Shatter the Earth (Cassandra Palmer 10)

“What about you?”

“I’ll hold them off until you’re clear—”

“And then what?”

“It doesn’t matter! My life is over; hers is just beginning. Now quickly—out the window!”

Mircea and I looked at each other, and then mutually shifted around the corner, just as the window was kicked out and a small figure emerged, with a baby sized lump under his cloak. He hit the ground and took off for the woods, but a familiar looking, white fletched arrow slammed into his back a second later. He hit down, face first; a baby cried, a startled intake of breath; and I grabbed for Mircea, knowing without being told what was about to happen.

Only to find out I was lashed to a damned tree truck!

Quick study, I thought grimly. And lassoed him back, with a thick coil of the Pythian power, halfway to the fallen child. It was almost a miss, he was moving so quickly, but the shimmering coil grabbed one ankle and I jerked, hard enough that he hit the ground. Just before a squad of fey warriors came running around the house.

Chapter Twenty-Six

There had to be twenty of them, and more inside judging by the sounds of combat. They were the same kind of fey we’d faced at Vlad’s city: Svarestri, their long, silver hair gleaming in the moonlight, like the blades they’d just unstrapped from their backs. I didn’t understand why at least twenty guys were needed against one, three-foot-tall, possibly dead whatever, but right then, I didn’t care.

All I cared about was Mircea, who was already breaking free, who was surging to his feet, who was still surging to his feet, who was surging some more and would be for a while, because I’d just hit him with a slowdown.

Fortunately, nobody noticed me doing it, but he was far too visible on the open ground for safety. All the Svarestri had to do was look down and a little to the left—and then one did. So, I hit him, too.

It would have made more of an impression on his companions, except that he was still on his feet, looking like he’d merely paused. And because the others were distracted. Somehow, the hooded figure was up on his own feet—or hooves, or whatever he had under there. I didn’t know, because I couldn’t concentrate on it, being too busy shifting Mircea back to me, and preparing to shift us both out.

But the problem with vampires is that they’re damned tricky! Which is why I was left clutching thin air when he broke free of the time spell and shifted away. And he’d been smart enough to shift out of sight, meaning that I had to go find him before I could get us the hell out of there—assuming that I could.

I wouldn’t be willing to place any bets on that, after two slowdowns in a row. In fact, I shouldn’t even have been able to manage that last one, not after shifting all this way first. Why I wasn’t passed out on my face, I didn’t know, like I didn’t know where the hell Mircea was.

And then I did, when a familiar body came crashing through the side of the house.

What he’d been doing in there was a mystery, but maybe he’d heard a cry from Elena. If so, his ears were still better than mine. I couldn’t hear anything over the sounds of curses and the ring of sword on sword combat coming from a huge cloud of dust where the small creature had been standing.

To make matters worse, someone decided to throw a spell, which I guessed missed or was deflected. Because it hit the goat pen, destroying part of the fence, and leading to a stampede of small bodies through the clearing—including the part that I was currently using! And before I could get out of the way, the warning bells in my head started up again, letting me know that the timeline was currently imperiled.

Yes, I know, thank you, I thought savagely, crawling through a forest of tiny hooves—just how many goats did one village have, anyway? –and then through the ruined wall in the house.

And right back out again when somebody grabbed my leg and jerked.

I slammed whoever it was in the face with my foot, rolled over when they let go, and found myself staring up at Svarestri warrior. That would normally have had me pissing myself, but I was too angry right now. And since Mircea wasn’t around to take it out on, the fey got it, instead.

More accurately, he got shifted into the top of a tall tree, which he promptly fell out of, bouncing limb to limb to limb before disappearing into the forest. Because I can learn, too, Mircea! And then I flip

ped back over, only to see the bastard in question—

In the house again, fighting back to back with his former wife against a crap ton of Svarestri.

I scrambled to my feet, wondering why they needed so many elite fey warriors to capture one small woman.

Okay, maybe that’s why, I realized, as I finished taking in the scene. Half of the fey were already dead, and the other half were getting sliced and diced by a master vamp who was definitely not playing, and a crazed woman with a gleaming sword in her hand. It looked like she’d ripped it off one of the guards lying lifelessly on the floor, because it was fey, too.

Of course, how she’d done that when they were armed and she—presumably—had not been was an open question. But might have had something to do with the fact that she was moving so fast I could barely follow the motion. And that was with vamp eyesight!

And, suddenly, we were all out of fey, except for those in the yard, I supposed. Only a glance over my shoulder showed that the tiny man seemed to be holding his own as well, arrow in the back or not. At least, as far as I could tell, since the dust cloud left me mostly looking at fey heads, elbows and swords that flickered into view, here and there. I couldn’t see him at all, but the fact that they were still fighting indicated that he wasn’t dead.

Unlike I was about to be, because Elena had just leapt off a table at me, gleaming sword in hand.

I screamed, because that’s what I do when someone’s trying to murder me, and shifted onto the roof. Only to have a dainty looking fist punch through it a second later and grab my foot, trying to jerk me back down. And reminding me of her daughter more every minute, I thought, grasping hold of a few sheaves’ worth of thatch and then shifting her into the middle of the damned road.

That was about the time that I noticed the people—regular, peasant type people—