BROKEN BLADE (31 page)

A headache hammered behind my eyes and it only got stronger as I found the tiny little area and pressed. After a few seconds, the specialized lock acknowledged my fingerprint and DNA and then slid out of place with a whisper. The spell screamed louder in my head and I gritted my teeth and I reached down and pressed my hand to its key.

Most of the spells in my home were inactive until I needed them.

The ones protecting these weapons weren’t and this son-of-a-bitch here was the spell’s focus.

It fed from the magic in the weapons and the weapons were nuclear bomb-type strong so it wasn’t going to hurt them.

At my touch, the focus ‘unlocked’ the spell.

I’d have to have Justin rig it back up for me. This sort of magic was out of Colleen’s area of practice and these weapons weren’t the kind you could leave unguarded.

The bow lay on top. When I reached out to touch her, the power inside her all but singed my hand. I heard no music, but I’d stopped expecting to hear any, so that was fine.

This music was better off unheard.

She sang of blood spilt, tears wept and death met.

I didn’t need that in my head.

Like the other weapons stored in here, she was made for a purpose…filled with magic and raw with it. There were other warrior races out there—like mine—but some of them were gifted with the blade and with the ability to wield magics in a manner similar to witches. Most of them were Druids…and most of the Druids were gone from the world now.

It made me wonder, for a minute, if we’d been created to hunt vamps and shifters, why were the Druids created? Did anybody know? Were they just one of the offshoots? Some sort of mutation? I’d always assumed everybody had always
been
here.

Now I had to wonder.

Now there was no time for it.

The bow had been crafted by a Druid, a man dead for centuries, but his magic lingered on in this. Made from ash and so full of magic she made my teeth hurt, I practiced with her enough to keep my skills up and that was it. She had specially forged arrows, each of them tipped with silver and the arrows themselves were as wide as they could be and still be accurate. Miniature spears, to be accurate. They were also spelled…spelled to fly straight, and true. It was practically cheating, but sometimes, you needed the leg up.

I pulled the bow out, the arrows and laid them to the side.

There were various blades, some spelled, others poisoned. The poisoned ones weren’t going to do me much good…there were only a few poisons that were effective against a vamp and all of them had to be ingested to work. The bad part was that in order for them work, one almost had to take enough to make their own blood toxic. I’d take that chance if I ever thought I’d come up against Jude again.

But for this?

I don’t know.

Still, I reached for a small pouch tucked off to the side.

I’d do a lot of things, but I wouldn’t become a vampire’s prisoner. Not again. I’d die first.

I did take a few of the charmed blades. Some of them had spells laid on them that would render just about
anybody
useless for a short period of time. Nasty pieces of work, but sometimes you had to fight dirty to stay alive. I’d learned that lesson the hard way and I had no problem with dirty.

At the bottom of my treasure trove, the mother lode awaited.

Of all the weapons, he was the deadliest.

When I touched him, my arm went numb. That was how much magic he carried.

He had no song, but then again, he never had. His touch was a chilly one and the first time I’d used him to kill a vampire, I’d heard a sibilant whisper in the back of my head. Then…nightmares. They lasted for days. But he was an excellent tool for killing vampires.

I didn’t put much stock in named weapons—most of the people who bothered to weren’t the actual creators and the only time a weapon’s name actually carried much weight was when the creator had bestowed it. But this weapon’s name carried weight.

His name was Death.

And I didn’t like him.

He was more…
alive
than most of my weapons and that’s saying something. All of the weapons I owned had some sort presence, for lack of a better word. They might not be sentient in a way others would recognize, but they spoke to me.

This son-of-a-bitch didn’t speak
only
to me.

He spoke to anybody with a lick of magical talent and nobody liked what he had to say.

But…again, he was good at what he did.

It was like he had a built-in homing spell and he could zero in on a vampire.

