Magic Rises kd-6 Read online

  Jim chortled.

  “Keep it coming.” I waved at him. “Get it out of your system.”

  I managed two more swallows of coffee by the time he finally got himself under control enough to talk.

  “Do you have a million dollars, Kate? You must’ve done a lot better at the Guild than I did.”

  Laugh it up, why don’t you. “Have you heard anything about Red Guard going rogue?”

  The Red Guard was a premier bodyguard outfit in the city. If you wanted private cops, there were none better. I’d worked with them a few times.

  “Why?”

  I passed him the paper with Saiman’s plea for help. Jim read it and raised his eyebrows. “Under heavy guard, seeing red, huh. You remember Rene Benoit?”

  I nodded. I first met Rene when she ran security for an illegal gladiatorial tournament. Since then she’d hired me for a job, and her glowing endorsement of my fledgling investigative firm was driving business my way.

  “After the whole Lighthouse Keepers mess, she was promoted,” Jim said. “She’d come up through the ranks and knew who was pulling their weight and who wasn’t, so when she got to the top, she cleaned house. Two weeks ago twelve people got let go. A couple of them showed up at the Guild looking to enroll and bitching about how unfair it was.”

  “Which one of the twelve would be more likely to hammer together a gang and stoop to kidnapping?”

  Jim frowned. “Leon Tremblay. He’d been in the Guard for over a decade, so he’s got seniority and people would follow him. The word is, if you’ve got enemies with deep pockets, you don’t want him to guard you.”

  “He sold his ‘bodies’?” I hated bodyguard detail. I’d done my fair share during my time with the Mercenary Guild, and some of my clients had done everything in their power to get themselves killed, while I put myself between them and danger. Selling the life of the person you guarded went against the very spirit of the job. It made you the lowest of the low.

  Jim nodded. “He wasn’t obvious about it, but once every six to eight months one of his clients would manage to croak under entirely plausible but very convenient circumstances. When Rene made major, she booted his ass out on the street. He must’ve been trouble, because when Rene fired him, she had six people in the room with her.” Jim finished his coffee. “You’re going after Tremblay?”

  “Don’t have anything better to do,” I told him. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Kate, you know you don’t have to save that asshole. He isn’t worth it and he won’t appreciate it.”

  “I know.” I went to the door. “There is a method to my madness. Trust me.”

  “Take backup,” Jim called after me. “At least take that dog with you.”

  Backup wasn’t a bad idea, and I knew just the right person to bring with me. I climbed the stairs up one floor and knocked on Derek’s room. A raspy voice called, “Come in.”

  I stepped into the room. Derek was doing a one-armed handstand against the wall. When I met him over a year ago, Derek had a face that made young girls turn and stare. Things had happened, and that face was gone now. The young cocky kid who owned it was gone, too. A man remained, calm, quiet, and thoughtful, with a face beaten up by life and big brown eyes that worried you if you looked into them too long. Derek watched people, preferring not to draw attention to himself, but when he acted, he attacked fast and he usually won.

  As I watched, muscles flexed on his chest under a torn-up T-shirt. His biceps bulged. Derek lowered himself down and pushed up. One-arm-upside-down push-up. Young werewolves. Full of energy.

  “Show-off. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

  Derek kept moving, lowering and raising his body in a smooth, measured rhythm, like a machine. “I was about to turn in. Just a little end-of-the-day workout before the shower.”

  It’s good to be a werewolf. “I need backup.”

  “Who are we killing?” He switched to the other arm and kept pushing.

  “Some ex–Red Guards, and we’re not necessarily going to kill them. We’re just going to visit them and explain that kidnapping Saiman for ransom is a bad idea.”

  Derek stopped moving. “They kidnapped the pervert?”

  I nodded.

  He hopped to his feet. “This I’ve got to see.”

