Magic Triumphs (Kate Daniels)

by Ilona Andrews

  Curran walked through the doorway. He came around the desk and leaned against it.

  “I’m thinking of going to see the Witch Oracle,” I told him.

  He frowned. “It’s a bad idea.”

  It was an awful idea. I avoided the Witch Oracle like I avoided fire. When you consulted an oracle, you rolled the dice. Whatever they said would alter the course you took. It was always accurate; it always applied to the situation but never in the way you thought it would. An oracle could warn you that water would be a problem for your house in the future, so you prepared for a flood, but then your house caught on fire, and you didn’t have enough water to put it out. The fact that the oracle was right wouldn’t get your house back. Ninety-nine percent of the time you were better off not getting the prophecy in the first place. Unfortunately, I was down to one percent on the scale of desperate. I needed answers about the box, I needed to secure Roman’s help, and I had to talk to the Oracle about getting a move on with our final strategy to fight my father.

  Besides, we had to prevent a second Serenbe from happening, and if the Oracle could help with that, I’d kiss their feet.

  “I need to talk to Roman about the Druids. And I want to ask the Witch Oracle about Serenbe.” And a couple of other things. “I can’t just sit on my hands and do nothing, Curran. People died. We have to do something about it.”

  “I’ll watch the boy,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Will you come home tonight?”

  “I will.”

  “Good,” he said. “Because I have plans.”

  “What kind of plans?”

  His gray eyes turned warm. “Come home and I’ll demonstrate.”

  “You’re insatiable,” I told him.

  “Maybe you’re just irresistible.”

  “Sure I am.”

  He leaned in and kissed me, sending a shiver through me. It was funny how the world stopped when he kissed me. Every single time.

  He fixed my gaze with his. “Go do your thing. Nobody will hurt Conlan while you’re gone.”

  I smiled at him and dialed Roman’s number. He picked up on the second ring.

  “Three months. You don’t call, you don’t write,” Roman’s accented voice said into the phone. “I am offended.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  He laughed. “Fine, I’m not. What do you need?”

  “I need to see the Witch Oracle and to talk to you about something.”

  “Do you need a vision?” he asked.

  I took a deep breath. Once I said this, there was no going back, and I would have to live with whatever prophecy they delivered. “Yes.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  “WHY DOES IT have to be a tortoise?” I mumbled, moving down a narrow path through the woods that used to be Centennial Park.

  “You said you wanted a vision,” Roman said.

  He was wearing his usual black robe. The Slavic pantheon had two sides, the dark and the light, and volhvs acted as the conduit between the gods and the faithful. They served as priests, enchanters, and, on occasion, therapists. Roman served Chernobog, the God of Death, the Black Serpent, the Lord of Nav, the realm of the dead. On the surface, Chernobog was evil and bad, and his brother, Belobog, was good and light. In reality, things were complicated. Someone had to serve the Dark God, and Roman had ended up being that someone. He once told me it was the family business.

  Roman did have the dark priest part down. His robe was black with silver embroidery at the hem. His hair—shaved on the sides and long on top and on the back of his head, so it looked like the mane of some wild horse—was black as well. Even his eyes under black eyebrows were such a deep brown, they appeared almost black.

  “I know. I was asking in general.”

  “Tortoises are ancient. They live for a really long time and grow wise.”

  “I know what the tortoise symbolizes,” I growled. The path turned, and we walked into a clearing where a big stone dome rested on the green grass.

  Roman reached out with his staff and tapped the dome.

  The dome shuddered once and slowly crept up, rising higher and higher. A dull black snout emerged. Two eyes, as big as dinner plates, looked at me. The colossal reptile opened its mouth.

  I climbed into it, stepping on the spongy tongue. “What I meant was, why couldn’t the Oracle meet in a building? You know, a nice temple somewhere?”

  “Because every Tom, Dick, and Harry would show up wanting a prediction of their next golf game,” Roman said, climbing in behind me. “This way, they’d have to risk getting eaten by a giant tortoise to ask for their prophecy. Only two kinds of people would do this: the desperate and idiots.”

  “If you say I’m both, I’ll punch you right in the arm.”

  “If the shoe fits . . .”

  I sighed and made my way through the throat, down the sloping tunnel to the pool of murky water at the bottom. Long strands of algae hung from the walls. The liquid smelled of flowers and pond water. I frowned. Usually it was much deeper. One time Ghastek’s vamp came with me and it slipped and went all the way under.

  I walked through the nearly dry tunnel. “What happened to all the tortoise spit?”

  “I’m wearing my good robe,” Roman said.

  Having your mother serve as one of the three witches of the Oracle had its perks.

  The tunnel turned. I followed it and walked into a large room. A pond spread before me, offering delicate lily blossoms among the wide dark-green pads. A stone bridge, so low that water washed over it, crossed the pond. Above us a vast dome rose, the light of the evening sun shining through its translucent top, setting it aglow with fiery reds and yellows. The walls gradually darkened, first green, then black and emerald.

