by Kaye Draper
The monster hunter slid a glance her way that said he'd like to set her on fire, but was too polite to burn my guest at the stake. For now.
"A witch charm layered in a sorcerer's spell," the old woman muttered. "Even my blind eyes can see that."
Great. So now she was calling me stupid too. Just what I needed, one more asshole. "Well, can you get rid of whatever is hiding the asshole so we can go kick his butt?"
Those blind white eyes rolled toward me. "You won't like my methods, death girl."
I sighed. "Are you going to kill someone? Use the blood of a baby or something?"
She let out a short crack of laughter. "Not quite a baby. But I need the blood of a strong magic user. A sorcerer would be best but…." Those blind eyes rolled to the side, in Toma's direction.
The spirit mage made his way to us, his tall winter boots kicking up clods of the snow that was nearly up to his knees. He was wearing a puffy coat with a faux fur-lined hood, his long, blue-streaked hair trailing out to whip in the wind. His purple eyes glowed faintly with his banked power. So baddass.
"I can feel the cloaking magic," he said when he reached us. "But I can't sense how to go about breaking it down." He shot a frustrated look toward the forest before us. "I know I'm strong enough. I just don't know how. It's like seeing something written in another language—there are words there. I just can't read them. Wrong type of magic."
Jet joined us, morphing from crow to person. His long frame was dressed entirely in black. If it wasn't for the white snowflake design on the front of his black wool coat, he would blend right into the shadows. He bared his pointed teeth. "The madman combined magics to hide himself. But the spell is anchored to the earth with witch magic. Simple enough to break, with the right application of force."
I glared out at the innocent-looking forest in front of us. My dad was out there somewhere. Hopefully. I didn't really know the man. But I wanted him back. And I wanted that fucking collector creep to suffer for what he'd done to Drake, Luna, and Toma. And for all the others he had captured and used.
"So, what are we waiting around for?" I muttered.
The witch raised a white eyebrow at me. Right. Blood.
"You won't kill him, right?" I asked, my chest squeezing tight. I still didn't know much about magic, but some of the spells I'd read about in the witch's books were downright nasty.
Toma sighed. "You need my blood, don't you?" He sounded more annoyed than terrified, and some of the tension released its hold on my heart.
The witch pulled a black stone knife from her coat pocket. "We'll need to connect all that power in you to the witch charm that holds this spell to the earth. Then you should be able to shatter the illusion."
The spirit mage stared at the witch, his expression full of suspicion. He was about the same height as the little old woman, and he leaned in, almost touching noses, as if he could see into her soul.
Which…right. That was probably what he was doing.
"Grim," he whispered, leaning back out of the old woman's face.
Power swirled around him, reaching out and brushing those of us who stood nearby, with a misty sensation that was only somewhat warmer than the freezing wind and snow. Van took a couple steps back in surprise, but didn't say anything as the giant black dog materialized from the shadows and brushed by him to get to Toma's side. Apparently, some things surprised even the jaded heir to the hunter line. The dog's head came up to Toma's chest as it brushed up against the mage, its dark shape trailing black smoke. Its burning, blue-flame eyes took in the area with the sharp intelligence that said it was more than just a dog.
Toma set a hand on his new friend, sinking his gloved fingers into its ethereal fur. "You may use my blood," he told the witch, in an even voice. "But the grim will make sure you don't try to bind me otherwise, or make some sort of nasty charm for later."
The witch tilted her head, her blind eyes moving restlessly, as if trying to see with her other senses, but unable. "A grim?" she asked, her voice filled with awe, lifting a hand in the dog's general direction, but not moving closer.
The black dog snarled, an unbelievably deep rumble that started in its chest and spilled out of a maw filled with teeth longer than my fingers.
I stepped back, a bit behind Toma, keeping the tiny mage between me and the dog. Fuck that thing was scary.
The witch just laughed. "I won't be hurting your boy," she muttered. "But the longer we stand here in the snow jawing on, the sooner your quarry will know we're standing on his doorstep."
