Lycan Legacy - 4 - 5 - 6: Princess - Progeny - Paladin: Book 4 - 5 - 6 in the Lycan Legacy Series

by Veronica Singer

  I shut the door, then welded the lock shut with a burst of magic. With the door jammed and the elevator stuck, even if he found something to attack us with, our host would have a hard time getting to us in time.

  The first floor was clear. I held the door open as Mike and Manny hustled through. Manny was flagging. Older and lacking the upgrades I had given Mike, and coming from extended infirmity, he was tiring quickly. Still, he followed Mike with dogged persistence.

  I slammed the door and welded it shut behind us. I pushed the wolf down, retracting fangs and muzzle to allow me to communicate better.

  I raced to get ahead of Mike and Manny and opened the exterior door. Far away, an alarm sounded. I hadn’t bothered to bypass the alarm sensors. So what if we woke up a few more people?

  Mike and Manny waited patiently for me to give them the go-ahead. Manny took a knee, using the pause as an opportunity to rest.

  From outside, the sounds of the Arabic prayer call wafted from multiple mosques across the city.

  Oh well, they had to get up for prayers anyway.

  I pushed the thought away. The call to prayer occurred when a man could discern the difference between a white and a black thread in natural light. In other words, just before dawn. In just a few minutes, we would lose the protection of darkness.

  “Manny, hit the demo on the power,” I said.

  Manny fished out a remote detonator. Before clicking the switch, he patted Alisha and said, “This’ll be loud, but you won’t be hurt. Just keep quiet and you’ll be fine.”

  A sharp sound, louder than a thunder strike, came from a block away. All the lights in this subdivision blinked off. Darkness dropped across the inner compound.

  “They’ll have a backup generator that will come on in a few seconds,” said Manny.

  Beside the open door was a metal panel inset into the wall, the junction box where all the power lines for the home entered. Just as the sound of generators started from an outbuilding, I put a hand on the box and sent lightning down the wires.

  The panel arced and started smoking, emitting acrid fumes. The generator abruptly stopped.

  “You sure I can’t get one of those EMP gadgets?” asked Manny. “We could have used that in Fallujah.”

  Ignoring his question, I said, “Stay under cover while I check our exit.”

  I stepped through the door into the sudden darkness. The building had a roofed-over porch, ten feet deep, a design that would keep all windows shaded from the fierce desert sun.

  Instinctively, I zipped over to the cement pillar that supported this section of the porch. It was conveniently wide enough to shield a slim woman from view.

  A quick peek showed two groups of armed men arrayed on the front yard. Each group was about thirty meters away from me and thirty meters apart from each other, making the front door the apex of a deadly triangle.

  A shot rang out and a bullet hit the pillar, much too close for comfort. Even worse, the bullet reeked with the stench of silver.

  Another peek revealed that some of these bastards had night-vision goggles.

  “Sit-rep, Luna?” whispered Mike.

  “We’re screwed,” I said.

  19

  “Screwed?” Mike said. “I don’t think so. You’ll come up with something.”

  Sometimes I hated to hear that blind faith in his voice.

  If only Mason was here, he could bowl the entire group over with hurricane-force winds, or hit them with lightning strikes, or use any of a dozen other spells to eliminate the threat.

  Or create a hurricane that destroyed the city, or fried hundreds with lightning. Mason’s spells were powerful but had no way to spare innocents.

  Don’t think about what you don’t have, Luna! Focus on using what you do have.

  Okay, I had a spell to knock people out with nitrogen. But these groups were too far away and too widely dispersed for me to target.

  I had a spell that would render the primer in bullets inert. Once again, my targets were too far away. Worse yet, the spell was omni-directional and would render my team’s weapons useless.

  I had a bag with some magical trinkets, a glass bottle I was terrified of breaking, a piece of sentient rope, and the clothes on my back.

