White Hot

by Ilona Andrews

  As Rogan slid the Range Rover into a parking space two blocks away, the Spire loomed above the city, and the overcast sky turned it a reddish purple, the color of a fresh bruise. A bad feeling came over me. I wished we could have brought more backup. Unfortunately, this part of the downtown was a no-escort zone by mutual agreement between the Houses. We’d brought Melosa, who could be viewed as our driver, but that was it.

  Theoretically the restriction made the downtown safe. Practically, we had been attacked only a few blocks from the old Justice Center and the no-escort policy didn’t exactly fill me with confidence.

  “Good luck,” Melosa said.

  Yeah. I hoped we wouldn’t need it.

  We walked to the building without incident, I surrendered my firearm to security, then we crossed the Spire’s cavernous lobby—polished white marble floor and red granite columns rising to a dizzying height. We selected the right elevator and let it carry us to the twenty-third floor without incident. Lenora Jordan’s gatekeeper, a Native American woman about forty or so, gave us a long once-over and nodded toward the door. We stepped into her office and I almost did a double take.

  Nothing had changed. Same massive bookcases, same leather visitor chairs, same deep red curtains. Even the massive desk of reclaimed wood looked the same. It wasn’t just like her old office. This was an exact duplicate of it, as if the collapse had never happened.

  Lenora Jordan sat in her chair, typing on her computer. The first time I’d met her, I couldn’t remember how to breathe. Lenora was the hero of my adolescence. Incorruptible, powerful, confident, she bound criminals in magic chains and dragged them to justice. As Rogan once said, Law and Order were her gods and she prayed to them sincerely and often.

  Maybe it was because this was the third time we’d spoken, or maybe too much had happened, but I couldn’t muster any hero worship. Instead I noted faint lines around her mouth and a touch of puffiness around her eyes. Her curly black hair was still perfect and the makeup enhancing her deep brown skin was still flawless, but fatigue smudged the perfection. The Harris County DA was working overtime.

  “Yes?” she asked without raising her head.

  Rogan took out his phone, flicked his finger across the screen to start the recording of Senator Garza’s death, and held it between Lenora’s eyes and her computer screen. She snapped the phone out of his hand. Recorded moments ticked away. Lenora’s gaze sharpened. She focused on the video like a bird of prey, a powerful eagle ready to strike.

  The video ended.

  “Do you want to be made aware of this?” Rogan said.

  Lenora raised her head. Fury drowned her eyes. All of the hair on the back of my neck stood up. Oh wow.

  “I’m aware of it now,” she snapped.

  Rogan placed a USB drive on her desk. Lenora took it and placed it into her desk drawer.

  “How did you get this video?”

  “Before his death, Gabriel Baranovsky indicated to Ms. Baylor that Elena de Trevino, an employee of House Forsberg, shared this recording with him. He and Elena were lovers. He intended to make the video public and shared it with Ms. Baylor.”

  Looking at Rogan, I could’ve never guessed he’d just lied.

  “That’s a nice lie.” Lenora pinned me with her stare. “What really happened?”

  “Baranovsky admitted to having the video but he was assassinated before we could get to it,” I said. “So we used a covert team of ferrets to break into the house and retrieve it from his computer.”

  Lenora stared at me. I felt two inches tall.

  “Ferrets?”

  “Yes.”

  “To be accurate, two ferrets and one ferret-badger,” Rogan said.

  She closed her eyes and slowly opened them. I wondered if she was counting in her head, trying to calm down.

  Rogan opened the black zip-up folder he was carrying and put a piece of paper in front of Lenora. “This is a copy of the police report indicating that four attorneys of House Forsberg were killed in Hotel Sha Sha on December 13. Among them were Elena de Trevino and Nari Harrison, wife of Cornelius Harrison, the third scion of House Harrison.”

  Another piece of paper.

  “This is a mutual cooperation agreement between House Rogan and House Harrison in an effort to discover the identity of the parties responsible for the death of Nari Harrison.”

  The papers just kept coming.

