Illusion

by Dy Loveday

  “Well, those ugly fuckers aren’t from here.”

  He vaulted across the space between them and gripped her arms. She flinched and her lips parted in surprise.

  “Be serious, fool. We can’t stay anywhere for long. Nowhere is safe.” His hands were hot, almost burning her skin. “The Khereb are creatures of the archdemon, Molokh. You don’t want his attention.”

  “I get it, Resheph. They scared the crap out of me.” Glaring at him, she added, “It’s bad enough they’re after me without you jumping to conclusions. I’m not poking fun at you. I’m in shock, asshole. Sorry if I’m not behaving like some warrior goddess, but jeez.” She peeled his fingers off her arm and brushed his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

  His magic brushed her body in the confined space, like unruly static. A strange buzz snapped in her ears and her skin tingled in response. A shiver of appreciation kicked in her stomach, and she sensed him searching her face but wouldn’t give him the pleasure of looking up. His black pants fit him like a glove, his muscles visible beneath the leather. Her breathing settled and her muscles loosened, becoming soft and pliable. Was he trying to calm them both?

  “I don’t want to run across them again,” she said, pushing her hair back. She glanced up at him.

  His face had settled into the familiar hard lines. “Agreed. Like all infernal creatures, they are attracted to fear and chaos. Last time we saw them they razed Balkaith. There’s bad blood between Molokh and my world.”

  “What a mess.”

  “The situation is dire, Maya. But I promise you, for the time being you are safe. You need sleep, and then we’ll plan the next course of action. In the meantime, I’ll locate your book.” His eyes focused on the cut on her lip before roving over her face, and his tone softened. A long lock of black hair had fallen over his forehead. His hand lifted in a slow unhurried movement to touch her chin. Their gazes met … tangled … held. His face blanched in horror and his hand dropped.

  “I’ll find a way out of this. In the meantime we’ll avoid combat with the Khereb. Calling the celestial being bears a cost.” His tone was all business.

  Good grief. She couldn’t be attracted to him. He might be hot, but she had all manner of creatures out there looking for her … wanting to murder her.

  “Celestial angels, evil Khereb monsters, and whatever the hell you are?”

  His mouth tensed. “My people are warlocks. We share genomes with the magi.”

  “Warlocks make me think of nasty dudes that cast hexes on poor unsuspecting folk. I guess you wouldn’t tell me if you were?” She reached for her bag and started sorting through it to see what else she’d lost.

  “We are not villains,” he said. “Most of us are pleasant enough. As long as we’re not crossed. I’m sure you’ll hold your own in Balkaith.”

  She wouldn’t be going with him to his world. Things were bad, but she’d find somewhere to hide until things calmed down.

  He pulled off his shirt to reveal a back streaked with claw marks. Reaching behind, he smeared a wide gash with black paste. His face remained remote and uncaring, as if he couldn’t feel the pain.

  “Do you need help?” she asked, hoping he’d say no.

  His muscles twitched. “I can manage.”

  “Perhaps you should go to a hospital. It looks like it needs stitches.”

  “There’s no need. I heal quickly.” Gray smoke swirled down his back, and the tendrils licked the wound, seeping into his skin. His muscles rippled as he slapped a bandage over a broad shoulder. She flinched, knowing he’d overpower her in seconds if he put his mind to it. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  A beautiful tree was finely tattooed on his back, the glistening blood trailing a gruesome line down the trunk to arterial roots, hidden beneath his trousers. Branches coiled over his shoulders and down both arms. Raven eyes glared from behind exquisitely wrought emerald-blue leaves. He turned, revealing an eerie-looking quarter moon tattooed over his heart.

  “The bed is yours for the night. I don’t need rest. Please, use the facilities as you wish.”

  She jumped. “Thanks. I’ll change after a nap.”

  She moved to the king-size bed and collapsed on the springs, watching him sort through powders on the steel kitchen bench top. The blood in her veins raced. The warlock made her blood boil. She studied his lean body and the power emanating from him in sleek waves. Toned muscles moved under taut skin as he unpacked herbs. His movements were sure and precise. Apart from the abrupt flash of anger earlier, he exercised incredible restraint … control over his words, over his movements. Everything was contained as if he planned every action and suppressed every wayward emotion. He’d seemed to hate himself for his rash reaction earlier. Or maybe he just didn’t like humans? Or her?

