Magic Bleeds (Kate Daniels 4)

“Tremor.” Power of earth. Lovely. By all rights, he shouldn’t have been able to make sinkholes, given that the ground was frozen solid, but apparently someone forgot to mention it to him.

Tremor surveyed the grounds, looking for the next target.

“He’ll never break the ward,” someone said to my right.

Oh yes, he will. Trust me on this. “I wouldn’t count on it. Your wards are very strong but your magic is too young for him.”

A gray-haired woman gave me a pitying look, usually reserved for imbeciles. “Our wards are written in a language that was twelve hundred years old before the Common Era began. Even Unicorn Lane can’t breach them.”

I pointed at Tremor. “Twelve hundred years before the Common Era, Erra was thirty centuries young. He predates your language.”

A bout of hysterical barking came from the left. Idiot dog, making himself a target.

“Open the ward.” I started down the stairs.

“That isn’t wise,” Peter called out. “The spell will hold.”

“Out of the question. It’s too dangerous.” The older woman crossed her arms. “We won’t be held responsible for your death or damage to the Temple.”

Tremor took a step toward my poodle.

“Open the damn ward, or I will break it!”

Tremor turned away from the dog, swiped the golem’s head off the snow, and hurled it at the Temple. It flew through the air, cleared the ward in a flash of silver, and shattered against the Temple’s door. Of course—the golems belonged to the Temple and the ward was keyed to them, so they could pass through it. He’d pelt the Temple with golem remains, and when he’d run out of bodies to throw, he’d stomp over here himself.

The rabbis stared at the shards of the broken head. Tremor reached for another body.

The gray-haired woman looked up. “Peter, open the ward!”

White light streamed down. I stepped through, and the ward surged shut behind me. I started toward Tremor, pulling on the clasp of the cloak.

Tremor turned to face me. He wore the face of Solomon Red. Surprise, surprise.

The cloak slid off my shoulders and fell on the snow. I kept walking. Nice and slow.

Solomon regarded me with a condescending grin. He never smiled. Like a drunk straining every muscle to appear sober, Solomon did his best to hide the fact that he couldn’t read behind a mask of grave importance. But now he smirked at me with obvious contempt. An agile intelligence lit his eyes. Erra’s intelligence.

Solomon opened his mouth. A familiar female voice spilled forth. “You again. This is the best the priests can do? Or are they trying to entertain me?”

I swung my sword, warming up my wrist. “Why are you a woman?”

“Why can’t I be a woman?”

Because it fucks up my family tree. “Because Erra’s poem says you’re a man.”

Solomon shrugged. “You shouldn’t put your trust into the ramblings of senile temple rats.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Any other pearls of wisdom?”

“None that would help you live through the next minute.” Solomon spread his arms and pulled them together as if pushing a great weight before him.

The ground shook beneath my feet.

I leapt up and to the left. A sinkhole gaped where I’d stood. I landed and jumped again, barely avoiding another pit. All around me holes opened, like greedy black mouths in the snow, and I hopped between them like a chicken on hot tin. I dashed right, then left. Unless I learned to fly, I’d never get to him.

Solomon laughed in Erra’s voice.

Usually I saved my magic as a last resort, but this was the old power and now wasn’t a good time to screw around. I had to hit him now and hit him hard.

I took a deep breath and barked a power word. “Ossanda.” Kneel.

The world reeled in a haze of pain. Like grabbing a handful of my own flesh and ripping it out. I reeled, but didn’t go down.

Solomon’s mouth gaped open. A dull roar like the sound of a rockslide spilled from his lips. His knees hit the dirt. Who’s laughing now?

The holes in the ground closed. I ran.

The power word had drained too much of my magic, and every step turned into a battle of will. Like dragging lead chains. I kept running.

Snow flew under my feet. Solomon shuddered. Thick cords of muscle bulged on his thighs.

Ten feet.

Six.

Three.

I struck in a classic overhead blow designed to cleave through his neck. As I swung, dirt thrust between us. The saber’s blade sliced through soil and came away clean. Missed. Shit.

A thick mound jutted where Solomon had knelt. Trying to thrust through it would break the blade and accomplish nothing.

“First, you kneel, then you hide. So far I’m not impressed.”

The mound exploded. Chunks of dirt pelted the snow. Solomon lunged at me, laughing.

I dodged and carved at his side. Slayer sliced a narrow line just under Solomon’s ribs. Red gushed. Solomon whipped about and backhanded me. The punch smashed into my chest. I flew, slid through the snow, and crashed against something. Cold sliced my right side, as if someone had thrust an icicle into my kidney. My lungs burned. Colored circles swam before my eyes. I must’ve hit my head.

I squinted—the body of a broken golem. Warm sticky liquid wet my side. I wanted a shower to wash it off . . . Yep, definitely hit my head.

“Shake it off,” Erra said. “Come on. Up you go.”

I jerked myself free. The golem’s spear jutted out, propped by its corpse, and its spearhead was red with my blood. Just what I need.

“Have your eyes cleared yet?”

“Hold your horses. I’m coming.” Yeah, not so much.

“From where I stand, you’re just breathing laboriously.”

The snow swam in and out of focus. “Breathing hard. Are you coming or just breathing hard. You’ve got to get your one-liners straight.”

“Thanks. I’ll remember that.”

The blurry haze cleared and I saw Solomon charging at me on all fours.

No time. I braced my back against the golem and gripped Slayer with both hands.

Solomon loomed over me. “Time to pray.”

I kicked my leg up, catching him in the gut, and thrust into his chest. Slayer slid into the flesh between his ribs. The point met resistance and it vanished.

Solomon’s huge hands tried to grip at me, but my foot on his stomach held him back. Pressure ground at my bones. God, he was a heavy bastard. I twisted the blade, trying to rupture the heart.