Toma tugged off one of his gloves and held his hand out to the witch, palm up. "Go on."
Jet purred at my side. "Brave little mate," he whispered, approval in his voice. I tried not to remember what the two of them looked like, naked and united to drive me mad with pleasure.
Getting a grip, I glanced at Jet. His yellow eyes met mine and a slight twitch at the corner of his lips told me he knew exactly what I was thinking, because he was thinking it too. But, for once, he didn't comment. "A sorcerer's body carries their ability to connect to magic in its very cells," he explained with a nod at Toma. "Things like blood or hair can be used in dark spells. Things that would bind a person's will or cause harm."
I remembered how Toma's family had burned all of his belongings when he left them. I had been shocked at the time, but Toma said it was to protect him. So nothing of his could be used against him. And now he was going to trust a black witch with his blood.
"If you try to hurt him, the dog will be the least of your worries," I grumbled at the old woman.
She ignored me, grasping Toma's hand and dragging the knife blade across his palm in a quick, sure motion. He sucked in a breath, but didn't pull away. Blood welled up, and she turned his hand palm down, letting the drops patter into the snow. She bent and shoved her own hand through the bloody snow and down to the soil below. Then she muttered something in a language I didn't understand. A flare of magic. Not a power I was familiar with feeling, but I thought it might be similar to what I got from Ryan at times. Then the witch pushed herself creakily to her feet. "The connection to the earth is yours now, mage," she said. Then she sat down suddenly in the snow.
She was an old lady, after all. Maybe this was too much excitement for her. Luna went and hauled the old lady to her feet, and the witch leaned on the werewolf while we all watched Toma. The mage's eyes glowed brighter, lit from within by his magic. He opened and closed his bleeding hand, flicking more drops of blood onto the clean snow. Then he closed his eyes. His hood fell back, and his long hair floated around him, the blue streaks silvery in the moonlight. His entire body began to glow with a white light that seemed to come from inside him. The grim paced around him, brushing its smoky black body against Toma, probably feeding him power through the touch, the way Jet did for me.
Toma frowned in concentration. I was so focused on my spirit mage, that I didn't at first notice the changes going on around us.
"It's working," Luna said softly, drawing my attention to the woods.
I could see the illusion now, like the trees and forest around us were just a thin, see-through screen over the old farmhouse that stood behind them.
A few seconds more, and the illusion faded completely. We were standing in the woods, off to the side of a dirt driveway that led to a sprawling farmhouse that had seen better days. As I watched, a pair of armed guards paced around the perimeter of the house. Thank fuck we were still hidden within the real forest.
Drake put a big hand on my shoulder and squeezed. "Breathe, Red," he whispered. Then he moved to Toma. The mage's eyes were fading back to their normal color, and the glowing aura was fading from his body. The vampire grabbed his hand and lifted it to his mouth, licking along the line of the cut, then pressing a kiss there, sealing the wound and stopping the bleeding. "Okay, Spooky?" he asked, his deep voice even, but his gaze intent. He might look all confident and at ease, but he was worried about what the witch might have done.
Toma smiled up at him,
turning his hand to touch Drake's cheek. "I’m fine, Bitey. Grim wouldn't let anyone pull anything with my blood." He smirked. "Well, except you, apparently."
Stepping away, the mage pulled his hood back up and turned to me. "Now that we know where he is, how do we do this? Stealth, or direct attack?"
I looked to Drake and Luna. They were my generals. My fighters. I had no clue about how all this crap worked. Personally, I'd like to just set the place on fire, grab my dad, and run.
"He has to know we're here already," Luna said, her sharp green eyes taking in the lay of the land.
Drake nodded. "There's no use trying for stealth. But maybe he'll be surprised we can see through the illusion?"
The witch shrugged. "He'll figure it out soon enough. If he's monitoring the spell in any way, he'll know it just failed."
I sighed. "Fine. Let's go storm the fortress."
