Magic Bleeds kd-4 Page 23

  Dali shrugged her shoulders, as if shaking off dread. “How sure are you of this?”

  “I’m very sure. Erra makes plagues. In ancient times, she walked before Roland’s army. She’d pass through the place and the next morning there would be nothing but corpses. A few days later, once the land aired out, Roland’s troops would roll in. We know that Roland wants to do away with the Pack. Erra is the perfect person to do that. She has the power to panic animals and it works on shapeshifters.”

  “You’re joking.”

  I quoted, “ ‘I devastate the land and shatter it to dust, I crush the cities and turn them into waste, I crumble mountains and panic their wild beasts.’ She drives shapeshifters mad, Dali. She makes you go wild. You’ve heard about the witnesses to the fight at the Steel Horse. All of them went wild. You can’t fight her. Explain this to Jim. I don’t know if it’s her personal power or if she’s using one of the warriors to do it, but she has the Old Magic, the kind that the Pack can’t counter. You can’t engage her, because she will make all of you insane.”

  The car skidded to a halt and I realized we had reached my apartment. I jerked the door open and jumped out. Grendel followed.

  “Kate?” Dali’s eyes were huge on her face. “How do we fight her?”

  “I don’t know. You can’t fight her directly and I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you don’t have to.”

  I slammed the door closed and ran into my building.

  CHAPTER 21

  I CHARGED UP MY APARTMENT STAIRS, SLAYER in hand and my sweatered demon spawn in tow.

  My apartment door. In one piece. No sign of a break-in.

  I forced myself to slow down, slid the key into the lock, and swung the door open. The poodle trotted in. I followed softly on my toes.

  Kitchen. Clear.

  I nudged the bathroom door with my fingertips. Clear.

  My living room. Clear.

  Library/Julie’s room. Clear.

  Clear. The apartment was clear.

  I had to hide Julie.

  I scanned the apartment. Too much. I could throw away the pictures, but signs of her were all over my place. Clothes, teddy bear with vampire teeth, half-painted black bedroom with a big KEEP OUT stenciled on the wall . . . Sooner or later Erra would make it into my apartment, and she would find something I’d missed. She would look for Julie, and if she found her, she would kill my kid and she’d do it slowly to torture me with it.

  Think. Think, think, think . . .

  I grabbed scissors, marched into Julie’s closet, and pulled out her favorite Goth dress. Two snips, and I had two pieces of black ribbon. I snatched glue out of the utility drawer and fixed black ribbon over the corner of two photo frames.

  Funeral pictures. That was what Voron did when Larissa died. She was a wererat, who traveled with us for a while, and when she died, he fixed the ribbons on her photo. I had a kid, but she died and I kept her funeral pictures in plain sight.

  I pulled the paper drawer open, took the folder with Julie’s school papers, and pushed the books off the woodstove. A bit of kerosene, some crumpling, and two minutes later Julie’s school records went up in flames.

  Okay. I had the phone number of the school memorized. There was no record of it. And if Erra thought Julie was dead, she wouldn’t look for her. I grabbed the phone and dialed the school’s number. In ten seconds I was patched through to security and gave detailed instructions: Julie was not to leave the grounds. She was not to contact me until I contacted her.

  I ended the call, dialed the Order, and hung up. If Erra knew how to use redial, it wouldn’t lead her to Julie either.

  The papers burned to ash. I sat on the floor and stared at the flames.

  I beat her. If she broke in now, Julie would be safe.

  Grendel wandered over to me and whined softly.

  “Give me a minute,” I told him.

  All my life had been focused on avoiding this moment. My family had found me. Even if I killed her, which was a huge “if,” it wouldn’t exactly go unnoticed.

  I had to go. I had to grab my shit and take off into the wilderness, where she couldn’t track me. I knew where to hide. Voron and I had planned out several escape routes years ago.

