Risk (A Mageri World Novel) (21 page)

When it cracked, Boris stumbled backward, holding his sword out and covering his face with his left hand.

Simon had just enough time to stand up and block an attack, steel clanking, his muscles locked tight. When he heard Ella whimper in pain behind him, he was momentarily distracted and lost his grip, his sword flying out of his hand. Simon used a chair to step onto the table and barely caught a glimpse of Ella using her Jumper abilities to flash beside him.

When she handed him his sword, he cocked his head to the side.

“My, aren’t you the nimble one?”

She smirked. “I learned from the best.” Ella flipped off the table, doing a somersault in midair over one of her opponents before throwing her steak knife into his chest.

Simon beamed with pride. When he readied himself to fight, Boris flashed to the left and out of the room.

“Coward!” Simon shouted, flipping a plate off the table with a flick of his foot.

He briefly bent down and gobbled up a few pieces of cheese, watching Hannah and Pippi go at it. Pippi pulled Hannah’s hair, silver pins scattering to the floor.

“I’m losing respect for you, Hannah. Can’t you handle a pipsqueak?”

Pippi huffed. “Hey, who are you calling a pipsqueak? You of all people should know that size doesn’t matter.”

“Come now, love,” he said, hopping off the table. “We both know
that’s
a lie.”

Her cheeks flamed, and she swiped her dagger at Hannah’s neck. No one who had seen Simon in all his glory could make such a remark with a straight face.

Simon stepped over a man with a stunner impaled in his back—probably Hannah’s only weapon as she was trying to take on the little Mage with a butter knife.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she snapped, making a crisscross motion and leaving dull red streaks on Pippi’s arm.

Simon patted her shoulder. “Just going to the kitchen to bring you some jam. Or would you rather I fetch the margarine?” He laughed, his sword held so that Pippi stepped aside, allowing him to move into the hallway.

His first instinct was to go down in the elevator. When a criminal fled the scene, they usually went for their car. But Boris was in his home, and that was where a man felt safe. He was probably counting on them racing down to the street, so when Simon reached the elevator, he hesitated.

“Wait!” Ella rushed toward him, her white gown bouncing up and down, her hair in a tangle.

“Up or down?” Simon asked, curious which Ella would choose.

Ella frowned and then pointed up.

“His bedroom?”

“No, the roof.”

Simon tilted his head. “For what reason?”

“Because he’s a moron. He thinks we’ll go after him or search the house. Either way he can make a quiet escape. I don’t think I saw a fire escape though, so he’d be stuck up there until we left. Plus all his money and valuables are here.”

“Why don’t you go down and I’ll go up.” Simon used his fingers to help illustrate his suggestion.

She folded her arms. “No.”

“He could be getting away,” Simon sang.

“I don’t have a car to chase him in. Next plan?”

Simon turned on his heel and stared at the elevator doors, making gestures with his free hand as he spoke. “Well, then. If you’re right, then he just made it easy for us. Boris was always afraid of heights, so I don’t think he’ll be doing any dramatic dives off the ledge.”

Ella pinched his side and he hissed, turning to face her.

“Don’t turn your back on me. I’m not a mind reader.”

He pinched her nose. “Of course not, love. You’re a comedian.”

“What did you say just then?”

“We’re going to be late for a swan song.” He tapped his blade against the elevator doors. “Let’s go.”

Just as he turned to push the button, the power went out.

“Simon,” Ella whispered in a frantic voice.

He gripped her hand and spoke through touch.
Stay calm
.

Her thoughts invaded his mind, her words panicked.
I can’t see. I can’t hear
.

Use your other senses
, he thought back to her as they moved into the stairwell.
Did you know that bats depend on echolocation to navigate in total darkness? They fly in the dark and bounce sound waves off objects to see the obstacles in their path
.

That’s fascinating, but I screech for no man
.

He chuckled, sensing her calm returning. They ascended the stairs slowly, Simon keeping his right shoulder close to the wall so Ella could stay beside him.

Simon squeezed her hand.
Use your sense of smell for subtle changes in the air. Since your arms are covered with that hideous lace, notice changes in the draft or temperature with your face and hands. We never trained in the dark, but perhaps I’ll put that on the agenda
.

I just bet
.

They reached the landing and kept moving upward. Simon’s Feeler gift was completely useless since Ella’s energy was buzzing all around him.

He wears cheap cologne,
she said.
I can still smell the trail in the air. He’s definitely on the roof
.

