Magic Triumphs (Kate Daniels)

by Ilona Andrews

  Conlan began his epic journey, and I pulled files on mass disappearances, landed on the floor close enough to catch him if he decided to swan-dive, and tried to review what little was known about people vanishing.

  Of all the recorded mass disappearances, the Roanoke colony was the most famous, but there were others. Easter Island, whose inhabitants had melted into thin air, leaving behind only statues. Ancient Puebloans, who were once called Anasazi, meaning “ancient enemies.” The village of Hoer Verde in Brazil. That one was especially creepy. The theories said that the Easter Islanders might have starved to death and Roanoke’s colonists might have died of plague, but everyone was pretty sure something really bad had happened at Hoer Verde. Six hundred Brazilians vanished without a trace in 1923, leaving behind a gun that had been fired and a note that read, There is no salvation.

  All those were pre-Shift. Post-Shift, disappearances increased in frequency but were usually eventually solved. Typically something had eaten the people or some magic disease had nuked everyone and burned itself out. One case listed mysterious blue lights floating in the air, which caused the population of a small town to strip naked and run off into the woods after them. They were eventually found by local sheriffs, confused and embarrassed. The worst injuries suffered amounted to scratches and severe cases of poison ivy exposure.

  There was nothing in any of the files about boiled people or jellied mass graves.

  The phone rang. I grabbed it, watching Conlan trying to scoot backward on the truck’s roof.

  “Hello, Kate,” Maxine said.

  That ass. Couldn’t call himself. Made his secretary do it. That was a new low, even for Nick. “Hi, Maxine. How is my nemesis?”

  “We need your help.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “We need your help,” she repeated.

  Conlan got to his feet and made a tiny hop on top of the truck, achieving a lift of about an inch. I walked closer to the truck.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “We’ve received a group from Wolf Trap.”

  Wolf Trap, Virginia, housed the Order’s national headquarters.

  “I believe they are here to remove Nikolas Feldman from his position as knight-protector.”

  What? Nick was the first decent knight-protector that office had had in the last ten years. His predecessor managed to get the entire chapter killed.

  “Why?”

  “Nikolas has been rather vocal in his criticism of the Order. It has caused problems.” There was an awful, vulnerable edge to Maxine’s voice. In my time with the Order, she’d been unflappable. No matter what happened, Maxine handled it with her trademark efficiency.

  “Within the chapter?”

  “No, the knights of the chapter are devoted to him. In the past, we have become a refuge for . . .”

  “Problem cases,” I finished for her. Atlanta always was the dumping ground for troublesome knights.

  “Yes. Nikolas has a unique talent when it comes to helping people find their niche. He makes sure that they become useful. Most of them owe their lives to him in more than one way.”

  The Order encouraged loyalty to the local knight-protectors, and the Atlanta chapter was no exception. In the few times I’d seen Nick interact with his knights, the relationships seemed to be based on mutual respect. They did what he told them to do, and they didn’t question him in my presence.

  “The Order would have to have a reason for removing him,” I thought out loud. “One can’t just pull a knight-protector out of his chapter. Is performance down?”

  “No. Our ratio of completed petitions is at an all-time high.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “He has been direct in expressing his frustration with their noninvolvement in the claiming of Atlanta and the general situation with your father.”

  Oh great. I could imagine the reports filed with Wolf Trap. Are you aware that an abomination named Kate Lennart has claimed the city of Atlanta? Why are you not doing anything about the claiming of Atlanta? Are you planning on doing something about this matter in the near future? Could we have a time frame in which this issue might be resolved? When something got under his skin, Nick was un-shut-up-able, and the Order at large desperately wanted to ignore my existence. They didn’t have the power to do anything about me. I was pretty sure they hoped I would just somehow go away, and here was Nick, shining a big searchlight on the problem they were pretending to not see.

  “They don’t believe he possesses the diplomatic flexibility necessary for the post,” Maxine said.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I scanned their minds.”

  Whoa. For Maxine, that was a massive breach of ethics.

  “I had no choice,” Maxine said quietly. “I’ve given twenty-five years to the Order. I’ve felt an entire chapter die one by one. I can’t do this again.”

  She sounded at the end of her rope. “Let me guess, they are going to remove him because he isn’t diplomatic enough to work with me?”

  “Yes.” Anxiety vibrated in Maxine’s voice. “He was invited to a lunch. He went armed. Before he left, he had a particular mind-set. You must understand, this chapter is all he has.”

  Oh, I understood perfectly. Nick would go down swinging. They didn’t summon him to Wolf Trap, because he wouldn’t go, and they didn’t want to do this within the chapter’s walls, in front of the other knights, where he was at his strongest.

  “You must understand, when I said that the knights are devoted to him, I meant that they are deeply committed to his goals.”

  If Nick went down, the chapter would revolt. They’d picked a hell of a time for this.

  Conlan balanced on the edge of the truck.

  If I didn’t handle this right now, the chapter would collapse on itself. Nick would likely die, and that was the last thing I wanted.

  “Where is this lunch?”

  “At the Amber Badger.”

