Magic Breaks

18

THE RUINED CITY slid by outside the Jeep. Atlanta. Ugly and beautiful, decaying and rising, life and death at the same time. Home. For better or worse, home. The sun was just beginning to set and the sky burned with a riot of orange and red. Curran drove, his face somber.

“This isn’t the way to Bernard’s.”

“The Conclave isn’t being held at Bernard’s,” Barabas said from the backseat. “We’re going to Lakeside.”

“What’s Lakeside?” I asked.

“It’s a new development where North Atlanta High School used to be.”

“The one that was overrun by boars with steel quills?” I remembered that. Took the city two years to boar-proof the area.

“Yes. Supposedly it’s been constructed by the same firm that made Champion Heights.”

Champion Heights was the only surviving high-rise in Atlanta. “It’s a tower?”

“Twelve floors.”

I laughed. What else was there to do?

“Did I miss something?” Barabas asked.

“You should drop me off and bail,” I told Curran.

“What, and miss the fun? Not a chance. We’ll pound him into the ground.”

We couldn’t win. I knew it. He knew it. But I loved him so much for those words, he didn’t even know.

We turned onto Northside Parkway. The ground rose, forming a hill, and on top of it a tower perched above a long, narrow lake. Built with yellow rock and turquoise glass, it faced the setting sun and the sky set its windows on fire.

Curran parked in front of the tower near a row of black SUVs that probably belonged to the People. A row of Pack Jeeps sat at the opposite end of the parking lot. The party was all here. Now I just had to bring the entertainment.

“Who is running security?” Curran asked.

“Derek,” Barabas answered.

Well, the place would be secure. Also, Derek would probably die. I needed to get him and our people out of the building.

The second Jeep parked next to us and spat out Jim, Andrea, Thomas, and Robert. When I tried to suggest Robert should stay behind, both wererats acted mortally offended. I let it go. I was tired of trying to talk people out of this mass suicide.

We walked through the double doors, manned by two guards. The taller of the men on the right stepped forward. Curran looked at him for a second and the two guards turned around and decided to look somewhere else.

We crossed the lobby.

“The elevator doesn’t work yet,” Barabas informed me. “The bottom floors aren’t finished. Only the top three are.”

“That’s fine. We’ll take the stairs,” Curran said.

We climbed the steps. I knew stairs would be the death of me one day.

Twelve floors went by fast. I opened the door and we stepped into a wide hallway lined with green carpet. Six journeymen stood on the left, six vampires sitting by their feet. Across from them Derek and five of our combat-grade people stood on the right. Derek saw us and pushed himself from the wall.

If I knew anything at all about Derek, this wasn’t the totality of the Pack’s forces in the building. They would have people stashed on the roof, on the floor below, in the parking lot.

“No need for everyone to die,” I murmured.

Curran nodded at Derek. “Clear the building. Take our people out.”

He didn’t even blink. “Yes, Lord.”

“Everyone, Derek,” I added. “A complete recall.”

“Yes, Consort.” He turned to the shapeshifters. “Full evac.”

They turned and took off toward the stairs. He followed them, his voice raised, talking to people with supernatural hearing above and below us. “Full evac. I repeat, full evac. Clear the building.”

The journeymen looked at each other. One of them, a young girl with red hair, barely a woman, ran toward the door at the far end of the hallway. Curran and I followed. We weren’t in a hurry. We wanted to give our people enough time to leave Lakeside.

The hallway ended. Curran pushed the door open and walked into the room. A hundred feet long and about half as wide, the room housed two long tables, one at the left wall and the other at the right, each covered with a tablecloth, the floor between them empty. The alphas of the Pack Council sat on the right. The People sat on the left. I saw familiar faces, Mahon and Martha, Raphael, Desandra . . . Everyone was here.

We took our seats. I reached under the table and squeezed Curran’s hand. He squeezed back.

“We’re about to be attacked,” Curran said.

“We know,” Mahon said.

