Magic Breaks

7

WE FOUND DESANDRA sitting in a tree above Cuddles. Her clothes were splattered with blood. She grinned at us.

“Lovely perfume,” Robert noted.

“Glad you like it.” She hopped off the branch. “I call it Dead Vampire.”

“How did you get away?” Ascanio asked.

“Please.” She gave him a look. “I’m a werewolf raised in the Carpathian Mountains and they can’t smell or track for shit. I can outrun them in my sleep.”

I mounted and we headed east. Twenty minutes later we turned south and made our way into the dense tangle of streets that was the Warren.

I rode Cuddles. Derek pulled ahead to scout; Ascanio ran on my left, Desandra and Robert on my right. The Warren peered at us with the black eyes of broken windows: mean, suspicious, and predatory, like a thug who’d gotten his face bashed in and was looking to get even. Jonesboro, the most direct route, was out of the question—too obvious and too well patrolled—so we wove our way through the twisted back streets. Long scars gouged the walls of the run-down houses, as if a tornado of steel blades had brushed by them. On Harpy’s Drive we passed a row of trees, each one with its trunk unnaturally bloated and covered with black fuzz. I had no idea what the fuzz did, but we steered clear of it. The law of navigating post-Shift Atlanta was simple: if you don’t know what it is, don’t touch it.

The moon was rolling down. It had to be around three in the morning. The winter night had caught the city between its teeth and bit down hard. Here and there an ancient vehicle hunkered down. The tips of my fingers had turned to painful icicles. Any colder, and I’d have to dismount and walk next to Cuddles just to warm up.

I wanted Curran back here with me. It was a completely selfish need, as urgent as breathing. I wanted to know that he was fine. I missed him. If I concentrated enough, I could conjure his voice in my head. Funny, yesterday I couldn’t wait to escape the Keep with him and run away to Black Bear Lodge. Now I would happily sit through a hundred Council meetings back to back for a ten-second phone call from him letting me know he was okay.

In the distance something screeched. It was the triumphant violent shriek of a predator that’d connected with its prey. The Warren was in its usual form tonight. Come to think of it, that was the first sound I’d heard in a while. It was too deserted and too quiet. The cold or the People must’ve driven the Warren’s scavengers indoors.

I could feel two vampire minds behind us. They were about a mile and a half back and not moving. Most likely an observation post that got staffed after we passed through.

We passed a rusted wreck of a truck. Ice slicked the road. Probably an overflowing sewer or a busted waterline that spilled water over the street before it had frozen solid. Up ahead a hole gaped in the pavement, about five and a half feet wide. A manhole cover lay frozen in the ice. Looked like something tore out of the sewers and pulled a good deal of soil with it. If some mysterious mole people cornered us, I’d point them toward the Casino and tell them that’s where our leader lives.

A man in dark clothes walked out into the middle of the road and blocked our way. He was lean, with short dark hair. He raised his head and looked at me. I developed a sudden urge to check for the quickest exit.

“That’s the bastard who shot me. Well!” Desandra cracked her knuckles. “Let me just take care of this . . .”

“Wait,” I told her.

“What? Why?”

“Yes, why?” Robert asked.

“Do you remember the Red Stalker thing? The serial killer who collected and tortured women and ate vampires?”

“Yes,” Robert said.

“He ate vampires?” Ascanio asked.

“Before your time,” Derek told him.

The Red Stalker also killed Greg Feldman, my legal guardian and the knight of the Order who took care of me after Voron died. It was my first time interacting with the Pack, my first time meeting Derek, and the first time, but not the last, I had felt an irresistible need to punch Curran in the arm. “During the investigation, the Pack captured a crusader.”

“I remember,” Robert said. “He smelled like rotting food. I think we had to dip him. He had lice.”

I nodded toward the man. “That’s him.”

Robert squinted. “It can’t be.”

Back then Nick looked like a hobo. He wore a filthy coat smeared with trash and old food, had greasy hair down to his shoulders, and cultivated the kind of hygiene that guaranteed him loads of personal space from anyone with a nose or a pair of eyes. Cleaned up, he looked fit and athletic, but average. The man in front of us now looked hard and mean, stripped of all softness. His hair was cut so short, it was almost stubble. His triangular jaw was clean shaven. He looked like a soldier or a fighter, clean, spare, and hard.

“It’s him,” I said. “I’ve seen him before with Hugh at the Midnight Games.”

So this was Hugh’s game plan. He wanted to separate me from the Pack. When we had talked during the Black Sea trip, he’d said that prying me from the Keep would be too difficult. He dangled the crime scene in front of me like bait, stationed his people along the approaching routes, and waited. Nick wasn’t here to kill me. He was here to delay me. He probably sent a signal to Hugh, letting him know he’d sighted me, and now he would do everything he could to stall until Hugh got here.

Derek stared at him. Their expressions were almost identical, flat, carrying an awareness of how vicious life could be and knowing they would never forget it.

“He looks like he’s been through some shit,” Derek said.

You’d know.

“What’s a crusader?” Desandra asked.

“Crusaders are knights of the Order,” Robert said.

“Aw crap,” Desandra growled.

The knights of the Order were strictly off-limits for the Pack. You might as well walk into a police station and shoot a cop.

“They’re not assigned to any chapter,” I said. “They go where needed and they bend the rules. They’re like janitors. Got a nasty problem, throw a crusader at it. He’ll cut it to pieces and leave town.”

“But he shot me! Doesn’t that count for something? What the hell is he doing with d’Ambray anyway? If he switched sides, I can kill him.”

“Crusaders are fanatics,” Derek said. “It’s not likely he switched sides. Jim thinks he’s undercover.”

“Even if he is, it doesn’t matter,” I said. “He made the decision to block us. But running up to him and trying to punch him is a bad idea. We don’t know what he’s capable of.”

