Ilona Andrews - Magic Strikes

“Be careful with my babies.”

“We’re riding two miles down to the school and coming right back,” I promised. “I’ll have them back to you in an hour.”

“Whole.”

“In perfect health.”

We mounted. The woman looked me over, studied Raphael, and snorted. “I should’ve brought a camera. A picture would’ve been a hell of a promotion.”

Except it wouldn’t have worked during magic, but I was too polite to point that out.

We trotted down to the path. Marcus proved ridiculously easy to handle, attuned to the most minute cues almost as if he was anticipating me. If I ever lost my mind and purchased a horse, I knew which one I would be getting.

In a few minutes we sighted the school. From horse-back, the complex resembled a fortress, an octagon enclosed by an eight-foot wall complete with an arched entrance and a portcullis. A couple of guards patrolled the wall, and they didn’t hesitate to level hunting bows at us. A sentry at the gates checked out my ID for a good twenty seconds—being dressed in black, riding black horses, and carrying black weapons had its drawbacks. Finally he nodded. “We’re expecting you. Your girl is at the far end of the yard, to the left.” He waved us through.

I urged Marcus on and he obliged, building to a thunderous canter. We pounded around the main building, my cloak dramatically flaring. A group of about twenty children stood a respectable distance from the striped disks of archery targets propped up near the wall. Four aimed their bows at the targets, while the rest waited in somewhat orderly fashion around an enormous elm tree under the gaze of a large man in chain mail and a small dark woman. Citlalli, the counselor. Perfect.

The kids sighted us and went very still. I scanned the crowd and saw a blond-haired girl, still too small and too thin for her thirteen years. There was my kiddo. Standing off by herself in the back.

We drew even with the group. Marcus danced under me, unhappy his run was brought short. I tried to look suitably lethal. Raphael glowered next to me. A hungry ruby sheen rolled over his eyes. The boys went pale. The girl-children valiantly tried to keep from swooning.

Julie finally woke up out of her stupor and elbowed her way to me.

I fixed her with my hard stare. She flinched.

“Knife,” I ordered.

She reached into her clothes and produced one of my black throwing daggers. God damn it. I had counted them the other day and I could’ve sworn they were all there. I prayed for Marcus to stand still, took the dagger from her fingers, whipped about in the saddle, and threw it, all in a single quick motion. The dagger sliced into the elm’s bark, sinking halfway in. Somebody gasped.

“You can have it back when you graduate.”

Julie caught on. “Yes, ma’am.”

She called me “ma’am.” I waited for the sky to split and belch forth the four horsemen of the Apocalypse, but for some reason they failed to appear.

“It has come to my attention that you’re talking.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Do I have to remind you that you signed a nondisclosure agreement with the Order?”

Julie’s face was the definition of remorse.

“It was your choice to attend this school. If I find out that you’re divulging classified information again, I will pull you out and stick you into the Order’s Academy faster than you can blink. Am I clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Julie snapped to attention.

“You’re coming with me.”

“Should I get my things?”

“No, we have no time. The Pack requires immediate assistance.” Derek required immediate assistance.

This was Raphael’s cue to swing down from his saddle, which he accomplished with breathtaking grace. He came up to Julie and inclined his head in a nod that felt more like a shallow bow. “Julie. The Beast Lord inquires if you’re well.”

Julie favored him with a very polite bow. “I am. Please give His Lordship my thanks for his consideration.”

“You can thank him yourself. He will be most pleased to see you.”

Raphael leaned down, offering her his palm. Julie didn’t miss a beat. She stepped onto his hand and let him hoist her up onto Marcus behind me. Her skinny arms locked around my waist.

Raphael took a short running start and leapt onto his horse, hands-free. We swung our mounts and took off. We cleared the gates, roared down the path and around the bend, out of sight of the walls, and slowed to a brisk walk.

“That was the coolest thing ever,” Julie said breathlessly.

“It should up your street cred. But you’re on your own from now on. I can’t magically appear and overwhelm your classmates with toughness every time somebody is being a jerk. Now if somebody asks you about what happened, you very seriously tell them that you can’t speak about it. People can’t stand it when someone knows something they don’t. It will drive them nuts.”

She hugged me. “Thanks.”

“I really do need your help.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Derek is in trouble.”

“No,” Julie whispered and hugged me tighter.

JULIE CRIED. SHE KNELT BY DEREK ’S MANGLED body and cried, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. I waited next to her. She needed to cry it out. It hurt to look at him and she had to get through it, or she wouldn’t be able to help.

After about five minutes Julie stirred and swiped the back of her hand under her nose. I handed her a handkerchief. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and nodded. “Okay.”

Jim and Doolittle approached from the doorway. I sensed others in the gloom, watching, Raphael being one of them. I had explained to him that aiding and abetting my sorry butt would land him into scalding water, but he’d just grinned and followed me and Julie all the way to the house. He and Jim had spoken for a couple of minutes and then he’d been allowed inside.

Jim crouched next to Julie and opened a small cookie tin. Two pale yellow shards lay inside on white gauze, one from the four-armed corpse which Dali had stumbled on, and the other from Saiman’s victim. Doolittle had found the second shard during the autopsy, stuck in the Reaper’s arm. He and Jim tried to explain to me what the body reverted to after they took it out, but I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around it. Apparently, neither could they, because they stuck it into a body bag, locked it in some room in the basement, and strongly discouraged me from going to see it.

Julie picked up the shard and concentrated, her gaze fixed on the sharp sliver of yellow stone. She looked at it for a long moment, dropped it into the tin, and looked at the body.

“Here.” Her slender finger pointed at Derek’s mangled thigh.

A scalpel flashed in Doolittle’s dark fingers. He made a neat incision, pulled it open with his fingers, and dipped artery forceps into the cut. I held my breath.

He pulled the forceps free. A bloody shard gleamed under the harsh light of the lamp.

“Thank you, Jesus.” Doolittle dropped the shard into the tin.

It’s over. Finally.

“Here.” Julie pointed to Derek’s left side.

Doolittle hesitated.

“Cut here.” The pale finger touched Derek’s ribs.

The doctor cut again. Another shard joined the first.

“Here.” The finger pointed to the center of Derek’s chest, where the black burn scar crossed his pectorals.

Fuck, how many of those things did they stick into him?

Doolittle cut. “Nothing.”

“Deeper,” Julie said.

Dark blood gushed from the cut.

I flinched.

An eternity later Doolittle said, “Here it is.” I heard the quiet sound of the shard falling into the tin.

“Are there more?” Doolittle asked.