Magic Bleeds

by IIona Andrews

  A knock sounded through my apartment.

  I PUT GRENDEL IN THE BATHROOM AND OPENED the door.

  Erra stood on the landing, wrapped in a fur cloak, her face hidden by a hood. I was about five seven. She topped me by at least ten inches.

  Would it have killed her to wait a couple hours and let me catch my breath?

  I held the door open. “I get a visit in person. I’m so honored.”

  “You should be. There is a ward on the door. Yours or did you pay someone?”

  “Mine.”

  She held out her hand, giving me a glimpse of calluses at the base of her fingers—from sword use. Man-hands, Bob had said. I could see why he’d think that.

  The ward clutched at her skin in a flash of blue. It had to hurt like hell.

  She clenched her fist.

  The blue glow solidified around her hand. Hairline cracks dashed through it. For a long second it held, like a pane of translucent blue glass, and then it broke. Magic boomed inside my skull, exploding into a crippling headache.

  Message received. Whatever I could make, she could break. Subtle “R” Us.

  Pieces of the ward fluttered down, melting in midair. Erra shook her hand with a grimace. “Not too bad.”

  My skull wanted very much to split open. “Shall we fight now or fight later?”

  “Later.” She strode into my apartment. Apparently she wanted to talk. That was fine. I could always make her bleed later. I closed the door.

  Erra pulled back the hood, revealing a mass of dark brown, nearly black hair, slipped her cloak off, and tossed it on my bed. She wore loose black pants and a tailored leather jerkin studded with metal. A simple longsword hung at her waist. No frills, functional hilt, double-edged blade about twenty-eight inches long. Good for thrusting or slashing. The kind of sword I’d carry. Her calluses said she knew how to use it. My vision of facing a spear fighter just went up in flames. She cracked wards like walnuts, she was a giant, and she was good with the blade.

  “You don’t spit fire, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Just checking.”

  Erra faced me. She looked older than me by about ten years. Her sharp nose protruded farther, almost Roman in shape, and her lips were fuller than mine. Looking into her dark eyes was like being shocked with a live wire. Magic churned in her irises, fueling towering arrogance, intelligence, and white-hot temper. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose.

  Her eyes narrowed. She scrutinized me.

  I raised my chin and stared back.

  Erra laughed softly. “What do you know? Blood ran true. A little remainder of my own mortality. Thousands of years and godlike power, and here I am, getting challenged by a babe who looks like me.”

  She had me there. Nobody with an iota of sense would have any doubt that we were related. Same skin tone, same eyes, same shape of the face, same smirk, same build, except she was huge. We even wore similar clothes.

  The Dubal ritual suddenly made sense. I hadn’t seen myself in the smeared cloudy liquid. I’d seen her. The second anyone viewed us side by side, the jig would be up.

  Erra surveyed the apartment. “This is where you dwell?”

  “Yep.”

  “It’s a hovel.”

  What was it lately with everyone commenting on my accommodations? My office was shabby, my apartment was a hovel . . .

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  She blinked. “You are just a baby. When I was your age, I had a palace. Servants and guards and teachers. You never forget your first one.”

  “First what?”

  “Your first palace.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Erra strolled into the back and glanced into the library. “I like your books.” She picked up Julie’s picture off the shelf. “Who is the child? She isn’t of the family.”

  “An orphan.”

  Erra’s fingers slid across the black ribbon. “What happened?”

  “She died.”

  “Children often do.” She turned and nodded at the kitchen. “It’s cold. Do you have anything to drink?”

  “Tea.” This was surreal. Maybe if I fed her some cookies, she would postpone turning Atlanta into a wasteland.

  “Is it hot?” Erra asked.

  “Yes.”

  “That will do.”

  I went into the kitchen, made tea, poured two cups, and sat. Slayer was waiting for me on the chair. I slid it on my lap and looked at Erra. She folded herself into a chair across from me and dumped half a cup of honey into her tea.