We had to get past Nick. We had vampires behind us and taking a different route would take too long. We were committed now. We had to go forward.

“We don’t want to fight,” Robert called out. “We know who you are. We have no reason to kill you.”

Nick pulled off his gloves and dropped them on the ice.

“Perhaps you should negotiate?” Robert glanced at me.

Sure. I cleared my throat. “Move or I’ll cut your head off.”

Nick took off his leather jacket and tossed it aside.

“He has no weapons,” Derek said.

Robert grimaced.

No weapons meant magic, and whatever he had would be nasty, because there were five of us and one of him and he didn’t look worried. The Nick I knew had very specific powers. He could tell how much magic you had by touching you and he had uncanny hand-eye coordination, which made him very accurate with guns and knives. If he had combat magic, he didn’t use it even when fighting for his life, which probably meant he didn’t have it at the time. But he’d been hanging out with Hugh for over a year, probably more. Now Nick was a jack-in-the-box. There was no telling what fun surprises would pop out when you wound him up.

Nick pulled off his sweater. His arms weren’t just defined, they were carved, as if someone had cut him out of a slab of stone with a sharp knife. His neck was thick, his shoulders broad, and his gray T-shirt, tight across his shoulders, was loose over his middle. That body was the result of hours and hours at the gym, spent not bulking up by lifting heavier and heavier weights, but by kicking, punching, grappling, and running. He wasn’t shredded, he was just hard, conditioned to throw a devastating blow and to take one and keep going. He looked like you could punch him for hours and it would just make him madder.

His T-shirt followed. Yep. Just like I thought.

“Before you start dancing, we don’t have any cash!” I called.

“Woo!” Desandra waved her arms. “Take it off!”

“How do you want to go about this?” Robert asked me quietly.

“I can give it a shot,” Ascanio offered.

“Sit your ass down, Don Juanabe,” Derek said.

“Don Juanabe?” Ascanio pulled out his swords.

“Don Juan Wannabe,” Derek explained. “See, I shortened it. If you still don’t get it, I’ll write it down for you after the fight.”

“You’ve maxed out your wit quota for the night,” Ascanio said.

“I’m just getting started.”

“Be careful, you might sprain something in your brain.”

“Quiet,” I growled.

I knew why Nick joined Hugh. The Order hated Roland. He was their public enemy number one. It made sense for him to go undercover with Roland’s warlord. If Hugh had turned him to his side, then there was nothing I could do. But if he hadn’t, imagining the things Nick had to have endured to survive his time with Hugh turned my stomach. It would’ve been hell for him. Somehow Nick had done it and I didn’t want to end his sacrifice here.

“Let’s try to keep him alive if we can,” I said. “If we have to kill him, we will, but only as a last resort. If we do kill him, it’s on my authority. You’ll bear no responsibility for it.”

Nick flexed, warming up.

I slid off Cuddles and unsheathed Slayer. We needed to know what we were up against. “Desandra, want to go knock on his door?”

“Oh yes.” She bared her teeth.

“He’s really fast. Don’t get killed. Just tap him enough for him to open up and show us what he’s got.” I glanced at Derek. “Back her up.”

Desandra stalked forward, pulling off her woolen gloves one finger at a time. Nick watched her.

“Remember me?” She took off her jacket and tossed her long blond braid back. “You shot me.”

He rolled his head from side to side, stretching his neck. Derek followed Desandra, hanging about twenty feet back.

Desandra lunged forward, as if for a kick. Her leg went forward, then back. She leaped and hammered a blur-fast cross-punch at Nick’s head. He dodged, just barely, and struck at the back of her head with his left hand. She blocked with her left arm. Nick turned and sank a vicious hook to her ribs, while she punched his jaw with a hard right. The blow knocked Nick back. He dropped and rolled to his feet. Desandra staggered back, favoring her left side. Cracked or broken ribs.

Nick shook his head. I’ve been punched by a shapeshifter before. Not fun.

They circled each other. Desandra closed in, arms up, hands open, and launched a low kick. Her foot connected to Nick’s leg. Just barely too high, or she would’ve taken out the knee. He staggered back, his arms up, and she pounded a flurry of punches at his guard. He ducked, taking it on his arms, and snapped a front kick with his injured leg right into her stomach. His foot had shot out like a hammer. There was no deflecting that. Desandra staggered back. Her clothes burst. Bone surged upward, tendons and muscle spiraled over it, dark skin sheathed the new body, and fur sprouted from the pores. A seven-foot-tall werewolf snapped savage teeth.

Two olive vines shot out of Nick’s chest, spiraling over his arms, and clamped Desandra, winding about her like twin whips.

What the hell was that?

I started forward. Robert and Ascanio followed me. An eerie giggle broke free from Ascanio.

“Not yet,” I told him.

Desandra flexed, trying to break free, but the vines gripped her. Flexible, about an inch thick and at least twenty feet long. I’d never seen anything like it.

Derek sprinted forward and grabbed the vines, raising his tomahawk to chop them. Thorns burst from the twin shoots, biting into Desandra’s and Derek’s skin.

Oh no you don’t. I sprinted.

Bloody thorn tips emerged from the back of Derek’s hand. The skin around the punctures turned gray. Poison. Shit.

Desandra screamed. Derek chopped the vines and tore his hand free. The ends of the vines snapped back to Nick. The vise of vines around Desandra cracked and dried in an instant, turning into hard wood.

“This isn’t better!” Desandra snarled.

I lunged between them and Nick. Robert landed next to me.

Derek chopped at the wood with his tomahawk. The petrified vines held. The shapeshifters had resistance to diseases, but toxins could do them in.

Nick focused on us and began to spin the vines, faster and faster. I’d seen the technique before. Chinese chain whip, made of metal rods joined by rings. It was considered a soft weapon, but there was nothing soft about it and it took a hell of a lot of concentration to keep it going.