  The bridge ended in a platform where three women sat. The first, ancient and withered, napped quietly in her chair, her hair so light, it looked like fuzz. The first time I’d seen her, she’d been fierce like a predatory bird ready to draw blood. Now Maria mostly slept. She still hated me, though. The first time I visited the Oracle, she locked me into a ring of magic and I broke it. She’d wanted to murder me ever since. Next to her Evdokia, plump, middle-aged, with a brown glossy braid pinned to her head, knitted something in her rocking chair. A small black cat wound its way around her legs. The third girl, blond and slight, smiled at me. I’d saved her from dying, and Sienna always tried to help me in return.

  Behind the women a tall mural of Hekatē covered the wall. She stood before a large cauldron, positioned at the intersection of three roads. The crone, the mother, and the maiden, all aspects of their witch-goddess.

  “Do you seek a vision?” Sienna asked.

  We were going through the whole ceremony, then. “Yes.”

  “Ask your question.”

  Evdokia leaned over and nudged Maria with her knitting needle. The old woman startled, blinked, saw me, and rolled her eyes.

  I had to phrase this carefully. “The people of Serenbe were murdered for their bones. I want to know who did it and why.”

  Sienna leaned back. A current of magic pulsed from the other two women into her. She raised her hands, looking like a swan about to take flight. Her eyes glazed over. A smile stretched her lips. Using her magic brought Sienna genuine joy.

  She rocked back. The far wall faded.

  A battlefield spread before us, people in blue-black armor fighting against people in modern gear. Fire burned long tracks through the field, blazing ten feet high. The scent of charred flesh assaulted my nose. The metallic scent of blood saturated the air. I inhaled it and tasted human blood on my tongue. A moment and I was in it, in the thick of the slaughter. People tore at each other, their faces skewed by rage and terror, emotions so primal, the fighters looked like masked actors in a grotesque play.

  Sweat, blood, and tears saturated th
e space around me, and beyond it was a wall of fire.

  Something roared at the other end of the battlefield. I pushed my way toward it. Blades shone in the sun, chopping and slicing. Blood sprayed me. Human bones, free of flesh, splintered in front of me, transforming into powder.

  If only I could get to higher ground . . .

  The combatants parted. A hill of corpses rose before me. I climbed it, scrambling over the bodies sticky with drying blood. Almost there. Almost.

  I climbed to the top. In the distance a golden chariot tore through the fighters. Father . . . Another roar came, low and terrible, like nothing I’d ever heard before. I turned and saw two eyes, brilliant amber and burning, staring at me from the darkness rising over the melee. A dark shape swooped on my right side on two big wings. It looked vaguely familiar, almost as if . . .

  Fire drowned everything, its heat scorching me.

  The light vanished, and the wall reappeared. Sienna was still.

  I waited.

  Nobody said anything.

  “Is that it?” I asked.

  “That’s all I could see.”

  “So, a big battle, blood, flames, human bones, and everyone burning?”

  She nodded.

  “That explains nothing.”

  Sienna spread her arms.

  “Is there a prophecy?”

  “Nothing came to me.”

  Bullshit. There was always a prophecy. “I want my money back,” I said.

  “You didn’t pay us anything, ingrate,” Maria told me.

  “This is not helpful.”

  “Sorry,” Sienna said. “It’s not an exact science. If I get something else, I’ll let you know.”

  I really wanted to bump my head against something hard, but nothing was around.

  “My father is mobilizing his forces. He might be moving forward with his invasion plans.”

  Evdokia stopped knitting. “How sure are you?”

  “It’s been reported by both Pack scouts and ours. How are you coming along with the White Warlock?”

  Sienna scooted in her seat.

  Evdokia pursed her lips. “There are complications,” she said.

  “There can’t be complications. You promised me you’d do this ritual. He isn’t killing my son or my husband. If he invades, and I have to kill myself, I want to be sure it isn’t for nothing. Do I need to go down there and talk to this Warlock myself?”

  “No!” Evdokia and Sienna said in the same voice.

  “Why not?” They were hiding something.

  “This is witch business,” Evdokia said. “If you blunder in there waving your sword around, you’ll spoil everything. We promised you the ritual and we’ll deliver. When have I ever not delivered, Katya?”

  The Russian name came out. Oh boy. “I just want to make sure that if worse comes to worst, I don’t die for nothing.”

  “We’ll handle it,” Sienna told me.

  Maria cackled. The other two witches looked at her.

  She hacked and spat on the floor. “Evil scum you are. Evil scum you’ll always be. I hope you all die in a fire.”

  Evdokia heaved a sigh.

  “Awesome,” I said. “Good chat. Thank you for the productive meeting. Looking forward to our next one.”

  “One other thing,” Evdokia said. “Some knights from the Order asked to speak to us.”

  “Local?”

  “No, from out of town.”

  Knight-abettor Norwood got around. “They’re trying to remove Nick Feldman from his position as the head of the chapter. He keeps pointing out that I exist, and they don’t like it.”

  “We’ll take care of it,” Sienna promised.

  I turned and walked back out of the tortoise. Outside, the air tasted fresh and sweet. The trees shimmered in the twilight breeze as the sky cooled after the burn of sunset. Lightning bugs flew here and there, tiny points of light in the indigo air.

