Magic Shifts

by Ilona Andrews

  Behind me Curran snarled. Yes, I used a power word. Sue me.

  The haze melted. I staggered, but Doolittle’s repairs to my brain must’ve held, because I was still me.

  Mitchell was still screaming. His skin sloughed off, his raw flesh hissing in the fire.

  I pulled and the flame responded, bending to my will. I fanned it, funneling my magic into it. Mitchell collapsed into a ball.

  “He’s dying!” someone snapped behind me.

  Grow. Like blowing on a fledgling fire, trying to help it grow hotter.

  “This was really ill-advised . . .”

  Grow, I cajoled, pouring magic into it. Grow.

  “Shush!” Patrice said.

  The green flames went out, sucked into Mitchell’s body.

  Grow!

  The tiny flame exploded, turning into a white-hot blaze. Mitchell surged to his feet. Bright orange fire erupted from his mouth and eyes and washed over him, consuming his flesh. I let go. His body convulsed, jerking like a marionette on a string. The fire spun into a whirlwind and within it a new body was taking shape, large, quadrupedal, and muscled.

  The flames vanished, absorbed into the new skin. A strange furry beast stood before me on four clawed feet, his head a full foot higher than mine. Bright red and dappled with black rosettes, his body was almost canine, lean and powerful like that of a Doberman. A long thick horse mane of jet-black hair ran along his spine. A long leonine tail coiled around his legs. Twin horns crowned his head, curving forward on the sides of his lean face, ready to gore. His features were unlike anything I had ever seen. His long narrow jaws, studded with sharp perfect fangs, hinted at a wolf and an alligator at the same time, while his eyes, large and bright orange with dark oval pupils, made me think of a predatory cat.

  The thing that used to be Mitchell shook his head, sending his mane flying. He raised his head, opened his mouth, and cried out. His voice wasn’t a roar or a snarl, it was melodious and high, like the shriek of a bird flying high through the clouds.

  “Holy crap,” someone said behind me.

  Mitchell leaned forward, his eyes even with mine. His deadly jaws unhinged, showing his fangs and the black tongue inside his mouth.

  Don’t flinch, don’t flinch. “Hello, Mitchell.”

  “The name no longer fits.”

  “Do you want a different one?”

  “Yes. Name me, human.”

  Make it good. “I name you Adib, after the Wolf Star in the Constellation of Draco.”

  “I accept my name. I owe you a debt.”

  “Yes.”

  He lunged at me. It was so fast, I was in midair before I realized he’d tossed me onto his back. I landed astride and grabbed onto his mane.

  Curran surged forward.

  “I’m okay,” I said.

  “I pay my debts.” The ifrit hound raised his massive head. “I can hear the madman’s voice. Follow me.”

  He dashed out the door, scattering the mages. I clenched his mane and tried not to fall off.

  • • •

  TRAVELING BY MYSTICAL ifrit hound sounded cool in theory and entirely plausible, since he was the size of a smallish horse. But horses were trained to carry humans, while ifrit hounds were not. It took every muscle in my body to stay on his back. He ran through the streets, leaping over obstructions, dodging occasional cars, and panicking horses.

  Three minutes into our race Curran drew even with us, a huge gray beast that was neither lion nor human, designed specifically for running. That was Curran’s special power—he molded his body at will to whatever purpose suited him. He’d chased me down more than once in this shape. A few moments later Derek caught up with us. He was still in his human form. Above a shadow swooped across the stars and pulled ahead. The ifrit was fast, but beating a winged horse required a whole other kind of fast. A blue spark flared, illuminating the horse and rider. Bahir must’ve carried a feylantern. He flew above us like a beacon. Hopefully Mahon, Luther, and the knights would see him.

  Magic scoured me. We had crossed the invisible boundary into Unicorn Lane. Of course. Why would it be anywhere else? Unicorn Lane cut through the center of the city, as if some enormous invisible enemy drew a dagger and stabbed deep into the very heart of downtown Atlanta, and now magic geysered out from the wound. Normal rules didn’t apply here. This was a place of predators and prey where plants attacked you, moss was poisonous, and glowing eyes tracked your every move.

