Curse the Dawn (12 page)

But that level of ruthlessness wasn’t in me.

More important, I didn’t want it to become me.

I felt the chill in my chest that always came before I did something really stupid. I ran over, intending to kick him faceup and get out of there. But his damn coat weighed a ton and he wasn’t exactly a lightweight. By the time I finally managed to flip him, I was panting from the effort and he still hadn’t moved. “Hey.” I shook him. That didn’t seem to do a lot of good. “Hey, you!” I slapped his face. “Come on, don’t die on me.”

He didn’t answer. He also didn’t try to grab me again. He just lay there like a broken doll.

“I’m serious. You don’t want me to have to try CPR. I killed the dummy fourteen times.”

I don’t know if that did it or if he’d had time to come around. He coughed up some sand and gasped in a breath, blinking grit out of his eyes. He got a clear look at me and an arm snaked out and latched onto my shoulder, jerking me down to the dirt.

My ward flared but only dimly this time. And although I could hear it sizzle against his palm, he didn’t let go. So I kneed him in the groin and, when he collapsed, hit him in the back of the neck like Pritkin had taught me. He fell back against the sand with a thud.

I stared at him, awed and slightly freaked out. The work-outs that Pritkin called “a decent warm-up” and I called “evidence that you’ve gone
crazy
, oh my God, I’m having a coronary” had actually paid off. Despite the fact that that had been the point, it was a shock.

As was the fact that he’d landed facedown again.

Son of a bitch!

I finally managed to turn him over, decided I’d done my good deed for the year, picked up my skirts and ran. Psycho war mage aside, it had been almost a relief to have something to distract me from the unwelcome awareness that Pritkin was still inside the line. And that the fissure was widening and pretty soon no one was going to be able to survive in there no matter how good their shields and, oh, look, I was thinking about it after all.

There wasn’t much natural cover, but some of the dunes had long shadows that, with the wind and the debris and the dim, rippling light, should have been enough to hide me. Except for the dress. I called Augustine every name in the book and invented a few new ones while my dress sobbed and cried and whined about a tear in its hem and a smear of dirt on my backside. The damn man had apparently spelled it to protest—loudly—whenever it got dirty.

It had probably seemed like a cute joke back at Dante’s; here, it wasn’t so funny. I might as well have a neon sign over my head glaring, HERE SHE IS. I stayed huddled where I was for a moment, watching the wind pull cayenne-colored veils off the ground and spread them across the electric blue of the sky. And every time a wave of airborne dust hit us, the dress moaned that much louder.

I dragged myself to my feet, hoping to get far enough away that the damn thing wouldn’t matter. But the wind had picked up even more to the point that it felt like it would actually lift me off my feet any minute, and visibility was going south fast, with lightning sputtering overhead like a bad fluorescent bulb. And then someone tripped me.

I went down in a tangle of sobbing velvet right before a hand reached out from the dark and wrapped around my throat. My ward didn’t flare at all this time, so it was down to old-fashioned, dirty fighting. I wasn’t nearly as strong as the mage, and no matter what Pritkin said, strength does matter. Not to mention that war mages train in human as well as magical techniques, and I still couldn’t shift.

Weird strobelike flashes started exploding across my vision. But it wasn’t from the choke hold, at least not entirely, because something really not good was happening to the sky overhead. The mage’s head whipped around, a hand still on my throat, and we watched in silent awe as one lightning bolt was followed by another. Within seconds the sky was filled with them, the line shedding thousands of crackling fingers of energy as its massive bands of power unraveled.

In the middle of all that tumult, my eyes somehow managed to focus on a tiny dark smudge. Someone was bailing out a dozen stories above us. “Hold on; I’m coming,” Pritkin told me, sounding calm despite the pyrotechnics going on all around him. I didn’t answer, but the mage saw him, too. He dragged me to my feet and put a gun to my temple.

Pritkin landed hard, letting his shields absorb the crash instead of taking the time to form them into a parachute as I’d seen him do once before. He was coming for us at a dead run, but above him, off to the east, the sky tore open like a dozen blue stars had been born all at once. And each one contained the dark form of a war mage. Either they’d seen him leave and figured out that I wasn’t up there anymore, or else it was getting too hot in there even for them.

