Atlantis Awakening (6 page)

“About that bag Ven's holding—it doesn't happen to have pastries in it, does it?” he said, looking an awful lot like a hopeful puppy.

She laughed and gestured toward the bag. “There is an assortment in there, but I'm sorry I only brought four lattes. I didn't realize Ven had company.”

As he took the bag and rummaged around in it, Alexios stepped up and stood at an angle to her and gravely nodded his head. The swirling gold in his hair reminded her of some movie star whose name she couldn't remember. But then he raised his head and looked at her, and the edge of danger in his golden eyes reminded her of the fiercest of predators.

She glanced involuntarily at Ven. Well, maybe not
the
fiercest predator.
Tigers and lions and Atlanteans, oh my.

“You bring us honor by your presence, gem singer,” Alexios said, his voice a low rumble. “We will do our best to assist you in destroying the foul scourge Caligula.”

She blinked at the formal language, but before she could respond, Justice laughed. “Don't mind Alexios and Denal, they always drop back into formal speak in the presence of great beauty.”

“Or really great pastries,” Denal chimed in, then shoved half a croissant in his mouth.

Alexios swung his head toward Justice, eyes narrowing, and Erin caught sight of the hideous scarring on the side of his face. “Oh, dear Goddess,” she whispered. “What unholy creature could do that to a living being?”

Alexios whirled away from her and strode to a position against the wall farthest from her. “The unholiest of creatures, my lady,” he said, ducking his head so his hair swung in front of his face. “Anubisa, the vampire goddess of chaos and the night.”

Ven handed one of the cups of coffee to Alexios, then turned to Erin. “Anubisa and Caligula were great pals, before we destroyed her. We have powerful reasons to hate Caligula, Erin. We've run into him many times over the past two thousand years, but somehow he always sacrifices the minions of his blood pride to us and manages to escape.”

As always, the mere sound of the vampire's name drove steel spikes into her temples. “Nobody wants him permanently dead more than I do, Ven. Especially after what I learned just last night.”

“Yeah, I learned a few things, too. The most important is that Caligula is after you, personally, for some reason.” Ven filled her in on what Daniel had told him. “Any idea why? Or any ideas on who those witches were?”

A chill shivered down her spine at the idea that Caligula wanted her. “Maybe he wants a matched set,” she said bitterly.

Ven pulled a table chair out for her and handed her one of the cups of coffee. “You look like a strong sea breeze would blow you away, Erin. Sit down and drink some coffee and tell us about it. Also, you mentioned a tragedy?” The compassion in his voice nearly undid the strong defenses she'd built up against the sorrow. Against the pain.

She accepted the chair, she accepted the coffee, but she flatly rejected the sympathy. “Yes. The tragedy. If that word—or any—could come close to describing the night Caligula murdered my mother and sisters.”

Alexios slammed a fist against the wall, and she flinched from the sound. “He has much to answer for; far too many mothers and sisters have died at his hand,” he growled.

Ven said nothing, merely kneeled in front of her. “We will avenge your loss, Erin Connors. You may take that as my solemn vow. We will slice Caligula's head from his body and salt the ground where his bones dissolve into the slime that withers his soul.”

She stared into Ven's eyes, wondering when she'd become a woman who wanted to stand up and cheer at the idea of bloody violence. Wondering how she would react when the specter of grim death stared back at her through her beloved sister's eyes.

She reached out to touch his face, and the emeralds on her fingers called out to her, a seductive siren's call. She yanked her hand back, not yet ready to test her theory that her reaction to him the night before had been a fluke. At least not in a room full of other warriors.

“There's something you all deserve to know,” she said, wrapping both hands around her coffee cup. “There are…rumors…that Caligula turned my sister vampire. That may have something to do with whatever twisted reason he has for coming after me. I…I may have to face Deirdre when we find him, and I'm not sure I could bear to see her harmed.”

“Maybe she's a good vampire?” Denal offered, doubt apparent in his voice in spite of his words.

Justice snorted. “There is no such thing. Hasn't the last decade proven anything to you? No longer content to haunt the shadows, now they stalk right out in the open. Aided every step of the way by you pitiful humans, who all but declared open season on your own fool selves.”

The contempt in his voice pissed her off. “Don't judge us, Atlantean. Last I looked, vampires weren't the only ones hiding in the shadows. Not much in the news about a race of Atlantean super-warriors helping humanity, is there?”

Before he could respond, the crashing sound of something—or someone—smashing through glass sounded from the hall. In an instant, the four warriors were running for the door.

“Stay here,” Ven barked out at her over his shoulder as he ran.

“Not likely,” Erin said, and then she raised her hands in the air and began to chant.

Justice was the first to make it to the doorway, unsheathing his sword as he ran, but Ven was right behind him. Crouching low, he burst into the hallway next to Justice, prepared for shape-shifters, human minions from Caligula's forces, damn near anything.

