Magic at the Gate (29 page)

His near-death had done as much, or maybe more, to pull the Authority down than Jingo Jingo’s betrayal, Sedra’s kidnapping, Chase and Greyson’s attack, or the wild storm.

Zayvion was more than just the guardian of the gates. He was the Authority’s honor. He was their soul.

And he was my soul.

Terric strolled over to him. There were too many people in front of him to reach Zayvion, but as soon as Shame saw him, he motioned him over.

Zay’s face lit up when he saw Terric, and they clasped hands. Shame leaned into Terric, unthinkingly, hand on his shoulder, Terric’s hand on Shame’s shoulder, both of them grinning like fools.

They had all been friends once. And right now, it looked like they were all friends again. I’d like it to stay that way. With fewer near-death experiences.

“Aren’t you going to go to him?” I hadn’t even noticed Victor next to me. Made me wonder if Zay had learned the whole silent-on-his-feet thing from the man.

“Thought I’d let the crowd clear a little. Did you know he was awake?”

Victor smiled, but was still looking at Zay. It was the first really relaxed expression I’d seen out of him. He always seemed to handle everything with succinct grace and clear command. But beneath the Voice for Faith magic, and my teacher the Closer, was a kind man who had taken Zay under his wing, maybe even, in his way, taken me under his wing. The smile was nice, and made me wonder for the first time what Victor did on his own time when he wasn’t trying to save the world from monsters and nightmares.

“I was upstairs checking on him when the Summon spell activated. You know the first thing he asked me?”

I shook my head.

“If you were okay.”

“That’s because I told him I was going out on the hunt with Shame and Terric. And he’s not exactly happy I went into death for him either.”

“I don’t think that’s what he was talking about.” Victor mused. “He said he heard you talking in your sleep last night. Arguing with your father.”

The dream. I remembered I’d dreamed something. Dad was in my dream asking a favor. A quick image of paper squares and a shoe box flashed behind my eyes. Someone else had been in the dream. Who?

Victor looked at me. “Is your father going to be a problem?” I knew what he was really asking. Did I want him to Close me. To Close my dad too, probably, though I didn’t know how one would take a dead man’s memories away. But if anyone could do it, it would be this calm, capable man standing next to me.

“I won’t let him get in the way.”

Victor pursed his lips and nodded. “You’re not alone, Allie. Not anymore. You are one of us. If you are hurt, we’ll make sure the person hurting you winds up dead.”

Correction: this calm, capable killer standing next to me.

He looked into my eyes, searching not for me but for my father. “And we will see to it that he stays dead. Permanently. No matter the cost. Tell your father that for me if you get the chance, won’t you?”

My dad was dead silent. But I felt the slide of anger that was not mine waft through my mind.

“I think he heard you.”

Zay looked up, his gaze a brush of heat across my cheeks, my chest. Sexy, hungry, that man made me want him.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I said. I didn’t wait to hear if Victor answered.

I strolled across the room, my gaze locked on Zayvion. He smiled a slow, sweet grin that made me want to take his hand and lead him away from this fight. Preferably to someplace with a mattress, silk sheets, and a bottle of wine.

“Allie,” he said once the crowd in front of him saw I was coming and cleared out of the way faster than night seeking shadows.

“Zay. Good to see you on your feet.”

“Thank you. Good to see you on your feet too.”

Was that a stab at me being hurt after saving him? Did he really want to get into a fight the first time I’d seen him standing since he took on Greyson and Chase? “Thank you.” I tried to make it sound easy, nice. But I was running on too little sleep to pull off tactful. It came off a little cool.

“Allie—” He didn’t get the chance to say anything else.

The room thrummed like a bass drum struck by a falling anvil. Magic flared, lifted, ran like water up the walls, windows, crawled across the ceiling, filling the glyphs—glyphs I had never seen nor sensed—throughout the room. The room darkened. Lights and glyphs took on a deep purple that made whites burn electric blue.

Like a well-practiced team, half the people in the room drew Sight spells, facing all four compass points. Half the people in the room drew their weapons, and traced glyphs for Block, Shield, or Impact but did not pour magic into them. Yet.

My left hand went cold.

“The Veiled are here,” Victor said calmly, like he was reading a grocery list. “There are five—no, seven—solid Veiled. I recognize three: Truance Stimple, Frank Gordon, and Elijah Hemming.”

“The blond woman is Lauren Brown,” Hayden said.

“Anyone else?” Victor stepped back so others could look out the window.

Maeve shook her head. I took a quick glance out the glass.

Victor had a tendency to understate things. Have I mentioned that?

