Shadow City (8 page)

She jumped up onto the bank and yanked Scooter up after her. They didn’t seem interested in him. Either they didn’t like the taste of his blood, or his scales were too tough to bite through. They grabbed the reeds growing on the edge of the creek and scrambled up after her. She punted one and then beat the others back into the water with satisfying crunches of bone.

“Hold these,” she said, shoving the branches into Scooter’s hands. He took them, and she hoisted him over her shoulder. Holding his legs with one hand, she clambered up onto the mound of boulders, her fingers and toes finding easy grips.

Near the top, she found a crevice and settled him down in it, taking the branches back. “Stay here.”

She pulled herself up onto the granite dome, lying on her stomach. Below, she saw an unnatural ripple in the grass on the other side of the creek. Another. And another. Five in all. She watched the edge of the chuckling water, waiting for the trackers to emerge. One by one, they crept out of the grass. The first five were wolves with two thin horns curving from their heads. Down their backs, a multitude of spines pricked from their silvery fur. It took Max a second to identify them as she flipped through the pages of her memory. But with the horns and the spines, they could be nothing but Calopus. Deadly hunters and fierce fighters.

Behind them came the master of their hunt. He wore a studded leather vest over a blousy blue shirt. Voluminous brown genie pants were belted at his waist and laced tightly at his ankles above soft leather shoes. His hair was pulled up in a ponytail on top of his head and fell down to the middle of his back. It was woven with silver beads and orange feathers. He had a beautiful face, like most fairies. But there was a cruel twist to his mouth, and Max had no doubt that he was a stone-cold killer, and a good one at that. He carried two short swords on his hips and a wickedly hooked scythe in his left hand.

He crouched and ran the long, tanned fingers of his right hand over the sandy bank. He lifted a handful and smelled it, then let it drain through his fingers. He pointed to the opposite side of the creek, and the Calopus leaped over, never touching the water. Their master did the same. He strode forward, following Max and Scooter’s trail unerringly to the base of the mounded boulders, the horned wolves weaving back and forth before him.

The master stopped and looked up. Max eased herself onto her feet and met the ice blue of his gaze.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked. “Come on up and get me.”

A
LEXANDER FOLLOWED
G
ISELLE THROUGH THE
Keep. It was nearly four in the morning, and most everyone was asleep. He hoped to hell that Niko had managed to send Tory off to bed.

Just inside the main entrance, they found Niko, Oz, and the two angels waiting. Oz eyed Alexander balefully and stepped between him and Giselle. Instantly, Alexander’s hackles went up.

Niko made an annoyed sound and shepherded Giselle away. Tutresiel leaned one shoulder against the wall, his arms crossed, his silver wings folded. He watched Alexander from beneath hooded lids, his crimson eyes bleak and ruthless.

Xaphan stood on the other side of the entry. His wings were black and iridescent. Blue and orange flames licked the edges. Like Tutresiel, he was about six and a half feet tall, and his body and face looked like they were chiseled from the same block of marble. His eyes were just as bloody red. He wore a pair of faded, torn jeans that hung low on his hips, and his feet were bare, as was his chest. His hair was pale white. He nodded a greeting to Alexander.

“What’s going on?” Oz demanded. He was tall, with dirty-blond hair that fell over his forehead and ears, broad shoulders, and a thick, powerful body. He reminded Alexander of a bull. He probably weighed one and a half times what Alexander did. He was also Sun-spear Prime, which made him very dangerous.

“That is what we are hoping to figure out,” Alexander said before Giselle could answer.

Oz scowled. “What does that mean?”

“Follow me.” Outside, Alexander hesitated. Something tickled at the edges of his perceptions. It was a presence—vast and alien. It was different from what he had felt from the column of smoke, and it was close. He jerked around to the others. “Can you feel that?

“What is it?” Niko asked.

“It’s powerful, like a Guardian,” Xaphan said slowly, his eyes flattening.

“Guardians can’t remember we exist,” Giselle said. “Max made sure of that with the hailstone, and if it hadn’t worked, you wouldn’t be members of Horngate today. It has to be something else.”

“What else is that strong?” Niko asked.

“I don’t know,” Oz answered. “But taking Giselle out of the Keep with something like that hanging around is too dangerous. She needs to stay inside.” He reached for her arm and swung her around.

