Blood Heir Page 23

  I needed to move this along. “Do I need to sign anything?”

  A group of people came around the corner, from my left, led by a woman in a light green dress that did wonders for her already spectacular figure. Her long red hair dripped on her shoulders. Rowena, one of the Masters of the Dead, the second most powerful necromancer in Atlanta. She had to be in her fifties, and she was still gorgeous. I always suspected that she and Ghastek were an item, but nobody could ever prove it.

  The three men behind her wore identical outfits: dark pants, dark tunics, and heavy ceremonial cloaks, artfully draped over their shoulders. The leading man, older, with white hair and bronze skin, wore a cloak the color of jade, and the two younger men trailing him had cloaks the color of turquoise. People of the Sun.

  There goes the neighborhood…

  Among the Aztec cults, the People of the Sun were the strongest. Even before the Shift, twelve million Mexicans spoke the Aztec language. After magic had flooded the world, the Aztec mythology and religion came back full force. Some of it was good and some of it was horrifying.

  The People of the Sun worshiped Huitzilopochtli, the god of war, sun, and sacrifice, and they controlled random spots all over the Southwest. Anyone could join. They didn’t discriminate by national origin, gender, sexual orientation, or magical abilities, as long as you prayed to their god and no other.

  So far, the People of the Sun stayed away from mass human sacrifice, probably because they were powerful enough without it. We had run up against them during our time in LA, and they had been one of the factors that prompted our move to San Diego.

  Rowena’s group headed straight for us.

  This was planned. Ghastek meant for us to see each other. It couldn’t be for me, so it had to be for Namtur.

  Rowena moved slightly to the side, and I saw the older man’s face. Tizoc. One of the tecuhtli, the lords, old, powerful, dangerous as hell. His real name was Luke O’Sullivan. Most of his family still lived in Boston, and he occasionally made trips up there for Thanksgiving. The two guys behind him were likely Jaguar warriors, elite fighters who served as tecuhtli personal bodyguards.

  I turned away, so my hood blocked my face. Tizoc and Namtur had tried to negotiate before, and it was hate at first sight. Could this get any worse?

  The two old men saw each other. For an instant, nobody moved.

  Tizoc recovered first. “Namtur, you geriatric desert snake. I thought I smelled something foul, and there you are.”

  Namtur ignored him. “We shall leave now.”

  All around us, the smears of undead magic moved closer. There were six vampires right above, ready to fall through the ceiling, and more were coming. Ghastek expected a confrontation. He’d arranged it and now he was preparing to contain it.

  “Running?” Tizoc mocked.

  Namtur made no indication that he’d heard him. The ultimate insult—he’d decided that Tizoc was so insignificant, he was beneath notice.

  “Knight woman, I do not have time to stand around.”

  “Looks like we’ll be going now,” I said to Ghastek.

  Tizoc flicked his fingers and the two guards moved to block the exit.

  “Who is the errand girl? The best your bitch queen could send for you, a child in rags?” Tizoc reached for me.

  Namtur moved so fast, he blurred. His hand knocked Tizoc’s fingers away. “You dare?”

  Turquoise mist boiled out of Tizoc, like two glowing wings. His eyes shone with green.

  I had to stop this, or people would die.

  I put my hand on Namtur’s shoulder and moved so Tizoc could see my face. He jerked as if shocked with a live wire. Behind him, his bodyguards unsheathed their swords in unison.

  “We should go, Great Uncle,” I said softly in the old language. “We aren’t among friends.”

  Namtur patted my hand solemnly and turned toward the exit. The guards stepped aside, giving us a lot of room. We walked between them and kept going, through the Casino, out the doors, across the plaza. Two vampires covered in lime green sunblock discreetly followed us. I turned and looked at them to make sure the navigator knew they had been seen.

  “Great Uncle,” I murmured. “How could you ruin it? You were supposed to not know me.”

  He harrumphed. “Filthy dog. His hands are unworthy. If he’d sullied you with his bloodstained fingers, I’d have cut them off.”