  What about Julie? She was safe at the school but she wouldn’t understand. She would think I’d abandoned her. Taking her with me was out of the question. Julie wasn’t me. I could take a knife, melt into the forest, and come out on the other side weeks later, leaner, but no worse for wear. Julie wouldn’t be able to handle it. The responsible thing would be to leave her where she was.

  She’d run away and go looking for me. She’d run away in a heartbeat.

  All I could do would be to send a message to the school and tell them that I had to go and she had to stay and trust them to keep her there.

  No good choices. When you care about people, they tie you down.

  Suppose I did take off and Erra lost my trail. The Pack would be her next target. She would demolish the shapeshifters. Once she was done with them, she’d have the city to play with. If she really did what she was famous for, Atlanta would become the land of diseased corpses.

  Erra was made out of my childhood nightmares. For the first time since I reached adulthood, I wanted my dad to be alive, in the way a child wants his parent to come into a dark bedroom and turn on the light. Except Voron was dead. Besides, I knew what his response would be: Run. Run as fast and as far as you can. I had a window of opportunity now, before she found me again. Once I let it slip, my avenue of escape was gone forever. Show over.

  I picked Slayer off the floor and dragged my fingers across the blade, feeling magic nip at my skin. The need to run gripped me. The walls closed in, as if my apartment had shrunk.

  This wasn’t me. I didn’t panic. I needed to be sharp for this.

  I closed my eyes and let it all go. I pictured the worst possible scenario. Julie dead, her little face bloody. Curran dead, his body broken, gray eyes staring into nothing, all of the gold gone. Jim, Andrea, Raphael, Derek, dead, their bodies torn apart.

  My hands turned ice-cold. My pulse raced. My heartbeat thudded in my ears, too loud.

  Atlanta dead. Corpses on the streets. Vultures that circled but wouldn’t land because the corpses were poison.

  I soaked it all in. It hurt. Sweat broke out on my face.

  A long moment passed.

  Gradually my heart rate slowed. I breathed in deep and let it out. Again. Again. Fatigue rolled over me in a sluggish wave. The poodle licked my hand.

  I’d tricked my mind into thinking the worst had happened and I had lived through it. Everyone was still alive. I still had a chance to shield them.

  My breathing evened out. Dread and fear fell away from me. Fear drained resources. One could be afraid only so much before the body shut it off in self-defense. I’d overloaded the circuits. Calm came. My mind started slowly, like a rusty clock. “I had my fun. I made friends, adopted a kid, fell in love. It’s time to pay the piper.”

  Grendel tilted his head.

  “Besides, the bitch killed Marigold. We’ve got to nuke her. Are you game?”

  The poodle turned around, trotted into the kitchen, and brought me his food dish.

  “What happened to your altruism? Fine. I’ll pay you in meat if you help me kill her.”

  The dog barked.

  “You’ve got yourself a deal. Here, let’s see what we can scrounge up.” I grinned and pushed off the floor. Everything hurt. I was spent. The power word and the fight had cost me and the wound didn’t help. It felt like I was dragging steel chains.

  My invisible chains and I made it into the kitchen. I opened the fridge, tossed the undead head into the garbage, and tried to find something to eat.

  A knock sounded through my apartment.

  I PUT GRENDEL IN THE BATHROOM AND OPENED the door.

  Erra stood on the landing, wrapped in a fur cloak, her face hidden by a hood. I was about five seven. She topped me by at least ten inc
hes.

  Would it have killed her to wait a couple hours and let me catch my breath?

  I held the door open. “I get a visit in person. I’m so honored.”

  “You should be. There is a ward on the door. Yours or did you pay someone?”

  “Mine.”

  She held out her hand, giving me a glimpse of calluses at the base of her fingers—from sword use. Man-hands, Bob had said. I could see why he’d think that.

  The ward clutched at her skin in a flash of blue. It had to hurt like hell.

  She clenched her fist.

  The blue glow solidified around her hand. Hairline cracks dashed through it. For a long second it held, like a pane of translucent blue glass, and then it broke. Magic boomed inside my skull, exploding into a crippling headache.