  “This is a copy of a police report indicating evidence of psychrokinetic activity at the scene of Nari Harrison’s and Elena de Trevino’s murders.

  “This is a sworn statement from me, Connor Rogan, head of House Rogan, describing the evidence in my possession that indicates an egocissor and a psychrokinetic combined efforts to bring about said murders. This is a sworn statement from Abraham Levin, my employee and chief of surveillance, in support of my assessment.”

  I had no idea Bug’s real name was Abraham Levin.

  “This is an incident report and sworn statements from Troy Linman, an employee of my House, and Nevada Baylor, a contractor hired by House Harrison to pursue an inquiry into the death of Nari Harrison. These statements describe an unprovoked attack by the third scion of House Howling, David Howling, with the purpose of killing Mr. Linman and Ms. Baylor.

  “This is a declaration of feud and a petition for Verona Exception from House Rogan and House Harrison with intent to bring David Howling, and all parties found to be acting in concert with him, to justice.”

  I made a mental note to never try to fight Rogan with paperwork.

  Lenora Jordan flipped through the stack of papers. “Do you know the identity of the manipulator working with David Howling?”

  “We have a suspect,” Rogan said.

  Lenora thought about it. Rogan had drawn a clear line: a manipulator was involved in the death of Senator Garza; Elena de Trevino had been in possession of surveillance footage of said murder, which she shared with Baranovsky; Elena and Nari Harrison were murdered by a manipulator and an ice mage; when we tried to investigate the murder, an ice mage tried to kill us, and that ice mage was David Howling. To get to the manipulator, we had to get David Howling. I wasn’t a lawyer, but even I could see that while we had enough to declare a feud, Lenora didn’t have enough to go to court. The video of Garza’s death was stolen and confirming its authenticity would mean arm wrestling with House Forsberg. Even if the video was authenticated and presented to the court, it offered no evidence of ice mage activity. For all intents and purposes, the death of Garza and David Howling’s attack on us could be completely unrelated incidents.

  Lenora pulled the petition to her and signed it. “Petition for Verona Exception granted. The principals will provide full disclosure and will make every reasonable effort to detain the accused parties so they can be questioned by law enforcement. Don’t screw this up, Rogan.”

  We left the massive lobby and exited onto Milam Street. While we’d spoken to Lenora Jordan, the clouds had torn, and now narrow rays of sunshine stabbed through the grey. Tall buildings turned the street into a canyon with a current of cars at the bottom. We turned left, walked to the end of the block, and made a right onto Rusk Street, moving against the flow of traffic. In this part of Houston, streets ran one way, crossing at 90 degree angles. Rusk channeled traffic southeast, Miriam ran perpendicular to it to the southwest, and I didn’t see anything suspicious in either direction. So far so good.

  Ahead, on to the corner of Louisiana and Rusk, Melosa leaned against the Range Rover, her arms crossed, her face grim. Leon stood next to her, with an I-didn’t-do-anything-and-I-don’t-know-why-this-is-happening expression on his face. How . . .

  “I’m going to kill him,” I squeezed through clenched teeth.

  “Does he drive?” Rogan asked.

  I accelerated. “No, he doesn’t drive. Do you think we’d let him have a car? He must’ve snuck into your car.”

  “There was no time,” Rogan said.

  “He’s talented.” And once I reached him, I’d pull his
legs out.

  Rogan gripped my shoulder and jerked me back. A carmine bolt of lightning exploded on the pavement in front of me. The air popped, punching my eardrums with an invisible fist. An enerkinetic.

  I pulled my gun.

  Another crimson burst rocketed toward us from above. A metal subway sign tore from the building and shot up to intercept it. The lightning splashed against it, spattering like glowing blood, fizzling. Ahead the street lamp turned as if cut at the base and flew straight up, snapping the tethers of electric cables.

  Behind us brakes screeched. I spun around, my back against Rogan’s.

  Creatures galloped toward us down Rusk, dodging the individual cars. Four feet tall and corded with steel muscle, they moved like giant cats, sprinting to kill their prey.

  “Incoming!” I yelled.