  * * *

  The Mole Hole had been a tall glass tower housing the offices of Molen Enterprises, until its owners obtained a phoenix egg and coaxed it into hatching. I’d seen a newborn phoenix rise once, and it looked like the old documentaries of space shuttle launches. When the fire subsided, the tower was no more. A crater, one hundred forty feet wide and fifty feet deep, gouged the ground in its place, and the fiery afterburn of the phoenix left it filled with molten glass. A few days later, the glass cooled, forming a foot-thick shell on the bottom and walls of the crater, and the Mole Hole was born.

  We approached from the northeast, the shortest route from the Keep. The area had gone downhill a long time ago. Charred wrecks of houses flanked empty streets, and the hoofbeats of my horse sent echoes skipping through the ruins. Strange creatures with glowing hungry eyes watched us from their hidey-holes within the skeletal remains of the buildings. The magic flowed thick.

  Slayer felt nice between my shoulder blades. Comforting, like an old friend. Ahead of us Grendel trotted like an extension of night shadows, a giant monstrosity of a dog. People more knowledgeable than me in things canine swore that he was a full-blooded standard poodle that somehow had grown to Great Dane size and was born with the trademark Doberman color scheme. His hobbies included urinating, vomiting, and farting, preferably in my general direction and at the same time, but he was loyal and fought for me, which made him a good dog in my book.

  The horse flicked her ears. Jumpy. I missed Marigold. You could have ridden that mule through a battlefield of raging vampires, and she would’ve snorted in derision and kept going. My aunt killed Marigold in one of her futile attempts to wipe me off the face of the planet.

  Ahead Grendel did a one-eighty and strutted toward us, prancing, head held high. Something was in his mouth.

  “What does he have?”

  Derek focused. “I don’t know. Something dead and ripe.”

  A moment later I smelled it too, the stench of carrion. Grendel pranced closer. A dead raccoon, half-decomposed and dripping maggots. Why me?

  “Drop it. Trash, Grendel.”

  “Trash?” Derek asked.

  “That and sit are just about the only two commands he knows.” I sank an order into my voice. “Trash.”

  Grendel spat out the raccoon and stared at me in disgust.

  “It’s bad for you. Come on.”

  He gave the raccoon one long forlorn look and followed us down the street.

  We turned the corner. Ahead through the gap in the buildings, I could see the weak glint of the Mole Hole’s glass. I dismounted and tied the horse to a twisted metal rib of half-crumbled building. Derek joined me. We ducked into the scorched structure to the left, Grendel at our heels, climbed two sets of stairs, and stopped by a hole of a window.

  The Mole Hole stretched in front of us, a colossal glass dish sunken into the ground. To the far right people stood around a fire built in a bronze brazier. Above them a thick steel beam protruded from the husk of a building, supporting a large metal cage that hung from it, secured by several chains. A lone figure slumped inside the cage, too big to be human. I pulled binoculars from my pack and focused. The creature in the cage hugged his knees, his arms and legs disproportionately long and pale. His flesh had a weak blue tint, the muscle tough and knobby across his back. The wind stirred a mane of pale blue hair. Saiman. In his natural form, too. That didn’t normally happen.

  Saiman was a polymorph. He could reshape himself into a facsimile of any human body, any gender, any color, any age. Seeing his true form was exceedingly rare. I didn’t know if he was ashamed of it, but he went to great lengths to hide it.

  I passed the binoculars to Derek. He eyed the cage. His
raspy voice was a quiet whisper. “Oh, the irony.”

  Given that Saiman had once caught him in a cage much like this one, I couldn’t disagree.

  He passed the binoculars back. I looked at the people by the fire. Six. If I were Tremblay, I’d put a couple of shooters in the surrounding buildings. The magic was up, so they’d have to rely on bows, and bows had a limited range. There were only two buildings close enough, this one and the one across the Mole and to the left.

  A faint scratching sound came from above us, metal sliding against the concrete. Derek looked up and held utterly still. A faint green fire rolled over his eyes. There was a wolf under the human skin, alert and cunning, and he was listening.

  On the ground Grendel panted, oblivious.

  A long minute passed. Another scrape. Either whoever it was on the floor above us couldn’t sit still or he was setting up a mount for his crossbow.

