by Sharon Page
Colin gritted his teeth, pulling Alana closer, his protective, possessive instincts demanding he keep her safe. But even as flush with power as he was from all the life energy tonight, he couldn’t deny the season: Samhain would boost Alcott’s power. With summer over, Colin’s fire element was on the wane—and thus the power he drew from it. In a face-off with the earth mage, Colin would be at a disadvantage. Add the simulacrum downstairs, and his chances of winning declined to suboptimal levels.
They had to even out the odds.
Alana stirred, twisting in his arms to face him. “What are you thinking?”
He had to drag his thoughts from the pretty sight her new position afforded him. “Alcott will get through within an hour or two. How were you planning on handling him?”
“I—” She shrugged, a careless movement that drew his gaze to her pale shoulder and skin so fine he could see the blue lines of her veins. “Just stay ahead. Keep Papa Dare’s brooch out of his hands.”
“And then?”
“After dawn, report him to the garda.” After the lawless period of Samhain ended, she meant. Evidently she hadn’t thought beyond filing a report.
“And tell them what?”
Sitting up, Alana stared at him as if the answer was obvious. Her hand closed around her brooch as that damned knot of suspicion in her flared. “That he’s using necromancy!”
Colin pushed on, needing to make her recognize the difficulties ahead. “With what proof?”
“I—” She closed her mouth, sucking on her bottom lip as she took in what he was saying. Her thumb rubbed the malachite stone of her brooch, a habit of hers when lost in thought. He’d seen her do it often enough in the months he’d been her neighbor.
“Who else has seen him using necromancy? I haven’t,” Colin pointed out, pushing himself upright so he wouldn’t be at a disadvantage. “It will be your word against his.”
“But the simulacrum downstairs! People saw it.”
He held her gaze, trying to communicate his seriousness. “There are hundreds of earth mages in the city. Any of them could have done it. Even if the garda found a simulacrum, there’s no way to tie it to Alcott.”
Her breath hitched. “You’re right. They can’t arrest him on my say-so.” Despair and frustration spilled out from Alana as her eyes watered. “That’s it? Bryce wins?”
Colin pulled her into his arms, cursing his bluntness. “No.
But so long as the brooch exists, Alcott can get his hands on it. If not tonight, there’s always next Samhain.”
Blinking away her tears, she pressed her clenched fists to his chest, keeping some distance between herself and Colin. “You think destroying Papa Dare’s brooch is the solution.” She stared at him in demand, her jade-green eyes unflinching. “Don’t you?”
He met her gaze steadily. “Breaking the link is a permanent fix. Going to the garda, evading the simulacrum—”
“Simulacra,” Alana interrupted. “There are five of them.”
Damn. He couldn’t handle more than one by himself. They’d have to get to his shop if they were to have any chance at all of defeating Alcott. But going up against five of those abominations made things much more difficult.
Frowning at their blighted prospects, Colin continued with a nod of acknowledgement: “—evading the simulacra, safeguarding your brooch, those are all temporary measures. To eliminate the risk of a necromancer summoning your greatgrandfather, we have to cut his ties to the brooch.”
He paused for effect, studying her unhappy expression. “Either that, or kill Alcott.”
Perched on the window seat, Alana stared unseeing into the darkness as she grappled with Colin’s statement. He was right; the options he presented were the only permanent solutions. She wouldn’t accept Bryce’s word even if he swore on his mother’s grave not to pursue the brooch. Even the law agreed that such a necromancer couldn’t be trusted: creating even one simulacrum was a capital offense. But Colin’s calm, straightforward delivery still shocked her.
She nibbled absently on a bannock, torn between the alternatives. She couldn’t imagine planning to kill Bryce in cold blood. But at the cost of losing her only keepsake of Papa Dare and the damage to her business—the source of the funds she’d need to rebuild her cottage? She bit her lip at the selfishness of her thoughts. Protecting Papa Dare was her highest priority, of course. But what if reworking the brooch still didn’t deter Bryce? If the brooch’s spell was lost, her wood magic wouldn’t be enough to fight off his simulacra.
