Magic Rises

AN ILL-ADVISED RESCUE ILONA ANDREWS

Knock-knock.

My eyes snapped open. Darkness filled the bedroom. I reached over and touched the covers next to me. Empty. Curran must’ve gotten out of bed. Usually I woke up when anything in the vicinity moved, but Curran could be very quiet when he wanted to be, and he had taken it as a personal challenge to sneak in and out of our bed without disturbing me.

Knock-knock.

I dragged myself out of bed, slipped on a pair of sweatpants, and swung the door open. A tall, lean man stood on the other side. Barabas, a weremongoose and lawyer extraordinaire. Since I’d joined the Beast Lord and his fifteen hundred shapeshifter nutcases in the Keep, Barabas had helped me navigate the rough waters of Pack politics. Pack papers said he was my advisor. He ignored them and called himself my nanny.

Barabas never did anything halfway, including his hair. Bright red in sharp contrast to his pale skin, it usually stood straight up on his head like a jagged flame. Today he must’ve done something special to it, because his hair didn’t just look spiky. It was shiny, almost fluorescent, and stiff. He looked electrocuted.

I searched his eyes. No alarm. Whatever it was, it wasn’t urgent. I made some sniffing sounds.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Checking the air for smoke.”

“Why?”

“Because you know I dragged myself to bed less than two hours ago. You wouldn’t wake me up unless it was an emergency. I’m guessing you must’ve set the guard room on fire with your hair and now you want me to evacuate.” Kate one.

“Ha-ha. You have a phone call, Alpha.”

I hated to be called Alpha. Kate one, Barabas one. A draw. “Who is it?”

Barabas looked disgusted, as if someone had just offered him some moldy bread. “The Clerk from the Guild. He says it’s about the pervert.”

“Saiman?”

“Yes. The Clerk says it’s an emergency.”

Okay. “Lead on.”

Saiman was an information broker who happened to also be an expert on all things magic. He’d also made a small fortune in shipping and other ventures. He charged exorbitant prices for his services, but because I had amused him, he had offered me a discount in the past. I had consulted him a few times, but he kept trying to entice me into his bed to prove a philosophical point. I’d put up with it until he’d had the stupidity to parade our connection in front of Curran. The Beast Lord and I had been in a rough spot in our relationship, and Curran didn’t take that exhibition well, a fact that he expressed by turning a warehouse full of luxury cars Saiman had slipped past customs into crushed Coke cans. Since then, Saiman lived in mortal fear of Curran. He avoided me and all things shapeshifter like we were a plague.

Saiman feared physical pain, so he maintained a VIP account at the Mercenary Guild for times when he needed to use brute force. Unfortunately for him, the Pack now owned twenty percent of the Guild and I was in charge of it. I’d flagged his account, making sure I was notified about his activities. Saiman wasn’t exactly vindictive, but he had a long memory, and I wanted to make sure he didn’t spring any surprises on us.

Anything involving Saiman would make Curran lose his temper. A pissy werelion was rather difficult to live with. He wasn’t in a great mood today anyway. We’d had some trouble with a small pack in Florida. With the Pack’s headquarters located in Atlanta, they must’ve felt far enough away and safe, so they’d made excursions into our territory and raided a Pack business. We could quash them, but it would be bloody.

“Do you know where Curran is?”

“He went out to talk to the Lonescos.”

Figured. The Lonescos ran the rat clan within the Pack. The rival Florida pack consisted mostly of rats, and Curran must’ve still hoped for a peaceful resolution. Peaceful in post-Shift Atlanta was a rare luxury. “Did he seem optimistic?”

Barabas shook his head. “No.”

We arrived at the guardroom and Janice offered me the phone. A seasoned guard, Janice was a werejackal, about ten years older than me, with blond hair and a big smile. She looked like a soccer mom on steroids.

I took the phone and pressed the speaker button. “Yes?”

“Kate?” the Clerk’s familiar voice asked. The Clerk had a name, but nobody among the mercs used it. He was simply the Clerk and he didn’t seem to mind the name.

“Yep. What can I do for you?”

“Saiman’s been kidnapped.”

“Aha.” Aha was an excellent word. Neither a question nor a statement.

Janice scribbled on a piece of paper, transcribing the conversation.