“Ascanio, run around him and throw rocks.”

The bouda dashed to the side.

“Divide and conquer,” Robert murmured.

“Let’s do that.”

We spread out. Nick kept spinning the whips. They encased him, a weapon and a shield at once.

I feinted forward. The whip sliced my boot, ripping it, but not cutting through.

“Get me out!” Desandra roared.

“I’m trying,” Derek snarled, hacking at the vines.

I hurled a throwing knife. It glanced off the vine whips. I could use a power word, but it would both drain me and announce to Hugh our exact location. Power words had a lot of magic echo.

A rock smacked against Nick’s back. Ascanio ran around us in a circle, hurling chunks of ice and concrete at him.

Robert attacked, zigzagging and twisting like a dervish. Nick snapped the vines at him. Robert dodged. His knuckle knives sliced at the whips. The left vine slid off onto the ice and instantly dried. Nick spun toward Robert. I dove into the opening, sliding on the ice, and buried my sword in his side.

He twisted and kicked me, ramming his knee into my ribs just as I straightened. My bones screamed, cracking. Robert jumped and kicked at Nick’s head. Nick dodged. The whip coiled around me and I sliced at it before it caught me. Nick leaped backward like an acrobat, once, twice, and landed twenty feet away. Two new vine whips slid from his chest.

I flicked the blood off my sword. Robert straightened. My ribs were on fire. A dark red wound marked Nick’s right side. Blood slid from it, wetting his skin. I hadn’t hit anything vital. He’d live, especially with Hugh around to heal him.

Nick dodged a chunk of dirty ice flying at his head. Ascanio hurled another, and Nick spun his new vines, knocking it aside. We just had to keep Nick moving. The more he spun his whips, the more he would bleed.

“How far will you go?” I asked. “What won’t you do for him? Would you kill us for him?”

Nick looked at me, his eyes cold. “Whatever it takes.”

I had my answer. He wouldn’t break his cover. Fine. We’d bleed him out, nice and slow.

Nick charged me. The vines smashed all around me, scouring the ice with their thorns. I dodged and ducked on instinct. Left, right, left, left. We danced across the ice. My feet slipped. Thorns scratched my arms like stinging bees. I wasn’t fast enough.

Robert lunged from my right. The vine took him straight across the chest. Clothes ripped and a wererat in a half-form dropped to the ground. One vine whistled over his head. He lunged under it, snarled, and kicked Nick’s feet from under him with one devastating sweep.

Wow.

Nick stumbled. Desandra, huge and shaggy, leaped over my head and smashed into the crusader. Derek must’ve finally cut her out. Nick slid across the ice into the hole gaping in the pavement. His vines shot out and caught the ice with their thorns. I dashed forward, slid on my knees, and sliced across the vines. Slayer’s blade sliced through the shoots. Nick dropped down into the hole.

“Move,” Derek roared behind me.

I rolled to the side. A rusted truck blocked the sky. Derek turned it and hurled it into the hole, hood first. The vehicle slid in a couple of feet and stopped, wedged. A frantic scratching sliced against the truck—Nick’s vines scouring the metal.

I exhaled. My ribs hurt. Small cuts on my shoulders and sides stung as if burned.

“And stay there!” Desandra snarled.

I turned to Derek. “Let me see your hand.”

He thrust his left hand at me. The cuts from the thorns hadn’t closed. The skin around them turned dark. Blood streaked with gray oozed from the wounds. The toxin was killing the Lyc-V inside his body. The scratches on Desandra’s furry arms were still bleeding, too.

“I’m fine,” Derek said.

“Yes. We’re fine,” Desandra added.

There was nothing to be done. The best we could do was to get through to the crime scene and get back to the Keep, where Doolittle could treat them.

Ascanio sniffed at Derek’s hand. “Smells wrong. I think we should chop it off. Here, hold it steady.”

Derek pantomimed squeezing Ascanio’s throat with his other hand.

In the distance the two vampire minds stopped pacing and moved toward us. Shit.

“We have to go.” I jumped to my feet. “Now!”

• • •

CUDDLES GALLOPED THROUGH the streets. No need or time for stealth now. We had to get to the crime scene and get the hell out.

We swung onto Jonesboro and Cuddles pounded down the street. The Fox Den loomed before us, alternating apartment buildings of red brick and yellow stucco fused together into one giant complex. Finally.

The stucco had seen better days. Graffiti marked the crumbling walls. Trash sat in piles in the corners. If you saw the place in daylight, you’d steer clear of it. The night made it even grimmer. It looked like the kind of place that would shelter a rough crowd, driven to desperation by human predators and poverty. The type of people who’d see you being stabbed to death on the landing and shut their doors while you screamed for help.

“I smell Mulradin.” Robert turned right and sprinted toward the entrance to one of the brick buildings. I jumped off Cuddles, tossed her reins over a hook driven into the wall for that purpose, and followed Robert up the stairs. In his warrior form, he didn’t just run, he scurried, so fast, his paws might as well have been greased. I pushed myself to keep up.

One flight. Two, three.

Blood on the stairs. Faint smudges, getting bigger as we moved higher.

A door swung open above us.

I ran across the landing and up just in time to see Robert tear a crossbow out of a man’s hands. He looked about my age, Hispanic, and rough.

“Go inside,” Robert told him.

The man ducked into the apartment. The deadbolt clicked, sliding in place. Robert charged up the stairs and I followed. We cleared the third floor, another landing . . .

Robert stopped. I almost collided with his tail.

“A ward,” he said and stepped aside.

I walked up to the door. An invisible wall of magic enveloped the door.

“Can we get in from the outside?” Derek asked behind me. Next to him Ascanio and Desandra moved to watch the stairs.

