Magic Breaks

3

THE PACK JEEP rolled through the dusk-soaked streets. The other car, carrying my murder-prone honor guard, followed us. Jim drove. Barabas sat in the backseat.

Post-Shift Atlanta had many neighborhoods, some old, some new, born from the magic age. There was Honeycomb to the southwest, a place where “solid wall” was a relative term. In the southeast was the Warren, a rough dirt-poor neighborhood, policed by roving gangs preying on each other. And then there was Northside, where Atlanta’s wealthy used their money to hold the chaos of the ravaged city at bay.

Magic liked to nibble on the asphalt, but here the pavement felt smooth, the clean streets a far cry from the refuse and garbage-choked pathways of the Warren. Large houses, each sitting on its own acre-sized plot, stared at us with barred windows from behind iron fences topped with coils of barbed wire. Most houses were built post-Shift, no more than three stories tall, with thick walls, reinforced doors, and barred windows. Money bought security, land, and good masons.

The sun had set, and the moon claimed the sky, a huge, deep orange as if dipped in blood. The magic was down, but the city still held its breath, apprehensive and watchful. It was the kind of night when monsters came out to play.

Slayer, my saber, lay on my lap. I stroked the sheath. The saber went where I went, but tonight I would have to leave it behind. Bernard’s had a strict no-weapons policy. Without it, I felt naked.

“Who else is coming?” I asked. The Pack’s protocol called for the representatives of at least three clans to be present at each Conclave meeting. In the beginning, every alpha wanted to be included, but now we had trouble getting three to come. Jim served as the alpha of Clan Cat, so he counted as one. That left two more.

“Robert Lonesco and Jennifer,” Barabas said.

Robert Lonesco was married to Thomas, and together they ran Clan Rat. Jennifer headed Clan Wolf. She and I didn’t see eye to eye. First, I had to kill her sister after she had been driven loup by my aunt’s magic. Then her husband sacrificed himself to prevent a magic catastrophe, about which we had learned through my office. Jennifer blamed me for both. We had struck an uneasy truce, because we had to work together, but not killing each other was as pleasant as it got. Christopher’s warning popped up from my memory. When it came to the wolves I shouldn’t be trusting, she was definitely at the top of the list.

“Any challenges?” I asked. Jennifer had given birth over a month ago and her thirty-day reprieve from being challenged had run out last Wednesday.

“No,” Jim said.

Odd. “I thought Desandra would’ve gone after her by now.”

“So did I,” Jim said.

Like Christopher, Desandra was a rescue from our trip overseas. She was the daughter of the most powerful alpha in the Carpathian Mountains. He was a psychotic, cruel egomaniac, who built his pack out of nothing and ruled the entire region with steel claws, terrorizing his enemies, foreign and domestic. He had eleven children. Desandra was the only one who lived to adulthood and she did this by pretending to be a spoiled, petulant idiot. Her father was obsessed with finding an heir who’d measure up to his standards. He had no idea she was right under his nose, and when she broke through his rib cage and ripped out his heart moments before giving birth to twins, he was terribly surprised.

Desandra ended up coming with us to Atlanta. She was smart, cunning, and ruthless. When we returned, Jennifer was still pregnant and couldn’t be challenged. Desandra also had two weeks of maternity leave left, but she didn’t use it. She made her first kill within forty-eight hours of swearing loyalty to the Pack and began climbing up the food chain. Now she held the beta spot in Clan Wolf and Jennifer was sleeping with her eyes open.

“Did Jennifer and Desandra strike a deal or something?” I asked.

“Not that I know of,” Jim said. “Jennifer hates her even more than she hates you. If Desandra were on fire, Jennifer wouldn’t piss on her to put her out.”

“Then what’s the holdup?”

Jim shrugged. I glanced at Barabas. Barabas shrugged, too. Neither of them had heard anything. That was rare.

“She would make a better alpha,” Jim said. “She’s stronger.”

Despite Jennifer’s impression, I never had a problem with her. She’d start a fight and I’d hit back hard, but I never went after her. Still, I had to admit Desandra would be a hell of an alpha. That didn’t mean I was eager to deal with her.

“Looking forward to sitting next to Desandra at the Pack Council?” I asked.

Jim gave me a look of pure hate.

Barabas laughed.

Jim permitted himself a small half-smile without showing his teeth. He very rarely smiled—it conflicted with his badass image. In all the years I’d known him, I only saw him bare his teeth to three people, and two of them were dead. The third would be dead, except for the technicality of him being a Friend of the Pack.

