by Faith Hunter
I scratched Brute thoroughly under the chin, our noses nearly touching, breathing in and out, sharing breath. Brute’s smelled of grilled steak, which was interesting. I wondered who had been feeding him. “It’s okay. We’re here. You’re not alone. You can leave at any time if you need fresh air.”
He began to relax. Brute sat and met my eyes, shaking his head no, in the human way. The grindy sheathed its steel claws, chittered at me, and vanished. Like poof. I gave the white werewolf a last scratch behind his ears before standing.
The vamps and humans and my Consort were staring at me. “What?”
“You used to hate that wolf,” Bruiser said.
“I used to do a lot of things,” I replied. “I’d like everyone to stand back while I check out the circle in case there’s some residual power, or maybe a latent working that’s only triggered by other magic.” Holding the Glob out in front of me, I walked slowly toward the marble square and the circle. I hadn’t expected Brute to follow, but he did, sticking tight to my jeans on my left side, which allowed me free access to my weapon on the right. Not that a nine-mil would help much if a demon attacked or a spell went active. I switched the Glob to my dominant hand. It was the better weapon for now.
I bent close to study the construction of the rings. It looked as if the circle had been cut from the marble, the wooden rings put in place, and molten iron had been poured inside them. The wood was heavily charred where it touched the iron. Outside the circle, the cardinal points were etched in the black marble, with north indicated by an arrow. It was an old witch circle, from the times when witches and vamps in New Orleans had worked together. It was far older than the demon circle in Evangelina’s house, though like that one, this still carried an old stink of sacrifice. Side by side, we walked around the circle once, widdershins. I paused at each stone rune, but the Glob was nonreactive, and Brute didn’t seem to smell an active working.
When we reached our starting point, Brute moved ahead of me and stuck his nose against the floor to sniff, moving closer to the circle, working his way in. He made little snuffling and snorting sounds, his lips pulling away from his fangs, his tail sagging slowly. I stayed close to him but out of his way.
Ugly wolf, good nose, Beast thought at me. Would chase wolf tail if in Beast form.
Uh-huh. No.
I touched Brute’s head, and he stopped snuffling long enough for me to get down on the floor with him again. I stretched out my arm and placed the Glob on the floor, almost touching the outer ring. With one finger, I slowly pushed the Glob closer, until it was lying directly on top of the iron. Nothing happened. I shoved the Glob across and inside the ring. Zilch.
“Okay, Brute. Go for it. What do you smell?”
Brute began snuffling again, and reached the iron ring. His scenting sounds were much more elegant than the sounds bloodhounds make, which are slobbery, lippy snuffling. Brute began to follow the circle, stopping and smelling as he moved.
Ugly wolf, good nose, Beast thought again.
This was the circle I had seen in Sabina’s vision. Down here, on the floor, I was close enough to see that the thin cracks between the black marble and the rings were caked with residue. It stank of magic and old blood. “Brute. The stuff in the cracks. Is it blood?”
Brute turned and padded to Kojo, sitting at the vampire’s feet, looking over his shoulder at me.
“Vampire?” When Brute didn’t react, I asked, “Vampire of African descent?”
Brute nodded and went to a human security guy. Except she was a woman.
“Female, Caucasian, human?”
Brute nodded, came to me, and sat.
“Were you smelling sacrifices?”
Brute nodded.
“Were children, witch children, sacrificed here?”
Brute nodded. He tapped my booted foot. It took me a moment. Then softly I said, “Blood, like mine? Skinwalker blood?”
Brute nodded.
“Is it old? Like over a hundred years?”
Brute nodded again.
Ka. Ka’s blood was still here, soaked into the floor, so much of it that it still had a scent to Brute’s wolf nose, even after all these years.
CHAPTER 16
It Was Stupid to Use a Handgun as a Club
It was an hour from dawn when we left the warehouse. Bruiser had collected a sample of Ka’s blood from the black magic circle, though it was likely contaminated with other blood and unusable. We had walked through the building from top to bottom for anything I missed on prior visits. As we stepped outside, Storm appeared, sitting on top of an SUV. She was wearing armor like I had worn at the wedding and bristled with weapons. All of our weapons were instantly centered on her. Thema stepped in front of me, protecting me with her body. Quint tried to shove me down to stand over me.
