Magic Burns kd-2

by Ilona Andrews

  I reached into my belt, pulled the cork off a plastic tube, and tossed a pinch of powder onto the spell. Wormwood, alder, and rowan, ground to fine dust, and iron shavings flittered to the floor in a fine cloud, tiny iron particles glistening as they caught light. The chalk lines dimmed and I stepped out and bowed.

  The crone bared her teeth and thrust both hands at me, crushing the air in her gnarled fists.

  A wave of chalk slid across the stones to clutch at me. A triple ring. Earth based, too. Iron and wood wouldn’t work. Going all out.

  “Break that, why don’t you!” The crone leaned back, triumphant.

  I raised my sword and thrust into the ring, gathering as much of my magic as I could and feeding it into the blade. The enchanted saber perspired. Gossamer smoke slithered from the metal. The magic squeezed the blade.

  The first line of glyphs fell apart.

  Sweat broke at my hairline.

  The second line of glyphs wavered. My hands shook from the pressure. I leaned forward, channeling more power into the sword.

  The second circle broke and I nearly fell.

  The crone surged to her feet. Her hands clawed the air. Chalk blew at my feet. Three more rings. Shit.

  I could use a power word to release myself, but that would mean announcing to Ghastek that I had one. The circle didn’t dull his hearing, only his magic senses.

  I drew the sword back, blocking the vampire’s view of me with my back, and pricked my index finger. A tiny drop of red swelled. I crouched and drew a line right through the four rings. The ward cracked open like a shattered glass.

  The crone drew back.

  I stepped out and bowed and stayed that way. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the crone raise her hand, after a momentary hesitation. I read reluctance in her eyes. She wasn’t sure she could hold me.

  She had locked me three times, and three times I had broken out. Three was a number sacred to witches. I didn’t want to show Ghastek more power.

  The crone’s fingers curled.

  “Maria, please…” The maiden-witch had spoken. Her voice was weak and wilting, yet it echoed through the dome.

  The crone lowered her hand with a sneer. “I spare you because she asks. For now.”

  I straightened and sheathed Slayer.

  “I know you.” The mother looked at me, her hands continuing to draw yarn with faint clicking. “Voron’s child. Po russki to govorish?”

  I shifted into Russian. “Yes, I speak Russian.”

  The witch clicked her tongue. “Accent you have. Don’t speak Russian every day, no?”

  “Don’t have anybody to practice with.”

  “And whose failing is that?”

  There was no good answer to that one so I backpedaled into English. “I’ve come for information.”

  “Ask,” the maiden said.

  I’d only get one shot at this. “Two days ago an amateur coven called the Sisters of the Crow disappeared. One of the witches, Jessica Olsen, has a daughter, Julie. Julie is only thirteen. She has no other family. Her mother means the world to her.”

  They said nothing. I plowed on.

  “I know Morrigan is involved. I know there is a bottomless pit at the Sisters’ gathering place and a smaller one in their head witch Esmeralda’s trailer. I know Esmeralda was power hungry and was performing old druidic rites, but I don’t know why. Now the Fomorians are running around the city, led by Bolgor the Shepherd. They want Julie. She’s just a child, and although her mother was in an amateur coven, she was still a witch, just like you. Please help me understand what’s going on. Help me fit it all together.”

  My breath caught in my throat. Either they would deal with me or send me packing. Once the covens said no, they meant it.

  The mother-witch pursed her lips. “Morrigan,” she said with slight distaste, as if discussing a neighbor who failed to wash her windows. “She always has a hound with her.”

  I frowned. “A dog?”

  “No. A man. A scoundrel. A thief and a brigand.”

  I almost snapped my fingers. “Tall, dark, carries a bow, disappears into mist, can’t keep his hands to himself?”

  The mother nodded to me with a smile. “Yes.”

  “I’ve seen him.”

  She smiled wider. “I gathered.”

  When you want to impress the other party with your intellect, state the obvious. Brilliant. I was simply brilliant.

