Magic Rises kd-6

by Ilona Andrews

  “A welcoming committee,” Raphael announced.

  I turned. Fourteen people hurried toward us along the pier. Six pairs of men in dark coats, cinched at the waist. Most were dark-haired, tan, and lean. A few had short beards. Each carried a rifle over his shoulder and a dagger on his belt. They looked like a flock of dark ravens flying in two lines.

  Two women walked in front of them. The first wore a dark blue blouse and jeans. She was about my age, dark-haired, her skin a light bronze, her hair put away into a braid. Her face was interesting, with large, bold features: big eyes, wide mouth, a sharply drawn nose. The girl next to her looked to be on the cusp of her twenties. Shorter, paler, with a slender waist, she wore a white dress. The wind tugged at the cascade of her chocolate-brown hair and her clothes, and the diaphanous fabric flared, making her appear ethereal and light. She all but floated above the rough concrete.

  The girl waved. “Curran!”

  She knew him.

  Curran swore under his breath. “I’ll be damned. They dragged her into this.”

  Apparently he knew her, too.

  “Curran!” She waved again, standing on her toes, and hurried toward us.

  “Lorelei?” Curran called out.

  The girl smiled. Wow. The night just got a bit brighter.

  The sailors lowered the gangplank and Curran started down the moment it clanged against the pier. Apparently he couldn’t wait to meet her.

  “Who is Lorelei?” I asked quietly.

  “Lorelei Wilson,” Mahon said. “Daughter of the Ice Fury’s alpha.”

  Lorelei’s father led the Alaskan pack, the biggest shapeshifter group in the United States. The one who had left with her mother when Wilson and his European wife divorced. Well, wasn’t that just peachy.

  “How do you tempt the Beast Lord?” Barabas murmured. “Simple. Offer him a shapeshifter princess.”

  Aunt B reached over and gently popped him on the back of his head.

  “I hate her already,” Andrea told me. “George hates her too, right, George?”

  “I think she is adorable.” George volunteered next to me. “We should give her milk and cookies, and if she promises to be quiet, she can sit at the big people’s table.”

  “Show some respect,” Mahon said. “She is the heir to Ice Fury.”

  George arched her eyebrows at him. “Really, Dad?”

  On the pier, Curran reached the procession. The woman in blue bowed. Lorelei stepped forward, her arms raised for a hug, then stopped abruptly, as if catching herself, and also bowed. Curran said something. She smiled again.

  I touched Slayer’s hilt just to make sure it was there.

  “Diplomatic, Kate,” Barabas suggested quietly. “Diplomatic.”

  I leaned close to him. “Find out who invited her, what are her attachments, and if she has strings, who is pulling.”

  He nodded.

  I went down the gangplank. The rough concrete was dry under my feet. I managed a slow, deliberate march and the pier seemed to last forever. Did it need to be this long? Were they going to park a carrier here?

  I finally got within hearing range.

  “You grew up,” Curran was saying.

  “It’s been ten years.” Lorelei’s voice had a light trace of an accent. Not quite French, not quite Italian. “I just turned twenty-one.”

  I closed in on them. Lorelei had striking eyes, large and pale blue, framed in dense eyelashes. High cheekbones, softened by smooth skin and just a touch of roundness that came from being young; a narrow, petite nose, a full pink mouth. Her hair, a rich brown, fell down her shoulders in relaxed waves. She radiated youth, beauty, and health. She looked . . . fresh. I was only five years older than her, but standing next to her, I suddenly felt old.

  Curran was looking at her. Not in the same way he looked at me, but he was looking. An odd feeling flared in me, hot and angry, prickling my throat from the inside with hot sharp needles, and I realized it was jealousy. I guess there was a first time for everything.

  “Have you seen my father?” Lorelei asked. “How is he?”

  “I saw him last year,” Curran said. “He’s the same as always: tough and ornery.”

  I came to stand next to him.

  Lorelei raised her eyebrows. Her eyes widened, and a sheen of pale green rolled over her irises. “You must be the human Consort.”

  Yes, that’s me, the human invalid. “My name is Kate.”

