Angel's Ink (25 page)

Svartálfar.

Dark elf.

I was fucked.

The dark elves, or rather the Svartálfar, were known for only two things: ruthless cunning and merciless cruelty. I shouldn’t have been surprised to find a dark elf running things, except for the fact that they didn’t play well with others. But if you wanted to dominate a city like Low Town, there was no better way than to run it through the mafia.

“Pretty gutsy taking on a warlock,” I said in a low voice. “I’m assuming that you had something in particular you wanted before I disembowel you and your associates.”

To my surprise, the dark elf didn’t flinch at my threat, as I had hoped he would. I knew a spell that would pull their intestines out of their belly buttons, but I had never actually used it and really didn’t want to.

“Nice threat, but we both know that you won’t do it.” The elf chuckled, motioning for me to sit again while he removed his leather gloves. The dark elf was dark skinned, unlike his Summer and Winter Court brethren. So dark, in fact, that his skin held a bluish tint. It was a dead giveaway for their kind and nicely matched his long black hair and silvery gray eyes. “In fact, we know that you’re not quite a warlock.”

I froze, every muscle in my body tense as I waited for him to continue to explain how he had reached this conclusion. The Svartálfar reached down to the seat beside him in the booth and picked up a large piece of paper that he placed on the table.

“From what we’ve learned over the centuries, it takes a couple of decades to train a warlock or a witch, some even longer before they are considered full-fledged members of the Ivory Towers. And you’re twenty-five, twenty-six? Kind of young.”

“I’m a fast learner,” I bit out, but my voice had lost all of its strength. I didn’t like where this was going.

“And we all know that warlocks and witches live in the Ivory Towers. Not in little apartments on the west side of town.”

“The Towers have gotten crowded.”

“And warlocks never fight amongst themselves in front of the rabble.” The dark elf flipped over the piece of paper to reveal that it was actually a large glossy photograph of the fight that had occurred the previous day between Simon and me in the middle of the street. There was a blue ball of energy between us. I couldn’t tell from the picture who was throwing it, but it didn’t matter. Not only did this Svartálfar have evidence that I was a former warlock, but he also knew I was on the outs with the rest of the Ivory Towers. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

“I was . . . disowned,” I admitted hesitantly. This was not something I wanted to discuss, particularly with a Svartálfar and the rest of his crew.

“What a shame for you,” he replied with a smile that made my blood run cold. “So, it would seem that the Ivory Towers aren’t a fan of yours and have banished you from their ranks. Yet you still have your powers. Interesting.”

“What do you want, Reave?” I snarled, taking a step closer to the table.

“A business proposition.”

“I’m not interested.”

“I think you will be when I lay out your choices.”

I clenched my fists at my sides and glared at the Svartálfar. “Which aren’t really choices at all.” There was no time for this game he was playing, but I couldn’t leave. Not when he knew far too much about me. For now, I was just waiting for an opening.

“Your first choice, and really your best option, is to come work for me. You will be permitted to maintain your tattoo parlor, from which you will start paying me a percentage of the evening’s take. And then on the random occasion, you will take care of a little business for me.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then we come down to the other two options. One is that I will hold an auction, where I will sell your evil warlock ass to the highest bidder. There isn’t a race around that doesn’t remember the pain of the Great War, and I’m sure I will find someone who would be happy to pay a nice price for the chance to spend many years torturing you. Or maybe just burn you in effigy during halftime at the championship football game coming up later this summer.

“The second option is to simply hand you over to the Ivory Towers. There has to be someone who would like to get his hands on you.”

A stone sank in the pit of my stomach as I listened to Reave detail my options. There was more than one warlock or witch who would like to end my existence and that list started with Simon Thorn. And Reave was right in that there were more than a few races that would like the opportunity to slaughter a warlock, regardless of whether I had anything to do with the Great War. In almost all cases, witches and warlocks were all the same. I was just one of those rare exceptions. Maybe the only exception.

“Look, Reave, I think you need to consider this a little better. Who says that I’m going to allow you to pursue any of those options? I am a warlock after all.”

