Master of Smoke

by Angela Knight

  He pointed the axe at David/Cat, and magic exploded from it in a rolling burst of red fire.

  The silence was nerve-racking. The only sound Eva could hear was the steady pant of David’s breathing. It was too fast, and that, along with the glazed emptiness of his eyes, was beginning to seriously freak her out.

  This isn’t good, Fluffy said, a totally out-of-character remark for a career smart-ass. Why’d you let him go? God knows what he’ll come back as, assuming he comes back at all.

  How was I supposed to stop him?

  And what’s with Sir Asshat of the Round Table? He looks like the last reel of Old Yeller.

  Eva dragged her gaze away from David—it took real work—and saw Tristan sitting with Belle’s head in his lap. He looked up and caught Eva staring at him. He glowered back. “What?”

  “Uh, nothing.”

  “She shouldn’t be doing this.” He said it through his teeth. “She’s not a field witch. She does seductions. Combat’s not her thing. Especially not combat with giant magic-slinging eight-foot werewolves.”

  Eva blinked. “Seductions? That’s a job?”

  “How do you think you get vampires? The three-bites-and-you’re-a-vamp thing is bullshit. You become a vampire from having sex with a witch. Or drinking from Merlin’s Grail, which is what I did.”

  “Wait, you’re a vampire?” She frowned in confusion. “I thought you were a Knight of the Round Table.”

  “I am. I’m also a vampire.”

  “Is that why there’s no Isolde?”

  “Would you shut up about Isolde? And no, we don’t drain people. You watch too much trashy TV.”

  “Hey, Joss Whedon is god, Sir Fangsalot.”

  Tristan opened his mouth, but before he could speak, David roared in pain, his big body convulsing.

  “David!” Eva grabbed for him, but had to duck as one clawed hand swung wildly. “Oh, shit!”

  Another magical blow hit David and Cat like a hammer.

  We’ve got to attack him before he rips us apart! David thought desperately. What do I do?

  Cat snarled, an incoherent blast of animal rage and desperation. I don’t remember! Ask Smoke.

  David growled and threw himself at the image of Warlock as the werewolf lifted Kingslayer again. The figure sent another torrent of magic slamming into him, then vanished like morning mist. David shook off the blow just as the sorcerer reappeared to hit him again.

  Snarling, David chased Warlock as he appeared and vanished, swinging claws and snapping teeth the sorcerer always managed to avoid.

  It’s an illusion, Cat told him. Warlock’s using it to distract us.

  David swore, knowing he was right. How can we hit something we can’t even see?

  “Oh, hell,” Belle spat, her eyes flying open. She blinked, registering Tristan’s face above hers. “What am I doing in your lap?” She rolled onto hands and knees and scrambled toward Smoke and the werewolf woman. Smoke roared again, unmistakably a cry of agony. “Dammit, Warlock’s frying them. I’m going to have to go in.”

  “Go in where?” Tristan demanded, lunging after her. “And why?”

  “David—Smoke—oh, hell, whoever it is, he has the power, but he doesn’t remember how to use it,” Belle said tightly. “Warlock’s got those memories locked up in some kind of magic cage in his mind, along with the rest of Smoke.”

  “Whose mind? Smoke’s?”

  “No, Warlock’s. Help me control him before he hurts himself.” Smoke convulsed again as if someone was hitting him with a Taser powered by a high-tension line.

  “I’ll take care of him. You keep your distance before he turns you into pate.” Tristan pounced on the werecat and straddled his chest, grabbing for the creature’s thick wrists. He damned near got dumped on his head when David arched like a bow.

  “Get his left arm. I’ll get his right,” the werewolf girl snapped, pinning the cat’s right hand to the ground.

  “That’s right,” Belle said. “Now hold him still while I go in after them.”

  A furry thigh snapped up, hitting Tristan’s armored back so hard he almost bit his tongue. He wrestled the cat back down again and gritted, “What do you mean, you’re going after them?”

  Belle trapped Smoke’s thrashing head between her palms. “They can’t break the spell that’s bound Smoke’s memories, but I think I can.”