I activated my mic and said, “Stand down.” The weapons—except for Thema’s—were repositioned, but I could smell the intense reactions of my security team. I touched Thema and Quint, each with a single finger, and they stepped aside, their aim never wavering.
Storm’s armor was dark amethyst and matched her purple-, lavender-, and grape-colored hair. It was the first time I had seen her wearing anything non-light-dragony. The security lights limned her with a silver glow, though the light may also have come from inside the rainbow dragon, shining through armor that was less physical and more energy-based than mine. Who knew?
I said, “The Warrior who seeks Peace welcomes Storm.”
“This is a bad place,” Storm said. “Why do the beings enter and leave? Why do they not destroy it?”
“We may,” I said, thinking that a null working over the iron circle, topped by a layer of concrete might suffice.
“Why does the Dark Queen allow the fire thrower, the eaters of souls, the burned one, and all her enemies to watch? They are full of malice.”
Bruiser spoke into my earbuds, “Get her out of here.”
Thema picked me up and raced me toward a second SUV. Like a sack of potatoes. Or a baby. Before I had time to even speak, she had thrown me into the back seat of the SUV. Quint took shotgun. Silent. Weapons out. I rolled to the side. Opened the door. Held out a hand.
“Storm. Join me.”
Instantly the arcenciel was sitting at my side.
Okay that was weird. A security guy slammed my door, and Thema started the engine, wheeling the armored SUV out of the lot.
“My bike!” I shouted, spotting Bitsa in the dark.
“My mate will bring it to your home,” Thema said, gunning the motor, turning into traffic, and then off, slamming me into Storm and back against the door. I pulled off the spine holster that had bruised my back on the turn and buckled in. Thema whirled us again.
“Holy moly, woman. Where did you learn to drive?” I asked.
Thema didn’t answer. She just spun the wheel, making a hard left across traffic. This time I was holding on.
Storm was laughing like a kid on a roller coaster.
I replayed what she had said. “Storm, where are the watchers?”
“The burned one is there,” she pointed.
To my left I saw Sabina, standing in the shadows. For a bare moment, our eyes met. I somehow had expected Leo. Didn’t know which was worse. I caught a glimpse of Brute racing toward Sabina, out of sync with my reality. The SUV swerved again. I could hear Thema talking into her mic, advising the team.
“Where is the Firestarter?” I asked Storm.
“She is preparing to throw fire at the bad place.”
I looked over my shoulder. “Dang.”
“Do you wish my sisters to put out her fires?”
“Yes.” Behind us, I saw a flash of fire. Another. Another. But the spots went dark instantly.
Storm laughed, the sound like bells and wind instruments. “Pearl and Opal enjoy this game. The creature thinks you have found new magic and have stopped her. We will not tell her the error of her ways or show who we are unless she attacks again.”
“Okay. Where
is the eater of souls?”
Storm tilted her head, frowning. I could have sworn the lights in her hair twinkled. “One is at the bad place.” She hesitated. “One is above us, on the air. She is angry.”
I craned my head up, seeing a cloudy, dark gray sky. It was nearly dawn. A vamp was driving the SUV. That might not end well. We needed to be undercover soon. And then it hit me. Eaters of souls. One at the warehouse, one above us. Grandmother? As an owl?
I fished my cell out of my pocket and dialed Ayatas.
“FireWind.”
“The Firestarter is at or in the warehouse. Gramma is a bird flying over my SUV.”
Aya cursed and disconnected.
“You have bad cell phone habits,” I said to my dark screen.
Thema spun the wheel, maneuvering the vehicle down one-way streets the wrong way. I held on as she took an alley, knocking over big plastic garbage bins, nearly hitting an Uber vehicle, taking back ways I knew from riding Bitsa and roaming as Beast.
She braked hard in front of the freebie house. The SUV rocked. Steel shutters I hadn’t even noticed had been cranked shut over the house windows.
Aya was standing on the second-story porch, buck naked except for a thong around his neck strung with tiny bones. He was staring at the sky, a nimbus of skinwalker magic over his body. Already halfway to a shift. Holding his power still. Waiting.