  Of all the people I knew, I had the best shot at taking her down. I wasn’t at my best right this second, but we don’t get to pick the time to fight for our lives.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  Thinking that you have better reach but I’m faster. “Why a sword and not a spear?”

  “The spear is good to pin things in place. Swords tend to break under the weight. I’ve seen you fight and you deserve a sword.” A corner of her mouth crept up. “Unless you plan to stand still while I skewer you.”

  I shrugged. “The thought did cross my mind, but I have a reputation to uphold.”

  Erra chuckled. “I figured out who you are. You’re the lost child Im carries on about, when he gets his attacks of melancholy.”

  Melancholy, right. He mourns the fact he failed to kill me—how charming. “Im?”

  “A childhood nickname of your father’s. Do you know who I am?”

  “The scourge of the ancient world. Plaguebringer. City Eater. My aunt.” Roland’s older sister.

  Erra raised her cup. “Shall we celebrate our family reunion?”

  I raised my spoon and twirled it in the air a couple of times. “Whooptidoo.”

  She smiled. “You’re too funny to be his. His children tend to take themselves absurdly seriously.”

  I sipped my tea. The longer we chatted, the more I rested. “You don’t say.”

  “You’re much more like my brood, but I only woke up six years ago so you can’t be mine. Too bad. Another time, another place, I could possibly make you into something suitable.”

  I couldn’t resist. “What were your children like?”

  “Impulsive. And violent. I mostly made boys, and they tended toward the simple pleasures in life: drinking, whoring, and fighting, preferably all three at once.” She waved her fingers. “Im’s offspring stare at stars and make clocks that calculate useless happenings like the angle of a hawk’s claws as it strikes its prey. They demonstrate their contraptions and everyone marvels. My children get drunk, confuse a herd of cows with an enemy regiment, and slaughter the lot, screaming like lunatics until the entire army panics.”

  That sounded like big Ajax, one of the Greeks who besieged Troy. Must’ve been during her “Greek” period.

  Erra took a drink. “One dimwit dragged the city gates up a mountain. I asked him why he did that. He said, ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’ ”

  I blinked. “Did he also refuse to cut his hair?”

  Erra grimaced. “He was balding. That was his master plan: grow out a mane so nobody would notice. His father was gorgeous. Dumb as a pigeon but gorgeous. I thought my blood would compensate for his lack of brains.”

  “How did that turn out for you?”

  My aunt grimaced. “He was the dumbest child I ever produced. Killing him was like curing a headache.”

  I sipped my tea. “You killed your own son?”

  “He was a mistake, and when you make a mistake, it must be corrected.”

  “I thought he committed suicide.” At least according to the Bible.

  “He did. I just helped him along the way.”

  “Ajax killed himself, too.”

  She sipped her tea in a gesture so similar to mine, I had to fight not to stare. “You don’t say.”

  That’s my family for you. Oh, so pleasant.

  I refilled my cup.

 
; My aunt glanced at me. “Do you know what your father does when his kids disappoint him?”

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

  “He calls me. Im’s too sentimental to remedy his mistakes. He’s done it a few times, but they have to do something truly asinine for him to kill them personally.”

  “I’m excellent at asinine.”

  She smiled, sharp enough to cut. Like a sword coming out of a scabbard. “That I can believe.”

  We looked at each other.

  “Why the Pack?” I asked.

  “Five half-breeds are easy to dispatch. Throw enough troops at them and they will be overwhelmed. Fifty half-breeds will slice through five times their number. They’re fast and those they don’t kill, they panic. Five hundred half-breeds can take on an army ten times their size and triumph.” She sipped her tea. Her face turned cold. “I saw it happen thousands of years ago. This new kingdom of the half-breeds is in its infancy. It must be crushed before they learn to walk.”

  I looked into her eyes. A ruthless intelligence looked back.

  “Why call them half-breeds?”

