Then within Merc, a pulling, a severing, and there was no doubt they had grabbed the Spellbook.
The next instant, all the acolytes disappeared, taking the bodies of the fallen, leaving behind wreckage and the certainty of his own death.
Chapter Thirty-Five
‡
It had been silent for several minutes – none of the screams or calls to comrades-at-arms that had been constant before.
She couldn’t stay in this room forever. Whatever had happened out there, it was time to go and face it.
Amana emerged, slow and steady, searching and listening as she moved with careful deliberation through the bedroom to look over the railing.
Merc stood statue-still in the middle of the room, bloodstains surrounding him, though no bodies were evident. Amana gave a hesitant, “Merc?”
His head tilted a bare inch, the only sign he heard her. Still, the pull of whatever had his attention now was stronger, and he remained its silent captive.
Even without any verbal confirmation, it was clear this battle was over, and Amana came down the stairs to put her hand on his back. “Are you okay?”
His back was solid stone, a fine tremor rolling through him, and his jaw was so tight it would be a miracle if his teeth hadn’t been ground down half an inch. No, he wasn’t. “They got the Spellbook.”
The words seemed to spur him into action. He pulled away from her, heading to another safe hidden in the wall, grabbing supplies – mostly weapons – and packing in quick, practiced movements.
She stayed quiet, letting him work through whatever was going on in his head as he got ready.
With a last shove of a final weapon into a bag, he zipped it up and grabbed it to go. “We need to move.”
“Of course,” she agreed, feeling him out during this strange mood.
He wasn’t looking at her. He was moving around her, his attention and energy in all directions. “We have to get you somewhere safe, and then I have to go after the Spellbook.”
“What?” That…that was insane. Going after the greatest necromancer of the realms was beyond a job description, beyond anything Hadrien could ever give him. “You’ll never survive going after a vampire. Is your pride really worth going after a necromancer for a scum like Hadrien? You’ll get more jobs even if you don’t succeed with this one.”
He was shaking his head, not looking at her as he moved around to pack a few more personal items. “We need to leave now. It’s no longer safe.”
Amana moved in front of him and held her ground, grabbing his wrist to keep him from moving away. “There isn’t any other reason to move. They’ve won. You no longer have the book.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me.” She loosened her grip, gave his arm a little shake, moved in closer so she could look up into his face. “Please.”
He swallowed, and his shoulders dropped, as though the weight of everything that happened in the last hour was now being felt. “I don’t know how Hadrien did it, but he was able to put a spell on me called a bound. Bounds are what they sound like, a way to magically make a contract binding. The price for not fulfilling the contract is usually low-level, money or an item will automatically disappear if you don’t complete it, that kind of thing.”
Which was way too small to have Merc acting like he was right now. “This isn’t usual, is it?”
“No.” He stared at her now, his eyes dark and direct, a shadow in their depths. “He used a rare version. I have to put the Spellbook in his hand. If I don’t, I die.”
His words washed over her, pulling and twisting at things deep inside her. Her hands skimmed the tattoos on his arms. “I thought you were protected. Didn’t you say you were immune to most magic?”
He caught her hand, linked her fingers with his. “I should have been protected. I don’t know what happened. Hadrien isn’t that powerful, but it happened. If I don’t follow the terms of the spell, I will die.”
“And it has to be you? It’s not enough for him to get the Spellbook?”
“It has to be me. And I have to give it to him at an exact time, no earlier and no later.” His laugh was short and brittle, his gaze leaving hers. “I am well and truly screwed.”
So much made sense now, things that seemed off. Why Merc didn’t go underground and tell Hadrien to fuck himself when things started to unravel – or even give the Guild the Spellbook from moment one and save himself all the trouble. It had always seemed too big for him to keep going because of a job, because of a reputation. “Does the Guild know?”
He gave a little huff, an irritated puff of breath. “It’s a well-known spell, something wizards and mages would be able to place if they were strong enough to feel it.”
She followed his train of thought. “The day you grabbed me Laire was there. I don’t know how powerful a magic user she is.”
“She’s Guild, therefore she’s powerful,” he cut in. “I had hoped I took her out quick enough that she wouldn’t have noticed, but as soon as the Guild put out the call to grab Hadrien, that hope was dashed.”
“So they wanted to grab Hadrien why? Because you’d be forced to go to them with the book?”
“Yeah, and they were right, I would have walked wherever they directed me and hoped for the best. I’m pretty sure they’d let me get rid of the bound, though Fallon would probably make me pay in some way for everything that’s happened so far.”
She didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to make his eyes go sadder or his expression more hopeless, but she needed to know the full extent of what was going on. “And where is Hadrien now?”
“Hadrien.” A humorless slash of lips and teeth painted his face and broke her heart. “Hadrien has very likely been kidnapped by a group called the Blackguard. Their leader is very smart, and connects dots no one else sees, and he doesn’t like me. The fact that the Blackguard have him and haven’t given him over to the Guild tells me that they have figured out there is a very good chance I have a mortal bound on me, and they want to use it to cause my death.”
