a simple rune any wizard can do, but something
more complex like smart phones, computers, or
cars requires the work of a master.
But to actually be able to enhance technology
with magic is incredibly rare. Not even Jasper can
do it. Spyder is the only one I know of, and his
services don’t come cheap.
We fly over the water, faster than a jet, leaving
no mark of our passage behind us, and I wonder if
we’re even touching the water. The rest of the
crew watches the empty darkness as quietly as I do.
I grin. Jasper would geek out over this. The U.S.
military only wishes it had a ship this stealthy. She
won’t show up on any kind of scan. An invisibility
field surrounds it; I could park it in front of a
periscope and they would look right through it. I
don’t even know what type of offensive capabilities
this thing has.
The ten-man crew all wear masks, but I can pick
out one familiar scent—Riley, the barmaid from
Brogg’s Bar. She smells of clay and magic and beer.
Spyder has got to love having her on his team.
With her ability to change into any humanoid
shape, she can blend anywhere.
The crew is good, moving efficiently and silently
over the deck. Riley and three other lithe figures
man the guns—two at the bow, two at the stern.
The three I don’t recognize smell like young elves.
Where does the Spyder get his men? Elves take
no interest in anything but their own politics and
family drama—save for the clueless wonder I met
at Alistrad’s circus.
A seven-foot-tall woman with six arms stands in
front of an instrument panel. Her hands are
constantly moving, and although the captain who
stands next to me never gives her any instructions,
she seems to know exactly what to do.
A gnome, standing on a pedestal, steers the ship
without any directions from the captain. His tiny
arms seem too small to control the big wheel, but
the ship flies unerringly over the water.
“How do they—?” I start to ask.
The captain merely shakes his head and taps his
temple. A telepath? I thought only dragons had
telepathic powers.
He shakes his head again and this time turns to
show me a sapphire imbedded into his skin.
Blinking, I step back. “Did Spyder do that?”
Soundlessly, he shushes me with a finger over
his lips. A silent crew, a stealth ship, an invisibility
cloaking device. Spyder thinks of everything.
Lit up like a runway, Jezebarra’s island grows
larger on the horizon, and I can smell the magic of
her wards from here. I don’t know how we got here
so fast. By my reckoning, we should have taken five
hours to get this close, even at the speed we were
going, not twenty minutes.
Picturing the wards frying us to a crisp, I reach
for the bracers Jasper made me, but as the wards
come closer, the crew doesn’t even hesitate.
We slide through without even a whisper. I
don’t sense a ripple of magic or hear any alarms.
We’re like ghosts on the water. Shadows slinking in
the darkness.
They drop anchor a half mile off the coast, and
all eyes turn to me. It’s time.
Spreading my wings, I leap into the air and fly
over the ocean. It’s after two in the morning, but it
is still hot and humid here. I easily rise on the
thermals, dropping onto her glass roof silently.
I land on one of the roofs facing the tower and
peer into her office. Through the glass, I can see
her, a knife in hand, something bloody on the altar
before her.
Below me, the room is dark. Growling, I twist
the dial on Spyder’s watch and phase through the
glass and float down to the floor.
No furniture interrupts the large expanse of
crystal floor, so I’m guessing this is a ballroom.
Golden double doors stand open leading out into
an empty hall.
Last time I was here, the sounds of sex and
people were everywhere, but now silence screams
in my ears. I can’t hear the sound of breathing or
even footsteps. No voices murmur in the halls.
I need to make my way to her office. Following
the hall northward, I come to an open archway set
Jezebarra led me. Here her stench is strongest.
Beyond the door, the spiral staircase rises up
into darkness. I smell blood and terror, and my
hackles bristle in fear and anger.
The sound of chanting reverberates down the
crystalline tower. The obscene language rakes
against my ears like angry hot spikes until I want to
rip my eardrums out with my own claws. Digging
through the pouch at my waist, I pull out some rags
and stuff them in my ears. Maybe not a perfect
earplug—this situation calls for magic—but it’s
better than nothing.
My hands come away from my ears with blood
on them. Lovely. Only the language of demons
would do this.
I creep up the stairs, my taloned feet clicking on
the glass. The hot stench of brimstone, decay, and
offal chokes me, and I wish I could clog my nose the
way I did my ears.
I pass more glass rooms. Before, there had been
people in them. Now they’re all empty. Unease
prickles along my spine. Something is horribly
wrong.
