When he came, she held him close and refused to think about anything but right now and what she had chosen to do.
CHAPTER 32
St. Francis Wood, San Francisco
Less than an hour after Maddy called with the boy’s location, Durian and Gray were on their way to an address on Clement Street, a commercial building with apartments upstairs. Though early enough to be dark, it wasn’t early enough that there weren’t worrisome numbers of humans on the streets. The joggers were first, along with those heading home after a night on the swing shift. And, for many of the humans who were out of their beds, their morning commutes were just getting started.
He let Gray deal with the locks on the barred door that led to the upstairs apartments. As expected, she opened them with no difficulty and left no sign of the building’s security having been breached. Inside, they both stopped as the wrongness hit them. The air here was thick with magic that made their skin crawl. The hair across the back of his neck prickled. Beside him, Gray sucked in a breath. It wasn’t just the presence of the mage that brought them up short, but the magic that wafted down the stairwell. There were magekind here. More than one.
Gray glanced at him. “How many mages do you figure are here? Ten? More?”
He gave a tight shake of his head. “None of any strength. It isn’t unusual for a human to register as a mage or witch yet have little, if any, usable magic. Nor to find that they end up living near each other, without any of them being aware of their latent talents.”
From where they stood downstairs, locating the trail they’d followed here wasn’t hard. There was an elevator, but getting on anything that might be interfered with mechanically wasn’t the wisest course. Whatever mage was here, Durian didn’t intend to telegraph their presence. He and Gray dampened their magic, and it was far easier than he expected. They hardly had to think about it.
They took the stairs. The higher they got, the stronger the stench of perverted magic. He and Gray shared senses and observations with almost no difficulty. They’d adapted to the duality to the point where he didn’t need to flick into her head. He knew. He felt the way her other magic reacted to the presence of magekind.
Their destination was a sixth floor apartment. The scent of blood came raw and overpowering before they reached the final stairs. The apartment door was ajar. He examined the space around them for any traps and found none from either kin or magekind. Gray gave the door a gentle push.
The doorway opened onto a cluttered main room that at first glance appeared empty. They both knew that couldn’t be. The air seethed with magic that set his skin to crawling.
Inside, someone softly sobbed, a heartrending sound.
“Christophe is here,” Gray said.
“Yes.”
Gray’s other magic rippled through him, a foreign sensation but he recognized it for what it was. There were magehelds in here. They entered, with her beside him. To their right was an open kitchen; to the upper left a wall with two doors, one shut tight, the other ajar. He pulled as much magic as he could, to the point where his body felt light, and still there was more he could have called on. They could not yet see the crying woman, but she was here, off to the left, though not behind one of the two doors they could see.
Magehelds, when they attacked—and Durian did not doubt they would attack—would almost certainly come from behind one of those two doors. He wasn’t sure how far their ability to sense magehelds extended, though he was confident he had a fix on the ones inside. They were a presence in his head. He could have pointed to them even if he were blind.
They moved farther in. The wrongness he and Gray had sensed downstairs intensified. Once they were past the front door, the rest of the apartment came into view. They were close enough now to identify the woman as a witch. One of the magehelds, a man with a newly and unevenly shaven head crouched next to the woman. A glow of magic surrounded them. The sobs weren’t from her. They were coming from him.
Gray moved past Durian toward what was obviously a newly taken mageheld and the victim of his first command from the mage who now controlled him. He did not doubt that once the mageheld was done destroying the witch’s mind, he’d kill her. Gray’s expression was severe, a match for her psychic state. She was, rightly, appalled by what had been done here. The mageheld, it was heartbreakingly clear to Durian, was the witch’s former lover and the father of the boy Christophe was after.
Durian stayed where he was. Gray had more than enough magic to do what was needed and she was fast enough to get her touch before the mageheld could hope to guess someone was close. They were going to have to drop the dampening of their magic in order to deal with the mageheld, but that had been an inevitability anyway. Once that was done, the mage would know they were here.
