Magic Burns kd-2

by Ilona Andrews

  “Red,” I said. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  The recognition crept into his eyes. He lowered his hand. “Sokay,” he called. “I know her.”

  A dirty head poked above the tower of crates and a thin girl climbed into view. Ten, maybe eleven, she had the waifish sort of look that had little to do with her petite frame and everything to do with being underfed. A wispy cloud of grimy hair framed her narrow face, making the deep circles around her eyes seem even deeper. She looked tainted with adult skepticism, but not beaten yet. Life had abused her and now she bit all hands first and looked to see if they offered food later. Her hand clutched a large knife and her eyes told me she would be willing to use it.

  “Who are you?” she asked me.

  “She’s a merc,” Red said.

  He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a stack of papers, held together by a string. He dug in it with dirty fingers and deposited a small rectangle in my hand. My business card, stained with the brown whorls of a thumbprint. The print was mine; the blood belonged to Derek, my werewolf boy wonder.

  Derek and I had been trying to drag ourselves home after a big fight that hadn’t gone too well. Unfortunately, Derek’s legs had been torn open and Lyc-V, the virus to which shapeshifters owed their existence, decided to shut Derek down so it could make repairs. When we met Red, I was trying unsuccessfully to load my bleeding, unconscious sidekick onto my horse. Red and his little band of shaman kids helped, and I had given Red my card and a promise of help if he should need it.

  “You said you’d help. You owe me.”

  Now was not a good time, but we didn’t often get to choose the time to repay our debts. “That’s true.”

  “Guard Julie.” He turned to the girl. “Shadow her, sokay.” He darted to the side and out the door. I followed and saw him scrambling up the slope like a pack of wolves was snapping at his heels.

  Chapter 4

  “Bastard!” The girl yelled. “I hate you!”

  “Any clue why he took off in a hurry?”

  “No!” She sat down cross-legged on the crates, her face a picture of abject misery.

  Alrighty then. “I take it you’re Julie.”

  “You’re real smart. Did you figure it out all by yourself?”

  I sighed. At least she had dropped out of street speak for my benefit.

  “Just because my boyfriend thinks you’re all that, doesn’t mean I’m going to listen to you. How are you going to guard me? You don’t even have a gun.”

  “I don’t need a gun.” A small hint of metallic sheen within the crates caught my eye. I approached the pile. “Any clue what I’m guarding you from?”

  “Nope!”

  I peered into the space between the crates. A broken bolt, stuck tight in a board. Blood-red shaft. The fletch was missing, but I bet it had three black feathers. My bowman had been here and had left his calling card.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Hunting.”

  “Hunting what?”

  I wandered to the ring of stones, crouched, and reached for the nearest rock. My fingers slipped through it. Whoever set this ward really didn’t want his hiding spot disturbed. But the trouble with wards was that sometimes they didn’t just hide. They also contained. And a ward of this caliber could contain something nasty. “Where are we?”

  “What are you, retarded?”

  I looked at her for a second. “I came through a tunnel from the Warren. I don’t know what neighborhood this is.”

  “This is the Honeycomb Gap. Used to be Southside Park. It pulls metal to itself now. Gathers the iron from all over—Blair Village, Gilbert Heights, Plunket Town. Pulls it all into itself, the iron from all the factories, from the Ford Motor plant, cars from Joshua Junkyards…The Honeycomb’s right above us. Can’t you smell the stink?”

  The Honeycomb. Of all the hellholes, it had to be the Honeycomb.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  She stuck her nose in the air. “I don’t have to tell you.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  I pulled Slayer from its sheath.

  “Whoa.” Julie crawled forward on top of the crate tower and flopped on her stomach so she could get a better look.

  I put my hand on Slayer’s blade. Magic nipped at my skin, piercing my flesh with sharp little needles. I fed a little of my magic into the metal, aimed the tip of the saber toward the stone, and pushed. Two inches from the rock a force clutched at Slayer’s tip. Thin tendrils of pale vapor curled from the sword and the magicked steel began to perspire. I gave it a little more of my power. Slayer gained another half inch and stopped.