At the top, I peer into the room. On her knees
before her sacrificial altar, she chants. Although the
sound is muffled, being this close to her chanting
causes a wave of nausea to roll over me. I grip the
doorway to keep from stumbling to my knees.
Eyes raised in ecstasy, she does not see me slip
into the room. She is naked, except for the blood
and gore splattered all over her breasts. The body
in front of her is cut open, various organs removed
and lying on the altar.
All I can make out of the deformed shape is
hooves and antlers and bat wings. A chimera like
me.
My heart leaps into my throat.
The creature makes some kind of strangled
sound. Merciful Creator, it’s still alive.
The feminine face turns toward me, but her
eyes have been removed. Full lips. Silky black curls.
What I can see of her human face through the
streaks of blood, she was once beautiful.
Jezebarra rubs herself against the chimera as
she slices a jagged knife down into its abdomen
coming out with a kidney. Another weak gasp
escapes from her victim.
I look around the room. Dead bodies litter the
floor; so many, it’s likely her entire household staff.
Whips and chains hang from the walls, some with
bodies on them, others empty.
In one corner, there’s an empty chair with
handcuffs strapped to it and part of the seat
missing; a disembowele
d man lies at its feet.
She needs to die. A low growl slips past my
throat. I aim my gun right at her head.
Raising her hand, she flicks her wrist and my gun
flies out of my hand and into hers. She stands and
turns to look at me. “How nice of you to volunteer
to be my next sacrifice. Maybe it will be your blood
that will wake the bracelet.”
“I warned you what would happen if you double
cross me—” I raise my claws. “I don’t need a
weapon.”
“Neither do I. Not while I hold this.” She holds
up the bracelet. “Such a small thing, but it holds so
much power. I’ve heard rumors about this stone,
but nobody ever believed it existed. It is supposed
to hold the power of an ancient demon king.”
“So you lied to me and sent me to steal it.”
“You are such a fool. A little gold to line your
pocket, a lie to ease your conscience—” She licks
blood from her arm. “—a little wiggle to distract
you, and you were like butter in my hands.”
“So now you got it. What are you going to do?”
“I’ve been searching for immortal beauty for
several hundred years. Now I have enough power
to make everyone a quivering puddle at my feet.”
She touches her nipple with her free hand. “Every
man and woman will desire me; everyone will want
to be me. They will fight each other to be the first
to serve me.”
“You’re pathetic.”
“I agree.” An oily voice purrs from behind me.
Alistrad. How the hell did he get here? “Why don’t
actually knows how to handle power, before you
hurt yourself, darling?”
Her smile falters before she holds up her arm
and points the bracelet at us, the pink stone
glinting in the candlelight. A wicked grin plays
across her bloody face. “I will show you.”
Nothing happens.
I raise an eyebrow at her. Alistrad’s mocking
laughter echoes through the room.
She screeches, pulling the bracelet back and
then pointing it at us again.
I snort. “Is that supposed to make me quake in
my boots?”
“To me!” She raises both arms. The two blood
blades rattle in their glass case, and as the glass
explodes, they fly across the room.
But preparing to catch the swords, she’s
watching them rather than me, and I leap across
the room and grab them midflight.
Fire sweeps through my veins, and a surge of
bloodlust wells up in me. The smell of terror and
blood in the room wakens my senses. I want to tear
into fresh meat. Rip my teeth into the sorceress.
Taste her blood. Feel her heartbeat fade beneath
my jaw. Watch the terror in her eyes turn cold and
empty.
Alistrad hurls a gout of black fire at us both. She
ducks out of the way, but the fire washes over me,
swallowed up by the swords.
I growl and she pales.
I stalk forward and she clutches the bracelet and
scrambles backward to the other side of the altar
before launching a magical horde of foot long
hornets at the sorcerer.
Leaping up, I land on the altar. I will destroy
everything. I will kill this woman who betrayed me
and bathe in her blood. I will burn this palace to the
ground and glory in the flames.
The dying woman lying on the altar at my feet
groans. “Help me,” she gasps.
Her words pierce my mind, and a ray of light
shines through the bloody haze enveloping me.
I turn to look at her, so pitiful and broken. I must
lay her to rest. Slamming both the blades down, I
drive them through the woman and into the altar.
Flames erupt, a fiery tornado swirling around
me, and a deafening boom reverberates through
me as the altar cracks in two.
Still holding onto the weapons, I feel no pain. I
throw my head back and laugh.
I’ve destroyed her source of power.
