Magic Triumphs

CHAPTER 11

“WHY DOES IT have to be a tortoise?” I mumbled, moving down a narrow path through the woods that used to be Centennial Park.

“You said you wanted a vision,” Roman said.

He was wearing his usual black robe. The Slavic pantheon had two sides, the dark and the light, and volhvs acted as the conduit between the gods and the faithful. They served as priests, enchanters, and, on occasion, therapists. Roman served Chernobog, the God of Death, the Black Serpent, the Lord of Nav, the realm of the dead. On the surface, Chernobog was evil and bad, and his brother, Belobog, was good and light. In reality, things were complicated. Someone had to serve the Dark God, and Roman had ended up being that someone. He once told me it was the family business.

Roman did have the dark priest part down. His robe was black with silver embroidery at the hem. His hair—shaved on the sides and long on top and on the back of his head, so it looked like the mane of some wild horse—was black as well. Even his eyes under black eyebrows were such a deep brown, they appeared almost black.

“I know. I was asking in general.”

“Tortoises are ancient. They live for a really long time and grow wise.”

“I know what the tortoise symbolizes,” I growled. The path turned, and we walked into a clearing where a big stone dome rested on the green grass.

Roman reached out with his staff and tapped the dome.

The dome shuddered once and slowly crept up, rising higher and higher. A dull black snout emerged. Two eyes, as big as dinner plates, looked at me. The colossal reptile opened its mouth.

I climbed into it, stepping on the spongy tongue. “What I meant was, why couldn’t the Oracle meet in a building? You know, a nice temple somewhere?”

“Because every Tom, Dick, and Harry would show up wanting a prediction of their next golf game,” Roman said, climbing in behind me. “This way, they’d have to risk getting eaten by a giant tortoise to ask for their prophecy. Only two kinds of people would do this: the desperate and idiots.”

“If you say I’m both, I’ll punch you right in the arm.”

“If the shoe fits . . .”

I sighed and made my way through the throat, down the sloping tunnel to the pool of murky water at the bottom. Long strands of algae hung from the walls. The liquid smelled of flowers and pond water. I frowned. Usually it was much deeper. One time Ghastek’s vamp came with me and it slipped and went all the way under.

I walked through the nearly dry tunnel. “What happened to all the tortoise spit?”

“I’m wearing my good robe,” Roman said.

Having your mother serve as one of the three witches of the Oracle had its perks.

The tunnel turned. I followed it and walked into a large room. A pond spread before me, offering delicate lily blossoms among the wide dark-green pads. A stone bridge, so low that water washed over it, crossed the pond. Above us a vast dome rose, the light of the evening sun shining through its translucent top, setting it aglow with fiery reds and yellows. The walls gradually darkened, first green, then black and emerald.

The bridge ended in a platform where three women sat. The first, ancient and withered, napped quietly in her chair, her hair so light, it looked like fuzz. The first time I’d seen her, she’d been fierce like a predatory bird ready to draw blood. Now Maria mostly slept. She still hated me, though. The first time I visited the Oracle, she locked me into a ring of magic and I broke it. She’d wanted to murder me ever since. Next to her Evdokia, plump, middle-aged, with a brown glossy braid pinned to her head, knitted something in her rocking chair. A small black cat wound its way around her legs. The third girl, blond and slight, smiled at me. I’d saved her from dying, and Sienna always tried to help me in return.

Behind the women a tall mural of Hekatē covered the wall. She stood before a large cauldron, positioned at the intersection of three roads. The crone, the mother, and the maiden, all aspects of their witch-goddess.

“Do you seek a vision?” Sienna asked.

We were going through the whole ceremony, then. “Yes.”

“Ask your question.”

Evdokia leaned over and nudged Maria with her knitting needle. The old woman startled, blinked, saw me, and rolled her eyes.

I had to phrase this carefully. “The people of Serenbe were murdered for their bones. I want to know who did it and why.”

Sienna leaned back. A current of magic pulsed from the other two women into her. She raised her hands, looking like a swan about to take flight. Her eyes glazed over. A smile stretched her lips. Using her magic brought Sienna genuine joy.

She rocked back. The far wall faded.