Simon hadn’t even noticed it. “Good girl,” he whispered and thought at once.

Why do you smell like gas station soap?
she asked.

He bounced a step ahead of her.
All right, that’s enough
.

Sorry. It’s hard not to notice with it wafting in my face. What happened to you tonight?
she continued, her words searching his mind as if looking for a leak.
I found your car… and you weren’t answering your phone
.

Can we kill your husband first and then chat about the events of this evening?
he retorted.
You know, I used to think you were a meek little thing. Little did I know what a chatterbox you—

Shhh!
Ella jerked his arm, and they stilled.
Stop thinking for a second. Someone’s following us. I felt a draft come up.

Simon hiked up the steps, his eyes wide in the darkness.
When we reach the top, I want you to stand beside the doorway and take the bloke following us by surprise
.

Why don’t you?

Do as I say
.

Her words entered his mind like a growl.
You’re not the only one around here who knows how to fight.

Simon pushed open the door and was met with a harsh wind.

“You’re more clever than I gave you credit for,” Boris said from the shadows.

Ella squeezed Simon’s hand so tight that he turned to look at her. The moonlight shone on her wide, blue eyes, and her mouth was agape.

Simon didn’t have to ask. The images that flitted through his mind—the screams, the voice whispering in her ear from behind a black mask—told him that she’d heard Boris through Simon’s connection.

Ella had finally found her assailant.

The one who murdered her family.

The one who brutalized her.

The one who married her.

E
lla drifted forward
as if pulled by invisible strings. The wind battered her from the left, whipping her loose hair into tangled waves.

When Boris’s voice entered her mind through Simon’s link, her heart almost stopped. Some voices had found a permanent place in her memory, and one of them was that of her attacker.

He had threatened her, berated her… licked the shell of her ear while he whispered that her family was dead. Because of the mask, his eyes were the only part of him she’d seen, but eyes weren’t as easily recognizable as a voice.

A voice was a fingerprint, and his had left an indelible mark upon her soul.

Boris raised his sword, a mirthless smile appearing when he saw the recognition in her eyes.

But it wasn’t his smile that made her blood turn to ice; it was that he didn’t say a word. Not an apology, not an explanation, not even a provoking remark. He knew she could read lips, and yet he chose to stand there and stare at her as if she meant nothing.

Light danced at her fingertips, crackling against the dry air before she reined it back in. Ella exploded into action, using her Jumper abilities to circle behind Boris.

With lightning speed, she delivered a series of blows to his side.

Boris doubled over, still aiming his sword at Simon. He flashed out of reach so that Ella and Simon wound up facing each other. He had a weapon, and she did not.

Simon shook his head, warning her not to intervene.

Ella narrowed her eyes.

Your emotions will be the death of you,
he mouthed. Because of the exaggerated manner in which he pronounced his words, she knew he hadn’t said it aloud.

A shadow emerged from the stairwell behind Simon, and he turned, swinging his sword. The Mage flashed out of reach and then torpedoed toward Ella.

She ducked, throwing a solid punch and kicking the side of his knee, hoping to break it. But he turned too fast and grabbed her ankle before she made contact. Ella looked up at James; someone must have removed the dagger from his back. With her left leg captured, she pushed off the ground, spun to her right, and kicked him in the face as she fell onto her back.

He let go, and Ella quickly sprang to her feet. Simon had told her that new Learners often made the mistake of fighting with egos and magic, so she quickly scanned his jeans for signs of a concealed weapon.

His brows knitted when he turned and caught the direction of her gaze. “What the hell are you looking at?”

“I was searching for a bulge, but I forgot who I was dealing with.”

His eyes rounded when he heard her speak. Ella proudly lifted her chin. It felt so damn good to be able to tell people what she was thinking.

The subtle shift in his posture and the way his lips thinned told her he was about to strike.

He went for a right hook, and Ella ducked, elbowing him in the back and then jumping onto the ledge of the building. She edged to the right toward the gargoyle perched on the corner.

“Jump and do everyone a favor,” he said. “Women are useless except for binding with, and that makes you no better than a whore.”

Ella couldn’t hear any of the sounds going on around her. The wind, the cars below, shoes scraping against the gritty concrete, the sound of steel clanging together as Simon and Boris faced off. Instead, it was a tornado of visuals combined with flickering energy.

Simon was phenomenal to watch. Graceful footwork, confidence gleaming in his eyes, expert moves that didn’t use up his Mage energy—something Boris seemed to be relying on to dodge each potentially fatal strike. If Simon fought him long enough, Boris would tire out.