  The magic churned and boiled around me as we darted among the dark ruins of once-mighty skyscrapers. Adib turned left, leaped over the remnants of a gutted building, and shot out of Unicorn Lane running northwest along the crumbling Colier Road. Well, that was unexpected.

  Colier Road, a simple two-lane street, once ran through residential neighborhoods, but as Unicorn Lane grew, it swallowed the road’s southern end, and Colier became a street that led nowhere. During magic waves, creatures hiding in Unicorn Lane ventured out in search of meat and blood, and the road nicely funneled them directly to their prey asleep in beautiful colonial houses. Anyone with a crumb of brains moved, and over the years, the residential neighborhoods once lining Colier became deserted. Abandoned houses tracked our progress with dark windows.

  The ifrit kept running. A large ruin loomed on the left. An old sign flashed by, bent and grimy. PIEDMONT HOSPITAL. That’s right. The original hospital complex stood so close to Unicorn Lane that part of it had collapsed in the Shift. Not realizing the full impact of Unicorn Lane’s existence, the city had rebuilt it a few miles down the road, but then, as the residential neighborhoods withered, so did the hospital, and if they had built it with that algae, the first flare would’ve finished it.

  The ifrit hound turned, following the road. Years ago this place must’ve been beautifully landscaped, but now the trees and brush were in full revolt, filling the artificially curved lawns. A stone sign blinked by with some arrows on it, and Adib punched through the wall of green into the empty parking lot. The old hospital crouched in the gloom. At least three stories of it were still standing, and the lamps supporting feylanterns still glowed weakly, trying to combat the darkness of the parking lot. Adib halted in front of the emergency room entrance under a concrete roof. The ride was over. Thank you, Universe.

  “We wait for the others,” I said, and slid off his back. My thighs were killing me.

  We were alone. Curran and Derek must’ve fallen back.

  Adib turned around, raised his head, and inhaled deeply. “I will scout ahead.”

  “Wait . . .”

  The ifrit hound dashed through the broken door of the hospital and vanished into the gloom. Damn it.

  I sat on the ground. My body ached as if someone had worked me over with a sack of bricks.

  Derek leaped through the greenery and ran to me.

  “Where is Curran?” I asked.

  “He had to double back. The vehicles and horses couldn’t get through the Unicorn, and the bears are slow.”

  Yeah, I bet Mahon was just loving this race.

  “He’s helping to lift . . .” Derek paused. “Something is coming.”

  I reached for my sword.

  The sound of hoofbeats echoed through the empty parking lot. A creature walked into our view on the left and halted under a lamppost. It stood six feet tall, the lines of its lean, almost fragile body reminiscent of a gazelle, but its neck and powerful chest was all horse. Pale sandy fur sheathed its flanks, striped with darker cinnamon-brown. A single foot-long horn protruded from its forehead, narrow and sharp like the blade of a saber. Long dark stains stretched across its face from its eyes, as if it had been crying. Crap.

  The creature resumed its slow gait, heading for us, the lines of its body mesmerizing.

  “Is that a unicorn?” Derek asked.

  The creature passed under another lamp. A dark red stain marked its h
orn. Crap, crap, crap.

  “No, it’s not.” I rose from the ground. “That’s a shadhavar. A Persian unicorn.”

  “I take it they’re not nice.”

  “No.”

  Derek stood up.

  The trees and bushes rustled. More shadhavar emerged from the brush. A small foal on our right shouldered his way past his mother. He was carrying a severed human arm, still in the sleeve, in his teeth. One, two, three, seven, twelve . . . Too many.

  “Are we fighting?” Derek asked.

  “No, we’re going to be sensible and wait for backup.” We had much bigger fish to fry. Running into a herd of carnivorous unicorns would be very brave and ridiculously stupid. Why risk getting a horn through your side and being taken out of the fight when there were reinforcements around the corner?

  A large shadhavar pawed the ground with his hoof.

