Jocelynn Drake - [Asylum Tales 02] (11 page)

Both looked surprised by my question. “Are you expecting trouble?”

I paused before I answered, weighing my fears. “No, just being cautious. I can’t be there tonight and I might get some sleep if I know you’re there.”

“Where are you going to be?” Trixie demanded.

“At my apartment, waiting for some answers. My contacts are unlikely to talk to me if anyone else is around.” Both of my friends frowned at my comment and I couldn’t blame them. It certainly didn’t sound safe. “Don’t worry. I’ll have Sofie with me.”

The cat made a sound of disgust as she rose so that she was sitting on her hind legs. “So it’s like that, is it?”

“Sorry, Sof. You know I’d go myself if I could.”

The cat muttered something under her breath in what sounded like Russian. She hopped down off the case and walked over to the front door, which opened for her as if manned by some ghostly doorman who waited on her pleasure. A faint smile touched my mouth as I watched her go, the door shutting behind her. She had been expecting my request, but then I had a feeling that she was also anxious to get the inside dirt on why Indianapolis had been unexpectedly leveled. This was the first big strike that the Towers had made in years and the first that Sofie had not been privy to before the event. Curiosity had to be eating away at her.

Of course, I was itching to put my hands around Reave’s neck and keep squeezing until his eyes popped from his skull, but I couldn’t overreact yet. There was a slim chance that the destruction of Indianapolis had nothing to do with him gaining the locations of the Towers. But I wasn’t counting on it.

“Where’s Sofie going? Will she be safe?” Trixie asked.

“She’s off to make contact for me. She’ll be safe. It’s me the Towers hate, not her.”

“I’ll get on those calls so we can get going, Trix,” Bronx said, breaking the lingering tension. Trixie didn’t argue, as I doubted she wanted to be alone. I wished it could be me in her apartment all night, keeping her safe, but it was more important that I understood what was happening in the Towers. The elf absently patted Bronx’s arm before she turned and walked into the tattooing room, where I could hear her settling into one of the chairs.

“Thanks for this,” I said as I started around the counter. It was no small thing for Bronx to agree to spend the night at Trixie’s. It would mean that he would also be stuck there during the day, as he couldn’t go out in sunlight without risking being turned to stone. And unlike gargoyles, this was a permanent state for trolls. If anything happened to Trixie’s apartment building during the day, such as a fire, he was trapped.

I had been to Bronx’s house a few times and it was heavily protected so that he would be safe during the daylight hours. The small ranch-style house was plain and austere on the first floor, but the windowless basement level was loaded with large comfortable chairs, an entertainment center, several bookcases filled with books, a sweet gaming system, and a fully stocked kitchen.

“No problem. Just try to stay out of trouble and away from Reave,” he warned in a low voice.

I flashed him a quick grin. “Got to. Trixie and I have a date tomorrow that I wouldn’t miss for anything in the world.”

Bronx shook his head as he picked up the cordless phone before walking back into the tattooing room, where he kept his personal schedule.

Shoving my hands in the pockets of my jeans, I wandered over to the large picture window that looked out onto the street. The sidewalk was empty and there wasn’t a car in sight. Low Town, like most of the world, had closed up shop. People were clustered in their homes behind closed doors with the blinds tightly drawn against the world. They were sitting around their televisions and scanning the news sites on the Internet, trying to digest this latest development.

Wars happened every once in a while between two countries, but the battle lines were neatly drawn in most cases and the deaths of innocent bystanders were infrequent. The United States had been lucky in that we hadn’t seen any battles fought on our own soil in a long time.

But this was different. The Towers had been quiet on a large scale for decades. We had convinced ourselves that if we kept our heads down and ran when they appeared, we’d be safe. We told ourselves that they wouldn’t have a reason to attack us. We could live in peace if we ignored them. We were wrong and thousands died because of it.

Tonight was a time of grief and overwhelming fear as people searched for a reason behind this unexpected attack. The long-lived races would be gathered, trying to figure out if this was the start of another Great War and what they should do. They would remember the horrors of the last war, the devastation to their races that were even now struggling to pull away from the brink of extinction.

Tomorrow, grief would be replaced by boiling rage. The creatures with shorter life spans, shorter memories, would shake their fists in the air and call for arms against the Towers, regardless of the fact that they didn’t know where to go to strike at their enemy. Regardless of the fact that they didn’t have a hope in the world of winning.