  “It’s a convenient term. It drips with contempt. You’re a soldier who faces a monstrosity. It’s stronger and faster than you, it looks like a nightmare, and when it takes a wound that would kill a normal man, its fellows push you back and fifteen minutes later the creature you wounded is back on its feet. Where will your courage come from?”

  I leaned toward her. “But if you think the creature is an abomination, a half-breed, who is less than you, you might reach deep inside and find a pair.”

  Erra nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Why not just declare them unclean and turn it into a crusade, then?”

  She pointed her spoon at me. “You want to stay away from religion. Once you bring prayers and worship into it, your troops start thinking you’re a god. Faith has power during magic. You begin getting urges that aren’t your own. That’s why I warned Babylon that if they ever built a shrine to me, I’d raze the city down to a nub and salt the ground it stood on. In any case, the half-breeds must be scattered. They’re too organized and they have a First.”

  I toyed with my cup. “What’s a First?”

  “The First were there first. They have more power, better control, and the rest of the half-breeds flock to them.”

  Curran.

  Erra’s eyes narrowed. “You like him.”

  I arched my eyebrows.

  “You like the lion.”

  “I can’t stand him. He’s an arrogant ass.”

  “Your bed is rumpled and there are claw marks on your windowsill and the inside door frame. Are you rutting with him?”

  I leaned back and crossed my arms. “What’s it to you?”

  “Are you a slut?”

  I stared at her.

  “Not a slut, then. Good.” Erra nodded. “Our blood’s too precious to rut with every pretty man you see. Besides, that’s just asking for heartbreak. You have to guard yourself or you will never survive your first century. The pain other people cause you will tear you apart.”

  “Thanks for the lecture.”

  “About your half-breed. They are great fun in bed, little squirrel, but they always want children and family. Family is not for you.”

  I arched my eyebrows. Decided for me, did she? “How do you know what’s for me?”

  She laughed. “You know what you are? You’re a pale imitation of me. Weaker, slower, smaller. You dress like me, you talk like me, and you think like me. I saw you fight. You love to kill. Just like me. You attack when you’re scared, and right now you wonder if you could’ve shattered the ward on your door the way I did. I know you, because I know myself. And I am a terrible mother.”

  I petted Slayer on my lap. “I’m not you.”

  “Yes. And that will be your undoing. The key to survival is moderation. You haven’t learned that and now you never will.”

  Getting a lecture on restraint from the woman who threw a hissy fit and blew up Babylon. That’s rich. “Speaking of moderation, the Casino belongs to the People. Does my father know you attacked one of his bases?”

  Erra shrugged. “Im would approve. It’s so . . .” She frowned, obviously searching for a word. “Gaudy. It’s everything I dislike about this age: too loud, too bright, too flashy. Nobody even notices the beauty of the building behind all the colored light and banners. The music sounds like there is a band of monkeys inside beating on cooking pots.”

  “They reported it to the authorities.”

  Erra’s eyes widened. “They did? Pussies.”

  Ghastek didn’t know what she was but Nataraja might have been close enough to Roland to have met her and know she was erratic enough to reduce the Casino to dust on a whim. He didn’t want to take any chances.

  Erra erratic. God, maybe the word was invented to describe my aunt. That would be crazy. “What did the Guild do to offend you?”

  Erra rolled her eyes. “Is this my day to give lessons?”

  “How often do you get to teach?”

  She chuckled again. “Very well. When you want to take over an army, you walk up to them and say, ‘Send your strongest man.’ They do, and you kill him while they watch. You make it fast and brutal, preferably by hand. And while they’re reeling from it, you shoot the small guy with a big mouth who heckled you when you first approached. That shows that you could’ve shot the big man, but you chose not to.”

  I nodded. Sounded reasonable.

