Stolen Fate (12 page)

Sudden silence and cold. Her wet clothes stuck to her rapidly cooling skin as she gratefully sucked in the fresh air of the lobby. Ian stood next to her, panting and wet.
 

She nodded, still unable to speak, and propped her hands on her knees. When she’d finally caught her breath, she asked, “That was wrong too, wasn’t it?”

“Aye. My touch should have deactivated the spell. But it dinna.”

Damn. Stable magic was hard to create. So now, everything was going haywire. What would be coming at them next? They were still four rooms away from the basement entrance. The expansive lobby spread out from the stairs, the glass ceiling soaring three stories above. Moonlight shone upon the marble floor.

Fiona squinted toward the big admissions desk along the wall. It wasn’t empty. A guard lay slumped over the desk, a dagger protruding from his back.

“Holy shite. The demons have beaten us here.”

“Aye. Come on, then.” Ian nodded toward the east wing. The entrance to the basement was tucked at the end, right past medieval, ancient, and geological history. If only it had been in the west wing, the one he’d blown up, the magic would all be gone. She could have sailed right though.

She cursed and followed him through the huge room, praying that the lack of artifacts in the lobby meant that there were no enchantments here to get them.
 

They hesitated at the entrance to the next room. Suits of armor. They lined the walls and marched down the middle of the room, metal gleaming dully in the dim light.

“These will fight us?” she asked.

“Aye. Give me a moment. And be ready to run.” He slipped into the room and approached the first suit of armor along the wall. He set his hand on its shoulder and said, “I am Ian MacKenzie.”

Fiona held her breath. The helmeted head nodded slowly, the metal shifting.

Ian’s shoulders relaxed and he nodded at her. “Should be good.”

She gripped her sword and followed him into the room. Her gaze darted around the space, watching warily for movement, but they made it through safely. They stopped at the entrance to the next room.
 

Weapons. Swords and daggers of all sizes lined the walls.
 

She waited and watched Ian step into the exhibit and press his back against the wall. She peeked around the entryway to see him inching toward a display of swords and shields. When he reached a great sword mounted on the wall, he gripped the hilt and paused. He scowled.

Damn, that couldn’t be good. Ian left the sword and continued to inch his way down the wall toward the exhibit of shields. He yanked two off the wall, then moved back to her.

“Here. I doona think that worked.” He thrust one into her arms. “Go fast.”

Shite.
She was immortal, but that didn’t mean that beheading couldn’t end her. She glanced at him, and bolstered by the steel in his gaze, turned back to the room. They set off at a sprint, the shields raised against the blades, and she’d have sworn that Ian held back to stay by her.

Swords and knives pried themselves off walls and shot through the air, pinging off the shields. She glanced around frantically, moving her shield to stop blades that hurtled from either side of the room. A dagger flew off the other wall and nailed Ian in the arm. Pain blossomed in her side and she reached for it. A slice across her abdomen wept blood.

Dozens of blades shot around the room. She dove left and narrowly avoided a sword headed straight at her. Ian flung himself right to avoid another blade, and soon they were separated.

As they limped over the barrier to the next room, she caught sight of the fallen, bloodied body of a demon that was just beginning to sublimate.

“Are you okay?” Ian asked when they stood in the threshold. His shield had half a dozen blades sticking out of it. Hers had more. The flying blades behind them clattered to the floor. A second later, the weapons returned to their original places on the wall and in display cabinets.

She peered down at her stomach and pulled the blood-and-water-soaked fabric away from her skin. The gash stung like a bitch, but it wasn’t fatal.
 

“Fine. You?” She frowned at his arm, which was now liberally covered in blood.
 

“Perfect. That demon’s corpse is no’ more than a few minutes old,” he said.

She nodded. Soon it would sublimate entirely and the soul would return to its afterworld. “We need to hurry.”

Ian paused beneath the arch to the next room and peered in, tensed and wary. They’d made it safely through the last room–stone weapons that could pack a hell of a punch—but this endeavor had gone to shite. His enchantments had gone mad in the ninety-odd years he’d been in prison. Like a forest left to grow wild, the magic had grown and mutated. It should have been a stroll through the museum. But not with the changes. And they were far worse than he’d expected.

They hovered at the entrance of the Hall of Geology. Huge boulders lay like sleeping giants in the middle of the floor and smaller precious stones dotted the walls, pinned in their glass cases like flies. In the middle stood a statue of James Hutton, a Scotsman and the father of modern geology.

The door to the basement was at the other end of the room.

Ian looked at Fiona and nodded.
 

“Who are you and what is your purpose?” The statue bellowed.
 

The marble statue of James Hutton had awoken. Gleaming white hands were moving idly, swaying slightly, back and forth, the movement unnatural and eerie.
 

“I’m Ian MacKenzie,” Ian said, and hoped for the best. James Hutton should let him through and fight all others.

“You are not he!” The statue’s roar echoed through the huge room.
 

Shite. Of fucking course.

The great boulders crouched in the hall were moving as well, rolling back and forth as if they were trying to drum up momentum. They moved in sync with the statue’s hands. Dread carved a black pit in his stomach.
 

The statue waved its marble arm, a fluidity to the motion that belied its substance.

