Uninvited (Etudes in C# Book 3)

by Jamie Wyman

  Worst of all, I was petrified that he might find out. Maybe it was time, though. Maybe this was the only time.

  “With you?” I asked, my voice a weak husk of itself. “Everything.”

  His lips hitched in a timid grin as he tenderly stroked my cheek. “Something else we have in common, I suppose.”

  “So what do we do?” Once more the fingers tapped on my shoulder. Annoyed, I wheeled around ready to slug Malcolm. “What?!”

  Mal’s face protruded from the circle of a beefy arm larger than some monster truck tires. As my eyes traced up—and up, and up—the monolith, I began to wonder if this guy’s lineage included a bulldozer. The T-shirt he wore practically screamed for mercy as he breathed. Corpse-gray skin stretched like thick, taut leather over muscular arms, and when my gaze reached the summit, I found eyes like oil drops glittering with gleeful malice.

  My mouth fell open.

  The mountain’s face split into a craggy smile, all black and jagged teeth. Gravel crunched in his abyssal voice when he said, “We trade.”

  Blinking my way to coherence, I took a step back and bumped into Marius. His warmth was a drab of comfort, but it did little to assuage the icy dread coursing through me.

  “This is bad,” Marius murmured to me.

  “No shit.”

  How could it not be when every cell in my body told me to run before this giant decided to squash me between his toes?

  “Mage,” he said thickly. The mirth had fled his face. He glared at me with disdain and warning. “I make you offer. We trade.”

  “Trade what?” I asked.

  “One satyr for other.”

  I glanced from Marius to Malcolm. The former eyed me warily while the latter wiggled in the giant’s football hold. I gave Marius’s hand a reassuring squeeze and took a step forward.

  “That’s all? Look at him,” I snorted with a flippant gesture to Mal. “Why would I trade the perfectly good one that I have for…that?”

  “Oi!” Malcolm called from his headlock. “I’ll have you know that I am—”

  The brute squeezed, cutting off Malcolm’s protests. I winced.

  “We trade,” the mountain said again. “One for other. And you have allegiance of Grote for span life, Mage.”

  I had no clue who or what a Grote was, nor did I know if its allegiance would necessarily be a good thing. What I did know, however, was that this thing wanted Marius. Also, patrons were beginning to take notice of our odd conversation. Quizzical stares flicked to me, and my trepidation grew. The bachelor party was on its feet, and one of the larger revelers stalked over to us.

  The situation was worsening rapidly. We had to get out of here. Mustering all the easygoing charm I could, I caught the monolith’s attention. “Hey, you know, why don’t we go conduct our business outside? Privately.”

  One of the bachelor buddies approached. “You want to let go of my friend,” he slurred.

  “Aw, bless you, mate,” Mal croaked. “When I get done, it’s the finest lap dance for you.”

  With the rumble of two fault lines humping, the Grote thing eyed me warily. His gaze narrowed and his arm tightened around Malcolm’s neck. The satyr began to flail and tap at the bulging forearm. Veins stood out on his purpling face as he fought for air. I saw the faint shadow of his horns appear. His glamour was failing.

  “Let him go, man!” cried the bachelor.

  The mountain moved with ferocious speed. With one arm, he backhanded the partier and sent him flying back to his friends. The sounds of breaking glass, surprised squeals, and general property damage signaled the start of an all-too-familiar song.

  I sighed. “Here we go.”

  Chaos erupted in the middle of the strip club, and I stood at ground zero. I rooted my feet in a strong, defensive stance. Marius darted past, and he drew a gleaming blade out of the ether. A sword forged by a god, he’d once said, and it appeared at the satyr’s will. With the saber in hand, Marius lunged for the brick wall of a creature in front of me. Grote threw Malcolm to the floor and began to fend off my satyr with one hand and puny drunk mortals with the other.