She grabbed his shoulders and gave a small shake, trying to force that hopeless look from his face. “It could still be the Guild that has him. You don’t know.”
“If the Guild had Hadrien right now, they’d be broadcasting it to all my known acquaintances and over any site I’ve been known to frequent. I don’t know if the Guild knows who has Hadrien, but I’m certain they don’t.”
Only now did Amana see how hewn in they were, strapped on all sides with the bands growing tighter by the second. “What now?”
“I can only go one step at a time. First I need to get the Spellbook back.”
“From necromancers? That’s impossible. You’ll never survive.”
“I’m not chasing after Reign. He didn’t get the book for himself. Somehow the Guild made a good enough offer to get him to help.”
“Going after the Guild isn’t any better than going after Reign.”
“I’m not going to live if I stand around either.” Frustration poured from him in waves, all the negative energy he’d been able to hold back while talking to her bursting free. “I only have a little while left before the bound kills me. What would you have me do? Throw up my hands and go oh well? If I’m going down, I’m going down fighting.”
“I don’t want you to go down at all. Maybe I can do something in dreams to find the book.”
He began shaking his head. “You can’t go against the Guild. You don’t know what will happen.”
“I know what will happen if I don’t.” She grabbed his face between her hands, forcing him to look at her. “I won’t lie. The thought of opening myself up scares me. That doesn’t change the fact that I want you alive. As long as you’re alive, we can figure out how to deal with whatever comes next. We’ll get the book, we’ll get rid of the bound, and we’ll get Nakoa free. Do you understand? We can do all of that together.”
Now, finally, life came back to his eyes, a spark that had been m
issing since she had come downstairs, and now that she saw it again, she knew what its absence had meant – that he had lost hope, that he was letting go. Now he was back in the game, and she was going to do everything in her power to keep him there. “Do you really think so?”
“Yes.” She tapped down her own fear and only let her determination shine forth.
“Well then,” He tilted her head up, brought his lips to touch her forehead in a move that was loving and grateful and damn near reverential. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
‡
Leaning against the brick wall, Laire once again looked around. Not that she needed to. For several feet in every direction, she had wards set up to alert her to any nasties, and beyond that she kept her magic at the ready, so high that the few people who had passed this dark alley near nowhere special had scurried past her, the magic level causing an instinctive desire to flee even though they had no magic of their own.
A tremor reached her through one of the wards, and Zemar approached from straight ahead, his own magic – if he had any, the enigmatic scumbucket – hidden or pulled back. “You honor me by choosing to accept my invitation.”
“Cut the crap, shithead. Why did you call me? Shouldn’t you be talking to Fallon? After all, she and your boss made the deal.”
If Reign’s right-hand man took exception to her language, he didn’t show it. He remained unflappable, elegant in the crisp, sharp lines of his suit. “If you had no interest in seeing me, why did you not approach Lady Fallon and tell her of our meeting?”
“Maybe I did,” she challenged, throwing in all the attitude she could into the words.
That only brought the closest Laire had ever seen of true emotion to Zemar’s face, the beginnings of a smile lining his full lips. “I think not. Because if you had, you would not be able to ask me the question that drew you here in the first place, a question you know Lady Fallon will never herself answer.”
Loathing against everything this thing was and stood for coated Laire’s guts, but damn him, he was right. She wanted to know. “You aren’t going to turn me against her.”
A scoff, a turn of the head before he brought that superior, know-it-all face back to her, and questions-and-answers be damned, she was about to blast it off him. “If I thought you were so weak to be turned in such a way, I would destroy you here and now. Your loyalty to her has saved you more than you know. Still, she is not your master, and your loyalty, while complete, is not unquestioning.” Zemar looked at his watch, a deliberate move to rile her up. “My time is precious. Here is the Spellbook,” he said, holding the book out. “You can take it and go, or you can ask your question.”
Laire grabbed the book, making sure she didn’t touch him in the process. He waited, one, two, and three, just as he was about to turn, she asked, “Why was touching Tenro the price? We both know what Reign could have gotten for this book.”
Zemar smiled, a smile that damned her where she stood. “Do you know what Tenro is?”
The path was taken, and she was committed. She wasn’t pulling back now. “I know as much as anyone.”
“Then you know nothing.” Zemar’s superior tone set her teeth to grind. “Tenro is no mere weapon, no inelegant hunk of metal. Boring. Beneath notice. No, Tenro is so much more. It has will and purpose. Tenro is no thing to be wielded. Tenro chooses its master, chooses who it will serve.”
As much as she didn’t want it to, Zemar’s explanation fascinated, and Laire pulled herself back to stop from leaning into the words. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Zemar settled into the story. “Lady Fallon wields Tenro because she, amongst the pitiful multitudes known as humanity, has the strength and force of will to match Tenro, and through her, Tenro will crush all who oppose its purpose. Tenro serves her, but make no mistake, Tenro has its own desires. Tenro chose Lady Fallon because she is aligned in those desires and has the strength to prevail.”
“You’re talking like it’s alive.” Laire refused to let herself shiver – not at the words, not at the reverential tone Zemar had taken as he’d talked about Fallon. She wasn’t going to give him that leverage.
