Sugar snorted.
“If I manage to make it out, I’ll release the moth I showed you before. Don’t come looking for me unless you see it, and if I’m not back in a day or two, I’m dead and you need to go back to the herd.”
Was any of this getting through to her or was I talking to myself? I hoped she understood me, because if she didn’t, I’d have a really awkward family reunion when my dad arrived with lightning and furious thunder or whatever other theatrics he would bring to bear.
The wall loomed before us. We cleared it and Sugar swooped down, flying low. Mishmar was a deep pit surrounded by a wall, with the tower rising from the center. A stone bridge stretched from the gates to the tower. Sugar landed straight into a gallop, carrying me toward the enormous door, the hoofbeats of her steps scattering echoes through the vast empty courtyard. She stopped, and I jumped off her back and pulled the saddlebags free.
“Go.”
Above us the monster birds shrieked.
“Go!”
She reared, pawing the air, then ran back along the bridge and took flight. I turned toward the massive door. The last time I saw it, we were running out of it, after Curran, Andrea, and the rest came to rescue me. Never thought I would be going through it again.
The memory of me dying slowly of exposure in lukewarm water shot through me. Thanks, brain. Just what I needed.
A new bar secured the door, a thick strip of steel controlled by a wheel with eight handles protruding from it. Things moved inside the tower, crawling through the walls, their half-atrophied brains feeling like painful pinpricks of red light in mine. Vampires. Loose and driven near mad by bloodlust. They killed the weak that Roland imprisoned in Mishmar, wore down the strong, and without prey, they fed on each other.
My knees shook. I didn’t want to go in. I would do almost anything not to go in.
“Lovely place,” I said to hear my own voice. The stone echoes made it sound puny.
Curran was counting on me. I was counting on me. I didn’t have time for post-traumatic stress.
I could feel the memory of water on my skin, leeching my will to live. I could hear Ghastek’s labored breathing next to me. I could almost see him nodding, his mouth too close to the water as he hung suspended from the metal grate that prevented us from climbing out.
Come on, weakling. Open the fucking door. How hard can it be?
I could turn around and leave. Walk away, keep walking, and never come back.
Open. The. Door.
The wheel looked impossibly large now and I knew somewhere deep in the core of my being that if I touched it, horrible things would happen.
Open the door.
Curran would’ve begun moving his people in by now. He was en route. If I didn’t open the door, my father wouldn’t leave for Mishmar.
I grabbed the wheel and spun it. Metal squeaked and clanged, invisible gears turned, and the bar slid aside.
I exhaled and pulled the door open.
Darkness.
I stood in the doorway, letting my eyes adjust. A dark stone foyer, cavernous, its roof supported by two rows of columns. Probably used to belong to some hotel or bank. There had to be an exit that would lead deeper into Mishmar, because we had crossed this lobby the last time I was here, but I couldn’t see it.
I moved to the side, away from the sunset light, and waited with my back against the wall.
The vampires stayed away. They had to have heard the bar slide aside and the creak of the gate. They should’ve come running, but instead their minds hovered above me and to the sides. That meant only one thing. Something lived in this foyer, something so dangerous that the awareness of it penetrated even the bloodthirsty, crazed minds of the bloodsuckers.
I waited, breathing quiet and slow. There was a trick to staying invisible: stop thinking. I cleared my head and simply waited, one with the darkness and the cold wall of stone touching my back.
Moments ticked by. I watched the foot-wide line of daylight cross the stones of the floor as the sunshine slipped through the gap between the two halves of the door. The chamber was roughly rectangular, the columns running along the two longer sides. Most of them had survived, but at least three had fallen, breaking into pieces. The walls weren’t perfectly smooth. A shelflike decorative molding ran along the perimeter of the lobby at about twenty feet high. Above it, at even intervals, large reliefs interrupted the stone, depicting modern buildings and people. The floor was polished marble, now dusted with dirt and grime, but still slick. I would have to be careful running.