  For a split second, I thought of the panic button in my pocket. We could have run, blinked out of the strip club and returned to the safety of YmFy. But I didn’t know if this Grote could follow. Nor was I certain I could get to Malcolm in time to drag him with us. Mostly, though, I didn’t want to run. I’d done a lot of running away in the past, and while Marius was better off hiding, I was itching for action. I couldn’t just bolt, and I couldn’t simply stand there looking pretty.

  I stretched out both hands along my sides and inhaled. To the common bystander, it probably looked like I was practicing yoga or tai chi or something, but as I drew in breath, I sucked in power. The energy of this place—the gloriously schizophrenic lights, the televisions in the skyboxes, the thrumming sound system—all of it appeared to me in liquid filaments and streams. I drank it in, called it to me, and let it fill me. A soft nimbus formed around my fingertips, and I brought my hands together as if I held an invisible ball. Still pulling power, I squeezed that ball tighter, making it smaller.

  Cell phones and tablets died in their owners’ pockets. The music petered out. The crowd screamed as Sapphire plunged into darkness. I held all the club’s energy in a tight circle of white fire between my palms. With a guttural roar, I wrenched it apart and my hands were wreathed with twin orbs of light.

  In the steady burn of my power, I saw Malcolm gaping at me from the floor. Marius slashed at the monolith again, and Grote just glared at me.

  “Decision is yours. I take him.”

  Grote reached out his gnarled fist, but before he could clamp it around Marius’s neck, I whipped my left hand up in a blocking motion. The light spooled out from my fingers, the orb reshaping itself to form a crescent blade. When it connected with Grote’s wrist, the light opened a wound that bled black ichor. Before he could counter, I wrenched my right arm in a wide arc. A similar light blade hacked across Grote’s massive chest.

  The towering creature held a hand to his wounds in disbelief. Had such a tiny fly cut through his thick hide?

  “Walk away now,” I warned.

  The thing towered over me, clearly outweighing me by about fifty tons. He snarled, balled his fists, and let out a fierce noise, something between the blare of a freight train and an earthquake ripping apart continents.

  “Or not.”

  When he lunged for me, I began to dance. At least that’s what I always thought the kata looked like. I set into a flow of martial steps—a blend of capoeira, mantis-style kung fu, and water bending I’d seen on a cartoon. My fluid arm motions stirred the light and sent it out in jabs and pops. I leaped and ducked, dodged and swept through the air between me and Grote. The power of Sapphire and its patrons followed my moves and whims, lashing out here or shielding me from Grote’s fists there. The light opened up fissures in his stony flesh as I whirled like a dervish on speed. What can I say? Red Bull gives you wings.

  In my peripheral vision, I could see patrons huddled behind their chairs, under the tiny tables. Dancers were clearly violating the “no touch” rule as they burrowed into men for cover. Bouncers stared slack-jawed, uncertain if they should join me in fighting off the problem child or if they had fallen into some other world. Marius didn’t need an invitation, however. He joined the dance with me to draw the thing’s focus.

  The satyr’s saber flashed wickedly in the glow of my magic as I found an opening in Grote’s flank and thrust my power in. He let out a keening wail of pain and frustration. Marius and I slashed down with our blades in tandem, each taking aim at the mountain’s heels. Like Achilles of old, the mountain was weak at those tender tendons. Grote crumbled to his knees, and I took aim at the broad expanse of his back. As my light speared into it, Marius’s sword made a twin strike.

  I didn’t wait to see if Grote would fall. I released the flow of power coursing through me, grabbed Marius by the collar, and ran. In the darkness, I tri
pped over people who’d dropped to the floor, pushed past groping hands, and dodged the velvet ropes.

  I burst out into the sweltering Las Vegas night and pounded pavement toward my car.

  “What the hell? What the bloody hell?” I heard Malcolm babble. “What the fuck was that thing?”

  “Grootslang,” Marius answered. “Cave dweller. Not too bright. Seen by the gods as an abomination. Not unlike yourself, Malcolm.”

  “Less talking, more running away,” I called over my shoulder.

  I reached out my senses, and a whisper of will popped the locks of my car. I was behind the wheel and starting the engine before the passenger-side doors opened. With the two satyrs loaded, I peeled out of the parking lot and joined the traffic on Industrial.