  Message received. Whatever I could make, she could break. Subtle “R” Us.

  Pieces of the ward fluttered down, melting in midair. Erra shook her hand with a grimace. “Not too bad.”

  My skull wanted very much to split open. “Shall we fight now or fight later?”

  “Later.” She strode into my apartment. Apparently she wanted to talk. That was fine. I could always make her bleed later. I closed the door.

  Erra pulled back the hood, revealing a mass of dark brown, nearly black hair, slipped her cloak off, and tossed it on my bed. She wore loose black pants and a tailored leather jerkin studded with metal. A simple longsword hung at her waist. No frills, functional hilt, double-edged blade about twenty-eight inches long. Good for thrusting or slashing. The kind of sword I’d carry. Her calluses said she knew how to use it. My vision of facing a spear fighter just went up in flames. She cracked wards like walnuts, she was a giant, and she was good with the blade.

  “You don’t spit fire, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Just checking.”

  Erra faced me. She looked older than me by about ten years. Her sharp nose protruded farther, almost Roman in shape, and her lips were fuller than mine. Looking into her dark eyes was like being shocked with a live wire. Magic churned in her irises, fueling towering arrogance, intelligence, and white-hot temper. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose.

  Her eyes narrowed. She scrutinized me.

  I raised my chin and stared back.

  Erra laughed softly. “What do you know? Blood ran true. A little remainder of my own mortality. Thousands of years and godlike power, and here I am, getting challenged by a babe who looks like me.”

  She had me there. Nobody with an iota of sense would have any doubt that we were related. Same skin tone, same eyes, same shape of the face, same smirk, same build, except she was huge. We even wore similar clothes.

  The Dubal ritual suddenly made sense. I hadn’t seen myself in the smeared cloudy liquid. I’d seen her. The second anyone viewed us side by side, the jig would be up.

  Erra surveyed the apartment. “This is where you dwell?”

  “Yep.”

  “It’s a hovel.”

  What was it lately with everyone commenting on my accommodations? My office was shabby, my apartment was a hovel . . .

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  She blinked. “You are just a baby. When I was your age, I had a palace. Servants and guards and teachers. You never forget your first one.”

  “First what?”

  “Your first palace.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Erra strolled into the back and glanced into the library. “I like your books.” She picked up Julie’s picture off the shelf. “Who is the child? She isn’t of the family.”

  “An orphan.”

  Erra’s fingers slid across the black ribbon. “What happened?”

  “She died.”

  “Children often do.” She turned and nodded at the kitchen. “It’s cold. Do you have anything to drink?”

  “Tea.” This was surreal. Maybe if I fed her some cookies, she would postpone turning Atlanta into a wasteland.

  “Is it hot?” Erra asked.

  “Yes.”

  “That will do.”

  I went into the kitchen, made tea, poured two cups, and sat. Slayer was waiting for me on the chair. I slid it on my lap and looked at Erra. She folded herself into a chair across from me and dumped half a cup of honey into her tea.

  Of all the people I knew, I had the best shot at taking her down. I wasn’t at my best right this second, but we don’t get to pick the time to fight for our lives.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  Thinking that you have better reach but I’m faster. “Why a sword and not a spear?”

  “The spear is good to pin things in place. Swords tend to break under the weight. I’ve seen you fight and you deserve a sword.” A corner of her mouth crept up. “Unless you plan to stand still while I skewer you.”

  I shrugged. “The thought did cross my mind, but I have a reputation to uphold.”

  Erra chuckled. “I figured out who you are. You’re the lost child Im carries on about, when he gets his attacks of melancholy.”

  Melancholy, right. He mourns the fact he failed to kill me—how charming. “Im?”

  “A childhood nickname of your father’s. Do you know who I am?”

  “The scourge of the ancient world. Plaguebringer. City Eater. My aunt.” Roland’s older sister.

  Erra raised her cup. “Shall we celebrate our family reunion?”

  I raised my spoon and twirled it in the air a couple of times. “Whooptidoo.”

