Ilona Andrews - Magic Breaks

How could this be?

He was broken. He was broken, damn it. His bones had been crushed. His face had been battered. Curran had snapped his spine like a toothpick, and here he was casually strolling in, like it was nothing. His face showed no signs of the broken bones. His skin had no burn marks. The scar on his cheek was missing. He looked . . . younger. Less carved up by fighting. Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe it was Saiman wearing Hugh’s skin, or . . .

Hugh met my gaze. Icy blue eyes laughed at me.

The hair on the back of my neck rose. It was him. Hugh was in those eyes and I would know him anywhere.

I had no idea what my father had done, but he had somehow fixed his favorite human wrecking ball. Dear God, how much magic did it take? How . . . ?

It meant Roland knew. I’d been trying to pretend that Hugh had died and I’d almost managed to convince myself that Roland didn’t know about me, but Hugh’s continued existence just ripped right through my denial. Roland had healed him. They had talked. My father knew . My father was coming for me.

Fuck.

Jim smiled, showing his teeth. Next to him, Barabas froze.

A small hysterical voice inside my head screamed, Run! Run!

I quashed it. I had no sword. None of us had any weapons. Now wasn’t the time to panic.

We were on the third floor. There were only two exits, the front door leading out and the back door, which wasn’t an exit but an entrance to a narrow hallway that led to a sunroom. I would have to go through Hugh to get to the front door. Hugh outweighed me by sixty-five pounds and I had experienced what his body could do. I wouldn’t get past him without a sword. The back door was our only option for retreating with minimal casualties. I had to get my people out of here in one piece. I could freak out about all of this later.

The journeymen gaped at Hugh. Most of them probably didn’t recognize him. Ghastek’s face went white. So did Ryan’s. They knew exactly who he was and what he was capable of.

Ghastek recovered first and stood up. “We didn’t expect you, Commander.”

Translation: What the hell are you doing here?

Hugh moved to stand next to Ghastek. Ghastek was tall. Hugh dwarfed him. “My fault. I should’ve called ahead.”

Hugh smiled. He was wearing his affable, pleasant disguise. No need to bother, I’m just one of the guys. I topple governments, reap a harvest of death, and revel in violence, but please don’t get up on my account.

This would end badly.

Hugh waited. Ghastek woke up and stepped aside. “Please sit down.”

“You should introduce me,” Hugh told him and took a seat.

Ghastek chewed on that for a second. This is my colleague, a nearly immortal psychotic warlord . . .

“Please welcome Hugh d’Ambray,” Ghastek said. “He is a representative of our main office and he has sweeping executive powers.”

“Let’s not be so formal,” Hugh said. “Please carry on with your business. I’ll just sit here quietly and observe.”

Ghastek and I looked at each other.

“Please,” Hugh invited. “I believe there was something about a building?”

Ryan Kelly’s mouth remained firmly shut. Everyone looked at me. Apparently I was supposed to say something.

“The building in question is a ruin that Medrano Reclamations is going to pull apart. They’ll salvage the materials, sell them off, and move on.”

“I’m aware of how the reclamation process works,” Ryan said, his voice carefully neutral. “The reclamation isn’t the issue. It’s the location of the building. We object to the Pack playing fast and loose with our city border.”

Fast and loose? Somebody had renewed his subscription to Catchphrase Monthly . “Are you aware of where the border lies?”

“Of course I’m aware.”

“Then you do acknowledge that the building is on our side of it?”

“Yes, but the building, as you yourself have indicated, is a ruin. It is partially on our side and according to our agreement, the Pack can’t purchase property within our territory.”

“You’re right.” I raised my hand and Barabas put a paper into it. “An independent appraisal done by the city shows approximately four hundred fifty-five cubic yards of debris on your side of the border, of which seventy-five percent is defined as loose concrete and magic-reduced powder, fifteen percent as wood, and ten percent as assorted metal, all of it valued at approximately fifteen hundred dollars. Which is why we have prepared this grant. As a show of good faith toward the continued cooperation and friendly relations between our two factions, the Pack hereby gifts the value of said debris to the People to do with as they please.”

I held the paper out. Ryan took it and paused, unsure. “Commander, would you like to . . . ?”

Hugh shook his head.

Why are you here? What are you planning?

Ryan read the paper. “Looks right.”

“The People thank the Pack for their generous gift,” Ghastek said.

“The Pack thanks the People for their continued cooperation.” Good, great, let’s get the hell out of here.

Hugh leaned forward, looked at me, and said in a quiet conversational tone, “Do you ever just get bored at these things and want to punch someone?”

“Punch any of mine, and I’ll break your arm off and beat you to death with it.”

“Kate.” Ghastek’s voice vibrated with a warning. “I don’t think you quite grasp the situation.”

Hugh grinned. “That’s my girl.”

Ghastek blinked.

Jim bared all his teeth in a feral snarl.

“Do the People have any other issues?” I asked.

“Not at this time,” Ghastek said, his gaze fixed on me and Hugh.

“Fantastic. The Pack has no further issues either.”

Hugh cleared his throat.

The doors burst open and four people I’d never seen before hauled in a tarp.

I got the hell out of my chair and backed away. My people backed away with me.

The four dropped the tarp on the table with a thud. The plates and cups went flying. The bloody, ripped-up body of a man splayed out in front of us, his clothes shredded and stained with sticky redness. The thick metallic stench of blood hit me.

The two renders behind me went furry in a whirl of twisting flesh.

The corpse’s stomach had been sliced open, the edges carved with the telltale marks of shapeshifter claws. His intestines bulged out in thick clumps. His face was a bloodstained mess, but I recognized him instantly.

Claire screamed. The journeymen shied back from the table. Everyone said something at once.

“Your people murdered Mulradin Grant,” Hugh said, his voice drowning out the others.

“Let’s not lose our heads,” Ghastek warned.

“Show me proof!” Jim snarled.

“Look at the body.” Hugh pointed to the corpse. “He’s all the proof anyone will need.”

Even the greenest recruit fresh out of the police academy would instantly identify these wounds. The spread of the gashes, the pattern, the size of the gouges, all of it was unmistakable. Mulradin had been murdered by a shapeshifter.

“There is no proof that this was done by a member of the Pack,” I barked. “You employ shapeshifters in your goon squad.”

Claire rocked back and forth. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Ghastek said.

Hugh pointed at him. “You—be quiet. The Pack claims dominion over all shapeshifters in the state. They bear full responsibility.”

“Don’t bring my people into it,” I said. “I’ll make you regret it.”

“I love it when you make threats,” Hugh said.

“You’ll love what follows even more.”

Ghastek kept looking at Hugh, then at me, at Hugh, then at me.