Magic Rises (42 page)

AUTHORS’ NOTE

Readers often ask why we cut what seem to be perfectly good scenes. The bigger the book, the better, right? It doesn’t always turn out that way. A novel is more than just a collection of scenes.
It’s a story, a cohesive whole, and when we edit, we try to make sure that every scene included fits into the narrative and serves some sort of purpose. We really wanted to show Saiman’s rescue, but there just wasn’t a way to include it in the novel. No matter where we put it, it stuck out. So instead we’re offering it to you here as a bonus. Because these are deleted scenes, you will see some identical phrasing and things that tie back to the original manuscript. We hope you’ll like it.

AN ILL-ADVISED RESCUE

ILONA ANDREWS

Knock-knock.

My eyes snapped open. Darkness filled the bedroom. I reached over and touched the covers next to me. Empty. Curran must’ve gotten out of bed. Usually I woke up when anything in the vicinity moved, but Curran could be very quiet when he wanted to be, and he had taken it as a personal challenge to sneak in and out of our bed without disturbing me.

Knock-knock.

I dragged myself out of bed, slipped on a pair of sweatpants, and swung the door open. A tall, lean man stood on the other side. Barabas, a weremongoose and lawyer extraordinaire. Since I’d joined the Beast Lord and his fifteen hundred shapeshifter nutcases in the Keep, Barabas had helped me navigate the rough waters of Pack politics. Pack papers said he was my advisor. He ignored them and called himself my nanny.

Barabas never did anything halfway, including his hair. Bright red in sharp contrast to his pale skin, it usually stood straight up on his head like a jagged flame. Today he must’ve done something special to it, because his hair didn’t just look spiky. It was shiny, almost fluorescent, and stiff. He looked electrocuted.

I searched his eyes. No alarm. Whatever it was, it wasn’t urgent. I made some sniffing sounds.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Checking the air for smoke.”

“Why?”

“Because you know I dragged myself to bed less than two hours ago. You wouldn’t wake me up unless it was an emergency. I’m guessing you must’ve set the guard room on fire with your hair and now you want me to evacuate.” Kate one.

“Ha-ha. You have a phone call, Alpha.”

I hated to be called Alpha. Kate one, Barabas one. A draw. “Who is it?”

Barabas looked disgusted, as if someone had just offered him some moldy bread. “The Clerk from the Guild. He says it’s about the pervert.”

“Saiman?”

“Yes. The Clerk says it’s an emergency.”

Okay. “Lead on.”

Saiman was an information broker who happened to also be an expert on all things magic. He’d also made a small fortune in shipping and other ventures. He charged exorbitant prices for his services, but because I had amused him, he had offered me a discount in the past. I had consulted him a few times, but he kept trying to entice me into his bed to prove a philosophical point. I’d put up with it until he’d had the stupidity to parade our connection in front of Curran. The Beast Lord and I had been in a rough spot in our relationship, and Curran didn’t take that exhibition well, a fact that he expressed by turning a warehouse full of luxury cars Saiman had slipped past customs into crushed Coke cans. Since then, Saiman lived in mortal fear of Curran. He avoided me and all things shapeshifter like we were a plague.

Saiman feared physical pain, so he maintained a VIP account at the Mercenary Guild for times when he needed to use brute force. Unfortunately for him, the Pack now owned twenty percent of the Guild and I was in charge of it. I’d flagged his account, making sure I was notified about his activities. Saiman wasn’t exactly vindictive, but he had a long memory, and I wanted to make sure he didn’t spring any surprises on us.

Anything involving Saiman would make Curran lose his temper. A pissy werelion was rather difficult to live with. He wasn’t in a great mood today anyway. We’d had some trouble with a small pack in Florida. With the Pack’s headquarters located in Atlanta, they must’ve felt far enough away and safe, so they’d made excursions into our territory and raided a Pack business. We could quash them, but it would be bloody.

“Do you know where Curran is?”

“He went out to talk to the Lonescos.”

Figured. The Lonescos ran the rat clan within the Pack. The rival Florida pack consisted mostly of rats, and Curran must’ve still hoped for a peaceful resolution. Peaceful in post-Shift Atlanta was a rare luxury. “Did he seem optimistic?”

Barabas shook his head. “No.”

We arrived at the guardroom and Janice offered me the phone. A seasoned guard, Janice was a werejackal, about ten years older than me, with blond hair and a big smile. She looked like a soccer mom on steroids.

I took the phone and pressed the speaker button. “Yes?”

“Kate?” the Clerk’s familiar voice asked. The Clerk had a name, but nobody among the mercs used it. He was simply the Clerk and he didn’t seem to mind the name.

