Blade Bound

by Chloe Neill

  Mallory chuckled, which had been the point, stepped into his arms.

  Ethan put a hand on my face. “I love you. Be careful.”

  “Ditto that,” Catcher said to Mallory.

  We exchanged brief kisses, and then looked at each other.

  “You ready for this?” I asked Mallory.

  She held out her arm. “Let’s follow the yellow brick road,” she said. And we set out to find the Wicked Witch.

  • • •

  We followed the island’s main road toward the park, the sorcerers in front of us, at least until they split off to take their positions. Ethan and Catcher would come in from other directions, hopefully surreptitiously. Luc, Lindsey, and Juliet would stay near the planetarium and closer to shore, in case Sorcha made a run for it. Brody would stay with the vehicle. Thankfully, the CPD had thought ahead, made sure the snow and ice had been mostly cleaned off. The asphalt was still slushy and slippery, but we didn’t need skis and snowshoes.

  “How are you feeling about the governor?”

  “‘Confident’ is a word. It’s not the word I’d choose, but definitely a word.”

  She slipped a little in the slush, and I grabbed her elbow before she could go down, helped her straighten again.

  “And what word would you choose?” I asked her.

  She thought about it for a moment. “Encouraged?”

  “I’ll take that. How close do you need to get?”

  “As close as possible.” She pulled the compact from the pocket of her coat. “It’s a spell-alchemy hybrid. I’m a spell kind of girl; she’s an alchemy kind of girl. Without getting into the gory details, it’s like Spanx for magic. Sucks it all in.”

  “You are a wonder. And you’ve come a long way in a year.”

  “Just need an endorsement deal and I’m good to go. I’m going to need to concentrate—both on finishing the spell and keeping her from knowing about it. So I need you to handle her.”

  “That will not be a problem,” I said. My blade and I needed a good workout.

  She nodded. “I’ll give you a signal when I’m ready.”

  As we reached the hill, she cleared her throat nervously. “Do you want to bet on how bad this gets?”

  I grimaced. “Like the number of people who die?”

  “No, that’s just morose. More like, will Baumgartner blame us when this thing goes to shit?”

  I’d spent ten minutes in a room with the man, and I already knew the answer to that. “He absolutely will. No bet.”

  “Hmm,” she said, and crossed her arms. “Other obvious predictions—Sorcha will wear a completely inappropriate outfit. She’ll blame something on someone other than herself. Baumgartner’s sorcerers will either completely fail to make a dent, or screw up out of some misplaced sense of ego.” She paused. “The mayor will refuse to take responsibility.”

  “You’re basically laying out the Supernatural Debacle bingo card,” I said. “And you’re right about all of it.”

  We reached the loop around the lagoon, scoped out the place we were supposed to wait for Sorcha.

  “You think she’ll come down in a puff of smoke?”

  “Wicked Witch,” she reminded me.

  One more square on the bingo card.

  • • •

  The sky was clear, and the air was frigid. We stood atop the snow-covered hill in utter darkness, in the middle of a plateau about forty feet across. The hill wasn’t very tall—maybe twenty feet above the lake—but it was elevated just enough so the wind whipped around us.

  It was August in the Midwest, and the island should have been alive with sounds—the chirp of crickets, the croak of frogs, the rhythmic humming of cicadas. Waves should have bumped against the shoreline, and wind should have rustled spent and browning grass. Instead, the world was silent.

  “She’s coming,” Mallory quietly said, at an hour until dawn.

  She didn’t need to tell me. The wind picked up, magic prickled the air uncomfortably, and there was an electric crack in the air, like the sound of crinkling static electricity.

  She’s here, I told Ethan, unsure whether he was close enough to hear.

  We’re ready, came his answering call, and I felt immediately better. I trusted Ethan with my life—and had done. I was glad to know he was here and ready, just in case . . .

  “The wards are breached,” said Jeff’s voice through the comm unit. “She’s coming in nearly on top of you, so keep an eye out.”

