Tory turned toward me. His eyes practically glowed. Tics and spasms contorted his features with an irregular rhythm. “Akila,” he ground out. “She’s stronger than me. Might be able to heal him.”
I stopped myself from blurting out the rest of the bad news right away. “Let me try and help him first,” I said. “He can draw power from me. Sometimes. We’re gonna need that asshole in the kitchen. Can you bring him in here? We should keep an eye on him.”
“Damn it, Donatti. What happened to Akila?”
So much for stalling. “She’s … not here.”
“Where is she?”
The ferocity in his voice shook me. He sounded so much like Ian, I started to wonder if he had some wolf in him after all. I’d have to hope he didn’t decide to shoot the messenger. “Listen, Tory, don’t get crazy on me. We’ve got to think this through, or—”
“Tell me!”
I could barely get the words out. “They took her.”
“They … what?”
“Jesus Christ. They fucking took her!” I wanted to scream, hit something, rip things apart. “They shot her. Tied her with some magic goddamn rope or something and took her back to their compound. I don’t know what the hell’s going on, why they wanted her. So go get that fuckwad and bring him in here. And we’ll ask him.”
For a second I was convinced he’d take a swing at me. But he started for the kitchen—slowly at first, moving in jerks and hitches, picking up speed on the way.
I made myself approach the monstrous tableau on the wall. “Ian.” I sounded like a rusty hinge. “Come on, man. Breathe. Twitch. Do something …” I laid a hand on his chest. Nothing beat or moved beneath his cold skin. “I can’t get more direct than this. Damn you, take it!”
No effect. He wasn’t dead—couldn’t be—but he wasn’t exactly alive either.
Ian has left the building. Desperate laughter tried to claw its way from my throat. I choked back on it, knowing I couldn’t lose control now. We weren’t safe here anymore. Those bastards had been here once, and I had no doubt they could find their way back. Maybe not as fast without the mirror, but they’d be back sooner or later. I was betting on sooner.
If I couldn’t revive Ian, at least I could try to get him down from the wall. I grabbed the shaft of the spear in his chest and almost pulled before I realized the other end was probably barbed. I pushed on it, but it didn’t budge. No surprise there. Brute strength wasn’t an option, and I didn’t have a blowtorch, or even a hacksaw.
I took a closer look at him. The protruding ends of the spears were straight, except for the notched needle-eye holes at the top where towlines were supposed to be attached. Though the idea did unpleasant things to my stomach, I could probably wrench him off. I grabbed an arm and pulled. It didn’t glide over the shaft so much as squelch and crunch. Dark blood pulsed from the hole and spattered on the carpet. If he’d been human and somehow still alive, this process would’ve finished him.
I freed both arms. His ankles were harder, nastier, but they came away eventually. I had to grab him in a demented bear hug and push back against the wall with a foot to torque his body over the last spear. Once the end cleared him, warm liquid gushed against me and soaked my shirt. I didn’t know how he could still have enough in him to bleed.
Ian unconscious had all the weight and maneuvering ease of a grand piano. I staggered toward the couch with him and managed to pile most of him on it. My muscles shivered with exertion, and I fell back to catch a breath or two.
After a minute, Tory stalked back into the living room, dragging Ray behind him by his cuffed hands. He stopped and deposited the thug beside the couch, then nodded in Ian’s direction. “Anything?”
“No.”
“Fuck!” Fury twisted his face, and he launched a kick at Ray. A muffled hiss indicated the bastard was conscious, or on his way there. Tory leaned down, hauled him up with one arm. And backhanded him. “Where is she?” he shouted.
Ray opened one eye. He gasped, drew breath, and let out a grinding laugh. “You gonna torture it outta me, are you?”
“Damn right we are.” Tory shook him hard enough to pop a few joints.
A cancerous grin spread on his face. I’d seen expressions like that too many times before. They usually preceded unpleasant surprises, like spare guns or spring-loaded blades hidden in sleeves. “Tory,” I said. “Watch his hands.”
“Oh, you ain’t gotta worry about my hands, hoss.” The grin widened, and his lower jaw worked back and forth like he had something stuck in his teeth. He bit down. A faint crunch sounded in his mouth, and he swallowed with a wince. “Bring it,” he whispered. “You got twenty seconds to get somethin’ outta me.”