A battlefield spread before us, people in blue-black armor fighting against people in modern gear. Fire burned long tracks through the field, blazing ten feet high. The scent of charred flesh assaulted my nose. The metallic scent of blood saturated the air. I inhaled it and tasted human blood on my tongue. A moment and I was in it, in the thick of the slaughter. People tore at each other, their faces skewed by rage and terror, emotions so primal, the fighters looked like masked actors in a grotesque play.

Sweat, blood, and tears saturated the space around me, and beyond it was a wall of fire.

Something roared at the other end of the battlefield. I pushed my way toward it. Blades shone in the sun, chopping and slicing. Blood sprayed me. Human bones, free of flesh, splintered in front of me, transforming into powder.

If only I could get to higher ground . . .

The combatants parted. A hill of corpses rose before me. I climbed it, scrambling over the bodies sticky with drying blood. Almost there. Almost.

I climbed to the top. In the distance a golden chariot tore through the fighters. Father . . . Another roar came, low and terrible, like nothing I’d ever heard before. I turned and saw two eyes, brilliant amber and burning, staring at me from the darkness rising over the melee. A dark shape swooped on my right side on two big wings. It looked vaguely familiar, almost as if . . .

Fire drowned everything, its heat scorching me.

The light vanished, and the wall reappeared. Sienna was still.

I waited.

Nobody said anything.

“Is that it?” I asked.

“That’s all I could see.”

“So, a big battle, blood, flames, human bones, and everyone burning?”

She nodded.

“That explains nothing.”

Sienna spread her arms.

“Is there a prophecy?”

“Nothing came to me.”

Bullshit. There was always a prophecy. “I want my money back,” I said.

“You didn’t pay us anything, ingrate,” Maria told me.

“This is not helpful.”

“Sorry,” Sienna said. “It’s not an exact science. If I get something else, I’ll let you know.”

I really wanted to bump my head against something hard, but nothing was around.

“My father is mobilizing his forces. He might be moving forward with his invasion plans.”

Evdokia stopped knitting. “How sure are you?”

“It’s been reported by both Pack scouts and ours. How are you coming along with the White Warlock?”

Sienna scooted in her seat.

Evdokia pursed her lips. “There are complications,” she said.

“There can’t be complications. You promised me you’d do this ritual. He isn’t killing my son or my husband. If he invades, and I have to kill myself, I want to be sure it isn’t for nothing. Do I need to go down there and talk to this Warlock myself?”

“No!” Evdokia and Sienna said in the same voice.

“Why not?” They were hiding something.

“This is witch business,” Evdokia said. “If you blunder in there waving your sword around, you’ll spoil everything. We promised you the ritual and we’ll deliver. When have I ever not delivered, Katya?”

The Russian name came out. Oh boy. “I just want to make sure that if worse comes to worst, I don’t die for nothing.”

“We’ll handle it,” Sienna told me.

Maria cackled. The other two witches looked at her.

She hacked and spat on the floor. “Evil scum you are. Evil scum you’ll always be. I hope you all die in a fire.”

Evdokia heaved a sigh.

“Awesome,” I said. “Good chat. Thank you for the productive meeting. Looking forward to our next one.”

“One other thing,” Evdokia said. “Some knights from the Order asked to speak to us.”

“Local?”

“No, from out of town.”

Knight-abettor Norwood got around. “They’re trying to remove Nick Feldman from his position as the head of the chapter. He keeps pointing out that I exist, and they don’t like it.”

“We’ll take care of it,” Sienna promised.

I turned and walked back out of the tortoise. Outside, the air tasted fresh and sweet. The trees shimmered in the twilight breeze as the sky cooled after the burn of sunset. Lightning bugs flew here and there, tiny points of light in the indigo air.

Roman thrust himself in front of me. “You’re planning to kill yourself?”

Crap. Me and my big mouth. “No.”

“Explain.”

I sighed. “My father is susceptible to witch magic. It’s older even than him, primitive in a way but very powerful. Erra told me that the hardest opponent he ever faced, outside of the war that killed most of our family, was a witch, and that woman almost killed him. The plan is to gather the Covens together on the battlefield and perform a ritual, which would channel their combined power into a single person. I can’t be that person. First, I’m not trained enough. Second, the point person in this scenario acts like a prism, concentrating and directing the power outward. I’m a lousy prism. My body just hoards all of the magic.”