And that still begged the question of whether she could trust Colin. Did he have his own reasons for wanting the brooch? He seemed to have her best interests at heart, but how could she be sure? She’d thought Bryce was genuinely interested in her, and look where that had gotten her.
“Eat more. You have to keep up your strength.”
Alana startled at the soft words. Colin had been good about leaving her to her thoughts that his murmured instruction came as a surprise.
A brown-sleeved arm appeared at the edge of her vision, reaching for a soul cake.
Turning to him, she registered his garb. He was completely clothed once more, decked out in black turtleneck, chestnut-brown suede leather jacket, khaki denims, and black boots. Once more the dangerous rogue, no longer her smiling lover.
“Already? It’s still some time to midnight.” If he was dressed, that meant he believed Bryce would break through soon. She put on her bra and did up the snaps of her blouse. Unfortunately, her G-string was a lost cause, but she left its strap around her hips anyway, not wanting to leave anything that might help Bryce track her.
“Soon,” he told her, watching the walls. The flashes of light flickering over them were now a bright orangey red, like a field of corn poppies bowing before the wind. And just as frail?
Gathering up her hair in a high ponytail, Alana watched Colin in turn as she secured the heavy mass with her twist. Despite her doubts, she took comfort from the mantle of seasoned competence he wore like a favorite sweater. “Shouldn’t we prepare to get out of here?”
Colin gave her a sidelong glance and a brief shake of his head. “Best not to telegraph our plans, given the simulacra’s speed. It’ll give us more of a head start.”
“You do this often?” she asked, just to make conversation. With the breakthrough imminent, she didn’t think she could force herself to eat and wanted something to occupy her mind. Finding out more about her neighbor suited her well enough.
He grinned suddenly, a fierce light in his golden eyes. “Normally, not with such beautiful company.”
“Oh, you.”
She was about to smile when a chill tightened her belly and raised the hairs on her arms. She fisted her hands against the sensation. “They’re out there.” She nodded at the door where dry wood complained of cold, unliving earth.
“The simulacra?” Another wave of red light washed over the walls as he spoke, flashing and glittering until they looked like the sea at sunset.
“Right outside.” She could feel them.
“Better get ready then.” Colin closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath that swelled his chest and flexed his shoulders, evidently centering himself to oppose Bryce’s attack when it came. All signs of the urbane jeweler and her generous lover were gone, replaced by a resolute soldier.
“I could harden the wood,” she offered, unwilling to stand around doing nothing.
His hand slashed the air in negation. “You can’t hold them back once the wards fail. I’ll handle the rearguard; you see to our escape route.” The hardness in his voice brooked no argument. The square set of his jaw only reinforced his air of implacability.
Alana cleared the window seat and pushed open the casement to eye the flat side of the building and the long drop to the deserted tables outside the pub. “How? Make a rope from the beddings?” That was doable, if precarious. What if the sheet tore under their weight?
“Call a tree. We’ll have to stay off the ground. It’ll ma
ke it harder for Alcott to track us.” Colin moved a few steps forward, placing himself between her and the door.
Swallowing at his maneuver, she called to the nearest oak, willing it to aid her. Its massive trunk bent ponderously, its thick branches extending oh-so-slowly toward the window. Hurry!
The wall around the window turned a brilliant, solid red. Once. Twice.
“He’s breaking through.”
Her nails bit into her palms as Alana forced herself not to use her brooch. She couldn’t urge the oak to move faster lest the branches broke—and fresh growth wouldn’t help them since it wouldn’t bear their weight.
The oak’s branches were only halfway to the window when the color on the wall vanished—and with it the wards’ protection. A split second later, wood panels groaned behind her, creaking as they fought to resist the unliving earth pressing on them.
Dread had her stealing a glance over her shoulder to see the door and jamb cracking under the strain, and her lover limned with fire. As she watched, the wood shattered, sending splinters flying at them and revealing two simulacra.