  Bloodstained? Pot, kettle. “Thank you for caring, Great Uncle. What were you doing in the Casino?”

  “I’ve heard that the thin man is looking to make an alliance. I wanted to know to whom he was offering his pitiful wares.”

  He’d made Ghastek sound like some peddler on the street.

  “And now we know,” Namtur said.

  “Did he mention why he wanted an alliance?”

  “No, but he asked many questions about the Kingdom.”

  Interesting.

  We reached the side lot where I’d left Tulip and Lady, the horse I’d rented this morning. The vampires halted at the curb.

  Namtur spun around and waved at them. “Shoo! Go home, you unnatural creatures!”

  The vampires remained where they were. “We will escort you to the chapter.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I told them. “Mr. Sakkan is in the Order’s custody. I will consider any further interference from the Institute as a sign of aggression. This is your official warning.”

  The vampires froze as the two navigators piloting them waited for orders. A moment passed. The undead turned and loped back toward the Casino in their odd, disjointed gait.

  Namtur jumped and landed in Lady’s saddle. The hired horse startled. “Are we going home now?”

  “No, Great Uncle. We’re going to the Order of Merciful Aid.”

  Namtur nodded. “I see. And why would we do that?”

  “Two reasons. First, your former host will have us followed. I’m posing as a knight, so I’ll need to take you where the knights are.”

  “And the second?”

  “I have to convince a paranoid man prone to spree-killing and snap judgements that someone isn’t a threat.”

  “He’s right to be paranoid. This is a city of fools, incompetents, and madmen. I haven’t felt this young in centuries.”

  “And if things don’t go well, you’ll probably get to kill a great many of them.”

  “You and your enticing promises. It’s been eight months since I wet my blades. I will kill something before my respite ends.”

  Not if I could help it.

  Stella pondered Namtur’s face. “I don’t see the resemblance.”

  “‘Great Uncle’ is an honorary title.” Explaining that he was my near-immortal grandmother’s sworn blood brother would only complicate things.

  Namtur gave Stella his best smile. His eyes crinkled into tiny slits and he looked as sweet as could be. “I won’t be any trouble.”

  Stella got up. “Please sit down. Would you like some tea?”

  Namtur smiled even wider and took his time to waddle to the seat and gingerly lower himself into it. “Oh no, no. You’re very busy, and I don’t want to be a bother.”

  I really wanted to clap in appreciation of his fine performance, but that would ruin things.

  “It’s no trouble; I was going to make a cup for myself anyway.”

  She reached into her desk and took out a small flag made out of a rag tied to a chopstick and a tiny pitcher. She thrust the flag at me.

  I took it. “What’s this?”

  “That’s your war banner. He has been in his office with his butt glued to his chair since this morning. He canceled all his meetings. Nobody can go in. He’s waiting for you. Wave your banner.”

  I waved the banner. “Why?”

  Stella picked up the small pitcher. “I’m going to sprinkle milk on it like the Mongols did before battle. That’s all I can do to help.”

  “That’s so nice,” Namtur said. “You’re such a thoughtful friend.”

  I held the
war banner out, and Stella sprinkled some milk on it. Then I turned around and marched to Nick Feldman’s office.

  I knocked on the door.

  “Come in.”

  I entered and shut the door behind me.

  Nick Feldman looked like a human thundercloud.

  I walked to his desk and sat in the chair.

  He picked up a small glass tube from his desk. White powder floated inside it. Nick snapped it in half and tossed the powder on the floor. Orange lines ignited in the floorboards, forming a complex spell, and vanished. He’d sealed the room.

  Seals like this came in several varieties. Some blocked sound, others blocked sight, a third type did both. This one was a trap. It had sealed us inside the room, blocking all sight, sound, and magic, and I would have to break it to get out.

  Nick Feldman was going to kill me.

  I didn’t want to hurt him. He was always kind to me. Once Nick started, he wouldn’t stop. I would have to cripple him.

  He looked at Stella’s war banner. I put it on his desk and sat back.

  “Ms. Ryder, do you know what happens when a foreign shapeshifter enters Pack territory?”

