Ilona Andrews - Magic Rises

Everyone shut up.

Saiman leaned back. A subtle change came over him. He seemed to belong here on the deck of the ship. He opened his mouth and sang out, in a rough but clear voice.

“Old Storm Along is dead and gone!”

The crew caught the melody and sang out in a chorus. “Ay, ay, ay, Mr. Storm Along!”

“Old Storm Along is dead and gone!” Saiman called out, louder.

“Ay, ay, ay, Mr. Storm Along!”

Something stirred beneath the ship like a slumbering giant slowly waking up from a deep sleep.

“It’s a sea shanty,” Curran whispered to me.

Magic streamed from Saiman and the crew, melting together, seeping into the steel bones of the ship, as if they were at once bringing it to life with their voices and making it theirs in the process.

When Stormy died, I dug his grave,

Ay, ay, ay, Mr. Storm Along!

I dug his grave with a silver spade,

Ay, ay, ay, Mr. Storm Along!

Something purred deep within the ship. Magic sparked deep below. The hair on the back of my neck rose. The song and magic braided together and pulled me in. I wanted to join in, even though I didn’t know the words and my singing would scare off the fish in the ocean. The crew was singing full out now, Saiman’s voice blending with the others, part of the strong powerful chorus, its rhythm like the beating of a heart.

I hove him up with an iron crane,

Ay, ay, ay, Mr. Storm Along!

And lowered him down with a golden chain,

Ay, ay, ay, Mr. Storm Along!

The enchanted water generators came on, expelling magic in a thrilling cascade. The Rush shuddered and pulled away from the pier.

Wind bathed us, pulling at my hair. Another tremor shook the ship. The Rush surged forward, into the ocean. The crew clapped. Saiman took a bow, grinning. I had no idea he had it in him.

“We’re off,” Curran said.

“Yes, we are.” We would get there, we would fight, and we would return.

We hit our first storm one day out. The ocean churned and boiled, its waters leaden gray and frothy with foam. Huge waves rolled, each as big as a house, and our large cutter bobbed up and down, tossed about like a paper boat. Water hammered at the hull, and the vessel careened until I thought it would overturn and the lot of us would drown, only to roll back the other way the next second.

Saiman tied himself outside. When I asked the crew to check on him, they assured me that the ship needed a forward lookout and this was his favorite thing to do. I made it to the bridge and caught a glimpse outside. The world looked like a nightmare, with wind and water locked together in a furious primal combat. Saiman stared into the wind with a big smile on his rain-splattered face, while the ocean pretended it was a moving mountain range. The waves would crest and drench the deck, and he would disappear from view behind the curtain of water.

While Saiman was getting his freak on outside, the rest of us huddled belowdecks. One by one we all gathered in the mess hall. It was either safety in numbers or misery loves company—either one would do. Eduardo and Barabas seemed to be having the worst time of the lot. Eduardo paled and prayed quietly, while Barabas hugged his bucket and looked green. Finally Barabas informed us that it was fitting that he would die here after being dumped and he was sorry he was taking us with him. Eduardo told him to shut up and offered to throw him into a lifeboat, and then Barabas demonstrated that weremongooses did go zero to sixty in less than a second and offered to amuse himself by playing with Eduardo’s guts. They had to be told to go and sit in separate corners of the mess hall. I curled up next to Curran and fell asleep. If the ship decided to sink, there wasn’t much I could do about it.

The magic drowned the technology soon after midnight. By morning the ocean had smoothed out and the ship had stopped trying to impersonate a drunken sailor at the end of his first night of liberty.

We got some breakfast and I escaped the mess hall and climbed onto the deck. The sea lay perfectly calm, like an infinite translucent crystal, polished to satin smoothness. The magic engines made almost no noise and the ship glided over the bottomless blue depths. The ocean and the sky seemed endless.

I surveyed the sea for a few long minutes and moved on to explore the deck. In the rear I found a large clear space marked by an H . A helipad. No helicopter in sight. I walked out onto the helipad. Such a nice clear space. I felt slightly off after sleeping on the floor. A little exertion would do me good. I stretched, turned, and kicked the air. And one more time. I launched a quick combination, jumped, and smashed my foot into an invisible opponent’s chin.

“A knockout,” Curran said behind me.

I jumped in the air about a foot and managed to land with some semblance of dignity. He had managed to sneak up on me again. Time to save face. “Nah. That wasn’t a knockout. I just staggered him a bit.”

“I wasn’t talking about the kick, baby.”

Oh. “Smooth, Your Furriness.” I backed up and spread my arms. “Want to play?”

He pulled off his shoes.

Five minutes later, we were rolling around on the helipad as he tried to muscle his way out of my armlock, after slamming me onto the helipad.

“I finally realized the source of your mutual attraction,” Saiman said, his voice dry.

I looked up. He was standing a few feet away.

“Do enlighten us.” Curran tried to roll into me to break the lock. Oh no you don’t.

“You both think violence is foreplay.”

I laughed.

Derek came over, moving in that languid wolfish stride, took off his boots and socks, and dropped down into a one-armed push-up. He was still doing them fifteen minutes later, when Barabas and Keira emerged onto the helideck and began sparring. Barabas was shockingly fast, but Keira and Jim clearly shared a gene pool, because she just kept on coming.

Andrea and Raphael were next, and then Eduardo, George, and Mahon also found the helideck. Watching Eduardo and Mahon spar was like watching two rhinos trying to wrestle. They smashed against each other and then puffed and strained for ten minutes without moving an inch. Finally, red-faced, they broke apart and shook.

“Thank you,” Eduardo said.

“Good match,” Mahon said.

Raphael stripped off his shirt. He wore a black muscle shirt underneath that left his shoulders exposed. Andrea raised her eyebrows, clearly appreciating the view. Raphael walked out onto the helipad with a plain six-inch knife in his hand. It was the only weapon permitted during the Pack challenges, and during the marathon of shapeshifter attacks that earned me my place as the Pack’s “Beast Lady,” I had gotten very good use out of mine. Barabas joined Raphael. They clashed, lightning fast, and danced across the helipad. The core difference between a sword fighter and a knife fighter wasn’t speed or strength. When a swordmaster took out his sword, the outcome wasn’t always certain. He might have meant to injure his opponent or to disarm him. But when a knife fighter pulled out a knife, he meant to kill.

Aunt B walked out onto the helipad wearing loose yoga pants. “I’m just here to stretch. Kate, want to help?”

“Sure.”

Thirty seconds later, as I was flying through the air, I decided that this wasn’t the best idea.

“Watch yourself,” Doolittle said. He sat on the side, holding a book.

“Are you going to join us, Doc?” Raphael asked.

“I’m sunbathing,” Doolittle told him. “And enjoying my book. Don’t bother me with your foolishness.”

Barabas held up a folder. “As long as we’re all here, I need to brief you on our situation.”