Magic Slays (Kate Daniels #5)

Magic Slays (Kate Daniels #5) Page 21

"NO." CURRAN STRODE TO THE CAR, HEADING DOWN the street away from the temple.

"No what?" I knew what, but I wanted him to spell it out. That way I could shut him down better.

"I know what you're thinking and the answer is no. You're not pulling that stunt."

"It's not up to you."

He spun around. "Roland did it during full magic. He passed out. The magic is weak, and you're not him. What the hell do you think it will do to you?"

"I thought about that. I'd need a power boost. My own miniflare."

"Aha."

"The device contains concentrated magic. When you open it--"

"When you open it, it fucking explodes, Kate. It would be like standing in the middle of an atomic blast."

"She's dying."

Curran treated me to a full-blown alpha stare. His eyes glowed with primal power. Like looking into the eyes of a hungry beast emerging from the darkness. My muscles locked. I held his gaze.

"No," he said, pronouncing the word slowly.

"You can't tell me what to do."

Curran roared. The blast of noise erupting from his mouth was like thunder. I clenched up, fighting the urge to step back.

"Yes I can," he snarled. "Listen: this is me telling you what you will not do."

I raised the cookbook and tapped him on the nose. Bad cat.

He jerked the book out of my hands, ripped it in half, flipped the two halves, ripped them again, and raised his hand. The pieces of the cookbook fluttered to the ground. "No."

Fine. I turned and walked away, to the ruined houses. Behind me Curran's foot scraped over the ground. He leaped over me and landed in my path. He looked completely feral.

I halted. "Move." "No."

I kicked him in the head. The pressure of the past forty-eight hours rampaged inside me like a storm, and I'd sunk all of it into the kick. The impact hit his jaw at an angle. Curran staggered back. I spun and snapped another kick. He dodged. Another. Curran moved forward and right. My kick missed by a hair. He grabbed my shin with his left hand, clamping it between his arm and his side, and swept my other leg from under me. Nice. A kung fu takedown.

I fell back. The pavement slapped my back. I rolled back up and hammered an uppercut to his chin. Hitting him in the body was useless. Might as well pummel a tank. The head was my only chance.

Curran snarled. Blood dripped from a cut on his cheek. I'd opened a gash with my kick.

I threw a left hook. He knocked my arm out of the way and shoved me back. I twisted out of the way on pure instinct--damn it, he was fast--dropped into a crouch, and swiped his legs from under him. He jumped up, avoiding the kick, and I took a knee to the head.

Ow.

The world shattered into tiny painful sparks. I tasted blood--my nose was dripping. I rolled back, coming to my feet, blocked his punch, and jammed my knuckles into his throat, interrupting his growl in midnote. Felt that, did you, baby?

Curran charged. His hand locked on my shoulders. He swept me off my feet and slammed me into the wall, back to the bricks, pinning me. His teeth snapped a hair from my cheek. I kneed him. He blocked and clamped me in place.

"Done?" he breathed out. "Hmm?"

"Are you done?"

"Baby, I haven't even started."

"Oh good. Go ahead so I can finish it." And how exactly was I going to do that?

Curran pushed me harder, grinding me into the wall. "I'm waiting. Show me what you've got."

"Let go and I will."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Promise me you won't do this thing and I'll let go."

I just stared at him.

Curran spun away, took two steps, and punched the wall. "Damn it." The wall disintegrated in an explosion of bricks. I pulled a piece of gauze from my pocket and wiped the blood from my nose. There wasn't much. Occupational hazard of picking a fight with a man who killed gods for a living.

Curran let out a ragged snarl and punched the other wall. It burst and the entire wreck of the house came down in a fountain of dust. He shook his hand, his knuckles bloody.

"Bricks are hard," I told him patiently, as if to a child. "Don't hit bricks. No, no."

Curran picked up a brick and snapped it in half.

Idiot. "Oh, you're so strong, Your Majesty."

Curran hurled the chunks of the brick. They cleared the ruins and vanished into the Unicorn.

"If Derek were in trouble, you'd risk your life in a heartbeat."

He turned to me. "Risk, yes. I wouldn't slit my own throat for him. I like Julie. She is a great kid. But I love you. I forbid you to do this."