“They’re holding him for ransom. They dropped the note off at his accountant, who called us.”

“How much do they want?”

“A big one.”

“A million?”

“That’s right.”

Barabas’s eyes went wide. Janice clamped her hand over her mouth for a second. The Guild charged ten percent of ransom for rescuing kidnapped victims. That was quite a chunk of change.

“Where do they want the money delivered?” I asked.

“Mole Hole, in the crater. You know the place.”

Everybody in Atlanta knew the place, but I knew it really well. That was where my insane aunt nearly killed the lot of us and almost burned the city to the ground. That was where I had killed her and almost lost Curran.

“Any details?” I asked.

“I’ve got the note. It says, ‘I’ve been kidnapped. I’m under heavy guard. Please draw one million dollars and deliver it to the Mole Hole before sunrise or my attackers will see red.’”

“Odd note.”

“I wouldn’t know,” the Clerk said. “We got one the other night that said if we didn’t come and get this guy, the kidnappers would feed him to a giant tortoise. Do you want me to do anything about this?”

“I’ll take it,” I said.

“Just so you know, you’re on record for that.”

“That’s fine. Thank you for calling.”

“Anytime.”

I looked at Janice. “Did you get all that?”

She passed me the paper. Under guard, seeing red. Interesting choice of words, atypical of Saiman. He spoke like a college intellectual. His philosophy was that if he couldn’t pack at least three syllables into a word, it wasn’t worth his attention.

Saiman was a self-admitted sexual deviant and egomaniac. The last time he put me into a life-threatening situation, he’d jumped into his car and taken off so fast, the snow from his tires pelted my face. But if I saved him, he would owe me a favor. A very large million-dollar favor.

“We’re not going to pay that ransom, are we?” Janice asked.

“Hell no.” I looked at the paper again. “Is Jim still up?”

“He’s in his spy rooms,” Janice said.

Most shapeshifters were seminocturnal. Late to bed, late to rise. The Pack’s chief of security and my onetime Guild partner was no exception.

“Oh good. If Curran comes through here, this whole thing never happened.”

“Are you asking me to lie to the Beast Lord?” Janice’s eyes narrowed into slits. A subtle grin hid in the corners of her mouth.

“No, I’m telling you not to volunteer information.” If Curran got involved, it would be all over. “What the Beast Lord doesn’t know can’t hurt him. Or me.”

I went through the security checkpoint and down the wide staircase that ran the height of the Keep’s main tower. Luckily I didn’t have to go too far. Jim’s spy operation occupied rooms two floors below.

I found Jim in the small kitchenette getting a cup of coffee. Tall, with muscle definition that made you wince, Jim prided himself on the ability to intimidate by simply being there. He was in his early thirties, with skin that matched the coffee in his cup and short hair, cut close to the scalp. Normally he didn’t stand, he loomed like a menacing shadow, but right now he was on his home turf, and the air of threat had dropped off to tolerable levels. He leaned against the wall with one arm, drinking coffee, looking relaxed, and when he saw me, he smiled without showing his teeth. Jim Shrapshire, a sweet and welcoming jaguar. Aha. Not buying it, buster.

“Is there any coffee left?”

Jim hefted the metal pot. “There is.”

I grabbed a mug and watched him pour the nearly black liquid out. Back when we both worked for the Mercenary Guild, Jim preferred to take night jobs. The giant vat of coffee was made once, in the morning. By the end of the night, no sane soul would touch it. Jim drank it like water.

Jim filled my mug. I sniffed it. So far, so good. I took a brave sip. The bitter scalding liquid slid a third of the way down my throat and got stuck. “Dear God.”

He grinned.

“Jim, if I turn the cup upside down, it will roll out slowly like molasses.”

“That’s how you know it’s good. Drink it, it will put hair on your chest.”

“My chest is fine as is, thanks. You’re in a good mood.”

“I’m always in a good mood, Kate. What brings you to my lair?”

“Saiman called.”

Jim skewed his face. He hated Saiman the way cats hated water. “What does he want?”

“He’s been kidnapped and he wants someone to bring his kidnappers a million dollars.”

Jim blinked. For a second his face froze, slapped by surprise, and then the Pack chief of security leaned back and laughed.

