Risk (A Mageri World Novel)

by Dannika Dark

  Chapter 23

  Simon parked behind Boris’s piece-of-shit car. He got out and popped the trunk, retrieving a pair of fingerless gloves. The gloves offered minimal protection, but they mostly put him in a killing state of mind.

  “We’re losing time,” Hannah called out, her voice thick with irritation.

  Simon withdrew a sword from its scabbard and marveled at the superior craftsmanship. He’d recently placed it in the trunk of his car along with a few other weapons in light of the people shadowing him. An old friend had presented the Japanese katana to him to repay a debt, and Simon had kept it stored away for many years because it seemed a shame that such a fine blade be wasted on dirty blood. But Boris was a worthy adversary whose blood would give the steel a fine luster.

  He strode forward, Hannah nearly jogging to match his pace. He’d taken enough healing light from Justus that he should have been napping, but no bed could hold his body down if it meant dreaming about Ella’s fate. Enraged was too mild a word to define how he felt.

  A man walking his collie headed in their direction, and when he got one look at the sword, he crossed to the other side of the street.

  “You could have at least put on shoes,” she remarked.

  He flicked a glance at her attire. “I’m sorry if I didn’t want to gussy myself up for a killing. Are you sure you can fight in those white slacks? Blood stains, you know.”

  The wind picked up the long tail of her black chiffon shirt, and she quickened her pace.

  Simon ascended the steps and stood in the shadows while Hannah rang the bell.

  A voice crackled on the intercom. “Yes?”

  “It’s Hannah.”

  “I thought we finished this?” Boris replied.

  “Witnesses aren’t enough, so I filled out the paperwork for your files. This will make it legal in the eyes of the Mageri should they have questions about only one Councilman officiating.”

  “Very well.”

  Boris buzzed them in, and the cold air from inside ruffled Simon’s messy hair. He scoped out the room in search of cameras, but it looked like Boris hadn’t gotten around to installing a security system.

  “Does he own this entire building?” Simon asked.

  “Yes. He’s in the process of tearing down walls to accommodate his needs.”

  They went through a second set of doors made from solid wood, shielding them from the outside world. When they reached the steel elevator doors, Hannah pressed the button on the wall.

  Simon gripped his blade, holding it low. “How many Learners are on the premises? Any guards?”

  “No guards. He only introduced me to two Learners but implied there were more. I’ve never seen him have so many at one time. I’ve seen James in certain circles, but not the others.”

  “Recently made,” Simon noted. “You really picked a breeder, didn’t you? Old Boris has himself a regular sweatshop of Learners.”

  She cut him a sharp glare. “Boris was one of my earlier—”

  “Victims?”

  A bell dinged, and the elevator doors parted.

  Simon scanned their surroundings as Hannah stepped inside.

  She shifted her stance. “Aren’t you coming?”

  He eyed the stairwell. “I like the element of surprise. He’ll be waiting to greet you, so keep him distracted. Don’t give him any reason to be suspicious. Stall. You excel at that.” Simon held his hand in front of the door to keep it from closing. “Which floor?”

  “We’re going to three.”

  Simon spun around, jogged down the hall, and opened the door to the stairwell. He peered inside at the concrete floors and green handles, allowing the door to quietly close behind him. He stepped to the center and peered up, listening intently for anyone who might be guarding the doors above.

  When it looked clear, he rested the flat of his blade over his shoulder and padded up the steps, pausing on each landing to listen for one of Boris’s Learners. He approached a door with the number three on it and pressed his left ear against the metal, listening for the sound of voices.

  After a beat, he pulled open the door and stepped into a hall. He could sense Mage energy on the premises, but it was distant. Most didn’t conceal their energy within their own home; that was only necessary when in public. He peered at the unfinished wood floor and green walls. At the end of the hall to his left was a staircase that widened at the bottom. Boris must have thought he was Rhett Fucking Butler.