  A random thought intruded—a scene from an old black-and-white western I had seen years ago. The hero had been pinned down. He had put his hat on his rifle barrel and lifted it up, as if peeking out. The ensuing shots had left holes in his hat, but had also let him discern exactly where his enemies hid. Then, in an uncanny bit of marksmanship, he’d shot them all.

  Could I do something similar? I was no marksman. Hell, the nearest rifle was back with Mike and Manny. But maybe I could get these shooters to waste all their ammo on an empty hijab?

  I pulled off my head covering and fished through my bag for something to poke inside so I could use it as a decoy. No convenient magic wand or stick appeared, but the genie bottle was long and slender. It might wo—

  A sudden premonition pushed that thought away. Breaking the bottle could be disastrous.

  Maybe I could do something with the remaining gold coins—use magic to form them into a rod…

  Then Silkworm stiffened under my hand, becoming rigid as a wooden rod several feet long.

  Her knotted head popped up and wound around until she was in front of my face. The knotted ball had no eyes or features, but I felt she was looking at me.

  Can you do this, Silkworm?

  The tiny head nodded emphatically. In less than a second, Silkworm had formed a stiff horizontal loop with her knot in front. Her body stiffened until I had a three-foot length I could use to move her around. I stuffed her loop into my hijab and poked her out at head height.

  After a two-second pause, I thought, Maybe they won’t shoot now that they know it’s a woman here.

  A fusillade of shots rang out. Many missed my headpiece, but several whipped through the fabric, leaving holes where my head used to be.

  Okay, not a chivalrous bunch. Maybe they would waste all their ammo on the decoy. I waved the headpiece around to attract more shots. That worked for a while, until one of the officers shouted a command and they held their fire.

  They still had plenty of ammo and I didn’t have any more ideas. I pulled Silkworm back to safety and stroked her in thanks. “I’ll put you back in the bag,” I said. “They might ignore you after and you can get away.”

  The knot shook her head strongly. Then she pulled more line from the bag and formed a triangle with the section of herself below the hijab. The rest of her length stiffened, making a pole almost six feet long.

  What was she trying to say? The triangle and pole looked a lot like a coat rack. But I had no need for a—

  As if exasperated, the tip of Silkworm’s tail tugged at my buttons, pulling my abaya open.

  “You can do that?” I asked as understanding dawned.

  She nodded again. I leaned her against the pillar and stripped off my abaya, leaving me in panties.

  As I pulled the abaya over Silkworm, she formed two more horizontal loops, one at breast height and one at hip height.

  “I think the loops should be smaller,” I whispered. Silkworm shook her non-existent head and forced them larger. We ended up with a comically exaggerated wire-frame mannequin wearing my clothes.

  “You’ll look stiff; they’ll know right away that you’re not—”

  The head, breast, and hip loops shifted in a supple movement, as if dancing to unheard music, and for an instant I was convinced the outfit held a real woman.

  “But you can’t walk,” I protested.

  Instead of answering, Silkworm pushed herself upright away from the pillar. Her remaining length slithered on the ground as if she were a giant snake and the mannequin was her head.

  Then she slid out from behind the pillar and started strutting toward the armed groups.

  She was four or five meters away from my hiding spot when multiple shots rang out. The thwipping sound as the bu
llets passed through the fabric of my outfit sent shivers down my spine. How many shots could Silkworm take before her rope body was ruined?

  “Luna, we’re coming out!” shouted Mike at the sound of the shots. My crazy hero was ready to rush into a hail of bullets to save me.

  “No, Mike,” I shouted. “They’re shooting at Silkworm. I’m still safe. Give it a minute.”

  “Who the hell’s Silkworm?” muttered Manny. There would be a lot of holes in his memory when this was over.

  I crouched and stuck my head out from behind the pillar. Silkworm had made it another five meters, but the shots were continuing. Concentrated fire was shredding my outfit—and Silkworm. No matter how slim she was, a few of those shots had to be hitting. I thought she must be ready to drop.

  But no, she had merely waited for them all to open fire.