“They need to sort this mess out and soon,” Jim said. “There are six hundred wolves and they’re all holding their breath. Rumor says Desandra went to Orhan and Fatima to ask for their blessing.”

Orhan and Fatima had run Clan Wolf before Daniel had taken over. They had trained him as their successor, stepped down, and retired from Pack politics. They lived on an orchard not far from the Keep and stayed strictly neutral. So far, I had seen them exactly twice, at a Thanksgiving dinner and at a wedding, and they both struck me as the kind of people I didn’t want to screw with.

“What do you mean, she went to ask their blessing?” I asked.

“It’s a Pack term,” Barabas said. “An alpha can either be killed in a challenge or choose to step down. When an alpha steps down, he gives his successor his blessing to take up where he left off. This pretty much guarantees that the old alpha’s supporters will support the new alpha out of respect, at least for a time. It’s the passing of the keys to the kingdom, which is why Daniel wasn’t challenged until almost six months into being an alpha. If Desandra had gone to Orhan and Fatima, it was in poor taste. They made it clear they don’t want to be bothered.”

The road turned. I remembered taking this turn about a year ago going really fast in the opposite direction. It’s amazing how precisely you can steer when a pissed-off Beast Lord is chasing you.

Bernard’s swung into view. In a city proud of its Southern heritage, the restaurant stood out like an English lord among the cowboys. Broad, two stories tall, and built with red brick, it resembled the Georgian-style British mansions sometimes featured in the old movies, except that Bernard’s owners gave up on the whole symmetrical thing in favor of ornate balconies. Long dense strands of kudzu climbed up its walls, their edges frosted by the encroaching cold. Warm yellow light filtered through the barred windows.

We parked in the reserved spot in the first row. Four people stood by the door. The lights of the car caught them and their eyes flashed with the familiar shapeshifter glow. Three men and a tall woman. The woman watched us, distaste obvious on her face. Jennifer. Always tall and spare, with the physique of a long-distance runner, she looked even thinner now. Most women put on weight during pregnancy, but if Jennifer had picked up some extra pounds, they were gone now. She wore a jacket edged with rabbit fur and skintight black pants. The long, lean muscles of her legs and her knobby knees stood out through the fabric. I worked out every day, because I had a dangerous job and when the time came, I’d have to fight to stay alive, but my legs were thicker than that. It was like she had purged every hint of softness from her frame. This wasn’t simply dedication. This was panic.

Jim shut off the engine. He and Barabas got out and stood for a second, their faces raised, sampling the scents in the air. And sitting in the car while they did this didn’t make me feel like an idiot. Not at all. I sighed and slid Slayer off my lap. I had agreed not to be the difficult client. Now I had to live with it.

A foul patina washed over my mind, like the decomposition fluid from a rotting corpse. Vampires. I concentrated. Six. Not in the buildings nearby, though—these were closer. Right above us, on the roof. I shouldn’t have been able to feel them so clearly with the magic down. My sensitivity must’ve increased. It made me feel like even more of an abomination. To fight my father, I had to practice my magic, and the more I practiced, the more like him I became. One hell of a slippery slope.

“Jim.”

Jim opened the driver’s door. The cold exhaled into my face, biting at my skin.

“Six vampires on the roof,” I told him quietly.

He looked up. “Either Bernard’s is in on it, or they don’t know they have extra guests.”

“Either way, by the time we get to the roof, they’ll be gone,” Barabas said.

And we would look like scared idiots. “Warn our people,” I murmured to Barabas. He nodded.

“If we’re separated . . .” Jim said.

“Mt. Paran Bridge. I remember.” That was where he’d stashed our backup.

Barabas tapped on my window. I rolled it down.

“Now remember, Kate.” Barabas leaned over to me, grinning. “You are the Consort. Be the Consort.” He stretched “be” into a three-syllable word. “Think like a—”

“Open the door or I’ll punch you right in the face,” I growled.

Barabas chuckled and opened my door. Ice crunched under my feet. Next to us the second Jeep disgorged five of my bodyguards, including the two renders, Myles Kingsbury and Sage Rome. I circled the Jeep and met Jennifer’s gaze. She stared at me for a long second and looked past me to my right. Her face jerked.

