Shadow's End

SEVENTEEN

The three gryphons flew to Hart Island together. Rune carried Carling, while Julian rode on Graydon’s back.

Aside from Soren, who would join them as fast as he could, they were all the principals who would be spearheading the attack.

Graydon wished they had more Djinn support, but the Djinn made decisions based on consensus. If Soren took this issue to the Djinn assembly, they would talk the subject to death, and he knew somehow word would get back to Malphas. They couldn’t afford to risk losing the element of surprise, and they didn’t have the time.

The night air felt wet and heavy, like another snowstorm was imminent. Lowering clouds filled the sullen sky. There wasn’t a star in sight, only an indirect illumination cast by the hidden moon.

Julian asked, “What kind of wager are you going to offer Malphas?”

I don’t know. He hadn’t had a chance to think that far ahead. All I know is he won’t be able to resist a gamble.

The Vampyre laughed. “Cutting it a little close to the bone, aren’t you? Well, something had better occur to you quick.”

Don’t worry, he said. I’ve got this. Just be ready to grab him when he solidifies, and we’ll be good to go.

As they flew in low to the approach to Hart Island, Julian directed them to the appropriate section of shoreline. “There’s thirty Peacekeeper troops hidden in those nearby buildings, mostly war mages and medics. Soren and Khalil brought them in, so there aren’t any scents or foot tracks in the outlying areas. For the last half hour, they’ve been layering deflection spells over the group, along with cloaking spells.”

A disembodied, familiar Djinn presence rose up to meet them. It was Khalil. The Djinn informed them, “They’re hidden well enough. If I can sense nothing, neither will Malphas.”

Graydon’s skin began to prickle as he studied the narrow, uneven beach. Nearby, a tall, crumbling chimney stack jutted into the sky.

As he circled the area, the view aligned, until he could look up at the length of the chimney stack as it towered over the land like a behemoth.

Constantine and Rune circled with him, the three gryphons wheeling like gigantic birds of prey.

Julian slapped his shoulder, splintering his preoccupation. “Where do you want me?”

You don’t need to breathe, he said. And the cold won’t bother you. The best place for you to hide is under water, at the shoreline. The water will cover your scent.

“Agreed,” said Julian. “The water it is.”

“We can’t land here,” Carling shouted to them, “or we’ll leave too many footprints in the snow. We need to take cover in the nearby buildings. When Julian makes his move, we’ll be out here as fast as we can. Julian, make your drop. I’ll cover you with cloaking spells.”

On my count, said Graydon. He swung around, descended further and spread his wings so that he coasted over the water as he approached the shore. One, two—drop.

Rolling off his back, Julian hit the water with a splash. A moment later, Graydon’s paws touched down on the cold, rocky ground. He barely noticed when Rune dove, spun and dove again, while Carling layered cloaking spells over the area where Julian had disappeared.

Shapeshifting, Graydon stared around him.

Overhead, the clouds broke apart. As the moonlight grew sharper, he saw white snow covering black rocks on the beach. Whorls of ice banded the rocks where the uneasy ocean rocked and lapped.

White, and black, near a dark, tempestuous shore.

He had never been to this place before, and yet he recognized every detail of it.

See you soon, buddy, Constantine said in his head.

The two other gryphons, along with Carling, winged toward the buildings and disappeared.

Khalil said, “This is where I leave you. Good hunting.”

The Djinn’s presence arced away.

Graydon’s heart began a slow, hard pounding, like the deep clanging of a bell. He breathed deeply and evenly to manage the dump of adrenaline plunging through his veins.

Telepathically, he reached out to Julian. You close enough to hear me?

Yes, said the Vampyre. I’m a few yards away, just beyond the ice.

Okay, he said.

Okay.

Balancing on slippery, broken rocks, he moved away from the shoreline until he reached the end of the narrow beach, where he turned, putting the chimney stack behind him and facing the ocean.

All his planning fell away. All the talk, the preparations. He had lived the very best of his life in a single moment. The only thing that remained was the sound of his breath as he released it. It vaporized into the endless winter’s night.

Injecting Power into his voice, he called out, “Malphas.”

The pariah took his time answering the summons.

As Graydon sensed Malphas’s leisurely approach, he realized that for all of their caution and extreme effort in laying the trap, the Djinn wasn’t acting like he was suspicious.

He was acting contemptuous.

Angling his jaw out, Graydon crossed his arms as he waited.

The Djinn poured onto the scene without materializing. Like an oil slick, his presence smeared the fresh night air.