Anything except what he saw lying on the floor about twenty feet from him. He jerked to a stop so suddenly that Alexios crashed into his back.

“Brake lights next time,” Alexios snarled. “What is it?”

“I don't know. I think it may be a bomb.” Ven was almost surprised to hear how calm his voice was, all things considered. The wooden crate surrounding the…thing…had splintered at the force of impact. He looked up and verified that the sound of smashing glass had come from the skylight.

“There's no possible way that metal container is a bomb. A bomb would have gone off on impact,” Justice pointed out.

“Yeah? Then
you
go check it out. Maybe they threw some kind of magic shield around it. I'd watch out for the flashing red numbers there on the side that seem to be counting down,” Ven said, calculating the odds of survival as slim to no-fucking-way.

39, 38, 37, 36…

“Those are seconds, not minutes, and we'd have no time to defuse a bomb even if Christophe were here,” Ven said. “We've got to get out.”

“What if we throw water at it?” Denal asked. “Really drown the thing?”

The flashing numbers mocked them.
28, 27, 26, 25…

“Who the hells knows? We'd probably just have a wet bomb,” Ven said. “Out! Now!”

He was already turning to run back toward the kitchen and get Erin out of there when he heard her clear voice chanting in a language something like Latin, but not. As she walked down the hall toward them, he started yelling, “It's a bomb, we have to get out of here now.” He raced toward her and smashed up against an unseen force that pushed him back against the wall.

“Not now, Ven, there's no time, we have to diminish the impact,” she said, then continued chanting, her arms lifted in the air. For a heart-stoppingly brief moment, he saw a vision of another Erin superimposed over her body. The vision Erin stood, bathed in soft silver light, dressed in blue silk robes, standing in his favorite palace garden.

He blinked, hard, and sanity surfaced. “Look, Erin, unless you have a magic make-the-bomb-disappear spell, I'm getting you
out
of here,” he yelled at her.

Then he turned to check out the timer on the bomb. The blinking red numbers flashed down, down—did seconds really go by that fast?

12, 11, 10, 9…

The magical shield holding him back dissipated enough for him to break free of it. He tried, but still couldn't reach her through her shielding, so he yelled at Denal, Justice, and Alexios. For all the notice they took of him shouting at them to “Get out—
get out
—
RUN
,” he might as well not have been there. Instead, the three of them fanned out to form an Atlantean shield between the bomb and Erin.

She waved a hand in the air, still chanting, and the three warriors flew back and away from the bomb and hit the walls. “Yes, run, get out, that's a splendid idea,” she murmured, then returned to her chant.

It was too late, anyway, far too late, and even though he couldn't get to her, by Poseidon's balls there was no way that he would leave her, even if they had to die together. He called for his power and flowed into mist, hoping he could get past her shield in that form. It worked, and he shot over her head and then shimmered back into shape between Erin and the bomb, channeling water as he transformed. Knowing it was futile, he shoved the force of water at the bomb.

He barely noticed when Justice ran up beside him and added his own powerful channeling—all he could see were those damned red flashing numbers. Together they hurled a deluge of water at the bomb—drenching it, drowning it—and it had absolutely no effect.

7, 6…

Erin's chanting grew louder and stronger, and a silvery glow formed around her raised hands, but it was too late. Too late.

5, 4…

Justice dropped to the ground and covered his head in a futile effort to duck and cover. At the same second, Erin threw her hands out and a bolt of silvery light streamed from her hands toward the bomb—covered it entirely, sealed a cylinder around it—but it was too little, too late.

Justice mumbled something that sounded like, “Damnit, I wanted to tell Conlan and Ven a few things before I died—”

But the sound of Ven's heart pounding drowned out the rest of the words.

2, 1, 0.

The blinding flash of the explosion nearly fried Ven's retinas, and he could feel the floor shake and the walls rattle with the force of an earthquake. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the shield, which still glowed over and around the heat and light, and had somehow—impossibly—contained the explosion.

Ven watched, open-mouthed, as chunks of shrapnel slammed off the inside of Erin's magical barrier and clattered harmlessly to the floor. He tore his gaze away from the sight and stared at Erin, who stood shaking, her pale face drained and gray, her hands still out. As he reached for her, she let her hands fall to her sides.

“A little bit harder than I'd expected,” she whispered, and then she collapsed into his arms. He scooped her up and stood there holding her, both of them trembling, while he swore viciously in Atlantean.

“What in the nine hells was that?” Alexios said, crouching down to stare at the wreckage of the bomb and the giant hole in Ven's floor.

“I didn't know witches could do that,” Denal said, eyes wide.

“She's stronger than any witch I've ever seen,” Justice mused. Then he looked up at Ven and Erin. “And Caligula turned her sister. So now we have a powerful witch-turned-bloodsucker on the side of the bad guys. I'm pretty sure we're fucked.”