  She smiled. “You’re too funny to be his. His children tend to take themselves absurdly seriously.”

  I sipped my tea. The longer we chatted, the more I rested. “You don’t say.”

  “You’re much more like my brood, but I only woke up six years ago so you can’t be mine. Too bad. Another time, another place, I could possibly make you into something suitable.”

  I couldn’t resist. “What were your children like?”

  “Impulsive. And violent. I mostly made boys, and they tended toward the simple pleasures in life: drinking, whoring, and fighting, preferably all three at once.” She waved her fingers. “Im’s offspring stare at stars and make clocks that calculate useless happenings like the angle of a hawk’s claws as it strikes its prey. They demonstrate their contraptions and everyone marvels. My children get drunk, confuse a herd of cows with an enemy regiment, and slaughter the lot, screaming like lunatics until the entire army panics.”

  That sounded like big Ajax, one of the Greeks who besieged Troy. Must’ve been during her “Greek” period.

  Erra took a drink. “One dimwit dragged the city gates up a mountain. I asked him why he did that. He said, ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’ ”

  I blinked. “Did he also refuse to cut his hair?”

  Erra grimaced. “He was balding. That was his master plan: grow out a mane so nobody would notice. His father was gorgeous. Dumb as a pigeon but gorgeous. I thought my blood would compensate for his lack of brains.”

  “How did that turn out for you?”

  My aunt grimaced. “He was the dumbest child I ever produced. Killing him was like curing a headache.”

  I sipped my tea. “You killed your own son?”

  “He was a mistake, and when you make a mistake, it must be corrected.”

  “I thought he committed suicide.” At least according to the Bible.

  “He did. I just helped him along the way.”

  “Ajax killed himself, too.”

  She sipped her tea in a gesture so similar to mine, I had to fight not to stare. “You don’t say.”

  That’s my family for you. Oh, so pleasant.

  I refilled my cup.

  My aunt glanced at me. “Do you know what your father does when his kids disappoint him?”

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

  “He calls me. Im’s too sentimental to remedy his mistakes. He’s done it a few times, but they have to do som
ething truly asinine for him to kill them personally.”

  “I’m excellent at asinine.”

  She smiled, sharp enough to cut. Like a sword coming out of a scabbard. “That I can believe.”

  We looked at each other.

  “Why the Pack?” I asked.

  “Five half-breeds are easy to dispatch. Throw enough troops at them and they will be overwhelmed. Fifty half-breeds will slice through five times their number. They’re fast and those they don’t kill, they panic. Five hundred half-breeds can take on an army ten times their size and triumph.” She sipped her tea. Her face turned cold. “I saw it happen thousands of years ago. This new kingdom of the half-breeds is in its infancy. It must be crushed before they learn to walk.”

  I looked into her eyes. A ruthless intelligence looked back.

  “Why call them half-breeds?”

  “It’s a convenient term. It drips with contempt. You’re a soldier who faces a monstrosity. It’s stronger and faster than you, it looks like a nightmare, and when it takes a wound that would kill a normal man, its fellows push you back and fifteen minutes later the creature you wounded is back on its feet. Where will your courage come from?”

  I leaned toward her. “But if you think the creature is an abomination, a half-breed, who is less than you, you might reach deep inside and find a pair.”

  Erra nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Why not just declare them unclean and turn it into a crusade, then?”

  She pointed her spoon at me. “You want to stay away from religion. Once you bring prayers and worship into it, your troops start thinking you’re a god. Faith has power during magic. You begin getting urges that aren’t your own. That’s why I warned Babylon that if they ever built a shrine to me, I’d raze the city down to a nub and salt the ground it stood on. In any case, the half-breeds must be scattered. They’re too organized and they have a First.”

  I toyed with my cup. “What’s a First?”

  “The First were there first. They have more power, better control, and the rest of the half-breeds flock to them.”

  Curran.

  Erra’s eyes narrowed. “You like him.”

  I arched my eyebrows.