Shadow City (9 page)

The Grim dropped back to the ground. Alexander met its lambent gaze, waiting for the verdict. His fingers twitched toward the grip of the gun in his waistband, but he held himself still. He doubted even the steel-shot shells would have much impact on the beasts. He was not sure what would.

“You are stupid.”

Tutresiel’s voice made Alexander start. He had not heard the angel’s approach. He twisted to look at him. “So you keep telling me. What are you doing here?”

Tutresiel’s mouth twisted with bitter fury. “Helping.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart?”

“No.”

“Then why? You do not even like Tyler. Or any of the rest of us, for that matter.”

For a moment, Tutresiel said nothing. Then, as if against his will, “I like Max. She likes you. I don’t have a choice.”

Alexander grinned. “Welcome to my world,” he said, and then they reached Tyler.

The Grim lying across his legs settled its head between its paws. It clearly had no intention of moving.

“Anytime you want to get me out of here, feel free,” Tyler said, his lips barely moving. His eyes were open only a slit, and Alexander could hear his heart thundering in his chest.

“Looks like you have a new friend,” Niko said, crouching down and settling a hand on Tyler’s shoulder. “I hope it’s house-trained.” He looked up at Alexander and Tutresiel. “Any idea how to get the mutt to move?”

“We could try playing fetch,” Alexander said. “Or maybe just asking nicely.” He held out his hand. “Come on, boy. Let Tyler go now.”

The Grim sniffed his hand, then opened its mouth and enveloped Alexander’s hand. The beast’s teeth punctured his skin. He did not move as a warm, wet tongue swept away the blood. A growl at Alexander’s side made him jerk, and he looked down. Another Grim stood beside him, its lips wrinkled back in a vicious snarl. It growled again, and suddenly, the first Grim let go of his hand with a wet sneeze and heaved itself to its feet. It bent and swiped a tongue over Tyler’s arm even as Niko helped hoist him off the ground.

“Damn, my legs are asleep,” Tyler said, leaning against Niko. “Bastard must weigh a ton.”

“At least it didn’t eat you,” Niko said.

“I don’t know why.”

“Let us get out of here, and you can figure it out later,” Alexander advised. “Tutresiel can fly you out.”

Tyler eyed the angel. “I don’t think so. I’ll walk.”

“Suit yourself.” Tutresiel launched into the sky and skimmed up to land between Xaphan and Oz.

“I hate him,” Tyler muttered.

“I’m sure it’s mutual,” Niko said. “Can you walk?”

“Feeling’s coming back.”

“So is your new friend,” Alexander said as he lifted Tyler’s other arm over his shoulder and they started up the hill. Tyler’s Grim followed.

“It’s not the only one.”

Tyler was right. Another Grim padded along beside Alexander, the beast’s back coming up to Alexander’s hip.

The three men said nothing more as they climbed back up to the ridgeline.

“New friends?” Oz asked, eyeing the big beasts narrowly.

“
You
tell them to go away,” Niko said. “See if they tear your balls off or not. I’m not risking it. I like my balls just where they are.”

“So how do we get rid of them?”

“More important,” Giselle said, “what is in the ward circle that the woman finds so fascinating?”

Alexander had almost forgotten the witch was there. She had her arms crossed and was frowning at the boiling smoke.

“We could ask,” he suggested softly.

She jerked her head to look at him and then Tutresiel. “Would she answer?”

He shrugged. “There is little known about them.”

“I am willing to try,” Alexander said. He looked at Giselle. “If you do not object.”

She snorted. “Why let that bother you now? Go. I haven’t a clue what this is”—she gestured at the black column—“and if she goes postal, I’d rather lose you than anyone else.”

“Your concern is overwhelming,” he said dryly.

“I’m sentimental like that.”

“Like a rattlesnake,” he murmured, and then turned and went back down the ridge. His Grim companion trotted at his side.

The woman did not watch him approach. He stopped at the bottom of the boulder where she sat and cleared his throat. Nothing. He grimaced, then leaped up to land on a slab just below. It put him at head height with her.