They didn’t undampen until she got within range to touch the mageheld. She wasn’t sanctioned for a kill, so all she could do was incapacitate him. Which she did. She caught the now lax body and lowered it silently to the floor.
She’d just turned to the witch when the open interior door swung wide and Christophe dit Menart emerged from the other room. His clothes were more soccer hooligan than elegant. Straight-legged jeans, pointy-tipped shoes, an AJ Auxerre jersey. Three of his mageheld bodyguards followed. Christophe held a dark-haired child in the crook of one arm, but he was also wiping his damp hands on a white towel. A slash of crimson stained the bottom of the towel. One of the magehelds carried a bright blue bag with a smiling train on the side.
The mage’s grin faded when he saw the mageheld on the floor. “Ici!”
His remaining four bodyguards appeared from the other room, moving with alert eyes to spread out around dit Menart. He lifted the hand holding the towel. His magehelds stood still.
Durian crossed the room to Gray. He wasn’t good at guessing the ages of human children, but he knew this one was quite young. Barely past the age when the magekind tested their offspring for ability. The boy’s unnatural quiet was surely due to something Christophe had done to ensure he kept quiet. His gaze swept over Durian to settle on Gray.
“Nikodemus will not be pleased to learn you’ve taken a mageheld, Christophe,” Durian said.
“In defense of my life, fiend. He attacked me.” He waved his free hand. “I was well within my rights to act as I did.”
“Put the boy down, Christophe,” Gray said.
Christophe stroked the toddler’s head. “Anna. How unexpected to meet you again.” His smile broadened. “As to the boy, this is none of your affair. He is talented. Magekind. I’ve just confirmed that.”
She lunged.
Durian tightened his grip on her wrist and yanked her back with enough force that he was afraid he’d hurt her. He pulled her close and spoke in a voice pitched to her ear. “Use your head. He hopes to provoke you.” He squeezed her wrist. “We do not have his sanction.”
“Not yet.”
“You, Anna,” the mage said. “You are… not quite what you were the last time we saw each other.”
“Give him to me, Christophe.”
“Give him to you.” His smile got even bigger as he darted a glance at Durian. “Give him to you or what?” The mage laughed and ran his fingers through the boy’s black hair. “He’ll fit right in with my growing family. My wife is looking forward to taking in this poor orphaned boy.”
Durian felt Gray go cold inside.
“I propose a trade,” Christophe said. “I’ll leave the boy here in return for her.”
“No.” Durian took a step forward. He and Gray needed to sell this moment. If Christophe didn’t buy their reluctance to accept any deal, their chances of saving the boy and getting to Emily were going to be astronomically faint.
“Pity.” Christophe resettled the boy in his arms. “I could be persuaded to accept you in lieu of her. In service to me as my mageheld, naturally.”
“I serve Nikodemus, mage.”
Light refracted off the faceted rubies that lined Christophe’s ear. He waved a hand
. The words tattooed on his hands flashed in and out of focus. “That would be immaterial if you were my mageheld.” He waited. “A simple trade. The boy for one of you.”
“Nikodemus won’t like that much,” Gray said. “No one’s threatening your life right now.”
“My dear Anna, my agreement with the warlord is that I won’t take a mageheld while I am in his territory. Not without provocation.” He made another dismissive gesture. “If one of you offers to submit to me and I accept, that’s hardly what Nikodemus intended. And in any case not what I agreed to.” The mage looked at him. “Well, fiend?”
“Very well. Give her the boy, and I agree you can try to take me.”
“Durian,” Gray said in a sharp voice. She was a far better actor than he was. He believed she didn’t want this to happen when, in fact, this was precisely what they’d hoped would happen.
“If you fail,” Durian went on, “you leave him with us.”
