Bewitched & Betrayed (27 page)

“Step away from the duke,” Mychael said smoothly. “And we can discuss it.”

The goblin nachtmagus smiled. “Why should I open myself to attack when you will surrender rather than see his life-blood spilled out? Come with us now and you will preserve the duke’s life for a while longer. I’m certain you will find another opportunity to attempt to escape. Which is it, Paladin Eiliesor? Surrender and attempt a rescue and escape later, or don’t surrender and ensure the duke’s death?”

The flames in the fireplace popped and snapped at a sudden shift in the air. Cold air moved the heavy drapes on the window. I knew that paralyzing cold didn’t come from outside. A wave of goose bumps ran up my arms and down my body. Janos Ghalfari stiffened, his magic probing the air around him, then his lips pulled back from his fangs in an enraged snarl.

Oh hell.

Reapers.

Sarad Nukpana was nearly dead. His uncle played with the dead. I was linked to a rock that was filled with thousands of unclaimed souls.

Guess who the Reapers came after first?

I wanted nothing more, but running was easier screamed than done.

I dodged one filmy appendage and almost ran smack-dab into another one. The damned things had floated in through the walls. Right now I didn’t care if the Reapers had followed me or Nukpana. I just wanted to survive the next few seconds.

There were enough Reapers to go around, so while I was the odds-on favorite, Nukpana and his uncle still had their hands full. Reapers were flowing around the Khrynsani mages, ignoring them completely. The mages started hissing some sort of spell that had absolutely no effect on them.

I’d seen fear in Sarad Nukpana’s black eyes once before—right before the Saghred took him. He knew he was screwed then, and he knew the same thing now. He’s wasn’t wholly spirit, but he wasn’t solid enough to put up any kind of physical fight, either.

And I couldn’t reach the bastard. He’d never be more vulnerable than he was right now, and I couldn’t get anywhere near him.

Janos Ghalfari put himself between the Reapers and his nephew; the black magic he’d been gathering to use against me and Mychael was now turned to repelling Reapers. The fireplace was the room’s only source of light and it dimmed more with every poisonous word that came from between the goblin’s lips. The air tightened and a stench like brimstone came from the corner of the room that Ghalfari was defending. He jerked back the heavy drapes, revealing barred windows. He screamed in rage and frustration.

The Reapers had no interest in Markus, and at the moment, neither did the goblins. Markus didn’t have a blade to his throat but was still tied to a chair with a grenade lashed to his arm.

I had to reach him.

The space separating us wasn’t the problem; the Reaper floating between us was. All of its attention was on me. Markus wasn’t the one linked to thousands of imprisoned souls.

I had a worthless kitchen knife in my hand, and my eyes on the Reaper who was floating just out of reach. I didn’t know if the thing was being cautious, prudent, or freaking polite—it was a feeding machine; it didn’t think. I was in the same room with the goblin who’d framed me, threatened me, and promised to kill me. Then there was Markus. I had no proof of what he’d done, but if he died, I’d never know anything. I wanted to get my hands on both of them, but standing in my way was a nightmare that’d nearly killed me.

I’d barely lived through my last Reaper encounter. Now I had to get past one to reach my former boss, who was going to go “kablowie” if one of those Khrynsani knocked his chair over. I just wanted to cut the grenade off of Markus, cut my losses, and get the hell out of here. I knew I’d get another shot at Sarad Nukpana because he wanted another shot at me.

I drew on my power, not the Saghred’s. It wanted no part of this fight. It had coiled down tight, protecting itself, and to hell with me. I gathered my power into a white-hot ball of rage and sent it into the palm of my hand, curling my fingers around it in a glowing fist. It seethed and quivered in anticipation of getting to do something, anything, just as long as it was violent. I didn’t think what would be the wisest use of what I’d summoned. I just punched the Reaper where its face should have been, slamming my fist and my power into that gelatinous body. The impact was so satisfying that I hit it again, adding an enraged scream for good measure.

The Reaper glowed incandescently—and got bigger. A lot bigger.