I glanced to the side. Another car had pulled up next to our two. The door swung open and Desandra jumped out. She wore a sheepskin jacket with a hood. Her hair, a long blond plait, spilled out over her shoulder. The cold turned her cheeks pink. Her eyes shone shapeshifter orange. She waved at me and headed my way.

Jennifer’s face went hard, as if chiseled from stone.

“My favorite alpha.” Desandra gave me a big brilliant smile.

My, my, what big teeth you have. “Desandra,” I said.

Jennifer looked hard and gaunt, like a half-starved wolf who had been driven into a corner and was now baring her teeth. Desandra was a picture of health, curvy, smiling, her eyes bright. Jennifer oozed anxiety; Desandra projected confidence. It was impossible not to compare the two. But I didn’t trust Desandra further than I could throw her either.

Jennifer needed to step down. I’d seen Desandra fight. I wouldn’t go up against her unless I absolutely had to. Jennifer was decent in a fight, but she was predictable and when her shit didn’t work, she lost her temper. Her anxiety clearly ate at her, gnawing her down to nothing.

“Should you be so friendly with me? I’m not exactly popular with the wolves.”

Desandra smiled wider, her green eyes sly. “Yes, isn’t it distressing how the spirit of cooperation has suffered in the past oh, nine months or so? Somehow we’ve managed to alienate all other clans. Some even suggest it might be due to a failure in leadership.”

We, huh? “Perish the thought.”

“And to think that Clan Wolf is missing out on all of the perks and benefits a good relationship with the Beast Lord and Consort could bring. A shame.” Desandra sighed and winked at me. “But have no worries. I, unlike some, am a team player. I have no problems being friendly and even humble if my clan can benefit from it.”

Aha. And she was rubbing Jennifer’s nose in it in front of witnesses. “You are the devil.”

“Thank you, Consort. You say the nicest things.” Desandra lowered her voice to a murmur. “Is she watching?”

“She’s watching.”

“See those three guys with her? They’re her bodyguards.” Desandra sneered. “She has to have bodyguards, Kate. I can smell the fear.” She waved her hand in front of her face, as if fanning an aroma to her nose. “Mmm, delicious.”

I nodded at Jim and the small crowd of fighters who maintained the great distance of a whole ten feet around me.

“That’s different,” Desandra said. “You’re the Consort and a human, and this shindig is all about ceremony. We are supposed to defend you to the death. But an alpha of a clan should never require bodyguards.”

Jennifer turned sharply and went inside. The three men followed her. She had to have heard that.

“I thought you’d challenge her by now,” Jim said. “What are you waiting for?”

“Do I have the Beast Lord and Consort’s approval?” Desandra asked.

Her questions weren’t questions, they were bear traps ready to be sprung. “The leadership of Clan Wolf is a private matter to be decided within the clan. We do not interfere. I won’t speak for the Beast Lord, but I will tell you that I prefer a peaceful solution.”

“That was very diplomatic,” Desandra said. “Not very clear. Also, since when do you prefer peaceful solutions?”

“Since I don’t want to deal with a bloodbath for Christmas. She’s the widow of a man who sacrificed himself for the Pack. If you murder her in cold blood and leave her daughter an orphan, I’ll make things harder for you. So will the other wolves. Handle it like the alpha you want to be.”

Desandra grimaced. “I’m not about to make her a martyr. And I don’t want to leave her daughter an orphan. There’s no need for tragedies. It’s not time anyway. The clan isn’t completely mine yet, but I’m getting there. Jennifer knows I’m watching for her to stumble, so she hesitates. She puts off important decisions and gets defensive when people question her, which makes her look weak and timid. Meanwhile I sit in the shadows and bide my time, converting the clan one by one. The wolves require a strong leader and the longer Jennifer teeters on the edge, the louder they rumble. Soon they will come to me. They’ll say that it’s regrettable, but the clan has had enough of Jennifer’s leadership. I will be hesitant and humble. I’ll need to be convinced that this is the right thing, the noble thing to do. It will take some doing to convince me, and when I force her out, the entirety of the clan will be overjoyed.”

Desandra grinned at us. “So you don’t have to worry. I won’t kill her in the middle of some formal dinner. I’m not my father, after all. Enjoy your meal.” She winked, turned, and walked away.

Wow.

“This is going to turn into a giant pain in the ass, isn’t it?” Barabas said.