Chapter 14
I reached out for my undead army, sending skeletons and mostly decayed corpses down the drive toward the front of the house. The cemetery I'd pulled them from was old, and it was barely used anymore, so there weren't a lot of juicy ones.
The guards shouted when they saw the corpses headed toward the front door. They wasted a few shots on them, only to realize the creatures couldn't be stopped by bullets. One of the corpses reached a guard and I sent it shuffling toward him at a faster pace. He tripped and the ratty skeleton started smacking him about the head and face with its bony hands.
Not very impressive, I know. But I wasn't used to manipulating the things I animated with the finesse that was needed to do something like coordinate attacks or use a weapon. Jet took my hand as I leaned on his magic, splitting myself up so I could manipulate all the bodies at once. It took concentration, and I was suddenly really, really sorry I hadn't listened to the familiar sooner and learned how to actually be a necromancer by practicing. Even if I never wanted to raise an army of human corpses, at least I would have been prepared, just in case.
Now, I had to bumble through. And the effort was draining. The guard beat off the skeleton using the butt of his gun, and the thing's skull fell off, the jawbone and half the neck vertebrae scattering across the ground. I let the corpse go. It wasn't worth it to try to put the pieces back together just now.
The other corpses reached the front door, but they were shoved back by an invisible force.
"Wards," Jet muttered, his yellow eyes glowing.
The black witch cut her own hand this time, flinging blood and a handful of dirt at the house as we approached. This ward must have been made from purely witch magic. The air sizzled and my ears popped as the wall of magic broke. Then the corpses broke down the front door and busted through a big picture window that overlooked the yard.
There was yelling and scrambling from inside. Apparently, they really hadn't expected us to be able to find them. Or to have a witch with us.
The old witch sagged, leaning against a tree a, wheezing.
Toma clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Blood magic. That's what happens."
She just closed her eyes and lifted her hand, extending one long, wrinkly middle finger in his general direction. "Know it all sorcerers," she muttered. "Think they're the gift of the gods just because they don't have to work for the magic they use."
I ignored their sniping. "Stay here," I told the witch. Bundled up like she was, no one would see her amongst the trees unless they were searching, or using magic. She would be as safe here as anywhere while she caught her breath…or, whatever it was she needed to do.
Luna quickly shimmied out of her loose sweats and shifted, the big wolf-monster pausing to nip at my fingers in passing. Then she took up a stance to the side and slightly in front of me, shielding me with her big, furry body and her impressive teeth.
Drake took the other side, with Toma and Awan behind us. Around us, eight other vampires and werewolves spread out. We all moved forward through the puffy snow as one, the moonlit night casting blue shadows around us.
Of course, the collector didn't come out to meet us. He sent his employees and slaves first. The human guards who'd been patrolling the perimeter rushed into the fray, but the corpses served as a buffer, getting in the way, tangling themselves up in the guard's guns, taking the bullets and spells meant for the rest of us.
We had nearly reached the front stoop when a man and woman stepped through the door, their hands glowing with crackling blue energy. They both wore glowing orange bands around their ankles, wrists, and neck, marking them as possessions of the collector.
There was no talking. No stupid monologue. They just started launching energy at us like human weapons. One of the spells hit home and a wolf yelped, knocked off its feet to skid through the snow and pitch up against a wide oak at the treeline.
I winced. I really didn't want a bunch of barely-adult pack or nest members getting killed because of me. I sent a corpse crashing into one of the magic users, and the next spell went wild to splutter out against the snow-covered lawn. There was a blur in my peripheral vision, and Ashton materialized next to the other sorcerer. He had his hands in the man's hair and his teeth at his neck before I could react.
Damn it, these people were under compulsion. They weren't attacking us of their own free will. They didn't deserve to die.
Drake made a gesture at my side, as if he was engaged in silent conversation. The blond vampire removed his teeth from the sorcerer's neck, letting the man drop to his knees. Rolling his eyes, the cheery young vampire knocked the guy upside the head and left him unconscious instead of draining him dry. Then he spun and slipped through the open door, closely followed by a werewolf and another vampire.