  She dropped the bag by the bed and thumped the pillow, pushing it into shape. They were so different. He was mulish and rational while she was rebellious and took chances. Despite his size he was graceful and glided with an economy of movement, releasing a potion of pheromones that smelled of incense. She’d bet her last coin he had a score of women falling over themselves for him back home.

  Just as well there was so much going on or she might have made an idiot of herself as well. And what the hell was she doing thinking of him when there was Khereb in the city? Exhaustion weighed heavily, her body feeling as if a rock had fallen on it. She’d rest for a moment. Once Resheph left, she’d pick up her bag and hightail it out of here, because she couldn’t afford to stick around. He might be handy with a sword, but he was one hot cauldron of grief. She didn’t need a hard-faced aphrodisiac kicking her libido into high gear anytime in the future, and especially right now.

  *

  Finally she’s asleep! By all the gods of Sephiroth, trouble followed her like a devouring Drakaina. Resheph traced the shape of a poppy in the air and the petals disintegrated into tiny stars, dusting her body with red hypnos to maintain sleep.

  She was all that stood between him and earning the rights and privileges of general. His father would have killed her by now—a killing strike outside the factory. And Alexandr would have charmed her with words so she’d be smiling in pleasure. His fist clenched on his sword hilt and he ground his teeth at the thought of the two of them together. But there it was. Alexandr would be a better match. He flinched. Why was he thinking of matches?

  Her breathing rose and fell—a steady rhythm—and he forced himself to look away from her chest and stared at her features.

  It would be easy to kill her now. Defenseless and asleep, no wide eyes staring back at him in surprise and horror. The face was stunning, the piquant features reminding him of a cat. Her skin felt so cool, like water. When her eyes weren’t shooting sparks at him, they were a light brown, almost amber, glinting as if she found the world amusing. The glint annoyed him to no end. He couldn’t see what she found so funny, living in this dank, dark world, pretending to be a human at odds with a more powerful race.

  Turning away was more difficult than he expected. Back in Balkaith he’d whip any man under his command for becoming sidetracked during a mission. How in Hades could he have let the Khereb get so close to her? He should have let the Conjurare kill her, but the memory of her defiant stance was seared into his memory. When it came to it, he’d had no option but to intervene. He might as well admit it. There was no possibility of letting anyone else touch her, especially in anger. The idea of any discoloration on her skin raised a murderous rage, made him feel ill. He’d pin anyone against the wall and kill them if they touched her. He swallowed several times to lower the adrenaline, forced his fists to unclench.

  Even if she put on a tough facade, her skin was so fair, so fragile and easily bruised. He had an intense urge to trace it with his hands, to see if her body was as firm and well formed as he imagined. Gods, he wanted to press his mouth against hers and lick inside. His cock hardened and his gaze went straight back to her sleeping body. He couldn’t believe he was so distracted by her presence.
The woman was fascinating—both smart-witted and brave. In the factory he’d been amused by the way she’d taken on the mage with words instead of magic. She had a droll sense of humor and a sly, almost foxlike intelligence, talking more than anyone he’d ever met.

  She’d scattered crushed pinecones on her windowsill and placed black candles on her bedside. Dead Christmas beetles lay behind half-opened doors, while feathers and nail parings in corners distinguished her as an offensive magic user. It hadn’t helped against the Khereb, but not much stood against demons.

  He lifted his hand, hesitating. Removing free will didn’t sit well, but she needed to sleep and he had to find the journal. He marked her forehead with an unguent to disguise her scent and chanted the hypnos spell.

  His gut churned. He was so close to getting what he wanted—so close.

  Whichever way he looked at it, it was time to leave this world. Conjuring the celestial angel would bring trouble down on his head. His powers were dwindling and if the magi found him when he was at his least capable—he frowned—how they loved their executions and simple wooden crosses. She’d just have to come with him and damn the consequences.