  “Me bike! You’ve gone and left me bike!” Mal whined.

  I ignored him. “Be my eyes,” I commanded Marius. “We being followed?”

  “Nothing yet,” he answered.

  I careened down the street, sliding from lane to lane and putting as much distance as possible between us and Sapphire. In the backseat, Malcolm cursed and gasped for air. On a particularly fast lane change, he tumbled off the seat and squished onto the floor behind me.

  “The fuck are you doing, woman?”

  “Saving our asses.”

  “Still no tails,” Marius said, his words clipped.

  “Excellent.”

  After a few more blocks of weaving and bobbing like a shadow boxer, I hooked a right on Tropicana Avenue and pulled into the lot at Charlie Frias Park. Only when I’d cut the engine and lights did I let out the breath I’d been holding for what seemed a year.

  “So,” I said. “That was fun.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Alpha Beta Parking Lot”

  “Oi!” Mal burst out with a smack to Marius’s headrest. “Just what the sweet fuck was that all about, eh?”

  Marius turned in his seat and cuffed his brother. “Keep your hands off.”

  “Or what?” Mal tested the waters by giving Marius a swat to the cheek.

  Marius blocked it and shoved his sibling’s hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

  “I almost had me head popped off back there.” Malcolm socked Marius, and the two began slapping at each other in what was best described as a sissy fight. While they tussled, Malcolm kept taunting. “Poncy twat. Is this what you’ve got? Or are you gonna have a go at me with that shiny sword of yours? No, you’re not because you left it back at the joint with my bike!”

  “Are you sure about that?” Marius’s voice was smooth and serious as the blade that appeared beneath Malcolm’s chin.

  Mal’s blue eyes widened.

  “Uh-uh,” I said sharply. “Not in here. I just got a new car and you’re not going to ruin this one.”

  Marius rounded on me. “Like you destroyed my Mercedes?”

  “That was years ago,” I admitted sheepishly.

  “I rather liked that car.”

  I smiled. “I destroyed nothing. The wakwak did that.”

  “A what what?” Mal asked.

  Marius’s moustache lifted with his sneer, but I saw the slightest hint of mischief in his green gaze. “Ah, yes, the wakwak that tore my shoulder open, wrecked my car on the Strip, then tore out the beating heart of a faerie. I’d say you owe me at least a bit of torn upholstery for that fiasco.”

  Peripherally, I saw Mal’s expression turn to horror. With almost being choked by Kilimanjaro, racing away, and now being drawn down by his brother, I’m sure he was beginning to wonder what in the name of all things raunchy he’d gotten himself into.

  Holding in my giggles, I gave Marius a level stare. “No bloodstains in my car.”

  I kept my gaze infused with authority and trained on my satyr. He didn’t let me down but matched the intensity, playing the moment for everything it was worth. Just about the time I was about to lose control and bust out laughing, Marius broke away.

  “All right, then, Malcolm. You heard the lady. Out of the car.”

  The sword disappeared, and in the blink of an eye, Marius stood outside in the balmy air. A gust of desert wind buffeted the chains at his hips and ruffled his hair. How could he look so out of place in Flynn’s clothes, yet still so damn good?

  While he opened the door and pulled Malcolm out of the backseat, I caught myself entertaining too many of Malcolm’s earlier suggestions with Marius in the starring role and had to tear my eyes away from him.

  No. Not going there.

  The brothers scuffled. They were noisy but harmless. Like puppies or polar bear cubs learning to sharpen their teeth on one another. Adorable in animals but laughable in grown-ass men.

  I got out of the car to ground myself. I’ve learned a lot in the few years I’ve been working with technomancy. One of the most useful tricks is the ability to recoup after heavy magical lifting. There used to be a time when turning on a disconnected machine would leave me drained and dusty, but Flynn and Karma had coached me on the finer points. Apparently, it’s not uncommon for the mage to have a sort of empathy with her work, which can be exhausting. Say I’m working with a computer system that hasn’t been turned on for years. Someone wants his or her files from a decrepit old Commodore 64 or something. Well, I can give that computer life, retrieve the files, and go about my merry way…for a price. For a while after I work the mojo, I will feel just as old and rickety as the Commodore. I’d make Mrs. M look young and spry.

