Night Blade (Colbana Files)

by J. C. Daniels

  The ability wasn’t common among witches. Those born with it tended to be their warriors or have a lot of pent up aggression. I think that’s why they didn’t see the cloaking skill very often.

  The man coming toward me had a swaggering gait, buzzed blond hair and an aawww-shucks smile. He also had power coming out of his finger nails. I didn’t like the look of him or the feel of him, but I didn’t have to. All I had to do was tolerate him so he could help me get to Marlowe’s, a sprawling piece of real estate forty-five miles west of here.

  “You need to hide?” he said, smiling at me.

  I stared at him, doubt shivering through me. Something about him felt off. If he came to me wanting me to do a job, I’d turn him away. His type tended to do things outside the law, and they tended to go…well, wrong. Very wrong. “You’re with Green Road?”

  “I freelance.” He shrugged. “Colleen knows me and knew you needed a hand so I volunteered…although you are paying me.”

  “Yes. I’ll pay.” I wasn’t doing a favor for him later on the down the road. That was how witches worked. “What’s your name?”

  “Xavier.” He exposed his wrist and showed me a wrapped twig. I had to smile a little. Colleen had bound him. “She’s not taking it off until you call her, so I’d appreciate you doing it as soon as we’re done. It’s going to apply more and more pressure and she’s timed it to twelve hours.”

  It looked like a twig, all right. But it was a Green Road charm. A ticking time bomb. Colleen really loves me. And she must not trust this guy at all. “Wow. You must not be on her good side.”

  He smiled. “Nah. She’s just the cautious type.”

  That wasn’t it. Not by a long shot.

  Colleen was pretty good at judging people and she wouldn’t put one of those on anybody outside of an emergency. So it meant one thing—she knew I’d had an emergency and she was giving me the backup I needed, even though she didn’t like it.

  “Well, then.” I smiled at him thinly. “Let’s go.”

  I started toward my car but he caught my wrist. “Sorry, sugar. We need to be in close physical contact and I can only cover small area of space if we’re looking at an extended amount of time.” He pointed to the bike he’d arrived on.

  “No.”

  “Fine.” He turned and started back to the bike. “Make sure you call and let her know you refused the service, sugar. I want the charm off if you aren’t using my services.”

  Shit.

  * * * * *

  I kept feeling him pressing at me.

  I was sensitive to magic and I knew what he was doing, and it pissed me off, although I didn’t know why he was trying to get a feel for what sort of power I had.

  It wasn’t something anybody other than a witch…or somebody like a witch…would feel. Weres could feel active magic, but this wasn’t active. Vampires were the same way. This was calm, passive…rather like he was breathing me in as we sped down the highway. Breathing me, taking my measure.

  And I didn’t like it.

  He wouldn’t pick up much. Colleen, even Es, had done similar things. I felt sort of magical, but I didn’t feel like a witch. If I had any active protection spells on me, he might be able to break those with his poking and prodding, but I didn’t carry active spells. I left those on my home and office and it would take more than a few pokes and prods to break them.

  This guy was strong, but if he tried to break what half a dozen Green Road witches had crafted, he’d be in for one hell of a shock.

  I doubted he was aware that I knew what he was doing. Colleen hadn’t realized I could feel all her little pokes and prods until she’d sensed it with her empathy. This guy had about as much empathy as a piece of roadkill. I wasn’t going to enlighten him, either.

  One lesson I’d learned rather well under my grandmother’s brutal hand…Never show your weapons until you need them.

  While my ability to feel his magic wasn’t really a weapon, knowledge always was.

  I wouldn’t show my hand until there was a need to.

  But if he thought he could stick his magical fingers inside my head and not pay for it…

  Something tugged me. Hard.

  “Stop the bike.”

  “Thought we were in a hurry, sugar.” He guided the bike over the side of the road and propped a foot on the ground while the engine rumbled beneath us.

  “Nobody sees or hears us, right?”