  “We will very much be doing that,” Mallory said, and we stepped back together.

  It started as a bit of fog, a smear in the air in front of us, as we watched it thicken and grow in three dimensions, like a storm cloud gaining strength. But this didn’t just swell in size—it moved in streaks and jerks, pushing forward in one direction, then swelling, pushing back in another direction, swelling.

  For a moment, I was afraid we’d completely misapprehended the situation. That Sorcha hadn’t come at all, and instead she’d created some new, diaphanous monster that would kill us in secret silence, like the antagonist of a King novel.

  But as quick as a finger snap, the fog dissipated, leaving Sorcha standing before us, her expression haughty and her eyes wild.

  She’d picked a pantsuit this time, another of her favorite looks. Emerald green silk with an asymmetrical bodice that looped around one shoulder, leaving the other bare. Her hair fell onto her shoulders, with slender brass bobby pins arranged in “X’s” at her temples.

  I wondered if she had a stylist, someone who helped her prep before she dropped in to destroy more of Chicago. Or if she sat alone in her secret hideaway, wherever it was, with a closet full of clothes and a trunk of accessories, and prepared herself in silence. Prepared herself to do havoc and murder, a woman with no god to answer to.

  “Lindsey is going to freak about the jumpsuit,” Mallory whispered.

  “Probably. And isn’t she freezing?”

  “Could be magic,” she said.

  She smiled at us, took a step forward. “Well, well, well. I guess the city of Chicago made its choice. Not that a skinny vampire and a little bitch of a sorcerer are worth much.”

  I glanced at Mallory. “I guess I’m the skinny vampire?”

  “And I’m the little bitch.” She clucked her tongue. “Resorting to crass language, Sorcha—really?”

  “Very gauche,” I agreed, then looked back at Sorcha. “We’re here,” I said, beginning the rough script we’d outlined with the SWAT team. “You said you’d release the ice if we showed up.”

  Her smile was thin. “You think it will be that easy? Especially with a field full of cut-rate sorcerers out there waiting for me? At least you’ve got a little pizzazz.”

  “And what do you want?” I asked.

  “You two begging for mercy would be a good start. You embarrassed me. I had a plan, which I’ve now had to change!”

  Sorcha had the emotional development of a teenager. Which made her that much more unpredictable.

  She took a step forward in sandals that gleamed gold beneath the hem of her jumpsuit. “Do you have any idea how long I worked on that alchemy? Months. And you ruined it in one single night.” She smiled her catlike smile, the one that said she was gearing up for the bad news.

  “But that’s fine,” she said. “I have a new plan. I just need a little more power.” She leveled her gaze at Mallory, her eyes intense and seeking. “You’ll do very nicely.”

  She wants Mallory to finish whatever she’s started, I told Ethan.

  Acknowledged. The sorcerers have begun their magic. She’s been using her.

  Mallory’s gaze narrowed. “You’re the reason I’ve been so tired! You’ve been using me. Draining me, just like a . . .”

  “Vampire,” Sorcha finished, sliding her gaze to me. “A little something I whipped up. Becau
se I’m just that good.”

  “It didn’t trip the ward.”

  Her smile was thin. “Because it was already there.”

  Part of the Trojan horse, I thought. Part of the magic already at Towerline when the wards were created.

  “But it’s not enough,” Mallory said, glancing back at the clouds that loomed above Towerline, visible even as far away as we were. “That’s why I’m here. Because long distance wasn’t doing it. You need me here, now. Why?”

  “Because there’s work to be done.”

  “On the Egregore? On manifesting it?”

  Sorcha’s smile faltered. She hadn’t expected us to get that far.

  “Yeah,” Mallory said. “We got to the Danzig and your little plan. Creative, as things go, if not entirely elegant. Too many steps. Clunky.”

  Fury rose in Sorcha’s face, putting hot color across her cheeks. “I will finish this, and you will help me.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  Sorcha slid her cold gaze to me. “You will help me, or I will kill your vampire friend.”

