Ritual Magic

FORTY-TWO

ROBERT Friar darted through the open French doors. Gauze still wrapped his chest and leg, but the son of a bitch wasn’t even limping.

Lily launched herself at him.

He got there first and scooped up the knife, but he didn’t have time to do more before she piled into him. He went over on his back. She gave him a quick, hard chop with the heel of her hand, delivered under his chin. It snapped his head back, but didn’t discourage him nearly enough. He struck at her with the knife and she had to roll off, but she grabbed his arm and tried to wrench it behind him. Any second now he’d go dshatu. He’d phase out, and she might still be able to see him—she’d seen Gan in that state, back when Gan was still a demon—but she wouldn’t be able to touch him. To get the knife away from him.

To kill the bloody bastard who’d shot a saint.

But he stayed solid. All too solid, as he used the arm she held to flip her up and over him with inhuman strength. He sent her sailing right off the edge of the deck to land in the dirt four feet below. She landed hard and badly. It knocked the breath out of her.

As she struggled to get her paralyzed diaphragm to work, Friar jumped down beside her, grinning nastily. He pulled a gun from the waist of his ruined slacks and took aim. And eighty pounds of determined nine-year-old boy hit him from behind.

The gun went flying. Lily’s diaphragm suddenly remembered what to do and she sucked in air as Friar flopped onto his knees, but he didn’t go all the way down. He twisted and knocked Toby away.

Someone was yelling. More than one someone. She didn’t have time to look. She got her feet under her and sent a kick at Friar’s head. He ducked and tried to grab her foot, but missed. It kept him busy for a second, though—giving her time to go after the gun he’d dropped. It was right beside Rule. She got her hand on it—and Friar landed on top of her, knocking her flat on her stomach.

He grabbed her hair and jerked her head back, exposing her throat. Toby screeched and must have done something—Lily couldn’t see what—because Friar let go. She bucked hard, trying to dislodge him, keep him from hurting Toby. He fell off and she turned over quickly.

A flash of searing pain sliced through her leg. And she was sucked away—away from her body, from the world, sucked off into . . . gray. Endless gray, where she floated for a time without time . . .

Slowly the gray resolved into trees. Black trees. They were tall, impossibly tall, and they were made from shades of darkness. They loomed over her where she lay in the dirt. Glowing dirt. All the light in this place came from the ground, not the sky.

Fear sank talons into her heart and ripped. She whimpered. Was she dead? She remembered fighting, but not . . . who had she fought? What had happened to her? What was this place?

“Welcome to my domain.”

The voice was rich and fluid, a mellow and very male voice, one that captivated. That made her want to hear more. She didn’t trust it, not at all. She managed to shove herself up, though her arms and legs shook. She felt weak and dizzy, but she got to her feet.

He was a god. She knew that the moment she saw him. He stood about twenty feet away in a small clearing, naked and perfectly shaped. And large, too large for a mortal man—he must have been twelve feet tall. His pale skin gleamed faintly. His ears were pointed, like an elf’s, and his face was elfin, too—narrow at the jaw, broad through the cheeks—and he had long, straight, silver hair. Literally silver. It gleamed, too. From the crown of his head to his bare feet, he was supernally beautiful.

She didn’t trust that, either. She couldn’t remember much—not how she got here, not what had happened to her. Not—oh, God. Not even her name. Fear spiked impossibly high until she panted with it. But however much she’d forgotten, she knew she did not trust this beautiful being.

“You’re silent. I don’t like silence. I get too much of that here.”

“You’re . . . the god who murdered Miriam.” She remembered that suddenly, the way Miriam’s hands had plunged a knife into her chest. The way she’d cried no even as she did it.

Sorrow flooded his perfect face. “My lovely Miriam. She wanted so much to be with me, and now . . .” Rage washed away sorrow. “Now she never will, and it’s your fault.” He took a single step toward her. “You will have a long time, a very long time, to apologize. To try to make it up to me for losing my lovely Miriam. And everything else.”

A ghost stepped out from behind one of the too-tall black trees. He was dark haired with a receding hairline. He wore dark slacks and a white button-down shirt and he was familiar . . . but he looked solid, she thought, bewildered. Why did she think he was a ghost?

