. He’d freeze when I halted.

  We slunk into the narrow street, skirting the rubble. Above us Lane moss shivered on the tangle of power lines, dripping corrosive slime.

  A pair of eyes ignited in the second floor of the ruin to our right. Long, narrow, and flooded with scarlet unmarred by an iris, they tracked our progress but made no move to follow.

  We skirted a filthy heap and I saw a metal cage lying to the left. Large enough to enclose a human, it looked brand new. No rust. No scratches. I kept moving, watching it out of the corner of my eye. The narrow path would take us close to it.

  Ten feet.

  Eight.

  Seven.

  It didn’t feel right. I halted.

  The cage snapped upright, unfolding like a flower. The bars flexed. Metal flowed like water, turning into insectoid legs armed with razor-sharp claws. A dark body sheathed in black bristle burst from the refuse and leapt at us, bar-legs outstretched, claws poised for the kill.

  I ducked into its leap and thrust my sword into its dark gut.

  I CROUCHED IN THE SHADOWY ENTRANCE TO THE underbelly of a ruined building. Behind me Jim stood wrapped in the gloom like a cloak. He fished a small vial from his pocket. I reached behind me, grabbed my shirt, and pulled it up to expose my back. Wetness brushed the aching cut on my spine and singed me with the sharp burn of disinfectant. I heard the faint hiss of medical tape being torn. Jim slapped the gauze on my cut and taped it up. The last thing I needed was to bleed all over Unicorn Lane. Considering my screwed-up heritage, my blood would probably blow up.

  In the half hour since we’d entered Unicorn, we’d been attacked four times, all by things for which I had no names. Jim’s shirt hung in shreds. His body had repaired the damage, but the blood on the tatters of his shirt testified that the integrity of his mighty form had been sorely compromised.

  I dropped my shirt and looked up. Directly ahead of us stood a wide building. Not a hotel or an office—those tended to stretch up, and when they fell, they either toppled like logs or crumbled from the top down, story by story chewed to dust by magic. No, this structure was long and relatively squat. A mall maybe? One of those giant department stores, which no longer survived, like Sears or Belks?

  The building, still showing tan stucco, sat right in the middle of the block. Its roof and upper story were missing, eaten away by magic. Twisted steel beams jutted from the drywall like the bones of some half-rotten carcass. Green shimmered through the gaps in the building’s framework. I looked to Jim. He nodded. The Reaper base. Had to be.

  We squatted down.

  Five minutes.

  Another five. The night had brightened to a muted gray glow that usually signified the sun rising. In the predawn light the green shroud behind the building gained crystal clarity: trees. To my knowledge, there were no parks in the middle of Unicorn Lane. Where did the trees come from?

  Going into the trees with the Reapers waiting on the other side would be reaching for new heights of stupidity. I wasn’t that ambitious. The wall was a far better bet. Climb, gain high ground, survey the playing field.

  We sat. Listening. Watching. Waiting.

  No movement. No noise. I touched my nose. Jim shook his head. No useful scents either.

  The magic hit us in a choking tide. Violent power roiled through Unicorn. It spiked, stealing my breath, and settled into deceptive placidity. Not so good.

  A low thunder boomed through the silence.

  Jim hissed.

  Another blast erupted from the building, as if an enormous trumpet attempted to play a fanfare but succeeded in belching only a single powerful note, so charged with magic, it slid along my skin like a physical touch. The sound of a muted tornado rolled through the stillness of predawn. I had heard this sound a dozen times in my life—all from a movie screen. It was the sound of a plane engine.

  I dashed across the street. Jim sprinted past me, leapt up on the wall, and scrambled up like a gecko. It’s good to be a werejaguar. I hit the wall and began climbing, finding holds on the crumbling stucco and exposed steel framework.

  Jim reached the top of the building, where the wall had crumbled, and cried out in a short, pain-charged snarl. His arms jerked back, his spine arched, and his feet left the ground. He hung in midair, convulsing.

  I scrambled up. My fingers hooked the top of the wall. Stucco fell apart under the pressure of my hands. I slid, caught an iron rod, and pulled myself back up and onto the building.