“A warlock who has had his wand taken away. In the four-plus years that you’ve had a shop, this is the only evidence we have of your using magic,” Reave countered, waving the glossy picture in front of me. “In battle with another warlock. I’m beginning to think that you’ve been banned from spell casting. But then, if I’m wrong, strike me down now. Attack me with magic and I’ll set you free, never to bother you again.”

Attack was the sticking point at that moment. I couldn’t attack. I was only permitted to defend, and even then I was on thin ice. If I attacked Reave or any of the brutes filling the closed bar, Gideon would have to have my head on a platter to serve up before the council. Staring at Reave, I mentally ran through the list of spells I could sling across the room with a quick word or two and maybe a flick of my wrist. Of course, I could think of nothing that wouldn’t immediately kill, and there wasn’t shit that Gideon wouldn’t instantly detect. I was in serious trouble. I had to escape Reave and his cohorts the old-fashioned way or I was going to be lynched.

Reave leaned forward and smiled wide enough to show that some of his perfectly white teeth had been filed to sharp fangs. “So I thought.” His gaze darted to someone behind my left shoulder a couple of seconds before large hands gripped my arms and shoulders. “I’ll be generous and give you a little time to think about my offer. I’ll expect your cooperation before dawn.”

The hands holding me started to pull me backward through the bar, but we didn’t get far before Reave’s voice rang out again. “And don’t forget: he may be a warlock, but he can’t do anything to you.”

A deep chuckle rose up beside me just before a fist smashed into my jaw, snapping my head around. Reave’s muscle had finally figured out the full implications of my discussion with their boss. I was a warlock, one of the group that had killed and tortured millions over long centuries, but I couldn’t retaliate with magic.

Of course, that didn’t mean I was without options. Relying on the hands that were still holding me in place, I leaned all my weight on them as I pulled my legs up and kicked my assailant in the chest. The large beefy man flew backward, crashing into tables and chairs, sending furniture flying. Another man released me in surprise and I took advantage of it. Swinging my fist around, I connected with a nose. Bone crunched under my fist, followed by a gush of blood. I managed a couple more swings before I was brought down by more assailants than I could handle in the confined space.

Awash in a surge of pain, my last clear thought was on Freddie as he stood slightly off to the side, looking afraid and more than a little worried. I focused just a little power on him so that my thoughts penetrated his. As blackness crept around my eyes and ribs broke under a well-placed kick, I left him with the compulsion to find Bronx and tell him everything. With consciousness slipping through my fingers, I prayed that he did.

Chapter 21

T
he scrape and crunch of heavy footsteps along concrete woke me, but I was soon left wishing that I had remained unconscious. My head throbbed in time with my heartbeat, bones were broken, organs were bruised, and there was a nasty copperish taste in my mouth from all of my own blood I had swallowed while I was out. This was becoming too much of a recurring theme in my life and I could really do without it. Whoever said a warlock’s life was glamorous, filled with naked moonlit orgies and pixie livers, was an idiot.

My entire body flinched at the sound of the metal bolt scraping as it was pulled across the door to the little room I was in. A groan escaped me as a fresh wave of pain rippled up my nerve endings; I had yet to even attempt to sit up. My room was pitch-black except for a little sliver of light seeping under the door. I didn’t know what time it was, but I didn’t think I had been knocked out for the entire day and through the night. I couldn’t see Reave yet. I hadn’t had a chance to figure a way out of this mess.

I cringed as the door swung open, hoping that I wasn’t faced with another beating.

“Oh, man! Gage! They beat the crap out of you!” moaned Freddie. His knees creaked and popped as he squatted down in front of me just beyond the open doorway.

“Yeah, Freddie. It’s been a real bang-up day,” I muttered, closing my eyes with relief. He didn’t act as if he was about to kick the shit out of me, so I figured I was in the clear for now. I lay still, trying to collect my thoughts. I knew a couple of healing spells that would at least mend the worst of my injuries and shouldn’t draw too many questions from Gideon if he noticed. However, the sound of another set of feet on the concrete had my eyes snapping open again, sending a fresh stab of pain through my brain.

