by Dy Loveday
Jane dragged her to a booth in a dark corner and shoved her onto a plastic banquette seat, shouting in her ear that she’d buy the first round of Boston Sours. Which meant that they were here for a while, several hours of drinking and dancing and who cared, Maya didn’t have a job to go to in the morning. She slid across the seat and rested her arms on the sticky table, watching her friend swivel her jean-clad hips through the humans and magi at the steel-topped bar.
Jane dropped a coupon to the floor and blinked spiky eyelashes. She smiled at the three lower magi leaning on the bar. The magi grinned and said something Maya couldn’t hear. A leather-clad human knocked his way through the crowd and squatted down, pinching the slip between finger and thumb and holding it out to Jane, who smiled and accepted it graciously. He gestured for the bartender and held up three fingers. Chivalry wasn’t dead then. Maya should’ve figured Jane would score free drinks—the girl could charm the rungs off a ladder.
“We meet again,” a voice purred in her ear.
Her stomach squirmed as if a giant fist had squashed it.
Resheph had pushed into the cubicle next to her, his body packing enough muscle to cut off her only escape route, especially now that a pair of buff, shirtless guys had decided to squeeze into the opposite side of the booth. The mage’s fists were huge, scarred from fighting and clenched as if he’d like to swing a sword at someone’s neck, then toss back a keg of beer for good measure. Her gaze traveled along the vertical line of steel as it disappeared between his muscled legs and the darkness beneath the table. She averted her eyes from the damned weapon and glanced up at his face. Heat showered her face with prickles of fire. The strobe accentuated the hard bones beneath his skin and she leaned forward to see if Jane had finished with the dude at the bar.
The asshole copied her movements and her hand itched to wallop him in the face, except she’d probably do more damage to herself.
“What did you do to the pod driver?” Where did that come from? No thanks for the coat and the ride or stop stalking me. She chewed her bottom lip and looked over to the guys who were busy sucking each other’s pierced tongues.
“A small suggestion that his wife would thank me for.”
She shot Resheph a look of horror.
“And a tip to pay for the blanked memory and ride.”
“You can’t remove someone’s memory. It’s illegal.”
“You’d best call the guards then,” he said without missing a beat.
She gave him a sardonic look. Who the fuck used words like guards? The tragedy was she found him amusing, but then what did she know about men? She attracted assholes like a magnet and had learned years ago to keep her distance from the opposite sex. Tonight he’d lost some of his callousness. The harsh line of his mouth was relaxed. He leaned back against the seat, seeming almost approachable. He had beautiful skin, very tanned for someone living without direct sunlight, but hey, not many people were as white as her unless they were lying in a coffin.
“Are you from the Dark Ages?” she asked.
“The past wasn’t always dark.”
“So, you’re a history buff?”
“Isn’t the future shaped by the past? Even exiles know that.”
“You answer questions with a question. I hate that.”
“Ahh. Perhaps your answer lies in my question.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Well, I never look back.” She shut her mouth, firming her lips before something else spilled out. “So what brings you here, Resheph von Khasis?” That took them back onto safe ground.
“You.”
“Moi?” She pointed at her chest. “What could an aristocratic mage want with a human?”
“We have more in common than you think. And it’s wa-Khasis.” He pronounced his long a’s like e’s.
“Right. You’re not common, nor am I an exile, so I doubt we share anything, least of all genetic makeup. It’s not that you’re attracted to my gorgeous body.” She was skinny and small and knew it, and kept talking before he could pretend otherwise. “Don’t you think the sword will attract attention? I mean you don’t see anyone else carrying ye olde weapon.” Warrior be damned. Despite the toned-down aggression, his immense arms still shrieked ancient barbarian. The heat of him shimmied all the way to her toes. He was sex and death and control all wrapped up in one hard package. It was getting harder and harder to keep track of the conversation when he stared at her like that.
Resheph inclined his head. “No one can see me. Only you.”
“That’s handy. Not your usual off-the-shelf kinda spell.” Why was he revealing himself to her then?