“Let me guess,” he said, his voice dry. “The White Warlock is a good prism?”

“The best they know. The plan is to talk her into it. Except your mom and the other witches have been trying and haven’t gotten anywhere.”

“You and your father are bound. If they kill him, you’ll die, too,” Roman said. “This is a stupid plan.”

“The witches aren’t trying to kill him. They are trying to put him to sleep. If everything works as intended, Roland will fall asleep on the battlefield and hopefully sleep for decades or longer. They did it to Merlin. He is still somewhere out there, sleeping.”

Roman thought about it. “Okay. Explain the killing-yourself part.”

“The Covens’ power might not be enough. My dad is very strong. If he isn’t going down, I may have to kill him myself or at least weaken him enough for the spell to take over. There are consequences to that.”

Roman shook his staff at me. “I repeat, this is a stupid plan!” The raven at the top of the staff opened its wooden beak and screeched at me.

“Did you know that when you’re mad, your Russian accent disappears?”

“This is idiotic. You have a husband and a son. You’re not killing your dad and dying because of it. I forbid it.”

“Okay, Your Holiness.”

“I’m serious. Death is forever. I know. My god is the Lord of Nav.”

“There might not be any other way,” I said gently. “If I knew with one hundred percent certainty that killing myself would kill my father, I would do it without hesitation. You’re right. I have a husband and a son, and I want them both to live long happy lives, even if it’s without me. But my dad is a lot older and more powerful than I am. If I just kill myself, he still might survive. With the witches’ power upgrade, at least we stand a better chance of taking him down.”

“No. I won’t stand for it.”

I reached out and patted his arm. “Thank you for being my friend.”

“Does Curran know?”

“No, and you’re not going to tell him. This is the plan of last resort. If you tell him, he’ll do something stupid to prevent me from entering that battlefield, and I’m our best chance at counteracting my father. If I’m not fighting, I’ll definitely have to kill myself.”

He snarled something under his breath. The wooden raven screeched.

“I have an idea. What if instead of being mad and siccing your bird on me, you help me?”

“Help you do what?”

“I need to talk to the Druids about the Picts.”

“What do Picts have to do with anything?”

I explained the box and the symbol. He huffed. “Fine. Tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

I turned to walk away.

“Kate,” he called.

I turned around.

“You’re my friend. I don’t have a lot of friends because of what I do. Every time my god calls to me, I bargain with him to keep people I don’t know alive. ‘What if we kill just five people? What if we make it three? If we do it this way, perhaps we won’t have to kill anyone.’ I fight for their lives. And here you are, not even trying. There has to be another way, you hear me? Find another way.”

“I’ll try,” I told him.

“You do that.”

THE MAGIC CRASHED on my way home. No new vehicles sat in the driveway and nobody came to the door. Curran usually heard me before I even pulled into the driveway.

I let myself inside. Curran did say he would buy a new car today. He might have gotten held up.

“Hello?” I called. “Anybody home?”

“I’m home!” Adora called from downstairs.

I went down into the basement. Fully finished, it had been converted into a makeshift hospital room, with Yu Fong resting in a hospital bed. An IV stretched from his arm. Next to him, in a large plush chair, Adora curled up with a book. Lean, hard, with her dark hair falling to her shoulders, from the back she looked familiar. My shoulders were broader, my frame larger, and I had a couple of inches of height on her. Other than that, replace her katana with Sarrat, and she might be the younger, teenage me.

“How is he?”

“The same,” she said.

Yu Fong showed no signs of life. I leaned close to him and put the back of my hand to his nose. A faint puff of air touched my skin. Still breathing.

“He’s pretty,” Adora observed.

“That he is.” He looked like a beautiful painting. “I wouldn’t try kissing him. He isn’t Sleeping Beauty.”

She wrinkled her nose at me. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Do you want to be paid from Cutting Edge or through the Guild for the gig?”