Turning my head slightly so I could look up, I found Bronx staring down at me with a frown cutting into his broad face. His pale blond hair seemed to glow in the overhead light, while his brow cast his eyes in shadow. Apparently, the compulsion I’d pushed into Freddie’s mind had worked. Sort of. I had hoped that Bronx would help me get out of this mess, but I was also hoping that he wouldn’t be so obvious in his approach. I had wanted him to sneak in and then sneak me out. It was probable that Bronx had caught the attention of Reave. Not a good thing.

“Bronx,” I rasped, laying my head back against the cool concrete floor. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Uh-huh. Tell me another.” Bronx’s sarcasm rumbled over me and I smiled, ignoring the pain that lanced through my split bottom lip. There really wasn’t any use in trying to hide anything from the troll.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“It will be when Trixie gets a look at you.”

I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut. I definitely had to use a healing spell now. If Trixie saw me looking like I had been dragged through the city behind a pickup truck and then trampled by elephants, she’d knock the shit out of me as soon as I was healed. And that’s nothing compared to the earful I’d receive while I healed. Besides, she had enough to worry about and didn’t need this as well.

“How’d you get in?” I asked, trying to summon the energy to move.

The shuffle of feet and a grunt from Freddie drew my attention away from my pain. The thug had stood and moved out of the room so Bronx could approach. “Back door.” My friend reached down, placing his large hands under my arms, and lifted me to my feet. A pained hiss slipped through my clenched teeth, but otherwise I managed to keep from shouting. “Can you move?”

I nodded, feeling my brain slosh around in my skull. “In a minute.”

Bronx turned his head and looked at Freddie. “Tell Reave that I’ll bring him in a few minutes.”

“You’ve met Reave?”

The troll positioned me so that his hands were on either side of my chest as he held me up in front of him. He heaved a heavy sigh as his eyes darted away from me before wandering back. “I’ve had dealings with Reave in the past.”

“Worked for him?”

Bronx flinched at the question, but continued to meet my gaze. “For a while.”

“Well, at least you got out. Changed occupations.”

“And yet, here I stand.”

It was my turn to flinch. Because of me, Bronx was back in his old boss’s clutches, putting him in a very vulnerable and awkward position. I couldn’t imagine that it had been that easy to leave the first time and I doubted that it would be all that easy to leave tonight. “I’m sorry, Bronx. I didn’t know. If I had, I wouldn’t have sent Freddie for you.”

“Not your fault, and if you hadn’t sent Freddie, I would have been pissed.” Bronx lowered his head and narrowed his eyes on me, his face taking on a more menacing quality. “And you don’t want to see me pissed.”

I smiled again at his attempt to scare me. “Trixie’s right about you. You are a big teddy bear.”

Bronx snorted. “You say that again and I’ll let you fall on your ass.”

“Actually, you ought to let me go so I can take care of this mess.”

Bronx stepped back and dropped his hands to his sides. I stumbled a step backward as my legs were forced to support my own weight. Pain curled through my body, eating away at conscious thought for a moment before I managed to rise above it and concentrate on my healing spell. Closing my eyes, I focused on the spell, sending a wave of energy through my body so that it washed up from my feet to the top of my head. When the last of the energy dissipated, I breathed a sigh of relief. I still ached and my head throbbed a bit, but the broken and fractured bones were mended. My organs were no longer bruised and I felt like I could stand without falling over.

“You look a little better,” Bronx admitted, crossing his arms over his massive chest.

“Good. Now, let’s go kick Reave’s ass.”

I tried to take a step forward, but Bronx laid a restraining hand on my shoulder. “Gage, you can’t.”

“What?”

“If you were going to kick ass, particularly with magic, you would have done it already. At least you should have done it already, scaring Reave off. But you didn’t or couldn’t, doesn’t matter. Freddie told me what’s going on.” Bronx paused, his shoulders slumping. His hand on my shoulder tightened, as if sympathizing or reassuring me. “You need to accept his offer.”

“Are you insane? I’m not working for that murdering, conniving asshole!” I shouted, pointing toward the open door behind him.