  “You’ll get yourself fried,” Tristan snarled. “Call Morgana. This kind of shit is her job.”

  Belle had thrown her visor up, and now her gaze met his over Smoke’s head, fierce and determined. “There’s no time, Tristan! And I’ve already got a spell connection to him, so it’s me or he’s dead.”

  “But ...”

  “Let me go with you,” interrupted the werewolf girl. “I can help you reach him.”

  “How the hell do you think you can do that?” Tristan demanded, heartily fed up with both the suicidal little bitches.

  “He loves me.” Eva reached for Belle’s hand, engulfing it in her clawed paw.

  “But magic doesn’t work on werewolves!” Tristan protested.

  “A communication spell is very low energy compared to an attack,” Belle told him tightly. “Besides, Queen Diana says the Direkind have something similar to a Truebond, so we should be able to make a psychic link work.”

  “What if it doesn’t?”

  “Then we’re probably fucked.” She and the werewolf stared at each other with a desperate intensity.

  And nothing happened.

  “I can’t ...” the girl began.

  “Shhh!” Belle snapped. “I’ve almost got it.” She whispered something in French Tristan didn’t catch. The werewolf toppled over.

  David’s clawed hand, suddenly freed, slapped Tristan hard in the helm. Before the knight could do more than swear, Belle fell backward, her body arching over her bent knees.

  “Dammit, Belle, you’re not a combat witch!” Tristan spat at her unconscious form. “That damned werewolf is going to kill you.”

  Belle and Eva floated along the mental trail David and Cat had left on their way to the captive elemental. The connection between the two women was more fragile than the Maja would have liked, but there wasn’t a hell of a lot she could do about it, except hold on.

  Until they arrived in a flash of magic deep in Warlock’s mind.

  The first thing they heard was Cat’s howl of pain as the sorcerer launched a flaming psychic attack against him and David. Luckily, Warlock was so totally focused on his victims, he didn’t even notice the women’s arrival.

  “David,” Eva whispered.

  “Shush!” Belle snapped. “We’ve got to free Smoke. Without him to draw on, Warlock will have a lot less power to use.”

  Concentrating hard, she slid like a ghost toward the spell cage. The elemental reminded her of a gaunt sea lion, its glow dim as it swam in frantic circles, watching Warlock rip into David and Cat. He’d pounded the two so hard, they’d fractured into psychic chunks.

  Fight him, the elemental groaned. You have the power!

  “But they don’t know how to use it,” Belle said in a mental whisper.

  Smoke jerked toward her as she drifted carefully to his cage. “Belle!” Then joy flashed in his eyes as he spotted the werewolf girl. “Eva, you came! I never thought you’d come for me ...”

  She frowned. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re part of him, and you’re in pain.”

  “Do you know how I can get this thing open?” Belle interrupted.

  Smoke blinked great, luminous eyes. “Yes, there’s a weakness. I’ve been working on it for days now. Here.” The creature nosed downward toward the corner of the psychic lattice, where some of the glow had dimmed fractionally. Examining the spot, Belle realized he had indeed managed to weaken the glowing bars. “I just don’t have the strength to finish it.”

  “Luckily, Warlock’s concentrating so hard on the rest of you, he’s diverting power from the spell.” Belle closed her eyes and drew hard on the Mageverse’s pow
er, preparing the blast she’d need to launch. “As soon as you’re out of there, merge with the others.”

  Smoke stared at her, worry in his great, soft eyes. “Warlock will attack you. He’s going to try to rip you apart.”

  “Not if I distract him,” Eva said. Before either of them could protest, she flung herself toward the sorcerer.

  “Oh, hell!” Belle launched the spell at the cage with all her magical strength. Light burst around it with the impact, great fractures appearing. Smoke pressed hard against the crumbling bars, trying to force his way clear.

  Gritting her teeth, Belle gave the cage another rolling blast.

  With a cry of triumph, Smoke shot to freedom in a burst of golden light.

  This is suicide, Eva thought, shooting toward Warlock’s back as he pounded her lover. She had no idea how to work any spell that didn’t involve turning into something furry. Yet here she was, attacking Darth Fang.