  Tell them to hurry, I told Ethan. Because I’m Mallory’s incentive.

  But that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy myself. I flipped the thumb guard on my sword, unsheathed it, and spun it around. It felt good in my hand, and good to hold it again.

  “How about me and you take a few turns at each other, Sorcha? Unless you’re afraid?”

  “I’m not afraid of you.”

  I winked, crooked a finger at her. “Come on, then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  The first fireball whizzed by so quickly I hadn’t even seen her throw it.

  Damn, she’s fast, I told Ethan, and barely dodged out of the way, hitting the ground as the chartreuse blaze flew above me. It hit the snow ten feet away and exploded with a ground-shaking thud, sending snow ten feet into the air.

  Fast and strong, I amended.

  I popped up again, blade in front of me to shield her next volley. Sorcha just rolled her eyes and sent another volley my way. I spun and sliced through them, my arm singing when a spark penetrated leather, stung with needle-sharp pain. The fireballs dissipated but left greasy marks across the blade of my sword. I ran the flat of the blade against my pant leg to wipe it away.

  “Come on,” I said. “You aren’t even trying.”

  “I hate you,” she said, taking a step forward. I moved to the left, trying to bait her into turning a full circle and putting Mallory at her back.

  “Yeah, I’m not super fond of you, either,” I said, and struck forward, just catching the fabric at the edge of one knee, and ripped a four-inch hole in the silk. I nicked her pale skin, scenting the air with her blood. Powerful blood that I had to force myself not to think about.

  Sorcha screamed and turned, hair flying around her face in an arc. She whipped another fireball at me—how much magic was she carrying?—her eyes now wild and dilated. She was too close for the shot; I sliced through it with my katana, but the movement sent an explosion of sparks into the air, hitting us both.

  Pain exploded through me, like I’d taken fire-hot shrapnel in every bit of skin, muscle, and bone. The force of it pushed me down, and I hit the ground on my back, eyes squeezed closed as magic pulsed over my skin with a million painful pricks.

  “You bitch!” Sorcha cried out. She was still on her feet, but her pantsuit was now a dodgy mess of burns and holes.

  She took some of her own, I told Ethan. This would be a good time for them to strike. Hopefully Mallory would do the same thing.

  Nearly there, Ethan said.

  “Hey, you,” Mallory said, and Sorcha’s head whipped toward her. Mallory smiled, tossed the compact at her.

  At the same time, a fireball lit the sky on its way toward us, sending light in an arc over the hill and heading right toward Sorcha.

  I looked back. At the origin point, where sparks still faded in the darkness, Simpson stood in the glow of her own magic, preparing another round. Her expression was determined, mixed with the ego of a woman who hadn’t been battle-tested and believed she was stronger than she actually was. And because of that, she’d let Sorcha see her—and her position at the bottom of the hill.

  “No!” Mallory called out, gathering up her magic and preparing to lunge down the hill toward Simpson, already gathering magic for a shot to intercept whatever Sorcha might throw.

  But it was too late.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  WEIRD SCIENCE

  Attention drawn by the light, Sorcha moved toward Simpson. The compact hit the ground where Sorcha had been a millisecond ago and shattered open, the spell spilling impotently across the ground, a haze of golden light. Sorcha was already five feet away, heading toward Simpson’s position.

  “Simpson!” Mallory called out. “Move!”

  Too stubborn to obey, Simpson threw another volley. Sorcha batted it away like an irritating insect, and then sent a fireball toward Simpson. Mallory tossed hers at the same time, but finishing the compact had taken a toll on her magic, and it fell short.

  Simpson might have had some magical skills, but she wasn’t quick on her feet. Instead of dodging, she turned around as if to run away. The fireball caught her square in the back, sending her flying into the snow. She hit with a sickening sizzle, and didn’t move.

  “She killed her,” Mallory said. “Killed her.”

  And when she did, the sorcerers’ concealment magic faltered, making visible the now-triangle-shaped wire of blue magic that vibrated above them. It looked like liquid neon and scattered blue light around them. Now they were all visible to us . . . and to Sorcha.