"That's not the way this mating works. You don't get to order me to do things, and I don't get to tell you what to do. That's the only way we can survive, Curran."

He swallowed. "Fine. Then I will ask. Please, don't do this. Please. That's as much as I can bend, Kate."

"Do you remember when I told you that you couldn't fight Erra, that it was stupid and reckless, because she would drive you insane?"

Curran's face snapped into his flat Beast Lord mask.

"I begged you not to go. Begged." I closed the distance between us. "You told me that you don't get to cherry-pick your battles and you came anyway."

"And we won."

"And you were in a coma for two weeks. Give me another brick so I can beat you over the head with it. I told you! I told you her magic would screw you up. Did you listen? No. Would you do it again?"

"Of course I would," he snarled. "She kicked your ass twice. I wasn't going to let you walk in there alone. She was a challenge and it was my job."

"And my job is to keep Julie safe. Opening the device alone won't be enough. I'll need someone to channel the magic into me. I'm going to ask the witches for help. I promise you that if Evdokia says no, I will let it go."

Curran stared at me, his eyes furious molten gold. "I'm not going to run off, lop the top off the device, and slice Julie's throat. I might as well just murder her in that case. I'll have to speak with Doolittle about my blood. I'll have to arrange things with the witches. I'll have to talk to Kamen and see if the device can even be opened without triggering a giant explosion. I give you my word that if things look hopeless at any point, I will stop. Meet me halfway. That's all I'm asking."

His face was grim.

"You have to let me at least try. I can't just sit on my hands and do nothing."

"If I keep you from doing this, you will leave me," he said.

"I didn't say that." Giving an ultimatum to Curran was like waving a red cloak in front of a mad bull.

"You will. Maybe not right this second. But eventually you'll walk away." Curran took a long deep breath. "I sit in on every meeting."

I had won.

"As long as you're honest with me about your chances, I'll support you. Kate, if you lie, it's over."

I crossed my arms. "You expect me to lie."

"I don't. I'm just getting it out there so there are no surprises."

We stared at each other.

"Are we cool?" he asked.

"I don't know, you tell ..."

He pulled me over to him and kissed me. It was a hell of a kiss.

We broke apart.

"You talk too much," he said.

"Whatever, Your Fluffiness." I slid close to him, so his arm was around my shoulder. I felt better. He did, too--his posture lost some of the tension.

We walked to the car and kept walking. "Where are we going?"

"To the Temple," Curran said. "I owe you another cookbook."

IN THE THREE HOURS WE'D BEEN GONE, THE STEAK house had been transformed into the Pack's field headquarters. Groups of shapeshifters patrolled the road and guarded the building. Knowing Jim, sentries lay in wait, hidden and watching for an enemy's approach. People were crawling on the roof, installing a ballista and machine guns.

The parking lot lay empty, but the field behind the building was filled with cars spaced about ten feet apart. If the Keepers launched a rocket into our parking lot, not every vehicle would go up in flames. I hoped they tried something. My hands itched for my sword.

Curran parked in the front. Jackson, one of the guards, ran out and Curran tossed him the keys.

Jim met us at the door. Behind him Derek emerged. He looked like death: pale, his eyes bleak.

Shit.

I stopped. Curran's hand brushed mine, and then he went off with Jim.

Derek came to a stop in front of me.

"Is she dead?" I asked.

"No. She's sleeping."

I exhaled. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

"If I hadn't--"

"Please, don't flatter yourself. We both know the kid needed about five years of hard training before he could've taken her on. Your little beating made absolutely no difference."

"She's ... there is no change."

"That's good news," I told him. "Any change now will be for the worse. I need to have her stable, until I can get my ducks in a row."

He glanced at me. "Kate, you can't help her."

"I can try. Are you going to help me or will you just stand there and mope?"

His head snapped up. Much better.

"Are the witches here?"

"Yes. The Russians are here too, and they're pissed."

Oh good. "Where are they?"

"In the back of the main room." "Find Barabas, tell him I need him to attend. And when Curran is done with Jim, tell him that I'm holding the meeting until he can join us." I wouldn't want His Arrogance to miss anything. "And fetch the staff, please."

Derek took off. I strode inside the steak house.

