Lyceus. His father.
Reed wouldn’t bother to warn Lyre about mercenaries. He wouldn’t bother to warn Lyre if Andante, Ariose, or Madrigal were coming to Earth to hunt him down.
But if their father had joined the hunt … that was something Reed would see as dire enough to require a warning. It also explained why Reed had anticipated that his first attempt to contact Lyre would also be his last. If Lyceus guessed what Reed had been up to, he’d ensure his wandering son stayed home for a good long while.
Lyre shivered at the thought of his father hunting him, and he was damn grateful he’d soon be out of this city—and out of this realm.
He and Clio traversed the dark downtown streets in silence, watching for any signs of danger. They lingered near the closed shopping mall for half an hour before venturing inside and sneaking through the hidden door to the abandoned metro station. The walk down the tracks was the most frightening part of their journey—a long, empty stretch of darkness where an ambush would be only too easy.
They quickly bypassed the ward at the next station and slipped in among the bustle of the market. Lyre’s gaze traveled from daemon to daemon and his skin prickled.
When they stopped to wait for a group to move out of their way, Clio leaned closer to him.
“Is it just me,” she whispered, “or is it a lot busier than last time?”
“Seems like it,” he answered grimly.
Their path cleared and she walked ahead of him, her shoulders rigid. Shivers crawled up and down his spine as he followed her to the merchant booths. Again, a large crowd had gathered around the poacher’s booth, and Lyre wondered if that wolfish creature with feathers—the lycaon—had been recaptured.
Sabir the plant seller was perched on a stool behind his booth of leafy things, but the table was far emptier than two nights ago and all the large plants were gone. His gaze found Clio well before she approached his table.
Lyre almost felt bad for the guy—he didn’t have a charismatic bone in his body—but he mostly felt annoyed that they had to rely on the daemon to get to the Overworld. Despite his assurances to Clio that he wasn’t jealous, the Overworlder gave him a bad feeling.
“Sabir,” Clio gushed, resuming her terrible attempts at flirting. Lyre quashed his automatic smile. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was worried …”
The daemon glanced at Lyre, who raised his eyebrows in a silent challenge. Sabir flicked his attention to Clio, his expression darkening ominously. “I didn’t expect you to bring the incubus back.”
Damn. His disguise wasn’t good enough.
“He, uh, well …” She leaned forward, getting nice and close to Sabir. Hmm. Maybe her seduction skills weren’t as amateurish as he’d thought. “He’s actually my … business partner. Last time—that was just an act so he didn’t get ripped apart.”
Sabir’s mouth flattened. “What sort of business?”
“Um …”
Lyre smiled condescendingly at the daemon. “Is that really a question you want anyone around here to ask?”
Sabir’s scowl deepened. “You aren’t part of my agreement with Clio.”
Having expected this, Lyre pulled a pouch from his pocket and dropped it on the table. “Double the people, then double the payment. Only fair, right?”
Oozing displeasure, Sabir opened the pouch and peeked inside. His expression didn’t change, but he tied the bag shut and slipped it out of sight. A practiced merchant—no reaction to the money and he removed it from the table immediately. He knew what he was doing, and like most businessmen, he wasn’t about to turn down money just because he wasn’t excited about taking an incubus along.
“When do we leave?” Clio asked brightly.
Sabir shifted on his stool, probably still adjusting to his disappointment that he wouldn’t get Clio all to himself for the journey. “It’s unusually busy tonight. I’ll pack up after things settle down.”
Lyre’s instincts sharpened. So it wasn’t just his inexperience with the market that had made it seem more crowded. If this was unusual enough for Sabir to notice, then …
He took a step back and carefully scanned every daemon in his line of sight. Clio seemed to have the same idea, because she turned the other way as she casually swiped her hand across her eyes—a signal he’d come to recognize as her using her astral perception.
Daemons went about their business, none paying any attention to Lyre or Clio, but he didn’t trust it. Too many wore hoods, hats, sunglasses, and other more conspicuous methods of covering their faces. He shifted closer to Clio but he couldn’t see anyone looking their way. Busy booths, small groups in discussion, two men haggling over a glowing glass orb—
His gaze stalled on a dark nook near the stairs—the only spot on the entire bustling platform empty of daemons.