A crack sounded and one of the huge boulders flew across the room, not rolling so much as hurtling through the air. Straight at them. Ian and Fiona dove away from each other, out of range of the boulder. The air whooshed as the boulder shot behind him. It crashed against the wall and fell still.

Lungs bellowing, Ian surged to his feet as Fiona did the same. Another crack of sound and a great column of marble flew at them from the opposite side of the room. He dodged it by a foot, Fiona by less.

“Run for the vault,” Ian yelled. He had no fucking clue what was going on.

Speed was the only thing that could get them out of here. They had no way to fight the sheer power of the rocks. If just one caught them, they’d be crushed to death.

Fiona scrambled to her feet and took off toward the far exit. He followed just behind. Halfway through the room, they had to dive to the floor as the precious stones flew out of their glass cases on the wall and hurtled toward them like bullets—rubies, diamonds, emeralds glinting in the low light.

Several lodged themselves in his right arm and leg. He looked up through the arm that shielded his face and saw Fiona flinch as some of the stones hit her.

An unfamiliar protectiveness welled within him, tightening his throat and making his fists clench. So unfamiliar, but so strong. He crawled to her and threw himself over her. She tensed, then stilled. Finally, the sting of stones stopped.
 

“Go," he said.

She scrambled to her feet and he followed, taking off with only twenty yards between them and the entrance to the basement. From behind, the sound of creaking and groaning echoed through the room. Like a great iron bridge breaking. He swore he could feel the reverberations through his chest.

Ian glanced left. A hulking boulder, like the stone trolls of myths, hurtled across the floor, headed for Fiona.
 

It was a split-second decision, all instinct and no thought. He surged for Fiona, knowing that the boulder would likely crush him as he pushed her out of its way. His instincts had moved him and his body had followed. His brain had no say in it.

A thousand pounds of stone slammed into his back. The crash of their collision sent a bolt of agony from his shoulders to his feet.
 

He collapsed on the floor, his body a crushed mess of pain. Thank gods the boulder wasn’t on top of him. It had bludgeoned him in the back and hurtled into the wall. The rest of the stones had fallen still. The spell was done, but this could have killed him, for gods’ sake. What the hell had he been thinking?

“Nay!” Fiona's scream echoed in his head. “Ian!”

She’d
been what he’d been thinking, he realized. Shite. That was unexpected.

She knelt over him and prodded at his back. He groaned at the stab of pain.

“Where does it hurt?” she asked.

Everywhere. He closed his eyes and sucked in a steadying breath. The agony that had streaked through his back was fading now, courtesy of Mytheans’ speedy healing ability.
 

He gritted his teeth and pushed himself to his knees. There were definitely some broken bones. A few ribs, maybe his scapula. But even that was fading. It’d take some time to heal, but he could function.

“What the hell were you doing?” Fiona cried.
 

He hesitated. The truth of what he’d done, what it meant about his feelings, stared him in the face. Admit to her that he’d been willing to die for her? Hell, he didn’t know how to process that. How would she? It was crazy.
 

Her eyes turned stark, dark in her pale face. “You sacrificed yourself for me. That was…” She looked around the room as if she’d find the word she wanted lying in the corner. “That was so stupid.”

“What?” That was not what he’d expected.
 

Or was it? She was right. It’d been stupid. Ever since he’d walked out of the slums of Old Town as a boy, he’d dragged himself from misery by looking out only for himself. Caring for someone, like the old woman who’d brought him up before he’d gone to the workhouse, ended with abandonment. Willingly or not, people left you.

Helping, giving to others got you nowhere. Looking out only for himself had gotten him through life, turned his dirt-brown past into something brighter.

Then he’d met her, and so quickly, so blindingly quickly that it had happened almost without him realizing it, he’d sacrificed himself for her. In all his life, he’d never even considered sacrificing himself for someone else. Not even Logan.

But with her, he hadn’t had time to think. Instinct had taken over. His subconscious seemed to know more about what she meant to him than his mind did. He had no fucking clue how to deal with that.
 

“It’s done. Forget it.” He knew the words were harsh, the tone worse. But he didn’t know how else to be.

“I doona see how that’s possible.”

“It does no’ matter,” he gritted. “The demons are still ahead of us.”

“Gods, you’re right. But this is no’ finished.” Her eyes were flint hard.

He staggered to his feet. She raced ahead to the basement door. Ian limped to keep up. He’d better start healing faster. They hadn’t a second to lose. If the demons were a species that could aetherwalk, they’d be back in their afterworld seconds after finding the book.

The basement door was cracked open just slightly, the lock no longer engaged. Ian palmed his knife. They passed through the door and crept down the white linoleum stairs, the tension in the air thick as custard. A long white hall stretched before them. Doors on either side led to offices and laboratories, according to the their plaques.
 

At the end, a door as unassuming as the rest led to the vault. There’d be a sturdy, locked door beyond it that really kept people out.
 

Ian took one last look at Fiona. They locked gazes for the briefest of seconds, then headed toward the demons.

CHAPTER TEN

Fiona crept down the hall behind Ian, her eyes on his broad back and the door in front of him. His limp had lessened. Some Mytheans healed more quickly than others, and he was in his prime.