She tilted her chin. “I’m working pro bono.”

“Since when?”

“This is a family matter,” she said. “I’ll take care of him because you and Curran are family and you need help.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Adora?”

She grinned at me. “You’re not as funny as you think.”

“I’m funny enough. Come and get me if he wakes up.”

“You killed one of my sisters today,” she said.

News traveled fast. “I did. She wanted to kill Conlan and eat him.”

“Did she suffer?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Adora winked at me. “I put Curran’s sweatpants on the stairs. I’m not going up to your love nest.”

“Love nest?”

“Your bedroom where you have sex.”

Oh boy.

“I haven’t had sex,” Adora volunteered. “But I’ve decided to try it.”

“Is there a particular person you want to try it with?”

“No. I’m thinking about it.”

“Sex is about trust,” I told her. “You’ll be at your most vulnerable. Try to choose well.”

She wrinkled her nose at me again.

I went up the stairs. A big paper bag sat on the first landing. I looked inside. Gray Pack sweatpants. Curran had grown up in them, and he kept wearing them despite us no longer being part of the Pack. One, two . . . Five pairs? Odd. He had two stacks of sweatpants in the closet.

“Hey,” I called down to the basement. “Who brought the sweatpants?”

“Some Pack werewolf.”

I walked upstairs and opened the closet doors. All of the old sweatpants were gone. Weird. I emptied the bag on the bathroom floor and sorted through the new sweatpants, checking the waistband and the elastic on the bottom of each pant leg for any hidden items. Nothing.

Okay. I folded the sweatpants and put them back into the bag. Where did his other sweatpants go?

A search of the hamper turned up nothing. Now I was invested in the mystery. I went downstairs and checked the laundry room, the washing machine, and the dryer. Nothing.

That left the trash can outside. I went out and threw the lid open. A large trash bag sat on top, stretched out like someone had folded a blanket and stuffed it inside. I fished it out and pulled the strings open. Sweatpants. Still clean and folded. Well, and that wasn’t weird. Not at all. Why would he throw away all of his sweatpants and get new ones? Did they smell bad? I sniffed the sweatpants. Smelled like cotton to me.

I grabbed a pair of old sweatpants and went down into the basement.

“Do these smell odd to you?”

“You want me to sniff Curran’s sweatpants?”

“They’re clean. I got them out of the garbage can.”

Adora blinked at me and held up one finger. “No.”

“Fine.” I took the old sweatpants upstairs, pulled the new ones out of the bag, arranged them on the shelf, and laid a lone pair of old clean sweats on the bed next to the empty bag and a clean white T-shirt. Trap baited. Now I just had to wait for the lion to come home.

It took him another twenty minutes. He walked through the door, carrying Conlan. Conlan saw me, scooted out of his arms, and charged up the stairs at breakneck speed. I had a split-second decision: to move or to take the hit. I took the hit. My back slapped the wooden floor. Ouch. He hugged me. “Mama!”

I rolled to my feet. “This sudden love is suspicious.”

“He got in trouble for trying to eat scented candles.” Curran came up the stairs.

“Where did he get the scented candles?”

“In the Guild’s supply closet. Corinna bought a stack of them. She burns them in the locker room. Says it helps her with the wet-dog smell.”

Corinna worked for the Guild as a merc, but she was also a werejackal and she was obsessed with her scent.

I carried Conlan to the bedroom. “Did you talk to Martha?”

“Not yet.”

“The Pack delivered some sweatpants for you. I put them in the closet. What happened to the old ones?”

“I wore them out.”

Bullshit. Coming from the man who resorted to using his alpha stare over keeping an ancient T-shirt, it wasn’t just bullshit, it stank to high heaven.

I nodded.

“How did it go with the witches?”

Curran stripped off his T-shirt and I got a view of the world’s best chest, all golden and muscled. Mmm.

“Big battle, fire, human bones, blood, more fire.”

“That’s it?” He put on the white T-shirt and took off his jeans. Mmmm.

“Yep. Not very illuminating. But good news, Maria still hates me.”

He pulled the sweatpants on. They ended midway up his shin. What the heck?

