Iron and Magic Read online

  “I know. I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

  He followed her. They walked together through the shadowy hallway.

  It was comforting, walking like this next to him. It was like walking next to a monster, but if something jumped out at them from the shadows, he would kill it, both because it was his job and because he would enjoy it. He wasn’t carrying a sword, but it didn’t matter. At the core, Hugh d’Ambray was a predator. She understood that all too well. There were two monsters in this hallway, he was one and she was the other, both of them horrible in their own ways. The vision of blood spreading through the clear water came to her. She shivered.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  “No. Hugh, do you think Redhill is like the Old Market?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where do they take them?” She glanced at him. “They kill these people, so they have pounds and pounds of dead weight. They have to transport them out, but the shapeshifters lost their scent at the palisade. You would need vehicles or wagons to transport the people. It wouldn’t just leave a scent trail, it would leave a regular trail a mile wide.”

  “Yes.”

  “There is no trail. There is nothing. The people and the warriors vanished into thin air.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are we dealing with an elder being?”

  His face was grim. “Probably.”

  She almost hugged herself. Certain creatures required too much magic to survive the seesaw of magic and technology. Djinn, divine beasts, gods… They only manifested during a flare, a magical tsunami that drenched the world every seven years. The rest of the time they existed outside of reality, in the mists, in the secret caves, in the primordial darkness. A dark swell of memories rose inside her, and she crushed them before they had a chance to drag her under.

  An elder being could open a portal to its realm. She had seen it firsthand during a flare. An elder being brave enough to risk appearing during a magic wave would be infinitely more dangerous. Nobody could predict tech shifts, and if the magic wave suddenly ended, the elder creature would likely die.

  “We need to figure out the nature of the bond between the beasts and the handlers,” she murmured.

  “Could be telepathic navigation,” Hugh said. “Would explain why the humans stood still.”

  It took concentration to navigate. “But five? Most Masters of the Dead can hold what, two vampires? Three?”

  “Depends on the navigator. Daniels can hold a couple hundred.”

  Elara stopped and pivoted toward him. “A couple hundred?”

  “She can’t do much with them, but she can hold them. There is a lot of power there, which she doesn’t use most of the time. Like you. Why do you hold back, Elara?”

  Excellent time to make her escape. She pointed at the door ahead. “This is my stop.”

  “Not in the talking mood?”

  “Good night, Preceptor.”

  He nodded, turned without a word, and strode down the hallway. He’d walked her to the door. That was almost… sweet.

  The only way the Preceptor of the Iron Dogs would ever be sweet is if he were walking her into a trap. Elara turned around, peering at the shadows, half-expecting something to leap out at her.

  Nothing. The soft gloom of the hallway was empty. The man had her paranoid in her own castle. This marriage was a gift that kept on giving and just when she thought she had him figured out, he changed his stride.

  Outside the walls a dog yowled, its howl breaking into hysterical furious snarling. Alarm shot through her.

  The door swung open under the pressure of her fingertips. The window stood wide open, the white curtains billowing in the night breeze. Deidre sat on the bed, still like a statue, her eyes wide and unblinking. Lisa’s body slumped on the floor by the window, her shotgun on the rug, next to the bed. A creature squatted over Lisa, its clawed hands hooked into her flesh, biting into her neck. It had nearly chewed through it and Lisa’s head dangled, her brown eyes dark and glassy.

  The creature looked up, big owl eyes empty, flat, like the eyes of a fish. Blood stained its nightmarish fangs.

  She had to save the child.

  The only weapon in the room was Lisa’s shotgun. Knowing Lisa, it would be loaded. The other door in the room led to the bathroom; it would be too flimsy to hold against the beast and once they got inside, they would be trapped. The only way out was through the doorway where Elara stood. If the little girl ran to her, the beast would catch her before she could.

  “Deidre,” Elara said, her voice calm. “Crawl toward me. Do it very slowly.”

