Magic Bleeds (50 page)

“Have you tried the Second Chance Law?” Curran said.

I shut my eyes tighter. I was losing my mind. Now I imagined him talking in my head.

Even an imaginary conversation was better than nothing. “No, what’s that?”

“It’s the law that says any shapeshifter joining the Pack has a one-time right to a new identity. If the husband didn’t use it when he joined, declare him officially dead and let him rejoin under a new name.

His former wife will officially be a widow.”

A warm arm hugged me. My eyes snapped open.

He was looking at me. He was pale, his eyes were sunken, but he was looking at me.

“You stayed with me,” Curran said.

“Always.”

He smiled and fell asleep.

Curran stirred again, an hour later. I raced into the kitchen, and by the time I returned with a steaming bowl, he was sitting up and pulling the IV out of his arm. “What is this shit?”

“It kept you alive for eleven days.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

I handed him a bowl of soup. He put it aside, reached for me, and clenched me to him. I buried my face in his neck. My eyes grew hot and I cried.

His hand stroked my hair. “You stayed with me.”

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“Of course I stayed with you. Did you think I would abandon you?”

“I heard you reading. And talking.”

I kissed him and tasted my tears. “Through your sleep?”

“Yes. I tried to wake up, but I couldn’t.”

I just held on to him. “Let’s not do this again. Ever.” “That sounds good.” He kissed me.

“You need to eat.”

“In a minute.” He clamped me tighter. We sat together for a few blissful minutes.

Two sharp knocks echoed through the door. Derek. He always knocked twice.

“Kate?”

“Come in,” I told him.

Derek walked in. “I have a wolf out here who wants to see you. He says it’s an emergency. Probably another challenge. What do you want me to . . . ?” His mouth hung open.

Curran looked at him. “Bring him in. Don’t tell him that I’m awake.”

Derek closed his mouth with a click and went out.

“Help me up?”

I grabbed his hand and pulled him off the bed. He blinked at the windup clock on the wall. “Is today Wednesday?”

“Yes.”

He picked up the bowl of soup and drank from it.

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The door swung open. A large Hispanic man stepped through. He saw Curran and froze.

Curran finished draining the bowl and looked at him. “Yes?”

The wolf dropped down into a crouch and stayed there, his head bowed, his gaze on the floor.

“Nothing to say?”

The wolf shook his head.

“The Council is due for a meeting in three minutes. Go down there and tell them to wait for me, and I might forget you were ever here.”

The wolf turned, rising, and left without a word. The door shut behind him.

Curran swayed. I caught him. My leg gave and we crashed down onto the couch.

“Ow.”

Curran shook his head.

“Are you sure you’re ready for a Council meeting?”

He turned to me. Gold rolled over his eyes, cold and lethal. “I’m sure. They better be ready for me.”

He pushed himself up and headed to the bathroom. I followed him in case he tipped over. He did, on the way back, and caught himself on the wall.

I slid my arm around his waist.

“The soup will kick in in a minute,” he said.

“Sure. Lean on me.” He did and we slowly made our way to the door. “Some tough pair we are.”

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“Tough enough,” he growled.

Five minutes later he walked to the Council room on his own power. The shapeshifters saw him and stepped aside, silent. We reached the room. I could hear people mumbling inside. Curran took a deep breath, thrust the door open, and roared.

The sound of leonine rage burst like thunder, shaking the windows. People in the hallway cringed. When it died, you could hear a pin drop.

Curran held the door open for me. He walked to his seat at the head of the table, got another chair, put it next to his, and looked at me. I came and sat. He lowered himself into his seat.

The alphas stared at the table. Not a single pair of eyes looked up.

Curran leaned forward, his eyes drenched in furious gold. “Explain yourselves.”

THE BUILDING WAS SOLID BRICK, CONSTRUCTED according to the new fashion, rather than the old—

only two stories in height, squat, thick metal grates on the windows, and a very sturdy-looking door. It sat on a quiet street just past the northwestern industrial district, which was now an old ruin. Aside from being sturdy and in good shape, I couldn’t see anything special about it.

“What is this?”

Curran smiled next to me. “An early Christmas present.”

I looked at the house again. After the last three weeks, a Christmas present was the last thing I’d expected.

Curran felt betrayed by his Pack. From his point of view, he’d worked years for the benefit of his
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people, and their loyalty had lasted less than forty-eight hours. In return for his service, they’d tried to expel his mate, and when she wouldn’t leave him, they’d tried to kill her. Curran took the marathon of my fights to the death very personally.

Each year the Pack celebrated the traditional Thanksgiving feast, which consisted of a dinner of epic proportions. Curran usually spent hours there, talking to everyone. This time he walked in, growled,

“You have my permission to eat,” and walked out. We had a private dinner in our rooms and he gorged himself on pie. Aside from that, he refused to leave our quarters. For fresh air, we went out on the roof, where he had a giant patio, complete with a fire pit and a grill. I built a snowman, and Julie practiced shooting it with a crossbow. We visited his private gym. That was it. So when he asked me to come to the city with him, I decided it was a good sign. It took us less than an hour to get here and I enjoyed the drive.

I cocked my head and looked at the house from a different angle. No special insights or revelations presented themselves.

Maybe he bought me a new place to live. “Is this your convoluted way of inviting me to move out?”

“You’re never moving out, as long as you want.”

Curran strode to the door through the snow and opened it.