“Yes, it will.” Suddenly I missed my apartment. It was small and cramped and located in a rough part of town, but it had been all mine, before my aunt had demolished it. It was a ruin now, but I really wanted to go home, close the door, and not have to deal with any of this bullshit.

A dark SUV turned the corner. Another followed, then another. The People were incoming.

“Showtime,” Jim said.

Black Bear Lodge. If I got through this, I’d get two weeks with Curran at Black Bear Lodge. I put my business face on and marched into Bernard’s with ten shapeshifters at my heels.

“WE ARE NOT saying that the Pack can’t buy a building on the border of our city territory.” Ryan Kelly tapped the table with his index finger. “We’re saying that when they do, we notice.”

I killed a yawn before it started. Most Masters of the Dead maintained a strict corporate uniform that would’ve made them at home in any high-pressure boardroom. Ryan sounded the part and looked the part as far as his dress was concerned. His navy suit was obviously custom tailored, his square chin clean shaven, and his cologne expensive. He also had a huge purple Mohawk. The Mohawk was currently lying down, draped over the left side of his skull, and he kept tossing his head back, because the hair kept getting into his eyes. The flip of the purple hair turned out to be strangely hypnotic and I had to force myself to listen to what he said instead of waiting for another head toss.

“It’s not that we object to the purchase of that particular building.” Flip. “It’s the principle . . .”

Bernard’s had put us into a private dining room with one long table. We sat on one side, the People sat on the other. To the right of me Jim surveyed the room, periodically glancing at the door. To the left of me Robert Lonesco played with his fork, his handsome face lost in thought. Ryan’s journeywoman, whose name was Meghan and who stood behind her boss’s chair, was discreetly checking him out. Robert turned heads. He had the kind of quiet beauty that with the right photographer and a big billboard would stop traffic. His skin was a light even bronze, his hair soft and so dark it was almost blue-black, and his eyes, serious and large, seemed bottomless.

To the right of Ryan, Ghastek watched Meghan’s pining with neutral curiosity. Thin to the point of being gaunt, he was somewhere on the crossroads of thirty and forty, his short brown hair still untouched by gray, and he wore “smart” like it was a perfume. Where Ryan Kelly looked like a businessman who somehow sprouted a Mohawk, Ghastek looked more like a scientist who accidentally found himself invited to a formal party where everyone was dumber than him and was now spinning his wheels, trying to make his brain acclimate.

Mulradin Grant himself was MIA, since it was Ghastek’s turn to participate in the Conclave, but his wife, Claire, was in attendance. She was in her late thirties, blond, well-groomed, with an average build and a toned figure. Her pantsuit looked expensive and her hair spoke of pampering and many salon visits.

Ryan droned on. He supported Mulradin and he would’ve loved nothing more than to create some sort of problem between the Pack and the People and then dump it in Ghastek’s lap. Unfortunately for him, nothing potentially problematic had happened, and so he was forced to make a mountain out of a molehill. He knew it, everyone else knew it, and now we were all collectively bored to death by it. Out of convenience, the People and the Pack had divided the city into imaginary territories, with each party patrolling their own imaginary borders, and Raphael’s reclamation business happened to have bought a building on the border.

Claire tugged at the metal bracelet on her wrist. All of the People wore one today, and knowing them, the new jewelry was a corporate fashion statement.

“. . . we object to the Pack’s continued disregard for . . .”

The double doors separating the private dining room from the rest of Bernard’s swung open. A tall broad-shouldered body filled the doorway. Hugh d’Ambray strode into the room.

For a moment my mind struggled to digest the fact that Hugh was there, and then every cell in my body went on full alert, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on me and then shocked me with a live wire.

My memory shot me back to last summer. I heard the crunch of his back snapping as Curran broke his body over the stone parapet. I smelled the smoke of the stone-melting conjured fire that devoured Castle Megobari and watched Hugh fall into the flames down below. Yet here he was, wearing jeans and a leather jacket over a black T-shirt. He seemed no worse for wear, the bastard. No limp. No stiffness. Even his hair, dark, almost black, was the same length, falling to his shoulders. Same fist-breaking chin, same hard, square jaw, same stubble. Over six feet tall, he was corded with hard, supple muscle and he moved with a swordsman’s grace, perfectly balanced, sure, and adroit in his control.

How could this be?

He was broken. He was broken, damn it. His bones had been crushed. His face had been battered. Curran had snapped his spine like a toothpick, and here he was casually strolling in, like it was nothing. His face showed no signs of the broken bones. His skin had no burn marks. The scar on his cheek was missing. He looked . . . younger. Less carved up by fighting. Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe it was Saiman wearing Hugh’s skin, or . . .

