Gunmetal Magic
Page 66“Not something one forgets,” he said.
“The Guild is still squabbling over who should be in charge now.”
Curran glanced at me. “That was what, five months ago?”
“My point exactly. On one side there are the older mercs, who have combat experience. The other side is the support staff. Both groups have roughly an equal share of the Guild as a result of Solomon’s will and they hate each other. It’s getting into death threat territory, so they’re having some sort of final arbitration to decide who’s in charge.”
“Except they are deadlocked,” Curran guessed.
“Yes, they are. Apparently Jim thinks I should break that tie.”
The Guild’s now-dead founder was a closet shapeshifter, and he had left twenty percent of the Guild to the Pack. So as long as the Mercenary Guild remained deadlocked, nobody was getting paid and the Pack alphas wanted that income stream to start flowing again. They put pressure on Jim, and Jim put pressure on me.
I had done enough years in the Guild to be viewed as a veteran. Jim had as well, but unlike me, he had the luxury of having kept his identity semi-private. Most mercs didn’t know he was high up in the Pack.
I had no privacy. I was the Beast Lord’s Consort. It was the price I paid for being with Curran, but I didn’t have to like it.
His Majesty drank his tea. “Not looking forward to settling the dispute?”
“I’d rather eat dirt. It’s between Mark, Solomon’s longtime assistant, and the veterans led by the Four Horsemen, and they despise each other. They aren’t interested in reaching a consensus. They just want to throw mud at each other over a conference table.”
An evil light sparked in his eyes. “You could always go for Plan B.”
“Pound everyone to a bloody pulp until they shut up and cooperate?”
“Exactly.”
It would make me feel better. “I could always do it your way instead.”
Curran raised his blond eyebrows.
“Roar until everyone pees themselves.”
A shadow of self-satisfaction flickered on his face and vanished, replaced by innocence. “That’s bullshit. I’m perfectly reasonable and I almost never roar. I don’t even remember what it feels like to knock some heads together.”
The Beast Lord of Atlanta, a gentle and enlightened monarch. “How progressive of you, Your Majesty.”
The male necromancer in the booth next to us reached under the table and produced a rectangular rosewood box. Ten to one, there was some sort of jewelry inside.
I nodded at Curran. “Your turn. How did your day go?”
“It was busy and full of stupid shit I didn’t want to deal with.”
The blond woman opened the box. Her eyes lit up.
“The rats are having some sort of internal dispute over some apartments they bought. Took all day to untangle it.” Curran shrugged.
The woman plucked a golden necklace from the box. Shaped like an inch-and-a-half-wide segmented collar of pale gold, it gleamed in the feylantern light.
I poured us more tea. “But you prevailed.”
“Of course.” Curran drank from his cup. “You know, we could stay over in the city tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because that way we wouldn’t have to drive for an hour back to the Keep before we could fool around.”
Heh.
A scream jerked me to my feet. In the booth, the blond necromancer clawed at the necklace, gasping for breath. The man stared at her, his face a terrified mask. The woman raked her throat, gouging flesh. With a dried pop, her neck snapped, and she crashed to the floor. The man dived down, pulling at the necklace. “Amanda! Oh my God!”
Past him two pairs of red vampire eyes stared at us through the window.
Oh crap. I pulled Slayer from the sheath on my back. Sensing the undead, the pale blade of the enchanted saber glowed, sending wisps of white vapor into the air.
The dull carmine glow of vampire irises flared into vivid scarlet. Shit. The restaurant had just updated its menu with fresh human.
Flesh boiled on Curran’s arms. Bone grew, muscle twisted like slick ropes, skin sheathed his new body and sprouted fur. Enormous claws slid from Curran’s new fingers.
The vampires rose off their haunches.
Curran stood up next to me in his warrior form, nearly eight feet of steel-hard muscle.
The front window exploded in a cascade of gleaming shards, and the vampires sailed through, like they had wings. The left bloodsucker landed on the table, the remnant of the chain hanging from its neck. The right skidded on the slick parquet floor and bumped into another table, scattering the chairs.
I screamed and dashed to the left, pulling Slayer as I sprinted. Curran snarled and leaped, covering half the distance to the right bloodsucker in a single powerful jump.
My vamp glared at me. I looked into its eyes.
Hunger.