  “I’m looking for my mom,” Julie said. “She didn’t come home on Friday. She is a witch. In a coven.”

  Probably not a professional coven. The daughters of professional witches had more meat on their bones and better clothes. No, most likely it was an amateur coven. Women from the poor side deluding themselves with visions of power and a better life.

  “What’s the name of the coven?”

  “The Sisters of the Crow.”

  Definitely an amateur coven. No legitimate witch would name a coven something so generic. Mythology was full of crows. With magic, you made sure to cross all your t’s and dot your i’s. The more specific, the better.

  “They met here,” Julie volunteered.

  “Right here?” I fed a little more power to the sword. It didn’t bulge.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you ask the other witches about where your mom might have gone?”

  “Gee, I’d love to, except none of them came back.”

  I paused. “None?”

  “Nope.”

  That wasn’t good. Entire covens didn’t just disappear into thin air.

  “I’m going to break this ward. If something ugly comes out of there, run. Don’t talk to it, don’t look at it. Just run. You got me?”

  “Sure.” Julie’s tone plainly pointed out that she’d have to be crazy to listen to some idiot woman who doesn’t even have a gun.

  I dug my feet into the ground and pushed, putting all of my weight behind the hilt. The blade quivered under the strain. It was like trying to push a baseball into a wall of dense rubber, but giving the saber more power would leave me too drained to defend myself against a magic attack.

  Sweat broke on my forehead. Oh, screw it.

  I shot my power through the blade. With a sweet whisper, Slayer cleaved through the invisible barrier. Steel struck stone with a loud clang and the white rock slid an inch out of its place.

  A shudder ran through the circle. The stones blinked into reality and I scrambled to my feet. Brilliant light rippled through the air above the broken ring, a silvery aurora borealis gone mad as the forces held captive in the ward flailed, unleashed. The glow flared and streamed to the ground in a torrent of pure white. The ward burst. The magic aftershock pulsed through the building and caught me in a dizzying whirlpool. My teeth chattered, my knees shook, and I clutched at Slayer’s hilt, trying to keep the saber from slipping from my trembling fingers. Julie cried out.

  So much power…

  Viscous drops slid from Slayer’s metal, evaporating in midfall. I felt it too, a fetid smear staining the building—the magic of undeath. There was enough of it to make a layman vomit. I turned to the circle. A dark hole gaped in the broken ring of the stones. I leaned over the edge and glanced into the black hole, grimacing at the reek of rotting flesh emanating from the moist earth.

  Deep.

  So deep I didn’t see the bottom.

  The walls of the shaft were smooth and even, punctuated by roots severed cleanly at the edge. The hole stank of damp soil and moldering bodies. I picked up one of the stones and ran my thumb over its smooth surface. Rounded and pale, like a pebble from a river bed.

  No mark, no glyph, no sign of a spell. Just a ring of white stones that no longer hid a bottomless hole in the earth. The Sisters must have let something into the world, something dark a
nd evil and it claimed them for its own.

  Julie sucked in her breath. A corona of dark spills appeared around the hole. With a faint buzz, a fly landed on the nearest stain, closely followed by another. Blood. Impossible to say how much—the ground had soaked up most of it. As I looked at the blood circle, I noticed three impressions in the ground, each a small, roughly square hole in the dirt. I connected them in my head and got an equilateral triangle with the pit smack in the middle. Three staffs arranged in a triangle to summon something? If so, where did they go?

  The heap of crates behind the hole shivered, as if about to melt with Julie on top of it. With a faint magic tremor, a skeleton materialized right below the kid, nailed to the crates by four crossbow bolts.

  “Freaky,” Julie said.

  No kidding. For one, the skeleton had too many ribs, but only five pairs attached to the sternum. For another, not a shred of tissue remained on the yellowed bones. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve said it had weathered a year or two in the open somewhere. I leaned closer to examine the arms. Shallow bone sockets. I was no expert, but I’d guess this thing could have bent its elbows backward. At the same time, I’d probably dislocate its hips with one kick.