“Shit! Tory, heal him. Now.”
Tory glanced over at me. “What the—”
“He popped a suicide cap. Poison. Just fucking do it!”
Ray’s eyes rolled back in his head. His body jerked and jittered like a puppet controlled by a speed freak. Saliva bubbled from his mouth, foamed at the corners, and a series of strangled half-formed sounds emerged from his throat. It sounded like laughter.
He was dead before Tory spoke a single word.
Tory dropped the body and stepped back fast, as if suicide were contagious. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t … damn it, why would anyone do that?”
“Hard-core fanatic fucks,” I muttered. “They’re brainwashed.” And more dangerous than I’d ever imagined. If these assholes were willing to die so easily to protect whoever ran them, we didn’t stand a chance of getting Akila back. We’d be lucky to live through the end of the week ourselves.
And Ian and I were both fresh out of luck.
“Buffalo was an understatement. I’d have gone with Hiroshima.”
Jazz’s soft statement knocked me out of doom-and-gloom contemplation. She lingered at the far end of the room, holding Cyrus against her like he might float away if she let go. Her gaze locked on me, and she shuddered briefly. “Shouldn’t you fix that?”
I glanced down at my soaked shirt. “It’s not my blood,” I said, and made a weak gesture toward the couch. She couldn’t see Ian from there. That was probably a good thing. “Um … you really shouldn’t have brought him down here.”
“Like I’m going to leave him alone right now.” Her head swiveled in Tory’s direction. “I don’t know how you got here, but I’m glad you did. Anyone have a clue what the hell’s going on?”
Cy shifted and looked around, wide eyed and solemn. “No more bad guys.”
“That’s right, baby. Daddy got them all.” She offered a faltering smile.
Not exactly. I couldn’t tell her yet that things were worse than ever. Instead, I concentrated on the most immediate problem. “Ian’s out cold,” I said. “He’s not responding to anything.”
Jazz frowned. “What about Akila?”
I shook my head. Jazz went paper white, but she didn’t say a word.
“I’ll try to heal him.” Tory’s voice was taut as a trip wire. “We’re going to need him fast. We can’t wait much longer.”
“Wait for what?” Jazz whispered.
“To get Akila back.”
“Jesus. They took her?”
“Hold on.” I started around the couch with memory sparking a crazy idea. The last time Ian dropped in a gunfight, it’d been Cy’s touch that had brought him back. Maybe it would work again. “Jazz. Remember the thing about descendants and direct contact?”
“I guess.”
“Okay. It’s not working with me, but I’m beat. And I think Cy can help Ian.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How?”
“He only has to touch him.” I stopped in front of her and looked back. Didn’t really want to expose Cyrus to more death and destruction than necessary. “Tory. Can you get that sack of shit out of the way?”
“My pleasure.” He snagged Ray’s corpse and dragged it toward the far end of the room.
I faced Jazz again. “I’m sorry, babe,” I said. “I don
’t like this either, but it’s the only option left right now.”
Some of the fierce light left her expression. “You really think Cy can heal him?”
“Yeah. He’s strong—like his mother.” I smiled and touched the side of her face.
“Uh-huh. Lay it on thicker and you’re gonna need a shovel.”
“So is that a yes?”
“What do you think, Cy?” She rubbed his back, cocked her head to look at him. “Do you want to help Uncle Ian?”
“Okay.”
“Sweet. Come on, little man.” I carried him over to the couch and stopped before Ian’s mangled body entered his line of sight. “Cy, I think it would work better if you closed your eyes real tight,” I said. “Can you do that?”
“Uh-huh.” He squinched his eyes shut. “See?”
“Good job. Keep ’em just like that. Okay?”
“Okay, Daddy.”
I knelt on the floor and took one of Cy’s hands. A sharp gasp drew my attention. Jazz stood a few feet away, rapidly turning a pale shade of green. One shaking hand flew to her mouth. She made a thick sound and looked away. “Jesus …”
Tory came up behind her. “He’ll be all right,” he said, steering her gently away. “Come on. This won’t take long.”
