Fury's Magic (Fury Unbound Book 2)

by Yasmine Galenorn

Queet grunted. How far away?

  “About five blocks I’m guessing, by the strength of the signal. He’s on the run and moving fast. In fact, he’s coming directly at us. I wonder why he’s headed for the Trips. Most Aboms stay near the World Tree. They find plenty of food there.”

  Remember, Hecate wants you to follow him.

  “I just wish it wasn’t into the Trips, but yeah, I remember. I’ll follow him as long as he doesn’t go after anybody.” I was surprised how fast this one was traveling. He was speeding along, which also seemed odd. Even if they weren’t in-body, Aboms tended to meander until they found a target.

  You should get out of the way so you can fall in behind without being noticed when he passes by.

  I didn’t really want to. I honestly thought following him was a bad idea. It was better to take them right out when they came in, before they had a chance to hurt anybody. But Hecate’s will was my will, and so I took Queet’s advice, slipping into the burrow-lane between two apartment buildings. A man—probably one of the Broken—was further up the lane, urinating against the side of the building. He took no notice of me, just stuffed his dick back in his pants after shaking the last drops off, then zipping up and shuffling in the other direction.

  After judging him as mostly harmless, I peeked around the edge of the apartment complex. Of old red brick, the walls were cracked in places with long, narrow fractures that looked fresh. No doubt the quake we’d had a few months ago had opened those up. A string of Wandering Ivy peeked over the top, and the tendrils waved, searching for meat on the hoof. But it was too far up to be a danger.

  My attention shifted as the Abom loomed closer. It was almost filling my Trace screen. I held my breath, praying he wouldn’t home in on me. Sometimes they seemed to sense me through the Trace. But I began to notice that Hecate was right. He seemed to have a very specific focus. There were plenty of people on the street he could have jumped, but he still hadn’t chosen a vehicle. Most Aboms fed as soon as they came through the World Tree.

  The flashing light came closer still and suddenly, I could sense his energy signature all around me. He was powerful, definitely. And, there was something else. I closed my eyes, trying to pinpoint what I was sensing. There it was, at the very edge. He was cunning. Beyond cunning. But the next moment, the energy tangled, as though some giant kitten had taken all the threads and snarled them up in a big ball of yarn.

  Queet was hovering over my shoulder, but he kept silent.

  I held my breath. The Abom was almost upon us. If he noticed me, he might attack. If he was any typical Abomination he would. One beat. Then another. And yet another. It must have been only a moment but time felt like it stretched out with no end, before finally the creature passed by, a whisper of power and hunger and shadowy anger.

  The residual trail he left behind him struck me as odd. It took me a moment but then I realized that he wasn’t alone. Not that he had an invisible friend, but his energy told me that the Abom was working for someone else. There was a Control spell on him that packed a punch bigger than any I had ever seen. The realization that some magician was controlling an Abomination hit me like a sledgehammer. Some idiot had cast a spell on the creature and was using him for…for what? Hecate was right. I had to follow him, if only to see if I could figure out who was in control.

  I waited till he had moved past us to do anything, though I made sure he was still on my Trace screen. When I was sure he wouldn’t hear, I caught my breath.

  Queet, this is a bad sign.

  Do you think that—

  Lyon might have done it? I shivered. Lyon Burkenwald was a powerful magician and the leader of a chapter of the Order of the Black Mist. A group of magicians, the Order was bent on yanking open the seals to the realm of Chaos and waking the Elder Gods within. They were dangerous and I had already gone up against Lyon once. I didn’t want to face him again and had hoped that he might back off once he lost our first major go-round.

  Yes. It would be like him, looking to cause havoc.

  We can’t know for sure, but I’m sure as hell not dismissing it. Come on, we need to follow the Abom.

  I swung around the corner of the building. The Abom was far enough ahead and so focused that he paid no attention to me. I picked up my pace, running at blur-speed to keep him as close as possible without risking attracting his attention. Queet, of course, had no trouble keeping up. Ghosts and spirit guides had it one-up on the living when it came to movement, unless they were bound to an area, but that was an entirely different matter. The Abom passed several likely candidates for a meal, but each time as I prepared to intervene, he sailed by, ignoring them.