  The girl swallowed. Slowly, ever so slowly, she shifted onto her hands and knees. Elara took a slow gliding step sideways toward the bed and the gun.

  The beast watched her, Lisa’s blood dripping from its mouth. It licked its fangs, running its tongue on the shreds of human flesh stuck between its teeth. Outside the dogs snarled in a frenzy.

  Deidre crawled to her. An inch. Another inch.

  Another.

  Elara took another step.

  Ten feet between them.

  Nine. Deidre was almost at the edge of the bed.

  Eight.

  The creature leaned forward, lowering Lisa to the floor, its gaze locked on them. Elara held her hand up, palm toward Deidre.

  They froze.

  The monster stared at them.

  Elara took short shallow breaths.

  A moment passed, long and slow like cold molasses.

  Another…

  The creature dipped its head and bit Lisa’s neck.

  “Deidre, when I say run, I want you to jump off the bed, run outside, and scream as loud as you can. Scream and keep running. Don’t stop. Do you understand?”

  The child nodded.

  Elara shifted her weight onto her toes.

  The beast tore another shred of flesh from Lisa’s throat, exposing more of the broken vertebrae. She’d make it pay. Yes, she would.

  Deidre perched at the very edge of the bed.

  Now. “Run!”

  Deidre jumped off the bed and dashed to the door. Elara lunged forward and grabbed the shotgun.

  A piercing, desperate scream tore through the castle. “Hugh! Hugh!”

  The beast sprang at her. There was no time to aim, so she drove the butt of the gun into its face. The creature reeled. She pumped the shotgun and squeezed the trigger. The shotgun barked. Pellets tore into the beast’s face, knocking it back.

  Elara sprinted to the hallway, slammed the door shut, and threw herself against it, back to the wood. She had to buy time.

  The beast let out a screech behind her. It lashed her senses, whipping her into a frenzy.

  “Hugh!” The terror-soaked shriek sounded further away. Run, Deidre. Run.

  The beast slammed into the door from the other side. The impact shook it like the blow of a giant hammer. Elara’s feet slid. She dug her heels in.

  The door shuddered again, nearly throwing her. It would break through on its third try.

  She leaped aside and pumped the shotgun.

  The door flew open, the creature tumbling out all the way to the other wall of the hallway. Elara jerked the shotgun up and fired.

  Boom!

  The blast tore through the beast. Blood spatter landed on her face. The monster surged upright, its face a mess of bloody tissues, its left eye leaking onto its cheek.

  Pump. Boom!

  The creature jerked back, then lunged at her.

  Pump. Nothing.

  Elara flipped the shotgun, brandishing it like a club.

  Hugh came around the corner, running at full speed and plowed into the beast, knocking it off balance. As the monster came back up, Hugh grabbed it, twisting it around to face her, muscling it, his face savage, and caught its throat in the bend of his elbow. His forearm pressed against the beast’s neck. It kicked, jerking and flailing, claws ripping the air only a foot from her face as it struggled to break free, and for a second, she didn’t know if Hugh c
ould hold it.

  Hugh caught the creature’s head with his left hand. The powerful muscles of his arms flexed, crushing. Bones crunched. The beast’s head lolled. It went limp.

  Relief flooded her. She lowered the shotgun.

  Hugh dropped the beast like a piece of trash and turned to her.

  “Hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Others?”

  She made her mouth move. “I only saw one.”

  Deidre ran to them and wrapped herself around her, trembling uncontrollably.

  “It’s okay,” Elara cooed. “It’s okay. Safe now. It will all be okay.”

  “What if it comes back?” the little girl whispered.

  “If it comes back, Hugh will kill it. That’s what he does. He protects us. It will be okay.”

  Hugh gave her an odd look, but she was too tired to care. Exhaustion mugged her like a wet blanket, smothering her thoughts. The danger had passed. Hugh’s sentries had failed, and he would take it personally, which meant not even a fly would make it into the castle for the rest of the night. And, knowing Hugh, probably for the rest of all nights.

  Lisa was dead. Lovely, kind Lisa.