  That was the problem with a cloaking witch. One had to trust in them and I didn’t trust this guy. Although I had felt it when the cloak settled us earlier at the out-of-the-way diner where I’d left my car. It was like I’d had my head plugged with cotton—ears, nose, mouth, and my eyes were hazed by a greasy, white smear. All of that faded in the background as the cloaking settled in but it was still unpleasant.

  “Yes, it’s up. Why?” He scowled and tugged at the twig wrapped around his wrist. It didn’t move. “I want this thing off.”

  “Something…”

  The word died in my throat.

  There was a singular sensation that nobody else could cause.

  His energy—Damon’s energy—that warm, rolling cloak that spread around me like a mantle. But it wasn’t warm or comforting now. Nor was it warm. Icy. Focused. And bearing down fast.

  I gulped and turned my head, staring down the road.

  It wasn’t even sixty seconds before I saw Damon’s car, that long, sexy black car come hurtling down the road. A Dodge Challenger, made in a century past, when non-humans still hid in our closets and man still thought he was at the top of the food chain. Back then, mankind had put out some seriously kickass pieces of automotive equipment and this one of the finest, a classic piece of work from the 1970s, the engine modified to run on cleaner fuels and eat up the miles like it was starving.

  “Sugar, he can’t see us,” Xavier said, his voice grouchy. “Trust me. The last thing I want is for that fucker to rip my face off because he saw me with you. I’m not going to fight that bastard, so I’m keeping this up good and tight, trust me.”

  He knew of Damon. That didn’t completely surprise me, but I was a little caught off-guard that he knew about us. Another reason not to trust him, not that I needed it.

  Even after the car had shot past us, I was still breathing shallowly, each breath coming in an odd, hitching little pant that made it almost impossible to really get oxygen where it needed to go.

  “We going to move or just stand here so you can have a panic attack?”

  I gave Xavier a dark look.

  If I had to hurt somebody in the next few hours, I’d really like for it to be him.

  * * * * *

  Keeping the black car in my sight wasn’t hard.

  Listening to Xavier bitching was harder. “It would be easier if you could just let me do a trace on him and we could drop back. It’s hard keeping a cloak up this long.”

  “No. You want me to pay you? I asked for somebody who could cloak and that’s what I need.” It was only the tenth time I’d explained it; hopefully it would be the last.

  Damon had just exited the expressway.

  “We’re almost there. We need to get around him,” I said. I had an idea. It was insane but if I could just get there ahead of him…

  “Ain’t happening.”

  “If you want me to pay you a red cent, you’re going to do what I need you to do.”

  “I can’t,” Xavier snapped. He pulled over and pointed off into the distance. “That’s Cedric Marlowe’s turf. I even try to cross his boundary line and he can fry my ass. High magic can’t cross it. Now you’d be okay. Your cat? I don’t know. But I can’t. If I try to cross his wards, he’ll feel it and he’ll fry my ass. He’s old magic, sugar, and I’m not.”

  “Fine.” Snarling, I shoved a hand through my hair, trying to think. “Get me as close as you can.”

  Long seconds ticked by and then he shrugged. “Whatever you say, sugar. It’s your funeral.”

  We drove a few miles before we re
ached the turnoff. “It’s coming up close. I can wait for you, but once you’re two feet from me, I can’t cloak.”

  “I know. I—”

  The world exploded around us.

  At least that’s what it felt like.

  Xavier must have had magics laid on his bike because with the brilliant blue explosion, the bike went into a skid. Only thing that saved us from crashing into that expanding wave of furious power was the fact that I could feel his magic grabbing us and jerking us back.

  The bike was propelling us forward, his magic was jerking us back and the pavement was chewing a hole through my jeans, my skin and then I hit my head and for a few sweet, sweet moments…everything was blanketed in gray.

  * * * * *

  By the time those gray clouds cleared, it was like the whole world was burning. Even though everything looked normal to my eyes, it didn’t feel that way. I could feel the heat slamming against my shields and I could feel the air as it was being squeezed out of my lungs and I was certain that if I didn’t move, didn’t get away, I was going to die.

  Rolling onto my belly, determined to do just that—get away—I went to shove onto my hands and knees.