“I ask your indulgence,” he said, bowing slightly. This close, he realized how flawless her skin was—almost radiant. If he did not know better, he would have thought her an angel straight out of a Michelangelo painting. Or a saint of some kind. She turned to look at him, and the world exploded.

His entire self shattered to bits. He could not think. He felt something moving around him, through him, swallowing him. It was beyond pain, beyond pleasure. At the center of everything was a hard kernel that refused to give. Something prodded it, then bit sharply into it. The kernel did not crack.

“Curious.”

The word resonated, shivering through what was left of him. He gripped the kernel like an anchor and grappled to piece himself back together. It was like a jigsaw puzzle. Nothing seemed to fit as it should. He refused to give up.

“Impressive. You are strong.”

The words pounded on him, and his rebuilt self collapsed inward like a crushed beer can, as if the entire weight of the world were pressing in on him. He held tight against it, refusing to crumble.

“Who are you?” He did not know if he spoke the words or just thought them.

Amusement. “What is the universe to a thing so small as you? Ah, yes . . . I see now. The Five.” Her amusement quaked through him, and he sagged against her rocky perch. “That is what you little things call us.” Apparently, Tutresiel was one of the little things. He was going to love that. “I am the one they call the Memory. It is apt enough, I suppose.”

“And the column?” he gasped. He was smothering. Her attention was too much. Too heavy, too huge.

“It is an Erinye. Fury. A soul was betrayed here. She wants vengeance. Go now, little one. I should not like to see you die because of me, and I would remember. Keep Beyul well. He has chosen you.”

With that, she withdrew, and Alexander crumpled like a marionette with cut strings. He tumbled from the boulder and landed on the flat below. He felt nothing. His mind was full of spinning lights. Something cold and wet nuzzled his cheek. It reminded him to breathe. He sucked in a long breath and turned on his side as he was racked with coughs.

At last, they faded, and he sat up. His companion Grim sat beside him, its warm breath puffing across Alexander’s face. The beast leaned forward and snuffled him, and then swiped a wet tongue from his chin to his forehead.

“Thanks,” Alexander said, and hoisted himself to his feet, wiping away the dog slobber with his forearm. He glanced up at the Memory. She ignored him, her attention fixed on the trapped smoke. He nodded to her and started back up the hill. When the Grim fell in beside him, he stopped.

“Beyul? That is your name?”

The beast nosed his hand and yawned.
He has chosen you
. What the hell did that mean? He would worry about it later. Right now, he needed to report what he had learned.

“She says she is the Memory,” he told the others when he reached the top of the ridge. He was exhausted, and his legs shook. Beyul leaned against him, and he was grateful for the Grim’s solid support. “She said it is an Erinye. Then something about a soul being betrayed here and that she wants vengeance. Oh, and she said
fury
.”

“Erinye?” Giselle repeated, and went to look at the turbulent smoke. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “A Fury. Of course. Dammit. Sonofabitch.” Abruptly, she swung around. “Xaphan, take me back to the Keep. Niko and Tyler, wake the coven. I want all my witches, Sunspears, and Shadowblades in the Great Hall in a half-hour. Oz and Alexander, meet me in my quarters right away.” She hesitated. “Tutresiel, you’d better come, too.”

Xaphan pulled her into the air, his fiery wings sending embers spinning across the ground. Alexander exchanged a look with the others. “Any idea what is going on?”

Tutresiel pinched his lower lip. “Erinyes are Furies. They are born from the souls of women who have been brutally betrayed on a level that prevents their spirits from moving on.”

“Sounds like ghosts,” Niko said.

