Magic Strikes kd-3

by Ilona Andrews

  An open relationship with Curran meant professional suicide. The agents of the Order were impartial by definition. Nobody would deal with me after I slept with the head of the shapeshifters. More important than that, when Curran lost interest in what I had to offer, he’d take my heart, smash it with a hammer into bloody mush, hand me the ruin, and walk away untroubled.

  I understood all this and still I wanted him. He drew me like a damn magnet. I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anybody before in my life. For those few moments, he’d made me feel safe, wanted, needed, desirable, but it was an illusion. I had to get a grip.

  The more I thought about it, the more pissed off I got. He thought he had me bagged. His Majesty was long overdue for a rude awakening.

  I growled and went to dress.

  BY SEVEN I REACHED THE OFFICE. THE ORDER OCCUPIED a plain box of a building, crude, brick, sturdy, and warded so heavily when the magic was up that an entire division of the Military Supernatural Defense Unit could batter it for days. There had to be another facility in the city, a state-of-the-art headquarters, but I didn’t rank high enough to know its location.

  I climbed to the second floor, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway. Long and gray, it stretched into the distance like a narrow, drab tunnel at the end of which loomed a black door. A heraldic lion of polished steel reared in the center of the door, identifying it as the office of the knight-protector, the head of the chapter and my immediate supervisor.

  “Good morning, dear,” Maxine’s voice said in my head.

  “Good morning, Maxine,” I said. Technically I could have just thought it, if I’d concentrated hard enough for Maxine to pick it up, but talking worked better for me. I could grasp an undead mind with mine and crush it like lice, but telepathically I was a complete dud. I ducked into my office, expecting a two-foot-tall stack of paperwork. My desk was clean. Pristine. Stack-less.

  “Maxine? What happened to my files?”

  “The knight-protector decided to clear your schedule.”

  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

  “The Order appreciates your services. Particularly when it comes to your late-night work.”

  The light dawned. Ted was giving me unofficial approval to screw with the Midnight Games. There would be no investigation. Ted already knew as much about the Games as could be humanly known. He simply lacked the means or an excuse to do anything about them. Now I presented him with a golden opportunity. He was throwing me at the Games like a stick into a wheel. I was capable and completely expendable. Any public problems I caused would be excused by my half-assed status. I wasn’t a knight. I wasn’t properly trained. The Order would disavow any knowledge of my activities, paint me as an overeager incompetent, and toss me out on my behind.

  Andrea manifested in my doorway, walked in, and closed the door. “Raphael called. Apparently an order just went down the chain of command. Any member of the Pack who attacks you is going to have a long, unpleasant meeting with Curran.”

  I raised my pen in a mock salute. “Yippee. I had no idea I was a fragile flower in need of His Majesty’s protection.”

  “Have you been attacked?”

  “Yep. I was good and didn’t kill anybody.”

  Andrea sat down in my client chair. “What’s going on?”

  I got up and activated the ward. Dim orange glyphs ignited in the floor, intertwining in twisted patterns. A wall of orange surged up to seal the door. It was the spell my guardian had used to secure the room. People told knight-diviners secret things, the kinds of things a confessor or psychiatrist might hear. Greg’s defensive ward was soundproof, sight-proof and magic-proof. Not even Maxine’s telepathy could penetrate it. It had taken me a month of painstakingly retracing the glyphs on the floor to figure out how he had done it.

  I unlocked my top drawer, pulled out the file, and put it on the desk. “Do the hand.”

  Andrea raised her hand. “I will not disclose the information I am about to receive, unless authorized by the person who surrenders this information to my discretion. I will not use this information for personal gain even under duress, coercion, or to save myself or others from imminent physical harm. I do so swear by my honor as a knight of the Order.”

  It was a hell of an oath. More people flunked out of the Academy on oath breaking than any other test of will. When you’ve been beaten, drowned, whipped, and then branded with a hot iron, most people will say anything just to make the torture stop. There was a narrow band of pale skin on my back, the reminder of where a hot iron had kissed me. It proved I’d passed. I knew Andrea had an identical scar. We both would remember the secrets we had to keep for our test oaths to the end of our days and never reveal them. Not even through a stray thought.

