Eileen Wilks - Death Magic

Black fire. Mage fire.

It struck a wolf as the creature leaped for the stage. And burned—black flame rippling out to eat fur, skin, and muscle so fast it seemed instantaneous. The burning body fell to the ground, limbs twitching.

Another wolf leaped at the beautiful man’s back.

“Cullen!” she screamed.

He spun. The wolf slammed into him and they fell to the ground. The two men who’d been trying to keep it from Cullen leaped onto the wolf and pulled it off. One had its head, the other hugged the body tight. The one holding the head pulled it back, snapping the neck. They dropped the body.

Only it got up again. The head hung down, twisted at an insane angle. Even as Lily watched, still running, the head twitched—and started to resume its usual position. Slowly, but the damn thing was healing as she watched.

Cullen had rolled away. He sprang to his feet, threw out a hand, and sent another ribbon of black flame from his fingertips. The demon thing burned.

“I’ve got the ring,” Lily said as she came to a stop. “Parrott’s ring. It’s lousy with death magic. I hope you’ve got some juice left.”

“I’ve got juice. Put it—” His head swiveled to look up at the stage.

An Asian woman with long, straight hair leaped off it—right onto Cullen. She wore a red jacket, black slacks, and a face Lily looked at in the mirror every day. She was giggling like a teenage girl at a slumber party and she moved every bit as fast as Cullen ever had—grabbing the arm he tried to hit her with as she hauled back with a fist and punched him in the side of the head.

His head snapped back on his neck. She pulled her arm back to do it again—

And Rule leaped down from the stage, grabbing the demon-Lily’s arm as he landed, spinning her around. She grinned and swatted him playfully.

He staggered back, going to one knee.

Cullen shoved to his feet again, shook his head, and circled around the two of them to get to Lily. “Put it down! Put it on the ground!”

She bent and did that, then got out of his way. He skidded to a stop, flung out his hand, and showered the damned ring in mage fire. An awful lot of mage fire.

Lily scrambled back. As she did, black smoke erupted from the small inferno—smoke that smelled like a week-old floater. Lily choked on a whiff and coughed.

The smoke cleared as quickly as it had appeared. Cullen was on his knees—and swaying. And the demon-Lily was gone. One second she’d been dodging Rule’s kick. The next she simply . . . wasn’t.

And a buff and gray wolf charged Rule.

Lily glanced frantically around. None of the wolves had vanished. Just the demon version of her.

“Rule,” she called, “I think Cullen’s out of it as far as mage fire goes!”

“Yeah,” Cullen muttered, looking dazed as he swayed in place on his knees. He lifted one hand to his head. “Seeing double and mage fire—not a good mix.”

Scott tackled the wolf just as it reached Rule. The two of them tumbled to the ground, ending with the wolf on top and Scott holding the beast’s head, trying to keep its open jaws from his face—and losing.

Until Rule kicked it in the head—a solid roundhouse kick that should have killed it outright. It shook its head as if briefly dazed and lunged for Scott’s throat again.

Rule’s second kick was to the beast’s body, sending it tumbling.

A white form drifted in front of Lily—Drummond was back. “Come on!” he rasped. “I found him. The bastard with the kill-switch, the master control—whatever the hell you call it. He’s at the other end of this mess.”

“Who is he? What does he look like?”

“Tall, blond, prissy mouth ...” Drummond’s mouth kept moving, but without sound.

“You faded out again!” Behind him she saw Scott and Rule weaving and dodging, keeping the demon wolf busy but unable to stop it.

Drummond’s scowl deepened as if he was concentrating. He spoke slowly. “Four rings. One here, one at each rally. The master controls them all. Powers them. You have to . . .” His voice faded out again.

Should she trust him? He’d claimed not to know about death magic, but all of a sudden he knew about the rings and the master control—or whatever the hell it was. Did she have any damn reason to believe him? Drummond had died to save Mullins. That didn’t mean he wasn’t rooting for the demons at this party.

But if she didn’t go and he was telling the truth . . . what else was she going to do ? If they didn’t destroy the amulet, they couldn’t stop the demon-possessed dopplegängers. Who wouldn’t die without a dose of mage fire, which Cullen couldn’t provide until he stopped seeing double.

“Rule!” she called “I think Chittenden’s here”—the description could fit Friar’s lieutenant—“and has the amulet! I’m going after him!”

He flung his head up. “No!” And the demon wolf charged him. He threw himself aside, rolled, and sprang to his feet.

Lily holstered her gun, which was no damn use whatsoever against creatures who considered a broken neck an inconvenience. And turned away from the man she loved while he battled for his life. Turned and ran.

Within seconds, Scott caught up with her. He didn’t say a word.

Rule must have sent him. Her eyes burned.

The field was clearing out faster than she would have thought possible, but it was far from empty. There were living people still fleeing. And there were bodies. A woman huddled next to one of those bodies, a man whose face and chest were so saturated with blood it was hard to see the ruin of his throat. It was horrible to do nothing. Horrible to keep running, but Lily did, chasing a white shape as vaguely formed as when she’d first seen it at the shooting range. A shape that was always a few yards ahead of her.

She ran. And ran. Scott kept pace beside her. They passed three clusters of fighting—lupi in both their forms, but mostly wolves, keeping demon wolves busy so they wouldn’t kill the humans who’d assembled here to root for an end to lupi.

As they drew near the Washington Monument, her ghostly guide suddenly veered to the left, toward a huddled mob of twenty or thirty people being circled by a pair of wolves. She followed, focusing on her breathing, on the even rise and fall of her legs, so she wouldn’t arrive too winded to do anything. And wondering what the hell she was supposed to do to save those people.

Wait a minute. She recognized one of the wolves. It was José. And he and the large gray wolf weren’t circling the people—they were patrolling, keeping one of the demon wolves away.

Stupid—she hadn’t noticed till just now, but the demon wolves were all alike. Of course they were. They’d all been made from blood or tissue from Brian’s wolf-form, so they were identical.

The ground shook.

Lily staggered, her stride broken. Someone screamed. The ground gave a second, harder shimmy, and she had to stop. Scott took her arm, steadying her.

A huge something rose from the ground. It was brownish gray and long, really long, and seemed to grow itself out of the earth, absorbing grass and dirt and rocks into itself as it became . No eyes, no legs, not much of anything but body . . . a segmented body three or four feet thick. Like an earthworm.

This time when the earth shook, Lily fell to her knees. So did Scott. And it kept on shaking.

Another form emerged, this one breaking and absorbing bits of Madison Street as it reared itself out of the earth . . . out and up, one end questing in the air as if seeking a scent. This one was even bigger, and it pulled itself together faster than the first one had.

It was not as big as the third one.

From the stage at the east end of the Mall to a spot just short of the steps to the Washington Monument, the earth bulged. It swelled up like the wall had at Fagin’s, shaping itself into segment after segment of stony worm eight feet thick . . . ten feet thick . . . twelve. Bodies rolled off as it formed itself. And, horribly, some bodies remained, incorporated into its mass along with sticks and stones, purses and grass.