Magic Time: Angelfire (52 page)

“Anything left?” I murmured, my eyes still on Colleen. “Nothing,” he panted. “Nothing left.”

That was bad news. Primal was staggering upright. In a moment he might be raging and sending bloody missiles at us again. We had to move fast. I grabbed Goldie and forced him into a shambling walk. To our left, in the shadows along the walls, I could see Doc and Howard. They were also moving toward the head of the room.

Fire flared again to Primal’s right as Colleen unloaded a blazing crossbow bolt right at his head. The thing’s reflexes were good. He wrenched his head aside and the bolt caught his shoulder instead, carrying away a volleyball-size chunk of it. There was no blood, only a spew of blood-colored light.

We were maybe twenty-five feet from him when Primal reared back and unleashed a fresh storm of power. It rolled over us in a crushing wave, smearing itself on Goldie’s aura, darkening it. Goldie groaned and went to his knees; nausea hit me like a gut punch. Doubled over, I saw Doc and Howard buckle, saw Colleen duck and roll.

The flares above Primal pulled close, pulsing radiance, giving up their energy to him along the bright umbilicals— energy he was going to destroy us with. And I noticed for the first time that luminous cords also connected them to the walls—to the pulsing arteries in the walls.

A tether? A conduit? If so, which way did the power run?

I didn’t have time for conjecture. Primal raised his hands above his head, a ball of fire raging between them. The deadly star grew swiftly—it was the size of his head, then three times the size.

“Now,” he roared. “Now, you die.” He loosed the thing.

The sword, still gleaming with the residue of Goldie’s power, was the only defense I had. I stepped in front of Goldie and raised it, hoping it might deflect the deadly ball and recalling that an angel with a burning sword had driven Adam and Eve from Paradise.

A brilliant streak of aqua sizzled over our heads, slashing 
between Primal and us. It met his blast head on, engulfing it in a billow of pale fire. In the center of the billow Magritte blazed into being, electricity in every line of her body. She flung her hands defensively toward the enemy, and what rolled out of her grasp was a roaring piece of the sun. It hurled Primal’s missile right back in his face.

He recoiled, throwing up a shield of the clotted magic, then fought back through it, aiming all his powers at Magritte. She weakened swiftly—she was alone; Primal had a dozen flares in his rear guard.

Beside me Goldie let out a shriek of useless rage, trying to gather his resources. Amber light flashed around him, but it wasn’t enough to help Magritte.

Sword in hand, I rolled away from him, out from under Magritte’s protective cover. As I came upright, melody surged over me, cutting through the chaos in the room like a sonic knife. Around Goldie and Magritte, Primal’s furious onslaught melted, the murky colors of carnage muting to pastels.

I turned. Enid stood in the dark opening at the rear of the room, harmonica to his lips, blue notes—piercing and bittersweet—cascading from it. Over Primal’s head the flares pivoted toward the musician in eerie unison and began to drift toward him as if Primal had ceased to exist. The giant’s glory dimmed, blushing ruby.

I started toward the head of the room again, sword ready. Once the flares were gone, Primal would be at a disadvantage. I intended to be in a position to do something about it.

But I’d reckoned without Primal’s will to live. In a movement that belied his size, he reached out and literally snatched Magritte out of the air.

Straightening, he held her out before him and thundered, “Enid Blindman! I swear to you I’ll break this creature in two if you don’t
stop now
.”

Enid faltered, and the flares—who had almost reached him—hesitated, bobbing in place.

“No!” Magritte cried. Primal’s bright hand, wrapped around her neck, squeezed off any further protest.

“Stop,” Primal repeated.

Behind me Goldie made a choking sound.

Enid held the flares before him for a second more, then sagged against the door frame in defeat. They turned and began their journey back toward Primal. Magritte’s eyes, desperate, locked on them.

“No. This can’t happen.” Goldie pulled himself to his full height and staggered toward Primal, flames leaping from his hands. They spread wildly up his arms, over his head. He was turning himself into an incendiary device. In a matter of seconds his entire body was cloaked in arcane fire.

Magritte’s eyes were filled with it. Then she, too, seemed to burn brighter in Primal’s hands, her aura swelling into a blazing sphere. In seconds her nova was so intense I had to turn my head away and screw my eyes shut.