  “Kate,” she repeated, as if tasting the word. “It is an honor to meet you.”

  Curran was smiling at her, that handsome hot smile that usually made my day better. Pushing Lorelei into the ocean wouldn’t be diplomatic, even if I really wanted to do it. “Likewise.”

  “I’ve heard so much about you. But where are my manners? You must be hungry and tired.”

  The woman in blue stepped forward, moving with a shapeshifter’s grace. Her eyes flashed green, catching the light from the ship. So these were the local werejackals Barabas had mentioned. Her eyes told me she’d been there and done that, and got a bloody T-shirt for her trouble.

  The woman in blue bowed. “My name is Hibla. I’m here to be your guide.” She indicated the men next to her. “We are Djigits of Gagra.”

  I had read up on Abkhazia. “Djigit” meant a skilled rider or a fierce warrior. The djigits looked back at me, the light of the evening sun catching their eyes. Yep, everyone was a shapeshifter except for me.

  “We will escort you to your quarters when you are ready,” Hibla said.

  Curran waved at the ship. Our small pack began its descent down to the pier. A few moments and they stood behind us.

  Lorelei bowed to Mahon. “Greetings to the Kodiak of Atlanta.”

  Mahon grinned into his beard. “What happened? Last time I saw you, you were this big.” He held out his arm at his waist level.

  Lorelei smiled. “I wasn’t that short.”

  Mahon chuckled.

  Aunt B was next, smiling so bright, I needed shades. Her voice was sweet enough to spread on toast. “So you are Mike Wilson’s daughter. He must be so proud. What a beautiful girl you are.”

  “Thank you.” Lorelei almost glowed.

  Oh, you naive thing. When a bouda smiles at you, that’s not a good sign. Especially that particular bouda.

  “On behalf of Gagra, I’m here to extend the hospitality of my beautiful city to you,” Hibla said. “Gagra welcomes you with all of its warmth, its lakes and waterfalls, its beaches and orchards. But be forewarned, if you come here with violent intentions, we will leave your corpses for the crows. We have no problem murdering every single one of you.”

  “Awesome speech,” Keira told her. Jim’s sister was smiling, and it didn’t look friendly.

  “Thank you. I worked hard on it. Please, follow me.”

  We trailed her down the pier and onto the road paved with stone. Hibla kept a brisk pace, reciting in a throaty, lightly accented voice. “Welcome to Abkhazia. The city of Gagra is the warmest place on the Black Sea. We have a wonderful microclimate with warm winters and pleasant summers. You will find the most exquisite landmarks here.”

  It was like she was reading an invisible travel guide.

  Curran was looking at Lorelei as we walked.

  “We grow a variety of fruit: peaches, persimmons, apricots, pomegranates, tangerines, lemons, and grapes. Our region is famous for its wines.”

  That’s nice. Maybe I could find a wine bottle hard enough to hit Curran over the head and knock some sense into him.

  “What pack do you serve?” Barabas asked.

  “The Djigits of Gagra are not affiliated with any of our guests. Our allegiance is to the local pack and to the lord of the castle.”

  It was as if I had stepped into a different world. Across the ocean there were crumbling skyscrapers. Here there were castles and lords. Well, technically the Keep was kind of a castle and people did call Curran lord, but at home shapeshifters said it with simple efficiency, the way one would say sir. Here it was
said with a solemn reverence.

  “Is the lord of the castle a shapeshifter?” Curran asked.

  “No, he’s a human,” Lorelei said.

  “Lord Megobari is a friend,” Hibla said. “Our economy was always driven by tourism. After the Shift, the region collapsed. We had been battered by natural disasters and war. Our city and our lives were in ruins. The Megobari family helped us. They built hospitals, they restored our roads, and they brought business to us. They don’t ask anything in return except for our protection, which is freely and gladly given.”

  Okay. The Megobari family were clearly saints, and the local jackal pack would die to keep them breathing. Considering how the men glared at us, we had to make sure not to offend the host, because these djigit shapeshifters took their duties deadly seriously.