  Somebody forced me back onto my face in the dirt.

  “You move, you die.”

  The voice. I knew that voice. Didn’t like the owner of it. Didn’t know why, but after a few seconds…

  Oh. Yeah. Sleazy son-of-a-bitch witch.

  Evil witches were bad.

  This guy had wrong written all over him. Bad news.

  In my pain-driven state, I think maybe I saw a little more clearly than I had earlier and that spell Colleen had cast on him now made more sense. I flexed my hand, ready to call my sword but his voice stopped me.

  “Marlowe and your cat are at each other’s throats—son of a bitch is throwing magics out like he doesn’t care who lives or dies and I’m not strong enough to do anything more than buckle down and wait it out.” Xavier’s voice was a disgusted mutter just a few inches away from my ear. “If you leave the circle I’ve got down, you aren’t going to live and I am not responsible for your stupidity. You hear me?”

  I tried to think past the roaring in my ears.

  The air was thick with magic and it was the angry kind. Careless. Careless didn’t fit the image I had of Marlowe but if Marlowe thought he was about ready to go down in a blaze of glory? Behind my eyes, I thought I caught flickers of something virulent and red, ricocheting through the air.

  All the oxygen seemed to disappear from the world and Xavier muttered, “Aw, fuck—”

  I forced myself into a crouch. I could see past the circle Xavier had cast and just a few dozen yards away, there was a dead hawk lying there. “What happened to it?”

  “Marlowe,” he said thinly. “He’s got an affinity for death magic. It’s forbidden but he doesn’t care.”

  Beneath us, the ground shuddered and then he looked at me. “Your cat isn’t going to make it if this keeps up. I’m barely holding the shields and I’m not in the thick of it. If he—”

  Despite the wild magic rippling all around us, a surreal quiet had fallen but the sound of a weapon firing through the night had suddenly shattered it. Yeah, no mistaking that sound.

  Ammo.

  My brain kicked into gear and I started processing. No. I didn’t like modern weapons, although some of the weapons manufactured back in the 1800 and 1900s weren’t bad. They usually needed work when I got a hold of them, like my Desert Eagle—they were in bad need of repair, some TLC and I usually had to have my ammo specially made.

  Weapons, though, regardless of their craftsmanship, or lack of, were my stock and trade and I knew them.

  The one being fired now wasn’t new—the typical gun of today was quieter and operated with either a laser or an electric discharge. Most. Not all.

  There were still plenty that fired ammo like the old school weapons, but my ears told me this was an older one. The kind that would cut through a tank. The kind soldiers had carried when they walked through deserts back in the wars fought in the earlier part of the century, right before our presence had been brought into the open.

  They were rare these days, but I knew what it was: an old-school assault rifle with armor piercing capabilities. Loaded with the right kind of ammo—magically charged ammo, a weapon like that could take down just about anything…an elephant, a tank, a homicidal vampire. Or an enraged witch with a knack for death spells.

  Magic ripped through the air—fuck. That was the right kind of ammo. I gasped as I felt in it the pit of my gut. The screaming started almost instantly.

  “Something charged in that weapon,” Xavier whispered. “Where in the hell did he get that idea?”

  I swallowed, staring at the ground. The weapon fired again and each time, the power built in the air. Higher and higher.

  “He’s going to bring down the fucking ward. Son of a bitch…” Xavier’s voice was full of shock, amazement and a little bit of horror.

  I clamped my hands over my ears, because I knew what was coming. I could hear something shrieking—the wards, maybe. I could hear somebody screaming off in the distance, even though I knew the firefight was easily a mile away.

  The magic built and built, and built—

  When it broke, it was like a tsunami and I swayed under it. Blood trickled from my nose and I huddled there, convinced that somehow, the dying magic would get in and grab me.

  * * * * *

  “It’s over.”

  I watched as Xavier rolled to his feet and kicked at the circle.

  The air smelled of death and scorched earth and over it, I could smell hot grass, ozone and the scent of a coming storm.