  He wasn’t just calm. He’d turned into an icicle.

  “They must present themselves to the Beast Lord in twenty-four hours.”

  Nick fixed me with his stare. His eyes were filled with lead. “Do you know what happens if the visitor fails to observe the proprieties?”

  “The Pack finds them and brings them in?”

  “Yes. They are not always gentle about it.”

  I waited. He was going somewhere with this.

  “An average shapeshifter is at least three times stronger than the average human and twice as fast. Throw in the claws, the fangs, the accelerated healing, the hunting instinct, and what you have is an overpowered apex predator, armed with the intelligence of a human and the strength of a monster.”

  None of this seemed to require a response on my part. If this was anyone else, I’d ask if I should be taking notes or if this was going to be on the final. But the main objective here was to keep him calm.

  “Shapeshifters are insular, distrustful of outsiders, and deeply paranoid.”

  Pot, kettle.

  “Their humanity is often hanging by a thread,” Nick continued. “It takes very little prompting for that thread to snap. When they encounter a foreign shapeshifter in their territory and are met with resistance, they assume that that shapeshifter is up to no good. They will attempt to apprehend this invader. They may get excited and even kill them. When that happens, the pack this visitor belongs to retaliates. This is the point where rational thought and logic goes out the window and we have a shapeshifter war.”

  He was working up to something. There was an explosion coming, I could feel it.

  Nick crossed his arms. “What we have here, right now, is a foreign shapeshifter who happens to be the beta of the largest shapeshifter pack in North America. His mere presence in the Pack’s territory is an insult. If they find out he’s here and he escapes, the Pack loses face, and they will retaliate. If they apprehend him and he’s injured, Ice Fury will retaliate. Either way, this is a declaration of war. We are watching the beginning of a massacre. And that massacre won’t be fought in Alaska; it will be fought here, in this city.”

  He pointed to the window.

  “On those streets. Right out there.”

  I sat very still. This conversation was like crossing an iced-over lake. One wrong step and I’d plunge into frigid water.

  “Hundreds of shapeshifters will die. Thousands of innocent bystanders will be murdered. These are not some hypothetical statistics. This country has seen shapeshifter wars before. We know in gruesome detail what kind of casualties result from it. And those were small packs. Can you even imagine the scale of the slaughter when the two largest packs rip into each other?”

  I opened my mouth to answer.

  “I think you can,” he said.

  The ice under my feet just cracked.

  “I think you’re counting on it. To the people you serve, humans have no more value than mosquitoes.”

  He picked up a folder from the corner of his desk and dropped it in front of me. It fell open. Pictures fanned out over the desk. A photograph of Erra on a horse, my uncle on her left and me on her right. Another image, me in a royal gown of Shinar, receiving a group of businesspeople, half of them glaring, the other half awkwardly trying to bow, on the sunlit terrace of Dosari, Erra’s California palace. The pale green gown hugged my body. My hair, caught by a golden circlet, cascaded down in a waterfall of golden waves. Gold bracelets, identifying me as the Heir, glinted on my wrists. A third image, a painting, so lifelike it was almost a photograph—me in blood armor and on a horse, splattered with gore and screaming.

  Great. Fantastic. He’d given me the case way too easily. I knew he would dig into my background, but I’d hoped all the roadblocks I had set up in the last few months would delay him long enough for me to stop the ma’avirim.

  Damn this fucking face.

  “I have a theory.” Nick’s voice cut like a knife. “Would you like to hear it, Dananu?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “No. There are four and a half thousand miles separating Atlanta’s Pack and Ice Fury. So, I asked myself, what would the beta of Ice Fury, the guy who runs things on a day-to-day basis, be doing in Atlanta? They call him the wolf who rules in all but name. The Silver Wolf, the guy who managed to wrangle over five thousand separatists and misfits, half of whom have gone wild, into an actual working society, everything they had rejected, and they love him for it. Why would he come here? Why now?”

  Oh dear gods. Here we go.