“Hold on, baby. Mommy needs to do something.” I set Conlan down, turned sideways, raised my leg, bending it at the knee, and extended. I’d done this hundreds of times to tap Curran on the throat when we were sparring. Usually I failed to connect, but the high kick was so automatic, I did it on autopilot. My foot came up short.

“Ooo, foreplay.” Curran caught my ankle.

I pulled my leg out of his hand. “Stand straight.”

“What is this?” He spread his arms.

I stepped close to him. My nose touched his chest. In his human form, Curran topped me by two and a half inches. I was five-seven and he was close to five-ten. I was looking up at him now.

“You are taller.”

“I hate to break it to you, but I’m done growing.”

“You’re taller and you know you’re taller. I found your sweatpants in the garbage.” I dropped back and snapped a fast kick, aiming at his head. He leaned back, letting my kick fly by.

“You’re at least six-two.”

“You measured me with your kick?”

“Yes. And your hair is an inch longer than it was this morning. What’s happening?”

“Nothing I understand.”

“Why is this happening?”

He raised his arms. “I’m trying to get stronger.”

He did work out every chance he got.

“I’m not trying to work on being taller. The hair thing is weird, I agree.”

“Is this normal? Is this some sort of First shapeshifter stage of life that you’re going through?”

“My father isn’t around, so we can’t exactly ask him.”

“Have you talked to Doolittle about it?”

He smiled at me. “Would you like me to?”

“Yes. I would. What the hell is so funny?”

“You’re worrying about my health.”

“You scare me.” I sat on the bed. I was suddenly very tired.

He crouched on the floor in front of me. “I’m okay.”

“I was thinking today about what it was like before.”

“Before . . . ?”

“Before the flare.”

He grinned. “You mean before I broke into your house and made you coffee for the first time?”

“You didn’t break into my house. I left the door unlocked.”

“Details.”

“Ghastek asked In-Shinar for forgiveness today. He didn’t know about the sahanu, and he took it personally. He didn’t want the whole me. He wanted the In-Shinar part of me. Raphael told me I was the In-Shinar. Some people will never see me as anything else.”

“I want the whole you,” he told me. “The merc, the In-Shinar, my wife, all of it. My Kate.”

“I know. I have this awful feeling that something screwed up is about to drop on us. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I can’t roll with that kind of punch, Curran.”

“Nothing will happen to me. I’ve got this.” He pulled me off the bed into a hug and kissed me. “Not going anywhere,” he whispered into my ear. “All yours. Always.”

I believed him, but the sick feeling in my stomach refused to go away.

THE PHONE WOKE me. I slipped from under Curran’s arm and dragged myself to it. The clock said 6:20 a.m. Ugh.

“Kate Daniels. I mean Lennart. Kate Lennart.”

Curran laughed under his breath.

“Hey, Kate,” Sheriff Beau Clayton said into the phone. He sounded dull, like he’d seen something he wanted to forget. I wouldn’t like this call.

“You called about Serenbe.”

“I did.”

“I might have something for you.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

I hung up. Last night, after we sorted ourselves out, Curran had called Martha and asked her to come watch Conlan today and to bring the book club. She’d asked him if he meant the whole book club, and he said yes. She told him she’d be here at nine.

If I waited until nine, the magic could drop. I needed to go now, while the magic was active.

“I have to go,” I told Curran.

“I’ll catch up,” he said.

THE SMALL SETTLEMENT of Ruby lay deep in the heart of Milton County. Two streets, seventeen houses, a post office, a small store with a gas station, and a Rural Defense Tower. Rural Defense, an extension of the National Guard, was tasked with protecting the small settlements. It was one step up from a militia.

It took Julie and me roughly two hours to get there even with Julie driving, but we’d made it while the magic was still up. Now we stood on the street, the silent houses flanking us. A dead Labrador retriever lay on my left. Someone had built a pyre at the end of the street. It was six feet tall and shaped like a cone.

Behind us, Beau Clayton and two of his deputies waited, all three still on horseback: the deputy on the right with a crossbow and the other with a shotgun. These were cautious people covering all the bases.