  Roman thrust himself in front of me. “You’re planning to kill yourself?”

  Crap. Me and my big mouth. “No.”

  “Explain.”

  I sighed. “My father is susceptible to witch magic. It’s older even than him, primitive in a way but very powerful. Erra told me that the hardest opponent he ever faced, outside of the war that killed most of our family, was a witch, and that woman almost killed him. The plan is to gather the Covens together on the battlefield and perform a ritual, which would channel their combined power into a single person. I can’t be that person. First, I’m not trained enough. Second, the point person in this scenario acts like a prism, concentrating and directing the power outward. I’m a lousy prism. My body just hoards all of the magic.”

  “Let me guess,” he said, his voice dry. “The White Warlock is a good prism?”

  “The best they know. The plan is to talk her into it. Except your mom and the other witches have been trying and haven’t gotten anywhere.”

  “You and your father are bound. If they kill him, you’ll die, too,” Roman said. “This is a stupid plan.”

  “The witches aren’t trying to kill him. They are trying to put him to sleep. If everything works as intended, Roland will fall asleep on the battlefield and hopefully sleep for decades or longer. They did it to Merlin. He is still somewhere out there, sleeping.”

  Roman thought about it. “Okay. Explain the killing-yourself part.”

  “The Covens’ power might not be enough. My dad is very strong. If he isn’t going down, I may have to kill him myself or at least weaken him enough for the spell to take over. There are consequences to that.”

  Roman shook his staff at me. “I repeat, this is a stupid plan!” The raven at the top of the staff opened its wooden beak and screeched at me.

  “Did you know that when you’re mad, your Russian accent disappears?”

  “This is idiotic. You have a husband and a son. You’re not killing your dad and dying because of it. I forbid it.”

  “Okay, Your Holiness.”

  “I’m serious. Death is forever. I know. My god is the Lord of Nav.”

  “There might not be any other way,” I said gently. “If I knew with one hundred percent certainty that killing myself would kill my father, I would do it without hesitation. You’re right. I have a husband and a son, and I want them both to live long happy lives, even if it’s without me. But my dad is a lot older and more powerful than I am. If I just kill myself, he still might survive. With the witches’ power upgrade, at least we stand a better chance of taking him down.”

  “No. I won’t stand for it.”

  I reached out and patted his arm. “Thank you for being my friend.”

  “Does Curran know?”

  “No, and you’re not going to tell him. This is the plan of last resort. If you tell him, he’ll do something stupid to prevent me from entering that battlefield, and I’m our best chance at counteracting my father. If I’m not fighting, I’ll definitely have to kill myself.”

  He snarled something under his breath. The wooden raven screeched.

  “I have an idea. What if instead of being mad and siccing your bird on me, you help me?”

  “Help you do what?”

  “I need to talk to the Druids about the Picts.”

  “What do Picts have to do with anything?”

  I explained the box and the symbol. He huffed. “Fine. Tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.”

  I turned to walk away.

  “Kate,” he called.

  I turned around.

  “You’re my friend. I don’t have a lot of friends because of what I do. Every time my god calls to me, I bargain with him to keep people I don’t know alive. ‘What if we kill just five people? What if we make it three? If we do it this way, perhaps we won’t have to kill anyone.’ I fight for their lives. And here you ar
e, not even trying. There has to be another way, you hear me? Find another way.”

  “I’ll try,” I told him.

  “You do that.”

  * * *

  • • •

  THE MAGIC CRASHED on my way home. No new vehicles sat in the driveway and nobody came to the door. Curran usually heard me before I even pulled into the driveway.

  I let myself inside. Curran did say he would buy a new car today. He might have gotten held up.

  “Hello?” I called. “Anybody home?”

  “I’m home!” Adora called from downstairs.

  I went down into the basement. Fully finished, it had been converted into a makeshift hospital room, with Yu Fong resting in a hospital bed. An IV stretched from his arm. Next to him, in a large plush chair, Adora curled up with a book. Lean, hard, with her dark hair falling to her shoulders, from the back she looked familiar. My shoulders were broader, my frame larger, and I had a couple of inches of height on her. Other than that, replace her katana with Sarrat, and she might be the younger, teenage me.

  “How is he?”

  “The same,” she said.

  Yu Fong showed no signs of life. I leaned close to him and put the back of my hand to his nose. A faint puff of air touched my skin. Still breathing.

  “He’s pretty,” Adora observed.

  “That he is.” He looked like a beautiful painting. “I wouldn’t try kissing him. He isn’t Sleeping Beauty.”

  She wrinkled her nose at me. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

  “Do you want to be paid from Cutting Edge or through the Guild for the gig?”

  She tilted her chin. “I’m working pro bono.”

  “Since when?”

  “This is a family matter,” she said. “I’ll take care of him because you and Curran are family and you need help.”

  “Who are you and what have you done with Adora?”

  She grinned at me. “You’re not as funny as you think.”

  “I’m funny enough. Come and get me if he wakes up.”

  “You killed one of my sisters today,” she said.

  News traveled fast. “I did. She wanted to kill Conlan and eat him.”