Oh crap.

And it vanished in a wink of light.

What the hell?

No time to ponder what I’d done, what had happened, or why. The hand that had punched the Reaper hung limply by my side, numb and tingling, and I was panting like I’d run a mile uphill. I didn’t think about the why or how of that, either. There was nothing but open space between me and Markus, and I closed that distance. I had a kitchen knife in my good hand, and no doubt I looked like a woman with a purpose. A murderous purpose.

Markus’s only reaction was a slight raising of one dark and perfectly arched eyebrow. I guess it took more than one exhausted and pissed-off elf to scare Markus Sevelien. Later, when I got my wind back, I could always punch him, if either of us lived that long.

A tendril from another Reaper lashed between us and I instinctively slashed it with my knife. The blade went straight through, the tendril instantly retracting back into the Reaper’s body, emerging to try again.

Suddenly Mychael was there, shielding me and Markus, his entire body blazing with white light, driving that Reaper and all the others back from us, herding them toward the goblins. I knelt to cut the cord that tied the keg to Markus, but I could barely feel my left hand. That meant I had one hand to cut the cord holding the keg
and
catch it. I wasn’t that good on my best day, and if I tried it, today would be my last.

“Dammit!” I snarled.

I glared up into Markus’s dark eyes and sliced through the ropes binding his left wrist to the chair. When his hand was free, I gave him the knife.

“I’ll hold the grenade; you cut the cord. If you try
anything
else, you’re a dead man.”

Markus’s brows knit together in a puzzled frown. “We need to talk about that.”

“Count on it,” I snarled.

I could easily wrap my hands around a grenade, but one hand would only clutch the thing. And I wasn’t about to trust my clutching skills right now. I took the grenade in my good hand and clutched it against my chest, tight but not too tight. If it got stabbed, sprung a leak, or just decided to break in half, I’d be covered in Nebian black powder and in ten seconds
I’d
blow up.

That would really piss me off.

Markus had the knife under the cord. “Ready?”

“Do it,” I growled.

He cut the cord, I held the grenade, and no one went boom—at least not yet.

I shot a glance at the knife in his hand. “Finish yourself.” As far as I was concerned, Markus could take that any way he wanted to.

“Bravo, Raine.” Markus quickly bent and sliced through the ropes binding his ankles.

A couple of days ago, Sarad Nukpana had said much the same thing. I’d rather hear it from Markus.

I think.

Mychael’s charged glow was keeping the Reapers at bay, though now they actually seemed to find the goblins more interesting. At this point, I’d take any speck of good luck I could get.

Even though the Reapers had found someone more fun to play with didn’t mean they couldn’t change their minds, or whatever it was they had. I risked a glance over my shoulder. Nothing between us and the front door and freedom but blessedly empty space.

When we got there, the door was locked, bolted, and for all I knew nailed shut.

Mychael’s hands glowed blindingly white. “I’ll get this.” He saw my left hand hanging limp. “Your hand?”

“Being lazy.” I carefully pulled the grenade away from my chest. I had it in a firm grip, perfect for throwing. “But this hand’s still good.”

Mychael put his hands to the door and nothing happened. “Level Twelve wards?” He didn’t bother to hide his anger and disbelief.

“I had them put there,” Markus said. “Damned things only activated
after
the goblins broke in.”

Mychael glared at the elven duke and I swear I saw murder flash in those blue eyes, or at least extreme violence. Nice to know I wasn’t the only one fighting those urges.

I didn’t take my eyes off of the Reapers. “Can you get through?”

“Yes,” he snarled.

Janos Ghalfari’s chants reached a crescendo, and my skin tried to crawl somewhere and hide. With his words came the smell of death, bloated and decaying. My stomach threatened to heave. I had no idea what his spell would do, but I knew we didn’t want to be here when he released it.

I tried breathing through my mouth. “Can you get through faster?”

“No!”