  I handed her the file. She read through the pages and looked at me. I filled in the holes, including Curran’s visit.

  Andrea blinked a couple of times. “Shit. Fuck shit.”

  “ ‘ Shit fuck’ would also have been accepted.”

  “The head of Pack’s security has gone rogue, Derek is near death, and you’re mated to the Beast Lord.”

  “Jim hasn’t gone rogue; he’s just not following orders at the moment.”

  “That’s what going rogue is!”

  Okay, I had to give her that one. “And for the record, I’m not mated to Curran.”

  Andrea shook her head. “What planet are you from? He’s slipping into your apartment to tuck your blanket in at night. That’s the protective urge at work. He thinks you’re mated.”

  “He can think whatever he wants. That doesn’t make it true.”

  Andrea’s eyes widened. “I just realized: he’s treating you like a shapeshifter alpha. You’re playing by the rules of not-quite-human courtship here. Has he asked you to make him a dinner yet? Dinner is a big deal.”

  “No, he hasn’t.” Hell would freeze over before I cooked for Curran. “Look, I’m not a shapeshifter and he’s dated humans before.”

  “That’s just it.” Andrea tapped her nails on the table. “A direct come-on like that is a challenge. That’s how an alpha male would approach an alpha female. They are all about power struggles and the hunt, and they don’t do subtle well. I realize this sounds twisted, but it’s a backhanded compliment on his part.”

  “He can take his compliment and shove it where the sun don’t shine.”

  “Can I quote you on that?”

  “Be my guest. I’ve worked too hard to be his passing fancy.”

  I reached to put the folder back into my drawer and my fingers grazed an old paperback. The Princess Bride. That night in Savannah, when he had almost kissed me, he’d been reading it, and when I told him to leave, he’d said, “As you wish.”

  A frown crossed Andrea’s face. “So where does all this leave you? Are you going to disappear for a while?”

  I nodded. “I have to see this through, and I can’t do it with Curran breathing down my neck.”

  “Need any help?”

  “Yes. I’m putting in a request to analyze some silver samples to the computer database. It might take a day or two to process. If you could pick it up . . .”

  Andrea waved her arms. “Of course I’ll do it. I meant shoot-somebody type of help.”

  “Oh. Not at the moment. But I’ll call you if I need a bullet through somebody’s head.”

  “You do that. Try not to get killed.”

  “Will do.”

  We looked at each other.

  “So how was it?” she asked. “Kissing Curran?”

  “I can’t let him kiss me again, because if he does, I’ll sleep with him.”

  Andrea blinked. “Well,” she said finally. “At least you know where you stand.”

  I CALLED JIM AND LEFT THE OFFICE. I WOVE BACK and forth through the morning traffic. Nobody followed me. Finally I stopped at a small fried chicken joint.

  Glenda smiled at me. A plump woman with honey-colored hair, she’d once spent her nights tormented by phantom snakes. I
t took a week, but I finally found the cause hiding out in her attic and killed it. Now I got a smile with my chicken wings.

  I held up ten bucks.

  “You want a five-piece?” Glenda asked.

  “Nope. I want to use the phone.” This was a conversation best had out of the office.

  Glenda put a phone on the counter, checked it for the dial tone, and grabbed my ten bucks.

  I called the Keep, introduced myself to the disembodied female voice on the phone, and asked for the Beast Lord. In less than fifteen seconds Curran came on the line.

  “I’m going into hiding with Jim.”

  The silence on the other side of the phone had a distinctly sinister undertone. Perhaps he thought that his kissing superpowers had derailed me. Fat chance. I would keep him from having to kill Derek. That was a burden he didn’t need.