I was angry for all the lives that had been senselessly wiped out in a matter of seconds by a handful of witches and warlocks. I was angry for all the years of violence and bloodshed. But more so, I was afraid. I was afraid for the people of this world if we were forced to go to war again. And a bit selfishly, I was afraid for myself.

Despite my petty claims of leaving the Towers and turning my back on that lot, I was still a warlock. If we went to war, I wouldn’t side with the Towers, but what could one warlock-in-training do against them? And would the rest of the world even welcome my help if we went to war?

No. This had to be stopped before it came to that. The mess with the Towers had to be sorted out before anyone else had to pay the price.

10

A BAD FEELING
followed me back to my apartment that night, making me grateful that I picked up a few items from my secret hoard in the parlor’s basement. Along with my wand, I grabbed some colored chalk, a couple crystals, and a handful of various herbs. I didn’t know when Sofie was getting to my apartment and I definitely didn’t know if or when Gideon was going to show up. In the meantime, I needed to be protected.

It didn’t help that the number of people who knew my dirty little secret was growing due to my recent association with Reave. I couldn’t trust his flunkies to keep their mouths shut. While the unwashed masses might not know where to find the Towers, my aging apartment building, less than twenty minutes from my tattoo parlor, wasn’t difficult to locate.

Before reaching my place, I stopped at a gas station and bought a small bag of sunflower seeds. Breaking open the bag, I scattered the seeds outside my front door. My landlady wasn’t going to be pleased if I didn’t vacuum up the mess the next morning, but at least I was protected against a bunch of OCD vampires for the night.

My stomach twisted as I discovered that my apartment was empty. There was no note and no text telling me when Robert had left, where he’d gone, or when he’d get back.
Asshole.
How the hell was I supposed to protect him if I couldn’t fucking find him? He’d mentioned something about getting clothes from his place, but I’d expected him to have done it in the afternoon. Unfortunately, I couldn’t wait. I needed to protect the apartment.

As soon as the dead bolt slid home, I grabbed a piece of chalk out of my pocket and drew a series of symbols on the plain wood door and along the doorjamb. Each symbol briefly flared to life and then faded again as the protective wards were locked into place. When I was finished with the door, I pocketed the chalk and hurried to my bathroom, grabbing a bar of soap. Going through the apartment, I drew symbols with the soap on each window and on the sliding-glass doors that led to the balcony. I hesitated, looking at the balcony. I thought about scratching a few symbols on the concrete floor, but decided against it. If someone went to the trouble of climbing to my balcony, the wards on the sliding-glass door would stop them. This would give me a glimpse of my would-be attacker before I sent the bastard packing.

Dropping the soap and chalk on the coffee table in the center of the living room, I bent and pulled my wand out from where I had shoved it into my sock before collapsing on the sunken sofa. With my wand tightly clenched in my right hand, I lay back and draped my left arm over my eyes while kicking off my sneakers. It was only now that I was alone in the suffocating silence of the apartment that I realized how exhausted I was as well as sore.

Business at the parlor had been steady, but not hectic. While the little adventure at the garden hadn’t been particularly clean, it had been successful. At some point tomorrow, I’d have to divvy up the flower and call my buyers, but for now, it was safe in the shop in its little brown paper bag.

It was the chaos that was brewing with Reave and the Towers that felt like a fucking gorilla sitting on my chest. I hadn’t talked to my brother since leaving the apartment that afternoon and it hadn’t been the happiest of partings. But then anything that had to do with the Towers was a big downer.

I felt bad for my brother. Not only had my being born a warlock fucked up his life, but I knew that when he looked at me, he saw someone damaged, broken beyond repair. Who wanted that in the family? I didn’t know what happened to the families of warlocks and witches. Never thought about it. I knew the families were instructed to tell the world that the kids had died, because they never expected to see them again. But what if the world found out they gave birth to a great killer? I can’t imagine there are that many support groups out there for them. Were grieving women sneaking off to Mothers of Warlocks/Witches Anonymous?

Sleep settled over me for a short time, so that my mind wasn’t churning about in useless circles. My thoughts slipped away and a blissful blankness cradled me, but it didn’t last long. At least, it didn’t feel like I’d slept long.