  The maiden’s voice whispered, intimate, almost as if she were breathing in my ear instead of reclining on the couch sixteen feet away. “For the knowledge you want, we would ask a boon of you…”

  The crone leaned back. Her hands rose, spread wide. Magic flared about her like dark wings.

  The floor quaked. A long gash split the tiles between me and Derek, and a wave of musky scent wafted forth. A sleek pink liquid spilled from the floor and streamed away from me to Derek and the vampire.

  Derek ripped off his clothes. His back arched and the skin along his chest split. For the briefest of moments I saw bare bones shifting and flowing like molten wax, and then muscle slivered over it, fur burst, flaring into lupine hackles, and a werewolf stood within the circle. Six and a half feet tall, with clawed hands large enough to enclose my head and jaws that could crack my skull like an egg. Half-man, half-beast, all nightmare. The shapeshifter warrior form.

  I didn’t recall drawing Slayer but it was in my hand.

  “No harm will come to them,” the maiden’s wilting voice assured me.

  The red wave washed against Derek’s ward. Derek raised his deformed jaws. His fangs bit the air. A long eerie howl broke from his lips, a forlorn lament, a song of hunt, and chase, and hot blood on the tongue. It sent my heart fluttering. I gripped my saber.

  “You injure him, you die.” That fucking crone wouldn’t stop me.

  “No harm,” the maiden promised.

  The red fluid circled the ward and surged up to the ceiling, enclosing the ward and Derek within it in a column of streaming fluid. Holy crap.

  In a moment the second column encased the vampire.

  “They can neither hear us, nor see us,” the maiden said.

  “What is the boon?”

  “The hound…” The maiden shifted a little within her folds of fabric.

  “Bring us his blood,” the crone said.

  “…and all your questions…” the mother added.

  “…will be answered.” The maiden nodded.

  A witch chorus. Lovely.

  “Why do you need the blood?”

  The crone sneered. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me.”

  “Then you get nothing!”

  Crap. I bowed. “Thank you for seeing me. Release my associates and I’ll go.”

  “Why care?” the mother asked.

  “Because I won’t fetch the blood of someone with that much magic unless I know how it will be used.” For all I knew, they could use it to hex him or brew a city-wide plague. I knew they wouldn’t lie to me. In the modern world of magic and tech, your rep meant everything.

  “Is that your final word?” the mother asked.

  It was wrong. Not even for Julie and her mother’s sake. Some things should not be done no matter how much you want the goal. “Yes.”

  “Then leave!” the crone barked.

  I turned.

  “Wait.” The maiden’s voice tugged on me with its magic. I faced her.

  The hag glared at her. “No!”

  “Yes,” the maiden whispered. “There is no other way.”

  She pushed off her couch and pulled off her hair. Her head was bald. The folds of fabric slipped from her body. She stood nude, save for the panties.

  The effort rocked her and for a second I thought she would fall.

  You could play the xylophone on her ribs. She had no breasts. Her knees protruded, disproportional, too large compared to her matchstick-thin legs. A conglomeration of misshapen ugly bumps thrust over her left hip, creating a grotesque, dimple
d bulge of flesh.

  She raised her chin. Magic streamed from her. Her voice filled the dome, invaded my ears, penetrated my mind.

  “We are the Oracle. We serve the covens. They rely on us for power, wisdom, and prophecy. We keep the peace. We keep them safe. Look to the walls. You will see our bodies there, buried, secure in the womb of the tortoise. Just as we turn to dust, we rise anew in young flesh, for when one of us Three dies, a child is born to take her place.”

  Her gaze pierced me, her eyes radiant. Above her the three-armed Hekate towered, black on the gray wall. “We are the knife, the craft, and the torch that banishes the darkness.”

  The crone was the knife, the knowledge had to be the mother-witch, and the torch stood in front of me. The torch that banishes the darkness…She was the one with the prophetic gift.

  “I foresaw that someone would come. I didn’t know who it would be, but I foresaw the coming.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m dying. My body is full of tumors and neither magic nor medicine helps. I’m not afraid to die. When I do, within three years another witch oracle will be born to take my place. But she will take several years to blossom into her power. I’m too ill and Maria is too old.”