Hugh met my gaze. Icy blue eyes laughed at me.

The hair on the back of my neck rose. It was him. Hugh was in those eyes and I would know him anywhere.

I had no idea what my father had done, but he had somehow fixed his favorite human wrecking ball. Dear God, how much magic did it take? How . . . ?

It meant Roland knew. I’d been trying to pretend that Hugh had died and I’d almost managed to convince myself that Roland didn’t know about me, but Hugh’s continued existence just ripped right through my denial. Roland had healed him. They had talked. My father knew. My father was coming for me.

Fuck.

Jim smiled, showing his teeth. Next to him, Barabas froze.

A small hysterical voice inside my head screamed, Run! Run!

I quashed it. I had no sword. None of us had any weapons. Now wasn’t the time to panic.

We were on the third floor. There were only two exits, the front door leading out and the back door, which wasn’t an exit but an entrance to a narrow hallway that led to a sunroom. I would have to go through Hugh to get to the front door. Hugh outweighed me by sixty-five pounds and I had experienced what his body could do. I wouldn’t get past him without a sword. The back door was our only option for retreating with minimal casualties. I had to get my people out of here in one piece. I could freak out about all of this later.

The journeymen gaped at Hugh. Most of them probably didn’t recognize him. Ghastek’s face went white. So did Ryan’s. They knew exactly who he was and what he was capable of.

Ghastek recovered first and stood up. “We didn’t expect you, Commander.”

Translation: What the hell are you doing here?

Hugh moved to stand next to Ghastek. Ghastek was tall. Hugh dwarfed him. “My fault. I should’ve called ahead.”

Hugh smiled. He was wearing his affable, pleasant disguise. No need to bother, I’m just one of the guys. I topple governments, reap a harvest of death, and revel in violence, but please don’t get up on my account.

This would end badly.

Hugh waited. Ghastek woke up and stepped aside. “Please sit down.”

“You should introduce me,” Hugh told him and took a seat.

Ghastek chewed on that for a second. This is my colleague, a nearly immortal psychotic warlord . . .

“Please welcome Hugh d’Ambray,” Ghastek said. “He is a representative of our main office and he has sweeping executive powers.”

“Let’s not be so formal,” Hugh said. “Please carry on with your business. I’ll just sit here quietly and observe.”

Ghastek and I looked at each other.

“Please,” Hugh invited. “I believe there was something about a building?”

Ryan Kelly’s mouth remained firmly shut. Everyone looked at me. Apparently I was supposed to say something.

“The building in question is a ruin that Medrano Reclamations is going to pull apart. They’ll salvage the materials, sell them off, and move on.”

“I’m aware of how the reclamation process works,” Ryan said, his voice carefully neutral. “The reclamation isn’t the issue. It’s the location of the building. We object to the Pack playing fast and loose with our city border.”

Fast and loose? Somebody had renewed his subscription to Catchphrase Monthly. “Are you aware of where the border lies?”

“Of course I’m aware.”

“Then you do acknowledge that the building is on our side of it?”

“Yes, but the building, as you yourself have indicated, is a ruin. It is partially on our side and according to our agreement, the Pack can’t purchase property within our territory.”

“You’re right.” I raised my hand and Barabas put a paper into it. “An independent appraisal done by the city shows approximately four hundred fifty-five cubic yards of debris on your side of the border, of which seventy-five percent is defined as loose concrete and magic-reduced powder, fifteen percent as wood, and ten percent as assorted metal, all of it valued at approximately fifteen hundred dollars. Which is why we have prepared this grant. As a show of good faith toward the continued cooperation and friendly relations between our two factions, the Pack hereby gifts the value of said debris to the People to do with as they please.”

I held the paper out. Ryan took it and paused, unsure. “Commander, would you like to . . . ?”

Hugh shook his head.

Why are you here? What are you planning?

Ryan read the paper. “Looks right.”

“The People thank the Pack for their generous gift,” Ghastek said.

“The Pack thanks the People for their continued cooperation.” Good, great, let’s get the hell out of here.

Hugh leaned forward, looked at me, and said in a quiet conversational tone, “Do you ever just get bored at these things and want to punch someone?”

“Punch any of mine, and I’ll break your arm off and beat you to death with it.”

