Magic Rises (10 page)

You sonovabitch.
I rolled to my feet and grabbed my sword. “You must think you’re funny.”

A weredolphin threw himself at us from the right. Curran tripped him and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back, and I sliced the pirate’s throat and punctured his heart with two quick strikes.

“Just saying, you have to pull your own weight. A hot body and flirting will only get you so far.”

Hot body and flirting, huh. When I’m done killing people . . .
“Everything I do, I learned from you, boy toy.”

Another pirate rushed us. I dropped, slicing the tendons behind his knee, while Curran headbutted him and ripped out his throat. The pirate fell.

“Boy toy?” Curran asked.

“Would you prefer
man candy
?”

The deck was suddenly empty. Blood painted the ship. Gray corpses lay here and there, torn and savaged by claws and teeth. A huge shaggy Kodiak bear prowled the deck, his muzzle dripping gore. The last pirate still on his feet was running toward Andrea and Raphael near the bow. Andrea raised her crossbow. She was still in human form. Raphael stood next to her, light on his feet, his knives dripping red. A trail of bodies led to them, bristling with crossbow bolts. The pirate rushed her. She sank two bolts into his throat. He gurgled, his momentum carrying him forward. Raphael let him get within ten feet and cut him down in a fury of precise strikes.

Past them a black panther the size of a pony slapped a weredolphin with a huge paw. The shapeshifter’s skull split, crushed like an egg under a hammer.

On the left a humanoid creature crawled onto the deck, lean, furry, with a round head and short round ears. Disproportionately long, sharp brown claws protruded from his oversized fingers. He strained and heaved another, much larger body onto the deck. It landed in a splash of water and a shaggy pile of brown fur, turned over, and vomited salt water from a half-human half-bison muzzle. Eduardo.

The reddish beast sank next to him, baring sharp white teeth. His bright red eyes, the color of a ripe strawberry, had a horizontal pupil, like that of a goat. They made him look demonic. I knew of only one shapeshifter with eyes like that—Barabas.

“Why don’t you know how to swim?” His diction was almost perfect.

Eduardo unloaded more water on the deck. “Never needed to.”

“We are crossing an ocean. It didn’t occur to you to learn?”

“Look, I’ve tried. I walk into a pool, I thrash, and then I sink.”

Ahead the flotilla of boats fled behind the island. Bodies littered the deck. I counted. Fourteen. None of them ours. We were bloody, hurt, but alive. The pirates weren’t.

What a waste of life.

And I’d loved it. I loved every second of it: the blood, the rush, the heady satisfaction of striking and seeing the cut or thrust find its target . . . Voron had succeeded. I was raised and trained to be a killer, and nothing, not even happy peaceful weeks in the Keep with the man I loved, could change that. I’d come to terms with what I was a long time ago, but sometimes, like right now, looking over the deck strewn with corpses, I felt a quiet regret for the person I could’ve been.

Curran, naked and covered with blood, wrapped his now-human arm around me. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

I nodded. “You?”

He grinned and squeezed me to him. My bones groaned.

“Congratulations,” I squeezed out. “I survived the fight, but your hug did me in.”

He grinned and let me go. We’d both made it.

“We have a live one,” Raphael called out.

We crossed the deck to where he crouched. A young man, maybe early twenties, with a mass of dark curls, laid on his back, his right leg twisted under at an odd angle, his face contorted by pain. Raphael held the point of his knife over the man’s liver.

The man’s gaze fastened on Saiman. He held up his hand and said something, his words tumbling out in a rush.

Saiman asked something. The man answered.

Saiman turned to Curran. “He has some information that would be of particular interest to you. He will tell you if you set him free, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Fine,” Curran said.

Saiman nodded at the man. The pirate said something halting and looked at me. Saiman looked at me as well.

“What?”

Saiman turned to Curran. “It appears that this is for your ears only. I believe it’s in your best interest to have this conversation in private.”

“Give us some space,” Curran said.

People moved back.

“Do you want me to stay?” I asked.

He reached out and squeezed my hand. “No.”

I moved back with the others. Saiman leaned over and whispered something to Curran. They spoke quietly. Saiman asked the man something. The man answered. Saiman relayed it back.