GRIGORII WAS TALL AND THIN. HIS PLAIN BLACK robe hung on his shoulders like wet laundry on a coat hanger. Chernobog's volhv's long black hair, shot through with gray, framed a severe face with hazel eyes under thick eyebrows and a hooked nose that made him look like a bird of prey. You half expected him to clench his talons, let out an eagle shriek, and tear you to pieces. A black raven perched on Grigorii's shoulder. Behind Grigorii's chair, Roman waited, looking about as happy as the groom at a shotgun wedding.

The man in the chair next to Grigorii was even older. He wore a plain white robe that came to his knees. Pale blue embroidery, faded to almost gray, ran in a three-inch strip straight down the front of the robe. Belobog's volhv. Had to be. Belobog was Chernobog's brother; they were diametrically opposed, benevolent god to malevolent one.

A furry creature lay at the white volhv's feet. It looked like a medium-sized dog with gray fur. A pair of large feathery wings lay folded along its back, stretching on the floor behind it. A celestial wolf. Holy crap.

Across the table Evdokia smiled serenely, knitting something blue. Her duck-bunny-kitten rolled around on the floor, playing with the yarn. The celestial wolf watched it with a slightly hungry look on its face.

Behind Evdokia two witches waited, both young, pretty, and looking like they wouldn't back down from a fight. Same dark hair, same small neat mouths, same large eyes. Probably sisters. The witch on the left wore a long hooded robe of gray fabric. Her friend chose jeans and a sweater instead. She'd pulled her sweater sleeves up to the elbow, exposing bright turquoise tattoos of mystic symbols sheathing her arms.

I came to the table, pulled up a chair, and sat. "Everyone brought a pet. I feel left out."

An enthusiastic howl broke the silence, and Grendel bounded through the doorway. He galloped through the steak house, skidded on the floor, smashed into my chair, and dropped a dead rat on my lap.

Awesome.

The volhvs stared.

"Thank you." I put the rat on the floor and petted Grendel's throat. "We will begin shortly."

"What is that?" Grigorii stared at the dog. "A shaved poodle." Technically he was now a closely cropped poodle, but who cared about semantics.

"This is ridiculous." Grigorii leaned back. His voice was clipped and had no accent.

"Have you looked through the window?" I asked him.

The steak house was set on the apex of a low hill. Beyond it Palmetto lay, flooded with cops and people in paramedic scrubs. They methodically bagged the corpses and loaded them into trucks, one atop the other, like cords of wood.

"That is a horrible thing," Belobog's volhv said.

"I do not like this waiting," Grigorii said. "What are we waiting for?"

"For me," Curran said.

The volhvs startled. Curran pulled up the chair and sat next to me. Barabas materialized behind him. "Grigorii Semionovich, Vasiliy Evgenievich, Evdokia Ivanovna, welcome. May I get you anything? Coffee, tea?"

"Hot tea with lemon," Evdokia said.

Barabas waved. Jezebel brought a platter with a teapot and several cups on it, set it on the table, and took up position at the nearby booth.

Jim pulled up a chair and sat on Curran's right. Andrea sat on my left. Barabas and Derek remained standing behind our chairs.

"This thing is none of our concern," Grigorii said. "You do not rule us."

"We will leave when we decide," Vasiliy said.

"Did you bring Kamen?" Curran asked.

Grigorii leaned back and crossed his arms. "And if we did, then what?"

Curran leaned forward. "You are sheltering a man whose machine caused hundreds of deaths. Because of this device, my ward, a fourteen-year-old girl, is dying. One of my people is dead; two are critically injured. Your volhv attacked my mate. Before we go any further, we require a show of good faith. You will give us access to Kamen now."

Vasiliy's white eyebrows rose. "Or?"

"Or this meeting is over. We will consider your actions to be a declaration of war."

The two volhvs looked at each other. "We will abide by the agreements of peaceful assembly," Curran said. "You're free to leave. Go home, kiss your wives, hug your children, and put your affairs in order, because tomorrow I will burn your neighborhood to the ground. We will kill you, your families, your neighbors, your pets, and anyone who will stand in our path. An attack on my family will not go unpunished."

That was the best smackdown I'd ever seen.

"No," Vasiliy said. "No war."

The raven on Grigorii's shoulder cawed. The black volhv grimaced. "Roman."