  “Melosa, get him out of here!” Rogan barked, his voice carrying clear across the street.

  I chanced a glance back. Melosa grabbed Leon. The blue bubble of the aegis shield snapped into existence around her and she dragged him away, running down Louisiana Street.

  Above us the red energy pounded against the subway shield, tearing it to pieces. The lamp post shot up and turned horizontal, sweeping the roof of the short two-story building.

  The first beast leaped up onto a taxi and skidded over the cab. From the throat down it resembled a lean lioness sheathed in spiky purple-blue fur, splattered with black rosettes, each marked with a spot of red in the center. Thin furry tentacles thrust from its shoulders. The tentacles whipped and moved, flexing independently of each other, sampling the air like whiskers. Four small red eyes studded its head, each in a ring of black. It had no ears and no visible nose, only a lipless mouth filled with fangs.

  The beast posed for a moment on top of the taxi, unsure where to take its next leap. Its mouth hung open, too wide, unhinging like it was the maw of a snake. The thin membrane of its cheeks glowed with red.

  I sighted and fired.

  The first two bullets ripped into the beast’s face. Pink mist flew from its skull. It leaped forward and charged me.

  I exhaled and fired again, in a tight burst. Three, four.

  The red clusters of enerkinetic magic rained on the pavement around us like crimson hail, exploding with an electric hiss.

  The fourth bullet punched a hole between the creature’s eyes. Its momentum carried it forward another few feet, then it collapsed, head into the ground.

  The second beast shot out from between the cars. I fired in twin bursts.

  Five, six.

  It kept coming. I had thirty bullets left. I had to be precise.

  My heart still pounded, my blood still thudded through the veins in my head, but I left it behind, aware but separate from it, almost as if it was happening to someone else. The target was all that mattered.

  Seven, eight. Nine, ten.

  The beast skidded to a halt and collapsed.

  The red lightning splashed near me. Two creatures jumped into the open—one on the car, the other next to it on the ground. I fired twice, emptying the magazine into the creature on the right. It howled, an eerie high-pitched whine that didn’t come from any animal originating on Earth, and charged.

  I ejected the magazine, slapped the new one in, all in one fluid motion, then raised my gun and squeezed the trigger. The bullets punched into the beast’s skull, one after the other, hitting the precise spot between its eyes. One, two, three, four . . .

  It kept coming.

  Five, six . . .

  The light faded in its eyes. It was still running, but it was already dead. I swung to its sidekick. It was huge, a full four inches taller than the rest. I sighted and fired. The gun spat thunder. Bullets punched the beast’s face. It didn’t even slow down.

  A man screamed and plummeted to the pavement from above, landing in the beast’s path. Rogan had found the enerkinetic.

  The beast dodged and sprinted forward. Ten yards.

  The two final shots rang out. I’d emptied my Desert Eagle.

  Eight yards. It would tear me to pieces.

  I ejected my magazine.

  Six yards.

  I slapped the new magazine into the gun. My last one.

  Five. The beast leaped, its fangs bared, the fingers of its massive paws spread, the red claws ready to rend and tear.

  The lamppost slammed into the creature from the side, impaling it and driving it into the glass front of the dark building to my left. Glass shattered.

  “You’re allowed to ask for help,” Rogan said.

  A wave of magic washed over me, a disturbing echo of a huge magical reserve expended all at once. Not good.

  Down Rusk, the few cars that had failed to flee slid aside, as if pushed by some massive force. A round dent appeared in the pavement, as big as a manhole cover. Another. A third. Something massive and invisible was walking toward us.

  Rogan moved his hand. A chunk of building broke off from the right and sliced through the empty space where the creature would be. It passed through empty air without any resistance and streaked back and forth, up and low, as Rogan tried to smash the invisible giant. How the hell do you fight something that has no body? It could hurt us, but we couldn’t hurt it.

  Thud! A pothole.

  Thud! Another.

  Thud!

  The next would land on a blue SUV. A woman cringed inside. Rogan jerked the vehicle out of the way and the invisible foot thundered into the asphalt instead.

