Magic Rises kd-6 Page 20

  “I noticed.”

  “I don’t know why he is doing this, but it’s sending a signal to the other packs, and they also noticed.”

  Ugh. And there was nothing I could really do about that. Threatening Lorelei would paint me as insecure. Not threatening Lorelei would make me look either indifferent or clueless. It would be a hell of a lot easier if His Furriness got with the program and rebuffed her.

  “I’m sure it’s part of the plan,” Barabas said. “I would just like to be clued in on the plan. Just for the benefit of the overall strategy.”

  That made two of us. “I’ll talk to Curran,” I said. “What about the creatures?”

  “Nothing so far. Nobody has ever seen anything even remotely like this, or if they have, they’re not talking.”

  Figured. “I need to meet with the three packs individually. Can you set this up for tomorrow?”

  “Sure. To what purpose?”

  “I’d like to howl in the dark.”

  Barabas frowned. “I don’t follow.”

  “It’s a wolf term. When you sense someone in the dark but you don’t know if he’s prey or a rival, you howl and see if he runs or answers. I’d like to howl at the packs and see if somebody snarls back.”

  “I see. They will talk to us to avoid offending us and to remove suspicion from themselves, but they might not answer any questions and we can’t really compel them to do so.”

  “I’ll take what I can get.”

  “Okay. I will let you know as soon as I find out more. And Kate?”

  “Yes?”

  “I have your back,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  I left the balcony. Thinking about Lorelei pissed me off, but there was nothing to be done about it now. I would find Curran today and I would figure out what sort of demented plan he had cooked up. Until then, I had to concentrate on keeping Desandra alive.

  Both Andrea and George had hunted and changed shape twice in less than six hours. They would be tired. Between the man in the cage and Lorelei, I, on the other hand, was fresh as a daisy. Anger—a better alternative to caffeine.

  A shadow peeled itself from the wall and followed me. Derek, moving silently along the hall, like some lethal shadow on soft wolf paws.

  “This whole stealthy walking-behind-me thing you’re doing is making me feel stalked. Why don’t you catch up?”

  He trotted over. “Just trying to keep you safe.”

  Et tu, Brute? “First, Barabas tells me he’s got my back and now you’re shadowing me. Do the two of you know something I don’t?”

  Derek shrugged his shoulder. “I don’t like this place.”

  “Neither do I. Did Doolittle look at the scale?”

  “Yes. He wants to talk to you.”

  I reversed my course. We stopped by Doolittle’s room. Inside, Eduardo and Keira were playing cards. The good doctor was reading a book by the window.

  “How did it go with the scale?” I asked.

  “As can be expected, given the lack of equipment.” Doolittle peered at me. “I’m not a miracle worker.”

  “He’s stumped and it’s making him cranky,” Keira said.

  Doolittle rolled his eyes. “The scale isn’t a scale in the traditional sense. It’s a scute.”

  “That explained nothing,” I told him.

  “Have you ever heard of a pangolin?” Doolittle asked.

  “No.”

  “It’s a mammal of the Pholidota family native to some parts of Africa and Asia. It’s similar in appearance to an anteater covered with long horny scales.”

  “It looks like a walking pinecone,” Eduardo offered. “Picture an anteater that an artichoke threw up on.”

  “The bony plates of pangolin are made of keratin,” Doolittle said. “Same as our claws or fingernails. The skin has several layers. The top layer is the epidermis, which consists of dead cells. In snakes the scales are formed from the epidermis and they are connected, which permits ecdysis. In other words, snakes eject the entire outer layer of their skin during molting. In theory, a reptile shapeshifter would have scales every time he or she transformed. Scutes are formed in the dermis, the deeper layer of the skin. They are similar to hair in composition in that each one is individually rooted, and while they may be similar in appearance to scales, the two are different.”

  “So the scale is a scute. What does it mean for us?” I still wasn’t quite sure where he was going with this.