Colin burned the slivers in midair, reducing them to gray ash that crumbled to dust. With another wave of his arm, he covered the simulacra with pale blue flames.
Uncanny screams came from malformed mouths, spine-chilling in their torment. They clung to the jamb despite it all, the blaze spreading to the shattered wood. The bigger one forced itself into the room, staggering as luminous fire engulfed its body. It brought with it the stench of swamps and scorched wood, each step charring the floor.
Hard thumps drew Alana’s attention to the window where several thick branches rested against the side of the building. Relief surged through her, making her knees weak. “Colin!” She grabbed his shoulder to urge him away.
He shrugged off her hand. “Go!” he ordered, throwing a scarlet fireball at the closest simulacrum. He planted his feet as though preparing to wrestle. Obviously, he wasn’t going to leave before she did.
Alana leaped for a branch, hoping Colin wouldn’t put off his escape until it was too late. Scrambling for a handhold, she turned back to check on him. “Hurry!”
Retreating a step, Colin raised a wall of flames, then spun for the window. He launched himself off the seat an instant before a howling simulacrum grabbed at him.
Navigating the trees hadn’t been too onerous. Bright moonlight aided them in picking their way through the massive branches, though it was still difficult to judge distances with any accuracy. Luckily, the spirits of the night were haunting at ground level, allowing Colin and Alana to travel unimpeded.
The trees eventually ran out at the edge of the gardens, forcing them to climb down to the ground. From there, they’d have to cross several city blocks to get to his shop.
Colin ignored the urge to creep from shadow to shadow. He could see precious little cover in the yellow light of the sodium streetlamps—not even a single car was parked on the road—and going slow carried just as much risk as running. Besides, those abominations might be lurking in the same available darkness.
“Where do we go?” Alana’s question was calm, almost dispassionate. She wasn’t even huffing for breath after their scramble through the trees; of course, it probably helped that the trees wouldn’t have let her fall if she’d slipped. If Colin hadn’t sensed the wariness she radiated, he’d have thought she trusted him.
Shrugging off his annoyance at her suspicions, he probed the shadows lining the desolate street for ambush or wandering spirits that might report their location to Alcott. Finding none, he stepped out of the bushes, keeping a firm grasp on Alana’s hand.
“My place. I’ve a commercial gas tank in the shop.” With that much fuel behind his fire magic, he might be able to stop a few of the simulacra. “I also have a Breo-saighead there.” Stashed in his arms locker where it wasn’t doing him any good, damnit.
“What?” Alana dug in her heels, throwing him off his stride. She stared at him, her eyes almost cat-green in the yellow streetlight, as he turned back to her. “Isn’t that a military weapon?”
Colin urged her onward with a gentle push. “Personal arms for reservists. It’s standard issue for fire mages.” Right now, he bitterly wished he had it on him. The wand would let him transform a simulacrum to so much magma, then turn it to solid rock. Even if Alcott could undo the process—reduce stone to sand, not just rocks and pebbles—it would cost Alcott power.
Also, if Alana changed her mind about letting him rework the brooch, he’d have his tools close to hand and could conserve most of his own power for fighting Alcott’s simulacra. Blocking their attack at the HardWood had required a significant portion of his reserves, even with all the sexual energies around him then. Now that they were outside the Pleasure Quarter, he’d have more difficulty recharging.
They had to get to his shop. It was their only chance.
Alana picked up her heels at his explanation, radiating bright optimism. Perhaps the chance of fighting back had given her hope.
They crossed several blocks without any mishap and—thankfully—without seeing another living person. Only autumn flowers in planters and low maples lined the streets, empty but for the occasional trash and dry leaves rustling in the breeze. Even the animals were in hiding for Samhain.
The next corner revealed his building and Alana’s flower shop across the street. Both appeared untouched, the security grilles covering the dark windows unmoved. Colin allowed himself a cautious breath of relief. It was beginning to look like they’d actually make it.