  Hannah’s laugh echoed from one of the open doorways. There were other voices, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. He kept a low guard—his sword held down in front—and paced toward the long shadows coming from an open doorway to the right.

  When he peered into the room from the entranceway, his eyebrows drew together and he almost belted out a laugh.

  Ella stood atop a dining table—cheese cubes and crackers scattered at her feet. She wore a monstrosity of a wedding gown that only reached a few inches above her boots. Splashes of wine stained the dress and the table below, and her hair was completely unbound in long waves of fire.

  She palmed a dagger, aiming the tip at Boris, who held a spot to Simon’s left. His arms were folded, and he glared at her with disdain. Simon noticed evidence that a battle had taken place in the room. A long crack split the mirror on the right wall, and it looked like someone had thrown oranges at the wall. While Ella might have gone along with the ceremony, she wasn’t anywhere near ready for the honeymoon.

  Simon casually rested the flat of his sword on his shoulder and strolled into the room.

  Boris’s gaze sharpened. “What is he doing here? What’s going on?”

  “Am I intruding?” Simon stopped below a moose head and laughed. “I came to rescue the lady, but it looks like she’s got it under control. Perhaps I should take a seat and watch the show. Is there any wine left in that broken bottle, or do I need to squeeze the ends of your bride’s dress?”

  Simon positioned himself so he could see the entire room, including both entranceways.

  Ella flicked a confused glance at him but kept her dagger steadily aimed at Boris.

  Simon held the sword between his legs and leaned against the wall. “Sorry, mate. The cat’s out of the bag. Mee-ow.”

  Boris gave Hannah a baleful look. “Can’t a man consummate his own marriage without interruption?”

  Hannah’s fingertips were soaked with light. “What are you doing, Boris?”

  He arched a brow. “Not sure of the right question to ask?” Boris laughed and moved across from Simon to the opposite side of the table, Hannah guarding the entrance to the left.

  “I have every intention of returning her to you,” he said. “Just not in one piece.”

  Hannah flipped a plate off the table. “You insolent fool! I should have done away with you centuries ago.”

  “Like you did with my wife and children, who were burned alive for witchery?”

  Hannah blanched, and Simon marveled at the history unfolding between these two.

  “You promised me they were safe!” Boris shouted. “But I found out otherwise when I had drinks with a Mage who happened to be a former bishop. We spoke about people we knew in those times, as he was also from Germany. A few glasses of ale later, he suffered from a case of loose lips. He remembered a female Mage asking him to add names to the list of accused. It might not have otherwise stood out in his memory except for the fact you were a woman, and in those times, women weren’t in a position to make such requests. Aside from that, you didn’t have enough money to pay him off. He recounted his first binding experience you shared with much glee.”

  Hannah’s neck and face mottled with anger, her hands trembling.

  “You promised you were going to save my family. How could you!” he roared. “Do you want to hear how they were tortured?”

  “I saved your life,” she said through clenched teeth. “You would have gone back and not only endangered yourself, but all of our kind. I had to do what was in
the best interest of—”

  “You’re the witch!” he shouted. “You seduced me with lies. You’re the one who should have been stretched on the wheel. I didn’t know until years later that they were convicted and sentenced to death, but I never would have imagined that my own Creator was behind it.”

  “Quit pretending you loved them,” she snapped. “If that were the case, you would have never bedded me. I broke no laws. I didn’t do the killing myself, and they were only human. They would have died eventually.”

  He knocked a chair out of the way and glared up at Ella. “I am only serving justice.”

  “You animal,” Hannah hissed. “What makes our crimes differ is that yours were done for spite and mine were done for reason. You also fail to see that you committed your crimes under the rule of the Mageri, and therefore you will be subjected to trial and sentenced for murdering humans.”

  Simon noticed Ella wasn’t looking at Hannah, so she hadn’t made the connection that Boris had killed her family.

  When Pippi and James entered on either side of the room, the tension snapped like a whip.

  Ella erupted into action, grabbing the chandelier above her and kicking Boris in the chest, sending him airborne.