  “I believe they have a choice,” Doolittle said. “When a shapeshifter changes form, he or she controls certain aspects of the change: the length of claws, the density of fur, the bone mass, and so on. That’s what makes warrior form possible. If these shapeshifters are capable of both fur and scute production, they may choose which to sprout. Because scutes originate deeper in the dermis, a shapeshifter can keep them hidden until necessary. I also tested the tissue samples from the severed head,” Doolittle said. “Their levels of Lyc-V and hormones are nearly double ours. The higher the levels of Lyc-V, provided they don’t result in loupism, the greater the shapeshifter’s control over his or her body.”

  “Okay. So what you’re telling me is that they can choose to have scales or not to have scales?”

  “Yes.”

  “But what about the wings?”

  Doolittle spread his arms. “Bring me a wing and I’ll tell you more.”

  I sighed and took myself to Desandra’s room. Derek followed me, which was just as well since he was my partner for the shift.

  I stuffed Lorelei far into the deep corner of my mind, the same place I put the realization that Hugh d’Ambray was within killing distance. If I concentrated too hard on either one, I’d do something rash. Rash wasn’t in my vocabulary under the present circumstances. Not if I wanted to keep all of us breathing.

  At least the Lorelei thing could be solved very simply. I had to find Curran and talk to him. He wouldn’t lie to me. Of course, he wouldn’t.

  CHAPTER 12

  When I walked through the door, Andrea’s eyes were really big and she had that pained expression that usually meant she wanted to pull her gun out and shoot somebody.

  “What’s up?”

  “The Italians won the hunt,” Raphael said. “We’re supposed to have a big celebratory dinner in a couple of days in their honor.”

  Okay. Not really surprising. I’d stayed behind, which dropped our team’s numbers to eleven. Half of them had guarded Desandra, and I had a feeling that Aunt B, Raphael, and Andrea had concentrated purely on getting the best kill for the panacea.

  “I was just telling them it was Gerardo,” Desandra said. “It’s his long legs. He can run forever. Most men don’t have sexy legs, but he does. They are very elegant.”

  Aha.

  “And, like I was saying, he is hung.”

  Oh boy.

  Andrea turned her back to Desandra and rolled her eyes. Raphael grimaced. They both looked scandalized. Dear God, what could she have said to scandalize a bouda . . .

  “No, really!” Desandra nodded. “Okay, so most guys don’t have a nice ball sack, right? It looks all hairy and wrinkled like some small animal died between their legs, but Gerardo’s is like two plums in a velvet bag . . .”

  Derek, who’d been lingering in the doorway, took a careful step to the left behind the wall and disappeared from my view.

  Kill me, somebody. I raised my hand. “Hold that thought. I need to borrow Andrea for a minute.”

  I grabbed her arm and pulled her into the hallway. Behind us Raphael growled, “Don’t leave me!”

  Andrea leaned toward me. “Plums.”

  “Listen . . .”

  Andrea raised her hands, imitating holding plums the size of small coconuts, and moved them up and down. Desandra had no idea, but I was about to save her life.

  “I’m sorry I’m late. There’s been another murder.”

  “Where?”

  “On the tower.” I brought her up to speed. “So sorry I got held up, but I’m he
re now to take Desandra off your hands.”

  “I love you. In a purely platonic way.” Andrea stuck her head into the doorway. “Honey, come on.”

  They escaped. I came in and sat in the chair so I could see the door and Desandra. Derek parked himself just outside.

  Desandra tried talking to me. I let her go on. After I listened for twenty minutes to detailed descriptions and point-by-point comparisons of Gerardo’s and Radomil’s private parts, complete with size demonstrations, Desandra finally wore herself out and fell asleep. She snored a little, whistling to herself, her belly propped on a small pillow.

  Derek rose and walked over to sit by me. “How can you stand her?”

  “She is lonely. She’s pregnant and scared. Her father is probably trying to kill her, and neither of the men she married is offering her any support. Nor can they protect her from her own father. I don’t mind cutting her some slack. She isn’t the worst body I’ve guarded.”

  “Who was the worst?”

