Ilona Andrews - Magic Bleeds

It had been a long time since I had tasted Boone’s Farm. Drinking was no longer my preferred entertainment. “It’s a he. Please don’t insult my faithful canine companion.”

Saiman turned and strode to his sleek, bullet-shaped vehicle, disfigured by the bloated front end containing the enchanted water engine.

I petted the poodle. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you bite him if he gets out of line.”

The dog wagged his tail. Either Saiman smelled tasty, or my poodle had good instincts.

I mounted, swaying a bit, and nudged Marigold into action. Even if I did fall along the way, I’d likely land in a snowdrift. Any landing you could walk away from was a good landing.

THE MAGIC WAVE KEPT GOING. MY APARTMENT would give any meat freezer a run for its money. I couldn’t avoid the woodstove forever.

I’d been thinking about the female Steel Mary the entire time I rode to my apartment and was getting nowhere. A woman’s voice came out of the undead water mage’s mouth but I couldn’t recall it well enough to compare it to the Steel Mary’s. So either there were two women working together, or there was only one woman, six and a half feet tall, expert with a spear, with the ability to pilot the undead, use power words, and create pandemics.

Nothing I’d read even remotely fit that scenario. I’d have to rely on Saiman’s ability to read the parchment.

I pulled my shoes off and trudged into the kitchen. The red light on my answering machine was blinking.

I pushed the button.

“Got your note,” Christy’s voice said. “Someone ripped out the lock on your screen and pinned the paper to your front door with a nail. It’s rain-stained, but I think it says, ‘I’m here, you’re not. Call me.’ ”

He did come to see me with broken bones. A day too late and a dollar short.

The second message was from Andrea.

“Hey. It’s me. Raphael says that Curran’s been a real bastard since about mid-November. He’s in a bad mood, he’s snarling at everything and everyone, and he stopped hearing petitions. The big items that have to be done get done, but no new projects have been approved. Raphael’s been trying to get financing from the Pack to buy out a competing business. He says the last time he brought it up, Curran almost bit his head off. He apparently stalks the Keep halls at night, looking for someone to chew out.”

“He needs to get laid!” Raphael’s voice called out from a distance.

“Shush. Raphael’s mad because he can’t get his thingie approved.”

“My thingie would make us money,” Raphael yelled. “Not getting it approved is costing us money we could be making.”

“ Anyway ,” Andrea said, “I thought you ought to know.”

The message ended.

The answering machine was still blinking. There was another message and I had a pretty good idea who it was from.

For a while I sat in the kitchen and petted the attack poodle, deciding whether I should listen to the message or just erase it. Finally I pushed the button and Curran’s voice filled the room.

“You can run, but it won’t matter. I will find you and we will talk. I’ve never asked or expected you to deal with me on shapeshifter terms, but this is juvenile even by human standards. You owe me an answer. Here, I’ll make it easy for you. If you want me, meet me and I’ll explain my side of what happened. Or you can run away from me the way you always do, and this time I won’t chase you. Decide.”

“You’ve lost your mind,” I told the answering machine.

I played the message a couple of times more, listening to his voice. He’d had his chance and blown it. I’d paid for it. It would be stupid to risk this kind of pain again. Plain stupid.

I slumped in my chair. The rock in my chest cracked into sharp pieces. Thinking about letting him go hurt. But then he wasn’t mine to let go in the first place.

My father taught me many things. Guard yourself. Never become attached. Never take a chance. Never take a risk if you don’t have to. And more often than not, he proved right. Taking stupid risks only landed you into hotter water.

But if I let Curran go without a fight, I would regret it for the rest of my life. I would rather drag a dozen rocks in my chest and know that he wasn’t my chance at happiness, than walk away and never be sure. And that’s all he wanted—to be sure. We both deserved to know.

As much as it pained me to admit it, Curran was right. I never made allowances for him being a shapeshifter. I always expected him to deal with me as a human. He didn’t think I could meet him on his home turf and play by his rules.

Big mistake, Your Majesty. You want me to act like a shapeshifter? Fine, I can do that. I pulled up the phone and dialed a number from memory.

“Yes?” Jim answered.

“I was told that shapeshifters declare their romantic interest by breaking into each other’s territory and rearranging things.”

There was a slight pause. “That’s correct.”

“Does the cat clan use this ritual?”

“Yes. Where are you going with this?”

When on shaky ground in negotiations, shovel on some guilt. “Do you remember when I stood by you during the Midnight Games, even though you were wrong and your people attacked me?”

He growled quietly. “Yes.”

“I need access to Curran’s private gym for fifteen minutes.”

Silence stretched.

“When?” he asked.

“Tonight.”

Another pause. “After this, we’re even.”

Jim was an ass but he paid his debts. “Deal.”

“He’s in the city tonight. I’ll keep him here. Derek will meet you at the Keep in two hours.”

I hung up and punched in the second number. What do you know, I actually pulled it off.

“Teddy Jo,” a gruff voice answered.

“You owe me for the apples,” I said into the phone. I was calling in all favors tonight.

“That’s right. What can I do you for?”

I smiled. “I need to borrow your sword.”

THE NIGHT WAS FREEZING AND I TOOK KARMELION, my old, beat-up truck of a bile green color. It was missing the front light assembly and had more dents than a crushed Coke can, but it ran during magic waves and it would keep me warm. It also made enough noise to wake the dead, but I didn’t care. Being warm won.

It took me two hours to get the sword and leave Atlanta behind. Before the Shift, many of Atlanta’s residents had had the luxury of commuting from nearby towns, driving in through the countryside. Aided by magic, nature had reclaimed these undeveloped stretches with alarming speed. Living things generated magic by simply being, and when put against inert concrete and steel, plants had the advantage. What once were fields now had become dense forest. It swallowed gas stations and lone farmsteads, forcing people to move closer together. Trees flanked the road, their branches black and leafless, sharp charcoal sketches in the snow.

I peered into the dark and petted the attack poodle. I had to lay the front seat flat for him—he was too big. “I always miss the damn road.”

The poodle made a small growling noise and curled up tighter.

A long howl of a lone sentry rolled through the night, announcing our arrival.

We made a sharp turn, picking up a barely perceptible narrow road between the thick oaks. The trail veered left, right, the old trees parted, and we emerged into a wide clearing. The enormous building of the Keep loomed before us. A hybrid of a castle and a modern fort, it jutted over the forest like a mountain, impregnable and dark. It was built the old-fashioned way, with basic tools and superhuman strength, which made it magic-proof. Since I’d been here last, most of the north wing had been completed, and the wall of the courtyard now rose about fifteen feet high.