“To ask if he had any ideas about what attacked you,” Pritkin said. “After what David Dryden told us, I had a suspicion, but this isn’t my area of—”
“Suspicion about what?”
“What we’re dealing with.” He pulled something out of his coat and handed it to me. It was a pencil sketch, heavily shaded, that looked a lot like—
I looked up. “Where did you get this?”
“I had one of the Circle’s artists do it, from some old drawings.”
“Old drawings of what?”
“The Morrigan.”
“The what?”
“The wife of the Dark Fey king. After the description you gave me of what you saw, and what David said about the High Court dialect, and what your servant mentioned about the gods having the ability to possess . . . well, I thought it possible. Particularly in light of the name.”
“What about the name?”
“It’s a Celtic title. Some translate it as ‘Great Queen’ or ‘Terrible Queen.’ But the oldest version, and, I believe, the correct one, is ‘Phantom Queen.’ The ancient texts speak of her being able to take both physical and spectral form.”
“But . . . this is Fey?” I asked, looking at what appeared to be a raven caught in a thunderstorm. A really wicked, pissed-off raven.
“Yes and no. Her mother was Dark Fey, but her father was one of the old gods.”
I felt my stomach sink.
Please, please, please—
“Would you care to guess which one?” he asked.
“Not really.”
“Cassie—”
“This doesn’t have to be about Ragnarok,” I said stubbornly. “The Dark Fey king isn’t my biggest fan—you know that. Maybe he sent her—”
“It’s possible. But the fact remains that the Morrigan was worshipped by the ancient Celts as a goddess of battle, because her father was believed to be—”
“Don’t say it.”
“—the Celtic god Nuada—”
“I’m not listening.”
“—who is associated with the Romano-British Mars-Nodens—”
“I’m begging you.”
“—who many scholars equate with the Greek god Ares.”
“Goddamnit, Pritkin! Jonas can’t be right, okay? He can’t!”
“I am not saying that he is. However, it seems strange, if, in fact, this was caused by animus, that she would apologize and tell David that ‘they’ were making her do it.”
I dug out another antacid.
Caleb cursed. “And yet knowing that this thing might be after her, you still bring her out here!”
“Better than somewhere it would be likely to look!”
“Wait,” I said, crunching chalky cherry crap and trying to think. “Is David sure that’s what she said? Didn’t he say he was lousy with the language?”
“Yes. Which is why I had one of our linguists visit him. She couldn’t be certain, not having heard the words herself, but she said David seemed to have the gist of it.”
“Okay, but still. ‘They’ made her do it.” I held out the scary-ass image. “Who makes something like this do anything?”
“Her father, presumably.”
Damn it, I’d known he was going to say that.
“But Ares isn’t here! None of the gods are here!”
“Well, it looks like this one is,” Fred pointed out. “And how’s that work, exactly? I thought all of them were kicked out way back when.”
“They were,” Pritkin told him tersely. “But demigods have a human, or in this case, a Fey, parent, giving them an anchor in this world. The spell banishing the gods did not affect them.”
“Yet knowing a god or half god or whatever the hell might be after her, you bring her out here anyway,” Caleb said, beating that dead horse for all he was worth. I had to give it to the guy; he gave new meaning to “single-minded.” “Where she’s completely defenseless!”
“She is hardly defenseless—”
“Thank you,” Jules said indignantly.
“I’m with her. And whatever that thing was, it can pass right through wards. Meaning she would be no safer at HQ than at the suite. I told Jonas I would ask Cassie where she wanted to go and—”
“Yeah,” Caleb said sourly. “And he told me he wants her someplace secure!”
“She will be—”
“As soon as we get her back to the suite,” Jules butted in.
“She’s not going back to that death trap of a suite,” Caleb snapped. “And that’s final!”
“It’s not a death trap,” I protested.
“It is if you can’t shift away! As I explained to that thickheaded vampire, leaving you in that place, much less drugged and insensate, was virtually asking for another—”
“You talked to Marco?” Pritkin said sharply.
“Yes, we—”
“When?”
“A few minutes ago. I—”
“On the phone?”
“No, we—”
“How, then?”
“Would you let me finish a sentence?” Caleb said angrily. “When you didn’t show up with the girl, Jonas assumed you hadn’t been able to get her out of the suite. He sent us to assist, but that damned vampire wouldn’t tell us—”
“You went by the hotel?”
“Yes—”
“And then you came here?”
“Shit,”
Rico said, and grabbed my arm.
And the next thing I knew, I was in the SUV.
It was almost like shifting—I didn’t remember moving, the car door opening or sitting down, but there I was anyway. I blinked at Rico, who was in the driver’s seat in front of me, for about a second. Until he was snatched out of the still-open door and sent flying.
“Lasso spell,” Fred said, as his buddy slammed into the open top of a Dumpster, halfway across the lot. “I hate those things.”
I peered into the front, to find the little vamp ensconced in the passenger’s seat. “When did you get in?”
“A minute ago. I figured we’d be leaving soon.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “I get that a lot, too.”
“I wish I had that problem,” I muttered, watching Pritkin and Caleb yelling at each other outside, while a trashcovered Rico crossed the lot in a blur. A second later his assailant went flying into the side of a truck. And a second after that, four war mages jumped Rico.
I sighed and started crawling over the seat.
