Ilona Andrews - Magic Binds

“All this is because of me.”

“No, all of this is because of Roland,” Curran said. “You didn’t kidnap Saiman. You didn’t attack a baby. All you did and all any of us wanted to do is live our fucking lives in peace.”

I loved him so much. “Thank you, but that’s not what I meant. I meant that every anchor so far was connected to me. If I hadn’t known about the prophecy, I wouldn’t have come to the Keep.”

“Yes. That’s why you and I are joined at the hip from now on.”

I arched an eyebrow at him.

“I mean it.” He flashed his teeth at me. “I did what you asked. I got Saiman out for you. You did . . . what you had to do. From now on we go together.”

“Okay.”

I got into the car and drove down the road. The moment we rolled out of the Pack courtyard, Julie broke. Derek wrapped his arm around her. She cried and cried, heartbroken. Julie almost never cried anymore.

If Dali died . . . I didn’t even want to think about it. If I had a choice, I would hit my father now, hard and fast, with all of our strength. Instead I had to sit on my hands, because right now we couldn’t win. Not until my aunt helped me figure out how to defeat him.

“I didn’t know,” Julie sobbed. “She took care of me for two years and I didn’t know.”

“Nobody knew,” Curran told her.

“He threw her away. Just like that. For nothing.”

I almost said I tried to tell you before and bit it back before it came out. Not the right time.

“Why her? Why? She was so nice.”

“Because she was close to you,” Derek said.

Julie buried her face in her hands and cried.

“I’m so sorry,” I told her. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I’ll make him pay. I promise you.”

“It won’t bring her back,” she whimpered.

My heart was cracking and it hurt. You bastard. You fucking bastard. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

Trees rolled by. For several minutes we didn’t talk. I drove and looked straight ahead.

“Where are we going?” Derek asked.

“We’re going to the Guild,” I said. We were going to work.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I need Saiman to read what my father wrote on my skin while I was in the womb. The sooner Erra can tell me what it is, the sooner we can kill him.”

The car fell silent.

“Well,” Curran said. “At least the pervert has a purpose.”

THE GUILD OCCUPIED the remains of an old hotel on the edge of Buckhead. When Curran, Barabas, and I took it over, the tower was in ruins, partially because a rogue giant had ripped off its roof trying to eat the delicious people hiding inside. The Guild had a new roof now. A new front parking lot and a new back lot too, the latter fenced in by a solid wall and converted into a training yard. Barabas was trying to push through a permit with the city that would allow us to put an even bigger wall around the building. Any time Curran got a base, he wanted to wall it in. For defensive purposes. He’d tried to wall in our street too, and it took all of us together to talk him out of it.

The Guild was looking good. We were still two hundred thousand in the hole, but we were slowly beginning to recoup that investment.

I parked in the lot. We got out and headed for the building. The inside of the Guild had gotten a face-lift as well. The mess hall was back and the food was actually good this time, which made sense because nothing offended shapeshifters more than subpar dining options. Barabas had insisted on bringing back the koi. Originally a stream had run through the hotel floor culminating in a large pond. Barabas didn’t want the stream, but he did somehow find the money for the pond. He said it was therapeutic and got two of the Pack’s counselors to back him up. Now a large pond sat next to the dining area, complete with a bridge across it. Five big koi, three gold and two white, slowly glided in the shallow water. The mercenaries kept feeding the fish and I had a feeling the koi would get morbidly obese before too long.

About twenty mercs ate, swapped war stories, and checked their gear on the main floor, waiting for a job or relaxing after one before going home. A dozen voices said hello as we walked in. A second after we stepped through the door, I realized Curran was still in all of his warrior form splendor.

“Woo!”

“Cover up!”

“Rough morning, Curran?”

Curran grinned, showing his big teeth.

“Hey, Daniels, you better put him in check. There are children present,” Juke called.

“Where?” Collins asked.

“She means you, dickhead,” Santiago said.

“Come over here and say that to my face.”

“I would, but you too ugly.”

Tension seeped out of me with every step. This I knew. This was familiar. This was my world.

Barabas waved at us from behind the glass. The previous administrator of the Guild considered himself to be white-collar and fully embraced a personal office, expensive suits, and secretaries. The first thing Barabas did was gut his fourth-floor office and sell off the pricey furniture. Then he took over the smallest conference room downstairs, separated from the main floor by glass. He sat there now, wearing jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt, his desk filled with papers. His door was usually open. Mercs wandered in and out with questions. Usually Christopher hung out in the office as well, or somewhere on the Guild floor, reading a book at the table by the koi, or talking to the Clerk, depending on how he was feeling. Maggie was curled up in her little plush bed in Barabas’s office, but I saw no signs of Christopher.

If I were a winged god of terror, where would I be?

I glanced up. High above, on the massive support beams right under the newly installed skylight, a man sat, his right leg bent, his left dangling down, a book in his hand. He had no wings, but his hair was a familiar white. For months Barabas took care of Christopher. Now Christopher guarded Barabas.

“How’s our honored guest doing?” Curran called, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Doing great,” Keana, a thin, dark-skinned merc in her thirties, called out. “We got his money in an hour ago.”

“How much did we net?” Curran asked.

“The Guild took in two million, nine hundred fifty-eight thousand, six hundred thirty-three dollars and sixty cents,” Barabas called from his office.

“Yeah!” Curran pumped his fist.

The Guild erupted in cheers. I cheered, too. He was making them feel like all of them had won, forging them into a unified force, and they had no idea he was doing it.

“Why is the number so weird?” I murmured.

“We charged him his weight in gold,” Curran said. “Would’ve gotten more, but Roland bled him out and starved him, and he needs a lot of food or his body starts to cannibalize itself.”

“Where do you have him stashed?” I asked.

“Third floor, the old archive room,” Curran said. “I talked to Barabas this morning. Saiman isn’t eating or drinking. They had to put him on an IV.”

Saiman burned through nutrients the way fire burned through dry hay.

I nodded at Julie. “Come with me.”

As we climbed the staircase, I asked quietly, “Feel up to it?”

She looked at me. If she’d given me that look and I didn’t know her, I’d consider backing off.

“If it helps kill Roland, yes.”

“Good. When I talk to him, remind me to ask him for his help, but don’t tell him what I want exactly.”

PRE-GIANT, THE OLD archive room had no windows. Post-giant, it had acquired a large window shielded by thick bars in case another monster came rampaging. Saiman lay next to that window, on a bed, bathed in the sunshine streaming through the clear glass. He was pale and bone-thin, a skeleton wrapped in loose skin and hooked up to an IV bag. Normally he maintained a neutral shape, that of a man of undeterminable age, bald, with unremarkable features, neither handsome nor ugly. The creature that lay on the bed now was a foot and a half taller than any human had a right to be. Light blue-green hair framed his face. His eyes were the pale blue of thick ice dusted with new snow. Whatever my father had done to him was so traumatic that Saiman had collapsed into his natural shape.