He was right: Truance and Frank Gordon, that twisted doctor who had tried to kill me and resurrect my father, were both striding our way from the access road. I guessed the thirtysomething blond bob in slacks and a black jacket was Lauren, whom Hayden recognized, and the dark-haired, short, thin man with the beard might be Elijah.

The others were a pin-stripped suit guy, a dark-haired woman, middle-aged, wearing a 1950s-style dress with heels and gloves. And behind her was a man who looked like he’d just stepped out of the early 1900s: bowler hat, vest, long jacket, and loose slacks on a scarecrow-thin frame. There was nothing old-timey or quaint about the hatred in his eyes.

I didn’t recognize any of them except Truance and Frank, both of whom had taken starring roles in my recent nightmares. And if Dad recognized the others he did not say anything.

Which was fine with me.

“No,” I said, as the others had said.

Just to be sure, I cleared my mind, ignored my pounding heart, and set a Disbursement. Something that would hit me a week from now. I did not need pain in my way.

I cast Sight. All seven of the solid Veiled became people-shaped clouds of green light and magic. And surrounding them was an army of watercolor people. More Veiled, a lot more Veiled. Hundreds, with open mouths, and black holes where their eyes should be.

And behind them all was a tall, man-shaped shadow, the shadow who had followed me from death. And that, whatever it was, was our real enemy.

No,
Dad whispered in my mind. Horrified.

I didn’t like my dad, but I liked it even less when he was scared to death of something that was about to attack us.

Daniel Beckstrom,
the thing out there said, its voice a scrape of metal and rock and pain grating through my mind.
Die.

He tipped his head upward. If he’d had eyes, I would have sworn he was staring at me. He raised his hand, pointed at me. The mark on my left hand crackled with pain that shot up my arm and caught inside my head. I heard my dad scream.

Then the Veiled weren’t standing anymore. They were running, fast. A mob, a swarm, a cloud of hungry, sharp fingers, teeth and claws, pouring toward the inn.

Chapter Twenty-three

“H
old,” Maeve said. I swear it sounded like she was standing next to me. The blood oath, carrying on our mingled blood and magic, allowed us to hear her. It was like wearing the disk cuffs, but focused on Maeve’s strength and presence, filtered through her, clean and clear and very nice.

Dad had stopped screaming. I couldn’t feel him at all. I swallowed hard, and tasted my own fear.

We held, spells at the ready, evenly divided at the compass points of the room. No chance the Veiled would politely line up and attack from the front door.

The Veiled hit like a heavy wind. I heard the old wood frame creak at the impact, the windows click and rattle. Dust sifted down from the rafters. The Veiled attached to the walls and feasted upon the magic in the building. As soon as they drew too hard on a Ward, they exploded into smoke and flames.

But there were more, thousands, to replace them. A flash of light, the sound of breaking glass, and the first Ward failed.

I shifted to the center of the room, behind one of the tables. I faced West, a Hold spell in my right hand, awaiting the magic to activate it. Zayvion’s sword was strapped to my back. I wasn’t ready to draw it yet.

I traced Sight with my left hand, which was cold, but not on fire yet, and poured magic up through my body and into the glyph. Being this close to the well made magic slick and easy to access. That was one thing going for us.

The world opened with wild streaks and luminescence of magic, held in each magic user’s hands, burning like fire up the clean, tall white walls, across the ceiling, and lighting the wooden floor and windows in golden lacework.

Another flash of light and shattering sound as the Veiled chewed through another Ward. If enough Wards held long enough, it was possible that all the Veiled would be reduced to smoke before they breached our defenses.

“Now?” I asked.

“No,” Maeve said. “Casting through the wards will cancel them.”

Who came up with that defensive plan?

In front of me stood Victor, in front of him the table Terric and Shame and I had had breakfast at, was it only yesterday morning? We faced the windows. To our right stood Sunny, both blood blades drawn. She wore black tights, boots, and everything else denim: skirt, jacket, and cabbie hat that kept her dark hair out of her eyes.

One of the Georgia sisters stood behind Sunny, her staff glowing with sparks that swam like slender fish, up and down the length of the staff.

At the far end of the room, facing North, was Shame, sword at the ready, his back to me. The twins, Carl and La, stood behind him with curved scythes in their hands. At my back, I knew, was Hayden with that battle-ax and broadsword he carried, Zay, and another of the Georgia sisters. And at my left, facing South, was Terric, an ax in each hand, his back to Shame, Nik, who carried a blade a lot like Victor’s, and the last Georgia sister. Maeve and Joshua stood in the center of us all. Someone was whistling. I think it was Nik.

Another Ward fell in a flash. And another.

The Georgia sisters lifted a Shield around the inside of the inn, an Illusion like the Shield they had used in St. Johns to keep the battle below the radar of the police, and more importantly, Stotts and his MERC crew. The Shield was a bubble that would keep the fight, noise, and magic inside.