  She was so tired.

  Iron Dogs, hounds, and a couple of her people charged up the stairs, pounding into the hallway. The dogs tore at the corpse.

  Hugh grinned at her, showing even white teeth. “You were right. There were fifteen.”

  She didn’t have any witty comebacks. She put her arm around Deidre and walked toward the stairway, heading for her room.

  The door to Elara’s bedroom stood wide open. Serana stood on the side, guarding. She snapped to attention as he passed.

  Hugh stalked through the doorway. Elara lay on the bed, fully clothed, her eyes closed. Her breathing was even.

  Asleep.

  An assault rifle lay on the night table, within her reach. She’d washed the blood from her face, but small red drops peppered her dress. The child curled next to her, asleep.

  He moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed. She didn’t stir.

  The adrenaline still coursed through him. He came to tell her that the beast had come over the wall and scaled the tower. The grate on the window had been loose and it ripped it out. His people checked the creature’s hands and found no sign of injury. The silver in the metal of the grate would’ve burned most magical beings, but not that one.

  The creature was fast and sly. It must’ve watched the patrols and waited for the best time. There was less than thirty seconds between the walking sentries. It timed the assault perfectly and by the time the dogs picked up the scent, it was already scurrying up the tower.

  The creature could’ve caught them in the forest. It was fast enough. But it must’ve weighed the odds and realized that it was outmatched. That likely meant it wasn’t telepathically controlled by its master. A telepathic bond required a blank mind, and the moment the warrior controlling it died, the beast would’ve taken off into the woods, to freedom. That’s why loose bloodsuckers slaughtered everything in sight. Without navigators to direct them, they acted on pure instinct.

  This creature followed them, waited for the right moment, then got inside hoping to kill Deidre. Still, it wasn’t too bright, otherwise Lisa’s presence wouldn’t have distracted it. It likely killed Lisa to get to the child, but once it started chewing on her, it didn’t want to stop. He’d seen similar behavior in feral dogs.

  He came to tell Elara that this would never happen again. She didn’t wait for his assurances. She trusted him enough to fall asleep.

  If it comes back, Hugh will kill it. That’s what he does. He protects us.

  The world had sat askew, until he’d come to the castle. All the cornerstones of his life had fallen: Roland gone, his position as Warlord eliminated, his immortality over. But now he had a place, here in the castle, and a purpose.

  If it comes back, Hugh will kill it. That’s what he does. He protects us. It will be okay.

  When he’d heard the child scream, he had imagined the worst. If someone had asked him this morning what was the worst that could happen, he would’ve had to think about it. Now he knew. The worst would be Elara dying.

  The fights, the compromises, the maneuvering, pissing her off until she turned purple in the face and forgot to keep a hold on her magic, so it leaked from her eyes, all of it took up so much of his time. It was fun. If she was no longer here, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. Would he leave? Would he stay?

  This new life, it was just his. Hugh didn’t owe it to anyone. He was building it himself, brick by brick, one shovel of cement at a time, the same way he had built that damn moat. He was building his own castle, and for better or worse, the harpy wormed her way into his world and became its tower.

  When he’d thought she might be dead, fear had scraped him raw. For a moment he felt the piercing icy pain of what must’ve been panic.

  But she’d survived.

  Hugh reached out carefully and rested his hand on her chest, just under her breasts, to reassure himself that he wasn’t imagining it. She felt warm. Her chest rose and fell with her breath.

  She’d survived.

  All was good. Tomorrow it would return to normal. The crisis had passed.

  He raised his hand and walked out the door.

  Elara’s eyes snapped open. She saw Hugh’s wide back disappear through the doorway.

  He had reached out and touched her. It was such a light touch, hesitant, almost tender, as if he’d been reassuring himself she was alright.

  Hugh d’Ambray cared if she lived or died.

  He’d given himself away. It was a fatal mistake. There was so much she could do with it. Now she just had to decide how to use it.

  What did she want from Hugh d’Ambray? Now there was a question.