  “I thought about this morning,” I said, doing my best to sound calm and reasonable. “I’ve instructed the super to change the locks. If I ever catch you in my apartment again, I will file a formal complaint. I’ve taken your food, under duress, but I did take it. You rescued me once or twice, and you’ve seen me near naked. I realize that you’re judging this situation by shapeshifter standards, and you expect me to fall on my back with my legs spread.”

  “Not necessarily.” His voice matched mine in calmness. “You can fall on your hands and knees if you prefer. Or against the wall. Or on the kitchen counter. I suppose I might let you be on top, if you make it worth my while.”

  I didn’t grind my teeth—he would’ve heard it. I had to be calm and reasonable. “My point is this: no.”

  “No?”

  “There will be no falling, no sex, no you and me.”

  “I wanted to kiss you when we were in your house. In Savannah.”

  Why the hell was my heart pounding? “And?”

  “You looked afraid. That wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for.”

  Be calm and reasonable. “You flatter yourself. You’re not that scary.”

  “After I kissed you this morning, you were afraid again. Right after you looked like you were about to melt.”

  Melt?

  “You’re scared there might be something there, between you and me.”

  Wow. I struggled to swallow that little tidbit. “Every time I think you’ve reached the limits of arrogance, you show me new heights. Truly, your egotism is like the Universe—ever expanding.”

  “You thought about dragging me into your bed this morning.”

  “I thought about stabbing you and running away screaming. You broke into my house without permission and slobbered all over me. You’re a damn lunatic! And don’t give me that line about smelling my desire; I know it’s bullshit.”

  “I didn’t need to smell you. I could tell by the dreamy look in your eyes and the way your tongue licked the inside of my mouth.”

  “Enjoy the memory,” I ground out. “That’s the last time it will ever happen.”

  “Go play your games with Jim. I’ll find you both when I need you.”

  Arrogant asshole. “I tell you what, if you find us before those three days run out, I’ll cook you a damn dinner and serve it to you naked.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “Yes. Go fuck yourself.”

  I slammed the phone down. Well, then. That was perfectly reasonable.

  On the other side of the counter an older, heavyset man stared at me like I had sprouted horns.

  Glenda handed me the money I’d given her. “That was some conversation. It was worth ten bucks.”

  I got up just in time to see Brenna ride up, leading an extra horse.

  CHAPTER 16

  I VISITED DEREK. I STAYED FOR HALF AN HOUR and then Doolittle came in, took a look at my face, and decided I needed another lovely glass of tea. I followed him into the kitchen. It smelled like food: a rich, savory aroma of gently spiced meat and fresh pastry. The scent grabbed me and I practically floated to the table, just in time to see Jim slide a golden-brown loaf onto the cutting board. He carefully sliced an inch-wide section from it, revealing a beautifully cooked medium-rare sirloin.

  I nearly fainted. “Beef Wellington?”

  Jim scowled. “Just because you never have any decent food in your refrigerator . . .”

  “It’s because you or Derek or Julie eat it all.”

  Brenna came in and got a bowl of salad out of the fridge.

  “Plates are in the cabinet,” Jim said.

  I got out four plates, found silverware, and set the table. Doolittle put a glass of iced tea in front of me. I tasted it. It had so much sugar, if you put a spoon into it, it would stand up all by itself.

  Jim placed a slice on my plate. When I made Beef Wellington, it looked good. His looked perfect.

  Brenna sat next to me. “Sorry about the thigh.”

  It took me a second to connect the stinging bite on my leg to the quiet woman next to me. “No problem. Sorry about the needle.”

  The scar on her throat had faded, but a thin gray line was still there. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’ve had silver in me before.”

  “Where is everybody else?” I asked.

  Nobody answered. Chatty Cathys, the shapeshifters.

  I cut into my Beef Wellington and put a small piece in my mouth. It tasted like heaven. Jim cut his meat with the precision of a surgeon.

  “Curran called.”

  The three shapeshifters around me stopped breathing for a moment.

  “I thought I’d mention it before you started eating. I didn’t want you to choke.”

  “He say anything?” Jim asked.

  “You have three days to turn yourself in.” I imitated Curran’s voice. “After that he’ll have to find you. And he doesn’t want to find you.”