A blood-curdling screech erupts from across the
room. I turn to look at Jezebarra. She begins to age
before my eyes—her cheeks sagging, sunken eyes
dimming, gray hair falling out.
“No!” She raises the bracelet again, but this
time, she says something in a mixture of fae and
draconic languages.
Black light blasts across the room and slams into
me and Alistrad. A claw made of shadow closes
over my chest and squeezes, the black smoky
fingers disappearing into my torso.
Something yanks hard on my insides.
I can’t breathe.
The world is dimming as this thing sucks the
very essence out of my body. I can feel it pouring
out of me—out my eyes, out my ears, out my
mouth in a horrid scream.
The swords clatter to the marble floor, and I
tumble to my knees and land on top of them. It
should have hurt, but my body feels numb. Cold
creeps up my legs, icy tentacles slithering over me,
tying me down.
What is happening to me?
Jezebarra stands over me. “At last. I have the
power of the bracelet at my command. Your souls,
so full of energy. When I am done, you will be
nothing but a wraith.”
She is close enough I could sink my teeth into
her and destroy her. Sorcerers have no strength for
close-range battles, and here she is within reach.
And I can’t even move a muscle.
I watch in horror as her flesh grows firm and her
hair grows long and black once again. The wrinkles
smooth away, and the smile she turns on me is
more devastatingly beautiful than before.
My stomach churns.
“Look away from her.” The chimera woman
kneels beside me. When I focus my eyes on her, I
can almost see right through her. She takes my
hand and kisses it.
I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner, I try to say, but
the words don’t come out. I’m sorry I didn’t save
you.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “You must leave.”
I nod. It takes all my strength to grab the blood
scimitars and press the stone in my ring. The world
winks out for a moment. I’m on the roof, coughing
and then vomiting.
I slump to the glass roof, the cold, brittle surface
pressing into my face, but I have no strength to run
away.
Looking at the tower, I see Jezebarra grab for
the bracelet and rip open a portal. As she steps
through, Alistrad makes one last desperate blast of
dark energy. A backlash of power surges out of the
portal, flinging Alistrad into the far wall. The portal
explodes sending cracks rippling through the glass
and crystal palace. I can hear Jezebarra’s shriek
over here.
“Hurry.” The little chimera puts her cold hand
on me. “Please. Survive for me.”
I shove myself up, crying out a
s pain stabs
through my chest. Every muscle burns as I spread
my wings.
I’m so stiff I can barely stretch them wide
enough to catch the wind, and then I leap from the
roof, half falling, half flying, mostly tumbling as the
wind tosses me every which way.
Somehow I land in the water only ten feet away
from Spyder’s boat. The tall woman with six arms
reaches in and drags me and the swords out.
Sputtering and coughing, I land on the deck,
gulping down air. Nothing ever felt so good.
“You got the job done?” The captain asks, the
only words he ever said to me.
I shake my head. I don’t know if she survived the
collapse of the portal.
“We’ll get her next time,” he says, giving me a
painful pat on my shoulder.
Chapter 19
~ ANGELINA ~
I stare at the lecture notes in front of me. My
eyes ache, my head pounds, and my once neat
handwriting isn’t even legible. I rub my eyes and
still can’t make any sense of it.
In the background, the voices whisper while my
literature teacher drones on and on about medieval
torture devices and how they played a role in
eighteenth-century literature.
I’m supposed to care.
I’m trying to care.
I have carefully written the notes, but what I see
now is nothing but rhyming words: Fred, dead,
said, bed.
It’s the damn voices. Chanting all day and night.
I can’t sleep. I can’t eat.
Under the rhyming words, I write in retaliation, I
am not schizophrenic. I keep tracing over the letters
until I tear a hole in my paper. I rip the page out of
my notebook and wad it up and stare at a fresh
one.
“Everything all right, Angelina?” My professor
Mr. Landon stares at me, his eyes wide.
“I’m fine. Sorry.”
“Please see me after class.”
It’s Monday. I think. Jason will be here on
Thursday, Valentine’s Day, and I have so much left
to do. My head pounds, and my hands shake from
too much coffee—I haven’t slept in two weeks
despite the sleeping pills, but I can’t keep my eyes
open during class.
Not much time left, and I still need to do the
shopping for the ingredients of the cake and the
love potion. Flour, sugar, butter, baking soda,
heart-shaped pans …
What else will I need?
Catnip.
The other students stand up, shoulder their