by Keri Arthur
I grabbed the backpack, climbed out of the car, and drew in a deep breath. The air was crisp and held the faint promise of rain. It was utterly free from the taint of halflings and magic, but that didn’t mean they weren’t here. Didn’t mean we weren’t going to get caught in a fire blast …
Unease stirred. I quietly closed the car door and followed Mo around the front of the Fiesta. “Are you sure Gianna’s here?”
Mo nodded. “The tracking sphere isn’t fooled by covering magic. It’s not pinpoint accurate, however, and that means I can’t be absolutely certain they’re in the yellow cabin. Go around to the back of the cabins and keep an eye out. When you hear the doorbell, head in—but quietly if you can. We don’t want to scare her.”
“Because two strange women breaking into the cabin isn’t going to be scary at all.”
My voice was dry, and she smiled. “I suspect Gianna has seen enough over the last few years not to be frightened by the two of us. Go.”
I slipped down the small gap between two cabins. There were no sounds coming from the lavender one, but a couple was talking in the other. They sounded elderly, and I mentally crossed all things that they didn’t get hurt in whatever was about to happen.
After clambering over the small fence, I followed the line of pines that separated these cabins from those in the next street. As I neared the yellow cabin, energy lightly caressed the air. There was definitely some kind of spell here, even if I couldn’t see any threads.
After a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, I moved across to the small deck at the back of the cabin and silently padded up the steps. A quick check of the handle told me the door was locked. I drew the daggers; the blades glimmered in the day’s dull light, but no flames caressed their edge. We might be walking into a trap, but at least there was no immediate threat from halflings.
From deep within the cabin came the gentle chiming of a doorbell. I took a deep breath and crossed the daggers to call forth the lightning. I wasn’t sure whether my control was better or if the daggers were simply more attuned to what I needed, but the energy that arced from the tip of each blade held none of its usual force—simply enough force to melt the lock rather than blasting the whole thing apart.
I pressed my fingers against the door and pushed it open. No sound came from inside the house. The air was still and cold and smelled slightly musty. The sphere might be saying they were here, but it definitely looked to be a more general ‘here’. This cabin hadn’t been used or aired in some time.
I glanced over my shoulder at the cabin visible through the trees. Parked alongside was an old Ford Estate—the perfect nondescript car for someone wanting to hide.
We were searching in the wrong cabin.
A soft popping noise had my head snapping around. I gripped the daggers tightly, my gaze sweeping the area beyond the small boot room. Nothing moved, and I had no sense of anyone else except Mo. And yet … something stirred.
Heat.
I hesitated and then took several more steps into the cabin. “Mo? You in?”
“Yes.” Her voice was as soft as mine. “She’s not, though.”
“Obviously.” I glanced over my shoulder again. “I’ve got a feeling she might be in the cabin behind this one.”
“It’s possible—as I said, it’s hard to pin an exact location with—oh fuck! Gwen, run!”
Even as she said it, there was a second pop.
The trap had just been sprung.
I spun and ran for the door, fear lodged in my throat and fiery heat chasing every step.
Then, with little warning, the whole damn cabin exploded.
Chapter Eight
The force of the blast knocked me off my feet and sent me tumbling through the door. I crashed into the deck railings hard enough to daze, but self-preservation nevertheless kicked in. I threw my hands over my head and tucked my knees up close, presenting as small a target as possible as bits of wood, glass, and metal fell like rain all around me.
Through the roar of the flames now consuming what was left of the building, I heard another sound—a car engine.
I twisted around and saw the Estate speed out of its parking area. Gianna. It had to be.
But I didn’t race after her—Mo was far more important to me than a mother on the run.
I scrambled upright and felt a sharp stab of pain in my lower leg. A quick glance revealed a thick sliver of wood embedded in the chubby portion of my calf. I yanked it out, then thrust upright and leapt over the railing. Black smoke filled the lane between the two cabins, cutting visibility and catching in my throat, making me cough. I tugged my sweater up over my nose, but it didn’t seem to make much difference. The heat was so fierce, the paint on the other cabin bubbled and peeled—though how it was even standing, given the force of the blast, I couldn’t say.
I raced around the front corner of the building and saw Mo lying in the middle of the road … and she wasn’t moving.
My heart leapt into my throat, and for several seconds I couldn’t breathe. I dropped heavily beside her, skinning my knees and sending pain shooting through the rest of me. I ignored it and tentatively touched her neck.
Her pulse was strong and steady. I closed my eyes against the sting of tears and sucked in a deep breath. She was okay … this time.
I ignored the ominous thought and quickly studied the rest of her. There were no obvious injuries—no broken bones or deep cuts—aside from the bloody scrape down her left cheek, which was no doubt a result of being flung onto the road. I pulled the first aid kit out of the backpack and grabbed a bottle of holy water to wash the wound.
The sound of running had me reaching for my daggers even as I looked around. Mia, rather than a stranger or a threat. Standing behind her on the balcony of their cabin were the elderly couple; the woman’s expression was unfriendly, and she had a phone clutched in her hand.
“I’ve rung the police and fire brigade,” she said, her voice a little too high to be forceful. “Don’t you be running away, because I have your photographs.”
