Magic Bleeds (31 page)

The gray-haired woman looked up. “Peter, open the ward!”

White light streamed down. I stepped through, and the ward surged shut behind me. I started toward Tremor, pulling on the clasp of the cloak.

Tremor turned to face me. He wore the face of Solomon Red. Surprise, surprise.

The cloak slid off my shoulders and fell on the snow. I kept walking. Nice and slow.

Solomon regarded me with a condescending grin. He never smiled. Like a drunk straining every muscle to appear sober, Solomon did his best to hide the fact that he couldn’t read behind a mask of grave importance. But now he smirked at me with obvious contempt. An agile intelligence lit his eyes. Erra’s intelligence.

Solomon opened his mouth. A familiar female voice spilled forth. “You again. This is the best the priests can do? Or are they trying to entertain me?”

I swung my sword, warming up my wrist. “Why are you a woman?”

“Why can’t I be a woman?”

Because it fucks up my family tree. “Because Erra’s poem says you’re a man.”

Solomon shrugged. “You shouldn’t put your trust into the ramblings of senile temple rats.”

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“I’ll keep that in mind. Any other pearls of wisdom?”

“None that would help you live through the next minute.” Solomon spread his arms and pulled them together as if pushing a great weight before him.

The ground shook beneath my feet.

I leapt up and to the left. A sinkhole gaped where I’d stood. I landed and jumped again, barely avoiding another pit. All around me holes opened, like greedy black mouths in the snow, and I hopped between them like a chicken on hot tin. I dashed right, then left. Unless I learned to fly, I’d never get to him.

Solomon laughed in Erra’s voice.

Usually I saved my magic as a last resort, but this was the old power and now wasn’t a good time to screw around. I had to hit him now and hit him hard.

I took a deep breath and barked a power word.
“Ossanda.”
Kneel.

The world reeled in a haze of pain. Like grabbing a handful of my own flesh and ripping it out. I reeled, but didn’t go down.

Solomon’s mouth gaped open. A dull roar like the sound of a rockslide spilled from his lips. His knees hit the dirt.
Who’s laughing now?

The holes in the ground closed. I ran.

The power word had drained too much of my magic, and every step turned into a battle of will. Like dragging lead chains. I kept running.

Snow flew under my feet. Solomon shuddered. Thick cords of muscle bulged on his thighs.

Ten feet.

Six.

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Three.

I struck in a classic overhead blow designed to cleave through his neck. As I swung, dirt thrust between us. The saber’s blade sliced through soil and came away clean. Missed. Shit.

A thick mound jutted where Solomon had knelt. Trying to thrust through it would break the blade and accomplish nothing.

“First, you kneel, then you hide. So far I’m not impressed.”

The mound exploded. Chunks of dirt pelted the snow. Solomon lunged at me, laughing.

I dodged and carved at his side. Slayer sliced a narrow line just under Solomon’s ribs. Red gushed.

Solomon whipped about and backhanded me. The punch smashed into my chest. I flew, slid through the snow, and crashed against something. Cold sliced my right side, as if someone had thrust an icicle into my kidney. My lungs burned. Colored circles swam before my eyes. I must’ve hit my head.

I squinted—the body of a broken golem. Warm sticky liquid wet my side. I wanted a shower to wash it off . . . Yep, definitely hit my head.

“Shake it off,” Erra said. “Come on. Up you go.”

I jerked myself free. The golem’s spear jutted out, propped by its corpse, and its spearhead was red with my blood. Just what I need.

“Have your eyes cleared yet?”

“Hold your horses. I’m coming.” Yeah, not so much.

“From where I stand, you’re just breathing laboriously.”

The snow swam in and out of focus. “Breathing hard. Are you coming or just breathing
hard
. You’ve got to get your one-liners straight.”

“Thanks. I’ll remember that.”

The blurry haze cleared and I saw Solomon charging at me on all fours.

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No time. I braced my back against the golem and gripped Slayer with both hands.

Solomon loomed over me. “Time to pray.”