They stared at one another; his eyes sparkled even while a small muscle ticked in his temple.
“Do you know the hunters?”
She realized the music had stopped and the atmosphere in the room was charged. The guys had broken off their sex play and were staring at something over her head. The mirror behind the booth cast an image of several Conjurare cops elbowing their way into the club. The crowd parted like a contagion had hurtled through the room.
It wasn’t just the tight press of helmets and formfitting suits, or even the glowing red lights on the sensor guns that made her feel sick to her stomach. It was the horrifying sight of the last two armored cops dragging a shackled Jhara that sent the words holy shit through her thoughts. A wound on his temple trickled blood into his eye, although most of the goo had congealed into a black mess on his collar. On the heels of the Conjurare pounded the mundane police, their faces hidden by liquid body armor that projected sound and images back to headquarters.
Both forces working together was such a horrible sight that the crowd gave a collective shudder. The armed police never worked together or entered this part of town. What on earth could Jhara have told them? Had he blamed her for the factory burning, or told them she was practicing black magic? The only thing that would alert both jurisdictions was a ritual sacrifice or high-level curse. Her pulse ramped up. After interrogation, she’d be forced into a coma cell with the other high-risk magi and serial killers.
Hell’s balls. She shifted her gaze to find Jane in the mirror above the bar. Her friend made an appalled grimace. The biker stood still, hands deep in his pockets, looking like he’d rather be anywhere than the bar. Jane blinked slowly and Maya sank under the table, Resheph helping her down with a hand on her head. The terror of the Conjurare nearly made her lose the little dinner she’d eaten a few hours earlier. She crouched among empty beer bottles, urine, and vomit smelling like they’d been blended with a swizzle stick.
It made no sense, but the cops, Jhara, and particle rays did mean one thing.
They hadn’t bothered with concussion beams, so they didn’t care if they dragged Maya out alive.
Chapter 4
Table Manners
Perspiration dribbled from her hairline, scoured the corner of her eye, and traced a vertical path for the floor. It dangled, suspended, off her jaw. The soldiers stopped at the bar several meters away, their black body armor contoured to genetically enhanced legs. Her signature would be imprinted into the sensors projecting from the cops’ visors, but they hadn’t picked her up yet. She was too far away. Glass smashed on the bar’s concrete slab.
“Thanks, bud. You owe me a drink,” Don growled. The lower mage slouched on the bar. She could see his familiar beaded leather shoes and disproportionately large shoulders between Jane and the cops. Did he know she was under the table, hiding like a rat in a junk pile?
They were going to find her; she couldn’t squat here forever, or hide from the human cops’ Reconnaissance Tracking System. As for the Conjurare, they didn’t need it. Their ranged detecting senses couldn’t pinpoint her location, but they’d pick up she was in the general area. Resheph shifted and brushed his knee against her cheek. She wrapped an arm around his calf to stabilize her burning thigh muscles and felt him tense. She went from being wired to confused to oddly inflamed in about three seconds. Being this close to him did things to her
stomach, damn, let’s face it, to her mind. She had an image of him bending down and lowering his mouth to hers and the flush of it went right to the sweet spot between her legs. What an inconvenient time to be thinking of mouths and hot places. Terror returned in a burst of adrenaline. She had to get out of here.
The bathroom had a window she could crawl through, if she could get to it. The table was held up by a steel pole and surrounded by a semicircle of low banquette seats. She looked to the vacant quarter section against the wall. If she crawled on her stomach, she’d make the tight fit beneath the seats into the next booth. She tried to remember if anyone had been sitting in the adjacent booths. There were two banquettes between her and the corridor leading to the bathrooms. Once she reached the hallway she had a chance at escape.
Please let Jane get out.
The human cops stalked to the bar. One placed his booted foot on the concrete footrest surrounding the counter and she angled her body so she could see his profile. He turned his head and she caught a glimpse of the weapons platform on his shoulder. He tracked the room, a red laser beam scanning the booths.