“Could you also call an ambulance? My grandmother needs to be checked over,” I said, then glanced up as Mia slid to a halt beside me. “You okay?”
“I wasn’t anywhere near the damn blast—are you hurt? Is Mo?”
“No,” Mo said, her voice a little hoarse. “I’m fine.”
“Stay still,” I commanded. “I need—”
“I’m fine, Gwen, as I said.”
“You said that when you slipped down the stairs and fractured your damn leg,” I retorted. “You just got blasted five meters through the air. Humor me and do what you’re told for a change.”
She opened her eyes. The blue depths held hints of amusement and pain. “I’ve heard that tone before, but it’s usually mine rather than yours.”
“It’s your genes coming out in me again.”
“In more ways than one, I suspect.” She shifted her hands and pushed upright. Short of actually sitting on her, I couldn’t stop her, but the pain in her expression deepened, suggesting she really hadn’t totally escaped injury. She brushed her hands to get rid of the grit, smearing red. Her cheek wasn’t the only thing she’d skinned. “I gather no one ran out of the house after that blast?”
“No, but the Ford Estate parked at the cabin behind certainly got out of here in a hurry.”
Her gaze sharpened. “And you’re not following? Why not?”
I rolled my eyes, torn between amusement and exasperation. “It just might have something to do with my grandmother lying unmoving and bleeding on the roadside.”
She touched my cheek lightly. “I love you, you know that, but if you don’t get your ass in the air and follow that car, I will be peeved.”
I snorted, then grabbed my knives and quickly lashed them together. As the sound of sirens cut through the air, I pushed to my feet and handed Mia the medical kit and holy water. “Make sure she’s examined by the ambulance crew before you allow her in the car.”
“I hate to point out the obvious, but she can fly.”
“And if she’d been able to do so, she wouldn’t have ordered me after the Estate alone.”
“You are altogether too quick sometimes,” Mo murmured.
“That would be your genes again.” I swung the pack over my shoulders. “I’ll call when I get a location.”
Mo nodded. “We’ll use the tracker and follow in the car once we’ve dealt with this mess.”
I glanced across at the older couple—who were still watching with beady-eyed interest—then shifted shape, grabbed my knives, and hightailed it out of there.
It didn’t take that long to find the Estate—she might have driven out of the park at speed, but it appeared that once she was on the main road, she’d slowed down—no doubt to avoid attracting too much attention.
That was presuming, of course, this was Gianna and her son. Just because instinct said it was, didn’t mean it was right. While I could swoop down to check, a bird carrying a set of knives would attract the attention of normal drivers, let alone one who may have been dealing with my brother for close on six years.
Once she’d turned onto the M6, her speed increased. I kept her in sight by flying across country, but I didn’t push my speed. I had no idea just how long I’d have to fly after her, and I needed to conserve some strength.
The day grew darker—colder—and a drizzly rain set in. I cursed, but it was at least better than a full-on storm—although if the clouds on the horizon were anything to go by, that’s what would soon strike.
The old Ford Estate continued toward Penrith, but didn’t enter the heart of that lovely old city. Instead, she turned onto a road that went toward Redhills and then onto another road that wound its way through the gently rolling countryside, heading toward a large body of dark water. It was obviously one of the lakes, given we were now in the Lakes District National Park area, but I couldn’t say which one. It wasn’t Windermere, though—it was smaller and a different shape.
As she neared the top end of the lake, she turned onto a lane that looked to be little wider than her car and continued on, pulling over a couple of times—once to allow enough room for a tractor going the other way, and a second time to allow a fast-moving black van to get ahead of her.
The lane wound through a number of thickly forested areas, more or less following the lake’s shoreline. Up ahead, in the distance, was a yacht club and another caravan area—was that her destination? If so, why? Surely she’d have to know that—come night—she wouldn’t be safe. Not in the middle of a town, and certainly not in the middle of nowhere.
Either she didn’t know Darkside—or at least, Winter—could track her children, or she’d purchased some form of protective spell.
I hoped it was the latter. I suspected it was the former.
The lane swept closer to the lake. As she disappeared into another short but thick-forested strand of trees, I flew over the canopy and waited for her to come out on the other side.
Two minutes passed, then three, then five. No sign of her. And absolutely no sign of that faster moving black van, which should have appeared at least a couple of minutes ago.
I swore—the sound coming out a harsh squawk—and arrowed down, swooping in under the canopy, but remaining high.
I smelled the fire before I saw her car. It was sideways across the road, the rear end hard up against the front of a black van. A second van blocked the road behind her; as I swooped closer, its rear door slid open and three men got out.
Gianna obviously didn’t see them. She was too busy throwing flames at the two men from the first van. One of them was on fire, his clothes and skin sloughing from his body as he leapt over the roadside edge and plunged down the hill toward the water. The other had taken refuge behind the van; every few minutes he popped out from behind his cover, unleashed a couple of gunshots, and then jumped back. Bullets pinged off the Estate’s roof, the road, and the nearby trees. Either he was a very bad shot or he was deliberately missing in order to keep her attention while the men in the other van crept up on her.