“Lily,” he said, “that bastard is lying to you.”

She knew his voice, she knew she did. “My name is Lily?”

“Son of a bitch.” That came out with such vehemence she took a step back. “No, don’t move. It’s really important you stay where you are. You can get lost in this place way too easy.”

“Lily,” that other one said. The god. He was off to her right now, only ten feet away. She hadn’t seen him move. “Why are you listening to him? He tried to kill you once. You don’t remember? You listen to bad counsel all too often, don’t you?” He smiled and whispered, “It’s all right to kill Santos. He deserves it.”

A flash of memory shivered through her. A face, a man’s face. Her hand holding a gun to him, the barrel jammed in his throat. Had she shot him? What had she done?

“You killed him at my suggestion,” the god said in his wonderful voice. “You’re mine, Lily. You made yourself mine the first time you listened to me. You’ve been mine all along.”

“He’s lying to you,” the ghost said again, moving so he was in front of her. “He’s trying to persuade you, but all he’s got is lies.” He stretched out a hand beseechingly. “You have to listen to me.”

A gold ring glowed on that hand. On the third finger, the one connected to the heart, according to the old tales. A glowing gold ring . . . memory cascaded in on her, so swiftly she gasped. Rule. Isen, her mother, Toby, Cullen, Cynna, her father and her sisters . . . and Rule. Oh, God. “Drummond. You’re Drummond.”

“Part of him, anyway.” His grin was quick and feral. “That shiny bastard behind me sliced a bit of me away from the rest. Thought he was being clever, but we tricked him. The bit he cut out is the part you need. I’ve been waiting here for you.”

“Do you remember him now, Lily?” The god was on her left now. He spoke mockingly. “He tried to kill you. You and so many others. And you trust him?”

“I . . .” But she did remember. Drummond had done terrible things, but he’d redeemed himself. He was on her side—and the beautiful god most definitely wasn’t. She remembered the fight now. She remembered Friar and Toby and a hot, terrible pain and being sucked out, away . . . “He got me with the knife. Friar did. I’ve . . . been cut out of time.”

The god chuckled. “That’s where we are. Out of time. You’ve worried about running out of time for so long, and now you’ll stay out of time. With me.”

“No.” Drummond came closer. “He cheated. He’s sidhe. What do sidhe do best?”

Her eyes widened. “Illusion.”

“This”—he gestured widely—“this is real to him and me, because we died. But you didn’t.”

That terrible, slicing pain—it had been in her thigh. Not her chest, not her head—

“He had enough power to suck you here, but he can’t keep you. See how he pops here and there, but never gets close? He can’t touch you because you’re still alive and he isn’t, and as long as you don’t believe in him—”

“Believe in the god of chaos?” She snorted. She’d spent her life fighting against chaos. “Not happening. But I—can I get back? How do I get back?”

Drummond grinned again. “You’ve got a heavy hitter of your own. One who operates on your side of things, so she can’t come here, but she can help. She’s waiting to help. Just focus on that bond of yours.”

Lily felt a sudden warmth on her hands and lifted them . . . both rings were glowing, just like Drummond’s did. The engagement ring Rule had given her glowed a soft sunshine yellow, and the toltoi charm on her other hand shone with the moon’s pale white light. She reached out with her mate-sense—and found Rule. He was right beside her. Never mind what her eyes said. She felt him.

She knew what to do. She held out her hand. “Come with me!”

Drummond hesitated. “It won’t work. You can’t—”

“Hurry!” The gray land was starting to fade.

Drummond put his hand in hers. It felt solid and real and warm, and the shock of that rippled through her. She closed her fingers tightly around his and closed her eyes and focused on what the mate bond was telling her . . .

Reality popped like a soap bubble.

She was lying on her back in the dirt—dirt that did not glow—with her leg hurting like fire and Rule beside her and people shouting somewhere, and she knew that here, no time had passed. Because where she’d been there was no time, so she hadn’t really been gone at all. Two Drummonds, both misty white and grinning widely, hovered above her . . . and drifted together, until there was just one. Just one, with a glowing gold band on his left hand.