Except it wasn’t empty.
He’d almost missed it. He’d almost assumed it was just a shadowy corner. But a haggling daemon lifted his orb in a vehement gesture and its light sparkled across the wall, piercing those deep shadows. The shape of a man was cast into sharp relief before disappearing again.
Lyre sucked in a breath so fast he almost choked. The hidden man wore a long trench coat with the deep hood pulled over his head—and a black wrap covering the lower half of his face. Already?
He almost jumped out of his skin when Clio grabbed his arm. He tilted his head, not daring to take his eyes off the shadowed corner.
“Lyre,” she hissed in alarm. “I think we’re about to have trouble.”
“I know,” he whispered back.
A pause. “What are you looking at?”
He tensed even more. “Apparently not what you’re looking at.”
Her hand tightened on his arm. “Half a dozen griffins are converging on that poacher’s booth. It looks like it’s going to get ugly.”
“Griffins?” Sabir barked before Lyre could respond. He grabbed a thick canvas bag and started shoving his merchandise into it. “We’re leaving now.”
“Are griffins bad?” Lyre asked, still watching the corner. Let the damn draconian know Lyre had seen him.
“Griffins aren’t allowed in here.” Sabir lowered his voice and shoveled plants into his bag with no care whatsoever. “They control or influence half the trade in the Overworld. It’s their laws and tariffs we’re all here to avoid.”
Clio pressed closer to Lyre. “There’s another eight of them mixed into the crowd. They all have their faces or heads covered, but they look the same. They might be soldiers.”
“Why didn’t the ward trigger?” Sabir spat a foreign curse. “There’s an old cathedral ten blocks north of here. Meet me there. I don’t want to be seen leaving with anyone.”
He threw his rucksack over his shoulder, grabbed his last ceramic pot off the table, and got exactly three steps before all hell broke loose.
Lyre didn’t see what happened, but magic exploded from the vicinity of the poacher’s table. Screams and furious shouts erupted, something hit the floor with a bang, and steel blades rang as they were pulled from sheaths all across the platform.
Lyre scooped Clio against his side and sprang over Sabir’s emptied table. Landing on the other side, he pulled it over to form a barricade. Magic burst all around as the griffin raiders attacked the poacher—and the poacher’s customers attacked the griffins. The violence spread like wildfire, and daemons dropped glamour as they went into full battle mode. Sabir had vanished in the pandemonium, hopefully making a successful escape.
Clio flinched at another whistling burst of power. “We have to get out of here!”
Lyre agreed, but—
With a flash of yellow light, six daemons went flying—and half of them crashed down on him and Clio. Lyre hit the floor with a grunt, some idiot sprawled half on top of him. The daemon snarled as he pushed up, tearing at Lyre’s shirt.
His illusion gem tumbled out of his pocket, and the daemon’s eyes widened as Lyre’s appearance changed. With his own snarl, Lyre punched the da
emon in the gut, shoved him off, and grabbed the daemon who’d flattened Clio. He flung the guy aside and hauled her up.
Light blazed and the volume reached ear-splitting levels as magic went off on all sides. The griffins on the other end of the platform had launched attacks, and battle consumed the whole station.
Instead of rejoining the fray, the daemons Lyre had thrown seemed to decide he was a griffin too. They charged him. He slammed paralysis spells into them and they crumpled to the floor.
Coming from directly behind them was Ash.
His short katana blade gleamed as he leaped over the fallen daemons and rammed into Lyre. As he went over backward and hit the floor a second time, Lyre grabbed Ash’s forearm before he got impaled.
With a twist of his wrist, Ash freed his sword arm and the blade flashed down.
A rogue ball of purple flame flew out of a nearby fight and smacked Ash in the back of the head. He jerked forward and Lyre shoved him off. Rolling away, he jumped to his feet—and a hunk of wood, thrown by an explosion, hit him in the back. He crumpled to his knees and swore.
Ash lunged up and pivoted toward Lyre, when a random daemon snatched the draconian’s coat and yanked him off balance.