I walked in. From the inside the house looked just as sturdy. The windows were small and barred, but numerous enough to let in plenty of light. The front room took up most of the floor. Two desks waited in opposite corners. Filing cabinets guarded the walls. I strode through to the doorway on the left. A narrow, long room full of shelves, half empty, half filled with jars and boxes of various herbs. Looked like someone did a decent job stocking up on alchemical supplies.

“There is more upstairs.”

A cursory inspection of the second floor showed a basic armory and a room with some diagnostic equipment, magic and otherwise. It wasn’t out of this world, but it was enough to get by.

I came back downstairs and sat on the staircase. “What is this?”

He gave me his Beast Lord look. “It’s yours.”

“I’m sorry?”

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“The house and the contents. It’s yours if you want it. The Pack is backing you up as a business: it purchased the supplies and is fronting your salary and a modest operating budget for a year, after which it will have a twenty percent claim on your profits. It will drop to ten when your loan is paid off. I had Raphael draw up the paperwork.” He crossed to the desk and lifted a manila folder. “All you need is to fill in the name, and it’s off to the Secretary of State.”

I looked at him.

“Your own Order. Or your own Guild. Whichever way you choose to go.”

“Why?”

He crossed his arms on his chest. “The Pack cost you your job.”

“I cost myself that job, and it was rotten anyway.”

He shook his head. “You came to help. It’s the Pack’s chance to help back. Everybody has something, that one thing they must do to feel happy. I think this is yours, and I want you to be happy. You don’t have to do it, but it’s here if you choose to come back to it.”

“Is there a catch?”

“A couple. Standard Pack clauses: Pack requests take precedence, always. The safety of the Pack’s members overrides everything else, and the Pack’s interests must be protected at all costs. In a case where a Pack member may be suspected of criminal activity outside the Pack, you must inform the Pack lawyers, so the suspect can be provided council.”

I smiled at him. “Do you have any requests as well?”

He locked his jaw.

I laughed. “Out with it. I know if you had your way, I’d be locked up in your rooms, all safe, barefoot, and pregnant.”

“I’m not that crazy.”

I raised my hand, with my index finger and my thumb a small space apart. “A little. I know it’s killing you to do this, so what would help you breathe easier?”

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He blew air out like a whale. “Come home. Every night. Have dinner with me. If you go out of the office for longer than a few hours, I’d appreciate a call so I know you’re safe. If you’re in trouble, you tell me.

No lies, no evasions, no secrets. And if you need muscle, for any reason, you use the Pack. You don’t run in there all alone to get killed.”

My personal psycho in all of his glory, trying his best to be reasonable. “Anything else?”

“No business on Wednesday afternoon, if you can help it. Wednesdays we hear petitions and disputes.”

I grimaced. “I hate petitions.”

“I do, too, so I shouldn’t suffer through them alone. Also, I’d like it if you made time to attend the formal functions with me if they’re scheduled during the week, so I don’t die of boredom. That’s it.”

We looked at each other.

“So do you like it?” he asked.

“I love it.” I got up and swiped the folder off the table. “Thank you.” We kissed and headed out.

As we walked away from my new office, he asked, “So what are you going to call it?”

I smiled at him. “I’ll have to think of something witty. Something that makes reference to my ability to solve cases in a blaze of intellectual glory.”

“Your ability to chop at everything in your way with your sword, more like it.”

“Whatever, Your Furriness.”

New Atlanta Journal-Constitution:

Notice is given that articles of incorporation that will incorporate Cutting Edge Investigations, Inc., have been delivered to the Secretary of State for filing in accordance with Georgia Business Corporation Code . . .

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READ ON FOR AN EXCITING EXCERPT FROM

BAYOU MOON

THE NEW EDGE NOVEL BY ILONA ANDREWS COMING OCTOBER 2010 FROM ACE

BOOKS

WILLIAM SIPPED SOME BEER FROM THE BOTTLE OF Modelo Especial and gave the Green Arrow his hard stare. The Green Arrow, being a chunk of painted plastic, didn’t rise to the challenge.

The action figure remained impassive, exactly where he’d put it, leaning against the porch post of William’s house. Technically it was a shack rather than a house, William reflected, but it was a roof over his head and he wasn’t one to complain.

From that vantage point, the Green Arrow had an excellent view of William’s action figure army laid out on the porch, and if he were inclined to offer any opinions, he would’ve been in a great position to do so.

William shrugged. Part of him realized that talking to an action figure was bordering on insane, but he had nobody else to converse with at the moment and he needed to talk this out. The whole situation was crazy.

“The boys sent a letter,” William said.

The Green Arrow said nothing.

William looked past him to where the Wood rustled just beyond his lawn. Two miles down the road, the Wood would become simply woods, regular Georgia pine and oak. But here, in the Edge, the trees grew vast, fed by magic, and the forest was old. The day had rolled into a lazy, long spring evening, and small nameless critters, found only in the Edge, chased each other through the limbs of the ancient trees before the darkness coaxed predators from their lairs.

The Edge was an odd place, stuck between two worlds. On one side lay the Broken, with no magic but plenty of technology to compensate. And rules. And laws. And paperwork. The damn place ran on paperwork. The Broken was where he made his money nowadays, working construction.

On the other side lay the Weird, a mirror to the Broken, where magic ruled and old blueblood families held power. He was born in that world. In the Weird, he’d been an outcast, a soldier, a convict, and even a noble for a few brief weeks, but the Weird kept kicking him in the teeth the entire time until he finally turned his back on it and left.