He gave her a quick salute and faded out.

Lily’s gaze cut to the sleeping man beside her, and beyond him, the lupus who held that damn sleep charm to his chest. She sat up and knocked the man’s hand away. The charm fell off and Rule’s eyes flew open.

Toby screamed.

By the time Lily saw that Friar had Toby around the neck, Rule was on his feet and diving for the enemy who threatened his son.

Friar went ever so slightly fuzzy. Rule’s hands passed right through him. And the knife, that terrible black knife, fell to the ground. Rule scooped Toby up in his arms, patting him frantically. “You’re all right? Are you all right?”

“I’m okay.” Toby’s voice wobbled. “He scared me more than he hurt me. I thought—he cut Lily and I thought—” He clung to his father.

“Lily?” Rule’s head swung toward her.

“I’m okay enough,” she said. “Toby saved my life.”

Friar tipped back his head and howled in frustration. Lily couldn’t hear him, but there was no doubt that was what he did.

Triumph brought a tight grin to Lily’s face. Friar couldn’t hold on to the knife when he was dshatu. That was why he’d stayed solid when they fought. He didn’t dare stay material to fight Rule, though, and he couldn’t take the knife with him when he wasn’t. His clothes, shoes, that gun—all those went out-of-phase with him, but the knife did not. Maybe because it was a named artifact. Maybe it didn’t want to go with him.

Lily clambered to her feet. Her leg was bleeding freely and hurt like blazes, but it held her. “Friar’s still here.” She pointed at him. “He’s gone dshatu, but I see him.”

Cynna yelled, “He’s dshatu?”

“Yes!” Lily’s head swung that way. The guards had put up their weapons, as Pete had told them to—but other orders remained operative. One guard gripped Cynna’s arms. Another held Julia and Li Qin. And that, she realized, was what some of the shouting had been about. Cynna did not like being restrained.

“Then I’ll exorcise the hell out of him. Om redne ish n’vatta—tol harvatay nil ombrum. Ils sevre—”

Friar’s eyes widened in sudden fear. He climbed back up on the deck and took off, jumping onto the upper level.

“He’s getting away!” Lily wobbled forward a step.

Cynna chanted faster and louder. It wasn’t Latin. It wasn’t any language Lily knew.

Rule was scowling at her. “Your leg.”

“Hurts, but I don’t think it’s serious.” She peered down at it. The slash was long but shallow, for all that it had nearly persuaded her she was dead.

Rule held Toby in one arm with the boy’s arms wrapped around his neck, but he had another arm. He wrapped it around her and put his face in her hair and breathed in deeply. “I don’t know what the hell has been happening. My father—”

“Is okay. Carl’s holding a sleep charm on him because Pete told him to, or maybe Miriam did, so he can’t not do that. Uh—most everyone can’t move because Miriam told them to stop. Plus, they’re all compelled to obey Pete, and he’s compelled to follow the orders Miriam gave him before she died. And Friar—” She couldn’t see the man anymore. “He seems to be gone.” He’d been heading for the slope, but she’d looked away for a moment. Probably he’d vanished into the darkness . . . unless Cynna really had exorcised him. Would that send him to hell? To the realm where demons lived, anyway. Could Cynna do that to someone who wasn’t a demon? God, she wanted to think so.

Friar had seemed to think it was possible. He’d run like a rabbit. She snorted at the memory, but sobered quickly. Six feet away, a long black knife lay on ground marked by black runes. All around her were lupi frozen in place because they’d been ordered to stop. And Hardy . . . she’d forgotten to check, and no one else was able to move. Maybe he was still alive. “I need to see about Hardy,” she said, pulling free from Rule.

She was too late. She saw that right away. Maybe it had been too late from the moment Friar blasted a hole in Hardy’s chest. Probably. And she couldn’t have done anything differently, but regret squeezed hard at her heart as she looked down on the empty face that had held such life. Hardy looked peaceful still . . . but dead. No more songs.

Rule had come up onto the deck with her, still holding Toby. He was asking Pete exactly what his orders from Miriam consisted of. Good. If they knew what they had to work around, maybe they could figure out a way—

“Halt!” someone called from the upper deck.