  Had I been human, I never would have noticed the magical, deathly storm that had just passed. Not until it killed me, at least. Flat on my back, I held a cloth to my nose and waited for the bleeding to stop. “Did Marlowe kill any people?”

  Xavier was mopping up the sweat from his brow and paused to look at me, an irritated look on his face. “How the fuck should I know?”

  Colleen. This guy is an asshole. I want to play slice and dice.

  Instead of doing that, I climbed to my feet and took a few seconds to check my nose. The bleeding had eased up, although I had that disgusting sticky feel inside from the clotting. Wonderful. Folding the cloth inside itself, I tucked it back into my pocket and stared at him. “You’re a witch. You can sense death pretty damn easily, if you’ll exert yourself for a minute.” I waited a beat. “Exert yourself.”

  “I think I’ve exerted myself enough,” he replied. “Fucking crazy bitch. Nobody said I was going to have to do any of this shit.”

  “This wasn’t exactly what I was planning, I’ll agree, but you said yourself. You freelance. That means you should be used to changing up your job on the fly and that’s what you did.” Taking a step toward him, keeping my gaze locked on his face, I tried again. “I want to know if anybody died.”

  “You owe me money,” he warned, jerking at the twig that seemed to be embedding itself in his wrist.

  “You’ll get paid. But the question is how much? Do a good job and you’ll get paid for it. Do a lousy job and I might just reimburse you for the gas and the damage done to your bike.”

  The look that crossed his face was ugly and it might have scared me, if he was anything more than a half-assed witch.

  Not that being afraid would ever stop me.

  “Do your damned job,” I said quietly.

  The look in his eyes was pure venom but he turned away, staring off toward the now-silent battle zone. Tension rippled through him, wrapped around him. I could sometimes feel the echoes of death, but I had to be a lot closer than this and that was one thing I couldn’t do right now.

  “A handful of his people are dead,” Xavier said. “They’ve got his signature all over them and they stink with his power. He’s dead, too. It’s on his head because he should have taken better care of his people when he went into a fight with a high level NH.
Charter covers that and money from his estate will have to be paid to their families.” A sneer curled his lip. “Your cat ain’t responsible for anybody’s death. Well, except Marlowe’s but the high-levels get into fights all the time.”

  The big problem here…he knew what Damon had done.

  The bond on his wrist could cover that.

  I’d meant to stop the fight, not give another witness.

  I’d inadvertently done that, but I could possibly get Colleen to work this…yeah. I think I could.

  She couldn’t do it indefinitely, but I didn’t need that.

  I just needed time to get—

  “He’s coming.” Xavier unceremoniously shoved me to the wreck of his bike a few feet away.

  “You have to cover the entire area,” I warned. “If he catches my scent, we’re fucked.”

  Before he could argue with me, I added, “If he can smell me, he’ll smell you. And he can hunt, can track…and he just killed a witch you were apparently terrified of. I’d suggest you cover your ass, if nothing else.”

  When the cloaking fell around this time, it was so all-encompassing, I felt like I’d been shoved into a vat of cotton. I was still struggling to think past it, see past it, feel, smell, when I heard the powerful engine of Damon’s Challenger tearing up the road.

  I don’t even know if I breathed when the car slowly came to a stop.

  Not by us. It was a few feet away, probably twenty and from here, I could see the path the bike had taken when it had wrecked.

  “Not good,” Xavier muttered and his head cut to me, his gaze raking over me. “You bled, sugar. I can’t completely mask that smell.”

  All the oxygen dwindled out of my lungs as Damon climbed out of the car, his eyes narrowed, head tipped back.

  I knew what he was doing. He’d caught a scent. Mine…?

  “Can he smell it?”

  Xavier’s jaw clenched. “Not entirely. It’s more like…something he forgot. Smell and memory are pretty tightly linked, but the cloaking is screwing with it so he’s not sure—”

  Both of us froze as Damon knelt in the dirt, studying the track the bike had taken. He followed the path with his eyes and although he couldn’t see us, he was looking right at the bike, his gaze puzzled as he tried to think it through. He couldn’t see the bike, but if he walked over there…