Magic Strikes kd-3

by Ilona Andrews

  “Rudra is a one of Shiva’s names,” Dali said. “It means ‘strict’ or ‘uncompromising.’ ”

  How fitting. That was what the shapeshifters were, a compromise between beast and man. The gem forced them to become one or the other. I had been thinking about this on the way to the house, while riding the ley line. By then I had grown too numb to worry about Derek—I had described his condition for Julie and it had been like opening an old wound. At first there’d been the sharp slash of pain of a scab being ripped off, and then I’d bled, and the wound had gone numb.

  I thought about the Order instead. About Ted and his true believer’s inability to compromise. Ted wanted humans to remain human no matter the cost.

  A dark storm gathered on the horizon of my mind, with Rudra Mani firmly in its center.

  “Does the name ‘Sultan of Death’ sound familiar to you?” I asked.

  Dali paused, considering, and shook her head. “I have no clue who that is.”

  That reminded me—I still hadn’t checked on the analyses of the molten silver the rakshasas had poured onto Derek’s face. The magic had fallen while I was asleep. I pulled the phone to me. Dial tone. Finally. The phone was one of those erratic devices that sometimes worked during magic. Most people had no idea how it worked. To them, it was almost magic, and sometimes magic waves shared that view.

  I punched in Andrea’s home number. She answered on the second ring. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “I’ve got your results right here,” she said. Not a hint of humor in her voice. “It’s not silver. It’s electrum.”

  Electrum, a naturally occurring alloy of silver and gold with a pinch of copper thrown in, was incredibly potent magically. It was also extremely toxic to shapeshifters.

  “You don’t rank high enough to know the rest, so they won’t tell you,” Andrea said, “but I do. This particular alloy is very old and very poisonous to shapeshifters. You know how high my silver tolerance is. I can’t even hold it, Kate. Do you remember the agreement we made during the flare?”

  “Yes.” We had agreed that I would never reveal to the Order that she was a beastkin and she would never reveal that I knew enough specific information about Roland to induce a collective seizure in the entire Order.

  “There is only one person who has access to this alloy in a large quantity. The composition is very specific. It’s—”

  “About fifty-five percent gold, forty-five percent silver, three percent copper, and the rest is random crap.”

  “Yes.”

  Samos electrum, from the coins struck on a small Greek island in the North Aegean Sea in 600 BC. My heart dropped. Logic had lost and my unreasonable paranoia had triumphed.

  “I guess you know what that means, then,” she said.

  “Yes. Thank you,” I said.

  “Be careful.”

  I hung up.

  Roland. Only he had a large supply of the ancient Samos electrum. No doubt he meant for it to be used sparingly, perhaps as bullets or stakes, but instead the rakshasas had melted the lot of it just so they could pour it on Derek’s face. Dumb.

  Roland was the Sultan of Death. If I continued to oppose the rakshasas, I would come into a confrontation with his agents. I would be discovered.

  “Are you alright?” Dali asked.

  “Never better,” I said.

  A hot anger swept through me. If I was discovered, I would fight him to the end with everything I had, just like my mother had. I was fucking tired of paranoia and panic. It was an irrational, totally idiotic thought, and I reveled in it.

  Jim came up the stairs. “He’s up and talking.”

  I rushed down, abandoning my coffee.

  CHAPTER 24

  HE SAT ON THE BED, HIS LEGS COVERED BY A BLUE sheet. He was human and his color had returned to its normal skin tone. His hair was still dark brown. And that was about all that remained of the former Derek.

  His face had lost its perfect symmetry. Its lines, so sharply defined before, had thickened and grown harsher. His features gained a rough hardness, and from the top of his mouth to his hairline, his face seemed slightly uneven, as if the shattered bones of his skull didn’t quite mesh. Before if he walked into a rough bar, someone would whistle and tell him he was too pretty. Now people would stare into their drinks and whisper to one another, “Here’s a guy who’s been through some bad shit.”