Like staring into an ancient abyss. Behind the eyes, its mind seethed, free of its master’s control. I wanted to reach out and crush it, like a bug between my fingernails. But doing that would give me away. I might as well give the People a sample of my blood with a pretty bow on it.
“Here!” I flicked my wrist, making the reflection of feylanterns dance along Slayer’s surface. Look. Shiny.
The bloodsucker’s gaze locked on the blade. The vamp ducked down, like a dog before the strike, front limbs wide, yellow claws digging into the table. The wood groaned. The chain slipped along the table’s edge, clinking.
No way to make a neck cut. The chain loop would block the blade.
A high-pitched female scream slashed my eardrums. The vamp hissed, jerking in the direction of the sound.
I jumped on the chair next to the table and thrust sideways and up. Slayer’s blade slid between the vamp’s ribs. The tip met a tight resistance and then sliced through it. Hit the heart. Banzai!
The bloodsucker screeched. I let go of the saber. The vamp reared, Slayer buried up to the hilt in its rib cage, staggered as if drunk, pitched over, and crashed to the floor, flopping like a fish on dry land.
To the left, Curran thrust his claws through the flesh under his vamp’s chin. The bloody tips of the talons emerged from the back of the bloodsucker’s neck. The vamp clawed at him. Curran thrust his monstrous hand deeper, gripped the vamp’s neck and tore its head off the body.
Show-off.
He tossed the head aside and glanced at me, checking if I was okay. The whole thing had only taken about five seconds, but it felt like an eternity. We were both in one piece. I exhaled.
The restaurant fell silent, except for the male necromancer sobbing on the floor and the hoarse hissing coming from the vampire, convulsing as my saber liquefied its innards, absorbing the nutrients into the blade.
In the far corner a man swiped his toddler from the high chair, grabbed his wife’s hand, and ran out. As one, the patrons jumped. Chairs fell, feet pounded, someone gasped. They rushed out of both doors. In a blink the place was empty.
I grasped Slayer and pulled. It slid from the body with ease. The edges of the wound sagged apart and dark brown blood spilled out from the cut. I swung and beheaded the vamp with a single sharp stroke. You should always finish what you started. I wiped Slayer off and put it back in its sheath.
Curran’s arms shrank, streamlining, gray fur melting into his skin. A normal shapeshifter would’ve needed a nap after changing shape twice in such a short time, but Curran didn’t exactly play by the regular shapeshifter rules. He walked over to the male necromancer, pulled him upright, and shook him once, an expression of deep contempt on his face. I could almost hear the guy’s teeth rattle in his skull.
The necromancer stared at him, shocked eyes wide, his mouth slack.
I knelt by the female navigator and touched her wrist, keeping away from her neck and the gold band on it. No pulse. The necklace clamped her throat like a golden noose, its color a dark vivid yellow, almost orange. The skin around it was bright red and quickly turning purple.
I picked up her purse, pulled out a wallet, and snapped it open. A People ID. Amanda Sunny, journeywoman, Second Tier. Twenty years old and now dead.
Curran peered into the journeyman’s face. “What happened? What did you do?”
The man sucked in a deep breath and dissolved into tears.
Curran dropped him in disgust. His eyes were pure gold—he was pissed off.
I went to the hostess desk and found the phone. Please work, sometimes even when the magic was up phones would. Dial tone. Yes!
I called the Casino.
“Kate Daniels, for Ghastek. Urgent.”
“Please wait,” female voice said. The phone went silent. I hummed to myself and looked at the ID. I didn’t know which of the Masters of the Dead Amanda answered to, but I knew Ghastek was the best of the seven currently in the city. He was also power hungry and he was making his bid for taking over the People’s Atlanta office. He was very much in the limelight at the moment and I could count on a rapid response.
A moment passed. Another.
“What is it, Kate?” Ghastek’s voice said into the phone. He must’ve been doing something, because he failed to keep exasperation from his voice. “Please make this quick, I’m in the middle of something.”
“I have one dead journeywoman, one hysterical journeyman, two dead vampires, one pissed-off Beast Lord with bloody hands, and a half a dozen terrified restaurant staff.” Quick enough for you?
Ghastek’s voice snapped into a brisk tone. “Where are you?”
“Arirang on Greenpine. Bring a decontamination unit and body bags.”
I hung up. Our waiter edged out of the doors and approached our table, looking green. The rest of the staff was probably huddled together in the back room, terrified, not knowing if the danger had passed. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">