  An eerie nipping sensation rolled across my skin, as if a rough, sandpaper tongue had scraped a layer of cells from every single inch of my body. It peeled a little from my face, from my body hidden under my clothes, from between my toes, from the inside of my ears, from my nostrils, from my eyes.

  A ward. The Reapers had booby-trapped the top of the building. Cleverly done. I hadn’t sensed its presence, and we had blundered straight into it.

  Pain lanced through me, setting every millimeter of my skin on fire and lifting me off the ground. I cried out, then clamped my mouth shut as the fire scorched the inside of my mouth. The thudding of my heart filled my ears with a freakishly loud, rapid beat. I felt myself unraveling, consumed cell by cell. Unable to do anything but jerk and thrash, I rotated on an invisible spit. Beside me, Jim’s clothes tore and a werejaguar spilled forth.

  Desperate times called for desperate measures. I spat a power word. “Dair.” Release.

  The magic tore from me in a blinding burst of agony as if I’d thrust my hand into my stomach and ripped a clump of entrails out. I saw black and tasted blood.

  The ward split and vanished. My feet hit the solid reality of the wall and I froze, blind and afraid to move. The after-shocks rocked through me. During the flare, using power words had been easy. Now, with the magic so low, if I used one more without resting, I risked passing out.

  Something landed next to me. Hard hands grasped me, steadying me, the tips of claws scratching my skin. Jim.

  The darkness blocking my vision dissolved and I saw two green eyes peering into mine. Jim turned and pointed away to the trees. I looked in the direction of his claw and gasped.

  A wide, wooded valley gently sloped down before rolling to the blue peaks of mountains beyond. Moss-tinted rocks punctured the greenery with their gray spines. Between them, towering spires of trees rose to dizzying heights, their branches tinseled with vines that dripped cream and yellow blossoms. Birds perched among the foliage like glittering jewels. The wind smelled of flowers and water.

  I looked back over my shoulder. Urban graveyard. Looked to the front: fairy-tale jungle. You could pack three Atlantas into that valley.

  I crouched on the wall. Was this some sort of alternate dimension, a pocket of magic-infused reality? Was this a portal to someplace far away? If the Reapers felt the need to
protect it with a magical trap that would snare and kill any intruders, it must be valuable to them. Perhaps it was their home.

  Next to me, Jim stretched his neck and inhaled the breeze, the way shapeshifters did when they wanted to sample the scents. An imperceptible change came over him. The lines of his body shifted, flowing, subtly reshaped by the breath of the jungle. Usually awkward in warrior form, he became sleek and elegant, like a finely wrought dagger, his human and beast sides in perfect balance. His coat gained a vivid golden tint, against which coils of rosettes stood out like black velvet. He opened his mouth and a soft, coughing roar spilled forth, almost like a purr—if great cats could have made such a sound.

  It was silenced by a peal of thunder.

  A gleaming golden structure punctured the jungle in the east, rising slowly through the trees. Square in shape, its corners punctuated by stocky towers tipped with silver cupolas, it resembled a palace. The first floor was solid wall, a wealth of sculpture and textures shiny with metallic luster. Atop the wall sat a pillared hall: huge, airy arches, defined by slender columns and guarded by a low latticed rail. Above it, on the roof of the building, a garden bloomed, an exotic riot that made even the verdant jungle barren in comparison. Bizarre trees spread their branches, tinseled with blood-red garlands of vines. Thousands of flowers bloomed, interrupted by ornate ponds.

  The hum swelled. The metal palace rumbled and crept up, higher and higher above the treetops, above us, into the sky. A cloud of steam billowed from its fundament and coalesced into a dense curtain of fog. In a moment the palace disappeared from view and the sky gained a small cloud.

  I blinked a couple of times and held my arm to Jim. “Pinch me.”

  Claws sliced my flesh. Ow.

  I stared at a couple of red dots on my forearm and licked them, tasting the sharp bite of magic on my tongue. Yep. Real. I did just see a golden palace fly off.