Lyre sprang away, leaving Ash with the poor fool who’d grabbed him, and looked around frantically for Clio. Out of the chaos, she jumped to his side, and he blinked at the magic swirling over her hands. She flung two spells into the nearest daemons. One went down in a binding spell, and the other went flying from an invisible impact.
He blinked again. He could do simultaneous casts too, but two completely different spells?
She was already casting again, green light flickering across her fingers. A black-eyed daemon, frothing with bloodlust, shot toward Lyre. He grabbed the guy by the shirt front and threw him with an extra dose of magical force. Ash sprang out of the way as the body sailed past him.
The draconian whipped back toward Lyre, his trench coat discarded to reveal the myriad of weapons strapped over his dark clothes.
“Underworlders!” a daemon howled, his voice rising above the cacophony.
“Seriously?” Lyre snarled as a dozen nearby daemons turned from whatever fights they were having to focus on Ash and Lyre, standing in plain view.
Clio popped up between them and threw her two spells into the nearest daemons’ faces.
Lyre swore again and wrenched her away from Ash. The draconian lunged for Lyre but had to duck as a blast went over his head. Then the other daemons were on them.
Close-quarters fighting wasn’t Lyre’s strong suit, but he had one advantage. Grabbing the chain around his neck, he activated his defensive shields—new ones, replaced by Reed’s spell delivery. The closest daemon, wielding a short dagger, tried to ram his blade into Lyre’s chest. It hit his invisible shield and skidded off to the side.
Lyre coated both hands in one of his favorite little weaves—a shield that also enhanced force—and slammed his fist into the daemon’s jaw. The guy flew six feet backward and collapsed. One down, eleven to go—except the original dozen was rapidly growing into twenty as more bloodthirsty daemons headed their way.
That was the problem with daemon instincts. Once a fight got going, those who were aggressive by nature didn’t simmer down when the initial conflict was over. They craved bloodshed.
Lyre took a few blasts of magic straight on as he dealt more punches to anyone who got close enough. Three beefy Overworlders closed in on him, and he dodged a blow that would have hurt even with a shield. Hands raised defensively, he darted backward—and thumped into someone else.
He looked over his shoulder and found himself back-to-back with Ash, Overworlders surrounding them on three sides.
Ash glanced at him, a sword in each hand, then lunged forward to meet the oncoming daemons. Blood sprayed and a daemon went down screaming—no mercy from the draconian.
Jaw clenched, Lyre sprang at his assailants. Clio stayed in the background, magic flashing as she cast multiple spells with ambidextrous perfection, whipping them one after another at the attacking Overworlders.
Lyre pummeled his way through a couple more daemons but found himself encircled. He slammed his fist into one daemon while dissolving the shield on his other hand so he could cast. His binding spell slammed into the second daemon.
Someone grabbed him by the back of the neck. Fear shot through him. His defensive shields protected him from blows and flesh wounds, but it had to be flexible so he could move—which meant his attacker could break his neck. He started a rapid cast.
Clio flew out of her corner and charged straight at the huge daemon holding Lyre. She sprang off the ground and let her fist fly—her hand wrapped in a perfect copy of the force-enhancing weave he’d been using.
Her fist connected with a crack. The daemon’s hold vanished and Lyre was flung away. He landed on his feet and staggered, grabbing for the nearest support—Ash’s arm. Ash staggered too, missing his next strike, his blade glistening with blood. Jumping back a step, Lyre whipped around in time to see Clio jam another punch into her victim’s throat. The daemon keeled over backward.
Lyre blinked. Two steps away, Ash had also turned, and he stared at Clio with a slightly bewildered crease between his eyebrows.
Clio whirled toward them, her eyes wild. “Watch out!”
Lyre and Ash spun around at the same time. Two griffins, their blond braids streaming like banners, sprang at them with casts forming in their hands. Ash slashed with his swords, forcing them back, and Lyre cast a bubble shield—covering himself and the draconian. The griffins’ attacks exploded harmlessly against the barrier.