  It would take me twenty minutes. It would take him at least thirty to get there from the chapter. These knights from Wolf Trap really wanted to put some distance between him and his people.

  “When did he leave?”

  “About five minutes ago.”

  “I’m on it. Keep everyone calm, please.”

  I hung up and lunged forward just as Conlan jumped off the truck. He landed in my arms and giggled. My son, the daredevil. It’s good that I have a short reaction time.

  I hugged him and smooched his forehead. “Let’s go get dressed. We’ve got to save Uncle Nick Stupidhead from himself.”

  * * *

  • • •

  I WALKED INTO the Amber Badger carrying Conlan. He hadn’t wanted to put on clothes. I’d successfully wrestled him into a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, but it took me ten minutes longer than planned to get to the restaurant. Here’s hoping I wasn’t too late.

  The hostess smiled at me. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for a party of the Order’s knights. Armed, scary, probably scowling.”

  “This way.”

  The inside of the Amber Badger resembled a medieval tavern, with stone walls, scrubbed wooden floors, pendants on the walls, and sturdy wooden tables. It was half-empty, and I had no trouble spotting Nick and three knights at a table near the far wall. Nick’s face had that detached cold look he got just before his sword came out of its sheath. The other three, two men, one dark-skinned in his forties, one white and slightly younger, and a Hispanic woman about my age, held themselves with the ease of seasoned fighters. Not relaxed but not tense either. A half-full platter of pretzels with cheese and beer sauce rested on the table. Oh good, they were still on appetizers. They wouldn’t fire him until the main course.

  I marched straight to the table.

  Nick raised his head and saw me. His eyes widened.
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  I came to a stop by the table. “Knight-protector.”

  “Yes?”

  The three other knights stared at me.

  “Can I steal a moment of your time?”

  Nick appeared to waver.

  Say yes. Say yes, you moron. I am trying to demonstrate rapport here.

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Oh good. Let me grab a chair.” I handed Conlan to Nick.

  He took the baby and held him very carefully. Perhaps he was worried Conlan would explode.

  “Can this wait?” the female knight asked.

  “No,” Nick told her.

  “Baddaa!” Conlan told him.

  Nick picked up a pretzel and offered it to my son. Conlan grabbed it and stuck it in his mouth. I pulled up a chair and sat down.

  “What is it?” Nick asked.

  “Am I interrupting something important?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. If you returned my phone calls, I wouldn’t have to hunt you down all over the city. A bit of professionalism, Nick. That’s all I’m asking.”

  He leaned forward. “Oh, professionalism.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “I’m supposed to offer a professional response to ‘Call me, you stubborn dickhead.’”

  “Nick! Earmuffs.”

  Nick clamped his hands over Conlan’s ears. “Sorry.”

  “You are a dickhead. You know I wouldn’t call unless it was urgent.” At least I knew he checked his messages.

  Conlan squirmed.

  “What is this about?” Nick growled.

  “Someone cleared out Serenbe. They went through, shot all of the dogs with sniper precision, rounded up approximately two hundred people, boiled them to extract the bones, and dumped the remains by the old Walmart distribution center.”

  The table suddenly went quiet. Nick dropped his hands from Conlan’s ears.

  “When?”

  “The disappearance was discovered last Sunday. I found out yesterday, when we found the mass grave.”

  “Who’s on it?”

  “Biohazard and Teddy Jo. One of his faithful died and is now in that sludge.”

  “Is it Roland?”

  I shook my head. “It didn’t feel like him.”

  Conlan must’ve decided that Nick needed cheering up, because he took his soggy pretzel out of his mouth and tried to feed it to the knight-protector. Nick gently guided the pretzel away from his lips.

  “It was done with skill and precision. No survivors. Almost no evidence.”

  “You think there will be a repeat performance.”

  “It’s a safe bet.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Who’s got it at Biohazard?”

  “Luther. I called it in.”

  “Something of this magnitude, he’ll bring in the GBI. He’ll probably go to Garcia. She owes me a favor. I’ll call her, see if they’ll bring us in on it.”

  “It would help.” I took Conlan from him. “Say bye to Uncle Stupidhead.”

  Conlan waved his hand. “Bye-bye.”

  “Bye-bye!” Nick waved back.

  I got up to leave. “Thank you for letting me interrupt your important lunch. You’re not planning on taking off somewhere with your friends, are you?”

  “No,” Nick said, his face made of stone.

  “Good, because the city needs you, and you don’t have a costume, so sending bat signals with floodlights is right out.”

  I offered everyone a big smile. There. All professional.

  “Mrs. Lennart,” the dark-skinned knight said. “I’m Knight-abettor Norwood. I would like to visit you at a later date.”

  I glanced at Nick. “Who are the Holy Trinity?”

  “They’re from out of town,” he said.

  I shrugged. “You’re welcome to come by. Nick knows where to find me.”

  “You seem ordinary,” the female knight said.

  “Good.”

  “I could kill you right now,” she stated.

  I rolled my eyes, turned, and walked out.