  Finally, we were on the outskirts of the Trips. Shortly after we crossed the border to the Peninsula of the Gods, he abruptly made a left turn, heading into an overgrown area. Wary, I slowed, allowing a little more distance between us. It paid to be cautious here. The ravine divided the edge of the peninsula from Pacific Sound. The abrupt edge overlooked a drop-off that could easily send the unwary or the careless tumbling down into the volatile waters.

  But where the hell could he be headed? I didn’t remember any suburbs or neighborhoods located back in this area, and there weren’t any office buildings, either. It was relatively overgrown brush and a tangle of scrub.

  As I slowed my pace, sneaking to a brick wall that ran along the border dividing the districts, a vine dropped down, tapping me on the shoulder, then abruptly started to coil around my neck before I could brush it away.

  I grabbed my dagger with my left hand and the vine with my right, and quickly severed the tendril from the plant. With a low crackling noise that sounded suspiciously like a hiss, the Wandering Ivy withdrew and I edged away from the wall. While there were other, more dangerous sentient plants than Wandering Ivy, it had taken over the city. Bramble Lords could be just as deadly, and much more painful, given their thorns. But Bramble Lords tended to grow in rural areas. And Stinging Nettlers were another carnivorous plant that had taken over in marshy areas.

  The Wandering Ivy made another half-hearted swipe at me, but I just silently held up my dagger and the plant pulled back. I wanted to mutter something nasty to it, but no sense chancing the Abom overhearing me.

  The creature turned right at the end of the wall, and I paused.

  Queet, go as carefully as you can and tell me if it’s waiting just around the corner.

  Will do. Queet was off. Within a few seconds, he returned. No, check on your Trace screen. He’s moving again but slowly now.

  I checked my Trace again and, sure enough, the Abomination was on the move, though at a slower pace. I followed, easing up to the corner. As I peeked around the wall, I could see him—a glowing outline of sickly green light. He had stopped in front of what looked to be an abandoned graveyard.

  That was odd. What could an Abomination want with a cemetery?

  Curiosity waged war with my concern, and I crept closer. The Abom had managed to dig a hole in the ground and seemed to be burying something. What the fuck? I was about to send Queet over to find out when the creature suddenly straightened up and turned my way. With a roar, he charged me.

  Oh, hell! He wasn’t in-body, so Xan wouldn’t be much use, but I slapped my right hand on my thigh and the whip came off into my palm. As I gripped the coil of energy, it sang to me with the pulse of fire and lightning. I stepped back, raising the whip for a clear shot as the Abom skidded to a stop in front of me.

  He seemed wary all of a sudden.

  No, this wasn’t just any typical Abomination fresh off the World Tree. He was cautious, or the person controlling him was cautious. He circled to my left. He was starving. The hunger rolled off him in a wave. The Abom needed energy, and he needed it soon. The magician controlling him must have been starving him for a reason.

  I eased a step to the right, never taking my eyes him as he moved with me. When Aboms weren’t using a human vehicle, they tended to be more of an amorphous shape. Bipedal
and yet, rather blobby. They didn’t contain their energy well, reminding me of a child’s magical Soft-Clay doll, always dribbling bits as it moved around the pottery pit.

  The Abom paused again, then lurched forward. He tried to grab hold of me as a long tube wriggled out of where the back of his neck would be.

  Fury, dodge! His siphon!

  “Crap!” I lurched into a back bend as the tube lashed out at me.

  When not in-body, Aboms attacked by creating a psychic tether to their victims. They would jam their siphoning tubes into their victims’ crown chakras, then drain off the life force from both the aura and the body.

  I rolled to the side, coming up to lash out with my whip. Unlike Xan, my whip could hit victims who weren’t corporeal. As the thong unfurled toward him, the fall wrapped around the Abom’s neck. The jolt raced over his body, a sparkling net of energy.

  He stiffened, freezing for a moment before the attack faded. I pulled back for another blow and struck before the Abom could pull away. Once again, the fall wrapped around his neck, cracking loudly as another net of sparks wove around him. I squinted, trying to find the mark that would allow me to send him back to Pandoriam. Unlike Aboms who were in-body, the soul-hole on their astral forms was harder to find, and I had to hit it square on.