Beau, as big as a mountain, had lost all of his usual cheer. His eyes had gone flat and dark. A postal carrier reported the empty village last night, but Beau had been dealing with another matter and didn’t get the message until this morning. He and the deputies had swept the village and found abandoned houses, unmade beds, and dead dogs.

“What do you make of the pyre?” Beau asked me.

“I don’t know. I got a prophecy from the Witch Oracle yesterday. It had a lot of fire in it. Are you sure the locals didn’t build it themselves?”

“There is no way to tell,” Beau said. “We don’t come this way too often.”

We waited.

Finally, Julie glanced at me. “Blue.”

“Across the board?”

She nodded. “Human magic.”

They took the people. Just like Serenbe. It had to stop. It had to stop now.

A man walked into the street, tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing armor tinted with blue. The dark metal scales traced his body, following its contours, wider on his chest and smaller on his waist. The armor flowed, flexible, protecting without impeding his movement, each scale just the right size, almost as if it were custom made. I’d never seen anything like it until yesterday, when I saw that armor in Sienna’s vision.

I scrutinized the warrior. One scale on his right shoulder shimmered with gold. His helmet shielded his skull, leaving his face open, a variation of a Chalcidian helm I wasn’t familiar with. His face looked oddly blank. He was Caucasian, blue-eyed, and the locks of hair falling from under the helmet were blond. Two sword hilts protruded over his shoulders. He carried a torch in his hand. Fire danced at the end of it.

“I thought you said you did a sweep,” I said quietly.

“We did,” Beau said.

The warrior dropped the torch onto the pyre. Flames dashed up the branches.

“Did he soak it in gasoline or something?” Julie asked.

“I didn’t smell any when I looked at it,” one of the deputies told her.

The warrior stepped in front of the pyre, his back to it, and faced us.

“Sheriff’s department,” Beau called out, his voice harsh. “Get down on the ground.”

The warrior reached behind his back and drew the two swords.

Oh good. Apparently, it was cutting time.

The blades looked to be about twenty-one or twenty-two inches long with a swept profile, similar to a modern Filipino espada, a cross between a Spanish sword and a traditional garab blade. Lively and fast, while still delivering a lot of cutting power in either a slash or a thrust.

The fire behind the warrior surged up. Wait, don’t tell me.

A figure appeared in the flames, a tall man in golden scale armor. A white cloak, edged with wolf fur, rode on his shoulders, his blond hair falling on it in a combed wave. A golden torque caught his neck.

My box and Serenbe were connected.

That sonovabitch. Anger boiled inside me and solidified into dark ice. All those people, dead. I’m coming for you. Just wait.

“What the hell?” the other deputy said.

“We’re being invaded,” I said. “That’s their king and this is his champion.”

“Does he do magic?” Beau asked.

“He’s leaving a blue trail,” Julie said.

“Kenny,” Beau said, his voice calculating, “shoot that bastard.”

Kenny raised his crossbow. A small blue spark burst at the tip of the bolt. He sighted and fired. The warrior opened his mouth. Fire tore out of it. The scorched remnants of the bolt fell to the ground.

Great. He spat fire. My favorite.

“I think that’s my cue.” I unsheathed Sarrat.

“There are five of us and one of him,” Kenny pointed out.

“This isn’t about winning,” Beau said. “This is about fear. This asshole has been coming into our villages and stealing our people. He thinks he can do whatever he wants and none of us can stop him. He needs to know that one of ours can beat one of his. Have fun, Dan . . . er, Lennart.”

I walked into the middle of the street.

The warrior moved forward one light step. Toe walker. Most people stepped on their heel first. We had the cushy benefits of modern footwear, and we walked mostly paved streets. He stepped on the ball of his foot first, feeling the ground with his toes before putting his full weight on it. You almost never saw this outside cultures that still ran around barefoot.

The warrior rotated his blades, warming up his wrists. I did the same. No gauntlets. Hard to effectively hold a blade with an armored gauntlet. That left his knuckles nice and bare.

I began to circle, slowly. He was six feet tall, at least two hundred pounds, likely more with his armor. The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question was, how thick was that armor?

Let’s see how fast you are with your two swords.

