Magic Bleeds kd-4 Page 32
It was hard to argue with him, because he stubbornly insisted on making sense. “Put one of the alphas in charge, then.”
Curran’s blond eyebrows crept together. “And raise one clan above all others, while undermining your future authority? They’d never let you forget it.”
I held his gaze. “I know Erra. I know what she is capable of. You don’t. Do you at least respect me enough to let me take the lead on this?”
He didn’t pause. “Yes. But I’m still coming with you. I need to be there.”
The frustration burst from me. “Argh.” I pushed to my feet. “I fucking hate her for putting me through this. When I get my hands on her, I’ll rip her legs out and feed them to her, boots first.”
THE SHAPESHIFTERS DIDN’T BELIEVE IN JAILS. TYPICAL punishments were death or labor. In the rare cases when they did sentence someone to isolation, they exiled them to a remote area.
The Keep did have several holding cells, large, empty rooms equipped with loup cages. One of them held my “bodyguard.” Curran insisted on walking with me to the door. Somehow, despite the early hour, the hallways of the Keep were full of shapeshifters, who made valiant efforts not to stare at me.
“For nocturnal people, you’re terribly active in daylight,” I murmured.
“The curiosity is killing them. They’d mob you if they could get away with it.”
“That would go very badly for everyone involved. I don’t like crowds.”
Curran pondered that for a moment. “I have some final arrangements to make and then I’m free. Would you have a nice dinner with me?”
“I’ll cook,” I told him.
“You sure? I can have it made.”
“I’d prefer to cook.” It might be our last dinner.
“I’ll help you, then.”
He stopped by a door. “She is in there. Can you find your way back by yourself?”
“I have an uncanny sense of direction.”
He presented me with his Beast Lord face. “Right. I’ll have a compass, chalk, a ball of string, and rations for five days brought to you.”
Ha-ha. “If I get in trouble, I’ll ask that nice blond girl you designated as my babysitter.”
Curran glanced at the young blond shapeshifter who’d discreetly followed us from his quarters. “You’ve been made. You can come wait by the door.”
She walked over and stood by the door.
Curran took my hand and squeezed my fingers.
The shapeshifters froze.
“Later,” he said.
“Later.” I may have had a hell of a lot of baggage, but he was no prize either. Living with him meant living in a glass box.
Curran released my fingers, glanced at the hallway, and raised his voice. “Carry on.”
Suddenly everybody had someplace to be and they really needed to get there.
I opened the door and walked into the cell.
A large rectangular room stretched before me, completely empty except for a loup cage, eight feet tall, with the bars the size of my wrist. The magic was down, or the bars would fluoresce with enchanted silver. Eight support beams extended from the cage’s ceiling and floor, anchoring it to the Keep itself.
The woman sat within the cage, in the same cross-legged pose as the last time I’d seen her. Her spear leaned against the wall, well out of her reach.
I approached the cage and sat cross-legged on the floor. I could’ve covered the floor of the room with all the questions I wanted to ask her. The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question was, would she answer?
The woman opened her eyes. Completely black and impenetrable, like two chunks of coal.
We looked each other over. She had the face of a woman who spent a lot of time outside and laughed often—her pale brown skin was weather-beaten, crow’s feet fanned from her eyes, and her mouth seemed perpetually hiding a sardonic laugh, as if she was convinced she was the only able mind in a world of fools.
“He’s very strong.” An odd accent tinted her voice. “Stubborn and proud, but very strong. He’s a good choice.”
She meant Curran. “What’s your name?”
“Naeemah.”
“Do you really shift into a crocodile?”
She inclined her head—a nod in slow motion.
“Crocodiles are cold-blooded.”
“That is a truth.”
“Most shapeshifters are mammals.”
“That is a truth also.”
“So how does it work?”
Naeemah gave me a wide smile without showing any teeth. “I’m not most shapeshifters.”
Touché.
“Why do you protect me?”