An intense buzzing ran over my arms, as if electricity had jumped from the nearest outlet and was trying to burrow into my flesh. My hand reflexively tightened on my wand, but I didn’t lower my arm from my eyes as I continued to lie on the sofa. I strained with all my senses, trying to place the feeling that had jolted me awake. Someone was using magic very close to me. I guess that answered the million-dollar question as to who was going to arrive at my apartment first.

There were no sounds beyond my own uneven breathing and the distant hum of the refrigerator. Whoever was using the magic had yet to enter my apartment. I lowered my arm from my eyes and looked around the living room. Only the light in the kitchen was on, spilling through the rest of the apartment. Thick shadows crowded around the living room, but I was alone.

As I sat up, the buzzing feeling that I had felt upon waking returned. A second later, the front door exploded inward as it was blown off its hinges. The warped plank of wood hit the opposite wall and was left partially blocking the hallway to the bedroom and bathroom. A woman with a wand clutched in one hand lunged into the room and screamed, her body instantly wrapped in a white net of energy. She shrieked and writhed where she stood, unable to move her arms so she could use her wand. Her mind was locked in a fog of pain, leaving her powerless to remove the spell that held her.

I couldn’t stop the smile that rose to my mouth as I stood. I loved it when those arrogant pricks underestimated me. Gideon didn’t, but then Gideon was smart enough to watch me; smart enough to know that if I survived several encounters with my former mentor, then I obviously knew how to weave a spell or two. This bitch assumed that since I left the Towers when I was a teenager, I didn’t know shit about protecting myself. She easily blew through the first ward guarding the door, but didn’t bother to check for anything else before entering my apartment.

Raising my wand to banish her from my place, I shouted when the sliding doors exploded, covering me in glass. I didn’t risk looking around to see who else was knocking on my door. Diving forward past the witch, I rolled until I hit the cracked and stained linoleum of the kitchen. My heart was pounding loud enough in my ears that I could barely hear anything else. There were now two magic users in my apartment. I was in serious shit.

When I had battled to leave the Tower, I had faced only Simon. Of course, Simon was a master warlock of considerable power, so beating the bastard had been no easy task and I had no illusions about the fact that luck had played a large part in my final victory. But now I was faced with two and I was beginning to have some serious doubts about the likelihood of my survival.

With my back pressed against the cabinets, I peered around the edge of the wall to see a warlock with bright blond hair taking a slow step across the balcony toward the glassless doors. Yeah, warding the balcony was starting to look like a good idea. I quickly waved my wand and lifted my empty left hand. The glass shards that littered my living room rose up into the air and turned toward my newest guest like thousands of little daggers. With a whispered command, the shards shot through the opening at the warlock, attacking him again and again. They wouldn’t kill him, just buy me some time.

Turning my attention to the witch, I frowned, struggling to think of something that would be effective in getting her out of my hair without killing her. Of course, even if I managed to send her away, there was still a good chance that she would only return at a later date. If the inhabitants of the Towers were anything, they were definitely single-minded. With a grunt, I gave my wand a short wave in the air, wrapping the energy net tighter around her so that it sizzled as it bit into her skin, sending her screams even higher in pitch and volume. A second later, she disappeared from sight and I gave a quick sigh of relief. If the spell I had woven was correct, she was now sinking to the ocean floor near a reef off the North Shore of Oahu.

Could this kill her? Sure. If she was stupid enough to come after me without knowing some basic escape and underwater breathing spells, of course she could die. Was she going to die? Most likely not. Warlocks and witches were harder to kill than that. The only plus in all this was that if she did die, I wasn’t going to get dinged again. If she died, it would be because she drowned, not because of magic. It might seem coldhearted, but the witch bitch had been here to kill me first and I wasn’t about to owe Lilith a second year.

The air crackled again with pent-up energy. I jerked my head back, pressing against the cabinets as a bolt of magic shot through the entrance into the kitchen and slammed into the wall, leaving behind a black scorch mark. Apparently the warlock had gotten free of my little glass entanglement.

“What the fuck do you want?” I shouted from the kitchen. I stayed back, unwilling to stick my head out and give the asshole a target. I could hear the muffled crunch of glass underfoot as he stepped onto the living room carpet.

“Your head for treason,” snarled the warlock.