He looked at my blade and dropped his left sword to the ground. Smart. Dual swords had their uses. They were effective for cutting yourself out of a crowd or for blocking a much heavier blade. But in one-on-one, the single sword ruled. I was liking this less and less.

I stopped about two feet from him. He watched me. I watched him.

Show me what you’ve got.

He struck, fast, bringing the blade down from my right. I parried it just enough to let his blade slide off mine and moved back.

Strong. Getting into a hit-for-hit game with him would wear me out.

He reversed the swing. I angled Sarrat to let the blow slide off the flat of my blade and moved back again.

The warrior charged, bringing his sword down in a devastating blow. I lunged to the left, ducking, and thrust Sarrat into his armpit. Like trying to thrust through rock. I jerked the blade back and jumped out of the way. He took a step back, his blue eyes unblinking and cold.

Blood coated the very tip of Sarrat’s blade. If it weren’t for the armor, he would be bleeding to death. Slashing him was out. The blade wouldn’t penetrate. I could power-word him, but that would be against the rules. Beau was right. I needed to beat this guy with my sword, one-on-one. Nothing short of that would give the asshole in the fire pause.

The warrior charged again, raining blows, left, right, left.

Parry, dodge, parry, back away, parry. He was damn strong and he fought like he had gone into battle for his life many times. Nothing showy. No movement wasted. Every blow vicious and calculated.

Strike, strike, nice trick but I saw that, strike.

Parry, parry, parry . . . The tip of his blade carved a path across my right forearm. Shit.

We broke apart.

I had to win this. If he beat me, it would paint us as easy prey.

He lunged. I spun out of the way. He struck from the right again, expecting me to dodge. Instead I stepped into the blow, planting my feet, and caught his wrist. The shock reverberated all the way into my toes, and while it was still moving through me, I drove Sarrat toward his gut. He caught the blade with his hand. I grinned at him and jerked Sarrat back. The blade cut through his hand like it was butter.

He snarled in pain. His eyes flashed amber. The vision from the Witch Oracle flashed before me. Amber eyes and then . . .

I spun away and ran.

Flames burst from his mouth in a cone, roaring after me. Heat bathed me. I dropped to the ground. The scorching heat tore above me.

I rolled to my feet. A curtain of smoke hung between us, flames shining inside it. He broke the rules and went to his magic. Oh goody.

I slid the flat of Sarrat’s blade across the cut on my forearm, letting the crimson wet it.

He came through the smoke and fire, his eyes blazing, his sword raised.

I sent a pulse of magic through my blood. A hair-thin red edge crystallized on Sarrat’s blade.

He barreled at me, huge, his eyes on fire.

I stabbed him in the stomach. The blade sliced through the armor, flesh, and organs, and scraped his spine, severing the nerves. His legs went out. He dropped to his knees.

The smoke cleared. I slashed at his neck. There was almost no resistance. His head rolled off his shoulders. I picked it up, walked to the pyre, and tossed it at the blond asshole in the flames. It fell through the fire.

There. That’s for you. Keep it.

The man in the fire and I stared at each other. His armor matched that of his champion’s, but where the warrior’s armor was tinted with blue, the scales on his body were a deep reddish gold. A gold chain held his cape in place, its clasp studded with what were probably real rubies. He had so much gold on him, his knees should have been shaking from the weight. If his image was life-sized, he was huge, at least six and a half feet tall. Of course, he could be four feet tall and just made himself look larger.

Heat bathed me from the side. The warrior’s body burned from the inside out, his armor melting. There goes my evidence.

The man in the fire nodded to me.

Be patient. No ranting. Wait for him to tell you what he wants and who he is, and then tell him you’re going to cut his head off. Zen. Diplomacy. I could do it.

“You murdered my people.” The language of power rolled off my tongue. Probably shouldn’t have started with that.

“I took from outside your borders.”

He had a deep resonant voice. The power in it rolled through the village, unimaginably ancient. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose on end. Behind me one of the deputies made a choking sound.

“They are all my people.”

“Do you claim dominion over the entire world, then, Daughter of Nimrod?”

“I don’t claim dominion; I claim kinship. Every time you enter this world and kill, you kill one of my own.”

