Ilona Andrews - Magic Strikes

We strode to the car.

“How would you have gotten your sword out without my help?” he asked.

“I’d break the window.” We stepped over the white line.

“You would vandalize my vehicle?”

“Yep.”

“You do realize that the car is heavily warded?”

I felt someone’s gaze hit me in the back like a brick. I glanced over my shoulder. The tattooed Reaper, Cesare, stood just behind the white line, over which we had stepped a moment ago. Backlit by the floodlight, he stood very straight, his face wrapped in darkness. His eyes glowed red.

“Company.”

Saiman saw Cesare. “Hilarious. I had no idea I’d given them the impression of being susceptible to childish intimidation tactics.”

“I think they have more than intimidation in mind.” I accelerated. The sleek black bullet of Saiman’s vehicle with my saber in the front seat waited a good twenty-five yards away.

A man leapt over the row of cars and landed in front of us in a crouch, blocking the way. Dark hair dripped from his head. He glanced up. His eyes glowed like two red-hot coals. His mouth opened. An unnaturally long tongue spilled out, lashing at the air. His lips drew back, showing rows of curved fangs.

Alrighty, then.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Cesare, still waiting behind the white line, his arms crossed on his chest.

The man with the snake tongue shifted along the ground in a crouch. Long strands of drool stretched from between his fangs and dripped on the pavement, sending a heady scent of jasmine to swirl through the air. Perfumed monster spit. What was the world coming to?

Saiman went pale. His hand gripped his cane.

The man’s glowing eyes stared at Saiman. He raised his hands and showed him two daggers, narrow and sharp like a snake’s fangs.

I wasn’t even in the picture. Perfect.

Saiman grasped the shaft of his cane with his left hand, edging the handle up with his right. I caught a glimpse of metal between the handle and the dark wood. The cane hid a dagger and he was planning to use it in a heroic fashion.

The man made an odd hooting sound that raised the tiny hairs on the back of my neck, tensed, and sprung.

It was a great, preternaturally high leap, designed to clear the twenty feet between us in a single bound. Saiman took a step, drawing the dagger in a quick jerk, and leaned forward, preparing to meet his attacker.

The first rule of bodyguard detail: keep your “body” out of harm’s way.

I swept Saiman’s right foot from under him, hitting him in the chest with my left hand. He was so committed to his impending strike that his position placed him ridiculously off balance. He went down on his back like a log. I snatched the cane-sheath from his hand as he fell and thrust it up.

The cane caught the snake-tongued man just under the breastbone. The air burst out of his mouth in a startled gasp. I turned, whipping the sheath around, and smashed it on his temple. The hollow wood broke, leaving me with a shard. The blow would’ve taken down a normal human. He should’ve been done then and there.

The man staggered a bit, shook his head, and lunged at me, stabbing with his daggers. I dodged and backed away, drawing him farther from Saiman to the car.

A searchlight swept over us, lingered for a second, and moved on. The guards had to have seen us.

The snake boy kept cutting the air, his swipes enthusiastic but a bit off the mark. Still catching his breath. If he ever got his wind, we’d be in deep shit. Almost to the car. Step. Another step.

Saiman staggered to his feet.

“Stay away!” I barked.

The snake man glanced back, slashing at me with his right to cover up. I grabbed his wrist with my left hand, pulled him forward and down, and stabbed the splintered cane under his ribs, into his kidney. He screeched. I hurled him past me straight into Saiman’s car.

His body collided with the passenger door. The defensive spell rippled with a flash of bright yellow and clutched at the body. Orange sparks flew. The snake man flailed in the ward, stuck to the car as if glued, his body jerking in a spasmodic, obscene dance. The stench of burning flesh rose from his chest. His arms flexed. His hands—still clutching the daggers—braced against the car. He was trying to push free. The ward wouldn’t be enough. God damn it, he just refused to die.

I pulled the sticks out of my hair and clenched them in my fist.

With a sound of torn paper, the ward split, exhausted. The snake man broke free and lunged at me. I kicked his knee. It was a good, solid blow. He went down and I grasped his head by the hair and plunged the hair sticks into his left eye, once, again, and again, four times. He screamed. I flipped my hold and buried the sticks in his socket as far as they would go.

The daggers fell from his hands. I swiped one and sliced his throat. The razor-sharp blade nearly took his head off. Blood fountained, drenching me. I whirled to check on Cesare, but found only empty space. The Reaper had vanished.

The snake-tongued corpse lay limp and pale in a puddle of its own blood. I looked at Saiman and raised one red-stained finger. “Definitely not human.”

Saiman’s face shook with fury. “This is an outrage. I own a seventh of the House.”

The ward on Saiman’s car had been broken. “You mind popping the locks?”

He found the remote with a trembling hand and pushed the button. Nothing happened.

“The magic’s up,” I told him.

He swore, produced the keys, and unlocked the door. I grasped Slayer’s hilt and instantly felt better.

Saiman dragged his hand through his hair. “I need you to come back to the Arena with me.”

“No. I have a prior engagement.”

“You’re my witness!”

I tried to speak slowly and clearly. “I have somewhere to be.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere. You have no vehicle.”

“I have two legs.”

“If you come with me and tell the House what happened, I’ll drive you anywhere you want.”

I shook my head. It would take too long before he was done.

“I’ll get you a horse!”

I stopped in midstep. A horse would cut my traveling time by a third. I turned. “A quick statement, Saiman. Very quick. Then you give me a horse, and I leave.”

“Done!”

As we marched back to the Arena, he said, “I thought you said those weren’t blades in your hair.”

“They aren’t. They’re spikes. Breathe deep, Saiman. Your hands are still shaking.”

RENE’S EYES WERE CLEAR AND COLD LIKE THE crystalline depths of a mountain lake. Saiman’s indignant outbursts shattered against her glacial composure.

“How long does it take to retrieve one corpse?”

“The body will be here in a moment.”

I perched against a desk. We stood in one of security’s rooms. Precious seconds ticked by. There was nothing I could do about it. Rene was doing her job and I had to let her do it.

Rene glanced at me. “Did you cut out the heart?”

I shook my head. “Didn’t see the need. I scrambled the brain and cut his head off. I never had one regenerate a head on me.”

“True.” Rene nodded in agreement.

Saiman picked up a coffee mug, stared at it, and hurled it against the wall. It shattered into a dozen pieces. We looked at him.

“Your date appears to be hysterical,” Rene told me.

“You think I should slap some man into him?”

Saiman stared at me, speechless. I had to give it to Rene—she didn’t laugh. But she really wanted to.

A squad of Red Guards came through, carrying the snake man on a stretcher. Two guards and an older man followed. The man handed Rene a large book bound in leather and spoke softly. She gave him a crisp nod.

“We take the safety of our guests and especially of our House members very seriously. However.” She raised her hand and counted off on her fingers. “First, this incident took place outside of our jurisdiction. Our responsibility for you ends at the white line. Second, this creature isn’t registered as a part of the Reaper team or their crew. Nobody recognizes him. The fact that a member of the Reaper team watched the incident doesn’t indicate the team’s complicity in the assault. He’s under no obligation to assist you and he may have simply enjoyed the spectacle. Third, the entire Reaper crew and team, with the exception of Mart and two crew members, left the premises as soon as the first bout began, nearly three hours ago . . .”