  Derek glanced at the concrete roof above our heads. “I’ll boost you.”

  “Go.”

  He grabbed me by the waist and hurled me up. I caught the edge of the roof and pulled myself up onto it. The shadhavar charged.

  Derek leaped up, bounced off the building, and dropped by my side.

  The shadhavar reared, baring long triangular teeth at us, yellow against their blood-red gums. That was a sight enough to give you nightmares.

  “Yes, yes, keep smiling.” No worries. Our backup was coming.

  The winged horse circled above us.

  I glanced up. “When we’re fighting, keep an eye on him for me, please.”

  “Sure,” Derek said. “Why?”

  “Some people are natural killers. Curran is one. I am, as well. He isn’t. Bahir is what happens when you force murder on a decent, kind human being. He is fierce and he’ll kill if he has to, because he thinks it’s his duty, but he doesn’t have enough experience to make calculated decisions. He may try to sacrifice himself for our greater good.”

  “Pot, kettle,” Derek said.

  “I sacrificed myself after I’ve weighed all of our options and realized there is no other choice. He may not see all of the options. He has taken a life, and the guilt is gnawing at him. He may see his sacrifice as atonement. I want him to survive this, if we can make it happen. He and Eduardo deserve to have a conversation.”

  The winged horse swooped low and Bahir jumped onto the roof. Amal beat her incredible wings, soared above us, and landed on the crumbling wall of the building.

  “Do you need assistance?” Bahir asked.

  “We’ll wait for the vehicles to get here,” I told him.

  “Oh. In that case I will wait with you.”

  He sat by me.

  “Do you know my son well?”

  “I know that he is honest and brave. He doesn’t hesitate to put himself between his friends and danger. He is devoted to George and he worked very long hours hoping to build a family with her. I’m proud to call him a friend.”

  Bahir remained silent.

  “Did you speak with George?” I asked.

  “Yes. She said she saw him burning. Shakush is torturing my son.”

  “We saw him burning during one of the ifrit’s attacks. I don’t know if it was real or another illusion.”

  “Do you think my son is still alive?” he asked.

  He was looking for reassurance. Sadly I had none.

  “I saw him in a vision,” I said. “He was in a cage starving. He wasn’t in the best shape, but I think he’s alive because the ifrit is waiting for you.”

  “He’s waiting to kill my son in front of me,” Bahir said.

  “Yes.”

  Bahir sighed. “If you come into possession of the earring, you need to know what to expect. The ifrit will seduce you. The moment you touch his prison, he burrows into your soul, tears it open, and feeds on your greatest fear. If you are afraid of growing old, he will offer you youth. If you think yourself ugly, he will promise you beauty. He will move mountains and resurrect the dead, and if he lacks the power to do it, he will trick your mind into thinking he has done it. With every wish, you will surrender a part of your soul to him and he will lie and betray you until he possesses you completely.”

  “So how do we fight that?” Derek asked.

  “You must reject the djinn.”

  “Easier said than done,” I said.

  “Yes. But there are forces within our soul that are greater than he. Loyalty. Duty. Love. Honor. If you are not sure, it isn’t too late to turn back.”

  I smiled. “I’ll stay, but thank you for the pep talk.”

  “You have a life.”

  “So do you and your son. Eduardo is my friend. I refuse to let him die in a cage.”

  “Yes, but few people would risk certain death for a friend.”

  “I’m doing it out of selfish reasons,” I told him. “If we fail to stop the ifrit, he’ll come after my family next. We frustrated him a few times and he’s an arrogant sonovabitch who hates losing.”

  Bahir didn’t look entirely convinced.

  A distant roar of enchanted water engines announced that the cavalry was coming.

  “It’s what they do,” Derek said. “Don’t ask her why. Just take the help. You won’t get better.”

  Thank you, boy wonder.

  “If we survive this,” Bahir said, “and you need something, anything at all, call on me.”

  “You may come to regret that offer.”

  “Anything at all,” Bahir said.