I shook my head. Hugh would’ve warded the windows as well.

I pulled Slayer out of the sheath and tested the ward. Magic nipped at the saber’s point and the sword stopped, unable to go any farther. Usually wards had an elastic resistance, like trying to puncture a basketball that had gone a little soft. This ward was completely solid. I’d come across only one type of ward that was both invisible and solid like this.

I crouched and leaned forward, searching the grimy floor. There it was, a barely noticeable dark smudge. Hugh had sealed the place with his own blood.

“It’s a blood ward.” I straightened.

“Can you break it?” Robert asked.

When Julie had caught Lyc-V months ago, I had performed a ritual to cleanse her blood with mine. She retained some of my magic as a result. My father had used the same ritual or one very much like it to bind Hugh to him. My father’s blood was in that ward, which would make breaking it easier for me. But the power of Hugh’s own magic was in it too, and Hugh had a crapload of magic.

“If I break this, the backlash will be a bitch. I’ll be out of commission for a while.” And while I was trying not to pass out, whatever was inside the apartment would grab me. Nicely played, Hugh. One trap after another.

“For how long?” Derek asked.

“I don’t know. Could be seconds, could be minutes. Can you smell anything from here? Anyone inside?”

The four of them stood very still.

“No,” Robert said. “It’s like a wall.”

“That’s some messed-up crap,” Desandra said.

I knelt on the floor and examined the door. Several scratches marked the lock, all old. It had probably been picked, and more than once. Expected, considering the location of the door. The door itself didn’t look forced. Not much to go on. For all I knew, the apartment behind the door lay empty or it contained a giant fire-breathing terrestrial octopus in a bad mood. No way to tell. I had to break the ward.

“Hugh likes magic and traps. Once we’re in, don’t touch anything. Get ready to defend my deadweight.”

“Go for it,” Derek said.

I pulled my left sleeve up and sliced Slayer across my skin, just enough to draw blood. Curls of vapor slithered from the opaque saber. I turned the blade upside down, letting the blood wash over it, raised it, bracing myself, and pushed it into the ward.

The magic buckled, kicking at the blade like a wild horse.

I leaned into it. Slow and steady. My blood hissed on the blade, boiling. I fed my magic into the blade.

The ward didn’t budge.

Come on. I pushed harder.

Slayer stopped as if I were trying to thrust it into solid rock. If I pushed any more, the blade might snap. If I’d had time, I would have just sat there for the next fifteen minutes, keeping constant pressure on the sword, until the ward gave. But we had no time.

“Not working?” Robert asked.

“It’s a game to him.” I pulled Slayer free and slipped it into my left hand. The best way to break a ward was to slowly, methodically push through it. Slowly and methodically had failed, which left me with brute force. If it broke too quick, the repercussion from the magic would be very sharp and severe. This wasn’t my brightest move, but we had to get into the apartment and time was short. “Okay, fine. I’ll play. Stand back a bit. This could go really wrong.”

I squeezed the cut on my left arm, smearing the blood over my fingers, and thrust my hand into the ward. The magic snapped taut, trapping my hand. A hundred tiny needles of magic pierced my skin, tasted my blood, and recoiled. Bright red cracks split the empty air, radiating from my hand.

I pushed.

Thunder cracked in my head, slapping my brain. The ward broke and fluttered to the ground, melting as it fell. The world swam around me, the edges turning fuzzy. I shook my head, fighting to keep upright.

Robert pushed the door open and slipped in. Desandra followed. Derek and Ascanio hovered next to me.

I should probably go in. If I could only stop my ears from ringing . . .

“Clear,” Robert called.

I shook my head. Ow. That only made the pain worse. The doorway wavered in front of me. I had to get into the apartment. Okay, the door had to be at least three feet wide. If I just aimed myself in the right direction, I’d get through. I clenched my teeth. Step. Step. Another step. I was in. Kick-ass. Now I just had to remain conscious and not fall down on my face.

I squinted: an old couch, a threadbare rug, and a stripper pole. A long trail of blood led from the living room through the narrow hallway. Someone had dragged a bleeding body out.

“Oh, this is rich.” Robert laughed, his voice dry.

Derek grimaced.

“Yeah.” Ascanio rolled his eyes.

“Clue the human in,” I said.

“Dorie Davis,” Derek said. “Otherwise known as Double D.”

“Her scent is all over this apartment.” Robert went down the hallway.

“Oh!” Desandra snapped her fingers. “So that’s who it is.”

I followed them down the hallway to the bedroom. The stench of blood clogged my nose, so strong I almost choked on it. A giant bed occupied most of the bedroom, equipped with a padded bench at the foot of the bed and a steel rack above it with several metal rings attached to the wall. The red sheet lay crumpled in a knot, drenched in darker red, the same red that stained the exposed mattress. Mulradin was killed here, no doubt about it. A human body had only so much blood, and most of it had remained in this room.

Derek turned right. Robert turned left. Desandra inhaled deeply, making a slow circle around the bed. They stalked through the room, pausing by objects at random, sampling the scents. Ascanio paused at the entrance to the room, so he could see the front door. “Ripe.”

My legs decided to take a vacation and the room crawled sideways. I really needed a wall to prop myself up on, but touching anything here wasn’t a good idea. “Double D, is that supposed to tell me something?”

“She’s a sofie,” Derek said, the same way one would say She’s a child molester.

“I can tell by your voice it’s bad, but I have no idea what it is.”

“Most shapeshifters don’t have sex in animal form,” he said.

“That’s not strictly true,” Robert said. “Most shapeshifters have sex in animal form, but only once. It’s not that great. It doesn’t last long, it’s awkward, and there’s no communication. Let’s just say, you don’t appreciate having hands until they’re gone.”

“No shit,” Desandra volunteered.

“The exception being the boudas,” Derek said.