  Within the next few years, the Oracle could be down to one witch. And could stay that way for about a decade, until the next witches revealed themselves. I looked to the mother for confirmation. She had put her hand over her mouth and was watching the maiden. Grief distorted her face.

  “We aren’t trying to turn back nature. We cannot reverse Maria’s age. But there’s a way to cure me.” The maiden swayed. “There is a potion. My very last chance. The blood of Morrigan’s Hound heals all. You want to save a young girl? Here is your chance to save one. Save me. Bring me the blood and I’ll tell all you wish to know.”

  The maiden fell back onto her couch. The mother rose and swaddled the maiden’s fragile body into the robes. The black silk, luxurious before, now gained the dreadful air of a funeral shroud.

  “How much blood?” I asked.

  The mother straightened, reached into her sleeve, and extracted a plastic blood collection tube. “This much. Press here and slide up. The needle will pop out. Once you draw blood, the needle will retract. Put the cap on right here and bring the whole thing back to us.” She sighed. “You must meet him in the mist. In Morrigan’s place. That’s where his blood is most potent. And another thing: the blood can’t be taken or bought with money or traded for favors. It must be freely given or it will lose its magic.”

  How in the name of all that’s holy was I going to do that?

  I walked to the platform and took the tube from her.

  “How do I get into the mist?”

  The mother reached to her knitting. “Nettle and Hound’s hair, knitted together. You know how to do a calling, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Where did she get his hair?

  “You better,” she said. “Go now. Sienna needs to rest.”

  I turned to see the red columns draining, revealing the vampire and the monster that once served as my sidekick. The ward circles shivered and vanished, and Derek padded to me, eyes alight with yellow fire.

  Chapter 17

  “Outrageous,” the vampire hissed.

  “What would you have me do?” I stepped out onto Centennial Drive, shook twigs out of my hair, and headed across the street to the chicken joint. Normally I kept away from fried food, but today was different. I’d danced in the snow, crawled in tortoise spit, got locked up in glyphs, and I deserved some fried wings, damn it.

  The vampire followed. The patrons eyed it with open suspicion but stayed where they were. Atlanteans for you. A walking undead, no big.

  And then they saw Derek. Chairs scraped as a few moved out of the way.

  “Derek, you want chicken?”

  The bastard offspring of Dr. Moreau’s Dog-Man and the Hound of Baskervilles nodded.

  “Hey!” A stocky laborer at the nearest table pointed a chicken drumstick at me. “Hey, what the fuck, huh? I can’t eat with them here!”

  I gave him my hard stare. “I guess you won’t be needing your food then.”

  That shut him up.

  I pushed the twenty-dollar bill across the counter and scooped up my change and a basket of fried wings. I was so tired of being broke and hungry. At least for a moment I could be happy and full of chicken. I zeroed in on our horses, tethered back by the tunnel. We could eat on the go.

  I dropped a handful of wings into Derek’s paw. He stuck one in his mouth and spat out clean bones.

  The vampire scowled at me. “Not a single word of protest, Kate! Not one. You simply stood there. I had a certain expectation of cooperation.”

  The urge to mouth off was almost too much. I squashed it. This was a professional disagreement. “Ghastek, correct me if I’m wrong, but the contract you and I both signed specified that I’m to disclose all of the information relevant to reeves, which I have done.”

  “Kate…”

  “May I finish, please?”

  The vamp’s face stretched in confusion. Boy, I should be polite more often. “Yes.”

  The magic fell. It crashed, gone so completely my heart skipped a beat. I caught my breath and drove on.

  “You decided that the information was not substantial enough and requested to come with me for the sole purpose of learning more about reeves. You chose to interpret the contract that way, but that’s not the way it’s written. We both know that technically you don’t have any ground to stand on.”