I watched their shields flow up into a dozen little chutes to carry them gently toward us on the night breeze. The maneuver would preserve whatever was left of their shields, while Pritkin’s had probably been severely weakened by the ley line battle and the fall, and mine were nonexistent. We were so screwed.

“Don’t be a fool, John,” the mage shouted. “You can’t fight these odds! You’ll have to find someone else to help your ambition!”

Pritkin paused and glanced upward at the pulsing wound in the sky. “I don’t know what you’ve been told, Liam, but my sole ambition at the moment is to survive the night.”

“Then go! I’ll tell them you overpowered me. Leave the pretender and I will stall them long enough for you to get away!”

I blinked at him, but Priktin didn’t look surprised. “You owe me more than that,” he chided. “She goes with me.”

“I’m afraid not,” Liam said, although he looked torn. Not torn enough to let me go, though.

“Release her and I will stay and face what passes for justice in the Circle these days.”

“You would die for this one?” Liam asked incredulously.

“I have been trying to avoid it” was the dry-as-sandpaper response.

“Then go, while you still can!”

“Not without her.”

“A life debt is not transferable,” Liam said furiously. “I might owe you my life, but I don’t owe it to her!”

Pritkin lunged forward and Liam struck out with an elbow, catching him on the chin. It snapped his head back hard enough to break his neck, had he been fully human. Thankfully, he wasn’t. He rolled back to a crouched position and flung out a hand. I didn’t hear an incantation, but he’d done something. Because Liam jerked like he’d been shot and hit the ground hard enough to carve a furrow in the dirt.

I scurried back out of the way as Liam looked up. Stray light played over his face, distorting the features with odd ripples and shadows. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have guessed him for the one with the demon father. He threw a spell that caught Pritkin in the upper body, knocking him off his feet and using up what remained of my patience.

I hadn’t wanted to carry a gun to a supposedly friendly meeting, so the only weapons I had were a couple of ghostly knives that resided in a bracelet around my wrist. Despite their appearance, they were deadly, which was why I hadn’t already used them—I was supposed to be trying to keep the Circle intact, not to help destroy it. But if I had to choose between Liam and Pritkin, Liam was toast.

Pritkin had staggered back up, looking the worse for the wear. But when he saw what I was doing, he shook his head. “Don’t kill him!”

Liam was also back on his feet, but he didn’t attack. “She wields a dark weapon—what a surprise.” The mist in his eyes grew thicker, coalescing into something unpleasant as he stared at me. “Like father, like daughter!”

“My father worked for a member of the vampire mafia,” I admitted, “but that doesn’t make him—”

But Liam wasn’t listening. “Be grateful I don’t put a bullet in your head right now,” he spat. “I can guarantee that no one would question it!”

The hate in his face killed any impulse to try to win him over. I stopped extending myself, my defenses slamming firmly into place. I didn’t reply, just sent him an expression that was the facial equivalent of the finger.

I was sick of the Circle treating me like roadkill because I hadn’t come out of their precious initiate pool. Okay, my track record wasn’t perfect, but considering the amount of training I’d received for this job, it could have been a lot worse. And maybe I’d have done a little better if they had ever made the slightest attempt to work with me.

“It would be the last thing you did,” Pritkin promised.

Liam sucked in a breath. “How can you defend her?” he demanded. “Consider what she came from! A dark mage for a father, a ruined initiate for a mother, a vampire for a surrogate and, if the rumors are to be believed, another for a lover! Can’t you see what’s coming? Hell, man, open your eyes! She’s already divided the Circle and helped to start a war, and she hasn’t been on the throne a month yet! What’s next?”

“She hasn’t been on the throne at all,” Pritkin replied as the two men circled each other. “Thanks to you and the rest of the Circle, she’s never even seen it.”

“And she never will,” Liam said flatly. He launched himself at Pritkin and the two men lurched around the sand together.