I sipped the horrible coffee. I’d known him for years and I could count on one hand the number of times I’d heard him laugh.

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, already 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.

“If they pay you, are you going to take me with you?” Saiman asked.

“Depends on how much they’ll give me.”

The four ex-Guardsmen stared at me.

“Wait a minute,” the shorter blond man said. “She wants us to give her money to take him with her?”

“Darren, keep your mouth shut,” Tremblay growled.

“Yes, that’s it.” I nodded at Darren. “You give me money, I take him with me, and everybody’s happy.”

“This isn’t what you said would happen,” Darren looked at Tremblay.

“Shut the hell up!” Tremblay was actually shaking. There was no way he could salvage this.

“Losing your job is hard,” I said. “But you guys need to find a different line of work, because holding people for ransom isn’t your forte. You’re not very good at it. Why don’t you take off before your fearless leader gives himself a coronary?”

The dark-haired man was thinking about it; I saw it in his eyes. Darren looked confused.

I pushed a little more. “Cut your losses. It’s time to go.”

“Fuck it, fire the flare!” Tremblay snarled.

The stocky woman looked at him.

“Fire the fucking flare!”

She clapped her hands. Magic pulsed and a bright yellow spark shot from between her clasped fingers into the sky, blossoming into a fiery dandelion. The four ex-Guardsmen tensed, anticipating a shot.

Nothing happened.

“Go home,” I repeated.

Tremblay snarled. “Kill the stupid bitch!”

I backed away, giving myself room to work.

Darren turned light, electric purple. His skin sprouted hard bony bumps. He stumbled back, clutching at his head. Tremblay and the mage backed away.

The dark-haired man marched at me, drawing the katana as he struck. Good fast draw. I parried, letting the flat of his blade slide off Slayer, and punched him in the jaw with my left hand. He staggered back. Blood swelled along my forearm. He’d nicked me. I’d surprised him and he still nicked me. Fast bastard.

Derek dropped out of darkness into the Mole Hole, raised the crossbow, and fired. An arrow whistled past me, missing the thing that used to be Darren by an inch. Derek looked at the crossbow in disgust, raised it . . .

He wouldn’t throw away a perfectly good crossbow . . .

Derek hurled the crossbow at Darren. It broke over the man’s armored head.

Derek’s clothes exploded, and a monster spilled forth. His limbs grew, bones thrusting out, forming new long legs and powerful arms. Muscle coated the new skeleton, clinging to bones. Skin sheathed it, dark fur grew, claws cut through the flesh, and a new creature landed on the glass. Neither man nor wolf, but a lethal hybrid of both, a human predatory intellect locked in a savage body. Derek grinned, displaying a mouth of nightmarish teeth, and crashed into the purple armored creature that used to be Darren.

The dark-haired man recovered, approaching. The right stance, responsive but firm, good balance, katana pointing at my eyes. Step, another step, smooth, sliding his foot along the ground so every move ended in a proper stance. He would lunge, and when he did it, he would commit completely. He was classically trained, and it would be all or nothing.

The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question was, would I be fast enough to parry it?

Another step.

Our stares crossed. It would be over for one of us in a second.

Time stretched into infinity.

I focused on him, absorbing every single detail: the angle of his leading foot, the dark eyes fixed on me, the minute tensing of muscles in his right arm, the rise of his chest . . .

He lunged, striking at my midsection in a horizontal stab, driving the blade with both hands.

I saw it a fraction of a second before it began and stepped back with my right foot, dodging, turning. Even as the blade came toward me, I knew I wasn’t fast enough. He saw it too and twisted the blade, the edge sideways toward me.

The katana’s edge grazed my ribs, slicing skin along my side.

For a fraction of a second, his arms stretched rigid, parallel to the ground, as he drove the blade forward. I cut across his wrists, carving flesh and tendon with my saber. Blood swelled on his skin. His fingers opened as the severed flexor tendons refused to obey. The sword fell. He caught the katana with his left hand and backed away, hot scarlet dripping on the ground.

The swordsman looked at me, a question in his eyes. He was done. We both knew it. I could cut him down right there and he wouldn’t be able to do much about it.

I nodded and took a step back.

He straightened, turned, and walked away.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Tremblay yelled. “Get back here! You fight for half a second and you’re done?”

