Eileen Wilks - Death Magic

“Why the hell didn’t he call me?”

“He doesn’t have a throwaway with him, asshole. He’s not making calls to you on his regular phone.”

Big Thumbs thought that over, then grunted. “I hate working with damn amateurs. He pays good, but he’s a pain in the ass. Where is his goddamned card case supposed to be?”

“Wherever he’s been holding those ceremonies. He said you’d know what he meant.”

“Okay, but if we run late, he’d better not bitch about it.” Big Thumbs nodded at the last two men, who’d deposited their burden in the back of the truck and slammed the doors. “Look for the man’s fancy card case. Should be out back.”

There was a brand-new, eight-foot wooden fence closing off the backyard. It stood out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood. According to Shannon, the backyard was where the worst stink of death magic came from.

That’s also where Scott and Chris were waiting. Those two men wouldn’t be coming back.

Big Thumbs waited impatiently for a full forty-five seconds. “Hell with this shit. No point in the delivery running late. You two, get aboard.” He looked at Drummond. “Move your damn car.”

Why did the bad guys never read the script? Time for Plan B: shock and awe. Lily pulled a small metal whistle from her pocket.

“What’s taking them so long?” Drummond said with equal impatience. “I don’t need to be seen standing around shooting the shit with you. I’m going to look for that damn case myself.” He started for the house.

Shit. Drummond had gone off-script, too.

Big Thumbs grabbed his arm. “Did you hear what I said? Move your damn car.”

Lily put the whistle to her mouth and blew once, twice, three times. And heard nothing, because it was a dog whistle.

Drummond jerked his arm away—or tried to. Big Thumbs was a big man, and he had a tight grip. “Listen, you jerkwad, you’d better—”

Two enormous wolves streaked around from each side of the house, running flat out.

One of the men shrieked like a girl and fired wildly. The other stared in frozen horror for a second—which is way too long when lupi are moving at top speed.

The next bit, at least, went smooth as silk.

The wolves took down the two gunmen like clockwork—two great leaps, two downed men with snarling wolves pinning them. Mullins fired from a window inside the house—an attention-getting shot, aimed high. “Freeze, assholes! This is the FBI!” And Drummond—who was supposed to have moved away from Big Thumbs so he couldn’t be taken hostage—seized the man’s arm, twisted, and landed him on the ground. He drew his gun and stuck it in the man’s face. “Tell the driver to climb out. Do it now. I’m in a real bad mood.”

Lily drew a shaky breath. Adrenaline had her on hyperdrive. She eased out from behind her juniper.

The driver shot Drummond. He fell on top of Big Thumbs.

Lily stopped, braced her right hand with her left in the approved stance, took a full second to aim, and fired twice.

The driver jolted as the bullet smashed into his face. Lily felt that moment viscerally—no emotion, just the fact of it, her bullet smashing into his brain and ending him.

The door of the house shot open and Mullins raced out, with Chris and Scott right behind him.

Big Thumbs shoved Drummond’s body away and snatched the .357 that had fallen from Drummond’s hand when he was shot. Lily didn’t have a clear shot, dammit—one of the wolves partly blocked her, but she saw Big Thumbs take aim at Mullins. She started running, knowing she’d be too late.

Drummond shoved himself up with one arm and rolled back on top of Big Thumbs.

The gun went off.

Scott got there first. Before Lily finished running across the street, he’d kicked Big Thumbs in the head—he wouldn’t be moving again soon and maybe not ever—and gently rolled Drummond onto his back. Blood drenched Drummond’s white shirt and trickled from his mouth. His eyes were open and staring. “No heartbeat,” Scott said tersely.

“The driver,” Lily flung at Chris as she skidded to a stop. “Check him. If he’s dead or incapacitated, get that truck open and start getting those people out of there. Shannon! Mark! Change back and get those two goons restrained, then help Chris.”

“Al.” Mullins went to his knees beside his friend. “Al, oh, shit. Al.”

Something white and filmy began condensing over Drummond’s body.

ONa grassy plain of northeastern Colorado, six women stood in a circle near a fence enclosing a place bare of grass, where a set of steel doors were set into the ground. They chanted in a language so old no record remained of it. The seventh woman—the dark-skinned one in the beautiful dashiki—sat apart, eyes closed, quietly doing nothing at all that anyone could see ... but whatever eyes the U.S. government kept on this site normally, today they wouldn’t work.

Overhead, four dragons flew . . . and joined their voices with the women’s.

Slowly, almost silently, the steel doors began to move.

RULEhad not been able to come up with any clever plans for dealing with “a whole lot” of lupi dopplegängers, other than what he’d already put in place. He’d warned Isen, Benedict, and Manuel, who didn’t have any suggestions, either—but at least they, too, were in their appointed places. Waiting, as he was.

Rule’s primary target was the amulet or artifact or whatever was used to create and control the dopplegängers. Preventing general carnage was a major secondary goal, but they had to find and obtain the artifact, then destroy it. Which was why he had two men whose sole job was protecting Cullen . . . the only person on the planet known to be able to call and control mage fire.

The control part was important. Rumors in the magical community said Mrs. O’Leary’s cow was innocent—the Great Chicago Fire had been cause by a Fire Gifted who managed the calling part, but flunked on control.

Rule had opted to split his men. Fourteen were with him and Cullen. Nine were with José about halfway down the length of the crowd at its fringes, ready to move where they were needed. And one was on the roof of the Smithsonian Castle, keeping an eye on the whole spread of people.

Rule and his squad had made themselves unpopular by shoving their way close to the stage. The men were bunched up tightly around him and Cullen, both because of the press of people and because their bodies should keep others from seeing his too-familiar face. That was also why they hadn’t pushed to the very front, where crowd control barriers and three men in security guard uniforms kept everyone back from the stage. He didn’t want Parrott to see him.

Interesting that the event’s organizers didn’t want anyone within fifteen feet of the stage . . . that tall, enclosed stage with room beneath it for an entire coven.

Lily was on her way here. He’d spoken to her, knew her plans, could feel her moving closer. It was nothing short of delusional to feel such relief that she would be with him soon. How could he keep her safe in the midst of the kind of chaos likely to ensue? Especially when she’d be doing her damnedest to be right in the middle of that chaos. But the closer she got, the more he settled. Steadied.

Sometimes he didn’t make sense at all.

He hadn’t heard from Abel and couldn’t reach him by phone. Maybe Abel had found out what was under that stage. Maybe that hadn’t worked out well.

Rule’s phone was in his pocket, but he was wearing a headset that should stay on through even vigorous activity. He spoke into it now. “Does she have any control over the elemental at all?”

“Not much, she says, though it promises it will protect her. Uh . . . she says it’s pretty excited.”