Magic Burns(73)

This tank contained clear water. Within the water sat a loup cage: bars as thick as my wrist, laced with silver. Something dark moved in the cage. The shapeshifters moved back and forth. Among them were three near seven-foot monstrosities in beast-form whose shaggy heads blocked the view.

“What is that?” I headed for the cage.

“You’ll see.” Curran looked smug, like a cat who stole the cream and thought he got away with it.

As we crossed the yard, a dark shape blotted out the stars. A dark outline of a long colossal body armed with huge membranous wings passed in silence high above us and vanished behind the tree line.

It couldn’t be. Even during a flare, the possibility of such a creature was too miniscule to contemplate.

The shapeshifters parted before Curran. A familiar glowing body shifted within the cage. A reeve. “How did you…?”

Curran shrugged. “She came sniffing your trail after you left. We had a mild disagreement and I tore her arms off. She didn’t die right away, so we stuck her into a loup cage and drove her over here.”

The reeve floated in the water, her eyes wide-open. Tiny slits of gills fluttered on her neck. Both arms were present and perfectly functional. She had regenerated.

The reeve’s hair clasped at the bars and drew back.

“Doesn’t like silver.” Jim congealed from the crowd as if by magic.

Curran nodded. “The loup cage was a good idea. Never would’ve thought of it myself. Good looking out.”

The next chance I got an extra gig from the Guild, I’d put the money into getting the bars for my apartment made from the same alloy. My current bars were supposed to have a decent silver percentage but apparently not enough to have prevented the reeve from grabbing them.

I pulled the monisto from my leather. The reeve snapped to the bars, her lavender eyes fastened on the necklace.

“You want this, yes?” I moved the monisto to the left. The reeve followed it.

I pried one of the numerous knots open, slid the first coin off the cord and tossed it into the grass a few feet away. The reeve remained focused on the necklace. I slid the second coin and flicked it next to the first. No reaction.

“Is one of those special?” Curran asked.

“Yep. Don’t know which one.”

Third coin. Fourth.

“Hey, mates!”

I’d know that voice anywhere. I wheeled around. Bran stood atop the wall a good twenty-five yards away. He waved the crossbow at us. “What a lovely party, and me without an invitation.”

“Get him down,” Curran said softly.

Two shapeshifters in beast-form detached themselves from the group and padded to the wall.

Bran grinned. “So you’re the big man, yea? I thought you would be taller.”

“Tall enough to break your back,” Curran said. His face snapped into the “pissed off Curran” mode: flat and about as expressive as a slab of granite. “Come down off the wall and we can visit.”

“No thanks.” Bran’s gaze snagged on the monisto in my hand and jumped to the shapeshifters surrounding me. He wanted the monisto very much, but the odds were against him.

He shrugged and saw the reeve. “What’s this then? Here, let me help you with that.”

The crossbow snapped up and two shafts punctured the back of the reeve’s head, the bolt heads emerging precisely through her eyes. The reeve went liquid.

The door leading to the tower burst open and a group of shapeshifters charged across the yard. Someone screamed, “He’s got the surveys!”

“Got to run!” Bran waved a packet of surveys at us. “Thanks for the maps.”

Mist swirled and he was gone.

Curran roared.





Chapter 21




When a lion roars next to you, at first you think it’s thunder. That first sound is so deep, so frightening, it couldn’t possibly come from a living creature. It blasts your nerves, freezing you in place. All thoughts and reason flee from your mind, and you’re left as you are, a helpless pathetic creature with no claws, no teeth, and no voice.

The rumble dies and you think it’s over, but the roar lashes you again, like some horrible cough, once, twice, picking up speed, and finally rolling, unstoppable, deafening. You fight the urge to squeeze your eyes shut. You turn your head with an effort that takes every last shred of your control.

You see a seven-foot-tall monster. It has a lion’s head and a lion’s throat. It’s gray and furry. Dark stripes dash across its tree-trunk limbs like whip marks. Its claws could disembowel you with a mere twitch. Its eyes scald you with gold fire.

It shakes the ground with its roar. You smell the sharp stench of urine as smaller monsters cringe and you clamp your hands over your ears, so you don’t go deaf.