  We moved at the same time. I headed toward the staircase. Derek crossed the room and paused by a large hole in the ceiling. I climbed the stairs, pulling Slayer out of its sheath with a practiced smooth movement. Around me the dark building lay silent, the light from the pale sliver of a new moon coming through the holes in the walls. The dog followed me.

  I reached the landing. My heart sped up a bit. I missed this, sneaking through the night-drenched city not knowing what waited for me around the corner. I padded across the landing and glanced into the room. A man crouched by the window, an arbalest on a stand next to him. Good-quality crossbow, solid, precise, with a steel prong, but heavy, hence the swivel mount. With a weapon like that, an archer could skewer a human at seventy-five yards. Being skewered wasn’t on my list of things to do. It would take the archer at least two seconds to grab the arbalest and spin it around to target me, but if I was close enough, he didn’t have to be precise with his targeting. Twelve yards between him and me. I had to get to him before he squeezed the trigger.

  I ran.

  Ten yards.

  The man pivoted in the chair.

  Five.

  He yanked the arbalest off its stand.

  Three.

  He swung the arbalest to face me.

  I knocked the crossbow aside with my left arm, forcing the man to my left, and swung my right in a wide arc. The inside of my forearm smashed into the back of the man’s head. A classic karate move, more powerful than a hook punch—like being hit in the base of the neck with a baseball bat. The man dropped his crossbow and staggered back. Derek leaped through the hole, coming out of the floor as if by magic, grabbed the man from behind, clamping his hand over his mouth, and forced him to the floor, folding him in half like a piece of paper. Grendel danced around us, overjoyed at the entire affair. He didn’t even try to help. My attack poodle had gotten rusty.

  I pulled a knife from my sheath, knelt by the crossbowman, and showed him the blade.

  “How many of you are there?”

  The crossbowman tried to rise, but I’d seen Derek tear a metal coffee can with his bare hands. It took the shooter less than five seconds to figure out he wasn’t going anywhere.

  Derek took his hand off the man’s mouth.

  “Eight,” he said.

  “Where is the other shooter?”

  “Across the Hole. The three-story building.”

  “How did you get Saiman?”

  “Tremblay said he had money. He knew him from way back. Saiman was at a nightclub and was driving home late. We grabbed him in the parking lot. Tremblay shot him full of horse tranquilizers and then we threw nets on him. He turned into that blue thing and beat the shit out of Miles and Zhu. Broke Zhu’s legs. But then the tranquilizers must’ve worked, because he passed out. We put him in a cage and drove him up here.”

  A simple plan, but sometimes simple plans were best. I surveyed the man. He folded fast and made no effort to resist. Either his heart wasn’t in this or he was a coward. Killing him seemed too extreme, and tying him up would mean I’d have to send someone up here to rescue his butt.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Mick,” the man said.

  “Mick, we’re going to take your crossbow, go out there, and have some words with your buddies. You’re going to stay right here in this building, because once we’re done, somebody will need to take those still breathing to the emergency room. You will be that somebody. If you make a noise or do anything to draw attention to yourself or warn your friends, Derek here will hunt you for fun.”

  Derek smiled, baring sharp white teeth. Mick flinched. I’d bet right. A coward.

  “He has your scent now and he’s guaranteed to have lots of fun you won’t like before he gets tired of playing with you. Am I clear?”

  “Crystal.”

  “Let him go.”

  Derek opened his arms. Mick got up and slowly sat in his chair. Derek picked up his crossbow and we went out of the building.

  “You suck,” I told Grendel outside. “You didn’t even help.”

  He wagged his tail.

  “Think he’s going to stay up there?” Derek murmured.

  I nodded. “He’s too scared to move and I gave him an out—if he does as he’s told, he can help his pals in the end. He can tell himself he had a moral obligation to hide and not interfere. Can you take care of the other shooter?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll see you later, then.”

  He trotted into the darkness, melting into the gloom as if he had been born from it. I counted to six hundred in my head to give him a nice head start and strode to the Mole Hole.