I stayed completely still.
The attack came from above, fast and silent. I felt it a fraction of a second before the javelin hit, and I dodged right. The short spear clattered on the floor. I jumped back—two shurikens whistled through the space where I was a moment ago—and leapt left behind a column. The column was four feet across and left me two choices: left or right. Not much of a cover.
Open lobby to my left, sliced in half by the narrow light streaming through the gap in the door, a wall to my right. Down wasn’t an option; up wasn’t either. The vampires squirming above me were too far. Concentrating on drawing them close would split my attention too much.
A shuriken clattered against the column from the left. Judging by the angle, the attacker had to be either twenty feet tall or above ground.
Shuriken were nuisance weapons, meant to distract and panic. Even if dipped in poison, they rarely killed. The attacker was trying to herd me toward the wall.
I lunged right, but instead of running to the wall, I dashed around the column and sprinted into the open space in the center of the chamber.
Shurikens hurtled at me from the darkness, from the spot in front of me and slightly to the left, coming from above. I dodged the first one, drew Sarrat in a single fast move, and knocked the second aside.
The darkness waited. So did I.
Done? Let’s see what else you’ve got.
The beam of light coming through the door painted the floor behind me, not really illuminating the gloom, but diluting it enough to see movement. The angle of the shurikens pointed to a spot on the wall near the column. If someone had jumped up and perched on the molding, it would be about right. The twilight was too thick to see clearly, and the wall didn’t look any different.
All was quiet. Nothing moved in the direction from which the shurikens came.
I breathed in even deep breaths, Sarrat raised. If the attacker used magic, I couldn’t sense it.
Come closer. You know you want to. Come see me. Say hello. I’m friendly.
The texture of the wall by the column changed in a single sharp moment. Something was there, then disappeared.
I spun on pure instinct, swinging. Sarrat connected with the blade of a long knife aimed at my ribs, batting it aside, left to right. For half a second, the attacker was wide open, a tall figure in a gray cloak, his right arm thrown to his left by the force of my blow. I lunged into the opening and grabbed the cloak, yanking him toward me.
The fabric came free with no resistance, light and silk-thin under my fingers. The attacker vanished.
Movement, right side.
I jumped back. The knife sliced the air two inches from my throat. The attacker lunged, slashing at my neck with insane speed. “He” had breasts. A woman. I thrust Sarrat’s blade up, blocking the dagger. She reversed the strike, and stabbed at my ribs. I danced out of the way.
Stab. Dodge.
Stab. Dodge. She had crazy reach.
Stab. Dodge. Her blade fanned my face.
I let it slice way too close for comfort, stepped in, and hammered a punch to her right ear.
She stumbled and somersaulted backward, putting a full thirty feet between us and landing in a half crouch.
She wore a skintight black catsuit. Black wrist guards and shin guards shielded her limbs, made o
f durable synthetic fabric, probably with steel or plastic inserts, hard enough to stop a blade and prevent a cut. Some band-like pattern over her torso. Soft black boots, almost slipper-like, a sole with some fabric to hold it to the foot. Swirls of gray camo decorated her skin. The cloak had hidden her hair, but now it was out in the open, so pale blond it was nearly white and pulled back into a short high ponytail. Thin long arms, thin long legs, long neck—room for a good cut if I could get close enough. Long legs were normally an asset for a woman, but not for her. Their length and shape put them past the point of attractive and straight into creepy. There was something deeply disturbing about her silhouette. Inhuman, almost alien. Adora had said there was one other fae among the sahanu. I’d bet my arm that she was standing in front of me, holding a foot-long Teflon-gray tactical knife.
“Sloppy, Irene.” I turned toward her and flicked imaginary blood from my sword. “Do better.”
She smiled, showing a mouth full of human-sized but sharp teeth, each pure white and pointed, like someone had studded her gums with thirty-two narrow canines.
I had a handful of iron powder in both pockets.