He chuckled. “You’re arrogant. Like the rest of your clan.”

I wished I could reach into the flames. My hands itched. I could almost hear the sound of his windpipe breaking under my fingers.

“Have you given any consideration to your answer?”

I raised Sarrat and looked at its edge. White curls of vapor rose from the blade. Sarrat didn’t like him.

Diplomacy, Curran’s voice said in my head. Find out what he wants and how big of a threat he is.

“Let’s summarize. You sent me a box of ashes with a knife and a rose in it.”

“Yes.” He shifted into English too, but it didn’t help. His voice filled the space, deep and overpowering.

“What am I supposed to do with it? What does it mean? Is it a gift?”

He paused. “I see. You don’t understand.”

“I don’t. Enlighten me.”

“The world is mine. It had a brief reprieve, but now I’ve returned. Much has changed.”

“Go on.”

“I will need a queen.”

I raised my eyebrow at him.

“I’m offering you a crown. Sit by my side and share in my power. Be my guide in the new age.”

“And if I don’t?”

Amber flashed in his eyes. “I’ll burn your world.”

“You need to work on your proposal delivery. First come flowers and gifts, then dating, and only then, offers of marriage.”

He fixed me with his stare, a hard, unblinking gaze. “You’re mocking me.”

“You’re a pretty bright boy, aren’t you?” I quoted the line from the old story. He wouldn’t get it, but I thought it was funny.

“You don’t understand what I am offering.”

“How exactly did you think this proposal would go? ‘Hi, here I am, I murdered a bunch of people in a horrible way, marry me or I’ll burn everything down.’ Who would agree to it? You’re not someone to marry. You’re a threat to eliminate.”

“Your aunt said the same thing to my brother once,” he said.

Oh crap. “How did that go for your brother?”

He smiled. There was something wrong with his teeth. They weren’t quite fangs, but they were sharper and more conical than human teeth had a right to be.

“Your aunt and your father killed him. But I am not my brother.”

“So your brother got his ass kicked by my family. You can see how that isn’t in your favor.”

He laughed. “Do you know why my brother sailed to your family’s lands? Because he fought me for mine and lost. They faced but a weak imitation of what true power is with their combined strength, and he nearly ended them.”

“Let me guess, you’re the true power.”

“I am. I hold gods prisoner, tormenting them for my pleasure. I bring war and terror. I am Neig, the Undying. I am legend. All who know me bow to me.”

The way he said “legend” sent shivers down my spine. I shrugged. “Never heard of you.”

“Then I shall have to remedy that.”

“Why don’t you step out of that fire and I’ll cut your legend short.”

He laughed. Little streaks of smoke swirled around him. “I will give you a demonstration, Daughter of Nimrod. Then we shall speak again.”

The fire went out, like a snuffed-out candle.

I turned to Julie and the lawmen.

“Well,” Beau said, his voice calm. “Kenny, climb off Meredith, find a phone, and call down to the station. Tell them we’ve got another invasion on our hands and to get the evacuation alert out there.”

I headed to the gas station.

“Where are we going?” Julie caught up with me.

“We’re going to relight that pyre. Are you sure he is human?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Why are we relighting the pyre?”

“Because we’ve got an ancient fire mage on our hands, and he has a vendetta against my family. I need to talk to my father. Check the phone and if it works, call home and leave a message on the answering machine for Erra with everything you heard. Then call Roman and tell him we had a change of plans. Tell him to swing by the house and pick up the box. Adora should be home and she will let him in. We can’t wait till tonight. We need to talk to the Druids now.”

“Why?”

“Because Neig promised to give me a demonstration of his power. He doesn’t consider anything he’s done up to now a proper demonstration. According to him, making two hundred people disappear and sending a human who burned to death to deliver a message doesn’t count.”

“Crap,” Julie said.

“Find the phone. Call Curran after you’re done and tell him not to bother coming here. I’m going straight to the Druids once I’m done, and I doubt they’ll let him in.”

She ran behind the counter. I headed to the pump. Erra had told me that the more I gave of myself to the fire, the louder it would be for my father. This time Roland would answer me. I would scream into that fire and feed it magic until he picked up.