Ghalfari was facing the Reapers, keeping them at bay, his features a contorted mask of pain and effort. Nukpana was protectively surrounded by Khrynsani mages, and the door to the left of the fireplace glowed red hot with their efforts. They were going to get away. Dammit. I couldn’t get to them, but if they escaped, we’d just be doing this again at a new place and time.

“Are any of your people still in here?” I asked Markus. “Alive?”

“Any elves in this house aren’t mine.”

I jerked my head toward the door the goblins were burning their way through. “Where does that go?”

“Servants’ quarters.” Markus’s smile was chilling. “It’s a maze back there.”

Just what I wanted to hear.

I felt a whoosh of outside air behind us and Mychael kicked a Level Twelve ward’s ass and blew through the door in one fell swoop.

Janos Ghalfari gave a shout as their escape door disintegrated in a cloud of charred wood and ash. The Reapers turned and rushed toward us.

I hurled the grenade into the room and into the Reapers.

Mychael grabbed my arm and all but threw me through the door.

I didn’t know if Reapers could be blown up, but when you’re scared shitless, desperate, and fresh out of nonsuicidal ideas, you’d try anything. If I couldn’t take out the goblins, I’d take out the house they were running through.

We ran like hell and then some.

Until I saw the eight-foot-high stone wall and massive iron gate, both crackling with protective wards. They were meant to keep intruders out, now they were keeping escaping elves in.

Mychael kept running and held his hand back to me. “Grenade!”

I gave it to him.

We had to be at least thirty yards from the gate when Mychael growled a spell and with a dead-on throw sent the grenade smashing into the gate’s massive latch. He jerked me and Markus behind the trunk of what had to be the biggest oak I’d ever seen. We were about to have chunks of a house blown at us from one direction and an iron gate from the other, and Mychael wanted us to hide behind a tree. I didn’t care how big it was; the house was bigger.

Time slowed to that speed that meant you were about to die and the powers that be were giving your mind one last chance to figure out how to survive. My body just told me to run faster. Mychael’s iron grip ordered me to stay put. He got an arm around me, and his shields formed around all three of us.

I heard odd popping sounds coming from the house and Mychael pulled us to the ground. There were four explosions, each bigger and louder than the one before. The house and everything in it exploded in what I could only compare to broadsides from an entire fleet of ships. A smoke- filled breath later, a fifth blast came from our other side as the gate blew.

Bricks and flaming debris slammed into the wall around the house. The wards on top of the wall did what they were made to do and vaporized anything that touched them, sending blue sparks drizzling down to pop and sizzle against Mychael’s shields.

His shields buckled with each blast, but they held. Call it a miracle or preternatural strength and skill. Whatever it was, we’d thumbed our noses at Death again. If the Reapers didn’t get blown up, at least they got blown back to where they came from.

Mychael released his shields and us. “Move!” he screamed. “Through the gate, now!”

I was hacking and coughing smoke and soot. It had cleared enough to let me see the gate, or rather where the gate used to be. That little grenade had more than done its job. The gate’s metal bars looked like a massive fist had just punched its way through. Best of all, no more elf-frying blue wards.

Markus pulled me to the right. “Down the street is an alley that empties on Hawkins Court. It should be deserted.”

“That’s away from the elven embassy,” I said.

“The embassy is the last place I want to go.”

Now I wasn’t just pissed at Markus; I was confused.

I had to consider the possibility that Markus wasn’t the power behind everything bad that had happened to me or any future plots against me, but I’d always felt a deep and abiding satisfaction with anything that went boom. Pretty flames were an added bonus.

Markus glanced back. “You blew up my house.”

“Consider us even.”

Markus flashed a quick smile. “Consider yourself thanked.”

I blinked. “What?”

“If all goes well, everyone will think I’m dead.”

Maybe a flying chunk of brick had hit him in the head.

The street was still empty, but it wouldn’t be for long. After those explosions, we were about to have a lot of company. Embassy guards, goblins, take your pick. I didn’t want to stay around to run into any of them.

“We go the way he wants?”
I asked Mychael in mindspeak.

I didn’t want to do anything that Markus suggested, but Mychael knew what he was doing.