Magic Bleeds (Kate Daniels 4)

Naeemah gave me a patronizing look. “Bring the spear.”

I rose and got the spear. It was about five feet long, with a plain metal head, about nine inches long and close to three inches wide at the base. A tightly wrapped leather cord reinforced the socket, binding it to the shaft so well, the spear head seemed to sprout from the wood.

I raised the spear on the palms of my hands, bringing it to eye level. Bent. Almost as if it had been a branch at some point instead of a wooden pole cut perfectly straight from a larger piece of wood. Heavier than expected and very hard. The texture was odd, too, smooth, polished, and pale, like driftwood. Small black marks peppered the wood, etched into it with heated wire. Birds, lions, wavy lines, geometric figures . . . Hieroglyphs, written sideways on the shaft. Each set of characters was segregated by a horizontal line. Small vertical strokes ran in a ring just before the line, in some places only a few, in others so many they circled the shaft.

The burned marks ended a couple of feet from the spearhead. Interesting.

“Look there.” Naeemah pointed to the last set of hieroglyphs. Her face took on a regal air. She seemed ancient and unapproachable, like a mysterious statue from a long-forgotten age. “That is my name. Next to it is the name of my father. Following it is the name of his mother and then her older brother, and then their father, and their father’s father before him.”

“And these?” I drew my fingers across the short marks.

“Those are the assassins we have taken.” Naeemah sneered. “We don’t kill for profit. Any jackal can do that. We are the hunters of killers. That is what we do.”

I checked the last name. At least three dozen marks, maybe more.

“How old are you?”

“My sons had children before you were born. No more answers. Decide.”

I went to the door and stuck my head out. The blond shapeshifter waited for me in the precise spot Curran told her to stand.

“Do you have a key to the loup cage?”

“Yes, mate.” She pulled the key out and handed it to me.

“Thank you. And don’t call me ‘mate,’ please.”

“Yes, Alpha.”

Right.

Naeemah chuckled from her cage. I sighed and went inside.

I unlocked the door and handed her the spear. “It’s not as funny when you’re on the receiving end of it.”

Naeemah took two steps out of the cage and sat back down. I joined her.

“I let you out, and I’m due some answers. Who hired you?”

“Hugh d’Ambray.”

Knock me over with a feather.

It made sense in a twisted way. Hugh had seen me shatter the sword. He was either actively gathering information about me or planning to gather it, and he put a bodyguard in place to make sure nothing happened to me meanwhile. With my history, he ran the risk of standing on Roland’s carpet explaining that he had found his long-lost daughter, but she got herself killed before he could gather enough evidence to prove her identity. That would fly.

She’d pronounced Hugh’s name with distaste. I wondered why. “What’s your relationship to Hugh?”

“Some years ago, when my children were young, he killed a man one of my sons protected and captured my son. We bargained for my son’s life and I traded one favor of Hugh’s choosing.”

No love lost. Good for me, bad for Hugh. “Where is Hugh now?”

Naeemah’s smile turned predatory. “I don’t know. I’m not his keeper.”

I tried a different plan of attack. “What are the precise terms of your arrangement with Hugh?”

Naeemah chuckled again. “He ordered me to watch you and keep you safe from those who are a danger to you. I wasn’t to interfere or reveal myself unless your life was in grave peril.”

Curiouser and curiouser. “For how long?”

“He didn’t specify.”

I had a hunch I’d just found a loophole big enough to drive a cart through. “Is Hugh excluded from those who are a danger to me?”

Naeemah’s smile grew wider. “He didn’t specify.”

“Hugh isn’t as clever as he thinks he is.”

“That is a truth.”

“What if I told you that Hugh is the second biggest threat to me, second only to Erra?”

“I would say I already know this.”

“How?”

Naeemah leaned forward. The gaze of her black eyes fastened on me. “You shouldn’t have conversations by the window, when the wall of your house is easy to climb.”

She’d heard me and Andrea talking about Hugh. Probably every word.

“What will you do if Hugh attacks me?”

“I will protect you. My debt must be repaid.”

Score. “And how long will you continue to guard me?”

“That would depend on you.”

She had me there.

Naeemah drew herself straight. “I’ve protected people of power and people of wealth. Many, many people. I’ve judged you worthy. Don’t disappoint me.”

That was all I needed. Apparently, the Universe had decided that my life would be that much richer with a judgmental crocodile bodyguard in it. “I’ll keep it in mind. I’m going to fight Erra tonight. If you attempt to

‘rescue’ me again, I will kill you.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

I rose and Naeemah stood up with me. I had to do something with her and I had a feeling that getting her to work with the rest of the guards wouldn’t go over so well. She’d need her own space. “Come with me, please. We need to get you a room.”

She followed me out. The blond shapeshifter gaped at her, as if Naeemah were a cobra with her hood spread. Naeemah ignored her.

I headed back to Curran’s quarters, my two babysitters in tow.

Jim would just love this. If I wasn’t careful, I’d give him an aneurysm before my first month here was up.

CHAPTER 26

SUNSET BLED ON THE SKY, SMOLDERING IN ITS final death throes. The encroaching twilight tinted the buildings black, turning the blanket of snow indigo.

I sat on top of the building, watching bonfires illuminate the rim of the Mole Hole through binoculars. Curran sat next to me. He wore his warrior form: a seven-and-a-half-feet-tall gray creature stuck on the crossroads between man and beast.

After Curran’s guard suffered a collective apoplexy over Naeemah, I’d managed to install her into her own set of rooms and went to cook our dinner. The Beast Lord joined me a few minutes later. We made venison steak, french fries smothered in cheese, and a quick pumpkin pie. We ate, then we made love and slept, curled up together in his ridiculous bed, and then Curran changed into his warrior form and I spent two hours drawing the poem of Erra on Curran’s skin with a little tube of henna. When I got tired, I made him call Dali and she took over. Her handwriting was better anyway. I had no idea if it would offer him any protection, but at this point I would try anything.