“I get no Christmas cards, you don’t write.” Malphas circled around Graydon. “Now, after all this time, you decide to pick up the phone. One wonders why one even bothers to respond.”

Hatred clogged his throat. Curling his lip, he growled, “And yet, I see one does.”

“Curiosity does sometimes get the better of me.” Like a devil riding his shoulder, Malphas sighed in Graydon’s ear. “And oh look at what a dismal setting. You couldn’t even invite me to a nice restaurant.”

The Djinn was toying with him, like a cat with a mouse.

He refused to flinch, and said between his teeth, “I would rather be caught dead than be seen in public with you.”

Truth.

If he stuck to the truth, he couldn’t go too far wrong.

Malphas laughed. “My feelings, they are wounded. If I had a heart, it would be broken. What do you want, gryphon?”

“I want to change our agreement.”

Come on, asshole. Show your face.

“No, I don’t think I want to do that. I’m perfectly content with our bargain as it is.” As leisurely as he had arrived, the Djinn’s presence began to fade.

Graydon raised his voice, and injected a note of scorn. “Coward. Don’t you even want to hear the terms of the wager I want to propose?”

Malphas paused, just as Graydon had felt sure he would. Pouring back, the Djinn said, “You want to propose a wager to me? You surprise me, gryphon. You’re not a gambling man.”

He snapped, “I am when I’ve got nothing left to lose.”

Again, truth. He would gamble everything to get a chance at another moment with Bel.

The frigid air around him boiled as Malphas snapped back, like a shark gnashing invisible teeth. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Because believe me, sentinel, you have got a great deal you could lose. Friends. Coworkers. Even a fledgling dragon.”

He did not just go there. Renewed rage set Graydon’s body on fire.

Come on, you bastard. Materialize.

“If you don’t want to hear my wager, fine,” he whispered. “Fuck off. I’ll find some other way to be rid of you.”

“And risk the so lovely Beluviel, and her son?” Contemptuous shining eyes appeared in front of Graydon. “You won’t get rid of me unless I say you can.”

“A wager,” said Graydon. His talons had emerged, and he could feel that his teeth had lengthened. He hid his fists underneath his crossed arms. “All or nothing. Or maybe you don’t have the balls.” He barked out an angry laugh. “Listen to me, what am I saying? Of course you don’t have the balls. Not really.”

Malphas slammed into his physical form in front of Graydon, wearing, as he always did, the same golden hair and angelically handsome face.

And as he faced Graydon, he set his back to the ocean.

The Djinn told him, “You don’t have the damned guts for an all-or-nothing wager.”

Julian, Graydon said. Aloud, he spat, “Try me. I’m sick to death of this arbitrary barrier you shoved between me and Beluviel. Do you hear me—I am fucking done.”

“You don’t get to say when you’re done,” Malphas enunciated, stabbing at the air with one finger. “I own you.”

Behind the furious Djinn, a dark, powerful figure rose out of the water and slipped over the edge of the ice. It crawled toward them, its helmeted head featureless in the moonlight, at once silent and so predatory that, even though he knew it was really a friend, Graydon’s hackles rose.

He growled, “You’ll never own me, Djinn.”

“I own the piece of you that you want the most,” Malphas sneered. “The chance to be with Beluviel again. How have the last two hundred years been for you—watching her at public functions, talking to her, never being able to copulate again without killing the one person she loves the most?”

“You are the most vindictive asshole I have ever met,” Graydon told him. “And I’m done arguing with you. Do you want to gamble for a bigger piece of me or not?”

“Oh, I will love putting a bigger noose around your thug neck.” Malphas gestured angrily.

Crouched on the ground behind his knees, Julian snaked both bare hands around one of the Djinn’s ankles and said, Got him.

Astonishment bolted across Malphas’s face. The Djinn’s Power rippled, but his physical form didn’t dissipate. He tugged at his leg, but he couldn’t dislodge the shackle on his ankle.

Son of a bitch. Part of Graydon had been too skeptical to believe it could happen, but the Vampyre had done it. He had really trapped Malphas.

Everything exploded.

As Malphas whirled to kick at Julian, Graydon leaped on the Djinn, fangs and talons out. While he tore at the Djinn’s physical form, he used his Power like a battering ram, bludgeoning Malphas with raw brute force.

It was an inelegant attack, but it was all Graydon had to use against him.