Curran turned, his face dark. All humor fled from his expression. He met my gaze and didn’t say anything. Not good.

“How can you stand it?” Andrea murmured next to me. “I’d be right in there.”

“I didn’t tell him about rescuing Saiman,” I murmured back. “If he needs to keep something private, I’m fine with it. When he’s ready, he’ll tell me.”

“Lock this man up,” Saiman called.

Two sailors came, picked up the pirate, and carried him off.

“Let’s get this place cleaned up,” Curran called.

People spread out. He came toward me.

“Bad news?” I asked.

“Nothing we can’t handle.”

I nodded to him and we went to help scrub the gore off the deck.

CHAPTER 6

We arrived in the port of Gagra at dusk. First we saw the mountains, triangular low peaks sheathed in vibrant emerald green, as if blanketed with dense moss. The sunset behind us shifted to the right as the ship turned in to a sheltered harbor. The deep, almost purple waters of the Black Sea lightened to blue.

All twelve of us were there, on the deck. The shapeshifters looked uneasy. Even George, who usually met everything with a smile, seemed grim. She stood next to her father, hugging herself, as the wind stirred the dark spirals of her hair.

“Are you alright, cookie?” Mahon said.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” she murmured. “That’s all.”

“Shall I hoist the flag?” Saiman asked.

“Yes,” Curran said.

The gray-and-black striped flag of the Pack with a black lion paw on it rose up the mast.

The shore grew closer. The mountains wove in and out of the sea in gentle curves, soaking their roots in the water. The beach was a narrow strip of pebbled ground. Stone piers stretched into the waves, as if beckoning to us, and behind them, buildings of white stone sat perched on the side of the mountains, their colonnades facing the sea. They looked Greek to me, but most of what I knew about Greece came from books.

The water turned turquoise. The
Rush
slowed, then came to a stop.

“What are we waiting for?” I asked.

“A signal from the port,” Saiman said. “I would suggest you gather your belongings.”

We had already packed. Everything I intended to take with me was in a backpack, which Barabas promptly confiscated. Apparently as an alpha, I wasn’t permitted to carry my own luggage.

Twenty minutes later a blue flare shot from the pier.

“We’re clear to land,” Saiman said. “Once you disembark, I will depart. I have business in Tuapse, Odessa, and Istanbul. I’ll return within a week or so.”

That suited me just fine. Saiman loved to amuse himself, and we’d have our hands full without trying to contain him.

Fifteen minutes later the crew was tying the
Rush
to the pier. I stood on the crowded deck, Curran next to me. George’s anxiety infected me. I wanted off the ship. I wanted to see Desandra and get to work. Unfortunately if I started pacing back and forth like a caged tiger, I’d be immediately told by nine people that it wasn’t proper.

“A welcoming committee,” Raphael announced.

I turned. Fourteen people hurried toward us along the pier. Six pairs of men in dark coats, cinched at the waist. Most were dark-haired, tan, and lean. A few had short beards. Each carried a rifle over his shoulder and a dagger on his belt. They looked like a flock of dark ravens flying in two lines.

Two women walked in front of them. The first wore a dark blue blouse and jeans. She was about my age, dark-haired, her skin a light bronze, her hair put away into a braid. Her face was interesting, with large, bold features: big eyes, wide mouth, a sharply drawn nose. The girl next to her looked to be on the cusp of her twenties. Shorter, paler, with a slender waist, she wore a white dress. The wind tugged at the cascade of her chocolate-brown hair and her clothes, and the diaphanous fabric flared, making her appear ethereal and light. She all but floated above the rough concrete.

The girl waved. “Curran!”

She knew him.

Curran swore under his breath. “I’ll be damned. They dragged her into this.”

Apparently he knew her, too.

“Curran!” She waved again, standing on her toes, and hurried toward us.

“Lorelei?” Curran called out.

The girl smiled. Wow. The night just got a bit brighter.

The sailors lowered the gangplank and Curran started down the moment it clanged against the pier. Apparently he couldn’t wait to meet her.

“Who is Lorelei?” I asked quietly.

“Lorelei Wilson,” Mahon said. “Daughter of the Ice Fury’s alpha.”

