Master of Shadows (24 page)

But the idea of taking a bite out of another human being made his stomach rebel. He’d hunted deer in wolf form, and he could remember biting into hot meat, tasting the rush of blood. To eat a
human being
like that . . .

His mouth filled with bile. He dropped his eyes to his notes and struggled to keep his voice level.

“The smell of death magic was unmistakable,” Justice told his four fellow members. Only Elena Rollings and Carl Rosen looked sympathetic, and he now knew better than to believe he had Rosen on his side.

“And how would you know what death magic smells like?” Andrews demanded, lifting a contemptuous eyebrow.

“I fought with the Magekind in the Dragon War,” Justice told him, keeping the temper from his voice. “I saw the Dark Ones fight, and I smelled their magic. It’s a stench you don’t forget. Like a corpse that’s been dead a week. In July. In a closed house.”

Even Andrews winced at that.

So he went on. “When I examined Emma Jacobs, the fang punctures on her arm were seven inches apart.”

Tanner’s jaw dropped. “A wolf that big would have to weigh four thousand pounds.”

Justice nodded. “Which would agree with the Magekind’s description of the creature they fought.”

Andrews sniffed. “The creature they
say
they fought.”

“Well,
somebody
sure as hell killed Emma and Tom Jacobs,” Justice snapped, thoroughly out of patience. “Unless you want to suggest Arthur killed his own people.”

Andrews opened his mouth, and Justice knew he was about to do just that.

“Oh, give it a rest,” Elena snapped. “This is getting ridiculous.”

Andrews’s icy eyes narrowed at her in displeasure. “How much did the Magekind pay you, Rollings?”

“If anybody’s been paid off, it’s you.” His mouth opened and closed like a landed carp’s as she snarled, “You won’t be happy until you get thousands of people killed—on both sides. And do you really think the humans won’t notice a magical war going on under their collective noses? Or do you w
ant
to be on CNN?”

That shut everybody up for a full forty-five seconds.

“Arthur may not give us a choice,” Rosen said solemnly. “We will do what we must.”

“If the humans discover us, we all die,” Justice said. “It’ll be our Holocaust. There are six billion of them and only thirty thousand of us. We don’t have the numbers to survive, no matter how many humans we bite. And unlike the Magekind, we won’t be able to hide from our hunters in the Mageverse.”

Elena looked grim. “By that time, I doubt Arthur will be in the mood to give us shelter in Avalon, even if we beg.”

Tanner sneered. “I’m not begging for
anything
from Arthur Pendragon.”

She lifted a red eyebrow. “Not even to save that little boy of yours?”

He eyed her in sullen rage and said nothing.

“So you’re saying we should ignore Jimmy Sheridan’s murder?” Rosen asked coolly. “That will not go over well with our constituents.”

“Neither will the deaths of their wives and children if the humans start hunting us,” Justice pointed out.

“Merlin believed Arthur would eventually go mad, or he would not have created us!” Andrews’s perfectly tanned face reddened with temper.

“I’ve explained this so many times, I’ve gotten sick of doing it,” Elena growled. “So I’ll just say you know what utter crap that is.”

“I have seen no evidence that Arthur is mad,” Justice said carefully. “He has a temper, but he seems perfectly aware that war with us would cost his people. I don’t believe he would put them in that kind of danger over something that has already been avenged. He’s told me he considers it over and done with.”

Rosen gave him an appraising glance. “We already know what you think, Bill. I’m just not convinced you’re objective. You’re far too passionate in Arthur’s defense, considering he’s a suspect in that poor boy’s murder.”

It took Justice more than a moment to wrestle his temper back under control. “Look, I’m a cop. I’ve dealt with guilty people. I know the difference between a killer and an innocent man, and you can believe me when I tell you Arthur is an innocent man.
He didn’t do it.
Period.”

“But Davon Fredericks did do it. He admitted as much. Unless Arthur delivers him to our justice, I
will
recommend war.”

“Yeah,” Justice said, eyeing him coldly. “About that. I keep asking myself why, but I never come up with an answer I like.”

Rosen stared at him. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

Justice stared back. “Take a guess.”

 

Sitting on his
haunches beside Warlock’s throne, Dice watched the werewolf named Carl Rosen pace the cavern, fury in every step.