Tutresiel shook his head. “Ghosts are nothing compared to this. Women who become Furies somehow tap into something cosmic or elemental and are extraordinarily powerful and destructive. Think of the power of a volcano, a hurricane, a nuclear bomb, and a tidal wave all rolled into one, and you might be getting close. Their pain and betrayal are so deep and so massive because they embody the suffering of all women. Literally. It’s an eternal reminder of what created them, as well as the source of their power. Their whole being is devoted to delivering justice and vengeance for the women who can’t get it for themselves.” He hesitated. “When they rise, they are—” He grimaced and shook his head. “It is going to be ugly.”

“Define ugly,” Oz said.

“She will burn Horngate to the ground and probably half of Montana with it.”

“They do say payback’s a bitch,” Tyler muttered. “But just who the hell was she? What happened to her?”

“It wasn’t anybody from Horngate. No one is unaccounted for,” Niko said.

“Giselle suspects something,” Alexander said. “We had better go find out what.” He nodded to Oz, and the two started back to the Keep at a run. Beyul galloped soundlessly at Alexander’s heels, almost as if he floated over the ground.

Oz’s brows rose. “Friend of yours?”

“I hope so,” Alexander said.

T
HE HUNTER SMILED AT
M
AX
. H
IS MOUTH WAS
full of white teeth, the canines elongated, reminding Max of a whole lot of bad vampire movies. She hoped he wasn’t into the whole blood-sucking thing.

He leaped lightly up onto the rocks. His pack of five Calopus followed as far as they could. Max was delighted to see that they couldn’t make it all the way to the top. Nor could they reach Scooter.

As soon as the hunter outdistanced them, they started baying like banshees. Max winced. So much for taking care of this quietly. But apparently, the hunter didn’t want an audience, either. He hissed something at the beasts, and the howls cut off instantly.

The hunter scrutinized Max from head to foot, pausing on the two branches in her hands before moving on. Finally, he returned to her face. His brows rose as if asking if she was ready. Fair play of sorts. Interesting. She gave a slight nod.

He dashed at her, swinging the scythe at her legs. She jumped out of the way, the magic of Tutresiel’s feather embedded in her palm giving her more bounce than she was prepared for and nearly carrying her off the top of the battlefield. She scrabbled at the edge and spun just as he ran at her again.

This time, she vaulted over his head and smashed the shorter club into his back. He grunted, but he was smiling when he turned to face her again. Max found herself grinning back. He feinted. She flexed her knees and waited for him to commit.

He came at her straight on, the scythe whirling like a saw blade. Max took the longer branch and shoved it into the heart of the wheel. The blade chopped through it like butter, but it slowed the hunter’s momentum enough. Max dropped and swept his legs out from under him. He tumbled onto his back, and she leaped on top of him. She wrenched the scythe away and tossed it. He punched her in the face. She head-butted him, and her vision spangled with stars for a moment. He was stunned longer. But then again, she’d been built to handle a beating, her bones and flesh reinforced with magic.

He bucked and rolled, and she was under him. He ground a forearm against her throat. His breath smelled of sour beer and sweet spices. He stabbed down at her eye with a dagger that came out of nowhere. She snatched his wrist and gripped hard. He winced and put more weight into his thrust. Max twisted, and bone broke. The dagger clattered onto the rock near her head. He yelped and slammed down against her throat. She pounded her fists into the side of his head until he slid drunkenly to the side. Max kicked him off her and snatched up his dagger. She grabbed him by the throat and pressed the dagger into his stomach until she felt it pierce flesh. It would be nothing to cut him open and spill his guts out on the ground. The question was, should she?

He watched her, blood trickling from his nose.

“What do you want? Who do you work for?”

He shook his head. “Can’t say.”

“Can’t or won’t?” The point of the dagger slid in further, and he gasped.

“Can’t. Forbidden. Bound.” His mouth snapped shut, his face reddening as if even that was too much.

It was too familiar. Max grimaced, her hand on his throat loosening slightly. She should kill him. He certainly wouldn’t have hesitated to kill her. But then again, maybe she could use him to find out who was after Scooter.

She let go of his throat, grabbed his swords, and tossed them onto the rock. At least, she wasn’t unarmed anymore. She pulled the knife out and wiped it on his pants.