Roman bent down.

"Tashi yego suda."

Roman took off at a run.

I leaned to Curran. "They're bringing him."

"Good tea," Evdokia said.

A long minute passed and Roman entered, leading a man by his shoulder. The man wore wrinkled khakis and a sweater over a dress shirt that had seen its better days--grime stained the bend of the collar where it touched the neck. Some effort had been made to comb his light brown hair out of his bloodshot eyes, but it stuck out on the back of his head in untidy clumps. He gazed about him, looking lost, as if he weren't sure where he was or why.

Adam Kamen. The source of the entire mess.

Roman pulled a chair out and pushed Kamen into it. As Roman straightened, his gaze snagged on something to my right. His eyes widened. He caught himself and stepped back, behind Grigorii's chair. I glanced to my right and saw Andrea flipping through her notes. Oh boy.

Jezebel pushed off her seat. "Can I kill him? Can I kill him now, please?"

I shook my head. She dropped back into the booth, exhaling. It took all of my will not to pummel Kamen's face into a bloody pulp. I barely had enough restraint for myself, let alone for her.

Curran pointed at the window. "Look."

Down in Palmetto, a truck was backing up. Another slid into its place. The paramedics paused while it maneuvered toward them and resumed loading the bodies.

"I saw," Adam said. "I was watching through the car window. Many people are dead."

"Because of you," I said. "You built it. Why?"

"For my wife," he said. "I just wanted the hospital machines to work, that's all." "The first one was for your wife," Evdokia said. "Why did you build the second one?"

Adam shrugged. "Because that's what I do. If you make a small one, you have to make one bigger. Just to see. Can't build anything anymore." He raised his hands. The bases of both thumbs were red and swollen. Kamen curled his hands into fists. His thumbs didn't move. They'd severed the ulnar collateral ligament.

"You maimed him?" I asked Vasiliy.

The white volhv sighed. "We warned him. He didn't listen. Durnoi chelovek."

Foolish man. That's putting it lightly.

"The head is bright," Vasiliy continued, "but no wisdom. His father was very respected in the community. Did a lot of good for a lot of people."

"It was that or kill him," Grigorii said. "Can't trust him. He'll build something else and kill us all."

"Can't build anything now," Adam said. "Can't hold a screwdriver. Can't hold a wrench. Or a brush. Finished. Zakonchen. My life's over."

I surged to my feet, grabbed him by the hair, and twisted his head to the window. "Their lives are over. My kid is dying because of you, you damn asshole, and you are whining about your hands? Look at me. Look me in the eye. I want to skin you alive, do you understand?"

"I never meant for this," he said, his arms limp. "I meant it for good."

"There were armed men guarding you. Why the hell do you think that was? You tested it. You saw things die in the forest. Why didn't you destroy it?"

"I couldn't do that. That's what my purpose is, to build things. It was special. I gave it life. It was important."

"More important than dead children?"

Adam's mouth went slack. I glimpsed the answer in his eyes. Yes, his gadget was more important than dead children. Nothing I could say would reach him.

I shoved him back into his chair.

"I told you," Vasiliy said. "Not right in the head. Defective."

"There is a sect of anti-magic fanatics," Curran said. "The Lighthouse Keepers. They have the blueprints for the device. They've built their own version."

Grigorii paled.

"How big?" Vasiliy asked. "Five-mile range."

Grigorii swore. Vasiliy leaned back, dragging his hand over his mouth. "Five miles?"

Curran nodded and looked at Adam. Kamen cringed.

"How long does it take to activate?"

Kamen blinked. "The smaller model took forty-two minutes. For the larger, I never tested ..."

"Three hours, twelve minutes," Jim said.

"There is a coefficient ... Ten hours, fifty-nine minutes, and four seconds," Kamen said.

"That's our time frame," Jim said. "Ten hours and fifty-nine minutes from the start of the magic wave. Magic hits, we start the countdown."

"Can it be turned off once activation starts?" Curran asked.

"Yes," Adam said. "There is a switch to power it down. I will show your people."

"What about the machine that has been used?" I asked. "What happens if you open it?"

"Do you have it?" Kamen's eyes sparked.