  “Your mom ever mention anything like this?”

  “No.”

  The bolts anchoring the skeleton were red and fletched with black feathers. One punctured the skeleton through the left eye socket, two went through the ribs on the left, where the heart would be if it was human, and one between the legs. Precision shooting at its best. Just to make sure the odd humanoid aberration doesn’t get away, always pin it through the nuts.

  I grabbed a crate from the pile, planted it in front of the skeleton, and climbed atop it to get a better look. Fewer of the neck vertebrae fused than normal, which provided for a greater flexibility of the neck, but made it fragile. No incisors, no canines, either. Instead I saw three rows of teeth, long, conical, sharp, used to puncture something struggling and keep it in the mouth.

  The crate snapped under me with a loud pop. I dropped with all the grace of a potato sack, grabbing at the skeleton on the way down. My fingers passed through the bone and snagged a bolt. I landed on my ass in a pile of shards, the shaft in my hand and light powder on my fingers.

  A hole gaped in the skeleton’s left side, between the third and fourth rib. It held for a second, grew, melting, and then the entire skeleton imploded into dust. The dust outline lingered in the air for a moment, taunting me, before melting into the breeze. “Shit!” There goes my evidence. Smooth, Kate, real smooth.

  “Was this supposed to happen?” Julie asked.

  “No,” I growled.

  A round of enthusiastic applause echoed behind me. I jumped to my feet. A man stood leaning against the wall. He wore a leather jacket that wanted very much to be leather armor. The business end of a crossbow protruded over his left shoulder.

  Hello, Mr. Bowman.

  “Good form!” he said, clapping. “And a lovely landing!”

  “Julie,” I said, keeping my voice level, “stay put.”

  “No need to worry,” Bowman said. “I wouldn’t hurt the little lass. Not unless I had to. And maybe if I was really hungry and there was nothing else to eat. But then she’s so thin, I’d be picking out bones from between my teeth all day. Hardly worth the trouble.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was kidding. “You want something?”

  “Just came to see who troubled my bolts. And what do I find? A mouse.” He winked at Julie. “And a woman.”

  He said “woman” in the same way I’d say “Mmmmm, yummy chocolate” after waking up from hunger pains and finding a Hershey bar in an empty refrigerator. I flicked my sword and backed away a bit so the hole would be to my right. If he knocked me into it, it would take me a long time to climb out.

  The man approached. He stood tall, at least six three, maybe six four. Broad shoulders. Long legs in black pants. His black hair fell in a tangled mess on his shoulders. It looked like he might’ve cut it himself with a knife and then tied a leather cord across his forehead to keep it somewhat pinned. I looked at his face. Handsome bastard. Defined jaw, chiseled cheekbones, full lips. Eyes like black fire. The kind of eyes that jumped from a woman’s dreams right into her morning and made trouble in the marriage bed.

  He gave me a feral grin. “Like what you see, dove?”

  “Nope.” I hadn’t had sex in eighteen months. Pardon me while I struggle with my hormone overload.

  Shave that jaw, brush the hair, tone down the crazy in the eyes, and he would have to fight women off with that crossbow. As it was he looked like he prowled in dark places where the wild things were and they all ran away when they smelled him coming. Any woman with a drop of sense would grab her knife and cross the street when she saw him.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you,” he promised, circling me.

  “I’m not worried.” I began to circle, too.

  “You should be.”

  “First you say I should, then you say I shouldn’t. Make up your mind.”

  Drops of water slid down his jacket. Judging by the light stabbing through the holes in the roof, the sky was clear. No hint of moisture in the air. Suppose Derek’s intel was right. Suppose he did teleport. How would I keep him from disappearing?

  The man spread his arms. I didn’t like the way he moved, either, light on his feet.

  “What’s with the cute shoelace on your head?”

  “What this?” He flicked the end of the cord with his finger.

  “Yeah. Rambo called, he wants his bandana back.”

  “This Rambo, he a friend of yours?”

