We had won. It had cost hundreds of human lives, but we had won. We had the device. We'd rout the Keepers. Maybe I'd catch a break and Julie would survive.
"We're building another one!" the man behind me yelled through the sobs.
The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I turned slowly.
He cringed on the ground. Curran leaned to him. His face unreadable, his voice almost casual. "Run that by me again?"
"We had a man, a man on the inside." The man's words came out too fast, tumbling over each other. "He copied the inventor's plans. We've been building it for weeks. We just needed a working prototype to fine-tune it. It's three times as big as this one." Damn it all to hell.
"Range?" Curran asked.
"Five miles," the man stammered out.
Enough power to wipe out everything from the city center all the way to Druid Hills. They could kill most of the city. All they needed was a strong magic wave.
Curran pointed at Jim. "Tell that man everything you know. Location, time, names, everything."
Jim grabbed the man by the throat. His lips parted in a feral grin. "Don't keep anything to yourself."
"Barabas!" Curran roared.
The weremongoose stepped from the Pack. A hundred pounds, sheathed in reddish fur, Barabas opened his mouth filled with sharp teeth and licked his fangs. The narrow horizontal pupils slit his coral-red irises in half, making him look demonic.
"I need you human," Curran ordered.
Fur split, melting. A moment and Barabas stood in front of Curran, nude, his eyes still glowing with madness. "Lord?"
"Call the Conclave."
The Conclave started as a quarterly meeting between the Pack and the People, officiated by a neutral party, usually someone from the Mage Academy, and held at Bernard's, an upscale Northside restaurant. It gave the Pack and the People a chance to resolve problems before things spiraled out of hand. The last two times, representatives of other factions had attended to resolve their own issues. I had attended only one so far, because the meeting over the Christmas holiday had been canceled by mutual agreement.
"Should I schedule it at Bernard's?" Barabas asked.
"No. There." Curran pointed to a lonely Western Sizzlin' steak house sitting on a low hill. The building was all glass and stone. The tall windows overlooked the town. To get to the place, the leaders of the factions would have to ride through the graveyard that was Palmetto.
"When?"
"Four. Sunset is at six. I want them to see the town. Invite the mages, the druids, the witches, the Guild, the Natives, Norse Heritage. Invite everyone."
"Except the Order," I added. "The Keepers may have infiltrated it."
Curran nodded. "And if the cops restrict access to the area?" Barabas asked.
Gold rolled over Curran's eyes. "Buy the place. They can't restrict access to our own land. Go."
Barabas took off running.
"The volhvs have the inventor," I said. "We need access. I need to make some phone calls."
"I'll take you," Curran said.
We walked to the car. I was so tired, I could barely move.
"Curran?"
"Yes?"
Today was apparently the day for finding out what mating with me really meant. I nodded at the men. "One of them has my blood on his forehead. The blood must be destroyed or it can give me away if someone scans it."
Curran gave me a look usually reserved for the mentally challenged. "Someone would have to find the bodies, first."
Behind him the sounds of enraged boudas tore through the silence, followed by a cacophony of screams.
"In that case, cut off his head," I said.
Curran gave me a look like I was stupid.
"My father made the damn vampires. I don't know what my blood will do to a dead body. Cut off the guy's head before you bury him."
"Should I stuff his mouth with garlic?"
"Curran!"
"Fine," he said. "I'll take care of it."
I got into the car and slumped against the seat. The fatigue mugged me. I was hanging by a thread and I clawed onto it, desperately trying to stay awake. I had paced myself, but three power words in a row equaled a lot of magic spent far too quickly.
The screams went on and on, and I was too weak to get my slice of the revenge pie. I just sat there and listened to them shriek. Finally the howls died down. Curran approached the car and got into the driver's seat. "It's done." The woman in the dirty dress stumbled into our field of vision. Her hands were bloody. She swayed, wiped the red dripping off her fingers on her dress, forced her way through the old dried weeds onto the road, and kept going, back toward the town.
"She had her turn," Curran said.
Chapter 19
CURRAN DROVE BACK. I SAT IN THE PASSENGER SEAT, watching the brush roll by. Andrea and Jim had taken a different vehicle--he wanted to ask her some questions about the Keepers.
The magic had crashed shortly after we finished burying the bodies, and the steady hum of the gasoline engine set my teeth on edge. There was something mind-numbing about it; it conjured images of streets strewn with bodies. We had no idea where the second device would be activated. They could snuff out the entire Keep from four miles away. We'd never know what had hit us.
We'd stopped at a store on the way and I made four phone calls. One to Roman, to inform him that unless the volhvs delivered Adam Kamen by three o'clock to the Western Sizzlin' I would crucify them at the Conclave. I wanted a shot at Kamen before the rest of Atlanta took it. The second call was to Evdokia to let her know what I was doing about the volhvs and that if she wanted to come and sit in on it, I wouldn't mind. Next I called the Keep, to speak to Doolittle. The news was the same. No change. I thanked him and told him to send Derek with the volhv's staff to the Western Sizzlin'. The fourth call was to Rene. She didn't like what I had to say, and when she found out that the whole thing would be blown wide open at the Conclave, she liked it even less.
"When I hired you, I expected discretion." The phone clicked and small noises muffled the sound--she'd put me on speaker.
"When you hired me, I expected honesty. You told me you had no idea what Kamen's device did, but he'd tested the prototype in the forest. You told me he'd had no visitors, when one of the investors came to see him on multiple occasions."
There was a small pause, and then Rene's voice said, "What is she talking about?"
Henderson's baritone answered. "Sorry, Captain."
"`Sorry,' Sergeant?"