Magic Triumphs (Kate Daniels 10)

I vomited a power word. “Osanda!”

They crashed to the ground. Carolina tried to crawl to me, but my magic clamped her down.

The mist of undead blood settled over me, flowing, shaped by my will, turning into armor. It coated my arms, my stomach, my back, impenetrable but flexible, the color of a ruby, the color of my blood. The mist congealed on Sarrat, forming a blood edge. I felt all my chains fall away. All the brakes were gone.

The drained vamp fell next to me. I charged.

The first sahanu tried to counter and I cut him in half with one swing. Carolina came at me, swinging her hammer. I sidestepped and cut off her arm at the elbow. She screamed, and I added a second mouth across her navel to put her down. A woman stabbed my back with her spear. A jolt of pain ripped through me as the armor absorbed the impact. I spun and beheaded her.

Gust dropped from above, diving with his blades.

I spat a focused blast of magic at him. “Hessad.” Mine.

His mind broke under the pressure like a cracked walnut. He landed, mine before his feet touched the ground.

“Amehe,” I ordered, sending a sharp arrow of power through him. Obey.

In front of me Arsenic spat a power word. I flattened my magic into a shield and it glanced off. “Kill!” I told Gust.

The green-haired sahanu sprinted at Arsenic, his twin blades raised for the kill. The other assassin twisted out of the way, sprouting spikes on his arms.

Gust whirled like a dervish. The spikes pierced him in the same moment he buried his left sword in Arsenic’s chest. They sank to the ground together, but I was already moving. The world faded to the vivid precision of battle. Every moment mattered. Every step counted. There was no other place like it. This was my calling. This was what I did, and I danced through the battlefield, through the spray of blood and boiling magic, the sword of my grandmother’s bones singing a song as it bridged life and death.

I cut them to pieces. I disemboweled and maimed. They would never again scare my son.

The last sahanu collapsed.

The ground at my feet was bloody. Pieces of human bodies littered it.

I turned around.

The knights stood on the street, their faces wearing identical expressions: eyebrows raised, eyes wide open, mouth a tense half-open slash across the face. Fear.

The vampire had frozen, Conlan in its arms. My son was looking straight at me.

Damn it, Javier. That wasn’t something Conlan should’ve seen. I had to mitigate it. I dissolved the ward and walked toward them, killing the magic in my blood armor. It crumpled to dust. I walked to him, my magic swirling around me. I had no cloak and I didn’t care.

Cabrera and Norwood took a step back. Younger remained, awe on his face. He raised his hand toward me, fingers trembling, and Norwood yanked him back.

I raised my arms. Conlan reached for me, and I took my baby from the vamp, my magic spilling freely out of me. Conlan hugged my neck and petted my hair. “Shai.”

Oh, how I wished I were shiny and not a killer.

A Jeep rocketed onto the street, taking the corner too sharply. Another followed, then an SUV, then a truck.

The first Jeep screeched to a halt, and Martha jumped out of it, moving much faster than a plump woman twice my age should’ve moved.

Six vampires came scuttling over the roof, in assorted colors of sunblock, like someone spilled a bag of Skittles. Taste the undead rainbow.

“Secure the perimeter,” the lead one barked, landing next to Javier’s vampire. “Sitrep?”

Beside me Javier’s vamp looked to the left, looked to the right, and unhinged its jaws. “The first generation of the sahanu is dead. The second generation of the sahanu is dead. The Order of Sahanu is dead. Everybody is dead.” Javier paused. “Praise be to In-Shinar, the Merciful.”

“Stop it,” I growled at him.

“Right,” the team leader said. “Team One Leader to Mother, fourteen bandits down, no pulse, scene hot, the Dove and Chick are secure. Advise?”

The dove? Kate Lennart, the Dove? Just when exactly had I ever done anything remotely dovelike?

The vamps had spread through the street, taking positions on the buildings.

“Roger. Team One, hold position until cleanup complete.” The vamp swiveled to me. “Cleanup crew is on the way, ma’am.”

Martha reached me, with George at her heels. “I’m so sorry. We thought he was down for a nap. He shouldn’t have been able to open the latch on the window bars.”

Oh, but he did. I was mother to the smartest boy alive. I hugged him to me. He was still alive. He could’ve died. He would’ve died if Curran hadn’t called to tell me he was missing.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. My knees almost gave, and I locked them in place.

George wrapped her arm around me. “It’s okay,” she said. “He’s alive and safe. It’s okay.”

She held on to me for another moment and let me go.

The cars kept coming. The street filled with female shapeshifters. The ones I recognized were from Clan Heavy. Ten, no twelve . . .

“Who are all these people?” I asked George.

“The book club,” she told me.

I pulled my magic back into me. “Has anybody heard from Curran?”

“I called him at the Guild when Conlan came up missing,” George said.

“Ma’am,” Javier said. “I have a report from the patrols. The Guild is under attack. Would you like us to assist?”

“Yes!”

“Team Three, In-Shinar requests assistance at the Guild.” Javier’s vamp scuttled away.

Martha turned and roared, “Turn around! Everyone back to the cars! My son needs help at the Guild.”

Clan Heavy ran back to their cars.

I turned to the knights. “Help or get out of the way.”

Norwood stepped aside, and I ran to the nearest car, Conlan in my arms.

CHAPTER

13

DURING THE GUILD’S remodel, the architect decided to mitigate some of the damage to the building by adding a small balcony to the top floor. Framed by bay French doors, the recessed balcony was tucked away in the north wall, facing the Guild parking lot, all but invisible from the ground. The mercs called it Christopher’s Roost. Sometimes, at dawn or dusk, he’d come here and stand on the rail, watching the sun, before he sprouted his blood-red wings and soared into the air. I liked to come here during the day. I’d brought some plants—nothing fancy, some ivies, bamboo, and pothos—three chairs, and a big beanbag stuffed with sawdust.

I sat in my chair now, Conlan asleep on the beanbag, and watched the flurry of activity below. Corpses littered the parking lot. Neig had sent a dozen of his creatures to attack the Guild. We pulled into the parking lot in time to see Curran rip the last of them in half. He’d grasped the beast by the neck and the arm and pulled him apart like he was tearing a piece of paper.

Now he was below, supervising the cleanup. Biohazard had been called, but there was no telling when they would get here. Meanwhile, the bodies had to be secured, the parking lot salted and disinfected with fire, and the wounded treated. I’d excused myself from all of it. I’d had my fight.

Someone walked up the stairs behind me. They moved quietly, but all of my senses were still keyed up and I recognized the sound.

“Hi, Martha.”

The older woman sat in the chair next to me and handed me a cup of tea. I sipped. It was half honey.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“That’s okay. He’s full of surprises.”

Martha glanced at me and drank her tea. “We put him down in his room for a nap.”

George loved her nephew so much, she’d set a room aside for him in her house. Every time I saw it, it always cheered me up.

“There is one window in the room,” Martha said.

“I know.” It was a small window about five feet off the ground, secured with a grate of silver bars.

“The grate has a latch,” Martha said.

I nodded. Most bedrooms had grates that could be unlocked, otherwise the bedroom would become a death trap in a fire.

“A lion cub can’t open the latch. It’s intricate.” She sipped her tea. “It requires human dexterity.”

Where was she going with this?