“I’ve told you already: it’s my job. Pay attention.”
“Who hired you?”
Red sparked in Naeemah’s eyes and melted into her anthracite irises. “Let me out of the cage and I will tell you.”
I raised my eyebrows. “How do I know you won’t stab someone in the back?”
Naeemah gave me a patronizing look. “Bring the spear.”
I rose and got the spear. It was about five feet long, with a plain metal head, about nine inches long and close to three inches wide at the base. A tightly wrapped leather cord reinforced the socket, binding it to the shaft so well, the spear head seemed to sprout from the wood.
I raised the spear on the palms of my hands, bringing it to eye level. Bent. Almost as if it had been a branch at some point instead of a wooden pole cut perfectly straight from a larger piece of wood. Heavier than expected and very hard. The texture was odd, too, smooth, polished, and pale, like driftwood. Small black marks peppered the wood, etched into it with heated wire. Birds, lions, wavy lines, geometric figures . . . Hieroglyphs, written sideways on the shaft. Each set of characters was segregated by a horizontal line. Small vertical strokes ran in a ring just before the line, in some places only a few, in others so many they circled the shaft.
The burned marks ended a couple of feet from the spearhead. Interesting.
“Look there.” Naeemah pointed to the last set of hieroglyphs. Her face took on a regal air. She seemed ancient and unapproachable, like a mysterious statue from a long-forgotten age. “That is my name. Next to it is the name of my father. Following it is the name of his mother and then her older brother, and then their father, and their father’s father before him.”
“And these?” I drew my fingers across the short marks.
“Those are the assassins we have taken.” Naeemah sneered. “We don’t kill for profit. Any jackal can do that. We are the hunters of killers. That is what we do.”
I checked the last name. At least three dozen marks, maybe more.
“How old are you?”
“My sons had children before you were born. No more answers. Decide.”
I went to the door and stuck my head out. The blond shapeshifter waited for me in the precise spot Curran told her to stand.
“Do you have a key to the loup cage?”
“Yes, mate.” She pulled the key out and handed it to me.
“Thank you. And don’t call me ‘mate,’ please.”
“Yes, Alpha.”
Right.
Naeemah chuckled from her cage. I sighed and went inside.
I unlocked the door and handed her the spear. “It’s not as funny when you’re on the receiving end of it.”
Naeemah took two steps out of the cage and sat back down. I joined her.
“I let you out, and I’m due some answers. Who hired you?”
“Hugh d’Ambray.”
Knock me over with a feather.
It made sense in a twisted way. Hugh had seen me shatter the sword. He was either actively gathering information about me or planning to gather it, and he put a bodyguard in place to make sure nothing happened to me meanwhile. With my history, he ran the risk of standing on Roland’s carpet explaining that he had found his long-lost daughter, but she got herself killed before he could gather enough evidence to prove her identity. That would fly.
“Some years ago, when my children were young, he killed a man one of my sons protected and captured my son. We bargained for my son’s life and I traded one favor of Hugh’s choosing.”
No love lost. Good for me, bad for Hugh. “Where is Hugh now?”
Naeemah’s smile turned predatory. “I don’t know. I’m not his keeper.”
I tried a different plan of attack. “What are the precise terms of your arrangement with Hugh?”
Naeemah chuckled again. “He ordered me to watch you and keep you safe from those who are a danger to you. I wasn’t to interfere or reveal myself unless your life was in grave peril.”
Curiouser and curiouser. “For how long?”
“He didn’t specify.”
I had a hunch I’d just found a loophole big enough to drive a cart through. “Is Hugh excluded from those who are a danger to me?”
Naeemah’s smile grew wider. “He didn’t specify.”
“Hugh isn’t as clever as he thinks he is.”
“That is a truth.”
“What if I told you that Hugh is the second biggest threat to me, second only to Erra?”
“I would say I already know this.”
“How?”