Not much exposed skin. If I used the powder, it would have to be on her face. Right now she didn’t know I had it and once the element of surprise was lost, thrown powder was easy enough to avoid. I had to use it when I had a sure shot.
“Today,” I told her. “I have things to do.”
She tossed her knife into her left hand and pulled out a short tactical sword. Same dark finish, same profile, almost a steak knife but with a sixteen-inch blade. There went my reach advantage.
Irene charged. I dodged the sword thrust and raised Sarrat to parry, but not fast enough. The knife caught my left biceps. The cut burned.
She jumped back, grinned, and raised the knife to her mouth. Her tongue licked the blood.
I pushed.
She screeched as the blood in her mouth turned into needles and pierced her tongue.
“Dumbass,” I told her.
She lunged at me, swinging, her blades flashes of movement. I dodged, blocking and waiting for an opening. Left, right, left—her blades rang, meeting Sarrat. Cut, cut, cut—she nicked my right forearm—right, left—searing pain, she cut my left shoulder again—cut, cut . . .
I had trouble keeping up. She was too damn fast. A person with arms that length had no business being that fast. I was blocking at the peak of my speed. A few more moments and I’d get tired enough to slow down.
Cut, cut . . .
Now. For half a second she was in front of me, left arm with the knife extended, right rising up for another slash. I sliced at her left wrist, stepped back, and got my left arm under her right, trapping it. I jerked her forward onto my blade. You’re dead.
She wasn’t there. One second I had her locked in and the next she vanished.
A teleporter.
The knife sliced across my back. I whipped around and barked a power word. “Aarh!” Stop.
The power word clamped her. Magic shot from her in a short concentrated burst, shattering my hold. She stabbed at my stomach and made it an inch in. I spun out of the way and kicked her.
She fell, then rolled to her feet, but I was already there, slicing. Sarrat’s blade kissed the skin of her long neck, drawing a drop of scarlet. Her eyes darted to the right. She vanished.
Short-range teleporter, line of sight. I spun right and sprinted, darting back and forth, turning myself into a moving target. She’d have to chase if she wanted a shot.
Irene popped into existence in front of me and charged. I blocked her sword with mine. We clashed in the middle of the floor, metal screeching. I muscled her back. She vanished. Damn it.
I jogged right, zigzagging, moving in a rough circle. My stomach hurt. My left arm burned. I was breathing too fast.
She popped up on my right. I dropped to one knee, her long blade whistling over my head, and stabbed to the side. Sarrat nicked her thigh. She leapt back and vanished.
I kept moving, breathing a little faster than I had to, walking a little slower. I let the point of Sarrat droop a hair too low.
Come on in. I’m nice and tired.
A hint of movement sliding soundlessly in the gloom to my left. Hello, Irene. I spun to my right and dramatically sliced the empty air. That’s right, I’m scared and chasing ghosts. Enjoy the show.
I spun back, then front, the sword raised, and kept moving. I really was getting tired. This had to be it.
She trailed me, quiet, patient, a strange creature, shaped like a human but so far from it.
I stopped and took a deep breath, as if to steady my breathing.
She vanished.
The thrust came from the left. I spun away the moment I saw her disappear and she came into my spin, her teeth bared, eyes wide open, expecting easy prey.
I hurled a handful of iron in her face.
Irene screamed. I lunged and buried Sarrat in her stomach, sliding the blade between the reinforced plates of her suit. She screeched higher, her voice sharp. I twisted, ripping her insides, and threw the remaining powder into her gaping mouth. The scream ended, cut off by a choking gurgle.
Translucent wings snapped out of Irene’s back. She leapt up, the wings beating in frenzy, sped all the way to the ceiling, then plummeted down, hitting the floor with a wet thud. Not enough power to truly fly, but she must’ve been a hell of a jumper.
Dark blood wet my blade, brown, almost rust-colored, as if the normal bright red of human blood was tinted with green.