“Is it always like this?” Fred asked, as Jules started forward, a fake smile plastered on his face and a placating hand raised—only to have someone use it to sling him into the SUV. I flinched back when he hit the windshield headfirst, that handsome profile making an impressive set of cracks in the supposedly shatterproof glass.
“No,” I told Fred, as Jules shook it off and leapt back into the fight. “This is pretty calm, actually.”
“What are you doing?” he asked, watching me check the cushions, the floor and then the visor over the driver’s side. The keys were under the visor, and they fell into my lap.
“Putting a stop to this. If they’re going to act like children, they can at least do it out of sight of norms.”
“And you think they’re gonna listen?”
“No. But if I leave, they’ll have to follow.”
“Well, I don’t know how you’re gonna get out. They’ve parked that big-ass limo of theirs right across the exit. And the fence goes right up to—”
He cut off as a metallic shriek rent the air, bouncing off the surrounding buildings and echoing down the street. “What the hell was
that?”
he demanded, staring around wildly.
I didn’t answer. I was too busy watching the limo rise into the air, its long body twisting and writhing as if in pain, metal screeching, car alarm screaming and window glass popping. A windshield wiper flew off like an arrow, spearing the old sign above the diner and sending a wash of sparks across the pavement.
“What is this?”
Fred yelled, gripping my shoulder as the limo was wrenched in two, the violence of the movement sending half of it crashing into the building opposite.
And the other half spinning straight at us.
“How things usually go,” I told him, and floored it.
Chapter Twenty-four
The engine must have caught at some point, because we shot ahead, the luxury projectile missing us by inches. I swerved and stomped on the brakes, avoiding another car but slinging us into the fence. I barely noticed, because I was sure the limo had just taken out the diner and everyone in it.
Only it hadn’t.
I stared through the cracked and bloody windshield at the limo’s backside, which was sticking, cantilevered, out of a wavering field of energy. Unlike Pritkin’s seamless blue shields, this one was a patchwork of colors and textures that ran and muddied together as they fought each other and the car. But somehow, they’d stopped it. Like a fish caught in a net, the huge hunk of twisted metal hung there, eight or nine feet off the ground, quivering and shaking—and leaking.
Something was dripping from the tail end, enough to form a puddle on the ground below. It reflected the sparks still shooting from the ruined sign, which were showering both the car and the puddle. It took my half-frozen brain a second to realize what I was seeing, and then I was fumbling with the gears, shoving the SUV hard into reverse.
“What now?” Fred demanded.
“Gas!” I said, stomping on the pedal while the war mages scattered, shields retracting around their owners or being thrown in front of the diner in a last-ditch attempt to protect the people inside. And the car—
“Shiiit!” Fred screamed as it exploded midfall, sending a cloud of lethal projectiles scattering in all directions.
I ducked—there was no time for anything else—only to find the floor already occupied. I covered my head as we bounced backward, still moving but not fast enough to avoid the spear of metal that obliterated the remains of the windshield. Glass exploded through the small space, stinging my arms and sending a wet trickle sliding down my temple. But thanks to the dash, the rest of me fared better.
Although not as well as Fred, who had been cowering on the floorboard.
“You’re supposed to be a bodyguard!” I said, hitting the brake.
“I am.”
“Then what are you doing down there?”
“I’m not a very good bodyguard.”
“Get up!” I yanked him off the floor, intending to use vampire vision to help me spot Pritkin in the chaos. But before I could get a word out, the scene in front of us tilted, the diner skewed wildly to the left and then disappeared entirely, replaced by a dizzying view of darkened buildings and a star-flung sky.
“What’s happening?
What’s happening?”
Fred demanded hysterically, grabbing me as I grabbed the steering wheel to keep from sliding through the missing windshield.
I didn’t reply, because it was taking all my concentration not to lose my grip while spinning in a kaleidoscope of falling glass and debris. Like the limo, the SUV had risen into the air; unlike the limo, it was slowly flipping end over end, slinging the headlights in a wide parabola that intermittently highlighted the escalating fight below.
“Where’re the controls?” I yelled at Fred, as we tumbled around like two sheets in a dryer.
“What controls?”
“For the charm!”
“What charm?”
“The one you just hit!” I said furiously, as half a dozen mages suddenly went flying.
It looked like they’d been blown sky high by some sort of explosion, only I hadn’t seen one—or much of anything else except for Fred’s size-nine shoe. But something scary was down there. Because the man who rocketed by the windshield had the closest thing to fear I’d ever seen on a war mage’s face.
I knocked Fred’s foot aside and started frantically searching under the dash.
A lot of cars in the supernatural community are equipped with levitation charms to access the ley lines, many of which don’t follow the ground. But those usually belong to mages, who are the main users of the earth’s magical highway system. Vampires tend to avoid areas that can incinerate a person in seconds without proper shields, which even masters don’t have.
As a result, I’d come into contact with the lines and the vehicles that used them only recently. And it hadn’t been in the kind of leisurely way that allowed for a lot of questions—like what the damn charm was supposed to look like. But if it wasn’t so goddamned dark—
I’d barely had the thought when a blow interrupted the spin cycle, sending us sailing backward on a wash of heat and light. That turned out to be a good thing, since the space we’d been occupying was suddenly filled with diner. We slammed into a building across the street in a crunch of whiplash-inducing speed, and the chrome roof of the restaurant shot spaceward, shedding burning detritus like a Roman candle rocket ship out of an old Buck Rogers film.