I dropped from the canopy and shifted shape as I neared the ground. The man behind the van spun as I landed and, in one smooth movement, he raised his gun and fired. I swore, dove away, and then rolled onto my knees and raised the daggers. I had no time to either untie or unsheathe them; I simply pointed and called to the inner storm. It answered swiftly and sharply, blasting past the leather tip of the sheaths with enough force that I was flung onto my butt. The twin bolts of lightning hit the gun, peeling it apart like butter before smashing into the man’s chest. He didn’t even have time to scream.
As his ashes fluttered to the ground, I thrust to my feet and raced around the rear of the nearest van. “Gianna, behind—”
I cut the rest of the sentence off as the van’s door opened; the driver jumped out, his gun raised and blasting. A bullet burned across my forearm, another clipped my shoulder. He didn’t get a third shot … and nothing—not even ashes—remained.
I ran on. Saw one man on fire and another struggling with Gianna. Saw a third racing toward the other van with a little boy slung like a sack over his shoulder.
I tugged Nex free, screamed, “Gianna, drop,” then, when she did, sliced open her assailant’s face. As his blood spurted and his scream rent the air, I slapped the two knives together and took out the other van. A million bits of heated metal were flung skyward, the man holding Reign switched direction and plunged over the embankment, heading for the river.
It was then I saw the boat.
They’d come prepared for trouble.
I leapt over the small rock fence and raced after him. I didn’t want to risk using the lightning on him for fear of hitting the boy, but I wasn’t about to let him escape either. I cut sideways through the trees until I had a clear shot of the boat, then called to the lightning yet again. A sharp lance of fire cut through my brain—a warning I was now nearing my limits.
The boat and the man inside it were incinerated.
The man holding Reign swore, then spun and raised a gun. I dove sideways again, crashing through the undergrowth and tearing clothes and skin. Bullets pinged off the tree trunks, showering me with sharp little daggers of bark.
I scrambled on all fours behind the tree and then took a deep breath. The pain in my head didn’t ease, and the cuts on my calf, forearm, and shoulder all decided to join in on the fun.
Twigs crunched; the felon, on the move, heading toward me rather than away. I took another deep breath, gathering strength, but before I could move or react, fire burned down the ridge. As the undergrowth around me burst into flame and a scream echoed, I scrambled upright, hooked my knives into my belt, then leapt over the small wall of fire. The remains of the man who’d attacked me lay on the ground, burning. I detoured around him then ran on for the small, unmoving figure on the ground.
“Leave him alone, or I’ll kill you” came a high, desperate demand.
I ignored her. She was hardly going to kill me if I held her son—not after her desperate efforts to save him. I scooped him up and hugged him close; he didn’t stir. Either something was wrong or she’d drugged him to keep him compliant until they were safe. Though I wondered if drugging him would have made any difference to Winter’s ability to shuffle through his mind, it wouldn’t have made any difference in this case. The men in the two vans had obviously followed her from the leisure park. The trap had been too well coordinated to be a last-minute event.
I glanced up the slope. Gianna stood on the edge, flames flickering faintly around her fingertips. She was tall, with burnished gold hair and a thin, gangly frame. Her face was pale and dominated by what might have been called a ‘commanding’ nose in a male, but had no doubt been a source of derision for her as a child.
“Who are you?” she said, clenching and unclenching her fists. “What do you want?”
I might as well hit her with the bad news first. “I’m Gwen De Montfort, and I’m here to save your life.�
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“Likely story, if you’re his fucking sister.”
Meaning she knew Max well enough to know about me. I headed up the hill, only half watching where I was walking. The greater threat remained above me. “If I was after your son, I could very easily have killed you when I killed your assailant. And in case it escaped your notice, if the man behind the van had been a slightly better shot, you’d now be dead.”
She didn’t say anything to that, just clenched and unclenched her hands. Ready to unleash the minute I said or did anything threatening.
Which made asking the next question a little dangerous, but it had to be done—even if it was one that had the power to make or break me. “If you think so fucking little of Max, why did you agree to carry his children in the first place?”
She waved a hand. Fire followed the movement, bright in the gathering darkness of the incoming storm. “Because it seemed like a good opportunity at the time.”
The answer—though more than half expected—nevertheless felt like a punch to the gut. For several seconds, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only feel. And what I felt was pain. Deep, utter, soul-shattering pain.
Even so, one refrain echoed—why, why, why?
It was a question that could only be answered by the man himself, and one we dared not ask. Not yet.
I blinked back the tears threatening to stream down my cheeks and sucked in a deep breath in an effort to gather the shattered remnants of control. We might have defeated the men in the vans, but the three of us were far from safe, and until we were, I couldn’t afford to dwell on the enormity of Max’s duplicity.
“No doubt meaning he paid you extremely well to be a broodmare and nursemaid.” I stopped several meters away from her, which put me at a slight disadvantage if she decided to attack. I doubted she would, though—not until she’d retrieved her son, anyway.
“He did—and there’s no law against that, you know.”
“So why did you run?”
She sucked in a breath and released it slowly. “I got a call from Max. He said he was sending his people over to collect Reign.”