“Not in the sense you are, or in the sense of my Master. Tenro exists beyond such terms. But do not doubt for a moment of its will or its desire.”
She’d heard enough. She’d heard enough, and it was time to bring this back to something she knew, like loathing for the creature in front of her. “So why did Tenro reject Reign? Couldn’t stand the evil bastard?”
“What cares Tenro of such pitiful concepts as good or evil? Tenro cares only what will help its plan, and what will hinder it. Ask yourself – why does such a weapon care if my Master merely touches it? Why would it reject him so violently, if it does not care of good or evil, and knows my Master had no desire to take it?” Zemar leaned closer, his dark voice low. “Why would Tenro care, save it knows my Master might interfere with its ultimate plan? Now think, Battle Mage…why would it believe my Master to be a threat?”
In her mind’s eye Laire beheld Fallon and Reign as they looked from her perch in the doorway. The Master Vampire leaning into Fallon, his eyes not leaving hers even as his hand reached for Tenro, a hand that twitched as it passed her cheek, a half-formed thwarted movement to deviate from its course and land on flesh instead of metal. Fallon’s chin raised in defiance but before she stopped herself, that same chin had tilted only a fraction, only a moment, to bare her neck to him.
Zemar inclined his head and stepped back, always facing her, his dark eyes daring her to look away from him, to deny him and all he revealed. “We have informed Lady Fallon you have the Spellbook. Our business is concluded.”
Laire waited several long moments after Zemar had disappeared. Sure it was because she wanted to make sure he wasn’t lurking anywhere and had a trap out for her.
…Sure.
She needed to get home, and rest, and toss this book into a corner until she could give it to Tec in the morning, so he could put it in the new, spiffier safe that honest really wouldn’t ever get broken into.
Damn vampires. Always screwing with you. She should have grabbed a pizza tonight instead of letting her curiosity rush forward. Turning the corner to head where she might be able to get a cab Laire almost ran into someone. The large body blocked her path, and this late at night, the long hair appeared brunette except for the strands underneath the streetlight, which gleamed their true red.
Well shit.
Laire cleared her throat and held out the book. “Do you want me to give you the Spellbook, or is me having it good enough?”
Fallon’s gaze was unwavering, a heavy weight Laire quelled under. “You having it is good enough. Give it to Tec once we get back to headquarters.”
Trying to lighten the atmosphere, Laire said, “Don’t quote me, but I think Zemar might have a crush on you. If it wasn’t for that assassin of the damned thing, I’d encourage you to go for it.”
Fallon was a stone wall both in expression and in bearing, both of which Laire was familiar with, and neither of which were usually directed at her.
She’d come here knowing she’d have to explain herself to Fallon, and dammit, she’d do it again if faced with the same choice. If Fallon didn’t know that about her by now, the woman wasn’t paying attention. Laire threw up her hands and said, “I’m nosy. This should not be a shock to you. He volunteered to answer a question, so of course I was going to come here. It’s not like there was anything he could say to make me betray you.”
The short nod Fallon gave was involuntary if the annoyed expression that followed right after spoke true. Still, Fallon softened a bit, the annoyance she was expressing now only half-genuine.
Okay, maybe three-quarters genuine. But no more than that.
“Yeah, you are, and everyone knows it. Really, the only thing I should be surprised about is how long it took the little fink bastard to contact you.”
Sensing victory in the air and with her stomach giving
a small growl, Laire kept the forgiveness train going. “Can we go? I’m hungry. Hamburgers would be great.”
Fallon was giving some serious side-eye, but seemed to decide it was no longer productive to be angry, because she nodded and turned, walking toward the road, and Laire hurried to fall into step beside the redhead.
Laire gave it a few moments to let the silence become more companionable before she asked, “Is anything he said true?”
That had Fallon stopping again, and this time her face was drawn, worn down in ways she’d never allowed revealed in all the time Laire had known her. “What parts are you asking about, specifically?”
Reign’s face sprung through her mind, and Laire beat it down. Curiosity be damned. She would not make the mistake of asking anything concerning him. “Tenro?”
Fallon’s lip quirked in anything but amusement. “What I do is because of me. Because I decided. Not some bitch of an Oracle, not a hunk of metal, and not any magic from any Realm or any asshole who wields it. It’s all me, and fuck anyone who says otherwise.”
There was a raw truth to Fallon, a directness she seldom displayed, a weariness she’d never displayed, and it tore into Laire, made her want to grab up the much larger woman and wrap her in cotton and settle her down to sleep for a week.
Instead, Laire did what Fallon would want her to do, what was needed to make their world right again. She pursed her lips and tossed out in her most smartass manner, “Does all this decision-making include deciding to kick evil’s ass and annoy people as we go along?”
The small vulnerability left Fallon, and the swagger returned as she began walking again. “Hells yeah.”
“That’s all I need know.” Laire fell into step again, and they made their way toward the street. “Please tell me you brought the motorcycle. I have a desire to pull alongside cars full of guys and make out with you to torment them, then we laugh and ride away.”
The Dream Crafter Page 18