Oh, good, more company.

“Who or what is it?” Rule demanded.

“The Queen of Winter sends us here, with Isen Turner’s permission,” a man called back from somewhere farther up the slope. “Winter and the one you call Sam.”

“Let—” Rule stopped. Scowled. “Pete, tell him to let the Queen’s people pass.”

Apparently that didn’t contradict Miriam’s orders, because Pete repeated it. A few minutes later a man and a woman jumped down onto the upper deck. They looked oddly alike—brother and sister, maybe? Both were tall and rangy. He was darker; she was more striking, with an angular face, a stern blade of a nose, and warm brown hair pulled back in a braid. She wore a long tunic, a heavily embroidered vest that reached her knees, and baggy pants tucked into boots, all in shades of brown and gold. The tunic was belted in brown leather; a knife-size scabbard hung from the belt, partly hidden by the vest.

Her shoulders were broad for a woman. His were broader. He wore similar clothing in shades of blue but without the vest, and he had two scabbards—one at his waist like hers that held a knife, and one fastened to a harness crisscrossing his chest that held one honking big sword on his back. His face lay on the ordinary end of attractive—pleasant but unmemorable—except for his eyes. They were a clear and startling gray.

His eyebrows lifted above those clear gray eyes. “That was easy,” he said to the woman. He spoke ordinary American English.

“You’re disappointed.”

He glanced at her without answering, but his mouth tucked up in a small smile.

Not brother and sister, Lily realized. Not when he looked at her like that.

“It’s here, then?” the woman said.

“They have it.” He looked down at them. “I had expected a hunt, and I see you have the knife waiting for me. But you are much too close to it. You need to get away. Quickly.”

“If you mean Nam Anthessa,” Lily said, “you might say it has us. Some of us. The woman who wielded it is dead, but the knife’s still enforcing her commands. I’m free and so are Rule and a few others, but the rest . . . before she died she told them not to move, so they can’t. Where’s Sam?”

The man glanced at the woman beside him. She gave a small nod. He looked back at Lily. “On his way. He travels differently than we do. I was told Isen Turner was in charge of this land and people. I would speak to him, or to the one named Li Lei.”

Rule spoke. “I’m Rule Turner. Under these circumstances, I can speak for my Rho, who is currently caught by a sleep charm. The man holding it to him is one of those who can’t move. Li Lei Yu isn’t here now.”

“I’m unsure how to proceed. I was given a way to identify myself to Isen Turner or to Li Lei.”

“Hey, I know you!” Cynna cried. “Rule, I know them both. They helped us in Edge. They’re cool.”

“If you’ve come to destroy the knife,” Rule said dryly, “you’re welcome. But I was expecting a hellhound.”

“I am the Queen’s Hound. Do you accept my authority to deal with Nam Anthessa?”

Rule hesitated, but only for a second. “I do.”

“Then—”

“Nathan,” the woman said, her voice strained, “Nam Anthessa is reaching for me, and I can’t—”

Just like that, chat time was over. The man launched himself as fast as any lupus, drawing a dagger the color of bleached bones as he raced forward and leaped from the upper deck to land on the bare ground below. Right next to the black knife.

He didn’t look ordinary now. His face contorted in a snarl. His eyes blazed, shedding color until they were as pale as the blade he raised overhead, gripping it in both hands as he growled—words, there were words in that loud growl, but none Lily knew, nor were they spoken in a man’s voice—and plunged his bone white blade into the black one.

Nam Anthessa shattered.

The sound of its breaking was small, like the crunch of a cracker. The feel of it . . . Lily reeled as shards of power stung her face, her hands, every bit of exposed skin.

All around them, lupi staggered. Some went to their knees. Some moaned. “It’s gone,” Pete whispered. “It’s gone. Oh, God, oh, God . . .”

The woman came forward then and jumped onto the lower deck. “We didn’t finish introducing ourselves,” she said apologetically. “He’s Nathan. Nathan Hunter. I’m Kai Tallman Michalski. I think you have need of me, too. I’m a mind healer.”