As fast as he tore wounds into Malphas, they closed again. Abandoning his kick, Malphas rounded on him with an inhuman snarl and bludgeoned him back, with a roundhouse punch fueled and magnified by his own Power.

If the blow had connected, it would have crushed Graydon’s face. At the last moment, he jerked to one side, and the blow caught him along the side of his head.

Pain exploded in his skull, and his ear rang. Savagely, he sank his teeth into the side of the Djinn’s neck and tore away a chunk of flesh. It melted to nothing as he spat it out, the gaping wound at Malphas’s neck healing over.

Vaguely, he was aware of Malphas kicking at the dark, armored figure at his feet.

Then Constantine fell on them from the sky, the weight of his body slamming them both to the ground. With a harsh eagle’s cry, Rune joined them, driving his lethal gryphon’s beak into the Djinn’s body. Constantine shouted something, but Graydon couldn’t make out what. The ringing in his ear was too loud.

Power gathered nearby, a great deal of it. Carling crouched a few yards away, hands up as she whispered an incantation. Graydon caught a glimpse of her face. She looked tense and afraid.

He had just enough time to think, well, shit. This is going to get a whole lot worse.

Malphas howled in rage. The Djinn’s body heaved, and erupted.

Julian might have him trapped and embodied, but he never had been human. Like the illusion that it was, his human form melted. His body grew larger, and tentacles with spikes exploded from his center.

Many tentacles, with needle-sharp spikes. Julian flung his legs around one tentacle, keeping a death grip on it. He was a big, heavy man, and he carried an extra forty to fifty pounds in armor, but despite his weight, the tentacle lifted him into the air and slammed him into the rocky ground with a crash that Graydon felt at the back of his teeth.

Rune shouted, “Watch out!”

Constantine curled and twisted at the same time, narrowly escaping the tentacle that drove toward him. He slammed his booted foot repeatedly at the tentacle, until it appeared to snap.

It reformed, flowing back into the monster’s body.

They had pissed Malphas off, but they weren’t killing him. Graydon wasn’t even sure they were hurting him. Djinn were creatures of Power and spirit, not flesh.

“When you tear off pieces of his body, throw them toward me,” Carling shouted. “Otherwise, he’ll just keep re-forming!”

Throw pieces of the Djinn at the witch. Got it.

With a roar, he tore into Malphas’s new monster body, ripped away a tentacle and tossed it at Carling. She flung out one hand, fingers splayed. Power shot out from her palm like a fireball and obliterated the tentacle before it could melt and flow back into the Djinn’s body.

That hurt him.

Malphas’s howling raised in tone, until it sounded like the whistle of a gigantic teakettle. The sound split the air, driving like a spike into Graydon’s good ear.

As the sound increased, the monster’s body began to heat, until a light poured out that was so bright, Graydon had to squint to endure it. The heat increased until the Djinn felt like a burning flame.

All the while, his immense body boiled and convulsed. The three gryphons tore pieces off the monster, flinging them at Carling. Most of the time, she struck them with a ball of Power, but sometimes she missed, and they flowed back into the Djinn.

Tentacles flailed, driving spikes toward each of the men. One tentacle snaked around Graydon’s waist before he could deflect it, lifting him bodily to slam him repeatedly into the rocks. He felt ribs snap and coughed in breathless anguish.

The heat turned unbearable. He felt his skin sear where he came in contact with the Djinn.

Someone shouted. Not the teakettle. One of them.

Julian was bellowing in agony.

How long could the Vampyre bear to hold on?

If he lost his hold, they lost Malphas. He couldn’t get away. He couldn’t.

The battle hadn’t lasted for very long, but it felt like it had been going on forever. With renewed frenzy, Graydon tore at the monster, gouging huge chunks out of his flesh.

The monster heaved, flipping over completely, knocking them all to shit. At the same time it speared Rune high in one thigh. As Rune roared, it flung him with such vicious force so that Rune slammed into a waist-high boulder half submerged in water. His head snapped back, and he slid into the icy water.

Screaming, Carling lunged after him.

Graydon had just torn a tentacle from the monster’s body. The physical shape flowed away from his grasp, back into Malphas’s body.

At the same moment, Peacekeeper war mages raced onto the scene while medics jumped into the water to help Carling pull an unconscious Rune to shore.

“Over here!” one of the Peacekeepers shouted, his hands up and beckoning.

Graydon twisted at the waist. His broken ribs ground together: more agony. This nightmarish bastard had to die. Growling, he tore off another tentacle with his teeth and flung it over his shoulder at the Peacekeeper.