The Shield closed and rang out like a deep drum. The Veiled were exploding into smoke, the wards failing faster, strobe-light flashes drumming against the windows.

I squinted against the light, and saw the shadow man draw a glyph. I didn’t recognize it.

“What the hell is that thing?” Victor said. “It’s drawing a gate. No,” he said, “not a gate. It’s the Rift. Shield!”

“Down!” Maeve said.

And even if I hadn’t wanted to, her words in my blood, her Influence, made me drop to my knees.

Everyone in the room cast Shield and hit the floor. Good thing. The shadow man’s spell sliced through the inn like a horizontal guillotine, a razor-sharp blade that would have taken off heads and torn through the torso of anyone still standing. Fast as a snake’s tongue, the blade was gone. A second spell hit the inn like a bomb.

The explosion of Wards breaking was deafening, the light blinding, and the darkness it plunged the room into so deep that, if not for the blood oath spell, I wouldn’t have known where any of us were. I had dropped Sight, so I could maintain Shield and keep Hold caught and ready in my right hand. My left hand hurt like a son of a bitch.

And the darkness robbed me of normal vision.

Shit.

A spark of violet flared up the side of the room—one of the Georgia sisters casting Light. The spell bloomed across the ceiling, caught like fire, and formed a lotus that spanned the ceiling, petals softly glowing lavender.

We were on our feet. Even though I was afraid, no one else looked like this was anything more than a walk in the park.

No more watercolored people sucking at the Wards, though I didn’t know why they weren’t swarming the place.

Then I saw the seven solid, living Veiled, storming toward the inn.

Hello, nightmare.

Truance was in the lead, and right beside her was Dr. Frank Gordon. Frank looked exactly how I remembered him in life—crazy and vicious.

They blew open the door—what did you know, they did use the front door. Truance cast Block, Frank threw something that crawled, skittered, and pulled itself with dark, shadowy fingers up the walls to cut the lines and flow of magic in the inner Wards and glyphs.

Dark magic.

We threw everything we had at them.

The smell of machine oil and burned grass and scorched blackberries filled the air. Truance and Frank took one step, two, deflecting, absorbing our magic, and moved aside as the other solid Veiled joined them, spread out, shoulder to shoulder on either side of the door.

We couldn’t break through their magic. Whatever they were using as a Shield absorbed our magic like a sponge in water.

Well, magic wasn’t the only weapon we could use.

Zay’s katana was in my hand. I cast Impact. Black flame wrapped my hand, poured down the blade, and fed the spell. It hurt. I didn’t care. I ran forward and swung at their Shield, aiming for Frank’s head.

The blade cleaved the Shield, cutting like I was dragging it through mud, the black flame so dark, it stung my eyes as it caught the Shield on fire.

I ducked. The Shield burst outward in big gooey drops of magic and black fire.

I was dizzy, my ears ringing, my left arm numb. I needed to stand up. I needed to cast a Block, a Shield.

A strong arm grabbed me around the waist and hauled me up onto my feet. Victor cast a Shield around us both and jogged with me toward the back of the room, the Shield moving with us just like the one my dad had cast in death.

My hearing cleared up, and I suddenly knew why we were beating a retreat.

The watercolor people rushed into the room, like a roaring gush of magic and hunger. I heard one of the Georgia sisters scream. Chanting and cursing filled the air as light and dark magic clashed, exploded, spells and glyphs howling as dark magic cleaved through the living world.

Victor pressed me up against the wall near the door to the hall. “Stay here.”

He strode to the front line, his blade burning silver into the darkness, painting glyphs through the air as he destroyed Veiled after Veiled.

I shook my left arm until I could feel it again, looked for an opening, and took Sunny’s right side. My left hand still licked with fire, but I didn’t let the flame touch the blade. If I used the flame with magic again, it’d probably knock me out in midswing. I cut through the watercolor people, trying to hack a path to Frank.

Truance, Frank, and the others stood behind the watercolor people, and used magic like it had no end. They cast as if it cost them nothing, battering, bludgeoning, pressing us in a tighter circle, playing with us. The weapons in their hands radiated dark magic.

None of the seven spoke or even breathed. Disks shone eerie green at each of their throats as they pressed past defense after defense, breaking spells faster than we could throw them.

I cast Hold, Cleave, and Impact with my left and followed it up with the razor edge of Zay’s sword. Still, I was pressed back, until there was almost no swinging room left.

I was not the only one struggling. Chants of spells were punctuated by curses and grunts of exertion as we fought to hold against the spells and Veiled pummeling us.