“He can’t hold his sword,” I told him. “Saving his sword hand is more important to him than you are.”

Tremblay swore. The woman behind him was chanting, eyes closed. Magic moved toward her in a slow flood. I didn’t want to taste what she was cooking.

I started toward Tremblay.

Magic pulsed, its impact slapping my skin like a blast wave from an invisible cannon. A naked Tremblay lunged at me. What the hell?

I hammered the pommel of my sword in his face. He crumpled to the ground. I backed away. A second Tremblay, also bare-assed, grabbed at my forearm. His fingers crushed my arm like steel pincers. My bones groaned. I yanked my arm to the side, exposing Tremblay’s armpit, thrust, and withdrew. He dropped to his knees, his mouth oddly slack. A guttural groan echoed from the right. Tremblay’s body crumbled into pale red dust and swirled into the wind.

The real Tremblay, still fully clothed, stood by the magic user, his face shaking with effort. As I watched, an outline of his body peeled off, forming another naked clone, who staggered toward me. He was a one-man army. Awesome. Was there a finite number of them, because I was bleeding all over the place, and if he made enough of them at once, they would overwhelm me.

“Hey, Tremblay, ever think of starting your own boy band?”

His face jerked. Another clone peeled off. Another. A third.

The woman behind Tremblay was chanting, pulling the magic to her and winding it like thread on a spindle. Not good.

The three clones advanced toward me. I backed away. Tremblay could’ve been one hell of a bodyguard—he was a whole detachment all by his lonesome. Too bad he’d chosen to sell his clients’ lives instead.

A fourth clone joined the line, followed by its twin. Five now.

The Tremblays took a step forward, moving in unison. Controlling clones took concentration. I’d piloted vampires before, and sending them in the same direction was much easier than trying elaborate tactics. The Tremblays didn’t need elaborate tactics. Between the five of them, they had a thousand pounds of muscle. If all of them were as strong as the one who’d grabbed me, I couldn’t let them get hold of me. They could just pile on me and that would be the end. Throwing knives at them wouldn’t do enough damage. I could use a power word, but doing that announced my power and ancestry to anyone with a bit of knowledge. The less I showed in front of Saiman, the better. Given a half a chance, he would sell me to my biological father faster than I could blink.

I ran. I dashed along the Mole Hole’s wall, Slayer in hand. The clones followed me in a line. I picked up a bit more speed. Clones or not, geometry still worked the same, and the outside perimeter of the circle was longer than the inside one. To the left of me the real Tremblay flashed by, the magic-user woman still chanting with her head bowed. Derek and Darren grappled with each other. I smelled blood. Darren might have the armored skin, but my money was on Derek anyway.

I flew along the wall, my legs pumping. Two thirds of the way around the crater, I glanced back. The clones had started in a line running at the same speed and now that line was nicely staggered, about six feet between them. Not as much as I would’ve liked, but it would have to do. Any closer and I’d be too close to the real Tremblay.

I spun around and charged the first clone. Tremblay had no time to react. I swung Slayer in a classic diagonal stroke, putting all of the strength of my arm into it. The saber cut across the first clone’s throat and chest, right to left, slicing flesh and cartilage like butter. The clone went down. Before he fell, I reversed the stroke, drawing a flat eight, and sliced the second clone left to right. He dropped like a cut weed.

Tremblay screamed.

The third clone jerked his arms up, trying to shield his chest and throat. Tremblay had finally reacted, but a body in motion tends to stay in motion. The clones had been running full out trying to catch me, and like a horse in a gallop, they couldn’t come to a dead stop. I stabbed my sword into the clone’s exposed gut, jerked the blade to the right, scrambling the organs, if he had any, and kicked him off my blade.

The fourth clone with the road rash on its face bent down, aiming to ram me with his shoulder. I dodged and ran straight into the fifth clone’s punch. I saw it, I just couldn’t do anything but turn into it. Given a choice of ribs or shoulder, I took it on the left shoulder. Pain erupted in my arm. I staggered back. Ow.

The fifth clone’s fist was speeding toward my face. I leaned out of the way. Arms clamped my legs in a death grip—the road-rash clone anchored me in place. My legs screamed in pain. They had me.

