Centaur of the Crime: Book One of 'Fantasy and Forensics' (Fantasy & Forensics 1) (28 page)

The battle-hardened griffin actually looked
afraid
.

People jostled and shoved each other in order to get photos or videos. Cameras, cell phones, electronic gadgets of every sort were held up, bathing the three of us in a shower of flashes and blinking LEDs. A jumble of sound engulfed me, from which I could only pick up a babble of voices.

“Griffins kick ass!”

“Who is it? Who’s in the suit?”

“When’s Griffins Galore 3 coming out?”

“You were
awesome
in the first two movies!”

“Take me away, I want to fly with you!”

My head spun as I realized that my little ‘hide in plain sight’ idea for Shaw had actually gotten a following. Some of the crowd pressed around our sides, stroking and petting Shaw’s flanks. He scowled and opened his razor-sharp beak.

“Shaw,” I warned, “no biting!”

The griffin grumbled something about feeling ‘soiled’, but he submitted to the patting and tugs at his fur.

I tried to shove my way through the throng. I made a couple steps headway, but the influx of people just made it too much. Frustrated, I turned to the wizard.

“Can you get us through?”

Galen nodded and raised himself to his full height. He made a massive sweep with his arm. My eardrums throbbed as he bellowed in his deep centaur’s baritone.

“
EVERYBODY MOVE!
”

And the crowd parted. I blinked. Well, I’d been expecting magic, but this worked too.

Shaw loped along between us as we ran through Grauman’s courtyard. I heard Galen gasp as we got midway through the crowd. He held up the medallion, which blazed bright blue, then skidded to a stop.

“Dayna, the weapon’s location has changed,” Galen informed me.

He pointed at one of the windows on the fourth floor. I followed his gaze. Saw the ripple of a lacy white curtain in a double-sized French window. Crank-style panes, thrown wide open to the warm summer night.

The metallic glint of a rifle barrel.

No time to freeze up now.

“Down!” I shouted, and I launched myself at Galen.

Chapter Thirty-Three

The wizard let out a startled grunt as I hit him in the midsection like a tackler. I didn’t take him down. His massive trunk just bent, shifted as he turned, half-caught me.

But it was enough.

“Dayna, what–”

The crack of a gunshot. Barely audible over the continued babble of the crowd. The uppermost button on Galen’s sleeve snapped off with the clink of metal on metal.

Galen’s sleeve burst open. Smell of burning cloth, burning hair. Revealed the bloody crease that the bullet had dug between the wizard’s wrist and elbow. He let out a gasp of pain and rage.

The percussive sound of a ricochet off the courtyard blocks.

Time slowed to a crawl. By some trick of the light, I saw the bell-shaped button flip end-over-end in a high arc. It landed on the concrete with a cheery jingle.

Shaw let out a lion’s roar and launched himself into the air. Arrow-swift, it took only a pair of wing beats for him to reach the fourth floor. He dove beak-first through the open window.

The tinkle of breaking glass. Shattering wood. Sounds of ripping, tearing.

A second gunshot.

I heard Shaw scream in pain.

“Come on!”

Galen followed me out of the courtyard at a run. He let out a hiss as we shouldered our way through the lobby’s glass doors. Held his right hand over the wound on his left forearm. A couple drops of crimson spattered on the marble.

“The wound stings,” he said, as he caught my glance.

The lobby was dusty, deserted. The two elevators doors were marked out of order. Didn’t think we had the time, to wait, anyway.

“Stairs,” I said, with a toss of my head.

The baleful red and white light of an EXIT sign illuminated the stairwell. I took the stairs two at a time for the next couple of floors. A deep, percussive rumble. As I rounded one switchback, the building shook with an explosion.

I came within an inch of tripping on my face and knocking Galen down with me. I took the remaining flight without skipping steps, until I got to the main hallway door. Galen grasped my shoulder, held me back.

“No, Dayna,” he said. “Let me go first.”

Without waiting for an answer, he pushed through the door. Galen hadn’t even broken a sweat on the way up. Damned centaur.

Gasping, I followed as best I could. Galen pounded down the length of the hallway. Came to a stop before one of the doors. He tried the knob, found it locked, and then kicked in the door.

I skidded on the slick marble of the hallway floor. Grabbed the broken wooden jamb of the door to steady myself. I went in on Galen’s heels.

Blur of impressions now.

A single, cavernous room. Drab, eggshell-colored wallpaper, now spattered along one wall with an arterial red spray. Pieces of wooden furniture strewn about, smashed to kindling.

Shattered glass crunched underfoot. Shreds of ripped curtain lay in a tangle. My tongue curled in revulsion with the smell and taste of fresh blood, charred feathers, ghosted together with spicy tingles of cinnamon.

All we could see was the broad expanse of Shaw’s muscular back. One wing hung low, bleeding and crumpled. The griffin reared, snarling like a jungle cat. My skin rippled as Shaw raked his talons against someone’s armor.

Galen stood, legs braced shoulder’s width apart, trying to find an opening. A third gunshot. The bullet whined harmlessly into the night air. Shaw’s head dipped, shot out. A clacking, snapping sound.

The griffin raised up, triumphantly, the barrel of the gun held firmly in his beak. With a flick of his head, Shaw threw the rifle out the window.

I heard a man curse. Heard him speak a trio of ugly words. Something in the same tongue I’d heard Galen use against the dragons in the Fayleene woods.

Blue lightning crackled and leaped to touch the tip of Shaw’s beak.