  “You don’t have to work spells,” Belle said in her mind. “Here, it’s all about will. Just concentrate on how much you want to pay Warlock back for everything he’s done. You’ll be surprised at how much damage you can do.”

  A slow, cold smile curved Eva’s mouth. She imagined sinking her fangs into Warlock’s neck and shaking him like a rat.

  Suddenly she was on top of the wizard, her insubstantial jaws clamping into the sorcerer’s flesh. He roared in shocked rage. She ripped away a psychic mouthful, then went to work with her claws.

  “Eva, no!” David watched in horror as his lover ripped at the wizard, ignoring how he could hurt her.

  “Bitch!” Warlock roared, twisting around to rake his claws across her face. “You’re going to pay for that!” Blood flew, both his and hers.

  He’s going to kill her, David said through gritted teeth.

  No, he won’t, Smoke said. Because we’re going to get him first. He darted toward them, a dim blur of energy that rocked them as he hit.

  They remembered.

  Thousands of years of knowledge, of magic, of power, exploded in David’s consciousness like a nuclear bomb, stunning in its sheer savage magnificence. In a flash, the fractured parts of his spirit brothers slotted together, becoming one again. He roared in triumph, knowing what to do now. He could feel the magic waiting for his call deep in the Mageverse. And he knew how to hurt Warlock, even as the Dire Wolf prepared to direct a blast of magic at Eva.

  “Get her out of here, Belle!” David shouted.

  “Right.” The witch captured Eva in a net of will and whirled to dive back along the psychic path they’d used. Utterly focused on killing them, Warlock roared in pursuit.

  David hit him with a blast of magic that tumbled him ass over ears. On the physical plane, the sorcerer’s huge body convulsed in his cave.

  A savage pleasure surged through David. Now, after all these days of frustration and pain and fear, after seeing Eva hurt trying to protect him, he could finally kill Warlock. There would be no mercy. There would be no hesitation.

  He would end the fucker.

  David sent another blast into the sorcerer, fire surging from his melded spirit. Again and again he fired in searing concussions of magic that boiled into his enemy’s skull.

  Warlock writhed in the center of the focus circle, screaming in pain as his four remaining Bastards hovered helplessly.

  The cat was killing him from the inside out. And there was nothing he could do about it. But he was damned if he’d just give up and die. He couldn’t leave his people unprotected.

  Warlock knew what he had to do. It was forbidden, but he didn’t care. His people would have turned from him in horror, but that didn’t matter either. He had to stop the pain.

  He had to live.

  Warlock rolled over, fumbling blindly for Kingslayer. His fingers closed around the thickly engraved haft, and he felt its power sing a deep, low note in his mind.

  Another blast ripped at him, and his body convulsed again, but he clung to his blade and gritted, “Wheeler! Wheeler, get over here!”

  The leader of Fenir spoke from somewhere over his head. “Warlock? What would you have of me?”

  Warlock reached up blindly with his left hand and grabbed Kevin Wheeler by the muzzle. “Your life.” Swinging Kingslayer, he beheaded the Dire Wolf with one stroke. He heard the other wolves gasp in horror.

  Arterial blood splashed into his face, as Warlock began chanting the forbidden spell, collecting Wheeler’s spilling life force, dragging it deep even as another blast of Cat’s magic blinded him.

  He wrapped both hands around Kingslayer’s blood-slick haft and focused all his will, all his strength, all the magic of his warrior’s stolen life force on a single thought, a single spell.

  “Get OUT!”

  David gathered his power for the final stroke. He could feel Warlock weakening. The werewolf’s life force guttered like a candle in a draft. One more good blast, and the bastard was done.

  And then ...

  Dark magic surged, black and thick as tar, and evil, so evil he recoiled.

  Warlock hit him.

  The blast slammed him right out of the Dire Wolf’s skull, tumbling him like a leaf in a storm, so viciously strong there was no fighting it. He opened his eyes to see a starry sky overhead.

  Dammit, no! he howled in rage. I almost had him!

  There will be other chances, boy, Smoke said in his thoughts. As it is, we all live. That is no small thing.