Ascanio raised his eyebrows. If looks were knives, Derek would be bleeding.

“The Repressed One is trying to tell you that some people like to screw shapeshifters in animal form while they themselves stay human,” Ascanio said. “They’re called sofies. Skin on fur.”

Robert rolled his eyes and dropped down to the floor to smell the carpet.

“Okay,” I said. “I wish I didn’t know that.”

“Welcome to the Pack,” Robert said. “This is one of those gray areas. Technically, it’s not forbidden. What two consenting adults do on their own time is their business.”

“But it’s bestiality,” I said.

“Yes,” Robert said. “Which is why it’s strongly discouraged.”

Desandra leaned over the bed and swallowed. “The smells here are giving me a sour stomach.”

“Not just you,” Derek said.

“And for the record, I like women,” Ascanio said. “Maybe some wolves out there get turned on by the fur, but I like skin.”

“Oh, will you two quit it,” Desandra said. “It’s kinky forbidden sex. Some wolves do it, some boudas do it, some humans do it. Everybody’s equally fucked up.”

“We get enough flack from normal humans as it is,” Robert said. “Three years ago there was a campaign to ban wererats from restaurants because we’re disease-ridden rodents. The petition had three thousand signatures before we killed it. A year before, Clan Wolf was sued by a farming cooperative who claimed they would be hunting their livestock. The chief argument was that wolves can’t fight their natural urge to hunt and run prey to ground. If this stuff got out, there would be no end of public outcry. We don’t want to be accused of running a petting zoo for perverts.”

“Dorie is a pay-to-play sofie,” Derek said. “She charges for her services.”

“She doesn’t have to prostitute herself,” Robert said. “She’s an accountant with a decent salary. She does it because she’s decided that it’s an easy way to earn money on the side and because she’s got some sort of itch and this scratches it for her. When Jennifer’s husband was alive, he made a couple of attempts to get her into counseling, but she never went. She is a consenting adult and how she has sex is her own business.”

“She’s one of the only two shapeshifters to date who managed to catch an STD,” Ascanio said. “The other one was a male panther she was with. They caught it together at a, ahem, group event.”

Okay, that would take some doing. Lyc-V exterminated all invaders into its territory with extreme prejudice.

Derek winced. “An STD?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear about that?” Ascanio asked. “They got some kind of magical rabies.”

Derek opened his mouth and closed it. “How did they . . . ? Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

“I don’t either.” It was best to put that out there before they decided to enlighten me.

“We’re broadening your horizons, Consort.” Desandra grinned.

“My horizons are broad enough, thanks.” Now if only they would stop wobbling, I’d be all set. “I get how Robert and Desandra know about Double D. I want to know how the two of you know.”

Derek and Ascanio made valiant attempts to look casual.

“Everybody knows,” Ascanio said.

“Then why didn’t Desandra identify the scent?”

“When Double D showed up in Doolittle’s medward with the STD, he read her the riot act about safe sexual practices,” Robert said. “She didn’t like it, so she avoids him like the plague. Which is ironic, really, because the plague is exactly what she didn’t avoid.”

“I didn’t quite get that,” Desandra said. “Was it supposed to be funny?”

Robert frowned. “Never mind. I was going somewhere clever with that, but I managed to bungle it up. The point is, Double D doesn’t feel exactly welcome at the Keep.”

“She isn’t often at Wolf House either,” Desandra said. “I’ve seen her once, I think. Jennifer hates her guts. The last time her name came up, our illustrious alpha called her a ‘filthy immoral creature.’”

“In front of witnesses?” Robert asked.

“A room full of people,” Desandra said.

Great. There was a hierarchy of insults you could level at a shapeshifter. Telling them they smelled bad was probably one of the worst. But calling one of them “a creature” took it to another level. It implied a shapeshifter wasn’t human. A loup was a creature. Jennifer should never have said that, not about one of her own people.

Robert’s lips rose, wrinkling his muzzle and baring sharp teeth. He made a short angry noise, halfway between a deep growl and a grunt.

“I know, I know . . .” Desandra said.

“We may not approve,” Robert said, his voice precise and cold. “We may find it revolting and we may roar and snarl at our people in private, but we may not single out our people and make them an object of public shaming. It just isn’t done. Jennifer made her a target. Now anyone within the Clan Wolf who shows a drop of kindness to Dorie does so against their alpha’s wishes.”

“I agree,” I told him. “We can deal with it later. We’re short on time. We have to move on.”

“There are no other shapeshifter smells in the room,” Robert said. “Only Double D and humans.”

“I got Mulradin, Double D, Hugh, and a few others who are probably Hugh’s people,” Derek confirmed.

I tried to concentrate. It was proving tricky. My magic-stunned brain still wanted to float off into the shocked haze. “Can you tell what happened?”

“Dorie came in first,” Robert said. “Mulradin arrived about half an hour later. They had sex, once on the bench, once in the corner over there.” He pointed to the left of the bed, where a chain fell to the floor. One end of it was attached to the ring in the wall, the other to a spiked collar.

“Then Dorie killed Mulradin on the bed,” Desandra said.

Shit. “Are you sure?”

Derek nodded. “Once you get accustomed to the smell of blood, it’s very clear. Her scent is on the bed and the linens, and her fur is stuck to Mulradin’s blood. No other scents on the bed.”

“D’Ambray came in at some point, with five other people. They entered as a group,” Derek said. “Also someone fired a shotgun slug into that wall.” He nodded at the opposite wall.

“Before or after the murder?”

He shook his head. “No way to tell. It’s fresh.”

Ascanio nodded at the hallway. “Dorie left after the murder. Her scent trail is separate from the others, tainted with blood, and older. You can see her bloody tracks.” He pointed to the side. “She ran out of here.”