Two guards ripped open the driver’s side doors, one grabbing each of us. Thema and me. Jerking us from the vehicle, standing us on the sidewalk. In a fast exchange, they took off in the SUV. Quint sped to my side.
A light glimmered. Storm, who had been on the passenger side of the vehicle, was standing beside me.
Other guards grabbed us to sweep us inside.
I smelled liver-eater. Heard the flap of wings overhead. Aya leaped into the air, shifting as he did. The sidewalk a story beneath him, only feet from us, cracked and broke, throwing shards into the air as he shed mass. Thema hissed in pain as concrete flew. I smelled her blood. She had stepped in front of me.
I stared. Aya had shifted in middrop. That wasn’t even possible. He was a huge bird, a nine-foot wingspan sweeping the sidewalk as he took flight. Not a Bubo bubo, but maybe a condor of some kind.
As Aya reached the height of the peaked roofs, an owl hurtled down from the clouds, straight at me. Aya’s bird screamed, a screeching roar with elephantine overtones. He whipped his wings and reached for Grandmother. He wouldn’t be in time. Thema raised a weapon.
I hit the sidewalk hard. Face-plant. Fire whooshed through my nerves, muscles, skin. For a moment I thought I had been hit by a fireball. The pain sliced and cut, burned and froze. Muscles tore. Bones popped.
When the burning pain eased, I lifted my head and looked along my body. I realized that Beast had ripped through our realities and used my own skinwalker power all on her own. Again. She had added mass to my half-form, taking mass from the concrete sidewalk.
Screams echoed. Gunshots. More SUVs arriving. The putter of Bitsa. Scent of Tex, Koun, Kojo, Thema. My first breath was agony. I whispered a curse.
My cheek was against the broken sidewalk. I stared across the street. Lightning cracked across the sky above me. A momentary brilliance. The stink of ozone and storm. And magic. When the glare cleared, standing on the sidewalk was Adan Bouvier. One arm was up to the sky, lightning still glowing on his fingertips. A cold wind swept down the street. Lightning cracked again, the magic of a weather-witch vamp. Familiar as old, painful memories. A brilliant flash hit the sidewalk at his feet.
No. It hit the body beside him on the sidewalk. It spasmed, curled, and died. The stink of human flesh, cooked and dead.
Two arcenciels dove at Adan, dragon form, slashing claws, tails whipping.
Unexpected strength thrust through me like a fist of might. I shoved upright. Eye to eye with Ka, standing in the shadows across the street. Naked, as she would be after shifting from an animal. Yellow eyes. Black hair. Fierce scowl. A blade in her hand. Then she shifted so fast I couldn’t follow it. Still with black hair and eyes, but pale, olive-toned skin. The stench of liver-eater whooshed from her. U’tlun’ta’. I knew this one too.
Ka had taken the body and mind and gifts of Aurelia Flamma Scintilla, the Firestarter. Aurelia was—had been—a senza onore, a dark Onorio. Ka, a skinwalker, had eaten her while she was alive and taken her power, her memories, and her form. The need for others to fulfill the Rule of Three for Onorio now made sense. Ka/Aurelia raised her hand, and fire began to gather there.
Fury slammed through me. I pulled a nine-mil and a vamp-killer. The world slowed down. From the far end of the street, a vamp strode, walking in the near dawn, his chest naked. The first time in all these days that I had seen him in person.
Shaun MacLaughlinn.
He carried two swords.
All my enemies in one spot.
Not a coincidence.
“Jane Yellowrock,” Shaun shouted. “I have challenged you to a blood duel for the rights of this city. We will fight here. Now!”
Kojo and Koun blocked his way, each holding swords high and low. “You will not break parley,” Koun shouted.
Ka/Aurelia reared back to throw.
Thema darted in front of me.
My vision, my awareness fractured.
Above us, a dragon screamed. Storm, burning dragon form, dove at Ka. Slow, slow, slow.
The fireball flew from Ka/Aurelia’s hand.
Right at Thema. She was a flammable vampire standing in the near-dawn.
Storm’s magic reached for the fireball. Her claws slashed at Ka. I tackled Thema and rolled to the side. Avoiding the sidewalk where Aya had left mass. We landed hard.