  She zipped forward with inhuman grace and speed to place herself directly between the two groups.

  I shook my head in amazement as the two groups continued to fire at Silkworm. Only now, any shots that passed through her form went on to hit the opposite group.

  Target fixation was forcing these men to shoot each other. My inner wolf snorted with glee.

  Silkworm finally collapsed. My heart dropped at the sight of my teammate collapsing. Could she recover?

  There were three armed men remaining in the leftmost group, and two on the right. All others were down, bleeding out from friendly-fire wounds. They all appeared to be in shock at this turn of events. They just needed a little push.

  “Manny! Set off the demo on the inner and outer walls and prepare to get out of here.”

  The outer wall went first with a thunderous blast that blew stone and cement hundreds of feet through the air. I hoped no innocent bystanders were in the path.

  All the soldiers jerked around at the sound. They must have thought a mortar round had struck nearby.

  Then the inner wall erupted in an equally thunderous explosion. Now it appeared the ‘mortars’ were getting closer. As one, the remaining men threw their arms to the ground and fled screaming.

  I was thankful for the automatic sound-dampening spell that protected my ears from the noise. In the ringing silent aftermath, I stood and stepped from behind the pillar.

  “Come on out, guys,” I said. “I think we’re clear to go.”

  Mike exited first, followed by Manny. Logan was stirring, and Alisha was sobbing uncontrollably under her hood.

  True to their training, each moved to stand behind one of the pillars. I stepped to Mike’s position and stroked Logan’s head, crooning him back to sleep. His head drooped back down, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Manny shook his head, like a fighter who had taken one punch too many. “You’re naked. Where are your clothes?”

  “I’m not naked; I still have my panties on,” I said with a sniff. “Anyway, I used my abaya as a decoy.”

  “And you were naked underneath?”

  “What? It was hot out, and I never expected I’d need to strip.” I’d left my Western clothes behind because they would be too restraining in case I needed to shift, but I kept that to myself. Manny couldn’t handle much more truth tonight.

  “‘Isn’t everybody naked underneath their clothes?’” Mike quoted my earlier comment. So much had happened since then.

  I stepped to the top of the stairs and gestured to Mike and Manny. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Mike had taken one step from behind the pillar when the burning dot sensation touched my chest.

  I pushed Mike violently aside, using the momentum to push myself in the other direction.

  A shot rang out and a bullet embedded itself into the wall behind us. Mike managed to roll with the fall and lay flat on the porch, hidden from the shooter. I huddled behind Manny and Alisha.

  “A damned sniper! Can’t I catch a break?” I shouted.

  From the distant guard tower came a hoarse voice in Arabic. He spoke for several minutes.

  I looked to Manny for a translation. At the look on his face, I said, “I take it he’s not going to surrender.”

  Manny laughed bitterly. “He says he is the head of the best sniper squad in this country and he looks forward to blowing out the brains of the filthy witch who used foul magic to kill his comrades.”

  I looked down at my blood-streaked body. “I’m filthy, but I’m no witch.” I took a deep breath. “Tell him if he leaves now, and throws his weapon away, I’ll let him live. Otherwise, his fate will be worse than any of his comrades.”

  Manny’s eyes opened wide and he said, “I don’t think a bluff…”

  His voice trailed off at my expression. He turned and shouted in Arabic.

  The return passage was even louder and more guttural.

  I raised an eyebrow at Manny. He said, “You don’t want to know what he called you and what he promised.”

  The dawn light was now bright enough that the courtyard could be seen clearly, even by normal humans. No shadows I could skulk around in and sneak up on the confident bastard.

  “He’s just one guy with a gun,” I said.

  “‘One good sniper is worth fifty grunts,’” said Mike in the voice he used when quoting a military saying. Then he continued, “Are you sure you can take him?”

  Not in the least. But the sounds of multiple sirens were approaching. We only had minutes before reinforcements arrived.

  “I’ve got this,” I said with all the confidence I had.