A member of the Pack had murdered a Master of the Dead. A small part of me had been hoping that Hugh’s accusation wasn’t true, and now that hope died a sad death.

I tried to make sense of it. “So she killed Mulradin for some reason. Either it was some sort of accident or she did it on purpose. If it was an accident, how did Hugh get involved? If it was a premeditated murder, Hugh either hired her to do it, forced her to do it, or happened to somehow be watching the apartment when she did it.” That last one didn’t seem likely. “Would she kill for money?”

“I doubt it,” Derek said. “She isn’t violent. I wouldn’t call her a nice person, but she wouldn’t kill someone on her own.”

Why did Hugh let Dorie go? I rubbed my face. It didn’t make me any smarter. If I were Hugh, what would I do with Dorie? How could I use her? If Dorie was dead, the Pack couldn’t turn her over in time for the deadline, which would guarantee a war. We could still produce her corpse or acknowledge that she was the killer and offer to pay restitution. But if Dorie was alive, things would get really complicated. If we did turn her over, we would look weak. If we didn’t, we would look like we thought we were above the law. There was no good way to resolve this situation, and the responsibility for it would land on my shoulders. Whichever decision I made, the Pack would detest me for it.

No, Hugh wouldn’t kill her. Why, when he could kill a whole flock of birds with one stone? “Dorie is still alive.”

Ascanio raised his eyebrows at me.

“The question isn’t why Dorie killed Mulradin, it’s what we do about Dorie. We have to get out of here.”

“We have company,” Robert announced, looking out the window.

I willed my legs to move and crossed the room. My head was still swimming. Riders flooded the street, one, two . . . twelve. The leader rode a familiar dark horse. Hugh.

We’d been in the apartment about six minutes, and here he was.

Desandra leaned out to glance past Robert. Her clawed fingers grazed the wall.

Magic pulsed through the window in a flash of dark green. Desandra jerked her hand-paw away and cursed. “I know, I know. I touched something. My fault.”

Tiny runes ignited in the paint of the windowsill, pulsed, and vanished, as a ward snapped closed.

I spun around. “Door?”

Ascanio was already checking. “Warded,” he called out a second later.

We were trapped. Great. I moved to the window and pushed against the ward with my palm. It nipped at me with magic teeth. Not a blood ward. This was incantation-based and someone had sunk a wallop of power into it. Shit.

Ascanio returned.

“Is it breakable?” Robert asked me.

“Sure. Give me an hour to figure out how it was made.”

Derek swore.

I dropped on my knees by the window and slid my hand against the ward, trying to trace its boundaries. Magic scraped at my skin with pale green lightning. Ouch. If Hugh had warded the whole building, we’d be in trouble.

At the street, the riders dismounted.

I found an edge of the ward. Another edge. “He didn’t ward the entire building. He just warded the openings, the windows and the door.”

Derek bared his teeth. “Ceiling or floor?”

“Ceiling,” Robert said.

It would take them at least a few minutes to break through the ceiling onto the roof. A few minutes, and nothing between us and Hugh except for a busted door. I ran to the door.

“Where are you going?” Ascanio called.

“To buy us some time. Stay in the bedroom out of sight.”

“Ask him about the cops!” Robert called.

Good point. If Hugh had bought the Atlanta PAD, we needed to know.

The front door stood ajar, just as we had left it. The sound of people running up the stairs floated up.

I couldn’t break this ward, but I had enough magic left to make one of my own. I dipped my fingers in my blood and touched the bottom corner of the door frame on my side.

The pounding steps drew closer.

I concentrated. The magic rushed out from me, twisted into an invisible current, kissed the empty air of the doorway, and snapped like a broken rubber band. The pain lanced my mind and for a second the world teetered in a red haze. Ow. I forced myself upright. Breach that, you sonovabitch.

The steps reached the landing just below us.

I leaned against the wall and tried to look casual. All this practicing must be paying off, because a couple of years ago I couldn’t have broken the ward and put up one of my own in the space of fifteen minutes. It still hurt, but at least I wouldn’t give Hugh the satisfaction of passing out in front of him.

Hugh conquered the last few steps and halted by the door. He still wore jeans tucked into tall riding boots, a black wool sweater, and a plain cloak, splattered with mud and melting snow. Gloves shielded his hands. His height and broad shoulders guaranteed that people would maintain their distance, but if he pulled the hood over his face, he wouldn’t stand out too much. Hugh in his inconspicuous mode.

The hood was down now. I scrutinized Hugh’s face, looking for any sign of the wounds Curran and I had left on him. I knew they weren’t there, but my brain refused to acknowledge it. I just couldn’t help myself. No old scars on the square chin or the cut jaw. No hint of crushed cartilage in the nose. I looked higher and ran straight into his eyes. They brimmed with arrogance, power, and humor. Hugh was having fun.

I took a rag out of my pocket and began cleaning Slayer, drawing the cloth along the pale blade.

Nick followed Hugh to the door. He was wearing clothes and seemed no worse for wear. A woman walked with him, at least fifty, but strong and fit, built like she could punch a tank out. Bright red paint crossed her left cheek, an upside-down T, smudged, probably drawn with a finger. It stood for Uath, the sixth letter of the Ogham alphabet used by the ancient Celts. It meant horror or fear, and according to Voron, Uath had earned her name. My adopted father had found her years ago. She was one of his elite soldiers who later formed the backbone of the Order of Iron Dogs. Hugh must’ve inherited her. I had no idea she was still alive. Voron knew how to pick them.

Hugh flicked his fingers. Nick and Uath backed off, took a couple of steps down the stairs, and waited.

Hugh pulled a glove off his hand and reached for the doorway. His defensive spell flashed green and drained down. His fingers touched the invisible wall of my blood ward. He pushed.

I kept cleaning my sword.

“Clever girl,” Hugh said.

“Learning as I go.”