Thema’s arm was on fire. I rolled us into the dirt to the side of the house where large-leafed plants grew and the garbage bins stayed. I crushed her skin into the dirt, smothering the fire. Two other fireballs were extinguished out front. Storm’s magic.
I heard a sound like a church bell cracking, a disharmonious, broken gong.
Beneath the broken bell, Ka bellowed in fury.
Gunshots and screams rang out. Fighting sounded from the back of the house too.
“Get inside before the sun takes you out, you stupid vamp,” I demanded of Thema. I leaped to my feet. I wasn’t wearing the Benelli. It was in the floor of the SUV. I was still holding the nine-mil and a vamp-killer. I sprinted at Ka. Half-form but bigger. Stronger.
I took it all in. A single glance.
Ka was Ka-shaped again. Storm was dragon-form, the coils of her snake body wrapped around Ka. Her dragon fangs buried in Ka’s neck.
Ka was holding a blade. In the brighter light, I could see it wasn’t steel but cold iron. I was halfway across the street when she stabbed Storm.
Iron was the only thing that could kill an arcenciel.
Storm screamed in agony and coiled away, her liquid-light blood gushing into the street. Ka raised the blade to strike her again. She collected Storm’s blood in a cup.
I screamed in rage. Half-form lion scream.
Ka stopped, whirled in Storm’s loosening coils. She saw me. I leaped. Midair, I saw Ka’s mouth open. Her body shifted into a red-head Caucasian with blue eyes, the shift allowing her to slide from Storm’s coils. Fangs clicked down. Vampire fangs. Three inches of vampire strength. Her eyes bled black. Her mouth was aimed at my neck.
I whipped my arms and twisted as if in flight. Leaning back. A move Eli had taught me.
Caught Ka with my silvered blade in her side.
Her iron blade passed above me in the air. Still whirling, I rammed the nine-mil into the side of her head. She fell. I landed as she hit the sidewalk. Found my feet. I kicked her head, making sure she was down and out. Her body rolled into the street, her head at an angle that let me know I had broken her neck. The stench of liver-eater was powerful: scorched flesh and rot.
I had probably screwed up the sights and aim of the gun. It was stupid to use a handgun as a club.
I kicked Ka ag
ain.
Looked for Shaun. He, Kojo, and Koun were fighting, my two warriors against one, dueling swords flashing too fast to follow. And Shaun was winning.
A rifle cracked. One of my security team fell. Human. Unmoving. We had a sniper. I ducked behind a car, scanning the rooftops. A second shot. A second human fell.
I spotted the sniper behind partial cover. I’d never make that shot.
An enemy human pulled Ka away. And took the blood cup too.
I searched the air for Grandmother and Aya. They were fighting, claws, beaks, beating wings. But Aya was holding back. He was trying not to hurt his Grandmother. Childhood memories, decades of relationship constraining him.
She wasn’t holding back. She was trying to kill him.
Eli was suddenly beside me, breathing fast. He stretched across the side and hood of a parked car. A long rifle in his arms. He sighted. Blew out a partial breath. Held it. Aiming. He fired. The enemy shooter disappeared.
Eli rotated and aimed up into the sky. Waiting. Aya took a claw slash across his chest. A beak peck in his right eye. He dropped, plummeting in the air. Away from Grandmother. Eli fired. Grandmother tumbled, fluttered. Fell. She disappeared behind the house across the street. Aya landed on the hood of an SUV with a deep thump I heard over the battle-deafness.
Eli aimed up the street, the weapon balanced on the car hood. Softly he said, “Koun. Down.”
On the far end of the street, Koun dropped to his knees in front of Shaun. Eli fired. Shaun staggered. His people closed in on him and carried him away. Koun stood, watching their retreat. He was bloody. He had been injured. He was breathing hard. And it was near dawn.
Eli said, “Take care of Aya. I’ll take out the other target.” He meant Grandmother. He sprinted away, weaponed up like an assassin.
Storm was wounded, lying in the street, bleeding but still moving.
The fight was over. We had . . . lost? Holy crap.
The maid-servant, Quint, appeared at my side. We raced to Aya, his bird body lying on the pavement. One of our humans was aiming a weapon at him.