  Hannah whirled around to face Pippi, who squealed with delight as she flashed out of reach. Pippi was easily a foot shorter than Hannah and moved like a hyperactive Pomeranian.

  Simon hopped onto the table, using a chair to give him a boost. “This is a swinging party,” he quipped.

  James reached for Ella and she swiped her dagger, slicing an ugly gash in his arm. Infuriated, he hurled a vase and she ducked, the vase striking Simon in the shoulder.

  “Bloody hell! Who taught you to fight, the Three Stooges? Maybe you should beef up your arsenal with a few cream pies.”

  Boris stood up and reached for a sword mounted on the far wall—one with a spotlight shining on it. When Ella moved to go after him, Simon gripped her wrist.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To kill my husband.”

  Simon laughed. “Look at his knife and look at yours.”

  Ella leaned left and struck James in the forehead with the heel of her lace-up boot. He collapsed like a flower in a heavy downpour, cursing and shouting all at once.

  Simon squeezed the hilt of his sword when two more Learners appeared in the doorway to their right. He hardened his gaze at Ella. “Don’t let any more in the room!”

  When James began to rise to his feet, Ella drove her stunner into his back, sending him straight to the floor in a state of paralysis. Weaponless, she reached for a steak knife on the table and then faced the two men at the door.

  Simon jumped to the floor and shook off a cheese cube that had stuck to the bottom of his right foot. This side of the room was spacious, with a wine rack to the left and a long table straight ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted another Learner entering the room near Hannah, who was engaged in hand-to-hand combat with the pipsqueak blonde.

  A glint of metal sliced in his direction, and Simon leaned back, dodging the sword aimed for his neck.

  “Yours is the only head I’ve been missing on my walls,” Boris said, gesturing toward the grotesque display by the main door.

  Simon’s steel met with his, and they sparred. “You’re a terrible businessman and an atrocious lover. I can attest to at least one of those.”

  Simon’s blade sliced open the threads on Boris’s sleeve.

  “You have no sense of decency, bedding another man’s wife.”

  Simon snorted and blocked a stroke aimed for his heart. “She was hardly your wife. Putting a ring on their finger doesn’t count, and I examined every square inch of her body and didn’t see a bonding mark.”

  Boris missed and struck a vase of flowers, which exploded. Red petals were strewn across the floor like fat drops of blood. “I’m an old-fashioned man.”

  Steel clanged as they engaged in a match of skill and agility.

  “How many women have you bonded with? What happened to all those brides? Did they run from the altar? Maybe you should change your name to Boorish.”

  Boris lunged, and his blade pierced Simon’s left shoulder. Not deep, but enough to draw blood.

  Simon backed up a step, flashing Boris an irritated look.

  Boris moved into position, inching nearer to the table. “Women are as useful as a dog. Some are loyal, but others have to be put out of their misery.”

  Simon bristled and performed a few cross swings. “Is that what you did with them?”

  When Boris advanced, Simon sidestepped and parried, forcing the blade down and then flipping it up, almost making him lose his hold.

  Boris gripped the hilt tightly and took a few steps back. “The first two I killed, but I’m not a man who likes blood on his hands.”

  “How can you mourn for your human family and yet murder another?”

  Simon almost lost his grip at his opponent’s feint. He flashed behind Boris and swiped his sword from right to left, giving the man a haircut.

  Boris reached up, watching the tendrils of his hair float to the ground. Simon didn’t believe in stabbing a man in the back; there was no honor to be gained. But the opportunity to cut that glossy head of hair had been too good to pass up.

  “Relying on your powers,” Boris grumbled. “Can’t even fight like a man.”

  They circled each other until Simon’s back was to the table.

  “And what of the other women you didn’t kill?”

  Boris smirked, holding his sword straight and assessing Simon’s stance. “It was more profitable to sell them on the black market.”

  With four swings, Simon executed maneuvers he hadn’t done in over three hundred years. “You’re an impotent, sniveling toad of a man.”