  “He has to realize raiding the Pack is a logistical nightmare. They can’t possibly sustain a prolonged conflict. The Pack has the Keep and it’s a fucking fortress. They would know Ice Fury was coming, because Argent would have to move thousands of shapeshifters all the way through Canada and the Midwest to here. He must want something. The Pack has exclusive rights to panacea, which helps prevent loupism. They have a vault full of magical artifacts. Maybe he wants one of those. Or he wants to crush the Pack and take over. Maybe his people are tired of the north and the cold.”

  “Can I say something?”

  “No. I’m not done.” Anger flashed in Nick’s eyes. “Argent isn’t stupid. He wouldn’t be who he is otherwise. He knows all of this, but he’s here stirring the pot. He must be sure that he can get what he wants to risk it. That means he has a powerful backer. You.”

  And now we had paranoia on parade with floats and marching bands.

  Nick leaned forward. His eyes locked on me.

  “You’re going to back his play. It’s a good plan. He has brawn and you have magic. A one-two punch. There was a time when Atlanta would have come together to stop you, but now is not that time. You and Argent, you must’ve hoped that the Pack would notice him by now. You need an excuse to start this war. Except, for some bizarre reason, the Pack hasn’t reacted the way you anticipated, so you leaked his name to Stella. You know of my connection to the Pack. You counted on me sounding the alarm to save the woman I love and our children.”

  Oh Uncle Stupidhead...

  “Tell me, what do you get out of it? What does Erra want? Is this about Kate? Do you think if you wreck the Pack, Curran will step in, and you and Argent can kill him? And then Kate, alone and grieving, will pick up her orphan son and return to her aunt like a good little prodigal daughter? Did you honestly think you people could hide your involvement in this? Or did you simply not care? Is this revenge for Roland?”

  I opened my mouth again.

  “I won’t allow it. This scheme ends here, with me. There won’t be a war.”

  “Argent doesn’t want a war.” Yes! Finally got a word in.

  Nick focused on me. He looked slightly deranged, and his icy voice just made it worse. “Enlighten me. What does Argent want?”

  “He wants to find out who ki
lled Pastor Haywood.”

  Nick laughed. “You’re here for the same thing. How convenient.”

  Strange bulges slid under his skin, like golf balls rolling along the muscles. The secret weapon my grandfather had grafted onto him.

  Nick’s eyes told me I was about to die. Except it wouldn’t go the way he thought it would.

  I couldn’t kill Nick to save Kate. It went against everything I stood for. Everything she stood for. She wouldn’t want that. If she knew I killed him on her account…

  I’m so sorry, Kate.

  “It’s Derek.”

  Nick blinked.

  “Darren Argent is Derek Gaunt. He’s here because Pastor Haywood asked for his help, but he arrived too late. He won’t do anything to endanger the Pack Curran built. As to nobody knowing about him, Ascanio has been chasing him around the city for the past three days. He probably doesn’t know Derek is Argent, but he must have recognized the scent.”

  The words lay between us like heavy bricks.

  Nick stared at me, speechless.

  “You don’t have to kill anybody. There won’t be a war. There is no takeover. Desandra is safe. The kids are safe. Everything is okay. I won’t let anyone hurt Kate.”

  Silence stretched.

  “Julie?”

  “Yes?”

  Nick Feldman opened his mouth. “What in the fucking hell have you done to yourself?”

  “You drank their Kool-Aid. You let them change you and twist you, and why? What was wrong with you before?”

  I sighed. Nick hadn’t taken the whole Princess of Shinar thing well.

  “I told you, I didn’t have a choice. The Eye changed me. I hadn’t realized the changes had happened until I woke up with a new face. All I wanted was to be like Kate and like Erra. I wanted to belong and to be strong.”

  “That entire family is poison.”

  That again. “There is nothing poisonous about Kate. Kate spent most of her adult life protecting this city and the people in it. If there is any kind of trouble, she runs into it, no questions asked. She cares. She always does.”

  “Caring isn’t enough.”

  Aha. “You worked for Roland. You let him change you. Your tentacles aren’t clean. Who are you to pass judgement on her?”