“Ridiculous.” Christophe’s magehelds took offensive positions near him. Durian held his ground. If the magehelds attacked, he was justified in defending himself and Gray. He would do so with lethal force if necessary. “I can hardly leave a young boy in the company of monsters.” The mage narrowed his eyes. “You agree to become my mageheld?”
“I agree I won’t resist you when you try.” He would have killed Christophe where he stood if Durian didn’t know that when his bond to Nikodemus broke as a result, Gray would suffer, too.
Christophe smiled.
He and Gray had planned for this. She withdrew from their connection so that anything Christophe did wouldn’t blowback through her. He felt Christophe’s touch, lightly at first, then like the slice of a knife. He centered himself against the instinct to fight. His chest burned along his scar, pulsing fire with each beat of his heart. His breath caught, but the nightmare that had once been his life failed to take hold. Dit Menart tried again and then once more. Each time the taking failed.
“Can this be?” Christophe flushed and made a sharp gesture that cut the air with the side of his hand. “You are not a free fiend?” His focus lasered in on Gray. “Surely, she’s not the one who took you? She isn’t capable. She doesn’t have enough power for that.”
Gray held out her arms and even though Durian knew what she was going to say before the words came, still, his heart nearly stopped. This was a dangerous game they played.
“Leave the boy here, and I’ll go with you.”
Durian was afraid to look at Gray for fear he’d give something away. The mage had to believe. Had to. If this didn’t work, if Gray were harmed in any way, Christophe would die. He would personally see to it. Xia could sever the blood bond and free him to kill the mage regardless of the consequences to him.
The muscles around Christophe’s mouth and eyes tightened and an eager light came into his eyes. “A noble sacrifice, Anna.”
Already her fealty to him was attenuating. “Don’t do this.”
She stared at the mage. “Put down the boy, and I won’t fight you.”
The air around them pulsed as the mage pulled again. He handed the boy off to one of his bodyguards. “When she’s mine,” he told the mageheld, “release the boy.” He spread his hands wide. “There. Is that sufficient?”
Christophe signaled to one of his magehelds. The one with the boy took a step back.
“Gray.” Durian met her gaze straight on this time because his feelings right now were exactly what Christophe would expect. Had events fallen out differently, he would have left her oath in place, but that option was now far too dangerous. As they had agreed, Gray was going to allow Christophe to take her mageheld. He pulled his magic, and it roared through him. “I release you from your oath of fealty.”
They both felt her fealty to him vanish. The blood bond, however, remained. He knew what would happen next. Dreaded it even knowing that this was the most likely outcome. Iskander had protected himself from a magheld blood twin. Durian intended to do the same. His world depended on it.
Another of the magehelds twisted her arms behind her and shoved her forward until she stood arm’s length from Christophe. She glared at the mage with all the ferocity he’d come to love in her. Both he and Gray had accepted the risks of what they were doing, but he vowed to himself that if anything happened to her while Christophe had her, he would visit a thousand times worse on the mage. And then Durian would kill him.
Another of the magehelds got behind Durian and kicked the back of his knee so that he dropped to the ground. Dit Menart put a finger to his chin. “Her I can take.” He tipped his head. “But you. You are somehow proof against me. This,” he said, “I do not understand.” He smiled. “Nor can it be allowed to exist. A fiend who cannot be controlled must be killed.” He gestured behind him, and four of his magehelds stepped forward.
Gray looked at Durian, worried yet resolute, and he returned her gaze. He mouthed the words I love you.
The side of Christophe’s mouth twitched—almost but not quite a smile. He was pleased with himself. Dit Menart’s magic flared up and somewhere in the heat that blinded Durian in its intensity, Gray screamed. Her very soul convulsed with a pain Durian recognized all too well.
He felt the moment she was bound to the mage. The loss nearly crushed him. When he looked up he had to shove his emotions away. Gray’s breath came in shallow pants. Her eyes were wide and staring. The traceries at her temple slowed and then stopped. Even as he reeled from change in the equilibrium of their twinned state, his relief that this had worked as they hoped swept through him. He continued to feel her magic through their blood bond, both the now stunted and deformed magic of his own kind and the foreign magic that had come from Christophe.