 

Erin woke up belted into the passenger seat of a speeding vehicle. The rebound headache dug viciously at her brain; using magic always came with a price. Especially since she'd lost control for those final three seconds and called to the Wilding. She pushed the memory into a small, locked chamber in her mind and decided to worry about it later. She was still alive, Ven was still alive; the rest could come later.

The physical price had to be paid, though. Magic didn't take IOUs. No checks, no credit, cash on the barrelhead. Lay your brain synapses here, little lady. For her, the magic was a carnival barker from hell, always calling out his lures to the unsuspecting witch.
Play now, you can win, don't worry about the cost, the sky's the limit, lovely lady!

But winners must be balanced with losers, and magic always came with a price. The universe of power was a zero-sum game. She had little doubt that a migraine was lurking at the base of her brain, waiting for her to move a fraction of an inch. She chanced it anyway, and turned her head slightly to see who was driving like a bat out of hell.

“Ven,” she whispered. “We made it?”

A muscle clenched in his jaw. “Yeah, we made it. Although you risked your life in the fucking process.”

The controlled ferocity in his voice startled her, and the spikes pounding in her skull started dancing a killer jig. “Profanity is the last recourse of the uneducated,” she finally replied.

He barked out a laugh. “That's it? That's all you've got? You risked your life to throw a magical shield over a bomb—and you're jabbing at me for swearing?”

He had a point. She looked out her window at the interstate speeding by. Sunday morning was about the only time anybody could speed on I-5. “Why north?” she asked him.

“Somebody mad, bad, and deadly found us. We had to get out of there before they dropped a fu—a freaking nuke on us. I want to take you to Atlantis, but the portal can be…difficult. We're heading to another safe house so you can rest before we make the attempt.”

That he'd try to curb his profanity at a time like this made her smile. That he'd done it for her made her cautious. “I'm sorry you were concerned for me, Ven. But I've always been the most adept in my entire coven at shielding; I once threw a temporary shield over a thousand people at an outdoor charity concert for nearly an hour when an unexpected rain shower struck. It really didn't seem like it would be that much different to throw a shield over the bomb.”

There was silence for a long moment, but she noticed his large hands clenching the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. When his voice finally came, it was rough and strained, probably from the effort it took not to yell at her. “Are. You. Kidding. Me? You didn't think holding in a
bomb
blast would be much different from holding out a few raindrops? Are you a complete idiot?”

Yes
, she thought.
Yes, I must be. Because I looked at you, and I looked at that bomb, and I flatly refused to let you die.

Pride kept her from saying the words. Anger kept her from remaining silent. “Listen to me, Atlantean. I have power. I'm not the strongest witch in the world, but I have power. The Wilding only chooses those who are strongest in the Craft. Do not underestimate me.”

“I won't have the chance to underestimate you if you're dead, Erin. If you ever—” He paused and exhaled a long, deep breath. “If you ever try something like that again, I will lock you in a room and paddle your ass for you.”

“How
dare
you—”

“Erin,” he said, cutting her off. “I don't want to watch you die.”

Startled by the emotion in his voice, she turned to study his face, but he wouldn't turn his gaze from the road. “Get some more rest, Erin. We have another hour to go.”

“But—”

“Rest. You're exhausted. You can ask me all the questions you want when we get there. You're safe now. Rest.”

He flicked on his stereo and something warm and classical filled the air. Another surprise; she'd expected headbanger music from the tough warrior. She relaxed, exhausted, back into the leather seat. As her eyelids began to drift closed, she heard him clear his throat.

“And Erin? Thank you. Your actions saved the lives of men I value as brothers, as well as my own. Though I would not have had you risk your life for ours, please know that I honor your aid more than I could ever repay.”

Her throat tightened a little and tears stung the edges of her eyelids. “What is formal speak for ‘you're welcome'?” she asked, smiling a little.

He finally looked directly at her, and the heat in his eyes seared clear through her, deep down to something she'd locked away ten years before. Trapped in his gaze, she couldn't speak, couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Finally, he wrenched his gaze from hers and looked back at the road. “Rest, Erin. You are still exhausted from calling such great amounts of power,” he said, voice husky.

“Okay. But just until we get wherever we're going. Then I want to know everything that you know about Caligula.”

Ven nodded, his narrowed eyes promising retribution. “Yeah, well, the first thing I want to know is how in the nine hells they knew where we were. If we've got a traitor in Atlantis, I'm going to unleash all the fury of Poseidon on his ass.”

“I'll be standing right next to you, helping,” she murmured as her eyes drifted closed.

She barely heard his next words, but they sounded a lot like “Over my dead body,” and she smiled.

Your dead body is exactly what I wanted to avoid,
she thought, and then she couldn't stay awake any longer and let the rhythm of the car's motion lull her into sleep.