There was a flash of unbearable brilliance, a whoosh of sound, a burst of heat, and the room was plunged into chilly gloom.

I opened my eyes. Primal had faded from ruby to bronze and stood frozen, his empty hands extended before him. Magritte had crumpled to the floor in front of him, her halo dimmed nearly to nonexistence. Goldie was beside her in an instant, pulling her into his arms. She sagged against him, strength gone.

That was the opening I needed. I leapt into motion, sword swinging, while from the darkness to my right came a flash of real fire. Colleen’s third shot buried itself in Primal’s neck in the same moment I lashed out with my sword. The blade sang through the air in a radiant arc, catching Primal thigh high. Sparks exploded. The blow was bone jarring, as if I’d hacked into one of the oozing walls rather than a living thing. Bits of something hard flew in all directions. But the blade sliced through the leg, severing it. There was no blood.

Primal toppled, clutching at Colleen’s bolt. He fell backward in slow motion, into the spiderweb of light from the cracked window. The thick glass sagged, gaps widening, lengthening, and then the whole thing gave way, sending the monster and several hundred pounds of glass shard down 
seven floors onto the sidewalk. Ruddy sunlight poured through the yawning hole.

The world around us took a deep breath.

Then we converged on Goldie and Magritte, Enid hovering protectively, Doc immediately falling into the medic’s drill: check eyes, check pulse, check respiration. She was spent but conscious.

“Damn!” Colleen stopped in front of me, shaking her head. “I thought that thing would never die. That was my last shot.”

“Tough cookie,” muttered Howard.

I looked down at Magritte. She glowed a bit brighter now, seemed to rest more lightly in Goldie’s arms. “Can we move her?”

Doc flashed me a glance, nodded.

“Oh, shit. That can’t be good.” Colleen said the words so softly I barely heard them. She was staring at a spot behind me and over my head.

I followed her gaze. The flares hung in limbo in the middle of the room, still bound to each other and to their prison with blazing manacles. There was still power here. The building around us pulsed with it. I felt its oily static on my skin.

“They’re still trapped,” I said. “But by what?”

Magritte’s eyes widened. “Didn’t get all of it,” she said. “Still something …” She shook her head. “Weird. Flare. A flare, but… but
not
.”

“Oh, son of a bitch,” said Colleen. “It’s Clay.” She flung her useless crossbow aside to clatter and skid across the floor. She paced after it, swearing.

I followed her. “What’s Clay? Colleen,
what’s
Clay?” “Our puppet master, that’s what. The power behind the fucking throne. Why didn’t I
see
it?”

I shook my head in confusion. “She said
a flare
.”

“But
not
. Shit, I didn’t even think to tell anybody—if you wipe off his dazzle paint, Clay glows like a damned lightning bug.”

“But he doesn’t fly; his eyes aren’t—”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s the
not
part. Oh, damn, why didn’t I
see
it?” She grabbed my arm so hard I gasped. “We’ve got to find him, Cal. Find him before he can—”

She was cut off by the sound of applause from a single pair of hands. We both turned toward the middle of the room.

Clay stood there in the wash of muted sunlight, having appeared seemingly out of nowhere, clapping slowly, rhythmically. He was wearing what looked like an orange hazmat suit, and the flesh of his face and hands gleamed greenish white. His hair, uncovered, was long and curling and had a similar tint. And although he didn’t fly, I caught, not for the first time, the strangeness of his gait. Gliding, as if he merely skimmed the ground he walked.

As he moved toward us he drew the flares down from their dark aerie. They bobbed about him, tethered, as they had been tethered to Primal. He stopped applauding and clasped his hands together over his heart. “Oh, Colleen, you are such a clever girl. I had no idea. None of my normals are nearly as clever as you and your friends. You’ve been quite an amusement. I’m sorry this has to end.”

“That makes one of us,” Colleen returned acidly. She fidgeted, in her own unique way, rolling the haft of her knife over and over in her hand. “We’re nothing to you. Why don’t you just let us go?”

“You’re not going anywhere. None of you. Oh, well, maybe Howard. He’s pretty much outlived his usefulness. But the rest of you are going to stay to populate the king’s court with life, laughter… and love,” he added, affording Colleen a wry leer.