A low moan joined the whistle of the cold wind, rising ominously into a wordless howl.
Three simulacra stepped into view, cutting them off from Colin’s shop and his weapons. Behind them, two more simulacra blocked the path back to the gardens and any chance for retreat.
Damnit. They had no chance of breaking through. And at five to one, he didn’t have a hope of keeping Alana safe.
“What do we do?”
He gritted his teeth, knowing he had only one option left. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. As a soldier, he’d been taught that the objective was to make dead heroes of the enemy, not be one himself. “Give me your panty.”
Without asking questions, Alana slipped off her ruined underwear, her long legs flashing in the streetlights. She handed it to him with a puzzled expression, but he didn’t have time for explanations.
Studying the two simulacra between Alana and relative safety, he planned his attack, making sure he had a firm grip on her wet panty and the life energy it represented. He’d have to act quickly to give her the best chance at escaping.
“While I keep them busy, run. Find a strong tree somewhere, and hide until dawn. Then go to the garda.” His corpse would bolster her credibility. He just hoped Alcott wasn’t close enough to gain power from his death.
Alana stared in horror as Colin threw himself at the wailing simulacra, fire outlining his body, brandishing her torn G-string like a whip. He was going to get himself killed!
A simulacrum screamed as Colin lashed out at it, flailing at him as he pressed his advantage. His attack opened a gap big enough for her to slip through, back to the gardens and the trees that might protect her.
“Run, Alana!” he shouted, his voice hoarse with pain. Then another rushed him in a blur of motion. It slammed into him—and the flames that surrounded him flickered out.
“NO!” She summoned all the power she could—more magic than she’d ever wielded before—and forced it through her brooch. Called all the plants around them to Colin’s aid.
Green shoots sprouted from between the cobblestones of the street, grew out of the gutters. Vines crawled from the planters by the lampposts, thickening and turning woody as they swept across the pavement. The trees along the sidewalk stretched out their branches, trying to reach over.
Hard canes smashed into loamy bodies, felling unliving earth, breaking the simulacrum to clumps of soil around her lover’s slumped form. Grasses wove themselves int
o a thicket in the middle of the street, barricading the other simulacra, and screeching silently at the effort.
Darting forward, Alana shook Colin, trying to rouse him. The soil covering him burned like dry ice, leaching warmth and life from her hands. She brushed it off him desperately, her skin prickling with horror at the contact. She had to be quick; the plants wouldn’t hold the simulacra for long. Already the clumps were reforming despite the canes that continued to beat at them and the vines that swept them apart.
“Colin?”
He was cold and unresponsive, his face pale even in the glare of the yellow streetlights. If he was breathing, she couldn’t tell.
Drawing on her wood magic to strengthen her limbs, she dragged him out of the freezing mound of life-draining earth. “Colin, wake up! I’m not leaving you here.”
He seemed to register the threat at some level. His lashes fluttered weakly. Then he broke out in a coughing fit, the pain-wracked hacking like morning birdsong to her ears.
Relief brought tears to her eyes—tears she couldn’t let fall, not when danger had them nearly at arm’s reach. “We have to get out of here.”
Gasping, Colin shook himself, throwing off sand and soil with a sudden flare of light. He staggered to his feet, unsteady yet somehow managing to place himself between her and the simulacra from which she’d saved him.
“This way!” She grabbed his hand and ran headlong down the street toward the Pleasure Quarter and the protection of its trees. Hopefully, the plants she’d summoned could contain the simulacra just a little longer.
A few feet into the gardens and she heard gurgling water, just as she remembered. She led him down the slope into a creek and turned to follow its course, splashing through water cold with the onset of winter. It numbed her toes and chilled her legs, her hurried pace splattering her buttocks. If Bryce was tracking them through the ground, surely wading through water would mask their presence.
“I told you to run,” Colin growled, barely audible, though she detected an undertone of pain. He followed her, his movement still rather tentative, though he hardly made any noise, not even when they’d entered the water.