  * * *

  • • •

  I DROVE BY Cutting Edge to check my messages. When I pulled into the parking lot, a courier was sitting on my doorstep. She was about twelve, short, Latina, and armed with a shotgun. She stuffed a big yellow envelope with a Biohazard stamp in the corner into my hands, had me sign the receipt, and took off on her bicycle without a word. The envelope contained several typed pages with the analysis and brief write-up of the scene at Serenbe and a twelve-page list of names, one per line. The dead.

  I glanced through the report. They m-scanned the houses in Serenbe. Blue across the board.

  I brought Conlan in, checked my messages, which were nonexistent, grabbed the case file Derek and I had put together yesterday, loaded Conlan back into the car seat, took my paperwork with me, and drove home. I could just as well work from the house, and at least at home I had toys and a familiar environment to back me up.

  Two point five seconds after being put into the car seat, my son started screaming. We didn’t even make it out of the parking lot. I got out and checked the car seat for hidden dangers. The seat was fine. Conlan was also fine, despite all of the squirming and pulling on the car seat belt. I offered him a sippy cup with juice, and he threw it on the floor.

  “Oh no, is it tantrum time?”

  It was definitely tantrum time, complete with wailing and real tears. I kissed him on the forehead. “I love you. We have to go home. I can’t hold you right now, but you’re safe.”

  Conlan shrieked. I got back into the driver’s seat and headed home. I couldn’t really complain. Conlan rarely cried, but once in a while he pitched a fit, usually because he was tired and didn’t want to fall asleep. He was a baby and babies threw tantrums, because life was hard and not fair and their wishes were rarely taken into account.

  The real question was, how long would it take him to figure out how to unbuckle himself? That day was coming, and then we would be in real trouble.

  I missed Curran. I wanted him to come home. This whole thing was deeply disturbing, and it felt like a part of me had gone missing. I wanted him back, and I wanted us to all be together.

  About fifteen minutes into the drive, Conlan gave up singing the sad song of his people and fell asleep.

  The Serenbe nightmare bothered me. Two hundred people, families, children . . . That wasn’t just murder; it was an atrocity. I would’ve liked to think only something inhuman was capable of it, but the entire history of humanity proved me otherwise. All of the magic scans pointed to human magic. Was it some sort of massive human sacrifice? If it was, what the hell were they summoning with it?

  Whatever it was, I would find it and kill it. And then I would find the ones responsible and make them regret not dying with it.

  It took me roughly thirty minutes to get to our subdivision. Our house sat in the middle of a short, curved street tucked into the crook of the forest, which my husband bought and named the Five Hundred Acre Wood. Originally it was the beginning of a new sprawling neighborhood, but the woods proved too aggressive. The development barely got off the ground before it was cut short. Then we moved in, which made all but two human families find quieter accommodations. Now our street was mostly people who had separated with us from the Pack. The other two streets were settled by shapeshifters who, for work reasons, decided to live in Atlanta. Even when Curran tried to distance himself, the Pack still found him one way or another.

  I didn’t complain. The place was a fortress without walls, and if I sneezed the wrong way, about forty spree killers armed with fangs, claws, and nasty dispositions would come running. Even so, I’d sunk so much power into the perimeter wards that the entire College of Mages would have a tough time breaking through. I had this recurring nightmare of my father teleporting in and steali
ng my son.

  The driveway before our house was empty. Curran was still gone. Come on, honey. Time to come home.

  I tucked the file and the envelope under my arm and picked up Conlan. He was still sleepy and draped himself over my shoulder, all warm and limp. I unlocked the door, walked inside, and dropped the file off on the table.

  “Here we are,” I murmured to Conlan, hugging him to me gently. “We’re home. We’re going to go upstairs and take a nice nap.”

  Conlan jerked in my arms.

  “What is it?”

  My son yanked his head back, staring at the door, his eyes wide and terrified.

  The doorbell rang.

  Conlan made a low rough noise. Alarm shot down my spine. Babies didn’t make those noises.

  “It’s oka—”

  My son rammed his forehead into my mouth. I tasted blood. He threw his entire weight back, tore out of my arms, landed on his feet, and ran for the stairs.

  What the bloody hell? I dashed after him in time to see his feet disappear into our bedroom on the third floor. He’d cleared the entire staircase in about a second. The lock clicked shut. Our bedroom door had a custom door handle that locked when closed. You had to push a switch on top of it to open it, something Conlan hadn’t yet figured out.

  Okay. Door first, son later. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, pulled Sarrat out, and slid the small viewing window open.

  Grass, a maple tree, and driveway. No fire-spitting monsters. No vicious killers. The tech was up.

  I listened.

  Quiet.

  Yeah, there was probably a terrestrial man-eating octopus crouching on the wall just above the door waiting to pounce.

  It’d been a long time since we’d had fried calamari. Technically, calamari was squid and not octopus, but as long as I fried it, who cared about the details?

  I didn’t have time to mess around. I needed to get this sorted and figure out why my son was freaking out. I swung the door open. The front lawn was empty. A wooden box waited in front of the door. About two feet long, a foot wide, and maybe eight inches deep. Plain untreated wood, probably pine. Two metal hinges on the left side.