Naeemah leaned forward. The gaze of her black eyes fastened on me. “You shouldn’t have conversations by the window, when the wall of your house is easy to climb.”
She’d heard me and Andrea talking about Hugh. Probably every word.
“What will you do if Hugh attacks me?”
“I will protect you. My debt must be repaid.”
Score. “And how long will you continue to guard me?”
“That would depend on you.”
She had me there.
Naeemah drew herself straight. “I’ve protected people of power and people of wealth. Many, many people. I’ve judged you worthy. Don’t disappoint me.”
That was all I needed. Apparently, the Universe had decided that my life would be that much richer with a judgmental crocodile bodyguard in it. “I’ll keep it in mind. I’m going to fight Erra tonight. If you attempt to ‘rescue’ me again, I will kill you.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
I rose and Naeemah stood up with me. I had to do something with her and I had a feeling that getting her to work with the rest of the guards wouldn’t go over so well. She’d need her own space. “Come with me, please. We need to get you a room.”
She followed me out. The blond shapeshifter gaped at her, as if Naeemah were a cobra with her hood spread. Naeemah ignored her.
I headed back to Curran’s quarters, my two babysitters in tow.
Jim would just love this. If I wasn’t careful, I’d give him an aneurysm before my first month here was up.
CHAPTER 26
SUNSET BLED ON THE SKY, SMOLDERING IN ITS final death throes. The encroaching twilight tinted the buildings black, turning the blanket of snow indigo.
I sat on top of the building, watching bonfires illuminate the rim of the Mole Hole through binoculars. Curran sat next to me. He wore his warrior form: a seven-and-a-half-feet-tall gray creature stuck on the crossroads between man and beast.
After Curran’s guard suffered a collective apoplexy over Naeemah, I’d managed to install her into her own set of rooms and went to cook our dinner. The Beast Lord joined me a few minutes later. We made venison steak, french fries smothered in cheese, and a quick pumpkin pie. We ate, then we made love and slept, curled up together in his ridiculous bed, and then Curran changed into his warrior form and I spent two hours drawing the poem of Erra on Curran’s skin with a little tube of henna. When I got tired, I made him call Dali and she took over. Her handwriting was better anyway. I had no idea if it would offer him any protection, but at this point I would try anything.
Behind us, female shapeshifters waited, positioned in individual squads along the street leading to the Casino. The wolves were right behind us, the boudas lay in wait across the street, then the rats and Clan Heavy, jackals, cats, and finally almost three blocks out, Clan Nimble. The squad from Clan Nimble consisted of an older Japanese woman, who was apparently the alpha, and four slender women who looked like they were fifteen tops. Curran told me they were foxes. They held themselves with stern elegance and I bit my tongue and hoped they knew what they were doing.
Somewhere in the darkness Naeemah hid. She picked her own spot and I didn’t argue. Her scent made the shapeshifters uneasy.
I looked back to the Mole Hole. A bonfire burned in the center of the crater, flanked by clusters of metal drums. To the left a row of Biohazard vans waited. People crowded the lip of the crater, medtechs, PAD, bowmen. Most were male. Despite my reports, Ted chose to put men at the crater, probably because he couldn’t raise enough female fighters in time. I’d cursed when I first saw them. Curran shrugged and said, “Bullet meat.”
Beyond the bonfires, a crowd had gathered in the remnants of office buildings. They sat on the makeshift wooden scaffolds, in the darkness of broken windows, on the roofs, on the mountains of rubble. Damn near half of Atlanta must’ve seen the flag and turned out to watch the Order slug it out with the Plaguebringer. Every single one of them could die tonight and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
My binoculars found Ted standing next to a large, fit woman with short red hair. Hard pale eyes. Black pants, black leather jacket, a sheath at her waist with a blade in it. A boar’s head on the pommel of her sword—Sounder’s Armory. They made falchions, single-edged swords of medium length shaped like the bastard children of a longsword and a scimitar. Great-quality swords, but expensive as hell. Judging by the sword and the getup, I was looking at Tamara Wilson.