Grigorii leaned over and slapped him on the back of the head. Kamen rocked forward and glanced at Grigorii like a kicked dog. "No need to hurt. I know, I know. Do you have a beer?"

Barabas stepped away for a moment and set a beer in front of Kamen.

"There is a valve at the top." Kamen shook the beer. "The device is of limited capacity. There had to be a way to empty it so it could be refilled."

He'd built the equivalent of an atomic bomb, and he'd made it reusable. Words failed me.

"So they can go from town to town murdering us," Evdokia murmured.

Kamen set the beer down. "You push the switches and poof." He grasped the beer again, tried to twist the cap, and stared helplessly at it. No working thumbs. Barabas leaned over him and twisted the cap off with a snap of his fingers. Liquid shot out. Foam spilled over the sides of the bottle.

"Have to be careful to push the switches correctly or it goes sideways," Kamen said. "Boom and the cylinder breaks. Everyone's dead."

Great. I made a heroic effort to ignore Curran's stare. "If you open it correctly, does most of the magic shoot straight up?"

Kamen nodded. "Yes. Some goes down, but most straight up. Like a laser." "The magic that washes down, is it potent?"

"Very."

"Like a small flare?"

"Yes." Kamen nodded several times. "Just like that."

I looked at Evdokia. "Can this magic be harnessed by a coven and focused on one person?"

"Possibly," Evdokia said.

Grigorii snorted. "That much magic, your witches would break. And your focus would overload. You'd need an anchor for it, an object, to take the brunt of it, then draw power from it."

The duck-bunny-kitten stopped its rolling and hissed at Grigorii.

"Was she asking you?" Evdokia raised her chin.

"I'm just saying. There is a proper way to do things."

"Mind your own business."

Vasiliy gazed at me. "Why do you need the power?"

"Blood magic."

The table went so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

"What for?" Vasiliy asked softly.

"To purge Lyc-V from a little girl."

Grigorii pointed a long finger at me. "That is an unnatural thing."

"Some would say wolves with wings and wooden staves that bite you are unnatural things," I said. "Some would say that sacrificing a man and turning his innards into ants are unnatural also." If you live in a glass house, don't fire any shotguns.

"We will do this for you," Evdokia said. "My coven will do it. I'll bind them to silence. Nobody will talk about it."

Aha. "What's the price?"

"You will sign a writ of kinship. A document that acknowledges your mother and her ancestry. It will be kept sealed, so do not worry. We just want a paper. In case things do not go as expected."

What was the catch? There had to be a catch in there somewhere. Grigorii came to life like a shark sensing a drop of blood in the water. "Why? What is so special about her?"

Evdokia slapped the table. "I've told you to mind your own business, old goat! This has nothing to do with you. Go kill something and revel in its blood."

Grigorii's eyes bulged out of his head. "You will keep a civil tongue in your head!"

Evdokia leaned forward. "Or what?"

"Or I will teach you some manners, woman!"

The tattooed witch behind Evdokia glared in outrage. "Dad! You will not speak to Mother this way!"

"I will speak to her in whatever way I please!"

The witch in the robe heaved a sigh. "Oy. Papa, really, there is no need."

I backed away from the table in case somebody started throwing things. Andrea backpedaled right behind me. Curran stayed, his chin resting on his hands clenched into a double fist, probably trying to decide if he should get in the middle of this.

"Yes, go right ahead." Evdokia pointed at Grigorii. "Live up to your reputation. Civil like a rabid badger."

The duck-bunny hissed and growled. Grigorii's raven cawed, beating its wings. Grendel lost it and broke down in a cacophony of excited barks.

Vasiliy put his hand over his eyes.

Grigorii slipped into Russian. "Crazy old hag!"

"A hag?" Evdokia rolled up her sleeves. "Let me show you how haggish I can be."

"Roman!" The tattooed witch pointed at the younger volhv. "Do something! You're the oldest."

Roman startled. "They've been at this since before we were born. Don't bring me into this."

So that was how he knew I would be at Evdokia's. His mommy told him. Of course. They even looked alike. I should've seen it before. Was there anyone in here who wasn't related?

The tattooed witch turned to Vasiliy. "Uncle?"

Nope. They were all one big happy family.

"You be quiet, child!" Vasiliy snapped. "Adults are talking."