  Manny opened his mouth to shout again when Mike said, “Allow me. I learned a few words in language school.”

  Manny shrugged and Mike stuck his head out only long enough to shout, “Hey, ras zippe! Fuck you!”

  “Ras zippy?” I shook my head and concentrated on gathering pure oxygen to my head, then triggered the metabolic overclocking that sped my reflexes up ten times.

  Manny’s voice Dopplered down to a slow rumble as he translated, “It. Means. Cock. Head.”

  I stepped into the clear space between the pillars. The sniper’s head was visible in the open window of the tower, but not enough of him showed to give Manny or Mike a clear shot. His long-barreled rifle was resting on a sandbag placed on the windowsill.

  What happened next seemed to take forever but was only a few seconds in human time: He took aim at my chest and tightened his finger on the trigger. The burning dot sensation that indicated his aim point grew hotter as he took up the slack on his trigger, a phenomenon I had never noticed at normal speed.

  In the microsecond before the shot rang out, I twisted to my left and the bullet zipped past.

  I took one step down the stairs and smiled at the distant sniper. I was careful to move slowly to entice him to keep shooting.

  Another burning dot, another wasted shot. I smiled with teeth now. As he racked another shell into his fancy one-shot sniper rifle, I made a V with my fore- and middle fingers. I pointed at my eyes, then at him.

  “I see you, Zippy,” I said as slowly as possible, using my loudspeaker spell to ensure he heard me. Even if he didn’t speak English, the insult and tone got through.

  He was incredibly good. For the first two shots, I had twisted to my left to evade. This time he aimed slightly to my right but jerked left at the last second, hoping to hit me when I twisted.

  I shook my head in slow motion. Then I used some Italian gestures Mom had taught me. The type you only used on deadly enemies.

  I reached the bottom of the stairs and started across the courtyard. At least some of the gestures I was using to anger him must have been universal, because he started shooting as fast as possible with his single-shot rifle.

  Even though his aim was superb, he missed every shot. I skittered forward in quick time, pausing every few feet to force him to waste a shot on me instead of targeting my teammates.

  At my rear came the sounds of running feet. Mike said, “Watch her back!”

  The sounds of shots from my teammates, followed closely thereafter by the sound of feet running away,
showed that my teammates had my back. I concentrated on my target.

  Midway between two groups of dead soldiers, I reached my abaya and Silkworm. I snatched them up and stuffed them into my invisible bag. If Silkworm was dead, at least she would have her killers as company wherever she went.

  My sensitivity to being targeted wouldn’t have worked against the ‘spray and pray’ soldiers—they shot at everything indiscriminately, making their bullets nearly impossible to evade.

  But against this sniper with his singular focus, that talent was a life saver.

  I took another skittering step and evaded another shot.

  Finally, I was close enough to use magic against him. In the time it took him to load another round and cycle his action, I activated the spell that neutralized cartridges.

  The impotent click! of his misfire brought a smile to my lips. The kind of smile that scared normal humans.

  He saw the smile, but didn’t understand that this contest was over. By the time he had cleared the action and loaded another dead round, I was at the foot of the tower.

  The click of his useless last round seemed to devastate the sniper. He threw the inoperable rifle at my head.

  I snatched the weapon out of mid-air. Using magic and werewolf strength, I twisted the barrel into a bow.

  Another click came from above. The sniper had pulled out a .45 automatic and was trying to shoot me with that inferior weapon.

  At my smile, he pulled the sandbag back and started to pull the window closed. He thought distance and bulletproof glass would stop me.

  I made the eyes-to-eyes gesture again and showed my fangs.

  Then I sprouted my claws, dug into the bare concrete, and started climbing.

  20

  In less than a minute, I was perched outside the locked window. My sniper was staring at me from the inside. He was a lot smaller than I had expected, skinny as a rail and dressed in military khakis. He had a thick black beard, a sharp nose, and piercing black eyes.