  With my left hand, I unsheathed my dagger. Queet, where’s the soul-hole? Can you see it?

  His soul-hole is in his stomach, Fury. You’ll have to get close if you plan to use your dagger. Xan would be better.

  Stomach? You’ve got to be kidding. Damn it.

  I fumbled, sliding my dagger back into the sheath as I raised the whip for another strike. Once more, I brought my aim to bear, this time lashing toward his chest. Then, while he writhed from the hit, I slapped my whip back on my thigh and reached over my back to slide Xan out from her scabbard. The Abom was still staggering from my last blow, but I didn’t have long before he recovered. I brought Xan around, holding her steady at the level of his stomach and braced myself as he charged forward again.

  Too late, he seemed to realize what I was doing, but he couldn’t stop. He plunged directly onto my sword. As he stared down, as though he couldn’t quite believe what was happening, I seized the opportunity and drove the blade deep into his soul-hole. We were face to face at that moment, Xan protruding from his back.

  He stared at me, his light fading. Then, with an audible pop like a balloon bursting, his astral form flared into a burst of angry reds and rusts, and he vanished back to Pandoriam, leaving me standing there with Xan, facing an empty graveyard.

  Breathing hard, I slowly lowered my sword, staring at the ground. The flare was gone from my Trace screen, but I still felt uneasy.

  Queet, can you sense anything around?

  But I had no sooner asked the question than something slammed into my back, knocking the wind out of me. Surprised, I dropped Xan as I lurched forward, my spine aching from the blow.

  Fury! Queet’s voice came through loud and clear. Behind you! Dive and roll!

  I didn’t question, just forced myself to move. As I hit the ground, I landed on a sharp, fist-sized rock. Rolling off, I looked up to see three men standing over me. The next moment, one of them kicked me in the side and I let out a sharp scream as his steel-toed boot dug into my flesh. I didn’t recognize him, but he sure seemed to know me. He was wearing dark jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, as were the two other men.

  “She’s a looker—”

  “Getchyer mind off her snatch, Bale. We have a job to do.” The one who had kicked me sounded all too delighted to continue his task as he hauled off and kicked me again.

  I managed to roll onto my hands and knees. As I reached for my leg to activate my whip, the third man grabbed my wrist and dragged me to my feet.

  “Now, Fury girl, we don’t want you playing with that whip, do we?”

  The man identified as Bale caught my other arm and they stretched my arms wide between them. I stopped struggling. I couldn’t focus on my magic if I was trying to escape. I lowered my head, trying to ignore the pain as I summoned up what energy I could. I was already tired from fighting the Abom and now, the pain was making it hard to think.

  “Lesson one: Stop sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong,” the first man said as he sent a punch directly to my stomach. I started to double over, but they forced me upright and my midsection cramped like crazy. Whatever hold I had on my Flame went right out the window.

  “Who the hell are you?” I managed to ask, praying to stave off another blow while Queet summoned help. I couldn’t sense him around and knew that was where he had gone. He always had my back.

  “Figure it out, bitch.” My main attacker took aim again and this time, his fist connected with my face. Thank gods I was more resilient than the average human. My Theosian nature made me tough. I was harder to kill, but that just meant it would take more blows to do the job.

  Jarred from the pain sweeping through every muscle, I sniffled as blood trickled from my nose, the droplets falling on my lips. I could taste their salt on my tongue as I licked them away.

  He wasn’t going to answer me, so I focused my attention into trying to fluff up my aura, to cushion me from the pain as much as I could. Then another blow hit, and another. I was desperately trying to memorize what they looked like when one last blow connected with my nose. The last thing I remembered was the men letting go of me, dropping me on the ground as they laughed and wandered off. Everything was cloaked in a thick fog, and my body hurt so much that I couldn’t find a place that didn’t ache. Nothing wanted to work.

  “Hurry, Queet,” I stammered out, not even sure if I was speaking aloud or not, but then the world went black before I could say another word.

