Flameout (22 page)

I hardened my heart against his agony and spun as the other two attacked, coming in from either side. I unleashed another stream of fire, but around me rather than at the hounds, forming a molten barrier between us. I couldn't face burning another hound, not when they were being forced into this action.

The two of them twisted in midair and landed short of my fiery cage. I took a deep, shuddery breath then glanced over my shoulder at the one I'd burned. It was making little noise now, but only, I suspected, because its larynx had been cindered along with half its face. I closed my eyes and recalled the fire. I couldn't undo the damage already done, but the hound would heal if it could get back to the mother's heart quickly enough.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “You left me with no choice. Go while you still can.”

The hound showed no sign of understanding, nor did it move. Whoever had leashed these things was
obviously very strong. Anger ripped through me, but there was nothing I could do—no one I could attack—to help either these creatures or myself.

Not until the damn spell was broken.

I glanced at the tunnel, but all I could see was the glimmer of flame across its walls. Jackson, using his fire to lift the darkness. The urge to call out, to tell him to hurry, was so strong I had to bite my tongue against it. I had no doubt he was doing all he could, as fast as he could. I just had to keep standing, keep resisting.

But it was getting harder and harder. The force of magic was so strong now that my back was beginning to bow and my legs were quivering—although part of that was undoubtedly due to the wound on my calf. Blood was flowing freely from it, staining my shoe and pooling on the floor. The hound's teeth had slashed deep enough that I could see the glimmer of bone, but it apparently hadn't caught anything vital. I could put weight on the leg—even if it hurt like a bitch—and that meant I could run if my cage gave way.

Although where the hell I'd run given these things were faster than I'd ever be in
this
form . . .

I tore off a shirtsleeve and wrapped it tightly around the wound. It was pretty much stained red in an instant, but at least the wound wouldn't open any farther if I did have to run.

The other two creatures began prowling the outside of my fiery cage, their teeth bared and a low rumble coming from the depths of their chests. The witch fire flickered and danced, giving their velvet black fur an unhealthy glow and their eyes . . . I shivered. They might have been summoned here to herd and contain,
but they now wanted death. If my fiery barrier gave way before Jackson could find the stone and dismantle the spell, I was in deep trouble.

The scratch of nails against concrete caught my attention. The third hound was limping toward the tunnel I'd come in through. The magic flared as it approached, meaning it had been directed at spirits in general rather than me specifically. It stopped and bared its teeth, although only one small section of them remained. One of the hounds circling me moved over to join him, and hackles rose along its spine.

“Jackson, they know you're there.” There was little point in using telepathy now, especially when it was so damn patchy. “Watch your back.”

“Found the spell stone,” he said, either not hearing or not caring about my warning. “Any suggestions how to move the thing?”

“Find some metal or something and hit it from a safe distance. He might have put some form of protection on it after the cemetery debacle.”

The weight on my shoulders grew. I tried to stretch upright, tried to deny the heaviness and remain upright, but it was useless. I dropped to my knees and, just for an instant, found relief from the pressure. It found me all too quickly, however.

I hissed and concentrated on the fire, on keeping the circle around me full and high. But the fire in the barrel was beginning to ebb, and I very much suspected the witch who'd created it was now undoing the spell that gave it life. I had a couple of minutes left, if that.

I closed my eyes, drew in a deep breath, and got
ready to rise and run. If I could get to the cage, get the door closed before they got close, I might yet survive. And surely whatever else might await in that tunnel could not be anywhere near as bad as the hounds.

Light exploded in the exit tunnel, and Jackson swore. “It's protected, all right,” he said. “I saw some iron down near the cellar. Can you hang on?”

Did I have any choice? “Yes. But hurry.”

He left, his footsteps echoing across the odd stillness, only to be replaced by others. I twisted around and saw more red cloaks entering the junction. Where the hell was he getting these things? The virus might be transferred easily enough, but it still took days or weeks to change—and even PIT wouldn't be able to keep a lid on things if that many people had gone missing.

Unless, of course, the city's homeless population were being used as his foot soldiers. It was a sad fact that few people took much notice of the homeless, and it was doubtful anyone other than those involved in providing services for them would actually notice a drop in numbers.

The cloaks remained near the tunnel's entrance. The hounds ignored them; two remained near the tunnel while the biggest one continued to prowl around me. His head was low, and his eyes gleamed with anticipation.

I wondered if that anticipation was his or Luke's.

My shoulders slumped as the weight grew. I shivered and slapped my hands against the cold, damp floor, trying to resist the force of it. If it didn't let up soon, I'd be squashed flatter than a pancake. But maybe
that
had been Luke's intent all along; maybe
he'd decided I was far too dangerous to capture, and was simply content to watch—through the eyes of his creatures—the life being squeezed out of me.

Footsteps returned. But breathing was becoming a struggle now, and my back felt as if it were on fire. And the flames that were protecting me from the hounds were beginning to fade in and out of existence as the power began to leach out of them. There was nothing I could do to stop it. It wasn't my fire, and I had no way of shoring up the gaps that were beginning to open up.

I closed my eyes and prayed to whatever gods might be out there, listening, to give me a goddamn break. I didn't want to die—not like this. Not with Rory so far away. He'd feel it, of course, and call to my ashes, but there was no guarantee this magic would allow me through, even in death.

A rumble of sound caught my attention. The unburned hound near the barred tunnel had bared its teeth, its hackles raised. Jackson was back.

I crossed everything there was to cross and waited, my arms quivering and my breath a harsh rasp.

Metal struck stone, the sound louder than the hound's growling. The one prowling around my flickering cage paused and looked over its shoulder. Then his gaze returned to mine and promised death.

“I am not your enemy,” I somehow ground out. “Hunt those who force you into this action, my lord, not those who consider you kindred.”