  We’re going to need Plan B, I told Ethan, stepping beside Mallory so we stood in a line together against Sorcha. But her eyes, and her rage, were focused at the moment on the trio of sorcerers who raised the wire into the air, began moving it toward the hill. I guessed it was supposed to be a lasso, a very literal way of roping Sorcha into police custody.

  Mallory’s compact seemed much simpler and more elegant by comparison.

  “Do they think she’s going to stand still for that?” I asked.

  “They thought it would be invisible,” Mallory said. “But yeah, it’s too cumbersome. Which I could have told them, if they’d shared any of it with me.” She gathered up another round, tossed it into the air. Short again.

  And she wasn’t the only one. Blue shots began to pierce the air from the other side of the lagoon. Catcher, I thought with relief.

  Sparks flew over the lagoon as the sorcerers battled, magic spilling into the air each time the shots collided, so the sky over the entire island began to glow from the haze of it.

  Sorcha was focused on the sorcerers, and she kept moving forward through waist-high snow on the other side of the hill, into the valley where the lagoon reflected back magic. She was moving closer to the lasso the sorcerers still managed to hold aloft, but they were having trouble keeping it stable. It jolted and jerked between them, more live wire than lasso.

  Sorcha aimed a fireball at Baumgartner, who fended it off with a shot of his own. But he lost hold of the lasso, which sizzled and disappeared into the air.

  “The containment field is down,” Mallory called into the comm.

  The immediate threat minimized, Sorcha turned back to us, began tramping up the hill. I pushed Mallory, obviously exhausted, behind me and bared my sword—and my teeth—at Sorcha.

  “I’ll throw down my sword if you throw down your magic,” I said. “And we’ll have a good old-fashioned free-for-all.”

  “You couldn’t just give me what I wanted,” she said, gaze narrowed at us, her hair spread and lifted in the air as she rallied for one more volley.

  My skin still firing with nerves, I took a step toward her. Anything to keep her gaze off Mallory. “I’m not in the habit of handing my city over to self-centered sorceress
es.”

  “I will show you self-centered,” she said, and flicked a hand in the air.

  Such a fickle gesture to have so much power in it. Energy burst through the air. I shielded Mallory from it, took the blast full-on. I hit the ground on my knees, limbs shaking with the new round of shocking pain.

  Light bulleted past me, a shot of blue fire that sliced across her arm, propelled by Mallory. Sorcha slapped a hand over the wound, screamed out with pain that seemed to shake the earth. Thunder cracked like a gunshot as lightning split the sky in the same sickly green shade.

  “I am owed!” she screamed into the sky. And when she looked down at us again, her lips were moving in some silent chant. She pulled a fat bundle of what looked like sage from her pocket, touched a fingertip to the end, and it began to smoke. She drew it through the air in front her, lips still moving, and that same greasy magic gathering around us.

  “Magic incoming!” I said into the comm over the static, my voice hoarse with pain, and hoped someone could hear me. “Prepare yourself.” For the magic and the monster it might create, I thought.

  Mallory screamed and crumpled to the ground, clamping her hands over her ears. And the air around her began to glow, to buzz with magic. It looked like steam was rising from her body. But it was magic—magic that Sorcha was pulling out of her with the power of her filthy song.

  “Mallory!” I said, and put my arms around her, shielding her body with mine, and covered her hands with mine in case it helped block the sound.

  Mallory cried out again.

  “I’m here!” I called out over the crackle of Sorcha’s power. “And I’ll help you. Just concentrate! Don’t let her use you!”

  Mallory’s entire body was rigid, and she began to shake from the effort.

  I didn’t know what else to do, how else to help her in the war she was waging with herself, to block out the magic and the sound of chanting. I began to sing the only tune I could think of.

  “I’m sorry!” I called out, and screamed out words I hoped I’d never have to repeat. “Never gonna give you up! Never gonna let you down!”