  Chapter 8

  “Fury? Fury?”

  The voice sounded familiar and safe, and I struggled against the fog that held me captive. Trying to move, I let out a long groan as pain knifed through every muscle of my body. I couldn’t pinpoint where it originated, but there it was, strong and vibrant and richly colored, turning the fog encasing me a brilliant crimson.

  “Fury, can you hear me?”

  Once again, I responded to the voice, trying desperately to follow it to consciousness. Finally, I saw the thread. It was gentle blue light in the midst of all the bloody red, and I latched hold of it, journeying past the pain, past the aching that enveloped my body and clouded my thoughts.

  “Fury, you’re scaring me.”

  And then I opened my eyes. Well, one eye. The other felt welded shut. I blurrily stared up at Jason, who was kneeling beside me. Hans was on the other side, and they seemed to be checking me over. I felt a prod here or there, but everything hurt and I couldn’t be sure if they were poking my bruises or if the bruises were just pissed off and throbbing.

  I struggled to form words. “Hurts. Everything…hurts.”

  “I know it does, love. I know. Come on, honey, we’ve got to get you to a medic. Can you move at all?” His voice was soft, but the look on his face was dark and clouded. I knew what that look meant. Jason was pissed as hell and wanted to kill. I had only seen it a few times, but the sentiment was unmistakable.

  Hans glanced over me to Jason. “We should take her to Sarinka. She’s close. She lives on the outskirts of the Trips, only a few blocks away.”

  Sarinka was a healer who worked in Darktown two days a week, giving out free medical help. The rest of the time, she worked from home. She specialized in healing acute wounds and injuries, and while she wasn’t a recognized doctor, she was a certified mender.

  “Good idea. Today’s one of her days at home, too, so it’s not terribly far. I know she’s broken a few bones but I don’t think her spine was fractured and she’s moving her head, so her neck wasn’t broken. Why don’t you carry her while I grab her sword.” Jason eased back. “Unless you think we should bring Sarinka here?”

  “We can’t be sure. Just to be on the safe side, let me fetch Sarinka. Mean
while, you keep your guard up. Whoever did this might come back to finish the job.” Hans vanished from my field of vision.

  “Jason.” Breathing was hard, and so was talking. My ribs felt like kindling. But I wanted to tell him to check the graveyard, to see what the Abom had buried.

  “Hush. Not another word.”

  “But…”

  “No, be quiet.” He pressed one finger to my lips. “You’re hurt, Fury. You’ll live, but whoever did this meant to hurt you. You need to lie quietly until Sarinka gets here.”

  I thought about asking Queet in whisper-speak to tell Jason, but I couldn’t focus enough to manage it. Finally, I gave up and slid back into the void that yawned around me.

  The next time I opened my eyes—or eye, rather—I was on a soft table, with my head cushioned by a pillow. A cool cloth was draped over the eye that didn’t want to open, and the pain in my body seemed muted. I let out a soft groan, relieved to find that the crusted blood on my nose and mouth had vanished. My jaw hurt like hell, but even there, the pain was muted.

  “What…where…” Then I remembered. They had been taking me to Sarinka’s. Or bringing Sarinka to me. Since I didn’t appear to still be lying on the ground anymore, I had a feeling we had found our way to the mender’s apartment.

  “Fury?” A melodious voice trickled over me like cool rain.

  “Yeah, I hear you.”

  “I’m Sarinka. Remember me?” She leaned over the eye that I could see out of, the deep amber of her skin glowing like late autumn sunlight. We had met a few times before, and she had mended up some bruised ribs after a particularly grueling workout a few months ago.

  “Yes, I do. Is this your place?” I was still struggling to breathe without hurting, but it wasn’t quite so hard. “What time is it? What day?”

  “You’re in my home. You were attacked last night. Jason and Hans brought me to you, and we carried you back to my place on a hovstretch.” She sounded almost proud and I thought she had every right to be. Hovstretches weren’t cheap, and healers who could afford them were doing business at a good clip. The stretchers glided on a thick layer of air, smoothly and without turbulence, allowing the patient a safer, more comfortable ride.