Constantine shouted. Even though the other sentinel strained against the monster, so close the two men could have touched, he fought on the side of Graydon’s deafened ear. His shout sounded like it came from a great distance.

The world was in motion. Everything happened so fast.

Hard hands clamped onto his shoulders as the other sentinel grabbed him and twisted. Despite the fact that Graydon was the bigger and heavier of the two, Constantine bodily yanked him off his feet, thrusting himself between Graydon and the monster.

Con’s mouth was open, forming words. Graydon saw the other man’s lips shape: “LOOK OU—”

A spike burst out of Constantine’s chest, in a starburst of blood. A massive tentacle drove the spike through the other man’s body so hard, it knocked Constantine into Graydon and pierced through Graydon’s chest wall, biting deep.

Impaled together, the two men’s eyes met, horrified dark gray looking into a blue gaze that turned rather wry. Blood poured out of Constantine’s mouth. He lifted a hand to his lips, as if to stop the flood.

Then the tentacle shook them off, flinging them both to the ground. Knocked end over end, the rocky ground tore at Graydon’s body until he rolled to a stop. His rib cage was shattered to hell. He tried to suck in a breath, fought to get up on his hands and knees.

Shaking uncontrollably, he finally got one knee underneath him and looked down at the ground. All around him, people were shouting. Chaos surged along the beach.

None of it touched the immense, bottomless silence inside him.

He saw white on black rock. As he pressed a hand to the wound in his chest, his blood mingled with the red of his friend’s heart’s blood.

It dripped between his fingers, spreading in the snow like the bloom of roses.

Some things in life are axiomatic.

There really is no good way to rip off a bandage. And there was no unobtrusive way to invade the Elven residence in New York City. Even the stealthiest entrance would set off every alarm in the large, tightly guarded house, so they had to be prepared for confusion and violence until they got the situation under control.

Bel and her group had to wait until the battle had started on Hart Island before they could act. They needed to know that Malphas was trapped before they moved on Ferion.

As they waited for word, they gathered again in the living room of the suite. Bel felt physically ill, and from the white, tense expression on Melly’s face, the other woman felt the same.

Somehow, Julian would get hold of the Djinn, and somehow, the others would attack. Fueled by her runaway imagination, images played through her mind.

Soren held a cell phone in one hand. When it vibrated, she felt her stomach bottom out.

He glanced at the screen, his face grim. He said, “It has started.”

Dread made her muscles tremble. That very moment, Graydon was fighting for his life. So was every one of the others who fought with him.

There were six people in Bel’s group, not counting Soren. The more Powerful of the Djinn could transport up to ten or even fifteen people at a time. The one thing they required was that they touch the people they transported.

At his words, everyone gathered close, putting a hand on Soren’s arm or shoulder. Bel also put an arm around Melly to give her a quick hug. Giving her a grateful look, the younger woman leaned against her slightly.

The tornado of Soren’s Power rose, and swept them away from the hotel.

She closed her eyes, enduring the chaos. Intellectually, she knew what was happening. A friendly Djinn had explained it to her once.

Soren would experience the transport very differently than anyone else. While the others would lose their orientation in time and space, Soren could even slow down as he searched for the right spot before materializing.

He would look for Ferion, wherever Ferion might be. Only when he had found the Elf would he bring the group to the physical location, and even though it was the middle of the night, she realized Ferion could actually be anywhere.

If Ferion had sent the guard tailing Bel and Linwe, the guard might have reported back to him. Even now, he might be hunting for her, because she had been gone for an unusual amount of time.

The world began to reform around her. At first she became aware of the others in her group—Linwe, Sidhiel, Luis, Claudia and Melly. Then the details of their surroundings came into focus. They had landed in the large, richly appointed study in the New York Elven residence.

Bel got a split second—not even enough to draw in a complete breath—to take in the scene.

Ferion slumped in an armchair in front of a fire, a long, lean leg kicked over one arm. His eyes were closed, and he leaned his forehead against a brandy snifter that he held in one hand. He looked so tired and desolate, her heart twisted.

In the next instant, his expression flared and he leaped to his feet. Shouting, he flung his snifter into the flames as he lunged toward the sword that hung on the wall behind his desk.

He was one of the strongest fighters in the Elven demesne, lethally fast, but he was no match for the speed of a first-generation Djinn. Materializing beside Ferion, Soren grabbed him in a headlock.