He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small white bottle.

“What is it?”

“Ibuprofen,” he said. “For your headache. I know you have one.”

Hugh, a benign and considerate mass murderer. Always thinking ahead.

Hugh shook the bottle at me.

“No, thanks. I’ve had my daily dose of poison already.”

Hugh smiled.

“Something funny?”

“The more you struggle, Kate, the more I learn about you.”

“Learn anything interesting?”

He moved, stalking around the landing. He seemed to have gotten bigger somehow since our encounter in the Black Sea. Taller, broader, stronger. Maybe it was my memory playing tricks, or maybe it was the cloak.

“You can break my ward. This morning I knew of eleven people in the world who could. Now there are twelve.”

“Whoop-de-doo.”

Hugh shrugged his shoulders. “You know what I hate about the winter in this city?”

The longer we kept talking, the more time I would buy for Derek, Ascanio, and Robert to take the ceiling apart. I raised one eyebrow. “Mmm?”

“It’s so damn cold, I wouldn’t let a dog out, but there’s no snow. There’s just this crud. It’s not rain, it’s not snow, it’s like freezing mud falling from the sky.” He rested one hand on the wall next to the side of the door. “I say we call it quits. The new Four Seasons has VIP suites. I stayed there on my last trip here. We’ll have them build us a nice fire and hide in the room, hot, dry, and cozy. We’ll order some food, some decent wine, and talk.”

“What would we talk about?”

“About the future.”

I pretended to think about it. “Pass.”

Hugh flashed his teeth in a narrow smile. Before a hungry tiger pounced on its prey, he would smile just like that.

“Where is Hibla?”

“Hibla has been reassigned.”

“Where?”

“Let it go,” he said, in that good-natured way as if we were sitting somewhere in a bar, sharing a drink, and I were venting to him about a co-worker who annoyed me. “She’s hard to kill and not worth the time.”

“When you see her, let her know I have a grave picked out for her. With a headstone and everything.”

“How about this: if you come with me, I’ll deliver her to you. You can play with her as long as you want. I’ll even heal you if she rips you up.”

“Still a pass.”

“You should reconsider. Just some friendly advice.”

“I don’t think so.”

Hugh leaned forward, his eyes amused, and looked me over, slowly, head to toe. “You look good.”

Spare me. “Nice touch letting Dorie go. If I don’t turn her over, you’ll start a bloodbath and I and the alphas will be blamed for it. If we do turn her over, we look weak and our own people will lose confidence in our leadership. Either way the Pack is destabilized and I’m the bad guy.”

“You’re beginning to catch on to how the game is played,” Hugh said.

“There’s a third possibility. I could kill Dorie and dump her dead body on your lap.”

“I don’t think so.”

He said it with absolute surety. Not a moment’s hesitation. Note to self: bluffing—learn to do it better.

“Why not?”

“Because it sends the wrong message. If you kill Dorie, every shapeshifter who has ever broken the law will wonder if they’re next on your hit list. If you go that route, nobody will follow you. I’m a bastard but even I don’t kill my own people, unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“No, you just put them in cages and let them slowly starve to death.”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course, there is a fourth option.”

“And what’s that?”

“You come with me now,” he said. “And this whole ugly mess goes away.”

“I don’t believe you.” The words had come out almost on their own. But a look into his eyes told me he wasn’t lying. Shit. He really had come here for me. I was the sole reason Mulradin was dead and the Pack was now evacuating. Well, that was one mystery solved.

I didn’t need that kind of pressure. I had plenty to drag me down as it was.

Hugh shifted his weight, reached over, and drew a doodle on my ward. The magic nipped at his finger. It must’ve hurt. “I meant what I told you before. Their lives don’t matter to me. If I have to crush the coal to get to the diamond, I’ll do it.”

“Aha. And I’m the diamond?”

“You cut like one.”

Ha! “Flattery, really? Subtle like a hammer.”

He shrugged. “Why not? Do the shapeshifters take time to flatter you? Do they tell you how grateful they are for you sticking your neck out for their sake?” He touched the blood ward again. “Do they beg your forgiveness every time this precious blood is spilled?”

No, they generally didn’t. They mostly complained at me, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. “The answer is no.”

“No, they don’t flatter you?”

“No, I’m not leaving with you.”

“I suppose I’ll have to come and get you then.”

“Knock yourself out. I’ve got a sword I’m dying to introduce to your blood.” Wait. Knock yourself out. Funny I said that. An idea began to form in my head.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Robert leaning into the hallway. He was watching. He’d probably heard every word. Great. I could look forward to more questions I didn’t want to answer.

“Come with me,” Hugh said. “Let me show you the kind of power you’re missing. Nobody else has to die. He’s waiting for you.”

Every nerve in me came to attention. “Don’t see how he has the time for me, preparing for the claiming and all.”

Hugh’s eyebrows rose a quarter-inch.

I laughed quietly. “I see he doesn’t tell you everything. I think I’ll stay right here.”

He shook his head. “Seriously, what the fuck are you doing, Kate? Running around the frozen city in the night like some filthy bottom-feeder playing queen of the shapeshifters? Come to me. I’ll give you the city on a silver platter. A gift.”

“If I wanted the city, I would’ve taken it.”

“I love that snarl in your voice,” he said. “Sexy.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I like that, too,” he said.

“Just out of curiosity,” I asked. “Last time I checked, the cops frowned on the random murder of civilians. Do you think Atlanta’s Paranormal Activity Division will just let you blunder about hunting shapeshifters?”

Hugh pretended to ponder it for a long moment. “Let me think. Yes.”

Jim was right. He had made an arrangement with someone high in the police food chain. “Aren’t you smug?”

“That’s what happens when you play in the big leagues.”

“Big leagues, huh?”

“That’s right.” He winked at me. “Stick around, I’ll show you how we do it.”