  In the instance of drawing in the power of an entire fucking nightclub and every electronic device contained therein, my body felt like it was on the most insane caffeine buzz of all time. My limbs were jittery, my pulse as rapid and driving as a bass drum. Every nerve was alight with the overdose, craving more, demanding attention or sordid release. If I didn’t put a lid on it, I’d soon get scrappy with Mal and Marius just to burn off energy and mess with their heads. Or worse, I’d entertain some of Mal’s offers.

  Thankfully, though, my coaches taught me to redirect some of that energy exchange. Call it grounding, call it meditation or finding my center, but it works.

  I sat lotus-style on the hood of my car, closed my eyes, and began.

  Deep breath in. Visualize. See the energy inside of you in streams of color.

  Threads of light appeared in my mind’s eye. White. Blue. Pink. Twining with one another, wrapping like veins and twisting together, the lines raced with arcs of power, pumping and thumping in my body.

  Exhale. Divide. Separate the cords.

  My power always manifested as a pure white light, and I imagined myself picking up those strings and setting them to the side. The blue and pink strands—the borrowed energy—I untangled and set in their own bundles.

  Inhale: pick and pluck a strand.

  Exhale: lay it down with its mates.

  Inhale again. Disperse. Pour the energy into another vessel.

  Since energy cannot ever truly be destroyed—contained, shifted, absorbed, transferred, yes, but never eliminated—I picked up the bundle of blue light. It writhed between my fingers, pulsed with a siren song that called to my blood. It urged me to swallow it, to let it course through me and carry me into a primal dance. Thank you, I thought to it, but no. Slow breath out: I offered the blue essence to the earth, directed it down, down into the power lines and cables running beneath the asphalt.

  The wan pink light fluttered in my hands as I drew it up next. This was the lifeblood of a device, a power that desired only to be of service. Granting its wish, I poured it into the reservoir beneath the hood of my car. (There’s a reason I bought a hybrid.)

  The last bundle of power—the white—I kept for myself. This I’d need to restore the energy I’d used in the brisk but intense fight. I drank it in, and it flowed through me like cool water.

  Slowly but surely, the residual power from Sapphire had been shunted out into various outlets. I felt refreshed, rested, and luminous.

  When I opened my eyes, Marius and Malcolm were trading jabs and swipes with each oth
er. Still.

  “Seriously?” I said to no one in particular.

  Marius flicked his wrist and held his saber to Mal’s chest. He wasn’t threatening so much as keeping his sibling at bay. “Yes, Catherine?”

  Malcolm smacked Marius’s wrist aside but didn’t pursue their fight further. Instead, he stalked in a feral circle, not unlike another satyr I know. “Bastard,” he mumbled.

  Marius didn’t bother to face Mal, but muttered nonchalantly, “And proud of it. As you should be.” With his attention back on me, he once again stowed his sword in some unknown pocket of the world and lowered his hand. “Something I can help you with?”

  “Are you two finished?” I asked.

  Malcolm saw an opening and lunged at Marius, arms outstretched as if for the tackle. Without so much as a sideways glance, Marius swung his fist. The punch connected with Malcolm’s jaw and sent him pinwheeling and flailing to the concrete.

  “More or less,” Marius answered, ignoring the grunts and epithets coming from near his feet.

  I shook my head. “Christ, you two are hopeless. Anyway, what’s next?”

  “Getting rid of him,” he said with a hook of his thumb. “He’s a liability if we are visited by more friends.”

  “Oi!” Malcolm complained. “I’m standin’ right here.”

  Marius curled his nose. “Much to my dismay, yes.”

  “You’ll not be gettin’ rid of me anytime soon, brother mine. Not until you and I make for home to see the old man.”

  Marius sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine. Catherine, would you care to accompany us, or do you have more pressing duties here?”