  He looked up. Dark velvet eyes regarded me. Usually a hint of sly humor hid there behind the solemn composure of a Pack wolf. It was gone now.

  “Hi, Kate.”

  His lips moved but it took me a second to connect the low, raspy voice with Derek’s mouth.

  “Damaged vocal cords?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “It’s permanent,” Doolittle said softly. He stepped out of the room and closed the door. It was me and Derek now.

  I perched on the side of the bed. “You sound like you kill people for a living,” I told him.

  “I look like it, too.” He smiled. The effect was chilling.

  “Is there a spot on you that’s safe to punch?”

  “Depends on who’ll be doing the punching.”

  “Me.”

  Derek winced. “Then no.”

  “Are you sure? I have a lot of baggage to release from the past couple of days.” My voice was breaking. I struggled for control.

  “Positive.”

  All of my guilt, all of my worry, all the anxiety and pain and regret, everything I had carefully packaged and stuffed away into the deepest recesses of myself so I could function, all of it swelled into an unbearable pressure. I fought to contain it, but it was like trying to hold back the tide. A hint of relief was all it took. The flood burst through my defenses and drowned me.

  My spine turned to wet cotton. I clamped my arms to my sides, trying to hold myself rigid and keep myself from slumping over. A hard, hot clump blocked my throat. My heart thudded. It hurt, it really hurt, and I didn’t even understand where the pain emanated from. I just knew I hurt all over. Cold and burning up at the same time, I had to clench my teeth to keep them from chattering.

  “Kate?” Derek’s alarmed voice demanded my attention. If only I could speak, I’d be okay.

  I wished I could cry or something; I needed, desperately wanted, a release, but my eyes were dry and that pressure remained locked in me, battering me with pain.

  Derek pushed from the pillow toward me. He’d gone pale, his new face rigid like a mask. “I’m sorry.”

  He put his forehead against my hair, his arms around my shoulders. I hung suspended in my own painful world, like a speck in a storm.

  “You can’t do this to me again.” My voice sounded rusty, as though it hadn’t been used in years. “You can’t show me you’re in trouble but not let me help. Not let me do anything.”

  “I won’t,” he promised.

  “I can’t deal with the guilt.”

  “I promise, I won’t.”

  Everyone I dared to care about died, violently and in pain. My mother died putting a knife into Roland’s eye, because he wanted to kill me. She was stolen from me before I had a chance to remember her. My dad died in his bed. I didn’t even know how or why. He had sent me on a training run, three days in the wilderness, just me and a knife. The smell had hit me ten yards from the front door. I found him in his bed. He was bloated. His skin had blistered and fluids had leaked from his body. He’d disemboweled himself—the sword was still clamped in his hand. I was fifteen.

  Greg died on assignment. We’d had a fight a few weeks before his death and we didn’t part on good terms. He was ripped to pieces, his body shredded as if it had gone through a cheese grater.

  Bran was stabbed through the back. He was almost immortal, and still he died, in my arms. I so desperately tried to keep him alive, I nearly brought him into undeath.

  It was as if Death stalked me, like a cruel and cowardly enemy, taunting me, eating away at the edges of my world by stealing those I cared about. It
didn’t just kill; it obliterated. Every time I got distracted, it would snatch another friend from me and destroy him.

  Derek had fit that pattern to a T. A part of me had known with absolute certainty that he would die just like the others. I had imagined it so vividly, I could picture myself standing over his corpse.

  Explaining all this would be tedious and painful. “I thought you would die,” I said simply.

  “I did, too. I’m sorry.”

  We sat for a long time. Finally when the storm inside me calmed, I stirred, and Derek let go and turned away, hiding his face. When he looked back at me, he’d put his Pack wolf composure back on.

  “Some hard-asses we are.”

  “Yeah. We’re tough,” he said with a grimace.

  “Tell me about the girl.”

  “Her name’s Olivia,” he said. “Livie. I met her at the Games. She’d slip away once the bouts started and we’d talk. She’s young. Her parents have money. They love her, but she was unhappy.”