I gave him a grateful nod. “Ready, Cy?”
“Yep.”
With a silent prayer to whatever god might be listening, I guided Cy’s arm out and pressed his small palm against Ian’s skin. A shiver wracked his body on contact. “Uncle Ian doesn’t feel good,” he whispered. “He hurts inside.”
The words blazed a trail of gooseflesh down my back. “I’ll bet he does,” I managed through teeth that wanted to chatter like a wind-up toy. “But you’re doing great. Just keep—”
A burst of intense cold spread through me and stole my breath. Cyrus whimpered a little, but he kept his eyes closed and his hand resting on Ian. A faint glow traced Cy’s fingers, intensified, spread over Ian in undulating waves, hard and bright as a winter sun. I felt energy being pulled from me and passed through Cyrus—as though he were a living suncatcher, filtering and magnifying the light.
Cy drew back on his own before I could snatch him away. I rocked back, tried to stand. I couldn’t make my legs move. My arms trembled under Cy’s slack weight. “Jazz,” I croaked. “I can’t hold him …”
She rushed over and scooped him up. “Mommy,” he murmured. “I’m sleepy now.”
“Okay, baby. You rest awhile.” She moved away with him, her gaze riveted to the increasing brilliance that enveloped Ian, the changing shape just visible inside the glow.
I stayed on my knees, shivering like a shaved Chihuahua. The transformation took longer than usual. Finally, the light faded and left the wolf, sides heaving, eyes closed. He slid to the floor and landed hard with a thump and a whine. One back paw scrabbled weakly on the carpet.
“Ian.” I moved to stand and fell back on my ass. On the second try I managed to gain my footing, but my legs wavered and carried me backward—not the direction I’d intended. “Ian,” I repeated. “Can you get up?”
The wolf’s eyes opened. His head lifted, and a steady growl rumbled deep in his throat. Black lips peeled back from curving ivory fangs. He rose on his haunches, the growl spiraling into a prolonged snarl.
With a vicious bark, Ian sprang straight at me.
Chapter 14
I went down under Ian’s weight. Powerful jaws snapped shut inches from my face. I threw an arm up—and Ian sank his teeth into it.
A buzzing white noise filled my head. Dimly, I heard Jazz scream at Tory. Something about getting Ian off me or she’d shoot him some more. But I understood what he was doing. I tried to wave my free hand, to let her know I was all right. I wasn’t sure if I succeeded in moving.
Blood magic. A disgusting but effective way to amplify power outside of having a handy descendant. Good for any clan vile or desperate enough to use it. Drink the blood of a djinn—or part djinn—and get a temporary mojo boost. Ian didn’t have enough power to transform back from his wolf state, so he’d gone for my blood.
One of these days, I was going to bite him back. Just for the hell of it.
Ian wrenched his fangs free. A rough tongue lapped the wounds he’d made, and I swallowed bile at the awful sensation. “You son of a bitch. Warn me next time,” I said. “Had enough, or should I go find a razor and open up a vein?”
The wolf backed off me, growling. Light rippled along his spine and spread to swallow him. It faded and left Ian on hands and knees, head bowed, gasping like an asthmatic after a mile run. “Akila,” he said between pants. “She is injured.”
“Ian …” I sat up, wishing there was something big and impenetrable between us. Like the heart of an African jungle. Tory’s reaction had been a Fourth of July sparkler compared to the erupting volcano Ian was about to become. “Those guys didn’t come here for you.”
His head came up slowly. A jagged red scar blazed a path down his cheek where the bullet had opened his face. Barely controlled fury burned from his eyes. “Explain.”
Chills raced through me at the sight of him. I knew there were some things djinn magic couldn’t heal in this realm, but I didn’t think that included gunshot wounds. “Lynus said they wanted you left alive. Whoever they are. But—”
“Akila.” The word was at once demand and broken plea.
I closed my eyes. “They took her.”
He said nothing. I dared to look at him, and wondered if he’d somehow slid back to near death without falling over. He’d stopped moving. Stopped breathing. His eyes were on me, but they weren’t seeing anything.