“Kate.” Ghastek’s voice vibrated with a warning. “I don’t think you quite grasp the situation.”

Hugh grinned. “That’s my girl.”

Ghastek blinked.

Jim bared all his teeth in a feral snarl.

“Do the People have any other issues?” I asked.

“Not at this time,” Ghastek said, his gaze fixed on me and Hugh.

“Fantastic. The Pack has no further issues either.”

Hugh cleared his throat.

The doors burst open and four people I’d never seen before hauled in a tarp.

I got the hell out of my chair and backed away. My people backed away with me.

The four dropped the tarp on the table with a thud. The plates and cups went flying. The bloody, ripped-up body of a man splayed out in front of us, his clothes shredded and stained with sticky redness. The thick metallic stench of blood hit me.

The two renders behind me went furry in a whirl of twisting flesh.

The corpse’s stomach had been sliced open, the edges carved with the telltale marks of shapeshifter claws. His intestines bulged out in thick clumps. His face was a bloodstained mess, but I recognized him instantly.

Claire screamed. The journeymen shied back from the table. Everyone said something at once.

“Your people murdered Mulradin Grant,” Hugh said, his voice drowning out the others.

“Let’s not lose our heads,” Ghastek warned.

“Show me proof!” Jim snarled.

“Look at the body.” Hugh pointed to the corpse. “He’s all the proof anyone will need.”

Even the greenest recruit fresh out of the police academy would instantly identify these wounds. The spread of the gashes, the pattern, the size of the gouges, all of it was unmistakable. Mulradin had been murdered by a shapeshifter.

“There is no proof that this was done by a member of the Pack,” I barked. “You employ shapeshifters in your goon squad.”

Claire rocked back and forth. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Ghastek said.

Hugh pointed at him. “You—be quiet. The Pack claims dominion over all shapeshifters in the state. They bear full responsibility.”

“Don’t bring my people into it,” I said. “I’ll make you regret it.”

“I love it when you make threats,” Hugh said.

“You’ll love what follows even more.”

Ghastek kept looking at Hugh, then at me, at Hugh, then at me.

“I can’t wait, baby,” Hugh said.

Only Curran called me baby. He was goading me.

“You killed him!” Claire screamed, her voice shrill. “You killed my husband!”

Hugh stepped to her. His voice turned gentle. “They did. Look. Look at him. Your husband suffered before he died. Don’t you want to do something about it? Don’t you want to make the animals pay?”

Claire’s face went white. She grabbed at the metal bracelet on her arm.

“Stop!” Ghastek’s voice snapped like a whip.

Hugh spun to him. “It’s his will. Let it happen.”

Ghastek took a step back. “It’s our city. I have discretion.”

“Not anymore,” Hugh said, met my eyes, and winked.

You sonovabitch. This was exactly what he wanted: a big ugly public incident from which there was no return. We could come back from killing vampires—they were property. But we were already accused of murder. If we took down any of the People now, with Mulradin’s body on the table and his grieving widow out of her mind, the entire city would turn against us. They didn’t love the People any more than they loved us, but if Atlanta had a chance to be rid of either one, the city would take it. Hugh would have an excuse to declare a war against the Pack and be celebrated for it.

Claire ripped the bracelet off. It pulsed with red, and the ceiling burst.

Six vampires dropped into the room. For a fraction of a moment they froze, three perched on the table, three on the floor, their eyes glowing pools of scarlet hunger. Emaciated, hairless skeletons wrapped in hard ropes of muscle and clothed in rubbery skin, no longer human, no longer sane, and always hungry.

Ryan shot forward, his arms opened wide. The vampire eyes dimmed. His face shook with strain. He was trying to hold them and his hold was slipping.

“Retreat!” I barked.

The shapeshifters on both sides of me streamed to the back door, all except for two renders. A thud announced the door flying off its hinges as someone kicked it free.

Hugh spun around and hammered a punch to Ryan’s jaw. The big man’s eyes rolled back into his skull, his face went slack, and he crashed down.

The vampires shot forward like rabid dogs with snapped chains. One—large, female, and recently turned—lunged at Hugh. Five came sailing through the air at us, their eyes bright ravenous red, free of any navigator’s restraint, their minds like open sores, oozing undeath. Five. Too many.

The People fled through the front door. Ghastek stopped, his face twisted.

I grabbed the five vampires with my mind. It was easy. So shockingly easy. The undead went limp in midleap, falling rather than jumping.