  I could try to shoot it, but there was no telling where the bullets would land if there was nothing to stop them. We were smack in downtown, with thousands of people around us.

  A mere half a block separated us from the transparent giant.

  Rogan smashed the chunk of the building into the spot where the giant’s next step would land. The invisible force punched straight through it. A car raced down Miriam Street and fishtailed, trying to avoid the potholes. Rogan waved his hand and the vehicle swerved left, out of the invisible apparition’s way.

  “Too many civilians,” he growled. “We can’t do this here.”

  I backed away. “It doesn’t want civilians. It wants us.”

  We needed open space. What was even around here? Tranquility Park was two blocks away, but it was bordered by a stone wall, with only a few open entrances. However, next to it was Hermann Square, a spot of flat, wide-open ground in the canyon streets of downtown. “Hermann Square.”

  Rogan turned. “Come on.”

  We turned and sprinted for the Range Rover.

  The steps accelerated behind us, pounding the pavement in an urgent staccato. Thud, thud, thud.

  I had to run faster, damn it. Faster!

  The air burned my lungs. We dashed into the parking lot, and I spun around. Whatever chased us was still invisible, but the building to the left, a wall of black glass, reflected the street. A fractured image flickered in the multitude of glass panes as the invisible giant pounded its way toward us.

  I squinted, unable to look away. It was enormous and pallid, shambling forward on two massive legs, dripping rolls of fatty tissue. The legs supported an oblong wrinkled body, hairless, with stubs of forelimbs. It had no neck. Its body just bent forward like a question mark, and at the end of that question mark, a round black mouth gaped, filled with rows and rows of triangular clawlike teeth, like some nightmarish intestinal parasite thirty feet tall.

  Oh my God.

  “Nevada! Get into the car!”

  I jumped into the passenger seat, snapping the seat belt closed. “Go! Go now!”

  Rogan tore out of the parking lot. Going down Rusk would bring us toward the monster, not away from it. There was only one direction to go—northeast on Louisiana.

  I looked behind us.

  “Is it following?”

  A section of the building twenty feet up shattered, showering the pavement with black glass. Thud! A dent in the pavement.

  “It’s following. Do you have a plan?”

  He made a left ont
o Capitol. Here the traffic still flowed, oblivious to what was happening a block away. Rogan glanced at the building on our right. A row of windows on the third floor exploded. The traffic did its best to scatter.

  “It would help if I knew what it was,” he said.

  “It looks like a giant maggot.”

  “Can you see it?”

  “I can see its reflection.”

  The creature thudded its way onto Capitol. Where were the cops? There was an army of cops downtown. The Spire and city hall were blocks away.

  “Use your phone,” Rogan said, his voice clipped.

  I swung back and snapped a shot with my phone. The awful giant tapeworm appeared on the small screen in all its revolting glory. I thrust the phone at Rogan.

  “Crom Cruach. It’s a Prime-level summon, and someone is cloaking it.”

  “But why couldn’t you hit it?”

  “Because it doesn’t have a material body in our world. They didn’t summon the actual creature, only its magical footprint. It’s still within its own arcane realm. What we’re seeing is a magical echo.”

  “If it doesn’t have a body, then how is it damaging the street?”

  “It’s made of arcane magic. When the magic comes into contact with our reality, it creates damage.”

  Rogan expertly cut off another car.

  “So can it hurt us?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “How do we kill it?”

  He flashed a grin, sharp and fast, like a sword coming out of a scabbard. “We kill it with water. It’s in our world because a summoner is keeping it here through a magical bond. Water disrupts the bond. If we drench it in water, it will manifest in the flesh or disappear.”

  Hermann Square Park had a huge rectangular fountain.

  Rogan made a sharp left onto Smith. The entire left side of the street was blocked by construction barriers as the workers bore into the pavement in front of the Department of Public Works. We barely had two lanes to work with, but they were clear. Rogan stepped on the gas. The Range Rover roared, accelerating, the stone wall of Tranquility Park sliding past us.