I kicked my leg up, catching him in the gut, and thrust into his chest. Slayer slid into the flesh between his ribs. The point met resistance and it vanished.

Solomon’s huge hands tried to grip at me, but my foot on his stomach held him back. Pressure ground at my bones. God, he was a heavy bastard. I twisted the blade, trying to rupture the heart.

“Give it up,” I squeezed out. “I hit the heart.”

Erra snorted. “I know. Do you have any idea how many bodies I had to go through to get him?”

The light shrank. Earth piled around us. A few moments and we’d be buried.

The wound gnawed at my side. My saber was caught, and sinking silver needles into the undead would be like poking him with toothpicks—slightly painful but ultimately futile.

Solomon dug his feet in. His fingers scratched my neck.

There wasn’t enough air. “Would you just let him die already?”

“He doesn’t have much left, don’t worry. You do talk a lot. Like a little squirrel in a tree, chirp-chirp-chirp.”

I barely saw the light above us. If the earth built up any more, Solomon would collapse on me when he died for the second time. I would suffocate, buried alive. “Your animal impressions are stunning.”

Solomon jerked right. His hand grasped my arm, he ducked his head, and pain clenched my forearm.

She made her undead bite me. “What the hell?”

Solomon grinned. “Little squirrel! You taste like family.”

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Oh, shit.

A shaggy shape hit Solomon, snarling and snapping teeth. Solomon jerked and extra weight pressed on me as the dog tore into Solomon’s back. I cried out. Solomon swiped with his arm, knocking the poodle aside. His weight shifted, and I grabbed my throwing knife.

“Don’t touch my dog.”

Solomon laughed. “How curious. Hugh’s been keeping secrets. No wonder. That’s the trouble with hired help: without ambition, they are useless, with ambition—”

I stabbed my throwing knife into Solomon’s throat. “Severed carotid. Enjoy.”

Blood gushed from Solomon’s mouth, drenching my face. “See you soon,” he gurgled.

Solomon’s eyes went blank. He shuddered once and crashed on top of me.

Erra had bailed.

I strained and pushed Solomon’s corpse to the side, into the dirt.

A moment later a smelly tongue licked my face, covering my skin with the fine perfume of day-old roadkill.

I hugged the furry neck. “Okay, okay. Let me up now.”

The poodle leaped away, excited. I got to my feet. The cut in my side screeched in protest. An earthen wall rose up to my waist. I clutched on to it, so I wouldn’t tip over.

Solomon lay facedown. I kicked him. It didn’t make me feel that much better. I kicked him again, just in case, and realized I was looking at a spear sticking out of his back.

The ward went down. People rushed from the Temple, heading toward me.

Where the hell had the spear come from?

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A man reached me. “Are you hurt?”

“Who threw the spear?”

He shrank back. “I’m a medic. I can help you.”

I tried to speak slowly in my nonthreatening voice. “Where did the spear come from?”

He blinked. “I don’t know, I didn’t see.”

I grabbed the spear and strained. Sonovabitch, really in there. I put my foot on the body, crushing a few black needles, and pulled hard. The spear came free. It used to belong to one of the golems. Someone had picked it up and hurled it. Someone with great strength.

Someone had reported my crawling around the pole with Joshua’s body on it. Someone had watched me from the ruins. And now someone had skewered Solomon and vanished. I was really getting tired of all the secrecy.

Little squirrel. You taste like family. See you later.

She recognized the blood, but she didn’t know who I was. If I were her, I’d track me down. I’d get into my house, learn anything I could about me, and look for anything I could use as leverage. I knew this would eventually happen and it finally did. All my friends had just acquired a huge bull’s-eye on their backs.

Julie. I had Julie’s pictures in the house.

I had to get home.

I had to warn the Pack.

I spun around and saw Marigold lying on her side in red snow.

Oh, God. I stumbled toward her and broke into a run.

“Wait!” the medmage chased me.

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Marigold lay unmoving, her head jerked high. The twisted wreck of a golem’s spear jutted from her neck. She must’ve been hit when Erra was throwing shit around.