“Yep. What can I do for you?”

“Saiman’s been kidnapped.”

“Aha.”
Aha
was an excellent word. Neither a question nor a statement.

Janice scribbled on a piece of paper, transcribing the conversation.

“They’re holding him for ransom. They dropped the note off at his accountant, who called us.”

“How much do they want?”

“A big one.”

“A million?”

“That’s right.”

Barabas’s eyes went wide. Janice clamped her hand over her mouth for a second. The Guild charged ten percent of ransom for rescuing kidnapped victims. That was quite a chunk of change.

“Where do they want the money delivered?” I asked.

“Mole Hole, in the crater. You know the place.”

Everybody in Atlanta knew the place, but I knew it really well. That was where my insane aunt nearly killed the lot of us and almost burned the city to the ground. That was where I had killed her and almost lost Curran.

“Any details?” I asked.

“I’ve got the note. It says, ‘I’ve been kidnapped. I’m under heavy guard. Please draw one million dollars and deliver it to the Mole Hole before sunrise or my attackers will see red.’”

“Odd note.”

“I wouldn’t know,” the Clerk said. “We got one the other night that said if we didn’t come and get this guy, the kidnappers would feed him to a giant tortoise. Do you want me to do anything about this?”

“I’ll take it,” I said.

“Just so you know, you’re on record for that.”

“That’s fine. Thank you for calling.”

“Anytime.”

I looked at Janice. “Did you get all that?”

She passed me the paper.
Under guard, seeing red.
Interesting choice of words, atypical of Saiman. He spoke like a college intellectual. His philosophy was that if he couldn’t pack at least three syllables into a word, it wasn’t worth his attention.

Saiman was a self-admitted sexual deviant and egomaniac. The last time he put me into a life-threatening situation, he’d jumped into his car and taken off so fast, the snow from his tires pelted my face. But if I saved him, he would owe me a favor. A very large million-dollar favor.

“We’re not going to pay that ransom, are we?” Janice asked.

“Hell no.” I looked at the paper again. “Is Jim still up?”

“He’s in his spy rooms,” Janice said.

Most shapeshifters were seminocturnal. Late to bed, late to rise. The Pack’s chief of security and my onetime Guild partner was no exception.

“Oh good. If Curran comes through here, this whole thing never happened.”

“Are you asking me to lie to the Beast Lord?” Janice’s eyes narrowed into slits. A subtle grin hid in the corners of her mouth.

“No, I’m telling you not to volunteer information.” If Curran got involved, it would be all over. “What the Beast Lord doesn’t know can’t hurt him. Or me.”

I went through the security checkpoint and down the wide staircase that ran the height of the Keep’s main tower. Luckily I didn’t have to go too far. Jim’s spy operation occupied rooms two floors below.

I found Jim in the small kitchenette getting a cup of coffee. Tall, with muscle definition that made you wince, Jim prided himself on the ability to intimidate by simply being there. He was in his early thirties, with skin that matched the coffee in his cup and short hair, cut close to the scalp. Normally he didn’t stand, he loomed like a menacing shadow, but right now he was on his home turf, and the air of threat had dropped off to tolerable levels. He leaned against the wall with one arm, drinking coffee, looking relaxed, and when he saw me, he smiled without showing his teeth. Jim Shrapshire, a sweet and welcoming jaguar. Aha. Not buying it, buster.

“Is there any coffee left?”

Jim hefted the metal pot. “There is.”

I grabbed a mug and watched him pour the nearly black liquid out. Back when we both worked for the Mercenary Guild, Jim preferred to take night jobs. The giant vat of coffee was made once, in the morning. By the end of the night, no sane soul would touch it. Jim drank it like water.

Jim filled my mug. I sniffed it. So far, so good. I took a brave sip. The bitter scalding liquid slid a third of the way down my throat and got stuck. “Dear God.”

He grinned.

“Jim, if I turn the cup upside down, it will roll out slowly like molasses.”

“That’s how you know it’s good. Drink it, it will put hair on your chest.”

“My chest is fine as is, thanks. You’re in a good mood.”

“I’m always in a good mood, Kate. What brings you to my lair?”

“Saiman called.”

Jim skewed his face. He hated Saiman the way cats hated water. “What does he want?”

“He’s been kidnapped and he wants someone to bring his kidnappers a million dollars.”

Jim blinked. For a second his face froze, slapped by surprise, and then the Pack chief of security leaned back and laughed.

I sipped the horrible coffee. I’d known him for years and I could count on one hand the number of times I’d heard him laugh.