“Justice knows,” the werewolf snarled. Rosen was in wolf form, as Warlock required of his visitors. His fur was grizzled, and age streaking his muzzle with silver. “He knows too fucking much.”

Rosen looked soft to Dice. An easy kill. Tempting, given the magic in him. Dice managed not to lick his chops, but it was a near thing.

Warlock had ordered him to transform into a four-legged wolf rather than his usual monster form. He was still roughly the size of a horse, and Rosen kept giving him disquieted glances. He’d have been even more freaked had he known what Dice was thinking.

Then again, he’d probably figured it out.

“I fail to see how this sheriff of yours is a problem,” Warlock said, putting a hand over to stroke Dice’s head as if he were a dog. Dice knew better than to jerk away and snarl. He’d be punished, and Warlock’s idea of punishment was not something he wanted to experience. Ever again. “Or rather, I don’t see how you think he’s
my
problem.”

Rosen shot him an angry look. Idiot. Warlock punished looks like that. “It’s a problem for you if he starts spreading around that Arthur and his Magekind are being framed.”

“You mean it’s a problem if he tells people I’ve bought you off,” Warlock said, giving Dice’s head another infuriating stroke. “The incorruptible Carl.” He laughed softly.

“This thing could easily become a civil war if too many people believe whatever Justice decides to spill. Or do you want war among your own people, too?”

Warlock’s hand stilled on Dice’s head, and Dice held his breath, sensing the fury in his master. “My people will do what I want them to do, Carl.”

“How are you going to make sure of that? Magic doesn’t work on us, Warlock, and you can’t bribe everybody.”

Warlock sprang to his feet and that big-ass axe was in his hand, so fast even Dice hadn’t seen him reach for it.
“Watch your tone!”

“If you kill me, who will declare war for you?” Rosen tilted up his chin as if daring Warlock to take his head. Not a dare he should make. “Tanner and Andrews aren’t exactly subtle about being bought off. I don’t think enough Direkind will follow them. Elena Rollings, on the other hand, is Wulfgar’s descendant, and there are plenty of werewolves who’ll listen to her.”

“A woman?” Warlock turned and spat on the stone floor. Dice half expected it to sizzle with his rage. “Who’d listen to a woman?”

“Most of the Direkind don’t follow the old ways the Chosen do. They’d listen to Rollings. And they’d listen to Justice.”

Warlock turned to Dice. “Then kill them. Kill them both.”

“That thing can’t do it,” Rosen said contemptuously. “It needs to look as if the Magekind did. That would really seal the deal.”

“Oh, Dice can do that. Can’t you, my boy?”

Dice knew his cue when he heard it. Concentrating hard, he transformed in a spill of magic, dragging the Mageverse in around him like a golden cloak, hiding his lupine essence. It had taken him hours to learn the trick, with Warlock disciplining him every time he got it wrong.

When he was done, he stood beside Warlock’s throne, a tall, armored man with a sword.

Carl stared at him with his mouth hanging open. “Magekind,” he whispered in astonishment. “He smells exactly like Magekind.”

Dice grinned. So did Warlock.

 

Noah Jacobs didn’t
cry as he approached his parents’ funeral biers. Somehow that made it worse.

Belle watched the boy walk toward the twin biers carrying a pair of white roses. The bodies lay dressed in white and crowned with roses, surrounded by a jungle of flowers and flanked by tall golden candelabra with white beeswax candles. Noah’s eyes were huge and dark, eating the light, and his face was as pale as his mother’s flowing gown. He placed the first rose on her chest, where her hands clasped her sword, then pivoted on legs that visibly shook as he placed the other bloom on his father’s still chest. He swayed when he turned back to face the crowd, and Belle was afraid he’d fall.

Instead the boy squared his narrow shoulders in the black velvet doublet and walked back toward Ria and George Tizia, who waited for him with their daughter, Jenna. The couple reached for him and drew him in, hugging him hard as he shook, his face pressed to Ria’s chest.

“Jesu, this sucks,” Belle murmured to Morgana and Gwen. “I’m going to kill that furry bastard if it’s the last thing I do in this life.”