  “One of the state senators got on the bad side of the law and took some bribes. His accountant blew the whistle on him. His wife was convinced that state protection wasn’t good enough, so they called in the Guild. I was with them for seventy-two hours. The accountant and his wife fought the entire time. There were four of us guarding him, and by the end of the fourth day, Emmanuel, he was one of the mercs, big, cut Latino guy, really calm, walked away. He just got up and left. I asked him about it later and he said it was that or he would knock their heads together just so they would shut up . . .”

  A familiar revulsion rolled over me, like an unclean oily residue laced with rotten fat. A vampire. Moving in from the right.

  The only person who could possibly have a vampire in this castle full of shapeshifters would be Hugh. He either piloted it himself or had some Masters of the Dead stashed someplace, but somewhere a necromancer was pulling on a vampire’s strings, sending it steadily toward us, like a worm on a hook.

  Trying to figure out if I could sense vampires. Nice try, Hugh.

  “A good way to piss away your fee,” Derek said.

  The vampire came closer, its mind a pinhead of hateful magic. The urge to reach out and crush its mind like a walnut was almost too much. It was close, too close. My hand itched. I wanted to get my sword and stab it.

  I couldn’t leave it just sitting here. If by some miracle it wasn’t Hugh, it could get into the room and kill Desandra. She would give it a run for its money, but a vampire was nature’s closest equivalent to a killing machine. It had no thought, consciousness, or doubts. Like a huge predatory cockroach, it obeyed only one basic impulse: feed.

  I lowered my voice. “It was mostly about self-preservation. Do you remember when you and I went to White Street? The time you got your leg ripped open?”

  Derek nodded. “I remember.”

  Here was hoping he remembered it was a vampire who tore his leg. “I think that’s how Emmanuel felt. Like something was closing on him and he just had to get out.”

  Derek looked at me, his brown eyes focused.

  “Another ten hours or so and he might have committed a homicide.” Come on, Derek. Vampire. Ten o’clock. In the wall.

  “So let me guess, he got no money.” Derek rolled into a crouch in a fluid move. He was only half listening to me.

  The vampire was almost directly to the left of me. I felt it. It was precisely eleven feet away, which put it right at the end of the room. The wall had to be hollow, because I saw nothing.

  “Nope. And the Guild slapped him with an abandonment-in-progress fee.”

  The vampire shifted about ten inches to the left. Derek turned slightly. He was tracking it.

  “In his place I would’ve left, too. When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go.”

  Derek shot toward the wall. He sprinted for half a second, jumped, flying through the air, and hammered a kick to the wall. The stone block cracked and fell, breaking. Before the last chunks bounced off the floor, I was up and moving. Derek shoved his hand into the hole and yanked a desiccated, ropy arm out. He twisted the wrist, locking the elbow, and I stabbed into the dark opening. Slayer sank into vampiric flesh, sliding along bone. Need to adjust the angle. Coils of smoke rose from the blade as it bit into undead tissue and began to melt it. I freed it with a sharp tug and thrust again. The point of the saber pressed against the hard ball of heart muscle and I felt the precise moment the bloodsucker’s heart ruptured. It writhed on the end of my sword. Still alive, nasty bugger.

  In less than a breath Desandra was off the bed and next to us. “What . . . ?”

  Derek kicked the wall directly under the opening. Cracks split the stone blocks. He kicked it again. Chunks of plaster showered the floor. Faux stone. Ahh. That explained it. Last time I checked, shapeshifters were strong but not strong enough to kick through solid stone.

  Derek yanked the vampire out of the wall, slapping it on the floor and pinning it. I moved with them, keeping Slayer right where it was. A pale body writhed on the floor: hairless, nude. Its pale green-tinged skin fit too tightly over its frame, and every muscle and ligament underneath was clearly visible, as if someone had taken a world-class athlete, bleached him, and stuck him in a dehydrator for a few weeks. The vamp hissed. Its eyes bore into me: hot, bright red, and devoid of any thought except for an insatiable thirst for hot blood.

  Slayer smoked. The flesh around the blade began to sag as the saber liquefied the vampire’s heart, trying to digest it. The vamp struggled to rise. Derek strained. The muscles on his body bulged. I leaned into Slayer.