  Furious, frustrated, David focused his attention on Eva, who looked down at him in worry. She’d changed back to human form, and he had to smile at her delicate, dark beauty. You’d never know she’d just tried to rip Warlock’s mental guts to sushi. David himself was Sidhe again, lying on the grass with his head in Eva’s lap. The last of his lingering rage drained away. “Gods and devils, I’m tired,” he said.

  Darkness fell over him like a black velvet curtain, so heavy it smothered all thought.

  Eva jerked in alarm as brilliant blue eyes slid closed. “David!”

  Belle, kneeling next to her in the grass, reached out and laid one hand across his forehead. She blew out a breath in relief. “It’s all right. He just blacked out. A little too much magic and effort, plus the strain of having all his assorted pieces shoved back together.”

  “Good,” Tristan said. “Let’s clean up this mess and get the fuck back to the Mageverse before Warlock shows up for round two.”

  The witch looked up at him and made a face. “Slave driver.” She frowned as she looked around at the gory scene.

  Werewolves sprawled in blood-splattered grass that gleamed black as oil in the moonlight. “I’m not going to be able to take care of this mess alone. I’m drained. I’ll have to get Morgana to send a cleanup team.”

  “Great. So open up a gate and let’s go.” Tristan bent over David, picked him up as if he weighed no more than his house cat form, and draped him over one armored shoulder.

  Eva rose anxiously to her feet. “What about me?”

  “You’re coming with us.” Tristan grimaced and repositioned David’s weight on his shoulder with a little bounce. “Unless you want to hang around here and wait for Warlock to turn you into a werewolf-skin rug.”

  Belle rolled her eyes. “You are such a charmer.” She gestured, and a tiny spark flashed in the air, quickly expanding into a rippling oval more than seven feet tall and five across.

  “Dimensional gate,” she explained, noticing Eva’s wary frown. “It leads to the Mageverse, the source of all magic. You and I and our armored friend here all draw our power from the Mageverse.”

  “Oh,” Eva’s eyes widened in sudden realization. “So that’s what I sense when I change.” Ever since the werewolf attack, she’d sensed a presence that was stronger at night and much weaker during the day, but which never disappeared. From the beginning, she’d instinctively reached out to it whenever she wanted to transform.

  Apparently she was about to get the answers to a great many mysteries. She really should feel better abou
t that.

  Eva’s gaze slipped to David, lying unconscious across the vampire’s shoulder, his dark hair spilling down to brush the ground. God, I hope he’ll be okay.

  Belle stepped through the rippling dimensional gate as casually as a woman strolling through a door. Tristan followed, carrying David as easily as if he were a shawl. Eva took a deep breath, braced herself, and stepped through after them. Magic danced over her skin in a cool, tingling wave, and she shivered.

  Then she was on the other side, and her mouth fell open on a shameless gape.

  SEVENTEEN

  They’d stepped into a grove of cherry trees. White blooms glowed in the moonlight like cloud banks, and Eva looked skyward, her gaze following the puffy shapes—until she saw the sky.

  For a long moment, she just stood gazing in dazzled fascination. More stars than she’d ever seen spilled across the velvety darkness in alien constellations, and the moon rode three perfect little clouds edged in silver and blue.

  There was a feeling in the air, an intoxicating buzz that seemed to call the magic in her. Eva could feel it reverberating in her bones and her muscles like a deep, thrumming chime. It made her want to transform, to spill into her wolf and race the moon across the night.

  A smile spread helplessly across her face.

  “Don’t just stand there grinning,” Tristan said over his shoulder as he strode after Belle. “Come on. Arthur’s waiting for us.”

  That woke her up. “Ummm—Arthur? King Arthur?”

  “Don’t call him that,” Tristan told her impatiently. “He’s not a king anymore, and he hates it when people use that title. He’s Liege of the Magi.”

  “Okay.” She hustled after them, emerging from the little orchard that was apparently some kind of park.

  “Holy God, it’s Disney World,” Eva muttered, barely resisting the urge to stop and gape again. Tristan would probably smack her, and then Fluffy would have to eat him.