The watercolor people broke through, diving into blade and magic, hands grabbing, piercing, sucking, even as they were canceled, ended, killed. And every touch left a burning, bleeding mark behind, sucking away strength and stamina. My arms, shoulders, thighs were covered in burns.

Note to self: next time wear fireproof long johns.

I wondered why Shame didn’t drink down their magic, but realized there was no chance of him getting through their defenses.

We were too close, too fatigued. Friendly fire crossed, collided, blew, sending fire to lick up one of the beams.

Something had to give.

“The hall!” Maeve’s voice carried subtle Influence, enough to sink into my head without getting in the way of what I was doing. Damn, the woman was good.

“Go!” Victor said. He doubled his attack, magic and sword a dance of light and fire and steel. Hayden yelled—no spell that I could parse—just anger, and followed Victor, his broadsword taking the watercolor people down faster than they could rise. Blood and burns stood out on Hayden’s face and Victor’s hands. But none of us had so much as touched the seven Veiled.

With Victor and Hayden holding off the enemy, I ran for the hall. Zay, behind me, hesitated. Terric grabbed his arm and pushed him across the room.

“We follow orders. We get out alive.” I could hear Terric through the blood in Maeve’s spell.

Zay didn’t argue. Once he made it to the hall, he turned and cast a glyph with his left hand over the palm of his right until a dark orb, burning like the Veiled’s weapons, hovered there.

He heaved the orb at the Veiled. It exploded, and for the first time, I heard the Veiled scream.

A magic bomb! So someone did know how to make one of those. Boy had been holding out on me.

One of the Veiled fell, the dark-haired man, Elijah. He did not rise.

“What did you use?” I asked.

“Dark—” He had to take a breath. “—magic.” He wiped his hand over his mouth. Casting that one spell had nearly wiped him out.

Zay was the only one I knew who could cast dark magic without going insane. And it looked like that would be the last dark spell he would be able to cast.

“Allie.” Zay grabbed my hip and pulled me back. I don’t know why I’d been just standing there staring out at the fight Victor and Hayden were losing.

“We need to help,” I said.

“We are. We’re closing down the room as they’re working our way. Listen—about what I said. About you not knowing how to handle yourself—”

Really? In the middle of a battlefield was when he wanted to have a heart-to-heart about our relationship? “Don’t want to talk about it right now.”

Hayden and Victor gave ground, methodically running through spell variations that were astounding. They were now in the arched doorway to the hall.

“Nik,” Victor shouted, “now!”

The pretty boy took three steps forward just as Victor and Hayden stepped back. Nik threw something out into the room that sounded like an entire building under demolition charges.

The Veiled screamed a second time. Another solid Veiled fell, Pinstripe Guy.

Music to my ears.

The room locked down like bulletproof glass had just been poured over the top of it.

“What was that?” I yelled, because the explosion had killed my ears.

“Lock,” Shame yelled.

“Back,” Maeve said. “Down the stairs. Now.”

No Influence. We didn’t need Influence. The solid Veiled, all five who were still standing, were no longer screaming. They were at the doorway, casting spells with staffs, swords, knives, and hands. Going through spells just as methodically as Victor and Hayden had gone through them, searching for the way to break the Lock that held them trapped in the room.

They had once been good magic users—no, great magic users. They knew as much as we knew about magic.

And they had the disks to fuel them and no price to pay.

Hells.

I ran for the stairs, even though it took everything I had to turn my back on them. Nik stayed at the doorway, moving back slowly in tandem with the twins, Carl and La, who sang, feeding magic to Nik as he fed it to the Lock spell, doing that liquid spell thing that Shame had done with his art Refreshing and shifting the glyph faster than they could try to take it down.

“Down the stairs,” Maeve said again, and this time it was Hayden who thundered toward me and pushed my shoulder to get me moving.

We thumped down the stairs, as fast as we could, Maeve moving painfully slowly.

The floor opened up to one large space, walls lined with shelves and cabinets, files and desks and computers. I guessed this was the official business office of the restaurant. The stairs continued down to the bottom floor, where the well, and the disks, were stashed.

Hayden helped Maeve down the stairs while looking back over her shoulder to see when Nik and the twins were going to start down.

Zay glanced up the stairs, probably gauging if he could help in any way. There just wasn’t room for more people on the stairs. He walked over to me. “About what I said. Earlier.” He touched my arm and the reality of him, standing there, alive and mostly whole, hit like a lightning strike to my soul.

I wanted to lean into him, wrap around him, feel his touch, taste his lips, and never let go.

But, seriously, we were in the middle of a war here.

“Are you going to apologize?” I asked.

“Apologize for what?”

“For being mad at me pulling a reverse-Valkyrie and dragging you out of death?”

He scowled. So far he had not been burned by the Veiled. The ratty ski coat was doing a good job of keeping him safe.