  “Why don’t you tell that to my bride?”

  Their swords clashed—blades crossed and pointed up. It was a dangerous position because of the numerous ways a man could slide his sword or even use the pommel, so Simon reacted quickly. He grabbed the hilt of the other sword and twisted Boris’s hand, a maneuver that would disarm him. Boris suddenly pulled back and rushed Simon, shoving him against the table. Each man gripped the other’s wrist so that neither could strike.

  “Coward,” Simon gritted through his teeth. With the table digging into his lower back, he thrust his head forward until their foreheads knocked together. The second time he used the top of his head and aimed for Boris’s beak of a nose.

  When it cracked, Boris stumbled backward, holding his sword out and covering his face with his left hand.

  Simon had just enough time to stand up and block an attack, steel clanking, his muscles locked tight. When he heard Ella whimper in pain behind him, he was momentarily distracted and lost his grip, his sword flying out of his hand. Simon used a chair to step onto the table and barely caught a glimpse of Ella using her Jumper abilities to flash beside him.

  When she handed him his sword, he cocked his head to the side.

  “My, aren’t you the nimble one?”

  She smirked. “I learned from the best.” Ella flipped off the table, doing a somersault in midair over one of her opponents before throwing her steak knife into his chest.

  Simon beamed with pride. When he readied himself to fight, Boris flashed to the left and out of the room.

  “Coward!” Simon shouted, flipping a plate off the table with a flick of his foot.

  He briefly bent down and gobbled up a few pieces of cheese, watching Hannah and Pippi go at it. Pippi pulled Hannah’s hair, silver pins scattering to the floor.

  “I’m losing respect for you, Hannah. Can’t you handle a pipsqueak?”

  Pippi huffed. “Hey, who are you calling a pipsqueak? You of all people should know that size doesn’t matter.”

  “Come now, love,” he said, hopping off the table. “We both know that’s a lie.”

  Her cheeks flamed, and she swiped her dagger at Hannah’s neck. No one who had seen Simon in all
his glory could make such a remark with a straight face.

  Simon stepped over a man with a stunner impaled in his back—probably Hannah’s only weapon as she was trying to take on the little Mage with a butter knife.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” she snapped, making a crisscross motion and leaving dull red streaks on Pippi’s arm.

  Simon patted her shoulder. “Just going to the kitchen to bring you some jam. Or would you rather I fetch the margarine?” He laughed, his sword held so that Pippi stepped aside, allowing him to move into the hallway.

  His first instinct was to go down in the elevator. When a criminal fled the scene, they usually went for their car. But Boris was in his home, and that was where a man felt safe. He was probably counting on them racing down to the street, so when Simon reached the elevator, he hesitated.

  “Wait!” Ella rushed toward him, her white gown bouncing up and down, her hair in a tangle.

  “Up or down?” Simon asked, curious which Ella would choose.

  Ella frowned and then pointed up.

  “His bedroom?”

  “No, the roof.”

  Simon tilted his head. “For what reason?”

  “Because he’s a moron. He thinks we’ll go after him or search the house. Either way he can make a quiet escape. I don’t think I saw a fire escape though, so he’d be stuck up there until we left. Plus all his money and valuables are here.”

  “Why don’t you go down and I’ll go up.” Simon used his fingers to help illustrate his suggestion.

  She folded her arms. “No.”

  “He could be getting away,” Simon sang.

  “I don’t have a car to chase him in. Next plan?”

  Simon turned on his heel and stared at the elevator doors, making gestures with his free hand as he spoke. “Well, then. If you’re right, then he just made it easy for us. Boris was always afraid of heights, so I don’t think he’ll be doing any dramatic dives off the ledge.”

  Ella pinched his side and he hissed, turning to face her.

  “Don’t turn your back on me. I’m not a mind reader.”

  He pinched her nose. “Of course not, love. You’re a comedian.”

  “What did you say just then?”