Meanwhile, the clouds above us had formed themselves into what looked an awful lot like a tornado. A big, blue tornado spitting lightning at everything in its path. It whirled and writhed as if possessed, twisting bluish black clouds into a violent surge of pure force. Heat was coming off it—dizzying, sear-your-skin heat—while the inner column glowed with a light that permeated even the clouds. It painted the landscape with madly leaping shapes and cast light shadows on the other war mages, who had landed and were now running for us at top speed.

I ignored them, far more worried about the way the clouds were funneling down into a sharp point maybe a mile away. “Is it supposed to do that?” I asked hysterically.

Both men paused to look at me, but then the rest of the mages were on us and the fight began in earnest. Half a dozen jumped Pritkin, while I stood there and watched as the awesome power of the ley line pulsed, crested—and drained into the breach it had made into our world. Someone grabbed my arms, pulling them back brutally, but I hardly noticed. The tornado or whatever it was finished spiraling down to some goal just out of sight. And then the sky burned white.

I had time to see Pritkin turn his face away, the bones beneath his skin etched in the instant of brilliant glare. The surrounding brush and boulders and the worn leather of his beaten-up coat were all suddenly, vividly clear as the flash seared away their color. The flare was followed by a sound louder than a thunderclap, only worse; it knifed through my eardrums, filling my whole head with the vibration of it.

My eyelids squeezed shut, but a soundless white light burned through my lids as the ground rumbled beneath my feet. A hot rush of wind tangled my hair and the mage holding my arm abruptly let go. I raised my hands to help shield my eyes, but the light was already gone. After a moment, I cautiously peeked out from between my fingers, trying to get my vision to work again. But for a long moment, I couldn’t see anything but a leaping field of red.

The haze eventually lifted to show me a black sky littered with stars instead of searing white or dancing blue flames. As incredible as it seemed, it was over. Except for the fierce hail of debris. The mages combined their shields to protect the area while I crouched down, hands over my head, as rubble smashed against the shield in blooms of red-orange fire.

The barrage finally stopped and the mages dropped the shield with a wave of relieved sighs. Something brushed my hand, and I looked down to see a few gray flakes trembling on the breeze before blowing away. Ash.

All around us, a soft rain of ash was falling, filling the air, covering the sand. Something over the hill was burning. Great boiling clouds hung on the horizon, eating the stars, dark at the tops but red-lit from below where flames fingered the sky.

“My God,” someone said, “it hit MAGIC.”

There was a small quiet as we all stared at the hill. I could hear hollow echoes of the blast reverberating in my head and feel sweat trickling down my cheek, stinging a cut on my lip. Then someone started walking toward the ridge, a black silhouette against the dim glow, and we all followed.

I made it to the crest of the dune and froze. The canyon looked like a giant meteor had hit it. Where a cluster of adobe buildings had once stood, there was nothing but a yawning crater, black and still smoking. The initial heat must have been incredible. In places the sand had taken on a runny, glasslike sheen, melted in an instant.

Nothing moved.

No
, I thought, but it was distant and blank. We all stared at the place MAGIC should have been for a long moment. Finally, somebody started moving and the rest of us followed. We picked our way down an old path until it was lost under a drift of dirt and rock thrown up by the explosion. Judging by the colors, some of it had come from far underground. The once pale tan landscape was now raw umber, old gold, blackened bronze and ash gray. It was also slippery in places, where cooling glass hid under the softer sand that was still raining down. I kept my footing because Pritkin had me by the arm, his grip mirroring the tight clench of his jaw.

The mages seemed to have forgotten I was there. We sidestepped over broken stones together, across drifts of white-speckled ash, under clouds of fine black particles that billowed up with every movement and settled over our clothes, our faces, our hair. I could taste them at the back of my throat. Nothing could have survived.

My legs suddenly gave out, dumping me in the dirt. I rested my head on my knees and took slow, deep breaths, forcing the hollow, aching fear pushing at my ribs to still. More ash floated up, threatening to choke me, and I didn’t care. I saw a succession of faces across my vision, all friends who lived and worked at MAGIC—or had. One in particular caught my breath. Rafe, my childhood friend, was the closest thing I ever had to a father. And he was buried under there along with the rest, assuming he hadn’t been incinerated by the explosion.