Resheph reached down to touch her skull and the heat of it bloomed in her stomach. Oddly enough, it settled the pounding rhythm of her heart. The cops were still too far away to pick up her vibration. Thank God they didn’t have an acute signal range on them, but if they stepped a few yards in her direction, they’d have her.
A Conjurare joined the human military police at the bar. “You. Canis.” He gestured to the barman. “This is a Code Four investigation: a weapons ban and a bombed factory. We’re looking for a human female. A small blonde with yellow eyes. Goes by the name Maya McAdam. She came in twenty minutes ago. You must have seen her?” The Conjurare’s voice was deep and throaty, amplified by his headgear. Maya gripped Resheph’s leg and levered herself onto one knee, feeling his muscles shift beneath her weight. A bombing. If she was prosecuted for an offense against global legislation, it was mandatory execution for her, pure and simple. Her throat tightened.
There had to be two hundred lower magi and humans in the nightclub and no one moved. The door to the bar opened and heavy treads thumped on the floor; more cops filed into the room and circled the bar. Soon they’d have her surrounded.
“Nope.” The barman’s voice was jerky. “Seen her around a couple of nights ago but not tonight. If she was here maybe she left.”
“Keep talking.”
The barkeeper hesitated. “Last time I saw her she was with a big male. I haven’t seen him before.”
“He’s lying.” Jhara’s voice cut in, but the Conjurare held up a hand and there was a choking gasp, then silence.
“An address then?” the Conjurare said.
“Who gives out their address in Sloughville?”
“You must know something. Or know someone who does?”
“Truly, pater, she’s not been here tonight. I’d know.”
“Yet our sensors tell us she entered the building.” The Conjurare hesitated a moment. “I don’t know why you’re all so suspicious of the law. We’re here to protect the common people.” He swiveled to face the patrons leaning on the bar.
“What about you, hero?” From beneath the table she saw the Conjurare shove the biker out of his way. The guy fell aside, scrabbling on all fours to move out of kicking range. The Conjurare walked toward Don and stood toe to toe with him, crowding the fire mage.
“Don’t know anything,” Don said, his gruff voice casual. But Maya could hear the loathing beneath, and released a breath, hoping he’d keep his temper under control.
“You know something. I can see your emotions stirring the air.”
Damn, he’s an empath. Maya’s pulse rate sped up.
“If you sense anything it’s canis hunting for snatch,” said Don, staring straight ahead.
The tonal emphasis on canis must have amplified through the armor along with the few gasps from the crowd. A bolt of electrical energy arced out of the Conjurare’s hand. It raced over Don, lighting his body in a blue haze like liquid rocket fuel. Don twitched and convulsed, bellowing a raspy epithet, and the soldier stepped back as red sparks showered through the air. People backed away, but the soldiers trained the particle beams on them and the stampede settled to an uneasy fidget. The smell of burning hair and flesh found its way under the table and Maya’s face twisted as she imagined the pain Don must be in. Don growled, an inhuman cry that ended with a terrible choking gasp. She licked dry lips and dug her heels in to resist leaping out from under the table.
“Please, finish what you were saying,” the Conjurare said, extinguishing the fire with one hand. “Don’t forget we made you mutt.” The last vestiges of humanity left his voice and the human cop shifted on his feet but didn’t intervene.
Time to give herself up. She couldn’t let Don take the fall for something they thought she’d done, and they’d pick up Jane at any moment. It felt like she’d reached some kind of impasse because her stomach settled and she let go of the warrior’s leg. He reached down, slamming his hand on her shoulder, sending liquid heat right to her toes.
“She’s left an impression. I’ve registered her again. We’re on yellow,” a mundane police officer said, reading from his wrist-link.
He leaped toward Jane, scanning her body. The robotic surveillance beeped, picking up an imprint trail. The cop pivoted to the booth. A glaring light haloed the banquette like a bloodred moon, tinting everything with a magenta glow and she tensed, ready to run.