  “I beg to differ…”

  “I agreed to your presence because I felt it was a fair request, not because I was bound by our agreement. I’m under no obligation to help you. Furthermore, please note that at no point did the contract specify that you or any other representative of the People became part of the Order’s investigation into the disappearance of Jessica Olsen. So far, you have done your best to impede this investigation by nearly sabotaging my rendezvous with the witches. As an Order representative, it’s my duty to advise you that further attempts to hinder the Order’s activities will not be tolerated. That said, since I’m also a representative of the Mercenary Guild, if you require protection from the witches, I’m sure we can come to a reasonable agreement on my retainer. I dislike bodyguard detail but since you’re an old acquaintance, I’ll make an exception.”

  The vampire stared at me with an expression of utter shock on its face.

  “Who are you?” Ghastek said finally. “And what have you done with Kate?”

  “I’m the person whose job it is to settle disputes between the Order and the Guild. I have a lot of free time on my hands, and I spend this time reading the Order’s Charter and the Guild’s Manual. Would you prefer if I went back to my normal mode of conversation?”

  “I think so.”

  “You underestimated the witches, mouthed off, and got punked. Don’t come crying to me.”

  I picked up a chicken wing. Food. Finally.

  Derek snarled. It was a low snarl, a deep, threatening warning of barely contained violence.

  I turned. Feet wide, back humped, he stood stiff, facing the wall of green that surrounded Centennial Park. His hackles rose, his black lips drew up revealing huge white fangs, and out came another growl. The hair on the back of my neck rose.

  I set the wings on the curb and reached for Slayer. My fingers touched the leather of the saber’s hilt. Like a handshake with an old friend.

  The vampire slunk low to the ground.

  I surveyed the trees. From the massive roots to the tops, etched against the garish orange and gold of the sunset, the dense mass of green looked impenetrable.

  The first reeve sailed over the green, her translucent skin bathed in red, her hair flaring like enormous black wings, ready to smother.

  No smothering today. The tech was up.

  Her twin followed. Another, and another. Five. Six, more…How many could the Shepherd drive at once?

  They were still in th
e air when I charged. The first reeve came at me, legs pumping, arms flung wide, gliding as if she didn’t have to touch the ground.

  “Mine!”

  The vampire smashed into her, knocking her out of the way, and leaped on her back. The sickle claws hooked the reeve’s pale neck. The vamp pulled and tore off her head with a single muscle-ripping jerk.

  “They’re poisonous!” I yelled for Derek’s benefit and aimed for the second reeve. She whipped her hair at me, but I had room to maneuver. I dodged the black mass, and struck diagonally down, guessing there was flesh under the hair. Slayer connected and sliced into meat. It was a textbook slash—I had pulled the entire length of the blade through the wound. Her head drooped, connected to the stump of the neck by a thin strip of skin and meat. She crashed to the ground.

  To the left Derek dug into the back of the third reeve with an enormous clawed hand and ripped the shard of her spine free with a brutal heave.

  The vampire dashed across the field and beheaded another reeve.

  I kept running. The next reeve met me head-on. I slashed again, an almost identical diagonal stroke but coming from the left. She dodged, but I reversed the blade and struck sideways instead. Slayer cleaved the flesh and broke free. Grayish blood sprayed in a fine mist. She toppled over and then another reeve fell on me. Claws scraped the heavy leather protecting my chest, ripping through it. A wall of hair clogged my view. I thrust myself closer to the reeve, right into her teeth. The stench of fish guts washed over my face.

  She had expected me to pull away, and her surprise cost her a precious half second. Cocooned in her hair, I hugged her like a lover, and thrust my saber straight up into the soft flesh under her chin. She rocked back. To the left Derek raised his bloody muzzle from the ruined back of the fifth reeve.

  “Don’t bite!” Dumbass. Perfect wolf for you—isn’t happy until he’s got poisonous shit smeared all over his teeth.

  The vamp had backed the last reeve flush against the trees. “I can’t help but point out that they don’t deliquesce.”

  The reeve hissed. Claws broke through her knuckles.

  “They melt like the wicked witch of the west when the magic’s up.”