Magic Rises (Kate Daniels 6)

Magic shifted. The shapeshifters sat, oblivious. This wouldn't be a normal dance.

"What are you up to?" I squeezed through my teeth.

"You've been sleepwalking for so long, you forgot who you are," he said "This is your wakeup call."

"What's going on?" Curran asked.

"Magic," I told him.

"Yours isn't the only ancient family," Hugh said.

Drums joined the reed pipes in a quick rhythm. Suliko and her partner backed up-he moving on his toes in tall leather boots, she gliding as if she had wheels-and split, moving to the far ends of the room. The woman stood, her arms raised, so graceful it was almost painful to watch. The man approached her, drawing a big circle with his feet, one arm bent at the elbow and pressed to the top of his chest, the other extended straight to the side. He stopped, dignified, waiting for the woman to accept the invitation. She did and they glided across the floor, their arms raised, in sync but never touching, a black raven and a white swan.

Magic wound about them in invisible currents. It tugged on me. It was impossible not to watch them.

The dancers split again.

The music quieted, the wild quick notes of the pipes slowing, careful rather than fast. The woman moved with breathtaking grace, gliding backward, turning . . . So beautiful. I couldn't look away. The magic held me spellbound.

Desandra began crying quietly. At the side tables, closest to the dancers, the people wept.

The music was now a mere breath of sound, delicate and intricate, pulling me in. Suliko turned . . .

Hugh picked up a knife and cut across my hand. Magic tore from my blood straight into the complex twisting currents surrounding the woman, like a lit match thrown into a room filled with gasoline fumes. The magic exploded.

Curran moved. I grabbed his arm before he could lunge at Hugh in full view of a dozen vampires and the Iron Dogs. "No!"

The currents spun, sparking with gold and purple, and a transparent scene unfolded, stretching the entire length of the room, hanging feet above the floor. A bloody battle raged on a vast field. Fire and lightning streaked. A machine gun spat glowing green bullets. Fighters tore at each other, shapeshifters disemboweled their opponents, vampires ripped into bodies in tactical armor. Carnage reigned, the roar, bellows, and moans of the dying blending into a terrible din.

A body fell aside, cleaved in two, and my aunt swung onto the scene. She wore the crimson blood armor and carried two swords. Blood stained her face, her hair flaring, loose. Fighters locked their ranks. She opened her mouth and screamed. The word of power burst from her. The magic cleaved through the fighters, mangling the bodies, straight as an arrow. My aunt tore into the gap, cutting like a dervish in a familiar lightning-fast pattern, severing limbs and spraying blood, unstoppable, without mercy.

"That's my girl." Hugh grinned.

She carved a shaggy ursine shapeshifter in half, disemboweling him with a precise stroke, and I saw her sword.

She carried Slayer.

The hair on the back of my neck rose. It wasn't my aunt. My aunt was dead.

I watched myself slaughter, reaping a harvest of lives, spitting magic and bringing death. On the left a clump of bodies exploded, and Hugh roared, covered in blood, a bloody axe in his hand. They connected, the blood armor-wearing Kate and Hugh, back to back. For a brief moment they stood alone in the carnage, and then they broke apart and charged back into battle.

The vision vanished. Suliko stood, her face shocked.

"What the hell is this?" Jarek Kral snarled.

"The future," Hugh said.

Hell no. No, this wouldn't be my future. Not if I had anything to say about it.

"No!" Suliko waved her arms. "A future!" Her accented voice vibrated with urgency. "Do not always to be this way. One possibility!"

She yelled something at Hugh in a language I didn't understand. The man moved between her and Hugh, shielding her.

"You lied!" Suliko screamed.

Her partner ushered her out. The musicians fled.

"No matter how much you fight, you are what you are," Hugh said to me. "Your boy knows it too, don't you, Lennart?"

"Enough." Curran growled. "Enough bullshit, d'Ambray. Let's go. You and me."

Lorelei got up and walked over to our table.

"Big talk," Hugh said. "Can you back it up?"

I stood up and held my arms out. "Ladies, you're both pretty. We still have a job to do. Last I checked, we were still guaranteeing Desandra's safety."

The two men glared at each other. They obviously didn't give a rat's ass about Desandra.

"I challenge you." Lorelei pointed at me.

I put my hand over my eyes.

"Sit the f**k down," Hugh told her.

"She'll kill you," Curran said. "Go sit down."

Lorelei opened her mouth.

"Sit down!" Curran roared.

Lorelei's face turned red. She shrank away. She must've rehearsed this, and being ordered back to her seat wasn't part of the fantasy.

A second Lorelei walked through the entrance.

Hugh swore. The first Lorelei gasped.

The second Lorelei winked at Curran and walked toward us. Her body flowed like molten wax, reshaping itself, and twisted into a new body, male, lean, and bald. Saiman held up a document and placed it in front of Curran.

"As requested. What did I miss?"

Curran took the document and scanned it. "George?"

George stepped toward him and examined the document. "Yes. Signed and notarized. It's legally binding."

"Show it to him."

George walked over and placed the paper in front of Jarek Kral. His eyes bulged. "What is this?"

"This is a contract between you and Lorelei Wilson, in which you promise her you will kill the Consort so Lorelei can take her place," Curran said. "In exchange she's supposed to provide you with one of our future children."

Everyone spoke at once.

"You bastard!" Desandra jumped to her feet. A mix of foreign words and English spilled out of her. "You sonovabitch. You would take his child over mine?"

"He's a First," Jarek roared. "It will be a child fit to rule. Not dirt like you."

Desandra's dress tore. Shreds of fabric fluttered to the ground and a huge werewolf in a warrior form dashed over the table toward Jarek. Damn it.

"No!" Doolittle yelled. "Not the half-form!"

Desandra leaped forward, landing in a crouch on the table. Jarek stood up, his face disgusted. His body expanded, fur sheathing his limbs. "You wouldn't dare-"

She swiped, huge claws like scythes. A chunk of Jarek's throat went airborne. I caught a glimpse of his spine, bloody and torn. Blood gushed. The enormous werewolf that was Jarek Kral leaped over the table at his daughter.