“Ian, listen. I overheard a few things that I think will help. If we take a little time to regroup—”
“You.” He pushed up to his knees, and his hands clenched in tight fists. “You let them take her.”
“Whoa. Hold on a minute. I didn’t—”
“Why did you not stop them?” His voice rose, coarse and heavy. He struggled to stand. “We must bring her back. She is not … gods curse you, thief ! How could you let them?”
“You bastard.” If Ian’s tether had been at my fingertips, I might’ve destroyed him right then. “There were five of them, and one of me. They had guns. What the fuck was I supposed to do? And you didn’t exactly stand in their way either.”
“You were not immediately injured. You could have protected her. Even if you were shot, you could have been healed.”
“Goddamn it, Ian, I’m human!” It took all the willpower I had left not to break his jaw. “If I get shot in the wrong place, I don’t get a do-over. I just die.”
“You still should have stopped them!”
“That’s enough, Gahiji-an.” Tory stepped up beside me and fixed Ian with a warning stare. “He did everything he could. He was just about dead when I got here.”
Ian blinked. “Taregan? How … we must find her. She is in danger.”
“We’re all in danger.” Pissed as I was, I decided to let it go for now. Ian dropping the blame game was the only apology I’d get. “There’s a hell of a lot more than five of those bastards. Besides the guards we saw first, at least a dozen crowded in there toward the end.”
“Damn,” Tory said. “Are they all scions?”
“I’m not sure. But we should probably assume they are.” I glanced back to see how Jazz was taking this. Cyrus lay slack in her arms, and she paced in slow half circles with him, ostensibly ignoring us. The set line of her jaw said she was listening anyway, and not liking what she heard. “We know there’s at least one full-blood Morai.”
Ian spat a curse. “Khalyn.”
“Yeah. Him.” I couldn’t decide who I was more furious with—Calvin for being a damned good liar, or Ian for being right. Part of me realized that I should’ve been angry at myself. After all, I’d been dumb enough to fall for the monk routine.
I ignored the internal debate and gave Tory the short version of our encounter on the mountain. “Calvin said he w
as going back to the monastery,” I said after the explanation. “Said he had business to attend to, or something.”
“I do not care what that lying snake does. I am going to get my wife.” Ian took two steps and went down on a knee. He gasped, and started to crawl across the floor. “The mirror. What happened?”
“Ian, stop!” I moved in front of him. “I had to break it. They were keeping the bridge open somehow.”
He slung an arm over the edge of the couch and pushed to his feet again. “We will use mine, then,” he panted. “I assume you have not broken that as well.”
“We’re not going anywhere right now.”
“We must! Akila—”
“—is going to have to wait. I’m sorry, Ian.” My own words felt like they were coming from someone else. Someone a lot smarter than me. I’d never been the voice of reason. “You can’t even stand up. I’m not much better. And there’s no way we can take on a two-thousand-year-old djinn in this shape, much less who knows how many descendants. She’ll make it, as long as they don’t have her tether. Right?”
A visible shudder wracked Ian’s body. He didn’t reply.
“Right, Ian?” I repeated, knowing damned well he’d heard me.
He closed his eyes. “They do have her tether.”
“What?”
“When she crossed to this realm, she had no time to prepare.” He shivered again, and leaned hard on the couch. “She was forced to bind herself to something close at hand.” A harsh bark of laughter escaped him. “Very close.”
“No.” Tory blanched, at once looking just as bad as Ian. “Please tell me she didn’t …”
Ian touched his index finger. The band of gold light pulsed in response. “Akila’s tether is with her always,” he said. “She is bound to her ring.”
Under strenuous protest, Tory half-carried Ian off to the guest bedroom for a short rest, and to try healing him a little more.
And I prepared to make Jazz hate me.
When we had the wrecked living room to ourselves, she laid Cyrus down on the couch and let out a sigh. “He’s getting heavy,” she said.
“Yeah. He’s a solid little guy.” I moved toward her, wanting to hold her, afraid she’d slap me if I tried. I’d already fucked up her life beyond repair, and I was about to make things worse. I had no idea how to start telling her she had to leave her own place. Leave me. Maybe for good.
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