Two Elven guards were always stationed in the main hall of the residence. They burst into the room, weapons drawn.

As Claudia and Luis strode to the double doors, Claudia punched the first guard. Power glimmered around her. The blow lifted him off the ground and slammed him into the second guard. Both men tumbled several yards, back into the hall.

Luis and Claudia threw themselves at the double doors and slammed them shut. While Claudia flipped the locks, Luis dragged heavy furniture over to block the doors. Shouting sounded in the hall. Heavy pounding boomed on the doors, echoing through the room like a thunderclap.

“What about the windows?” Luis asked.

“They’re barred, and the curtains are drawn,” Bel called out. “All the windows on the first floor are bullet and magic resistant.”

While Claudia and Luis had acted so fast and decisively, Linwe, Sidhiel, Melly and Bel still stood frozen in the center of the room.

Sidhiel strode to the door. “Let me out of here,” she ordered. “I’ll talk to them.”

“Not on your life,” said Luis. “As wound up as they are, they’ll kill you soon as look at you.”

“Do you know who I am?” the Councillor demanded.

“Doesn’t matter who you are,” Claudia said breathlessly. “To them, right now anybody in this room is a traitor.”

“They’re right, Sidhiel.” The authority in Bel’s voice made the other Elven woman pause.

“A little help would be nice,” Soren informed them.

Bel spun to look at the Djinn and her son. Ferion fought the hold Soren had on him with a mindless ferocity. It was clear Soren tried to hold onto the male without hurting him, but Ferion acted like a rabid animal.

His torso arched. He went into convulsions, foam flecking his lips.

Soren gritted, “The soul lien was booby-trapped.”

Oh, shit, shit.

Bel leaped at them, as did the others. She shouted, “Get him down on the ground! Turn him on his side!”

Soren flipped Ferion in midair and laid him on the ground. Bel gripped Ferion’s head. Linwe laid the weight of her torso over Ferion’s legs, while Melly wrestled to get his flailing arms pinned. Luis ran at the heaving group, fell to his knees and slid across the floor to help Melly.

Strangled sounds came out of Ferion’s twisted lips. Bel shouted, “He’s choking on his tongue. Somebody get me a pen or something flat like a stick!”

Sidhiel dove at her, offering a dagger in a leather sheath. Bel ran a frantic gaze down the length of it. She recognized the workmanship. Ferion couldn’t bite through the leather to the blade underneath. It would do.

She forced it between his lips. Extreme terror gripped her by the throat. When Ferion stopped breathing, so did she. She whispered on a strangled gasp, “Soren.”

“Almost there,” the Djinn said. He knelt beside her, both hands flat on Ferion’s chest.

A blow hit the double doors so hard, the wood cracked from top to bottom. Claudia had been bracing against the furniture. She skipped back, calling out, “Another blow, maybe two, and they’re going to be in.”

Soren’s Power flared hot and bright.

Bel could sense deep inside Ferion’s body that hateful, darkened smear. With a snap, it disappeared.

The convulsions stopped. Ferion sucked in a huge, audible breath. His watering gaze flew to hers. She saw sanity in his gaze. The terror eased its grip on her throat. She wiped his face and pulled the dagger from between his teeth.

Another blow at the doors knocked a large hole in the splintered wood. “I don’t want to shoot at these people,” Claudia called out in warning.

“I have to go to Hart Island,” Soren told Bel.

“Wait!” she cried out, as the Djinn began to dematerialize.

He paused. Conflicting urges tore at her. She swept the room with a glance. It had all happened so quickly. Claudia had fallen back to the group surrounding Ferion’s prone body. In a moment or two, guards would pour into the room.

On the one hand, there was still so much to do here. If she were a betting fool, she would lay money on Malphas having spies in the household.

On the other hand, her heart and soul was on Hart Island, fighting to the death.

There was no real choice. Grabbing her son by his collar, she hauled him up to her face and demanded, “Are you good to go now?”

Still coughing and sucking in air, his eyes widened at the harsh command in her tone. He nodded.

“Then don’t just lay there. You’re the Elven High Lord.” Wild-eyed, she flung out a hand and pointed at the door. “Get on your feet and clean up this mess, mister!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he wheezed. He reached out, and Sidhiel, Linwe and Luis helped him to his feet.

Bel whirled to Soren. “Take me with you!”

Launching from a crouch, Melly flung herself at them, her pretty face desperate. “Take me too!”

Soren didn’t waste time on any more words. He swept the two women together, and whirled them away.