Before I could stop myself, I leaned around the doorway so I could look at him. “What?”

He didn’t speak but snapped his wand in my direction, sending yet another blast of green energy in my direction. I raised my left hand before my face, calling up the appropriate countercurse to shield myself. A grunt escaped me when the energy pummeled my shield, knocking me back. Cracking sounds filled the air, sending my heart pumping in fear. The energy stopped for a second only to be followed by another blast. My defensive shield splintered and I was thrown to the back of the narrow kitchen.

Pain exploded down my spine and radiated through my ribs as I slid down the wall and fell on my ass. Fuck. This bastard was strong. He would have given Simon a run for his money. Were the witch and warlock the next in line for the open seat on the council and they thought killing me would give them a leg up?

Breathing in short, ragged gasps, I couldn’t get a lungful of air. I was also having trouble clenching my wand in my hand as my fingers had started to tingle.

With a wave of my left hand, all the drawers in the kitchen slid open. A second later, the utensils hovered in the air, and more knives jumped from the butcher block on the counter. I smiled. This would keep the bastard busy for a bit. With a nod, all the objects hovering in the air flew through the doorway into the living room, seeking out the only other living creature in the apartment.

I pushed to my feet with a groan and grabbed the handled knife sharpener out of the butcher block. It was little more than a dull silver rod about the diameter of a Magic Marker that came to a sharp point. I could barely grasp my wand in my right hand, but this weapon was held firmly in my left hand.

Charging from the kitchen, I dodged a wicked steak knife that was slashing at the warlock and used my wand to knock aside his wand as he attempted to focus on me while ducking the downward blow of a stainless-steel ladle. I plunged the knife sharpener into his chest just below his heart. He stiffened, his eyes going wide with pain and surprise. At the same time several knives hit home, burying themselves in his arms, legs, and stomach. As he crumpled to the ground, I waved off the spell that was controlling the silverware, allowing the utensils to fall harmlessly to the ground.

The warlock gasped, blood gurgling up his throat and spilling out the side of his mouth. On shaky legs, I kicked his wand away from his reach. I hadn’t killed him, but he was dying. He could heal himself without the wand, but he could use the wand to kill me. My stomach clenched to look at him. I needed to finish him off, put him out of his misery. Right now he was in so much pain that he couldn’t concentrate enough to use magic to heal himself or even take himself back to the Towers. I could pull the silver rod out of his chest, heal him, save him. But wouldn’t he come after me again?

“What the hell?” thundered a deep voice.

Spinning toward the front door, I raised my wand but stopped myself before I let loose the bolt of energy I had summoned. Gideon stood in the open doorway, his hair mussed and shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. It was the most unkempt I had ever seen him. Yet it was the sight of Sofie bloody and limp in his hands that nearly stopped my heart.

“Sofie! What happened?” I cried, lowering my wand.

Gideon walked into the living room, his sharp gaze taking in and assessing the damage. “I found her on the landing of the stairs as I came up. She must have been caught on her way back.” The warlock’s frown deepened as he looked down at the mortally wounded warlock. “Why isn’t he dead yet?”

“I hadn’t . . . decided . . .”

“Damn it, Gage! You have to kill them!” he shouted, losing his temper. With a growl, he shoved Sofie at me. “Heal her. I will take care of him.”

I didn’t question it. As I was kneeling down to gently lay Sofie on the floor, I saw Gideon pick up a long boning knife from the carpet. He knelt beside the warlock and stabbed him straight through the heart, ending his pain and the threat he presented.

“Holy shit!” Robert cried from the open doorway, popping my head up again. My older brother stood white-faced and frozen on the threshold, a pizza box in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other. This was not the side of my life my brother needed to see—a warlock kneeling over a dead body, me kneeling over a nearly dead cat, and my apartment trashed from a magic fight.
Perfect!

Gideon raised his wand, his body twisted toward my brother as he prepared to sling whatever attack that had come to mind.

“No! Don’t! He’s with me!” I screamed while throwing a protective shield in front my Robert with my free hand.

The warlock’s wand halted, but I could see the thick muscles in his forearm tensed and ready to strike.

“Please, he’s my brother,” I said.

Gideon’s gray eyes jumped to my face, filled with shock. He knew I wasn’t in contact with my family. It wasn’t safe, as evidenced by my thoroughly trashed apartment.