Christophe pointed to the mageheld who held the boy, then to two others. “You two with me. You—” He meant the other four. “—kill this one when we are gone.”
“Leave the boy, Christophe.” Gray faced the mage. “You promised.”
Christophe backhanded her. “You will not defy me. Ever again.”
Durian watch her leave the apartment with Christophe dit Menart. All he had to do now was survive whatever Christophe’s magehelds had planned for him and then he was going after Gray.
CHAPTER 33
The moment the apartment door closed, Durian moved. A lunge and spin. Two down and out of commission. He ducked the only one to react before it was too late, then whirled, came in close and touched the last two. They, too, fell hard. His bond to Nikodemus prevented him from killing them outright, but even if he had been sanctioned, he wouldn’t have because then Christophe would know he’d lost them while there was time for him to return and take matters into his own hands. The thought of the mage sending Gray against him froze his blood.
He and Gray had known something like this could happen, but he wasn’t prepared for the despair howling through him, the paralyzing devastation of losing her or the fear that something would go wrong and he would lose her forever. One of the magehelds stirred, and Durian immobilized all four of them so that even as they returned to consciousness, they would not be able to move.
He pushed away as much emotion as he could. The magic required to maintain all four of the magehelds in this state was not trivial, but he hunkered down and assessed his status and reserves. His blood bond with Gray had survived whatever Christophe had done to her, and that was at once a comfort and a source of terror because of the horrible nullity where her magic had once been for him.
He took out his cell. There were ten missed calls from Nikodemus, eight voice mails and fifty-seven text messages. Nikodemus could wait. He’d go after Gray alone if he had to, but he didn’t think he would. His first call was to Alexandrine. She picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, Big Dog.” She didn’t sound pleased to be hearing from him, but then no one ever did, did they? He didn’t let it bother him. She’d answered. Xia probably wouldn’t have.
He took a breath. In the back of his head, he felt the first stirrings of the effort
of keeping Christophe’s magehelds immobile and unable to touch their magic.
“Durian? Everything okay?”
He gripped his phone and almost blurted out, I need your help, but that would have been counterproductive. “I require assistance,” he said. He was supposed to be rendering favors to Alexandrine, not the other way around. She was, as far as he knew, unaware that he considered himself as indebted to her as he was to Carson. “Your assistance,” he said to clarify what he meant. He had to speak carefully. Too carefully. All four of the magehelds were awakening. Soon, he’d need all his concentration just to keep them restrained against the command Christophe had given them. “And Xia’s.”
“Whoa,” Alexandrine said. “What’s the matter?”
He hadn’t been aware that the strain had shown quite that much in his voice, but it must have. Gray was so far away. Too far from him. “Please,” he said.
“Xia’s right here. Hold on a sec.” The call went silent, and he considered disconnecting. They’d refuse to help. His pride would never survive the indignity. He could do this on his own. Without help. But Alexandrine came back on. “I’ve conferenced you in with Xia, okay? What’s up?”
He related what had happened as clinically as he could. What he needed from them. His heart thumped in his chest the entire time he was speaking. And afterward, too. He couldn’t stop thinking of how much more difficult things would be if Xia just told him to fuck off. The words had been said to him before.
“Where are you?” Xia said.
He told them that, too.
“Babe—” Durian knew Xia meant that for Alexandrine. “Get the others, would you? I’ll be right down.” Xia lapsed silent, but it didn’t last long. “We’re on our way. Thirty minutes, all right? Sooner if possible.”
“I’m holding four of Christophe’s magehelds,” he said. He glanced at them. Three were already suffering under the strain of not yet having done as commanded; their mouths gaping open. The fourth looked calm enough. Under the circumstances. One touch from him and they would die. “If I am able to keep them alive, they may be of use once they’re severed.”
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