He simply bared his teeth. Maybe he did understand me and now simply wanted revenge.

Metal struck stone again, the sound louder and drawing my attention. Sparks spun through the shadow,
their color the same weird green yellow of the fast-disappearing flames.

The hound snapped at me. I raised a hand, the remnants of the fireball around my fist flaring lightly at the action. The hound drew back and resumed its pacing. It had to wait only a few more minutes, and we both knew it.

Again, the sound of metal hitting stone reverberated, but this time it was accompanied by an explosion so fierce the walls of the junction shuddered. But as dust and slime and god only knew what else rained down on me, the magic lifted and I was free.

I quickly reached inside and became spirit—and not a moment too soon, because the hound had already launched. I twisted away from his leap and threw fire toward the cloaks. I didn't have the strength to burn them all, so I simply wrapped a barrier around them and hoped like hell Luke would decide he'd lost enough people today.

When they didn't immediately test the barrier's strength, I returned my attention to the hound. It skidded to a halt several yards away and spun to face me.

“You are stronger than them, my lord.” No human would understand me, but he was what I was, even if his form was different. “Do not let them destroy whatever standing you have within the mother and your clan.”

He bared his teeth but didn't immediately attack. Which meant I'd been right—the dark witch might have summoned them here, but the spell had been maintained long enough that he could resist it now if he so chose.

He glanced at his companions. The one I'd burned immediately disappeared, undoubtedly returning to the mother to heal itself, but the other lunged into the tunnel, going after Jackson.

“The fae in that tunnel is my friend,” I said, even as I silently added,
Jackson, there's a hellhound coming at you right now.

“And the spirit you cindered was my brother.” The hound's voice was raspy and broken, and his dialect ancient and French in origin but nevertheless understandable. “Why should I not kill both you and the fae in retaliation?”

“Because we are not the enemy. Those who called you to this place and forced you to hunt should be the ones to feel your anger. I was only attempting to protect myself.” I hesitated. “I
am
sorry for the amount of damage done. That was not my intention.”

“An apology comes too late when sight might be stolen forever.”

“We both know the mother is generous to your kind. She would not let any of you suffer unnecessarily—unless, of course, you kill another of her children.”

He bared his teeth again. I wasn't entirely sure if it was anger or amusement. “The sorceress who called us demands your death. Tell me why I should not comply.”

“Because the sorcerer and the man who controls him are my enemies, and a stain on the earth itself. You saw the color of his flames—did that tell you nothing?”

“I saw the flames burn my brother. That is all I needed to see.”

“I used them because the spell left me with no
flames of my own.” I paused. “And be warned, the fae your third hunts has gained the flames of a phoenix. I would advise calling him off.”

He didn't immediately reply, but after a few seconds, the second hound returned. It walked up to its leader, sat on its haunches, and regarded me steadily.

A good sign, I hoped.

Hound retreat,
came Jackson's comment.
You okay?

Yes. Stay there.
Out loud, I added, “Lord, the will of the witch is obviously weakening. You do not have to obey him.”

“The witch isn't the only one weakening, as we are both aware.”

I smiled, but there was very little in the way of humor in it. “If you think I cannot harm you, then you are not as smart as I first thought.”

He bared his teeth again, but I had a suspicion that this time it was amusement. “You do not mince words. I like that. We shall go. But pray we are not summoned again, phoenix, because we will kill you—especially if my brother does not repair.”

I inclined my head. “Thank you.”

The hounds' bodies disappeared into a swirl of black smoke. Relief ran through me, but it wasn't over yet. There were still the red cloaks to contend with.

I turned and fled toward Jackson. The cloaks immediately screamed but didn't give chase. Maybe Luke
did
have a finite number of them left. Or maybe his witch was aware just how close to breaking point his or her magic had bought me, and had informed Luke it was simply a matter of patience. Either way, I was getting out while I still could.

I flamed around the long corner and spotted Jackson about midway between the cellar exit and me. I shifted shape and hit the ground in a stumbling sort of run as my torn calf buckled and threatened to give way completely. Jackson leapt forward and caught me before I could hit the ground. For several seconds I didn't move—couldn't move. My entire body was shaking, my leg was on fire, and I would have fallen had it not been for Jackson's arms around me.

“Shit, you really
did
push the line this . . .” He stopped and held me at arm's length, his gaze on the ashes around my neck. “What the
fuck
is that?”

“The remains of the witches.”

“What?”

I waved a hand. “I'll explain later. Right now, we need to move. I've stalled the cloaks with a wall of fire, but it's not going to last much longer, I'm afraid.”

“And I have no intention of getting in another fight with the bastards if I can at all help it.”

He scooped me up into his arms then ran like hell down the tunnel. Normally I would have complained simply because I preferred not to rely on others like this. But I was close to complete exhaustion, and we weren't out of trouble yet. I rested my face against his chest and let his body heat wash over me. It was tempting—so tempting—to reach out and feed on it, if only a little, but that wouldn't be wise right now. One us needed to be at full fighting strength if—when—the cloaks came after us.

The more distance we gained from the junction, the more it stretched the threads still feeding my firewall. As the grate leading into the basement came
into view, those threads shattered. The roar of the cloaks reverberated through the stillness.

Jackson swore and boosted me up to the grate. I scrambled through and pushed to my feet. Giddiness and pain hit like clubs, snatching my breath and making my vision darken for a second. I thrust my hand against the wall and kept myself upright by sheer force of will alone.

Jackson hauled himself into the room and jumped to his feet. He didn't bother putting the grate back into place but simply swept me up into his arms and ran for the stairs. I threw fire into the air, but the orb was a pale echo of the one I'd created earlier. But it provided enough light to guide our way, and that was all that mattered right now.