And when I carried him, it made it that much easier for me to do the same. I was already fast, but thanks to the spells laid on this blade, I moved faster—like I had the wind at my back…nearly as fast a vampire. Other weird things happened when I carried that blade and not just the odd, distant whispers that I heard every time I killed a vampire with him.

Sometimes I think the maker of the blade lived on inside the length of steel.

I didn’t like the feeling.

I didn’t like how I felt when I carried that sword, didn’t like the way vengeance and chaos and death seemed to drive every single thing I did.

But the weapon served a purpose.

He killed vampires, and he killed them well.

If I was going to creep into a vampire’s stronghold with just Justin, a teenaged tiger and a few witches, I wanted every tool I had at my disposal. Including that cursed sword.

* * * *

When I strode out of my bedroom, Doyle’s eyes shot straight over my shoulder to the blades—no…the dark one.

To Death.

“What the hell is that thing?” His eyes were narrow and his voice was full of caution.

I’d felt the same way when I’d first laid eyes on it.

I
still
felt that way.

Doyle flinched and pressed the heel of his hand to his head but I felt the warning prickle against my shields. Justin.

“Justin,” I said.

Doyle just continued to stare at me, his pale blue eyes burning. I had the feeling he wanted to put distance between himself and the blade. A lot of it. Didn’t blame him. I’d had to force myself to use the motherfucker the first few times I’d thought I’d need him.

I’d needed him.

So I was probably going to need him now.

Didn’t mean I had to like it.

And I didn’t blame Doyle’s obvious dislike.

It was weird how sensitive he was to the magic, though. Most people aside from witches, though, just felt uncomfortable around Death. They didn’t look like they wanted to take off and run. If Doyle had been in his tiger form, his fur would have been standing on end and he would have been growling.

I was at the door before Justin knocked and his gaze immediately dropped to the dark sword. A line appeared between his brows. “I hate that blade,” he said.

The weight of him seemed to grow heavier. “I don’t like him, either.”

Then I shrugged and glanced past him to the witches he’d rounded up.

Only three others? That was it?

And one of them, to my surprise…and concern, was Tate.

I managed to conceal my shock, but I don’t know if I quite hid the irritation as she gave me a sly smile.

“Hello, dolly.”

I thought about pulling out Death and jabbing her with him. She thought she’d been surprised to discover the enchantments on
my
blade? That was nothing compared to the magic inside of Death. He was another one of those ancient relics—the kind that you either just didn’t want to mess with, or that you wanted to keep out of the wrong hands. I’d had the choice of leaving him where some fucked up individuals could find him or taking him on myself.

Sometimes the wisest choice was just the only logical one out of bunch of lousy ones.

Just then, though, I thought it might be amusing to draw him and see what Tate said about the little human dolly who carried a sword that had been reputedly forged by godlike beings, a blade that carried the stain of death in his steel.

It was a thought I wouldn’t have had a few months ago. Maybe even a few days, a few minutes ago. I wouldn’t have wasted much time on it, except my hand all but itched, all but burned to do just that.

Turning away, I crossed the room so none of them could see me.

I’d had no doubt in my mind that Jude had broken me. In that moment, though, I worried if maybe he had done something even worse.

* * * *

“You okay?”

I’d lost track of how long I stood in front of the sink, hands on the counter while I stared at nothing. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but it was a few too long.

Slowly, I lifted my gaze and stared at Justin. “Right as rain.” I rolled that phrase over in my mind. “You ever wondered what that means?”

I went to turn and move away but before I could, he caught my arm. “Is it the blade? Or something else?”

This isn’t the time
, I tried to tell him with just a look.

We hadn’t worked together in years, but in a room full of witches and a shapeshifter with very sharp ears, I didn’t want to discuss it or try to project it to him, either.

That line remained between his eyebrows but he just watched me for a minute and then moved away.

He looked over at Doyle, his mouth compressed. “What’s with the cat? Thought we’d decided it was us handling this end.”

“I need to be there,” Doyle said from the other room before I had a chance to respond.