Lorelei’s father led the Alaskan pack, the biggest shapeshifter group in the United States. The one who had left with her mother when Wilson and his European wife divorced. Well, wasn’t that just peachy.

“How do you tempt the Beast Lord?” Barabas murmured. “Simple. Offer him a shapeshifter princess.”

Aunt B reached over and gently popped him on the back of his head.

“I hate her already,” Andrea told me. “George hates her too, right, George?”

“I think she is adorable.” George volunteered next to me. “We should give her milk and cookies, and if she promises to be quiet, she can sit at the big people’s table.”

“Show some respect,” Mahon said. “She is the heir to Ice Fury.”

George arched her eyebrows at him. “Really, Dad?”

On the pier, Curran reached the procession. The woman in blue bowed. Lorelei stepped forward, her arms raised for a hug, then stopped abruptly, as if catching herself, and also bowed. Curran said something. She smiled again.

I touched Slayer’s hilt just to make sure it was there.

“Diplomatic, Kate,” Barabas suggested quietly. “Diplomatic.”

I leaned close to him. “Find out who invited her, what are her attachments, and if she has strings, who is pulling.”

He nodded.

I went down the gangplank. The rough concrete was dry under my feet. I managed a slow, deliberate march and the pier seemed to last forever. Did it need to be this long? Were they going to park a carrier here?

I finally got within hearing range.

“You grew up,” Curran was saying.

“It’s been ten years.” Lorelei’s voice had a light trace of an accent. Not quite French, not quite Italian. “I just turned twenty-one.”

I closed in on them. Lorelei had striking eyes, large and pale blue, framed in dense eyelashes. High cheekbones, softened by smooth skin and just a touch of roundness that came from being young; a narrow, petite nose, a full pink mouth. Her hair, a rich brown, fell down her shoulders in relaxed waves. She radiated youth, beauty, and health. She looked . . . fresh. I was only five years older than her, but standing next to her, I suddenly felt old.

Curran was looking at her. Not in the same way he looked at me, but he was looking. An odd feeling flared in me, hot and angry, prickling my throat from the inside with hot sharp needles, and I realized it was jealousy. I guess there was a first time for everything.

“Have you seen my father?” Lorelei asked. “How is he?”

“I saw him last year,” Curran said. “He’s the same as always: tough and ornery.”

I came to stand next to him.

Lorelei raised her eyebrows. Her eyes widened, and a sheen of pale green rolled over her irises. “You must be the human Consort.”

Yes, that’s me, the human invalid.
“My name is Kate.”

“Kate,” she repeated, as if tasting the word. “It is an honor to meet you.”

Curran was smiling at her, that handsome hot smile that usually made my day better. Pushing Lorelei into the ocean wouldn’t be diplomatic, even if I really wanted to do it. “Likewise.”

“I’ve heard so much about you. But where are my manners? You must be hungry and tired.”

The woman in blue stepped forward, moving with a shapeshifter’s grace. Her eyes flashed green, catching the light from the ship. So these were the local werejackals Barabas had mentioned. Her eyes told me she’d been there and done that, and got a bloody T-shirt for her trouble.

The woman in blue bowed. “My name is Hibla. I’m here to be your guide.” She indicated the men next to her. “We are Djigits of Gagra.”

I had read up on Abkhazia. “Djigit” meant a skilled rider or a fierce warrior. The djigits looked back at me, the light of the evening sun catching their eyes. Yep, everyone was a shapeshifter except for me.

“We will escort you to your quarters when you are ready,” Hibla said.

Curran waved at the ship. Our small pack began its descent down to the pier. A few moments and they stood behind us.

Lorelei bowed to Mahon. “Greetings to the Kodiak of Atlanta.”

Mahon grinned into his beard. “What happened? Last time I saw you, you were this big.” He held out his arm at his waist level.

Lorelei smiled. “I wasn’t
that
short.”

Mahon chuckled.

Aunt B was next, smiling so bright, I needed shades. Her voice was sweet enough to spread on toast. “So you are Mike Wilson’s daughter. He must be so proud. What a beautiful girl you are.”

“Thank you.” Lorelei almost glowed.

Oh, you naive thing. When a bouda smiles at you, that’s not a good sign. Especially that particular bouda.