  “Poor little rich girl?”

  He nodded. “Livie never knew her real dad. Her mom married her stepdad when she was two. She said her mom dressed her up like a little doll. They both treated her like she was a golden child. Like she was special. And then she grew up and realized she was pretty but not that special: not that bright, not that talented, not gifted with magic. She told me she’d make up stories about her dad being some magic prince.”

  “She wanted very much to be more than what she was?” I guessed.

  Derek nodded.

  It was hard to grow up believing yourself to be a star and smash headfirst into the realization that only your parents thought you were one.

  “She got herself a ‘special’ rich boyfriend. She didn’t even like him that much, but he treated her like she was walking on clouds, just like her mom. He brought her to the Games and they ran into the Reapers. The Reapers recognized her. Jim said you know about rakshasas. Well, they told her she was half. If she joined them, they’d let her go through this rite to unlock her powers. She would be able to change shapes like them and to fly. There was one catch: once she started the rites, she couldn’t stop.”

  A sick feeling claimed my stomach. “Did she agree?”

  “She did.” Derek grimaced. “She said she wanted to go back to the clubs where all her friends hung out and show off her new powers.”

  “That’s shallow and stupid.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  “Did she complete the rite?”

  “Not yet. It’s long, takes several weeks. They started her on small stuff. Killing some animals. At first she liked it a little. I could tell by the way she told me—she was excited, proud of herself. She thought she was hard-core. But it got real bad in a hurry.”

  “How bad?”

  “They made her do some really sick shit.” Derek shrugged. “Some of it might have been for a purpose, but some . . . They made her torture other rakshasas who needed punishment. I don’t know if the rites were actually meant to unlock anything. I think they just got off on watching her pervert herself. She decided she couldn’t take it anymore.”

  “Only there’s no way out,” I said.

  “Yeah. She asked me for help. I told her I’d help her, but alone I wouldn’t be enough. It would have to be a trade for the Pack to be involved. She agreed to tell us everything about the rakshasas and the Diamond. She said some mysterious guy made a deal with them. They’re supposed to get the Wolf Diamond and use it against the Pack. She’d tell us all about it if we got her out.” He sighed. “Most of the rest you already know. I went to Jim with it, and he said no and cut me off. I went to Saiman to steal the tickets, gave you the note, arranged for the transport, and headed to the spot to pick her up. When I got there, they were waiting for me. At least I put up a good fight.”

  “Was she there?”

  He nodded.

  “What did she do?”

  “She watched,” he said.

  “Didn’t try to help? Didn’t protest?”

  He shook his head.

  “Tell me about the beating.”

  “They jumped me, four on one. I had two shards in me with the first punch. Then there was more of them. Cesare, the big one with tattoos, supervised it. His ink slides off his body and twists into snakes with several heads. When they bite, it burns like ice. Not much to tell. I fought. I lost. It hurt.”

  Cesare was going to die.

  “You’re going after the girl?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

  “As soon as I’m strong enough. Shouldn’t be long now. Doc says that the virus in my body was suppressed but it still multiplied while the shards were embedded. Now I’m healing at a record rate. I’ll be on my feet in a few hours.”

  “You understand that she doesn’t love you?” I kept my voice calm.

  “I know that.” He swallowed. “For the final rite, she has to eat a human child. She’ll do it because she is weak and then there will be no turning back.”

  “If your roles were reversed, she wouldn’t do the same for you. She’s using you.”

  “It doesn’t matter what she does. It only matters what I do.”

  He quoted me. Nice. Hard to argue with your own words.

  I dreaded what I had to say next, but it needed to be said. “Rescuing her won’t resurrect your sisters.”

  He winced. “I was weak back then. I couldn’t do anything. I tried, but I couldn’t. I’m stronger now.”

  And there it was. Four years of being trapped in a house with a loup father who raped, tortured, and ate his children one by one, with Derek powerless to do anything about it. He saw his sisters in Livie’s face. He couldn’t let go any more than I could let go of my blood debts. He would persist until the rakshasas killed him.