  We all followed Hibla through the town. The feylanterns in Gagra glowed pale lavender, turning the solid stone of the buildings into a faint mirage. Magic flowed down the narrow, curving roads. Neat little streets, some cobbled, some still bearing crumbling pavement, ran along the side of the mountain, all sloping up, bordered by houses of all shapes and sizes. Persian, Greek, and modern architecture collided, like wakes from three different ships.

  We passed a stately mansion that could’ve been built for a Moorish prince. It rose, flanked by palms, three stories of narrow arched windows, textured parapets, and stone wall carvings that looked as light and delicate as lace. At one point it must’ve been glowing white, but now it had shed its paint, and green walls showed through. A Greek building of Doric columns the color of sand followed, and immediately after, the ruins of a modern apartment building lay scattered over the mountain slope. The rest of the world seemed a thousand miles away. If we ever got tired of the Pack or living in anticipation of being found by Roland, we could find something like this, an isolated quiet corner of the world. Nobody would ever find us here.

  Well, nobody but Lorelei.

  “When you saw my father, did he mention me?”

  “No,” Curran told her. “It wasn’t a social meeting. I’m sure he thinks of you often.”

  Another once-beautiful and now-gutted building. I counted the stories. Seven. Too tall. Magic hated tall modern buildings and attacked them with extreme prejudice. This building was definitely abandoned—the black holes of its empty windows showed a charred interior. When magic waves took down a structure, they gnawed it to dust first. This one showed no signs of post-Shift damage.

  “What happened here?” I asked.

  “War,” Hibla said.

  “Who did you fight with?” George asked.

  “Ourselves. Abkhazia is on the border between Russia and Georgia. Fifty years ago they fought. Neighbors turned on their neighbors. Families split. Russia won. The city was cleansed.” She spat the word as if it were studded with broken glass. “Everyone who was Georgian was killed or exiled.” She nodded at another building with boarded-up windows. “The city was scarred forever. The magic has destroyed the other buildings, but the war ruins remain.”

  “Such a shame,” Aunt B said. “Your city was beautiful.”

  “She will be beautiful again,” Hibla said.

  We kept climbing, higher and higher. The city road narrowed. Dense trees on both sides blocked the view, their branches braided together with vines. Tiny fireflies floated on the breeze. Abruptly the trees ended and we stepped out on a plaza. To the left, far below, endless sea lapped at the narrow ribbon of the shore. Straight ahead, mountains curved gently to the waves.

  “The castle.” Hibla pointed to the far right, behind us. I turned. An enormous stone castle crowned the top of the mountain, its stone walls rising like the natural extension of the living rock. Wide rectangular towers soared under pale blue roofs. The long narrow flags flying on the thin spires from the huge building of the main keep caught the last rays of the setting sun and glowed as if they were on fire.

  “How old is the castle?” Mahon asked.

  “We celebrated its twenty-year anniversary last fall.”

  Wow. Post-Shift. The amount of labor this structure took had to be staggering. How the hell did they even get that much stone up the mountain?

  “Please.” Hibla invited us with a sweep of her hand. “Up this road.”

  We went up the mountain at a brisk pace. Any faster and I’d have had to start running. The path was steep and the light was dying fast. Ten minutes later I broke a sweat. The shapeshifters around me seemed fresh as daisies.

  “It must be very tiring for the Consort,” Lorelei said next to me.

  That was a bit unexpected. Was she actually concerned?

  “The road is steep and she doesn’t have the benefit of night vision.”

  She was looking at Curran. No, she wasn’t checking if I was okay. She was talking about me as if I weren’t even there. The way one would say, Is your little dog thirsty? Does she need a bowl of water?

  “Perhaps a mount could be brought . . . ?” Lorelei suggested.

  Out of a corner of my eye I saw both Barabas and George freeze. Yes, I know I’ve been insulted. Settle down. “Thank you for your concern. I can manage.”

  “Please, it’s no trouble at all. You could hurt yourself. I know that even something minor like a twisted ankle would present a big problem for a human . . .”

  Do not punch the pack princess; do not punch the pack princess . . .

  “We wouldn’t want you to struggle to keep up.”