I dropped into the snow and grabbed her head. Her eyes stayed dark. Her long eyelashes didn’t move.

“Can you fix her?”

“She is dead,” the medmage said.

She killed my Marigold. The bitch killed my Marigold. I’d used this mule for a year. I’d brought her carrots, brushed her out, and relied on her to carry me into a brawl or storm. Now she was dead, killed as an afterthought.

I staggered to my feet. I had to get to the phone.

People jumped out of my way. I marched up the steps and grabbed the first warm body. “Phone?”

“Inside, to the right.”

I ran inside, made a right into a small room, and grabbed the phone. Work. Work, damn you, work,
work
.

Dial tone. Yes!

I dialed the Keep. A man picked up. I barked, “Curran. Now.”

“Who is this?”

“Kate Daniels. I’m the agent of—”

The phone clicked and Curran’s voice filled the phone. “Leave a message.”

“The Steel Mary’s name is Erra. If any of your people fight her, she will make you go mad. It’s her specialty. She served Roland, which means she came here to kill the Pack. Be careful. Don’t fight her directly if you can—”

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The call cut out. I’d reached the message limit.

I dialed the Order. Maxine came on the line.

“I need a pickup at the Temple.”

“I’m sorry, dear, but everyone is out.”

“Andrea?”

“She’s out helping Mauro.”

I hung up and punched in Jim’s number. He picked up on the second ring.

“I need help.”

“You just now figured this out?”

I tried to speak calmly. “I’m at the Temple. I just ran into the Steel Mary and I need to get home before she makes it there.”

“I’ll have a car there in twenty minutes.”

“Thank you.”

I went outside. Three rabbis approached me. The older woman, Weiss, and a man who had to be in his seventies. With long pure white hair and an equally white beard, he looked positively ancient and he walked with a limp, leaning on an ornate staff.

“You’ve brought this to the Temple.” He indicated the golem graveyard with the sweep of his hand.

“You are no longer welcome here. Leave.”

Oh, that’s just peachy. I pointed to Solomon. “Burn the body. Don’t touch the blood. If you experience any symptoms of illness, immediately contact Biohazard.” I pointed at the medic. “You! Patch me up.”

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“Did you not hear?” The woman stared at me, incredulous.

“I have a Mary with pandemic potential who pilots undead mages and who is fixing to raid my house.

Everyone I’ve ever known is about to become a target. Being banned by the Temple is the least of my worries.”

EVERY STEP I TOOK JABBED A DULL, COLD PAIN INTO my side. My skin felt wet under the dressing. The wound had come open. The Temple medic was very good, but the cut simply hadn’t had enough time to heal. At least the dressing had been well applied, so the blood should stay put.

I made it to the bridge and slumped into the snowdrift. Grendel licked me and ran away to paint the snow yellow.

I had to get home.

A car shot across the bridge way too fast. Metallic black, it had the body of a hot rod that had somehow sprouted Indyracer-style front wheels. Painted red flames stretched from its front over the hood, licking a bizarre horned skull with the words DEMON LIGHTNING painted above it. Its backside bubbled up, struggling to contain a monster of an enchanted water engine.

The car hurtled past me, braked in a spray of snow, and stopped two feet away. The driver side window slid down, revealing a tiny Indonesian woman. I’d met her before. She was the Pack’s resident mythology expert. She was also a vegetarian, and when she turned into her animal, which happened to be a cross-eyed white tiger, she refused to bite anything that would bleed into her mouth.

She was also blind as a bat.

Dali peered at me through her glasses and nodded at the car. “Get in!”

I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

“Get in, Kate!”

“What the hell is this?”

“That’s a 1999 Plymouth Prowler. Also known as Pooki.” I bet Jim thought he was funny. “Dali, you can barely see. You can’t drive.”

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Dali stuck her nose in the air. “Watch me.”

No choice. I screamed for Grendel, stuffed him into the car, got in, and buckled my seat belt.

Dali floored it. Snow burst on both sides of the car and we shot forward. The wooden planks thudded under the Prowler’s weight. The bridge curved ahead. Dali showed no indication of slowing down.