  THE INVALID DECIDED HE WANTED TO BE MOBILE and I lent him my shoulder. Together we managed the trip to the kitchen, where Jim, Dali, Doolittle, and Raphael were eating little chocolate cookies. Dali was nursing another cup of coffee next to Jim.

  Across the table, Raphael was playing with a steak knife. The good doctor on his right looked like a man who’d run to Marathon and then was told he had to run back. He saw Derek and his eyes bulged. “So help me God, I shall have to kill you myself, boy. What are you doing out of bed?”

  Derek grinned. Dali winced. Doolittle’s eyes bulged a bit more. Jim remained stoic and Raphael just smiled.

  I deposited Derek into a chair. “Why is it that you always gather in the kitchen?”

  Dali shrugged. “That’s where the food is.”

  Jim glanced at me. “We must get the Diamond.”

  “Agreed. The Diamond is too dangerous to the Pack. The rakshasas intend to use it as a weapon against you.” I stole a cookie from the stash. “We have to get the Diamond. And Cesare’s head.”

  They looked at me.

  “Why the head?” Doolittle asked.

  “Because it’s easy to carry and I can torture it for a long time.” And I didn’t just say it out loud, did I? I checked their faces. Yep, I did.

  “How do you torture a head?” Dali asked.

  “You resurrect it and make it relive its death.”

  Jim cleared his throat. “We can’t steal the Diamond and we can’t buy it.”

  “The only way to get it is through the Games,” Raphael said. Apparently Jim had brought him up to speed.

  “You got something in mind?” Jim asked me.

  “The tournament begins the day after tomorrow. It’s a team event. We get Saiman to enter us into it.”

  “What makes you think he’ll do it?” Jim asked.

  “The question is, how did the shards get from the gem to the rakshasas? Somebody is helping them. Somebody with access to the stone. Saiman hates them. They threatened him, attacked him, and embarrassed him by killing his minotaur.”

  Dali came to life. “He had a minotaur?”

  “Yep. He dragged him here all the way from Greece and Mart nuked him in ten seconds flat. Saiman hat
es the Reapers.” I smiled. “But he can’t really do that much to them. Once he finds out that somebody provided the Reapers with shards, he’ll be livid. We offer him two things: a chance to go against the Reapers in the Pit, and an opportunity to find out who within the House is aiding them and why. He won’t pass it up.”

  “Okay,” Jim said. I realized he had already worked through it in his head. Why exactly was he using me for his mouthpiece?

  “What about Livie?” Derek asked.

  “They are very arrogant.” I glanced to Dali for confirmation. She nodded. “Once they recognize you, chances are they will surmise we have entered the tournament to rescue her and will bring Livie out to taunt us. That’s our only shot at her, because there is no way we could storm their flying barn and survive.”

  “They should be too overconfident to pass it up,” Dali said.

  “Once we go in, there is no turning back,” Jim said. “It’s the Reapers inside and Curran outside. If you’re going to back out, now is the only time you can do it.”

  The kitchen fell silent. They mulled it over.

  Jim reached behind him and handed me the phone from the counter. I dialed Saiman’s number. He picked up immediately. It took me less than a minute to outline my proposal.

  Ominous silence claimed the other end of the phone.

  “How sure are you of this?” he said finally.

  “I’m in possession of five shards and two corpses,” I told him. “You’re welcome to examine them if you wish. Can you get us into the Games?”

  “This is rather short notice,” Saiman said. “But yes. I can. Provided I go as Stone.”

  “Done,” I said.

  “You’ll need seven fighters.”

  I made writing motions. Everybody except the doctor looked for a pencil.

  “I’ve never seen such a collection of idiots in my whole life.” Doolittle shook his head. “If you participate in this lunacy, y’all will get yourselves killed. Then don’t come crying to me.”

  Now that would be a neat trick.

  Dali handed me a pencil. No paper materialized and I scribbled on the tablecloth.