“Like hell,” Colleen assured him.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Clay asked. “I’m not the loser here. You are. You destroyed a figurehead, an effigy. You killed a machine.” His eyes swept the walls around us, lips curving in a smile. “No—you killed
part
of a machine. And the master of the machine is very much alive. You still have to deal with
me
.” He slapped a palm to his narrow chest, pulled out a bright green ball of energy, and balanced it on the palm of his hand. “Which one of you gets this?” he asked, then 
swung gracefully toward me, puckering up to blow the thing in my direction.

“You are so fucking predictable,” Colleen said.

Clay pivoted. The blazing orb caught her in the chest and flung her across the floor. She skidded almost to the gaping window and rolled into a fetal position.

Adrenaline sang in my veins. I took a wild slash at Clay with my sword, but he was too quick. He dodged lightly out of reach, laughing. I kept after him, parrying, thrusting, keeping his attention on me. From the corner of my eye I saw Enid hovering uncertainly behind Doc, harmonica still in his hand.

“Enid!” I shouted, keeping my eyes on Clay. “Enid, the flares!”

Familiar melody rose around me. Enid’s refugee song. He broke away from the group gathered around Magritte and moved toward the flares, harmonica wailing out the very depths of his soul. It was a siren song; the flares melted to it, turning their bright eyes away from their master. Their auras changed subtly, shedding reds, shading toward aqua. Playing, Enid headed for the doorway, the harmonica’s haunting voice echoing through the hollow room. The flares moved with him, the cords or conduits that connected them to the building dissolving. Behind the walls the bright veins of light dimmed.

The building shuddered, and panic flashed in Clay’s eyes. He shot a sphere of light at Enid. It hit the barrier of Enid’s music and melted harmlessly away. He lobbed a second salvo at me. I met it with my sword. It fizzled in a shower of golden sparks.

I went straight at him. He released a barrage of arcane grapeshot. I caught the brilliant pebbles with the blade, swept them aside, and advanced, careless of where they landed. Enid and the flares receded into the darkness; the Tower sighed and moaned. Clay laughed and danced away from me. But he sweated now, his eyes wild.

I will probably never shake the feeling that I caused what happened next. I know I could have prevented it.

Four feet from where Doc and Goldie shielded Magritte, Clay stopped and extended a hand toward the nearest wall. The fey arteries blazed, their pulse quickening. I could almost hear the drumming of a great mechanical heart. A second later a green streamer of light leapt from the wall to Clay’s outstretched hand. It enveloped him, fed him.

I lunged, hoping to land a blow while he was distracted, but before I could touch him, he turned and pointed at Maggie. A bolt of energy shot from his fingertip straight to her heart. She spasmed, aqua radiance backwashing along the connection. There was a flash of light, a sizzle of sound, and the emerald trail sucked itself back up, wreathing Clay in a rainbow. He broke his connection with the Tower.

Magritte went limp in Goldie’s arms, light extinguished.

He screamed—one long, piercing note of anguish that I will hear until the day I die. Longer, if there’s any life after this one. Doc bent to revive her, but I knew she was gone. Because Goldie knew.

The building shook as if the ground beneath it shivered. The walls pulsed with lurid Light.

In the moment of vertigo, Howard flung himself at Clay, snapping with animal fury, claw-hands reaching, ready to rend and tear. But Clay, exultant, danced out of the way. He was suddenly able to leave the ground and, if not to fly, at least to levitate. He grinned at me, vibrating with new power, ablaze with it, his hair tossing in the breeze from the blown out window.

“Christ, what a rush! I had no idea … Here I’d been keeping those creatures alive, taking only what I needed—what I
thought
I needed. I had no idea it could be this … powerful an experience.” He smiled beatifically and rubbed a hand over his heart as if petting the new power that infused it. “Do you know how many devas are in this place? Dozens. Scores.” He giggled. “So much for saving something for a rainy day.”

Dear God, I’d taken a garden-variety monster and driven it to become a flare killer. Somehow, we had to bring him down before he could reach any of the other flares. But how? He was no longer a man. He wasn’t even a flare. He 
was an unknown, connected to this damn Tower in ways I didn’t understand. I shook myself. Understanding was irrelevant. We had to stop him.