Justin’s brows arched as Doyle came prowling into the kitchen. “Oh?” He drew it out, long and slow. Then he leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me. Please. I’m all ears.”

Doyle flashed him a toothy smile. “I don’t need to tell you shit, witch. I’m going. Try to stop me and I’ll just track you.”

Justin lifted an arm and silver released from his sleeves, spinning in dizzying threads around it. “What if I decide that’s not in our best interests, cat?”

“Enough.” I caught the silver in my hand, ignoring the jolt of magic that shot up my arm. Damn. If that silver ever touched shifter flesh, they’d be in a world of hurt, and not just from the silver. He’d laid some ugly spells in the metal. Catching Justin’s eyes, I stared at him. “The kid wants to go. If my gut said it was a stupid idea, I would have argued and Damon would have listened to me. Since he’s here, you know that’s not the issue. Are you going to push this?”

Justin’s gaze dropped to my face, studying me closely.

I heard somebody grumbling in the other room—quietly, but the sentiment was clear enough.

Tate didn’t bother being subtle. She came storming into the small kitchen, full of attitude and temper, her eyes glinting. “What is this? We’re fucking around with the
ultimate
queen of the jungle, so to speak and you want to let Beast Boy come along? That’s insane.”

I shot Tate a dark look. “Not your call. You don’t want to come along, you can go play elsewhere. Otherwise? Shove it.”

“Look, maybe you like playing with furries, and maybe you don’t worry about them turning on you, but—”

I had him in my hand.

He didn’t come to my call, but I never would have called Death.

But I drew him, just that fast and now he was pressed to her neck and I stared at the dull gray tip of the sword touching her flesh.

The reaction was instantaneous. Her skin went white and I felt the shock reverberate through her even as her magic reacted, the heat in the room jacking up. The room didn’t go up in flames—that was probably thanks to the wards laid on my home by Colleen and Justin—but I could
feel
the heat and the pressure on the wards grew, slamming into me. They were connected to me and the more
they
felt, the more I was going to feel.

“Enough,” I told her.

She stared at the blade, shocked into momentary silence. Then: “Anybody carrying a blade like that must have a death wish…what is that thing?”

I smiled a little, a joke between me and the blade.

“Death,” I said, amused. Then I looked into her golden eyes, saw the flames dancing there. “I’m tired, Tate. I’m tired of you. I’m tired of everything. I want this job done. If you don’t want to go along and see about getting your pound of flesh for what was done to Es, then the door is there. But you can’t
do
this without me…and I don’t care if you go along or not. So either shut up. Or get out of my way.”

* * * *

Doyle rode with Justin and me.

He was a quiet, hot presence in the back seat. Once we were on the road, he stripped out of his jacket and unrolled a supple length of cloth.

I heard the familiar hiss and scrape as he started to sharpen blades.

Justin’s eyes widened, betraying his surprise.

If I hadn’t already noticed Doyle’s fascination with weapons, I might have asked him about it.

A tiger that carried around throwing daggers.

Weird, that.

But some people just liked shiny objects. I was one of them. Who was I to question what gave Doyle’s mind that much needed focus and calm?

The drive to Allerton’s house would have taken close to an hour, but we couldn’t drive straight there.

We would have to leave our cars some distance off and move the rest of the way on foot.

Under normal circumstances, I’d rather take a few days and plan this out, map out a nice, neat little plan of attack.

We didn’t have time.

I could all but hear the countdown in the back of my head, see the flashing of the clock as the hours and minutes ticked away. We had hours. Maybe even a day.

But
days
…no. My gut said the time was now. The
only
time. Pandora was ready to make her move. Maybe she even had a way to key in on me and Justin and once
we
had figured out who had the vase, she would zero in on the target, too.

We had to move now and I had to figure out my next step.

I couldn’t do that until I had the vase in my hands.

Destroy the vase. Cut off her path of retreat
, a calm voice murmured in the back of my head. 
Cut off her source of power. While she is a state of panic, make your move
.