Ash leaped forward, and Lyre dissolved the shield before the draconian hit it. He tore into the lead griffin, and Lyre jumped in behind him. As Ash whipped toward the second daemon, the griffin threw up a shield. Lyre flung a dart that shattered the shield, and Ash’s sword plunged into the griffin’s chest.
The daemon fell, and Lyre glanced warily at Ash. The draconian’s eyes were unreadable, his face mostly covered.
Clio raced over and put her back to them. Ash promptly turned away and Lyre put his back to theirs as they formed a defensive triangle to face the brand-new horde of angry griffins moving into position around them.
The griffins clearly didn’t appreciate the slaughter of their comrades, and these guys—unlike the idiots he, Ash, and Clio had mowed through—weren’t your average daemons. The griffins moved like soldiers. A few punches with added magic wouldn’t stop them.
Ash raised his sword, pointing it straight ahead, and the air crackled with the gathering weight of his power. Eyes widening, Lyre looked over his shoulder.
Ash met his look, calm and cold, and flicked his gaze toward the ceiling.
Lyre glanced at the interconnected domes formed of steel framing and thick stained glass. Oh shit. He snatched the chain around his neck and grasped for the right gemstone. The air hissed and sparks danced as electricity built.
Ash swung his sword up to point at the ceiling.
Power exploded out of it, racing up the steel and bursting into spirals of howling black fire. The whirling blasts crashed into the stained glass, ripping it apart, and a thousand pounds of steel and heavy glass shards plunged toward the platform.
Lyre activated his shield. The golden dome snapped over the three of them an instant before the lethal deluge hit. Screams erupted as glass and metal impaled daemons. The griffin soldiers frantically shielded, and every daemon went down, shielded, or jumped for cover.
As soon as the debris had stopped falling, Lyre dissolved his barrier and whirled to face Ash. The draconian was already moving—but not to run his sword through Lyre. Instead, he sprang over the nearest daemons and sprinted for the stairs.
Realizing Ash had the right idea—their reprieve would be over in seconds—Lyre grabbed Clio’s hand and bolted after the draconian. As they reached the stairs, a blast of magic hit the wall, spraying concrete chips across their path. He didn’t look back to see how
many griffins were back on their feet.
He and Clio charged up the stairs. As they came to ground level, Lyre saw the closed doors. If Ash had gone through them, they would have been swinging—but they remained untouched. To his left, the lobby bent in on itself and another staircase ascended into the building that sat atop the metro station.
Lyre chucked a raw blast of power at the doors. It blew them open and shattered the windows. Dragging Clio with him, he whipped around the corner and raced up the stairs. Behind them, footsteps thundered into the lobby then crunched across the broken glass as their pursuers ran outside.
Not sure how long his deception would last, Lyre pushed faster. Clio’s breath rasped as she struggled to keep pace with his longer stride. The stairs kept rising and he started to panic. He’d expected to go up one or two levels, but the damn stairs weren’t ending.
Finally, they leveled out into an open plaza. Connected to the space was a pedway bridge that spanned the street, linking the office building on the other side. A heavy gate, bolted shut, blocked the pedway and there was nowhere else to go.
Lyre slid to a stop. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, Ash was sheathing his swords. He stiffened at Lyre and Clio’s arrival.
Angry shouts echoed up the stairwell.
Ash’s gaze flicked to the stairs, then he faced the window and blasted the glass with his magic.
Damn it. Lyre had run himself and Clio to a dead end only Ash could escape, and the griffins were closing in from behind.
As Ash’s body shimmered like he’d been engulfed in a heat wave, Lyre squeezed Clio’s hand and launched forward. As the distortion around Ash faded, his dragon wings unfurled and a long tail snapped out behind him. Terror hit Lyre like a punch to the gut but he didn’t slow, charging across the space.
Ash glanced back, his eyes dark and horns sweeping alongside his head. Then he launched out the window.
“Lyre!” Clio cried, her steps slowing.
Lyre grabbed her under his arm, lifted her right off her feet, and sprinted for the opening as Ash vanished out of it. Lyre hit the edge and jumped, casting a push spell behind him to propel himself forward.
The Shadow Weave Page 15