  “When you want to take over a city, you have to destroy the illusion of safety it provides. You have to hit the large well-protected establishments, find the powerful people who run them and are viewed as invincible, and kill them. You want to destroy the morale first. Once the people’s resolve is gone and everyone is scared for their own skin, the city is yours. The Guild is full of little people who think they’re strong. I could’ve killed their leader in his rooms, but instead I dragged him down and murdered him before their eyes. Not only will they not oppose me now, but they’ll spread panic every time they open their mouths. And then, of course, the First wandered into the place as I was pulling my boys out. It was too tempting not to take a shot.”

  So Solomon’s shapeshifter status was a coincidence. She’d targeted him because he was the head of the Guild, not because he turned furry. “But then you made Tremor look like Solomon. Why?”

  Erra rolled her eyes. “Your father makes weapons and armor. I can do that as well, but mostly I make flesh golems. But a golem must be infused with blood fuel before it can move. When blood is introduced to the body, it takes on the visage of the blood donor. The stronger the magic, the better the golem moves and the more it resembles the donor. The first seven I’d made lasted for a couple of centuries, because I’d used my children. Now I have to rely on found talent, and pickings have been slim.”

  I choked a bit on my tea. “Let me see if I have it straight: you killed your children and piloted their undead bodies.”

  “Yes. Does that shock you?”

  “No. You’re a psychopath.”

  “What does that mean?”

  I got up and brought her a dictionary. She read the definition. “That sums it up well, yes. The idea of social rules is false at the core. There is only one rule in this world: if you’re strong enough to do it, you have the right to do it. Everything else is an artificial defense the majority of the weak set up to shield themselves from the strong. I understand their fear, but it leaves me cold.”

  She was what Voron wanted me to be. No regret, no hesitation, no attachments.

  I smiled at her. She smiled back. “Why the big grin?”

  “I’m happy I’m not you.”

  “Your mother was very powerful, from what I’ve heard.” Erra added more honey to her cup. “But her spirit was weak. What sort of woman gets herself killed and leaves her child to fend for itself?”

  Nice. “Testing me for sore spots?”

  “Must be hard to grow up without a mother.”

/>   “It helps to know your father killed her.” I drank my cold tea. “Keeps you motivated.”

  Erra peered at me from above the rim of her cup. “I kept fish as a child. They were these bright beautiful fish with vivid fins delivered especially for me from far away. I loved them. My first one was blue. He only lived two years. When he died, I cried for days. Then I got another one. Yellow, I think. My memory is fuzzy. He also died a few months later. Then I got another one. In the end, when my fish died, it became routine. I’d feel a pang of sadness, burn their little bodies with incense, and get a new one when I felt like it.”

  “Is there a point to this sob story?”

  Erra leaned forward. “People are fish to us, child. Your mother’s death hurts, because she was your mother and Im robbed your childhood of security and happiness. You’re justified in your revenge. But to him, she was only a fish. We live a long time and they don’t. Don’t make his crime bigger than it is.”

  “I will kill him.”

  Erra’s eyebrows rose. “You’d have to go through me first.”

  I shrugged. “I have to do something for a warm-up.”

  She laughed softly. “That’s the spirit. I do think you might be my favorite niece.”

  “It warms my heart.”

  “Enjoy the feeling while you still have one. I’m going to enjoy your books after you die. You bred true by pure chance, and no matter what you do, you’re weaker than me. If you see your mother on the other side, slap her for me for thinking she could bear a child to our family.”

  That’s just about enough of that. I stared right into her eyes. “You’ll lose.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “You have no discipline. All you do is tear shit down. My father is a bastard, but at least he builds things. You turn cities into smoking ruins and blunder about like some hyper child, smashing anything you see. And then you sit here and wonder, ‘Why did all of my children turn out to be violent idiots? It’s a mystery of nature.’ ”

  We rose at the same time, swords in hand. Grendel rammed the bathroom door, barking in a hysterical frenzy.

  Power swirled around Erra, like a cloak of magic. “Alright. Let’s see what you have.”