  Years ago someone had carved steps in the crater’s sides, turning it into a kind of amphitheater. I stepped over the rim and took the steps down to the bottom.

  The six people watched me with unfriendly eyes. Four men and two women. The shorter woman and three of the men had the familiar Red Guard bearing: their clothes were neat, the men were clean-shaven, the woman’s pale brown hair was pulled back. The taller woman and a guy standing next to her looked like street thugs: dirty, mismatched clothes and a hungry, desperate look in their eyes. Probably brought in for numbers and muscle.

  I walked toward them, Grendel trotting next to me. I was in no hurry. Two Red Guard veterans would be a lot to handle. They were in shape and had the proper training. Four Guards and two street thugs would be difficult. My best bet was to avoid a fight altogether. Sometimes if you demonstrate enough willingness to hurt someone, they decide it’s not worth it.

  In the cage Saiman stirred.

  About twenty yards from them an older, lean man barked, “Far enough.”

  I looked up. Saiman’s eyes, cold like frosted ice, looked back at me. Hello, Ice Giant. Atlanta hasn’t been treating you so well, I see.

  “Nice cage,” I said. “Must’ve set you back quite a bit.”

  “Where is the money?” the older man asked.

  The male thug swore. It sounded familiar. I racked my memory and ran across a petition I’d handled about a year ago, during my time with the Order. I’d met this lowlife before. He liked breaking into older people’s houses and beating them until they gave him their money.

  “Hi, Frankie. Long time, no see. They let you out already?”

  Frankie blinked.

  “Your legs healed nicely,” I told him. “Can hardly tell they were broken. Move around for me. I want to see if you walk funny.”

  Frankie stuck his arms up in the air. “I’m out.”

  The older guy scowled at him. “You walk out, you lose the money, Frankie.”

  “Don’t be a moron,” the dark-haired man behind him added.

  Frankie pointed a grimy finger in his direction. “No. Fuck you and you.” He raised his hands. “I’m out. Come on, SG.”

  The taller woman shrugged and followed him.

  I smiled and watched the light from the fire play on my saber. “If anybody else would like to be excused, now is the time.”

  The older man gave me his hard-core stare. He carried a tactical gladius in his hand, alre
ady out of the sheath, a simple, vicious weapon. Dark gray like a Teflon pan, it had a double-edged blade about sixteen inches long with a wide fuller running down its length and a plain wooden handle polished from extended use.

  He surveyed me, then looked at Grendel. “What the hell is this?”

  He had to be Tremblay. I matched his glare. “This is my attack poodle.”

  “For real?” A short blond man behind him asked.

  “Shut up, Darren,” Tremblay scowled at me. “You must think you’re some hot shit or something? I have scars older than you.”

  It’s like that, huh. “So you must be easy to hit. Lucky for me.”

  “You listen to me.” Tremblay pointed to Saiman in the cage. “One word from me and you’ll be picking up your friend’s brains from the bottom of that cage.”

  I leaned forward slightly and pulled the lower lid of my left eye down.

  “What the fuck?” the stocky, muscular woman behind Tremblay murmured. Not a melee fighter. She stood flat on her feet, planted like a tree, and carried no weapons.

  “She’s asking you if you can see the care in her eye.” Saiman said helpfully.

  “Cute,” Tremblay said. “You’ve just signed his death warrant and your own.”

  I peered at him. “You sure you should be mouthing off, Tremblay? Because I’m not scared and your service record’s kind of spotty.”

  “Do you have the money?” the tall dark-haired man asked, exasperation vibrating in his voice. A long slender sword hung from his waist. A katana user.

  “Do you see the money? Do I look like somebody who would have that much money and be dumb enough to give it to you?”

  The dark-haired man looked at Saiman. “What are you trying to pull?” He sounded indignant, like his feelings were hurt.

  “I’m not trying to pull anything,” Saiman said. “In case your powers of observation failed you, I’ve spent the last few hours in this cage.”

  I glanced up at Saiman. “Are you going to pay me to kill them?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “I think they should pay me to go away.”

  Tremblay stared at me, eyes bulging.