Ted had imported Order knights from out of the city. He’d planned this—it would’ve taken him at least two days to pull personnel from North Carolina. Whether I walked off or not, this wouldn’t have been my petition anyway.
The magic rolled over us in an invisible wave. Showtime.
Tamara started down a staircase cut into the side of the Mole Hole. She crossed the floor of the crater to the center, where a huge bonfire burned on the glass. Positioning herself before the bonfire, she held up a long pole with the Order’s standard—a lance and a sword crossed over a shield. The light of the bonfire clutched at her black armor. She pulled a watch cap onto her head, hiding her hair.
A lean creature climbed over the roof. Long, hunched over, covered with clumps of gray fur, it moved with fluid quickness. Its feet and hands were disproportionately large, and short black claws tipped its fingers. A conical muzzle flowed into an almost humanoid face, framed by round pink ears.
A wererat. Stealthy, fast, deadly. They didn’t make good warriors but they made excellent scouts. And assassins.
She scuttled over to us and sat on her haunches, her arms folded to her chest. Her muzzle opened, displaying oversized incisors.
“The barrels are filled with napalm.” Her misshapen mouth slurred the words, but they came out clear enough. “They have archers hidden along the edge, some with incendiary arrows.”
Made sense: Erra walks into the Mole Hole, heads for the standard, because it’s a challenge. The archers hit the barrels with incendiary arrows. Erra drowns in a sea of fiery napalm. Tamara magically escapes. Good plan. Except for the part that it won’t work.
“Everybody is going to die,” I said.
The wererat’s dark eyes fixed on me for a second and flickered to Curran. “Also, the People have got themselves a bloodsucker party. They’re camped about two miles behind us.”
“Good,” Curran said.
Andrea had come through. I never doubted she would.
A high-pitched scream erupted from the darkness of the street to the left. It tore through the encroaching night, a long, piercing shriek suffused with sheer terror. The shapeshifters tensed.
A man emerged from the gloom. Of average height, wrap
ped in a long cloak that flared with his every step, he strode through the snow, and as he walked, snowflakes rose in the air, swirling in glittering clouds. Gale. Erra’s undead with the power of air.
Another man leaped into view and crouched on the rim of the Mole Hole. Nude, covered in dense dark hair, he was slabbed with thick muscle like a weightlifter on a life-long steroid binge. Huge and hairy. Right. Here comes the Beast.
Erra had brought at least two. No matter how strong her powers were, controlling two at once had to be hard. It was likely they would mirror each other’s movements, acting in groups.
A third figure followed, a naked man so thin, his skin clung to his bones, outlining his ribs and pitiful chest. He turned his head, scanning the crater, and I saw his eyes, yellow, like egg yolks. Darkness.
The three undead froze, still as statues. Milking the entrance for every drop of the drama.
A long moment passed.
Another.
“Get on with it,” I growled.
Another. This was getting ridiculous.
The mist parted. Erra strode into view, head and shoulders above her undead. The light of the fires washed over her. A white fur cape streamed from her shoulders, the waterfall of her hair a dark stain on the pale collar.
A hush fell over the Mole Hole.
Erra’s gaze swept the crowd, taking in the archers, the Biohazard, the vans, the equipment, the audience up in the ruins nearby . . . She raised her arms to the sides. The cape slipped off her.
Glossy red fabric hugged her body. It clung to her like a second skin of pure scarlet. My aunt apparently had developed a fetish for spandex. Who knew?
Gale thrust his hand through his cloak. His fist gripped a large axe. The orange light of the flames shimmered along the ten-inch blade attached to a four-foot handle. The axe probably pushed six pounds in weight. A normal swordsman would be slower than molasses, but with her strength, it wouldn’t matter. She could swing it all day and then arm-wrestle a bear.
Gale turned on his heel, walked five steps to Erra, and knelt before her, offering the axe on the raised palms of his hands.