Now she finally understood why their gifts should be used sparingly when fighting against another Mage.

Ella smiled at James and cupped her left fingers in a bye-bye wave.

She leapt off the building, gripping the horn on the gargoyle before disappearing into the darkness. Ella used the momentum to swing around to the other side—feet forward. James never knew what hit him. His eyes were transfixed on the darkness when she kicked him in the chest.

He flew back onto the adjoining ledge, waving his arms frantically to keep from plummeting four stories below.

Ella gripped his ankles and flipped him right over the edge.

She kind of wished she could hear his scream all the way down. The fall probably wouldn’t kill him. After all, he was a Mage. But it would render him incapacitated for a long, long time. At least until dawn when he could heal from the sunlight.

Unless he was unconscious.

The thought tickled her funny bone as she turned to the fight on the opposite side of the roof.

The moon cast enough light that Ella could read their lips. The wind lashed at her from behind, and she thought about her little brother. His smile and laughter filled her head, and tears flooded her eyes.

As she watched Boris, she realized that hate was such a weak word for the emotions she felt. And of all things, her own Creator had given her over to him in a legal bonding ceremony.

Strands of her pale red hair caught in the wind, and she swept them behind her ears.

“You fight like a sissy,” Simon taunted.

Boris made a crisscross motion that forced Simon to step back. “I fight like a gentleman.”

Simon blocked a strike and then sliced Boris’s left cheek. “A gentleman who murders children and rapes young girls.”

They circled each other until Simon’s back was to Ella.

Boris’s lips peeled back, revealing more gum than teeth. “It wasn’t rape; it was war. She was born of Hannah’s seed, and that means she has no soul.” He struck Simon on the left bicep, and a streak of blood trickled down his arm.

In a motion too fast to track, Simon swung the curved end of his sword upward until it nestled between Boris’s legs. Boris tilted his sword in a position to take Simon’s head, but when Simon jerked his razor-sharp blade up, Boris had second thoughts.

Ella paced to the left, able to see each man’s profile.

All humor ebbed from Simon’s face. “You’re a filthy maggot who doesn’t deserve to shine my shoes. Castration is only one item on the agenda of what I have planned.”

Boris angled his sword. “How easily can you heal a head that is separated from your shoulders?”

“You’re not a man who makes personal sacrifices, even if it means winning a battle. How good is your aim? Let’s find out who’s more willing to follow through.”

Boris grimaced when Simon tilted his sword to the left and pulled it up a fraction, cutting through his slacks.

Ella rushed next to Simon. “Let me have him.”

Boris’s brows popped up. “The dead speaks.”

She gripped Simon’s wrist so they could talk privately.

You’re crazy!
he hissed.
I’ve got him right between the balls and you want to
—

Shut up, Simon. You of all people should know about personal scores to settle
.
Stop trying to be the hero. I’m not a woman who needs to be saved.

“She’ll do more than hold your hand,” Boris suggested, his voice filling her head instead of Simon’s.

Although Boris’s blade was a swing away from her neck, Ella glared at him with malice. That bastard didn’t deserve a single breath of air from this world. She erupted into action and tackled him, pushing him backward and growling like a wild animal as they neared the edge of the building.

Pain radiated in her right temple when he struck her with the pommel of his sword. Ella dug her toes into the asphalt and blocked out everything. Boris began to push back.

Biology had made him physically stronger, so she assailed him with punches to the stomach. Ella had tapped into a primal place in her mind, her hate burning with the fire of a thousand suns.

Simon made no attempt to intervene.

Ella thrust her hand upward, striking Boris underneath the chin. His head snapped back, and he grabbed a chunk of her hair and swung her around to the left, raising the sword in his right hand.

Hannah had once told her that hair was a woman’s Achilles’ heel.

The long blade curved as he brought it down.

Ella twisted his left arm in an attempt to break it, but it was too late. The pommel of the sword struck her in the forehead with such force that she was certain it had cracked her skull. Images flashed in her mind—her mother kissing her good night, her father drinking coffee at the breakfast table and reading the paper, her little brother standing in her doorway saying, “Please, just one more game? I promise not to cheat this time.”

Unlike Ella, Jasper never had any friends. He had trouble connecting with the other boys in the neighborhood who wanted to play pretend war or video games when he’d rather be playing chess or helping their mom cook dinner. Ella had become his best friend—his only friend. But that had changed when she got a little older and suddenly wanted privacy in her room or to go out with kids her own age.