Across the room, the seven Masters of the Dead gaped at me, each holding two vampires arranged in a precise line against the wall behind them. Six familiar faces, and one new, an older man with gray hair. The red-headed journeyman was whispering to Ghastek. He glared at us and waved her off. “I don’t care who Lennart pulled out of the building.”

The gray-haired man rose, walked over, and knelt on the floor directly across from me. Oops. Looks like I sat down too soon.

“Sharrim.”

I’d heard his voice before. When we tried to escape Hugh’s burning castle, before Aunt B died, Hugh had sent vampires after me. I had slaughtered the undead, ruining the minds of the navigators who had piloted them, but I left one alive. When that vampire had spoken to me, it spoke in this man’s voice.

The People stared at us. Rowena was blinking rapidly, stunned. Ghastek leaned forward, focused on me with a laser’s precision. I wondered what Landon had told him. Maybe nothing. Wouldn’t that be funny?

“Sharrim,” the man repeated.

Showtime. I got up and walked over to him. He looked up at me, his hands folded on his lap.

“You are young,” the Master of the Dead said. “You have the power, but lack control. Think of all the things he could teach you. Think of the secrets that would open to you.”

I felt a power gathering beyond the walls of Lakeside, like a distant storm flashing with lightning on the horizon. The windows didn’t permit me a view of the sky, but I bet it churned with storm clouds. My father was coming.

“Think of what you could become.”

Oh, I was thinking about it. I did nothing but think about it the whole time it took me to get from Jester Park to Atlanta.

The arcane storm drew closer, terrible, swirling with power currents.

There were twenty-two vampires in the immediate vicinity. Six in the hallway, twelve in the room, and four in the adjacent room.

It would have to be enough. There was one power I didn’t demonstrate to my father. It was about time.

“There is no need to fight a battle that can’t be won.”

The storm swelled just outside the building, about to break on us.

“Think of who you are.”

The hurricane of magic burst. Lightning flashed outside the narrow windows and smashed into the wall in front of me. The stone cracked. I grabbed the vampires and pulled them to me. The navigators’ minds kicked and bucked like runaway horses. Rowena cried out. The Masters of the Dead pulled back, struggling to keep control.

I opened my mouth. “Hesaad.” Mine.

The power word tore from me, cracking like a whip. The navigators’ resistance vanished. The Master of the Dead in front of me got to his feet and pressed himself flat against the left wall. The vampires streamed to me.

The wall in front of me split open. Chunks of stone moved back, away from me, held apart, hung in the air for a long moment, and plunged down. The sky was black and gray with the full fury of a storm, and below the clouds, the sunset bled onto the sky. Icy wind bathed me, tugged my hair.

The mass of vampires circled me, forming an undead maelstrom around my feet.

Golden light burst into the space where the wall had been. Tendrils of pale smoke rose from it. The wall of light shimmered with yellow and white as if someone had ripped away a chunk of the sun’s corona and thrust it into Lakeside. My father’s face filled it, enormous, his eyes blazing with power.

His voice shook the tower. “DAUGHTER.”

I looked into the power roaring into my face. “Father.”

“Father?” someone squeaked to the left. Ghastek might have just had a heart attack.

Power reverberated through Lakeside, shaking the stone. “COME TO ME. STAND BY MY SIDE.”

The light and flame surged forth and I saw myself wearing crimson armor. A golden crown rested on my head. I looked like my grandmother.

I pushed with my power and the vampiric heads surrounding me exploded. Undead blood flooded the floor. I raised my left arm and sliced across it with Sarrat. My blood streamed down, mixing with the dark ruby liquid by my feet. My magic shot through the undead blood like fire down a detonation cord. The undead blood streamed to me, pliant and obedient. It curved around my feet, coating my clothes, slid over my arms, and drained down Sarrat, widening the blade as it coated the saber in crimson.

“TAKE YOUR PLACE.”

“No.”

The blood armor surged up, sheathing my body. The image of me wearing a crown burst and shattered.

I raised my head. “This is my city. Get out.”

The coronal fire in front of me swelled. A spear shot out, colossal, forged of golden light and power, aiming at me. The claiming.