  “Anything else?”

  “He mostly cussed after that. I told him you and I were having a hot roll in the hay and he was interrupting.”

  Tea came out of Brenna’s nose.

  Jim struggled with it for a long moment. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

  “He didn’t believe it.” I left it at that. Mentioning my morning exercise and naked dinner promise was bound to give Jim apoplexy. “He can’t find us here, can he?”

  “Never underestimate our lord,” Doolittle said.

  “It’s hard to say,” Jim said. “Curran’s persistent. He’ll find us eventually. But not for a while.”

  I hoped he was right. If not, both of us would have some explaining to do.

  * * *

  WE WAITED FOR SAIMAIN IN THE PARKING LOT OF the Games.

  Jim’s black, fur-trimmed cloak flared behind him as he walked, revealing a black leather vest, black pants, and black steel-toed boots. His body was toned to the point of absurd: he looked like a prizefighter in his prime, his thick muscle crisply defined, his stride loose, his bearing broadcasting bad-ass. An ugly scowl sat on his face. He looked as if he wanted to punch somebody.

  “You need a pair of shades,” I told him. “Someone might mistake you for a yuppie.”

  “Never happen.”

  Saiman’s sleek ride slid into the parking lot. He got out, dapper and urbane in his Thomas Durand persona, popped the trunk, and took out an oblong object bundled in canvas and wrapped with a cord. He swung it onto his shoulder, which proved to be a difficult feat—the thing was about four and a half feet long and two feet wide.

  We headed to the door. Saiman caught up with us and passed the bundle to Jim. Jim showed no strain as he took the bundle. It might have been light as a feather, but by the way Saiman’s stride eased, I could tell it had to be heavy.

  “Your crew passes.” Saiman handed me two yellow tickets and slowed down, putting some distance between us and himself.

  We reached the doors and I presented the crew passes to the outside guards. They waved us on to Rene’s welcoming arms. Recognition sparked in her eyes. She surveyed Jim and turned to me.

  “Congratulations, love. You traded up. Does he treat you well?”


  “He’s a teddy bear,” I said.

  Teddy bear looked like he was suffering from murder withdrawal. Rene grinned. “He certainly is. First room on the right, get yourself logged in.” Rene glanced at the doors, where Saiman was making his grand entrance. “Hurry now. Your ex is coming through. We don’t want him getting hysterical again.”

  THE FIGHTER LEVEL WAS BASICALLY A LONG hallway forming a ring. Red Guards were thick in the hallway like flies on a dead horse. Big deadly flies, armed with Tasers, chains, and nets. No fights would break out there. Inside the ring lay a large exercise room located directly under the Pit. Outside the ring branched off fighter quarters: sets of rooms where the fighters waited for their bouts.

  Jim leaned against the doorframe of our room, like some dark sentinel. The patrolmen gave him a wide berth.

  I sat at a bench. I had inspected our quarters: the front room where we waited now was long and narrow, a bottleneck. No door separated us from the hallway. In case of trouble, a couple of Guards could easily contain a dozen people or more within the room.

  On the left a door led to a narrow locker room with a bench and three showers and off it was a small bathroom with three toilets, separated by partitions. Behind me another door led to a large bedroom housing eight double bunks. The Order’s files said the teams were sequestered once the tournament began and for three days they lived in their fighting quarters.

  Above us the crowd roared, enthused by someone’s death.

  Guilt gnawed on me. It haunted and stalked me, just waiting to pounce when I had a dull moment. I should have kept Derek from being hurt. As they had beat him, in the parking lot, he had been utterly alone. He knew no help would be coming. That was his last memory: the molten silver being poured on his face.

  My heart clenched. I tried to make some words come out, anything to keep thoughts out of my head. “My father would’ve approved of this place. Of all the arenas he took me to, this is the best equipped and best secured.”

  Jim’s gaze was still firmly fixed on the hallway and the patrols. “What kind of father would take a kid to the slaughter?”