Irene lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.
I wanted to lie down, too. Instead I caught my breath and walked over to her. Rust-colored liquid poured from her mouth. She squirmed in a puddle of her own blood.
I raised my blade and finished it.
• • •
EVERYTHING HURT.
My left arm hurt. My right arm hurt. My stomach hurt. I’d stopped to slap some bandages on the cuts. I could control the vampires of Mishmar, but if enough of them got together, enticed by my blood, they would be difficult to deal with and I was tired.
Nobody bothered me as I walked down the long hallway. If any other monsters skulked in the darkness, they must’ve decided I’d be too expensive to kill.
The last time, when we fought our way out of Mishmar, getting from my grandmother’s tomb to the door took almost an hour, or it had felt like an hour. We fought the vampires, we moved slowly because I was at the end of my strength, and we had gotten lost at least twice. Now it took barely fifteen minutes.
In front of me the walls parted into an enormous cavern-like chamber, its ceiling lost in darkness, its floor shrouded in fog a hundred feet below. A narrow spire rose from the bottom of the chamber, fused together from concrete, stone, and brickwork. An identical but inverted spire reached down from the ceiling. They met in the middle, two hands clasping a rectangular stone box thirty-five feet high. A metal breezeway encircled it and a narrow metal bridge led to the breezeway from the stone ledge where I stood. Inside the room a magic storm howled, a power so ancient, so mad, that it made me shiver.
“Hello, Grandmother,” I whispered, and took the first step onto the bridge. It seemed longer than I remembered. I reached the breezeway and circled the room, my steps too loud on the metal, until I reached the doorway. It glowed with a pale purple light. I took a deep breath and walked inside.
A rectangular room lay in front of me. At the far wall a simple stone altar rose from a raised platform. Five stone steps led to it from the right. Between the altar and me lay my grandmother’s body. Long sharp blades, opaque and white, grew from the massive, nine-foot-tall skeleton, some branching, some isolated, some in clusters. One of these blades was now on my back, attached to a hilt.
In life my grandmother was Semiramis, the Great Queen, the Shield of Assyria. In death, her body was no longer a human th
ing; instead, it had become a magic coral, neither fully bone nor metal, stretching upward and outward, blooming like a lethal chrysanthemum. It burned with the cold fire of magic.
I could still turn back. There was still a chance.
No, I’d come too far to stop now.
I approached the bones. The magic brushed against me light as a feather, and the potency it carried gripped my heart into a fist and squeezed all the blood out of it. The world turned black.
Breathe . . . breathe . . . breathe . . .
The magic let go. She recognized me.
I knelt, opened the bag, and gently laid the bones of my aunt by her mother’s side.
A wail tore through the chamber. Magic slammed into me, throwing me across the room. I smashed into the wall, every bone in my body rattling.
Ow.
I blinked and saw the gossamer shape of my grandmother. She wore a thin red robe with glittering gold threads running down the length of it. A waterfall of black hair fell in soft curls down her back. She knelt by the bones, her face with its bronze skin and bottomless brown eyes twisted by grief.
I rolled to my feet and stumbled back to the bags. She let me approach. I knelt by her, took out a thermos filled with Erra’s blood, and poured it over the bones. They glowed weakly with pale red. I opened the second thermos and emptied it. The bones glowed brighter and dimmed.
Third thermos. A weak glow and then nothing.
It didn’t work. I came all this way, did all those things, and it didn’t work?
The tempest that was my grandmother stared at me, expecting something. I kept my gaze down. Looking into her eyes was like staring into an abyss. It would swallow you whole.
I had no more blood. Everything that the Pack had collected lay right there in front of me, like a fire laid out to burn. It needed an accelerant . . .
I pulled my sleeve back, peeled off the medical tape on my forearm, and squeezed some of my blood out. Why not? Everything else our family did was connected to blood. I let the hot red drops slide off my fingers onto the bones.