Behind the table one of Hugh’s men stepped forward, fit, his hair a short dark stubble, two guns in his hands, and fired point-blank into the female vampire’s face. The bullets tore into the undead, chewing through the dried flesh.

My renders moved as one. Sage on my right yanked a vampire out of the air, before it could even hit the ground, and twisted its head off with her huge monster hand armed with leopard claws. The werewolf to my left disemboweled the second bloodsucker. I pulled the next pair to them.

The female vampire kept pushing forward, against the stream of gunfire. The man kept firing, his carved profile cold. Bright puffs of red mist shot out of the back of the vampire’s head as bullets tore through the brain and muscle. The top of its skull disintegrated. The undead paused, turned slightly, unsteady on its feet, and I saw the wall through the gaping hole where its brain used to be. The vampire took another halting step and sank down, limp, its limbs twitching.

Hugh laughed.

Yeah, yeah, your flunky knows how to squeeze the trigger. Bite me. I pulled the last undead toward the renders. A single person sprinted from behind me to the table. She leaped over the vampire corpses and landed by Mulradin’s body. Desandra. Damn it.

The renders tore into the last vampire.

The man with the guns turned and I saw his face. His stare punched me. Nick. Dear God.

“Desandra!” I snarled.

Nick sighted Desandra and fired. The guns roared, spitting bullets in quick one-two bursts. Desandra jerked, spun around, and ran straight for me.

The renders dropped the last two vampires to the floor. Desandra shot past me into the doorway. The renders closed in, blocking me from the People’s view with their bodies. I turned and sprinted out into the hallway. The last thing I saw was Ghastek’s face from the other doorway. He looked like a man who had just witnessed the start of a war.

The hallway was deserted. Twenty yards away, at the end of the hallway, the moon shone through the shattered windows of the sunroom. Jim stood to the side, snarling as the shapeshifters leaped out the windows one by one. I jogged to him, the two renders covering my exit.

“Run!” Hugh thundered, his voice chasing us. “Run to your pathetic castle! You have until noon tomorrow to give me the murderer or I’ll end you! If I see you in our territory, I’ll kill you!”

I wanted to turn around and break every bone in his body before I cut his head off. He’d killed my stepfather, destroyed Aunt B, and broken Curran’s legs. He would pay. I turned back toward the room. If I just killed him . . .

“Consort!” Jim called.

If I killed him, the shapeshifters would pay for it for years. And I had no sword. Argh.

I forced my way through the fog of blinding rage and ran to the shattered windows. Hugh expected me to enter the People’s side of the city. This wasn’t a warning, it was a dare.

The broken sunroom windows loomed before me. Three stories, a big fall.

Jim grabbed me and leaped through the broken window. My stomach jumped into my throat. We landed on the ground and he dropped me on the pavement. I hit the ground running and jogged to our cars.

Jim thrust the key into the car door.

A vampire plunged from above and landed on the Jeep’s roof. The insane red eyes glared at me. I grabbed its mind with mine.

Before I could do anything else, a weremongoose shot into view, red fur standing on end, the pink eyes with horizontal pupils looking demonic. Claws flashed. The vamp’s head went flying one way, its corpse the other. I jerked the door open and slid into the passenger’s seat. Jim shoved the key into the ignition, and Barabas dropped into the seat behind me. The engine purred.

The magic wave hit. Wards ignited on the walls of Bernard’s, glowing pale green. The engine sputtered and died.

Damn it all to hell and back.

Jim swore.

It would take fifteen minutes of chanting to warm up the car and start the engine that ran on enchanted water. Every second we delayed, the People’s reinforcements would be getting closer. We had to get the hell out of here and get to Mt. Paran Bridge before this incident grew any bigger.

I JUMPED OUT of the vehicle and slid Slayer into the sheath on my back. “We go on foot.” I turned and ran, not looking back. A moment and the two renders drew even with me. Behind me Jim called, “Form a line. Sarah, point. Rodriguez, rear guard.”

We ran out of the parking lot.

“I can carry you!” Demon-Barabas offered from behind me.

“I’m good.” As long as they didn’t run at full speed, I could keep up. I wouldn’t be able to do it for very long, but I wouldn’t have to. Mt. Paran Road was a mile and a half away. That was where Jim’s backup waited. We would regroup and then I’d make Hugh regret ever finding Atlanta on a map.