The crash of the bar door flying open amplified in Maya’s ears. Feathers rustled. Patrons shrieked. People shifted, ducking and moving despite the soldiers, and a particle beam went off. A glass cylinder splintered, spraying ionized gas through the room and leaving a trail of glowing filament and fluorescent blue on the walls. A woman screamed, and the human soldiers hauled ass over to a dark corner. Maya spotted a clear path like a laser beam under the tables leading to the corridor. A flapping of wings competed with screams and more shots fired by the police.
“Psychopomps,” Jane yelled above the noise. No one wanted to be snatched by a vulture and taken to the land of the dead, especially if they were still alive at the time. She threw herself to the floor, landing on her stomach. Their eyes met across the carpet and Jane flicked a glance at the hallway. A body skidded across the bar, knocking over bottles and ashtrays in a deluge of liquid ash.
Maya nodded. On the count of three she’d get out of here.
The Conjurare screamed to hold fire and Resheph’s hand pressed against her head. He twisted, bending down to stare into her face.
“I’m guessing a Code Four is something you want to avoid,” he said.
Smart-ass. From beneath the table she mouthed, “Please, help Jane.” Then she ducked to her stomach, rough riding over broken test tubes and cigarette butts, trying not to think of the sticky mess beneath her hands. She heard him bellow a command. A burst of energy hit the room and her body lifted then dropped with a thud. A high wind circled, moving bags, bottles, and glasses from surfaces and swirling them together in mini vortexes. A pent-up wave of power detonated against the ceiling with a sonic boom. The smell of ozone hit the air and people screamed, huddling in groups while the cops cursed, bellowing for silence.
“Find the spell caster. High magic,” a voice cried and a glass ashtray hit the floor and spun, flying in front of her, barely missing her nose. She grasped the pole in the next booth and hauled herself between the chair legs and the wall, squirming. One booth to go. Something grabbed her leg and she squealed, scrabbling at the floor. A piece of glass sliced across her palm, but she ignored the sting, kicking and writhing until the pressure released. She gritted her teeth and wriggled fast, trying to keep to the darkest shadows against the wall. Her tank top rode high on her belly. She edged closer to the hallway. If they caught her she was as good as dead. Up ahead she spotted a slice of light from the halogens in the corridor.
She dragged herself out and jumped to her feet, dizzy from ad
renaline, and bolted into the hallway, grabbing the first doorknob with weak hands. A gloved hand covered hers and hard metal pressed against her back.
“I thought you’d be here.” The Conjurare cop spoke in her ear, sending a bolt of heat down her spine. He twisted the knob and opened the door, pushing her with his chest against her back toward a landing splashed with light. A wooden staircase led down to dark cellars smelling of wine and disinfectant. “After you.”
“I didn’t do it,” Maya said. In the background the wind rose in intensity, howling like a lost soul.
He gripped her shoulder, shoving her forward. She caught herself on the wall before falling. “I can’t say I’m not impressed by the distraction. Which House is helping you?”
Maya stepped into the cellar and the door closed behind them. The Conjurare beamed a thread of light onto the stairs. There was a click and a bare bulb cast yellow light on the stone walls below.
“You’re not going to believe me, whatever I say.”
“Try me,” he said in a liquid voice. He prodded her in the back and she stepped down the flight of stairs.
She reached the bottom on shaky legs. A cold shaft of damp air washed over her face and she turned, exhaling when she saw that he’d lifted his visor. He could have had laser treatment to remove the pockmarked scars, but he must have liked the look.
He smiled, enjoying her reaction.
“I went to work,” she said. “The Horus Master possessed Jhara and forced me to draw a pretty picture. Then Jhara belted me and I left. Period.”
“And the explosion. How did you do it? You left a bio blueprint but we couldn’t extract the magical base from the nuclear matrix. A human can’t spell cast and your profile isn’t in the genomic library.”
She scooted back, cursing herself for leaving a blood sample.
He advanced closer.
“Look, if this is an interrogation I want the mundane cops here,” she said.