The fifth clone lunged at me, fingers like talons reaching for my neck. The road-rash clone twisted, trying to turn my back to the attack. I reversed my sword blade up and thrust sideways, parallel to the ground. The fifth clone impaled himself on my blade. I let go of my sword, pulling a throwing knife, and rammed the short blade into the base of the fourth clone’s neck. He broke into red dust.

The fifth clone collapsed on me, his forearm across my throat like a bar. The world dimmed. Suddenly there wasn’t enough air. I wrapped my freed legs around his and stabbed him in the side, one, two, three, my hand slick and wet with red. The metallic scent of blood filled my nostrils. Four, five, six, seven . . . Red dust rained on my face. I coughed and rolled to my feet just in time to see Derek hurl Darren across the crater. The armored man landed on his back, clutching at his leg. It was bent the wrong way and the white stub protruding from it had to be his shinbone.

Only Tremblay and the mage were left. I picked up my sword and marched to them. I had to get to the real thing, or this could go on forever.

Tremblay bent over, breathing like a runner after a marathon. “What the fuck are you?”

He was done. Across from us, Derek made a beeline for Tremblay.

“It’s over,” I said.

“Not quite.” The female mage clapped her hands. The magic she’d gathered sparked. A high-pitched chime, like the toll of a large crystal bell, sounded through the night, coming from a point above the woman’s head. A pale glow unfurled, like an incandescent fog billowing from one small point into a yellow cloud, illuminated from within. Something long and sinuous stirred within its depths.

I accelerated. Whatever the thing in the cloud was, it wouldn’t be good, and I wanted the mage out of commission before it emerged. I was twenty yards from the woman when the cloud tore. A glowing creature slipped into existence, hovering above the mage’s head. About two feet long, it resembled a wood louse, wide and flattened. A shell of translucent overlapping segments radiating pale yellow luminescence shielded its flattened body. Seven pairs of thick, segmented crab legs hung from underneath the shell, moving in a flowing rhythm, as if the creature were swimming. Glowing eyes, like two orbs sheathed in metallic foil, looked at me.

“Stop,” the female mage said.

My body stopped. Logically I knew I had to keep moving, but something deep in the core of my brain refused to obey. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t close my eyes. I could only stare at the glowing bug-crustacean apparition.

“Don’t look at it,” I barked.

“Too late,” Derek called out, his voice shredded by his oversized teeth.

Shit.

“Drop your sword,” the woman said.

The command pulled on me. I clenched Slayer. No.

“Drop your sword,” the woman repeated.

A low, steady ache drained down my arm in a viscous wave, all the way into my fingers. The grip of my saber burned my skin like fire. It would be so easy to just let go. So easy.

I clenched my teeth and took a small step forward. Magic anchored me. It felt like I was dragging a semi behind me. Another step.

“Her will is too strong,” the woman said. “You’ll have to go and finish her.”

“No problem,” Tremblay said.

I couldn’t look away from the glowing bug, but I heard the sound of his steps. I had to lift my sword. My arm refused to obey.

Derek snarled.

“Settle down, you’re next,” Tremblay said.

The glowing creature stared at me, its eyes empty and endless at the same time. My whole body shook with effort. I could use a power word, but doing that in front of Saiman was extremely unwise. He’d already seen me use one. If I demonstrated any more power, he would dig deeper into my background. If he put two and two together, he’d sell me out to my real father faster than I could blink.

I could do this. I just had to lift my sword.

Tremblay’s steps were closer.

I would lift it, damn it.

My arm obeyed. It felt like the muscles and ligaments in my arms were ripping apart, but I could feel the balance of the sword shift in my hand. The point of my saber was slowly creeping up. Not fast enough. Tremblay would cut me down.

Well, wasn’t that a lovely predicament. Kate Daniels, rescuer of kidnapped sexual deviants, chopped down by some has-been bodyguard. If Tremblay didn’t finish me, I’d die of sheer embarrassment.

Tremblay got close enough that he swung into my field of vision. His face was grim, his mouth a hard flat line. He hefted the gladius as he walked.

I took a deep breath. Saiman or not, the power word was my only option.

Tremblay raised his sword.

Something snarled, too sharp to be Derek. The crustacean creature dimmed. Its legs flailed helplessly. The hypnotic glow blinked and vanished. The hold on my body broke.