Jim chortled.

“Keep it coming.” I waved at him. “Get it out of your system.”

I managed two more swallows of coffee by the time he finally got himself under control enough to talk.

“Do you have a million dollars, Kate? You must’ve done a lot better at the Guild than I did.”

Laugh it up, why don’t you.
“Have you heard anything about Red Guard going rogue?”

The Red Guard was a premier bodyguard outfit in the city. If you wanted private cops, there were none better. I’d worked with them a few times.

“Why?”

I passed him the paper with Saiman’s plea for help. Jim read it and raised his eyebrows. “Under heavy guard, seeing red, huh. You remember Rene Benoit?”

I nodded. I first met Rene when she ran security for an illegal gladiatorial tournament. Since then she’d hired me for a job, and her glowing endorsement of my fledgling investigative firm was driving business my way.

“After the whole Lighthouse Keepers mess, she was promoted,” Jim said. “She’d come up through the ranks and knew who was pulling their weight and who wasn’t, so when she got to the top, she cleaned house. Two weeks ago twelve people got let go. A couple of them showed up at the Guild looking to enroll and bitching about how unfair it was.”

“Which one of the twelve would be more likely to hammer together a gang and stoop to kidnapping?”

Jim frowned. “Leon Tremblay. He’d been in the Guard for over a decade, so he’s got seniority and people would follow him. The word is, if you’ve got enemies with deep pockets, you don’t want him to guard you.”

“He sold his ‘bodies’?” I hated bodyguard detail. I’d done my fair share during my time with the Mercenary Guild, and some of my clients had done everything in their power to get themselves killed, while I put myself between them and danger. Selling the life of the person you guarded went against the very spirit of the job. It made you the lowest of the low.

Jim nodded. “He wasn’t obvious about it, but once every six to eight months one of his clients would manage to croak under entirely plausible but very convenient circumstances. When Rene made major, she booted his ass out on the street. He must’ve been trouble, because when Rene fired him, she had six people in the room with her.” Jim finished his coffee. “You’re going after Tremblay?”

“Don’t have anything better to do,” I told him. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Kate, you know you don’t have to save that asshole. He isn’t worth it and he won’t appreciate it.”

“I know.” I went to the door. “There is a method to my madness. Trust me.”

“Take backup,” Jim called after me. “At least take that dog with you.”

Backup wasn’t a bad idea, and I knew just the right person to bring with me. I climbed the stairs up one floor and knocked on Derek’s room. A raspy voice called, “Come in.”

I stepped into the room. Derek was doing a one-armed handstand against the wall. When I met him over a year ago, Derek had a face that made young girls turn and stare. Things had happened, and that face was gone now. The young cocky kid who owned it was gone, too. A man remained, calm, quiet, and thoughtful, with a face beaten up by life and big brown eyes that worried you if you looked into them too long. Derek watched people, preferring not to draw attention to himself, but when he acted, he attacked fast and he usually won.

As I watched, muscles flexed on his chest under a torn-up T-shirt. His biceps bulged. Derek lowered himself down and pushed up. One-arm-upside-down push-up. Young werewolves. Full of energy.

“Show-off. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Derek kept moving, lowering and raising his body in a smooth, measured rhythm, like a machine. “I was about to turn in. Just a little end-of-the-day workout before the shower.”

It’s good to be a werewolf. “I need backup.”

“Who are we killing?” He switched to the other arm and kept pushing.

“Some ex–Red Guards, and we’re not necessarily going to kill them. We’re just going to visit them and explain that kidnapping Saiman for ransom is a bad idea.”

Derek stopped moving. “They kidnapped the pervert?”

I nodded.

He hopped to his feet. “This I’ve got to see.”

* * *

The Mole Hole had been a tall glass tower housing the offices of Molen Enterprises, until its owners obtained a phoenix egg and coaxed it into hatching. I’d seen a newborn phoenix rise once, and it looked like the old documentaries of space shuttle launches. When the fire subsided, the tower was no more. A crater, one hundred forty feet wide and fifty feet deep, gouged the ground in its place, and the fiery afterburn of the phoenix left it filled with molten glass. A few days later, the glass cooled, forming a foot-thick shell on the bottom and walls of the crater, and the Mole Hole was born.

We approached from the northeast, the shortest route from the Keep. The area had gone downhill a long time ago. Charred wrecks of houses flanked empty streets, and the hoofbeats of my horse sent echoes skipping through the ruins. Strange creatures with glowing hungry eyes watched us from their hidey-holes within the skeletal remains of the buildings. The magic flowed thick.