  The vamp arched, lifting Derek off his feet for half a second. The moment I removed the blade, it would go for my throat. Slayer was taking too long. We couldn’t hold it.

  “Drop it.” I jerked the blade free. Derek hurled the vamp out and onto the stone floor. The pale body landed with a wet thud, and I beheaded it with one quick stroke. The vamp head rolled toward Desandra. She nudged it with her foot and wrinkled her nose. “Stinks, doesn’t he?”

  I wiped Slayer down.

  Derek rolled to his feet and stuck his head into the opening. “I can see a ten-foot-wide passage to the side with a vertical shaft at the end.” He indicated a rough rectangle of the wall. “This is plaster. Looks like the size of a small doorway. The rest is stone.”

  A light staccato of steps came down the hallway and four djigits ran into the room and halted.

  “Tell Hibla we need maid service,” I said. “We could handle trash in our room and an odd smell, but now we have a dead body. If this continues, we won’t be able to give your hotel a decent rating.”

  “Yeah,” Derek said, his voice completely deadpan. “The continental breakfast better kick ass or we’ll complain to the manager.”

  * * *

  Dinner was served at midnight. I had expended some calories—Doolittle’s healing made the body burn through food with wild abandon—and I was so ravenous, I could’ve eaten one of those mountain goats in the courtyard raw.

  Sitting still while Desandra napped and the castle staff poured alcohol on the vampire blood, set it on fire, and then scrubbed it off the floor, diligently ignoring my questions such as “How did a vampire get into the castle?” and “What was it doing in the wall?” gave me a lot of time to think.

  I started thinking about Curran and Lorelei, decided it would drive me nuts, and focused on the winged shapeshifters instead. I wished I had access to the Keep’s library. I wished I could call a couple of people and ask them if they’d ever heard of something like that. But I had no resources beyond what was in my head and what few books I’d brought with me. Fixating on lamassu would do me no good; there was no indication that lamassu were shapeshifters. When an investigation first began, you simply collected facts. I was still in the collecting-facts stage. Drawing conclusions at this point would cause me to select facts that supported my theories and ignore those that didn’t. That was a slippery slope at the end of which lay more dead bodies.

  Magic had ways
of spitting out new and bizarre things into the world, so just because I hadn’t heard of them didn’t mean these guys didn’t have a long and bloody history somewhere. Up until now, I would’ve questioned the existence of weredolphins as well, but having killed a few turned me into a believer. If a werewhale waddled into the castle, I wouldn’t blink an eye. I’d look for a harpoon, but I wouldn’t be surprised.

  So suppose this was some odd scale-covered weirdo type of never-before-seen shapeshifters. Why wasn’t Hugh turning the castle upside down looking for them? Hibla struck me as smart and capable but also a bit inexperienced. That wasn’t a strike against her—it was unlikely that this castle had ever been attacked and she cared about keeping it safe, so much so that she’d swallowed her pride and come to me for help. Considering how everybody and their mother had been lamenting the fact that I was not a shapeshifter and, therefore, must be inferior, Hibla’s coming to me was nothing short of a miracle.

  So she didn’t have the experience to deal with it, but Hugh had experience in spades. Why wasn’t he taking any action?

  The better question was, did he engineer this whole thing? If this was some sort of elaborate setup, I couldn’t see what he had to gain by it, but I couldn’t mark him off the list of potential suspects either, just like I couldn’t cross out Jarek Kral, the Volkodavi, or the Belve Ravennati.

  I would have loved to eliminate one suspect. Just one. It didn’t even matter which one. If I could drop one faction from the list, I would do a jig right there in front of everyone and weep for joy.

  The cleaning staff left. Derek raised his head and sniffed the air.

  If somebody ever hired us for another bodyguarding job, I’d fight tooth and claw to bring Derek with us. He smelled people coming before I ever heard them.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “Isabella,” he said.

  The matriarch of Belve Ravennati was coming to pay us a visit.

  “I don’t want to talk to her!” Desandra jumped off the bed and took off for the bathroom.

  Okay. I got up, and Derek and I blocked the doorway. Isabella Lovari strode down the stairs and toward us. A young dark-haired woman accompanied her.