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Magic Strikes(57)

By:Ilona Andrews


but succeeded in belching only a single powerful note, so charged with magic, it slid along my skin

like a physical touch. The sound of a muted tornado rolled through the stillness of predawn. I had

heard this sound a dozen times in my life-all from a movie screen. It was the sound of a plane

engine.

I dashed across the street. Jim sprinted past me, leapt up on the wall, and scrambled up like a

gecko. It's good to be a werejaguar. I hit the wall and began climbing, finding holds on the

crumbling stucco and exposed steel framework.

Jim reached the top of the building, where the wall had crumbled, and cried out in a short, pain-

charged snarl. His arms jerked back, his spine arched, and his feet left the ground. He hung in

midair, convulsing.

I scrambled up. My fingers hooked the top of the wall. Stucco fell apart under the pressure of my

hands. I slid, caught an iron rod, and pulled myself back up and onto the building.

An eerie nipping sensation rolled across my skin, as if a rough, sandpaper tongue had scraped a

layer of cells from every single inch of my body. It peeled a little from my face, from my body

hidden under my clothes, from between my toes, from the inside of my ears, from my nostrils, from

my eyes.

A ward. The Reapers had booby-trapped the top of the building. Cleverly done. I hadn't sensed

its presence, and we had blundered straight into it.

Pain lanced through me, setting every millimeter of my skin on fire and lifting me off the

ground. I cried out, then clamped my mouth shut as the fire scorched the inside of my mouth. The

thudding of my heart filled my ears with a freakishly loud, rapid beat. I felt myself unraveling,

consumed cell by cell. Unable to do anything but jerk and thrash, I rotated on an invisible spit.

Beside me, Jim's clothes tore and a werejaguar spilled forth.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. I spat a power word. «Dair.» Release.

The magic tore from me in a blinding burst of agony as if I'd thrust my hand into my stomach

and ripped a clump of entrails out. I saw black and tasted blood.

The ward split and vanished. My feet hit the solid reality of the wall and I froze, blind and afraid

to move. The after-shocks rocked through me. During the flare, using power words had been easy.

Now, with the magic so low, if I used one more without resting, I risked passing out.

Something landed next to me. Hard hands grasped me, steadying me, the tips of claws scratching

my skin. Jim.

The darkness blocking my vision dissolved and I saw two green eyes peering into mine. Jim

turned and pointed away to the trees. I looked in the direction of his claw and gasped.

A wide, wooded valley gently sloped down before rolling to the blue peaks of mountains

beyond. Moss-tinted rocks punctured the greenery with their gray spines. Between them, towering

spires of trees rose to dizzying heights, their branches tinseled with vines that dripped cream and

yellow blossoms. Birds perched among the foliage like glittering jewels. The wind smelled of

flowers and water.

I looked back over my shoulder. Urban graveyard. Looked to the front: fairy-tale jungle. You

could pack three Atlantas into that valley.

I crouched on the wall. Was this some sort of alternate dimension, a pocket of magic-infused

reality? Was this a portal to someplace far away? If the Reapers felt the need to protect it with a

magical trap that would snare and kill any intruders, it must be valuable to them. Perhaps it was

their home.

Next to me, Jim stretched his neck and inhaled the breeze, the way shapeshifters did when they

wanted to sample the scents. An imperceptible change came over him. The lines of his body shifted,

flowing, subtly reshaped by the breath of the jungle. Usually awkward in warrior form, he became

sleek and elegant, like a finely wrought dagger, his human and beast sides in perfect balance. His

coat gained a vivid golden tint, against which coils of rosettes stood out like black velvet. He

opened his mouth and a soft, coughing roar spilled forth, almost like a purr-if great cats could

have made such a sound.

It was silenced by a peal of thunder.

A gleaming golden structure punctured the jungle in the east, rising slowly through the trees.

Square in shape, its corners punctuated by stocky towers tipped with silver cupolas, it resembled a

palace. The first floor was solid wall, a wealth of sculpture and textures shiny with metallic luster.

Atop the wall sat a pillared hall: huge, airy arches, defined by slender columns and guarded by a

low latticed rail. Above it, on the roof of the building, a garden bloomed, an exotic riot that made

even the verdant jungle barren in comparison. Bizarre trees spread their branches, tinseled with

blood-red garlands of vines. Thousands of flowers bloomed, interrupted by ornate ponds.

The hum swelled. The metal palace rumbled and crept up, higher and higher above the treetops,