  “Who’s Rambo?” Julie asked.

  If a cultural reference flies over a man’s head, does it make a sound if nobody else gets it? I had never managed to watch the whole movie—magic always interfered, but I had read the book. Maybe after the flare cut out and tech reasserted its dominance for a few weeks, I’d dig the minidisc out and watch the darn thing from start to finish.

  The bowman took a step, and I pointed Slayer’s business end in his direction. “No closer.”

  He took another baby step forward. “Sorry, my foot slipped.” Another step. “Sorry, just can’t keep the bloody buggers under control.”

  “Next one will be your last.”

  He rocked forward and I almost lunged.

  “Uh-uh-uh.” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “I didn’t actually step, see.”

  Julie snickered.

  He raised his hand in a peaceful gesture. “You need to relax a bit, dove. Like Mouse over there. You trust me, don’t you, Mouse?”

  “Nope!”

  “Ahhh, I’m hurt. Nobody likes me.”

  I knew he’d move a fraction of a breath before he started. Those eyes gave him away. He lunged, missed, and found Slayer’s tip at his back.

  “Move, and I’ll cut your liver in half.”

  He spun toward me, and my saber glanced off metal. Chain mail under the jacket. Crap. Steel fingers clamped my sword hand, keeping it pinned. He turned and stabbed the rigid fingers of his right hand under my breastbone. I shied away from the stab to lessen the impact—it still hurt like hell—and grabbed his right wrist, jerking him toward me. For a second all of his weight rested on his left leg and I kicked it out from under him. He crashed to the floor and dragged me down with him, his fist locked on my sword hand. I hit the ground, letting go of Slayer. My hand slipped between his fingers and I rolled into the clear.

  Half a breath later we were both on our feet.

  “Pretty sword,” he said, twisting Slayer to catch a sun ray. The light danced on the opaque blade and sank into the black chain-mail shirt now showing below his jacket. “Why no guard?”

  “Don’t need one.”

  “Is it any good?”

  I kicked a strip of leather I’d sliced off. “You tell me.”

  His hand went back to check his chain shirt, and I kicked him, aiming for the throat. He caught my foot
with a grunt, and dumped me on the floor. His knee pressed on my neck. He’d set a trap and I’d walked right into it. The light was shrinking. I could barely breathe.

  “You kick like a mule.” He grimaced and ground his knee harder. I wasn’t getting enough air. He had my right hand pinned, but not my left. I bent my left hand, and a cold sliver of the silver needle slid into my palm from the leather wristband. “But I’ve been at this a lot longer…”

  I drove the silver needle into his thigh.

  His thigh muscle contracted. He grunted and fell off me. I leaped to my feet and kicked him in the face. It was a solid kick and it connected. He sprawled on his back, blood running from his nose. I dropped next to him, slid my leg under his arm, and clenched it with my other leg, bending the arm backward in a classic shoulder lock. He growled. All I had to do was scissor my legs, and I’d dislocate his arm, and I still had both hands free.

  I zipped his jacket open, looking for the maps.

  “Wrong zipper,” he gasped. “Try lower.”

  “In your dreams.” I reached into the inner pocket and pulled a plastic pack free. The maps. “Stealing’s a crime. Thank you for returning the Pack’s property. Your cooperation has been noted.”

  He looked me straight in the face, smiled, and vanished.

  I scrambled to my feet. The red bolt punctured the dirt between my feet, catching me on the way up. I straightened very slowly.

  He stood a few feet away, pointing the crossbow at me. It was loaded. The hand-sharpened bolt head stared me in the eye. I couldn’t dodge a crossbow bolt from nine feet away. Not even on my best day.

  “Hands where I can see them,” he ordered. I showed him my palms, the Pack maps still securely clutched in my right hand.

  “You cheated!” Julie’s outraged voice rang from above. “Leave her alone!”

  His nose no longer looked broken. No blood, either. Wonderful. Not only could he teleport, but he also regenerated while he did it. If he started spitting fire, we’d be all set.