  The first vehicle tore through the greenery, a large black SUV with a metal grate shielding the radiator. I caught a glimpse of Martha, George’s mother, behind the wheel. She was a plump middle-aged African American woman with a wealth of curly hair. I had only spoken with her a few times. She usually knitted during Pack Council meetings, and if our gazes happened to cross, she smiled. She wasn’t smiling right now. She saw us on the roof, saw the gathering of shadhavar, and floored it. The SUV plowed into the herd. Some managed to dash aside, but at least three crashed to the ground. Martha threw the vehicle into reverse and rolled over the thrashing bodies.

  Holy crap.

  Three more vehicles followed the first, bulldozing the herd down. Martha popped her door open and stepped out. A shadhavar tried to ram her. She grabbed its horn and slapped it upside the head. The shadavar moaned and collapsed, its feet jerking. On the other side George exited the vehicle, grabbed the nearest shadhavar by the head, twisted it off its feet, and stomped. Dear God.

  The vehicles disgorged shapeshifters. It looked like George’s entire extended family had shown up.

  “If it moves, kill it,” Martha called out. “I don’t want to hear anything but us breathing in this parking lot!”

  I held my arm out to Derek. “Pinch me.”

  He reached over.

  “Ow.”

  “She’s the alpha of Clan Heavy,” he said. “Martha is really nice but only until someone tries to screw with her family.”

  CHAPTER

  22

  BY THE TIME Curran and Mahon arrived, together with six knights of the Order, and Luther, Patrice, and another Biohazard mage whose name I hadn’t caught, the parking lot was filled with shadhavar bodies. Clan Heavy sustained no casualties.

  “You missed the slaughter,” I reported.

  Curran grimaced. “You missed me carrying horses over the rubble.”

  Curran and horses didn’t get along. He thought they were unpredictable and untrustworthy, and they thought he was a werelion.

  I waited until Mahon was out of earshot. “Why didn’t you tell me Martha was a terminator in disguise?”

  He smiled. “She was Aunt B’s best friend. I thought you’d figure it out sooner or later. Where is your ride?”

  “He went into the hospital to scout.”

  “Then we should follow.”

 
It took about thirty seconds to gather everyone. We went through the doors single file: Derek first, tracking Adib’s scent; Curran and me; then Bahir, leading Amal gently; the knights; the mages, protected from all sides because they squished easily; and finally Clan Heavy. George walked between her parents. She and Martha wore identical pinched expressions. Mahon was clearly in the doghouse.

  We passed through the deserted hallway of the ER, then through the doorway, its doors lying on the floor. A light glowed ahead, in the gap of a crumbling wall. Derek moved toward it. We followed.

  A vast garden unrolled before us. Lush flowers bloomed among the greenery. Ponds offered crystal-clear water, reflecting the delicate petals of pink, white, and lavender lotuses. Palms rustled overhead, over curving paths of golden sand.

  I stepped through the gap. In the distance, reigning over the splendor, a palace rose. It wasn’t the glowing white perfection and slim minarets of the Taj Mahal, with its arched balconies or its golden cupolas. Instead, a forest of colossal columns stood among the greenery, their length painted a brilliant red. Each column terminated in a carved textured pedestal of vivid, almost turquoise, blue, upon which a golden animal statue snarled at the garden, its head and body supporting the sharp rectangular blue roof, decorated with a textured parapet of golden spikes. This was an ancient palace, conceived in the time when dyes were prized, height was awe-inspiring, and elegance and subtlety were faults rather than virtues. It meant to communicate true power—the power to make countless human beings toil all of their lives as slaves to raise those columns to their dizzying height. It hit your senses like a hammer. I hated it.

  How much power must it have taken to create this out of nothing?

  Next to me, Curran squared his shoulders. The palace was a challenge thrown at unseen opponents. Come and take it if you dare. Curran wrinkled his lip, his eyes gold. He dared.

  I elbowed Curran. “Hey, when I said blue would be nice for the downstairs, I didn’t mean that kind of blue.”

  “Maybe it’s his ace in a hole,” he said, his face dark. “Thirty seconds in that palace and we’ll go blind.”