“No need. I’ve already had the proper instructions from my aunt.” Big leagues, I’ll show you the big leagues. It was a gamble, but if it worked, it would buy us enough time to get the hell out of here. “Curran broke Erra’s ward, by the way.”

Hugh’s eyes narrowed. “It’s adorable when you try to manipulate me. I find it charming.”

“I’m not manipulating you. I’m stating a fact. The man I’m sleeping with broke Erra’s blood ward.” I indicated the ward. “Mine is still standing.”

In the bedroom Robert leaned out for a second to catch my eye. Yes, yes, I know what I’m doing.

“I’ve been waiting for you to break mine. I have to say, your technique is really different. Curran hammered at the spell until it broke. You just talk. Help me out here, what’s the strategy? Are you hoping the ward will get tired and kill itself so it won’t have to listen to you anymore?”

Hugh’s eyes turned dark.

I yawned. “I don’t know about the ward, but I’m done talking. I’m going to go and take a nap.”

“Last chance,” Hugh said. His voice lost all of its amusement. “Come with me, and I’ll spare your precious Pack. All your pets will go to bed safe and won’t have to worry about fighting for their lives in the morning. Or they can wake up to a slaughter and blame you when their kids and lovers start dying.”

I slid Slayer into its sheath on my back and crossed my arms. “Time for talking is over. Come on, Preceptor. The man I sleep with broke the City Eater’s ward. You just have to break one of mine. Do it, Hugh. Show me something.”

“Remember, you wanted this,” he warned.

I dug into my memory and pulled out the worst rebuke Voron ever used. He said it to me and he had said it to Hugh, because Hugh threw it in my face the last time we met.

“If you’re too scared to try, just say you’re scared, Hugh.”

Nothing was worse than not being brave enough to try.

Hugh pulled a knife out, sliced his forearm, and dropped the blade on the floor. Show-off. Why not use the knife?

He squeezed his forearm. Blood swelled, bright sharp crimson. Slowly he rubbed it all over his hands. His stare locked on me. Wow. Hugh was pissed.

I raised my eyebrow at him.

He leaned forward, his feet shoulder width apart, his arms bent at the elbows, fingers apart, pointing up. His whole body tensed, gathering together as if before a great jump. Muscles bulged on his legs. His biceps strained the sleeves of his sweater. His abdomen hardened. Thin streaks of blue vapor slithered from him, growing stronger and stronger, until pale blue smoke emanated from his whole body. I’d seen it before when he pulled Doolittle from the brink of death. The ward blocked me from feeling it, but I remembered the magnitude of that power.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

On the stairs Nick crouched. Uath gripped the guardrail. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Robert, standing in plain view in a hallway.

Hugh’s eyes turned bright electric blue. Indigo radiance coated his hands.

“Today,” I called out.

He lunged forward with both hands. His fingers pierced the ward like talons.

The blood ward flashed with brilliant red light, the magic crackling like thunder. Hugh flew back ten feet and hit the stairway leading to the upper floor. The back of his head bounced off the steps. He slid down and didn’t move.

Ha! Serves you right!

Behind me Robert said, his voice completely deadpan, “Oh my.”

A wall of translucent red pulsed in the doorway and turned transparent. My spell was still up. I laughed.

Nick and Uath charged up the stairs to Hugh’s prone body. I turned around and hurried to the bedroom.

A hole gaped in the ceiling next to the bed. Derek waited by it. Ascanio swung down out of the hole and offered me his hand. I grabbed it and he pulled me up until I could grasp onto some wooden beams. Ascanio let go and climbed up, and I crawled up after him. My cracked rib was screaming. Derek followed me into the ceiling structure. Beams, broken brick, insulation, and more beams.

A cold drop fell on my head. I looked up and saw Ascanio’s feet disappear, replaced by the night sky. My fingers caught cold metal and I pulled myself outside onto the roof. Frozen rain sifted from the gray sky. In the distance Desandra in a warrior form crouched on the edge of the roof, like a sleek monstrous gargoyle.

“Did you know that would happen?” Robert emerged from the hole.

“I hoped it would.”

“And if he broke through?”

“Then we’d have to run away very fast.” Well, we still had to run away really fast. Hugh’s people wouldn’t move until he came to, but that head was really hard. He’d bounce back soon.

The roof, slicked by frost, sloped down at a sharp angle. The ground looked very far down below.

Ascanio ran across the slippery roof toward the wererat. My head swam. The roof teetered before me.

Don’t think about it. Just do it. I sprinted. My stomach lurched. Tiny black dots swam in front of my eyes. Okay, running might have been too ambitious.

The roof ended. A twenty-foot gap separated us from the next building. Far below, hard pavement promised a painful landing.

Robert leaped across the gap and scurried on.

Twenty feet was so beyond me, it wasn’t even funny. Well rested, on solid ground, and with some training, I could possibly come close, but right now, on a slippery roof, it might as well have been a hundred feet. I had to get off the roof. When Hugh finally managed to deal with my ward, the backlash would be a bitch. I needed distance, but I was stuck.

“Kate.” Derek grabbed me and leaped. The ground yawned at me and then we landed on the other roof.

Robert cleared the roof and jumped down, right over the edge. I followed and nearly slid off the icy shingles. A fire escape, ten feet below.

I jumped down, landed with a thud, and slid down the fire escape, trying not to trip over my own clumsy feet. Wind whistled around me and then we were on the ground and next to Robert, who held Cuddles’s reins.

I swung into the saddle and gave her a squeeze. We had to hurry.

Cuddles didn’t move.

“Come on!” I kicked her sides. “Now isn’t the time to be an ass!”

Cuddles planted herself. Not now, you stupid donkey.

Ascanio snarled and smacked her butt. Cuddles shot into a gallop, thudding down the street.