"Uncle, I'm twenty-six!" "That's the problem with bringing children into the magic," Vasiliy said. "The lot of you get a taste of power and grow up mouthy."

Grigorii spared a single glance in his brother's direction. If looks were daggers, that one would've sliced straight through the volhv's heart. "Here it comes. `My oldest son ...'"

"Is a doctor," Evdokia finished in a singsong voice. "And my daughter is an attorney."

Vasiliy raised his chin. "Jealousy is bad for you. Poisons the heart."

"Aha!" Evdokia slapped the table. "How about your youngest, the musician? How is he doing?"

"Yes, what is Vyacheslav doing lately?" Grigorii asked. "Didn't I see him with a black eye yesterday? Did he whistle a tree onto himself?"

Oh boy.

Curran opened his mouth. Next to him Jim shook his head. His expression looked suspiciously like fear.

"He is young," Vasiliy said.

"He is spoiled rotten," Evdokia barked. "He spends all his time trying to kill my cat. One child is a doctor, the other is an attorney, the third is a serial killer in training."

Vasiliy stared at her, shocked.

"We're taking a short recess!" Curran roared and took off. We staged a strategic advance to the entrance of the steak house, right past Barabas, bent over double and making high-pitched strangled noises.

Outside, Curran exhaled and turned to me. "Did you know they were crazy?"

"I didn't even know they were married."

"They aren't," Roman said next to me. Somehow he'd gotten outside. "They love each other, they just can't live together. When I was younger, it was always drama: they are together, they are apart, they are seeing other people." He shrugged. "Mom never could stand all the blood, and Dad has no patience for the witchery. We're lucky the magic isn't up. At the last New Year's they set the house on fire. There was alcohol involved. Did you bring my staff?"

I looked around for the boy wonder. "Derek?"

Derek popped up by my side and thrust a stick with a trash bag on top of it at the volhv. Roman ripped the black plastic off. "What's with the bag?"

Derek bared his teeth. "It tried to bite me." Roman petted the staff. "He was just scared, that's all." He took a step toward me and lowered his voice. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

We walked away a few feet, like it would make a difference with a bunch of shapeshifters. Roman leaned to me. "The gorgeous blonde, does she work with you?"

I glanced to where Andrea stood by the doors. "Andrea? Yes."

"Oh, that's a pretty name," Roman said.

"Bad idea," I told him.

"Why? Married?"

"No. An ex-boyfriend. A very dangerous, very jealous ex-boyfriend."

Roman grinned. "Married is a problem. Dangerous, no problem."

Over Roman's shoulder I could see Curran. He stood absolutely still, his gaze fixed on the back of Roman's neck.

Houston, we have a problem.

"Step away from me," I said quietly.

"Sorry?" Roman leaned closer.

Jim was saying something. Curran started toward us in that unhurried lion gait that usually signaled he was a hair from exploding into violence.

"Step away."

Roman took two steps back, just in time to move out of Curran's path. The Beast Lord passed by him and deliberately stepped between the volhv and me. I touched his cheek, running my fingers over the stubble. He took my hand into his. A quiet growl reverberated in his throat. Roman decided he had someplace to be and he really needed to get there as soon as possible.

"Too much excitement, Your Majesty?" I asked.

"He was standing too close."

"He was asking about Andrea."

"Too close. I didn't like it." Curran wrapped his arm around my shoulders and started walking, steering me away from the group. His Possessive Majesty in all of his glory. "This writ of kinship, what the hell is that? Does it make you allied with them?" And he changed the subject, too. "No. I've only run across it a couple of times before. It's a document that states that I acknowledge that my mother is my mother and that my mother was born to such-and-such family. The witches are big on family record keeping."

"Will she take it to Roland?" Curran asked.

"It's not in her best interests. She hates him."

"So what's the point of it?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"I don't like it," he said.

"You've been saying that a lot lately."

He dipped his head, his gray eyes looking into mine. "Are you going to take them up on it?"

"Yes. Nothing has changed. Julie is still dying."

"Then do it soon," Curran said.

"Why?"

He pointed at the road. A caravan of black SUVs slithered its way up the highway. Thin emaciated shapes dashed along the shoulder of the road, their gait odd and jerky.

"The People are here," Curran said.