“On behalf of Gagra, I’m here to extend the hospitality of my beautiful city to you,” Hibla said. “Gagra welcomes you with all of its warmth, its lakes and waterfalls, its beaches and orchards. But be forewarned, if you come here with violent intentions, we will leave your corpses for the crows. We have no problem murdering every single one of you.”

“Awesome speech,” Keira told her. Jim’s sister was smiling, and it didn’t look friendly.

“Thank you. I worked hard on it. Please, follow me.”

We trailed her down the pier and onto the road paved with stone. Hibla kept a brisk pace, reciting in a throaty, lightly accented voice. “Welcome to Abkhazia. The city of Gagra is the warmest place on the Black Sea. We have a wonderful microclimate with warm winters and pleasant summers. You will find the most exquisite landmarks here.”

It was like she was reading an invisible travel guide.

Curran was looking at Lorelei as we walked.

“We grow a variety of fruit: peaches, persimmons, apricots, pomegranates, tangerines, lemons, and grapes. Our region is famous for its wines.”

That’s nice.
Maybe I could find a wine bottle hard enough to hit Curran over the head and knock some sense into him.

“What pack do you serve?” Barabas asked.

“The Djigits of Gagra are not affiliated with any of our guests. Our allegiance is to the local pack and to the lord of the castle.”

It was as if I had stepped into a different world. Across the ocean there were crumbling skyscrapers. Here there were castles and lords. Well, technically the Keep was kind of a castle and people did call Curran
lord
, but at home shapeshifters said it with simple efficiency, the way one would say
sir
. Here it was said with a solemn reverence.

“Is the lord of the castle a shapeshifter?” Curran asked.

“No, he’s a human,” Lorelei said.

“Lord Megobari is a friend,” Hibla said. “Our economy was always driven by tourism. After the Shift, the region collapsed. We had been battered by natural disasters and war. Our city and our lives were in ruins. The Megobari family helped us. They built hospitals, they restored our roads, and they brought business to us. They don’t ask anything in return except for our protection, which is freely and gladly given.”

Okay. The Megobari family were clearly saints, and the local jackal pack would die to keep them breathing. Considering how the men glared at us, we had to make sure not to offend the host, because these djigit shapeshifters took their duties deadly seriously.

We all followed Hibla through the town. The feylanterns in Gagra glowed pale lavender, turning the solid stone of the buildings into a faint mirage. Magic flowed down the narrow, curving roads. Neat little streets, some cobbled, some still bearing crumbling pavement, ran along the side of the mountain, all sloping up, bordered by houses of all shapes and sizes. Persian, Greek, and modern architecture collided, like wakes from three different ships.

We passed a stately mansion that could’ve been built for a Moorish prince. It rose, flanked by palms, three stories of narrow arched windows, textured parapets, and stone wall carvings that looked as light and delicate as lace. At one point it must’ve been glowing white, but now it had shed its paint, and green walls showed through. A Greek building of Doric columns the color of sand followed, and immediately after, the ruins of a modern apartment building lay scattered over the mountain slope. The rest of the world seemed a thousand miles away. If we ever got tired of the Pack or living in anticipation of being found by Roland, we could find something like this, an isolated quiet corner of the world. Nobody would ever find us here.

Well, nobody but Lorelei.

“When you saw my father, did he mention me?”

“No,” Curran told her. “It wasn’t a social meeting. I’m sure he thinks of you often.”

Another once-beautiful and now-gutted building. I counted the stories. Seven. Too tall. Magic hated tall modern buildings and attacked them with extreme prejudice. This building was definitely abandoned—the black holes of its empty windows showed a charred interior. When magic waves took down a structure, they gnawed it to dust first. This one showed no signs of post-Shift damage.

“What happened here?” I asked.

“War,” Hibla said.

“Who did you fight with?” George asked.

“Ourselves. Abkhazia is on the border between Russia and Georgia. Fifty years ago they fought. Neighbors turned on their neighbors. Families split. Russia won. The city was cleansed.” She spat the word as if it were studded with broken glass. “Everyone who was Georgian was killed or exiled.” She nodded at another building with boarded-up windows. “The city was scarred forever. The magic has destroyed the other buildings, but the war ruins remain.”