I lunged, swinging my new blood sword. Sarrat connected with the spear.

Magic revolted, bursting and screaming around me. The impact nearly took me off my feet. It was like playing tug-of-war with a tornado. The blade shook and shuddered in my hands.

The spear of power pushed. The enormity of my father’s magic pressed on me, crushing me, grinding my bones into dust. Pain started from the tips of my fingers and washed down over me. I burned. From the top of my head to the soles of my feet, I burned. My eyes couldn’t see any damage, but my senses screamed that my skin was bubbling from the heat.

If I gave up now, Roland would claim Atlanta. I couldn’t let that happen. He would not take this city. People I knew, people I loved, wouldn’t bow and kneel to him as long as I stood.

“Amehe,” I whispered to my blade. “Amehe. Amehe.” Obey. Obey. Obey.

My bones cried out. In my head my muscles began to unravel, fiber by fiber, frayed nerves shaking in the raging wind. But I would not move.

I would not move.

“This is my city. These are my people.”

I tasted the sharp bite of my magic on my lips. My nose was bleeding. Tiny red drops rose from my cheeks and floated to join the blood coating Sarrat. My eyes were bleeding, too.

My arms shook. My feet slid back half an inch. Another half an inch.

A muscular arm wrapped around my stomach. Another closed over my chest. A deafening lion roar, proud and furious, thundered over my shoulders. Curran braced me. His magic mixed with mine.

My feet stopped moving.

My father pushed and we pushed back.

Thin, painfully bright cracks appeared in the spear where it met my blade.

The strain was ripping my body apart. I poured even more of my magic into the force of my strike. I thought I had given it all I could, but it kept coming and coming, fountaining from inside me.

The cracks widened.

Just a little more . . .

The spear shattered.

I tried to pull back, but I couldn’t. The magic continued to rush out of me, as unstoppable as a flood, more, more, more . . . I struggled to contain it, but it refused to stop. It ripped me out of Curran’s arms and jerked me off my feet into the air. My blood armor crumbled into dust. Words appeared on my hands and arms, strange words written in dark ink. The air around me turned red. The ceiling above me exploded. My body bent back, my arms opened wide, my back arched. The building swayed, shaking. Below me, people crouched by the walls, trying to hide from my power.

The magic inside me erupted. My voice rolled like the sound of an enormous bell.

“HESAAD.” MINE.

A pulse of pure red shot out of me, spreading in a ring over Atlanta. The blast wave rolled with a sound like thunder. I felt it slide over the city all the way past the outskirts, past the Keep until finally it dissipated. The magic soaked into the ground and it responded, sending a surge of magic back to me.

Oh no.

I had claimed the city. I had marked Atlanta as my dominion.

My father smiled and disappeared.

I plunged down and landed on the hard floor in front of Curran, still in his warrior form. The two of us looked at each other. Chunks of something that probably used to be the roof rained down around us.

Curran unhinged his monstrous jaws. I braced myself.

“Show-off.”

I just stared at him. My brain couldn’t string any words together.

He grinned at me. “Come on, baby. We’re going home.”

• • •

WALKING DOWN TO the bottom floor of Lakeside and then to the Pack Jeep was a lot harder than anticipated. Someone had already started the enchanted water engine for us. I got in on the passenger side. I was so numb. I just kept moving forward on autopilot. I should’ve felt something. Relief, fear, some sort of human emotion, but there was nothing there. Only cold detachment.

Curran pulled a spare set of sweats from the back of the Jeep Wrangler, shifted into human form, put them on, and slid into the driver’s seat. He shifted the Jeep out of park and steered it onto the street. A caravan of Pack Jeeps joined us.

The storm clouds had long since dissipated. The sunset had burned itself out, leaving a mere smudge of red in the sky, a distant memory of its dying. The sky above us turned a deep purple.

My mouth finally moved. “Don’t.”

Curran looked at me.

“Don’t take me back to the Keep. They’ll want an explanation. I can’t do it right now.”

Curran made a sharp right turn into a snowed-in lot between an office building and a ruin. The car screeched to a stop.