I lunged forward, breaking into a sprint. Tremblay swung the gladius to parry. I batted his sword aside, buried Slayer in his left lung, sliding it between his ribs, and withdrew. Tremblay’s mouth gaped in a shocked O.

A werewolf leaped into view, sailing through the air as if he had wings. His claws scoured the creature. Magic boomed, nearly punching me off my feet, hurling the werewolf and the dying creature to the ground.

Tremblay coughed, dropped his sword, and clamped his hand to the wound. The veins on his neck began to bulge. Probably a collapsed lung. I shoved him aside.

Ahead the female mage lay on her stomach, her hands in the air. An enormous black hound stood over her, his teeth on the back of her neck. A ghostly light rippled over his sable-black fur.

Ha! About time.

To the right, Derek’s prone form sprawled on the glass. The magic creature lay next to him in two glistening wet piles. He must’ve torn it in half. That was where the blast I just felt had come from. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead, Derek.

“I give up,” the woman croaked. “I give up, don’t hurt me.”

“Derek!” I called out. Please be okay, boy wonder. “Derek!”

He sat up slowly and shook his shaggy head.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Head hurrrrts.”

I exhaled and walked up to the woman. Grendel looked at me and growled low.

“Drop it.”

He didn’t move.

“Trash, Grendel. Drop it.”

Grendel opened his jaws and sat.

“Good boy.”

I pulled a plastic tie out of the pocket on my belt and wrapped the mage up. “I feel a shiver of magic from you and I’ll cut your head off. Do we understand each other?”

She nodded frantically. “No, I’m done. I wasn’t wild about this kidnapping plan anyway.”

But she’d gone along with it. And when Tremblay told her to give the signal that would’ve exploded Saiman’s head with a charged arrow if Derek hadn’t taken out the shooter, she gave that signal without the slightest pause. If she was looking for sympathy, I was fresh out.

“Your dog transforms,” Saiman said.

“Brilliant deduction, Mr. Holmes.” I petted Grendel’s huge head. He was a black dog, a mystic hound. Trouble was, he transformed only when he felt like it.

“I can’t help but point out that I’m still confined,” Saiman said.

I glanced at Derek. “Will you let him out, please? He’ll just keep whining.”

He scrambled up the slope of the Mole Hole, up the building, and along the beam, running on his oversized feet, his shaggy body silhouetted against the moon and the ruined city.

I checked my side. The katana’s blade had left a shallow gash. It bled quite a bit, but my shirt had absorbed most of it. I pulled gauze from my pocket, pressed it against the wound, and pulled my shirt over it. I took a flask with kerosene from my belt and backtracked, pouring it on anything resembling blood. Once blood was separated from my body, I could no longer hide its magic.

Derek reached the end of the beam and crouched, untangling the chains.

I struck a match. The trail of kerosene caught fire.

“Do hurry,” Saiman said.

Derek raised his clawed hands. The cage plummeted twenty-five feet to the ground and bounced, chipping the glass. The metal door popped open.

“Ow.” Saiman shouldered his way out of the cage. He towered over me, a full eight feet tall. “I don’t suppose you’ve brought anything nutritious with you?”

You’ve got to be kidding me. “Slipped my mind.” Being a polymorph, Saiman needed a huge amount of calories for his metamorphosis. The fight with his kidnappers must’ve drained him dry.

Saiman sighed. “Regrettable.”

“You owe me.”

“I’m well aware of that, thank you. Although in light of recent events, I believe the dog should get the lion’s share of the reward.”

“The dog is my employee. I mean it, Saiman. You owe me a big favor. One day I will call to collect.”

“Suddenly I feel less secure than when I was confined,” Saiman said.

I grinned at him and walked away, leaving his kidnappers to Saiman’s tender mercy. Some men might have killed them in revenge. I was pretty sure Saiman would contact the cops and then sue the lot.

Derek caught up with me. I held out my hand and he low-fived me. Let’s see, some would-be kidnappers diverted from their life of crime, an otherworldly monster killed, and one sexual deviant rescued. All in all, not a bad night.

“A hundred grand is a lot of money,” Derek said.

“A favor from Saiman is worth more.” Eventually it would prove useful. I was counting on it.