  If she wanted Hugh – and she wasn’t ready to say she did – but if she did decide that she wanted him, she would have to approach it very carefully. By tomorrow the man who’d gently touched her would disappear and the old Hugh d’Ambray would take his place. That man wouldn’t respond to overtures of peace. If she came to him, looking for relief or reassurance, or offering him either, he would either view it as a weakness or try to use it to his advantage. Nothing that went on between the two of them was either tender or loving. She would have to back him into a corner or let him think he backed her into one. And if she ever let him into her bed, she would fight him in there too.

  Was it worth it? She still wasn’t sure.

  Elara closed her eyes and went to sleep.

  11

  Elara strolled through the sunroom. At some point it had been a rampart, one of many extending from the main tower. When they first took over the castle, the battlements here were badly damaged, so instead of repairing them, she chose to extend the roof and install floor-to-ceiling glass panels. As with every available space in the castle, soon the sunroom acquired plants, some grown in large floor containers, others dripping from hanging pots. Tall hibiscus plants offered bright red and cream-colored blossoms next to the delicate orange blooms of flowering maple. White jasmine rose above purple oxalis leaves, sending a sweet perfume into the air. The pottery came from the village shop and the children had painted them in bright vivid hues. There was even enough sun for some herbs, although they found herbs grew best outside. Johanna had added long constellations of colored glass hanging from wires. When the sun hit them just right, the entire room glowed with turquoise, indigo, peach, and red. Dugas had delivered a huge wooden table, enough to seat sixteen people, and the sunroom was complete.

  Today the table held an assortment of their herbal offerings. She supposed to some the sight of jars, bottles, and dried bundles would’ve seemed ominous. Most of their concoctions wouldn’t be touched unless someone’s health was in question. But to her, it brought a deep, quiet sense of joy. She’d needed comfort after last night, and so she came here.

  A whisper of movement made her turn. Rufus Fortner knocked on the doorframe. Beh
ind him Rook waited, impassive, next to Johanna.

  “Good morning,” Elara said.

  “Good morning,” Rufus answered. “May I come in?”

  “Of course.”

  The big man walked into the sunroom. Behind him Rook slipped in and parked himself by the wall, a silent shadow. Johanna glanced at her, a question in her eyes. Elara barely shook her head. She could handle the Commander of the Red Guard on her own. Rook was more than enough backup. The blond witch retreated into the hallway.

  “Nice selection,” Rufus said, looking at the collections of jars and bottles on the table. “It’s like a pharmacy in here.”

  “Not like. We are a pharmacy, one of the best in the area.”

  “Herbal pharmacy. Natural cures.”

  “Do you know what they call natural cures that work, Commander?” Elara’s lips curled into a soft smile. “They call it medicine. For two and a half thousand years people extracted salicin from the leaves of white willow trees and used it to soothe headaches and inflammation. A French chemist, Henri Leroux, extracted salicin in a crystalline form in 1829. An Italian, Piria, produced salicylic acid from it. Then in 1853 another Frenchman synthesized acetylsalicylic acid. Finally, in 1899 Bayer packaged it into pills and put it on the store shelves. They called it aspirin.”

  “How about that?” Rufus said. He picked up a jar of wolfsbane and looked at it. “Good color on the wolfsbane.” He set the jar down and picked up a small green bottle. “What is this one?”

  “An all-purpose antibiotic,” she said. “Excellent against urinary tract infections.”

  Rufus rocked his head side to side, nodding in appreciation, set the bottle down, and pointed to a red heart-shaped jar filled with chick pea-sized pills. “Love potion?”

  “Hardly. The heart symbol comes from the seed of a once extinct plant, silphium, used by the Romans and Greeks as a cure all for many ills. Also, as a contraceptive for women, just like the contents of that jar.” She reached over and picked out a tall vial of pale green liquid with a dropper at the end. “But we do offer a love potion of sorts. They don’t make Viagra anymore. This is the next best thing.”