  * * * *

  Resheph looked up at the blackened exterior of Maya’s building. Cracks as wide as the blade of his hand split the pillars and spanned the length of the entranceway. Fallen bricks, crumbling mortar, and dust lay in large piles. The building reminded him of the multistoried, crowded insulae that marked the poorer parts of his city. Even the less prosperous inhabitants of the Enim Empire would not tolerate the run-down appearance of this old building.

  He assessed the territory and sent the ravens from his arm. They dragged from his skin, cawing and flying into the night, and he shrugged off the nettle-sting of pain. He pulled his sword from his scabbard and strode into the building. Running up the stairs two at a time, he noted the stairwell was now without a banister.

  He ducked under the yellow tape barring the entrance.

  On the third-floor landing he saw an open door. He strode forward and pushed it open with his sword. Light spilled into the short corridor from the room ahead. The smell of garlic and coffee beans infused the air. A straw fedora dangled from an old wooden rack bolted to the wall. He stepped farther into the room and saw the lower mage she’d called Don. He sat in a worn floral armchair by the window.

  “So you found me. I hoped you’d return. Saw you leaving the building with Maya when those…” Don struggled for a moment to form the words, “creatures arrived.” His jaw was covered in purple bruises and underneath, the trademark veins of the lower caste. Don lifted himself from the chair and stood, leaning with a beefy hand on a rickety table. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine. Sleeping.” Resheph nodded at the lower mage in courtesy, acknowledging the distraction he’d created at the tavern. “We’ll be leaving the city for a while.”

  “A good idea. Here’s some money. Tell her I sold her drawings. Every damn one.” The mage huffed. “She’s been waiting for a sale for months, and when it does…” His eyes looked sad for a moment, then he handed Resheph a small sack, his face drawn and tired. “I’m leaving town. Tell her good-bye for me.” Don lifted both hands, gesturing to the hairline fractures crawling up patterned walls and over the ornate ceiling.

  Resheph opened his mouth, but Don just shook his head. “I saw them. You’d best get moving before they come back.” His tone brooked no nonsense and he walked toward the open door. “I’ve gotta go.”

  “Have you seen a journal? Filled with Maya’s drawings.”

  “Her apartment is trashed.”

  Damn. He’d have to track back to see if they’d dropped it in the street. “The dark beings will recoil from Lapis Solaris.”

  The lower mage looked up with a grim expression. “There’s not much help in alchemy for us, I’m afraid. The magi have brought this down on our heads. Tell Maya…” He clenched a fist. “Jane is dead. They found her bloody clothes on the banks of the river. Not enough left of the remains to identify the body.”

  “I’m sorry,” Resheph said softly.

  The air changed. A cold wind blew against his neck and the air filled with the smell of old death and excrement.

  “Hide,” Resheph said.

  Don dashed to the window, peered through a crack in the blind. Resheph turned and leaped out the door, dashing down the steps and out into the street.

  A cry of alarm came from above, and the ravens flew past his head and into the night. Resheph raised his hand and sketched a sigil in the air. He chanted, feeling sparks of electricity race across his body. No point in running; there was no way of knowing how many flew above. Before he’d finishing casting the protective circle, he heard a swoosh and a sharp scratch of talons carving into the cement. The foul stench of sulfur mixed with burned and rotting flesh thickened the air.

  He knew by the smell and loud quaking of the ground that the Khereb must be near. How close he didn’t know—his eyes were shut to finish the circle. He took a calming breath, using his sense of smell to identify its location. It was twenty feet ahead. Time enough to finish. Light particles danced on his skin as the conjure hovered, near completion. His powers would keep him invisible as long as he stayed within the circle.

  In his mind he saw the Khereb sauntering toward him. The beast roared with laughter. Its power resonated through the streets, threatening to crush Resheph’s chest with the pressure.

  “My name is Lebartu, daughter of Anu,” it said in a deep, throaty growl. Wind howled in the echo of its words—ancient Sumerian. “Where is your magic, warrior? I claim you for my brethren in the Abyss; we’ll share your flesh.” Sulfur blew down the street. “Why are you just standing there … run … run … little rat. The chase is part of the kill.”