The sorcerer my corpses had taken down was struggling to get free. She set the corpse on fire and I hissed, dropping my connection when the spell caused a stabbing pain in my head.
One of the young werewolves was on her before she could ready any other spells. Shifting to human form, the were grabbed the woman's head and slammed it against the side of the house, knocking her unconscious.
I wasn't sure severely brain injured was any better than dead, but I couldn't really spare the time to nit-pick at the moment. I sent the dead alpha were charging through the front door and the rest of us followed.
The inside of the farmhouse had been redecorated with gaudy, expensive shit that didn't match the house at all. Apparently, the collector liked his creepy hideouts to scream "overcompensating." He obviously had a bad case of little-man syndrome.
I walked across the old hardwood to the oriental rug in the center of the room. Ashton and his fellow nestmates were pacing in a circle, ringing the collector, who stood there, smirking. The young weres joined the vampires, snarling out a warning.
My murder stayed glued to my side. We'd been split up last time we went after this asshole, and we weren't keen on experiencing that again.
In front of the collector, was my father, the lanky red-headed man swaying on his knees as blood trickled from one corner of his mouth. His glassy, yellow-brown eyes met mine and he shuddered. The orange band around his throat looked like it was choking him, cutting into his neck. Probably a punishment for trying to disobey. For using his magic to help me thwart the collector.
"Well, hello necromancer," the collector said with a smile, as if he was meeting an old friend for coffee. "Long time no see. I was almost ready to come find you myself, once your new binding spell was all ready for you. Thanks for saving me the trouble." He looked so average and unassuming in every way. You'd never guess he was psychotic.
My father sucked in a gasping breath and lifted a hand to claw at the band circling his throat.
"Let him go," I demanded.
In response, the madman whispered something too soft for me to hear. My dad collapsed on the floor and started convulsing, his limbs and head smacking the floor with disturbingly loud thuds.
Ashton took a step toward the collector, but Drake made a gesture with his hand, yanking the young vamp back through whatever mental
connection he had with the others. "Spell circle," he hissed.
I glanced at the salt circle surrounding my father and the collector. My dad had stopped convulsing, and now lay on the floor, slowly trying to claw his way to the edge of the circle, blood-tinged drool dripping from his mouth.
"You know, that's no way to treat your things," I said in a flat tone of voice.
The collector shrugged. "Sometimes toys break. If something isn't working right, it needs to be replaced."
He turned and kicked my dad in the ribs, the motion sharp and vicious. "You had so many privileges," he spat at the man at his feet. "And yet you chose to try to undermine me, after all my kindness."
I raised my eyebrows, steeling myself against reacting. I didn't want to give the asshole the satisfaction of knowing I cared what he did to my father. That might just make him do something worse. "So, what now? Are you just going to sit inside your little magic circle until you starve? Eventually you have to come out. And it isn't going to end well for you when you do."
He smiled.
An earsplitting roar erupted from somewhere deeper in the house, followed by footsteps that shook the floorboards. The thing that came barreling into the room was like something from a nightmare. There wasn't time for my brain to register what it was seeing before Drake and Luna went down in a snarling, swearing fury under something with horns and hooves and way too human features.
Awan grabbed my arm and pulled me back between himself and Toma. My spirit mage was glowing again, and the black dog at his side snarled. "Not possible," Toma hissed.
Whatever that thing was, clearly the collector shouldn't have it. But there was no time to ask questions. As the young vampires and weres rushed into the fray to assist their alpha wolf and master vampire, a cold chill walked up my spine. I spun to find a trio of black, shadowy figures pouring through the door behind us. They were followed by a middle-aged woman dressed in cammo and wearing feathers in her hair. She was chanting something, holding a rock in one hand and a twig of something flowery in the other. The shadow creatures drifted toward us, and it got harder and harder to breathe.