“And I’ll help.” Gwen sighed, her gaze lingering on the boy. He was crying now, great racking sobs that carried across the square even as the chorus began a soaring hymn. “At least the Tizias have taken him in. I know that couple. They’ll love that boy like their own.”

The service continued. Finally the Majae aimed their magic at the biers and sent Emma and Thomas Jacobs into the sky on a wave of magic that detonated into the air overhead. Noah’s glassy dark eyes followed the shower of sparks.

Belle’s chest ached as if she’d been punched in the heart.

 

Dice considered himself
something of an expert when it came to cops. He’d watched every forensic show he could find, and he’d observed them from a safe distance as they worked to solve the crimes he and the Demon Brotherhood committed. Which was why they’d never actually managed to catch him.

Yeah, he’d been suspected plenty of times, but it took proof to put a guy in jail. He’d been good at getting rid of proof.

This time, though, he wanted the cops to show. Or rather, a particular cop. William Justice, the man he needed to kill.

Which meant he had to do some other killings first. He needed the strength and power they’d give him.

Besides, he was hungry.

Warlock found him a set of targets he considered perfect for his purposes, a family of Bitten descendents. Which meant, Dice gathered, that they were not politically well placed, since their ancestors had become werewolves by being Bitten. As opposed to the Chosen, who became werewolves by being the descendents of the original Saxon nobles Merlin had chosen to make Direkind. Warlock had told Dice very firmly that he was not to kill any of the Chosen.

Unless Warlock told him to.

Dice stalked around his targets’ home surrounded by an invisibility shield and his Magekind disguise. It wasn’t much of a house, being one of those little one-story shotgun shacks the textile mills had thrown up in the twenties to house their employees. The mills were long gone, and the years had not been kind. A recent bright-yellow paint job was beginning to peel away from the wooden siding, and the grass needed mowing, whispering around Dice’s armored boots as he slipped through the night.

A red and yellow Big Wheel was parked on the sidewalk, left by one of the family’s brats. Dice stopped and stared at it. Emma Jacobs’s ghost whispered urgently in his ear.
Don’t do this. You can’t do this.

Fuck off,
he told her, and forced her back inside her box in the back of his head.

His werewolf hearing picked up the TV blaring from the tiny living room as Jon Stewart gave his opinion of the day’s news. Somebody hooted in laughter.

Dice strode up the cement-block steps to the front door and kicked it in. A skinny young man yelled, jumping off the couch as his wife screamed and cowered. Dice leaped at them with such speed, both went down under his sword before they had time to transform.

Then he crouched beside the closest body, put a palm on her chest, and began to feed, drawing her lingering magic in through his hand.

 

“I’m getting damned
sick of funerals,” Tristan growled to Belle.

“Maybe this will be the last one for a while,” she said, sending a warning glower to Sabryn, who glared at her from across the room. The little bitch had the good sense to come no closer, and Belle turned her attention to Tristan again.

He headed toward Bors, who stood beside the vampires’ table looking as if he was about to jump out of his skin. Tristan caught his fellow knight by the shoulder and steered him firmly away from the array of bottles. “How’re you feeling, brother?”

“Like shit.” Bors sent a longing glance toward the table. “But Petra says she’s making progress with my therapy. Another three or four days, and I should be through the worst.” His voice dropped. “If I live that long.”

“You’re a strong man, Bors,” Belle told him quietly. “You’ll make it.”

“I hope so.” He swallowed hard. “It just took me by surprise, you know? I knew I had a problem, but I didn’t realize how bad it was.” His eyes met Tristan’s, and he looked haunted. “You think Arthur will kick me off the Table?”

Tristan started. “Oh, hell no. You’re one of us, Bors. Always have been, always will be. Everybody’s got problems.”

“Look at Tristan,” Belle said with a smirk, hoping to lighten the moment. “He’s an asshole.”

Bors laughed, then gave her a curious look. “Hey, is it true you challenged Sabryn to a duel?”

Tristan’s eyes widened.
“What?”

“Ummmm,” Belle said.
Dammit, busted.

Luckily, her cell picked that moment to blare the theme from
Hawaii Five-0
. “It’s Justice. Wonder what he wants.” She plucked out her iPhone, ignoring Tristan’s
we’re-not-done
frown.