  Resheph continued chanting. Annit and Sin, Divine spirits of the Abyss. Hear my call. Disguise this warrior. Transform him to that which is Unseen.

  He cut his hand on the sword and spread his left arm wide, blood running down his hand to fall on the ground. Just as the circle snapped into place, something cold sliced through his shoulder. Resheph staggered back a step. The icy-burn of venom poured into his blood, and his breath came fast.

  He opened his eyes. The Khereb licked his blood from its talons with long swipes of its black tongue. Resheph uttered a quick repairing spell and his heart slowed. With a fluid movement he stepped to the side.

  The winged lion now stood to his left, eyes blazing in confusion at the place where Resheph once stood. Slime oozed from its fangs and its pupils glowed crimson with the fires of the Abyss. Shifting its head from side to side, it took a deep sniff of the air. Its canny eyes filled with crafty knowledge just before it swiped a clawed paw where Resheph’s scent was strongest.

  Resheph leaped over the head of the beast, avoiding the barbed talons. The Khereb rose, trying to locate his scent. Spinning in midair, Resheph lifted his blade. Using the momentum of his fall, he landed on the other side of the beast and carved a channel between the Khereb’s ears, almost cleaving its head in two. Stepping forward onto the ball of one foot, he pushed the blade down, cutting through sinew and bone.

  The Khereb roared and reared, lifting him off his feet. Resheph clung to the sword and pushed down again. The beast’s front feet landed hard, and the ground shook. Resheph pulled the sword free. Thick black blood streamed from the divided head, jetting over the street. The Khereb’s talons slashed out violently, sweeping in an attempt to grab hold of him.

  Resheph ducked under one swipe and vaulted over the next. The Khereb’s blood slowed as its flesh began to knit together. It reared again. Ducking under the talons, Resheph whirled to the side and his sword sang as it penetrated the leathery hide of the Khereb’s neck. The severed halves of the Khereb’s head flew as if in slow motion, bouncing off the cracked road.

  Blood gushed again from the headless beast, splattering and hissing as it sprayed in the gutters and pooled in the streets. One half of the head rocked on the pavement. Resh
eph walked to the curbside and pushed the tip of his blade against its eye.

  “Why so intent on the woman?”

  The Khereb stared, its eye filled with red flames. The eyelid blinked, the leathery skin twitching spasmodically. Resheph knew beneath all that blood, it smiled.

  “Daughter of Mist.” Its half jaw clicked around the words.

  Resheph stabbed the beast through its eye, hacking at the head, feeling the crunch of bone beneath the blade. Unconsciousness swirled close.

  His sword shone with lust and power, and he placed it near the Khereb, dragging off his smoking coat before wiping the blade clean. He sheathed the sword in its scabbard and sent a column of white fire at the mess on the curb. The remains exploded. Try reanimating now. Despite the sweat covering his body, a cold shiver quaked within.

  He backed away and looked up, whistling for his ravens. They cawed and flew down, resettling into his skin with a pinch he barely felt. The poison was numbing his body—making its way to his heart.

  In moments, he was a dark shadow on the walls, running toward Maya McAdam.

  Chapter 7

  Magicus

  Maya licked sweat from her top lip. A high sandy cliff ran for miles and miles in both directions. She swung around, sinking to her ankles in dry white sand. Her shadow was a long black line pointing in the wrong direction. She flapped her hand. The shadow didn’t move. A shiver crept between her shoulder blades and up her neck. She shook her head and stomped to an outcropping of rocks casting shade over this vast, empty beach. Tiny shells crunched beneath her feet and the sun prickled her skin. If she could climb a boulder, she might see other signs of life.

  She kept her eyes averted from her shadow, although she could hear it crunching along beside her. She whistled, an off tune nursery rhyme, to distract herself. The world went silent. Gulls’ beaks widened, emitting no sound, and the waves unfurled on the sand, leaving no echoing boom. The unearthly silence caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise. She reached the rocks and ran her hand along the surface of a tall boulder. It was strangely thick and rubbery beneath her touch.