  Okay, she went too far. I gave her a nice big smile.

  Curran’s face snapped into a neutral expression. “We just got here, baby. It’s too early for you to start killing people.”

  Lorelei’s eyes widened. “I didn’t mean any offense.”

  Yeah, you did.

  “I’m so sorry. I was only concerned. Please forgive me.”

  And now anything I said with any hint of hostility would make me look like an ass. She’d outmaneuvered me. Fine. There was always the next time. “Don’t worry about it.”

  We rounded the bend. The castle loomed in front of us, shockingly huge. You could pack at least two Keeps within its walls. Thick walls, too. Had to be more than a couple of feet deep.

  Hibla raised her head and howled, a high-pitched ghostly jackal howl. The sound rolled past us, streaming to the sky. Other howls answered. Metal clanged and the massive gates swung open.

  Hibla bowed. “My lord and lady. Welcome to Castle Megobari.”

  I took a deep breath and walked next to Curran into the castle.

  * * *

  I was right. The walls were six feet thick. I counted six ballistas and four high-caliber antipersonnel guns on the walls, and that was just what I could see. This castle was built to withstand an assault from supernatural assailants. The Megobari family had some serious cash to throw around, and they’d used it to arm themselves to the teeth.

  I elbowed Curran. “Their castle is bigger.”

  He winked at me. “Mine is taller. It’s not the size of the castle. It’s what you do with it.”

  No obvious guards manned the gate, but as we passed under the portcullis, I felt watched. I was a hundred percent sure that if I made a sudden movement, someone would send an arrow my way. The question was, would they bother with a warning shot? I didn’t especially want to test that theory.

  We crossed the inner courtyard and followed Hibla into the main building. After the city, I had half expected carvings and moldings, but the inside of the castle was as devoid of ornamentation as the outside. Brown stone, straight-as-an-arrow hallways, arched windows. No doors but some niches, positioned in such a way that if the castle was breached, a couple of fighters with ranged firepower could hold off a flood of attackers. Everything was functional, solid, and meticulously clean.

  We passed a pair of shapeshifter men in the hallway, both blond. They stared at us with obvious hostility. I stared back. Looking is free. Touching will cost you an arm or a leg. Your choice.

  “Your rooms are on the third floor,” Hibla said.
“Dinner will be served at ten.”

  “Late for a human,” I said. In the Keep we typically ate dinner around nine. Shapeshifters weren’t early risers, since they tended to stay up half of the night.

  “The Megobari family respects the customs of its guests,” Hibla said.

  “I will see all of you at dinner.” Lorelei said, looking directly at Curran.

  “Looking forward to it,” Curran said.

  I felt an urge to stab something and squished it. Lorelei retreated down the hallway.

  “Where is Desandra?” Curran asked.

  “She is in her quarters, on the third floor also,” Hibla said.

  Curran turned. “Hibla, we need to see Desandra. Now.”

  Andrea passed her bag to Raphael and came to stand by me. Derek came to stand by Curran.

  “Very well.” Hibla said something in a lilting language.

  The daggered dozen split: eight went with the rest of the group, led by an older man, and four came with us. We climbed the same stairs, and then Hibla turned right, while the rest of the shapeshifters turned left. We followed her to a metal door, guarded by a man and a woman in the same dark djigit coats. They moved aside as Hibla unlocked the door.

  The stench of rotten citrus washed over me. Not good.

  We stepped into a huge room. It was the size of my entire first apartment with all the walls knocked out. The vast ceiling rose to fully thirty feet in height, and gloom obscured the massive wooden beams running high above. Clothes lay strewn all over the floor, some shredded, some stained, punctuated by crumpled papers, food-stained plates, and shards of broken glass. A large wooden bed piled high with pillows and clumped blankets stood against one wall. A pregnant woman sat on it, her long hair tangled and dangling down over her purple dress. She looked up. Her irises shone with orange shapeshifter fluorescence.

  I looked at Andrea. She looked back at me. I saw the exact same thought on her face: this job was going to suck.

  “Hello, Desandra,” Curran said.

  “Fuck you.”