An ear-splitting peal of thunder rattled the teeth in my jaw. The griffin flew across the room. Smashed into the opposite wall in a shower of talcum-white plaster.

Shaw’s eyes closed in pain. He clenched one paw tightly in a fist. The other scrabbled against the hardwood floor for purchase.

The griffin tried to right himself, but it was too much. He sprawled out on his side, the broken wing pinned underneath. He let out a groan and lay still.

The cloud of plaster dust kicked up by Shaw’s impact cleared with a breath of wind. A crunch of glass as the man turned to face the new threat. The folds of a dark cloak hung in tatters about him and he wore a bright silver breastplate, now scored from neck to belly with a triple set of talon marks.

The Duke’s expression as he saw me looked haunted. And somehow relieved. As if a particularly loathsome card had finally been turned over, no longer needed to be hidden.

“We finally come to this,” he said heavily. He raised his hands slowly to show that he held no weapon. But Galen remained at the ready, a flicker of magical fire held deep within his palm.

“It appears so,” I said. My voice came out more bitter than I’d expected. Outside, the play of neon and searchlight made a crazy quilt-work of patterns on the walls around us. I still heard the sounds of the crowd outside, perhaps the hint of a siren in the distance.

“It doesn’t have to all end in fire,” he said reasonably. “I have never met a woman like you, Dayna. One strong enough to stand by my side. Perhaps–”

“Save it,” I retorted. “Even if I could forgive your murders, your attempts to kill me…I sure as hell won’t date a man who goes around on all fours. And you do. Isn’t that right, Magnus Killshevan?”

His handsome face froze. The breeze picked up again, jostling his scalp lock. This time, the wind carried up the scent of caramel corn to mix with the iron tang of blood. Wonderful.

“So you know.”

“I know enough. You can cross worlds and change your shape. You teleported into the Grove of the Willows, armed with rifle and staff. Murdered King Benedict and Duke Kajari. When the centaurs arrived, you shifted into Benedict’s form, started the dispute that would put the realms on the path to war. After the centaurs left and before the Andeluvians arrived, you changed into Kajari’s form so that you could teleport out and assume his identity. To make sure that Andeluvia prosecuted the conflict that you started.”

Magnus inclined his head to me in salute.

“Very good. I should have tried harder to block the Albess’ idea. To bring you to my world. You see, I of all people know how powerful your science is.”

“How’s that?”

“Because King Angbor ordered my execution,” Magnus said, with a hateful glance at Galen. “He had me shot with arrows, then cast off a precipice into the mists below.”

“Twenty years ago,” I said, understanding. “That’s when you must have come into my world. And shifted shape to pass as a human.”

“Even so, I nearly died before someone brought me to one of your hospitals. I cheated death thanks to the magic of your surgeons and the sorcery of your antibiotics.”

“Dayna, give me the word,” Galen gritted. “I shall rend this traitor into a smoking pile of ash.”

“If you were sure of your power, you’d have tried that already,” Magnus said dismissively. “But there’s two good reasons you won’t be able to touch me.”

“You’re delusional,” Galen scoffed.

“Wait a moment, Galen,” I said. “Tell me, Magnus.”

“Why do you think I came to this mechanical, sterile world of yours to begin with?” Magnus rubbed the side of his jaw, where Shaw had bruised him. “Benedict and Kajari wore medallions enchanted to resist all sorcery.”

“You needed to back up your assassination plans with a rifle.”

“Precisely. Benedict went down with my first shot. The Duke gave me more trouble. A brave man, really. He charged right towards where the shot came. I had to kill him with both sword and firebolt.”

“And because of that, you think we can’t touch you?”

“In essence. You never found those anti-magic medallions. Guess who’s wearing them now?” Magnus smiled and patted his neck, where a pendant would have hung.

Would have. His hand encountered nothing. Magnus’ smile vanished.

A cough from off to one side. Shaw opened one swollen eye. The griffin unclenched his closed paw. A pair of medallions and their snapped chains lay tangled in his furry palm.

“Art thou searching for thy trinkets?”

Magnus shouted a single incantation. Like a striking snake, he flung his arm out towards Galen. Blue lightning sizzled through the air.

“Galen!” I cried.

Galen’s hand was already in motion. His own phrase was shorter, faster. Magnus’ bolt shattered into a rainbow of jagged sparks. Magnus jerked backwards with a startled gasp.

Before he could recover, Galen charged forward. He grabbed hold of Magnus, slammed him against the wall. Pinned him by neck and wrist. The two centaurs, both in human form, snarled at each other. Shaw got painfully to his feet and limped towards the pair.

Magnus ceased struggling and began to laugh. His voice sounded hoarse as he fought for air.

“This changes nothing. Nothing!”

“I’d say it changes a lot, Magnus,” I said.

“Not quite. Something very curious happened tonight. When I crossed over to your world, I didn’t come here first. I needed to ensure that you couldn’t return.”

“By murdering me. The way you did Good King Benedict.”

“Ideally, no. Only if it was needed. If I could kill your wizard, you’d be stranded here. Long enough for me to complete my plans.”

“If you plan to appeal to my mercy,” Galen growled, “you are doing a particularly poor job of it.”

Magnus glared at his fellow centaur. “I tried to locate your home. It didn’t quite work. Your trace had faded by the time I could slip away from court. But I persevered. And find it I did.”

An awful, leaden feeling crept into the pit of my stomach.