She stumbled backward, her heart shattering all over again as the past and the present collided. The universe spun like a carnival ride, and her back hit the hard ledge of the building, her left leg dangling over. She fought to stay conscious, but the blow had rendered her incapable of moving.

Her head rolled to the side just as Simon blazed into action.

He moved with impossible speed, slicing his sword like a pair of spinning scissors. Boris couldn’t keep up and was making mistakes. After a dazzling maneuver, Simon nearly disarmed him and plunged his sword into Boris’s heart.

Or so Ella thought.

She watched in confusion as Boris’s lips eased into a grin. He knocked the sword away and moved out of reach. Simon briefly looked at his blade in disbelief.

Boris reached into his inside pocket and removed a silver case, cigarettes falling askew when the bent lid swung open. “You always hated this thing,” he said. “How ironic that it’s the very thing that protected me from your feeble attempt.”

Boris had foolishly let his guard down, and Simon seized the opportunity. His blade cut through the air, leaving behind shadows where it ripped through dimensions. Perhaps she was hallucinating as the stars melted against the black night like flecks of burnished gold in a cast-iron melting pot.

Blood splashed as the two men moved like two graceful dancers. The pain thickened within her skull, and there was a peaceful awareness that she was hemorrhaging.

Simon spun in a circle, crouching low as he swung his sword around him. Boris was able to block the strike and move back, but not before Simon had left a slice in the front of one of his pant legs. Boris used one hand to put pressure on his thigh.

Simon tossed his sword into his left hand and tilted his wrist in flashy movements, illustrating the point that he was ambidextrous. Every muscle was chiseled to perfection, and despite his svelte body, he’d never looked more powerful than in this moment.

Sweat rolled down Boris’s temple, and he eyed the doorway. As if reading his mind, Simon flashed in front of it and aimed his blade at Boris.

“That was just the warm-up,” he said. “There’s nowhere to run. Either meet your death like a man, or run like the coward that you are. No one is coming to save you. And if you escape, I will send three hundred Chitahs on a manhunt to track you down and bite you—just enough to paralyze. I have plans to inflict torture on you like you’ve never imagined. You’ll wake the dead with your screams and give them nightmares.”

When he looked at Ella, no words were needed. But God, how she yearned to be the one holding that blade.

Ella’s blinks grew heavier and blood trickled through her hair.

In a heart-stopping move, Simon channeled his energy and spun through the air like a ninja. When he landed, his blade cut through Boris’s brachial nerve, rendering his arm useless. His sword fell out of his grasp, and he dropped to his knees, his mouth open in a silent scream.

Simon pressed the sharp edge of his blade against Boris’s neck, drew back, and sliced off his head.

Although it was a gruesome display, a weight lifted from her shoulders, setting free the spirits of her family who had been chained to this life. Ella had carried the burden of guilt that all survivors felt.

Simon tossed his sword to the ground and strode toward Ella with urgent steps. It felt as if the world were an island and she was floating out to sea. Floating… spinning… falling.

Pain lanced her wrist, and her eyes flew open.

“Grab hold!” Simon shouted, his voice ringing loud and clear in her head.

Ella looked over her shoulder at headlights traveling back and forth. She had rolled off the ledge, and Simon was the only thing keeping her alive. She couldn’t speak with clarity, but he seemed to understand.

It wasn’t as frightening as she thought it would be, not until the blood trickling from his cut had seeped into the cracks where their hands were clasped. Then she felt herself slipping from his grasp.

He held on to the ledge with his left hand to keep them both from toppling over.

It felt nice—the air swishing between her legs as she hovered over the city, four stories high.

“Ella… Ella.”

She blinked and looked up again.

“Be a dear and give me your other hand before we become sidewalk graffiti.”

She laughed in her head.

“Lift your other hand and grab hold,” he said in a slow command.

I’m trying. It’s so heavy,
she said in her mind.

“Good girl. Move a little quicker. Do you want to end up sandwiched with your friend down there?”

Good point. Ella had no desire to be on top of James ever again.

She swung her left arm and grabbed hold of his forearm. “I’m not a quitter.”

He nodded. “Let’s do this quick. One… two…”

Before he hit three, Simon reached around with his other arm and grabbed hold of her, simultaneously pulling her up and over the wall. She fell on top of him and then rolled off, staring skyward.

Delicious healing light flooded through her fingertips and into her core light. She couldn’t see the light that danced between their palms—all she could see was Simon’s face above hers, his arresting eyes staring down to her soul.