Oz was right, as far as it went, but the column of smoke was a threat they had to deal with now. Giselle had to deal with it. “I do not think this can wait.” Alexander looked at Tutresiel, not caring whether Oz agreed or not. Nor did he ask for Giselle’s opinion. “Carry the witch, and keep to the air until I tell you to land.” To Xaphan. “Kill anything that attacks them. You other two, follow me.”

He started off. Behind him, he heard Tutresiel and Xaphan launch into the air. Oz and Niko hurtled after Alexander. Oz came abreast of him, his Prime frothing with rage.

“If she gets hurt, I’ll make sure you pay,” he growled from between clenched teeth. “I may teach you a lesson or two anyhow.”

“You can try,” Alexander promised. “But I may do a little teaching of my own.”

The feeling of the presence grew stronger as they approached the perimeter wards and the hidden ravine. Alexander looked up at the angels. They circled above and slightly behind, with Giselle cradled against Tutresiel’s chest.

He led the way up to the top of the ridge above the ravine directly overlooking the column of smoke. Oz and Niko crouched on either side of him.

“Shit. What is that?” Oz asked, his attention riveting on the column, his anger turning into cold focus.

The smoke had grown more turbulent since they’d left. But Alexander’s gaze went instantly to Tyler, who was lying unmoving on the hillside. Around him and on top of him sprawled enormous dogs. They must have weighed two hundred and fifty pounds apiece and stood three feet or more at the shoulder. They were blue-black, with thick ruffs of fur that ran around their necks and down their backs like a lion’s mane. The rest of their heavy-boned bodies were covered in bearlike fur, and their heads were broad and square, with luminescent green eyes. Their long tails curled over their backs like feather plumes.

The entire pack turned in unison to look up the slope at the watching men.

“I count thirteen,” Niko whispered.

“They are not alone,” Alexander said, jerking his chin toward an outcropping on the other side of the ravine. A woman sat cross-legged on top, gazing at the column with rapt attention. Her short hair was vibrant red, her body comfortably curved. She was dressed in loose green pants and a matching tunic. Her feet were bare. She looked almost ordinary. But her eyes glowed the same green as the dogs’, and there was no doubt that she was the powerful presence they had all been sensing. That made her anything but ordinary.

“Tyler’s alive,” Niko said tightly. “His chest is moving. I don’t know for how much longer. We have to get him out of there.”

Before Alexander could agree, the sound of wings whistling through the air close overhead made him spin around. Tutresiel settled on the ground with Giselle, and Xaphan dropped just beyond him.

“What the hell?” Oz’s words were as sharp and hard as bullets. “Get Giselle out of here.”

For once, Alexander agreed with Oz. He stalked forward and stopped in front of Tutresiel, seething. But the angel did not even look at him. His gaze was fixed on the scene beyond, and he looked . . . scared. There was no other word for it. That caught Alexander up short, his fury cooling instantly. Tutresiel was afraid of nothing.

“Explain,” Alexander ordered, wasting no words.

Giselle started to push away so that she could get closer, and Oz slid an unyielding arm around her waist. “Hush,” he said, hardly looking at her when she started to protest. Like Alexander, he fixed his attention on Tutresiel.

As if aware he had given away too much, an expressionless mask slid over the angel’s features, but he could not tear his attention away from the woman and her dogs.

“Who are they?” Alexander prodded impatiently.

Tutresiel jerked his head side to side. “I don’t know. No one knows exactly.”

“Why don’t you tell us what you
do
know?” Oz suggested.

The angel flicked a bloody look at the Sunspear and then back. “There are five of them. If you see one, it can be a blessing or a curse. If you see all five, it is conflagration.”

“That is gibberish,” Alexander snapped. “Speak plainly. What is she doing here? How do we neutralize her?”

Tutresiel snorted. “Neutralize? You can’t. She’s . . . Shit.” He swallowed hard, and his body went rigid. His silver wings clashed together as they compressed tightly against his back.

Alexander whirled. Two of the dogs had wandered closer. The woman’s attention had left the column of smoke and was now centered on their small group. The weight of her stare was like a mountain sitting on his shoulders. His legs shook and started to buckle. He firmed them, sweat springing up over his body. His skin heated, and in a moment, he was blistering hot. The sweat dried, and his skin felt dry and crisp. He stared back defiantly. When her eyes met his, the world shattered.

For a moment, he was spinning through darkness laced with streaks of light and dancing with colored confetti. He felt the entire world in his body. The touch of the sun in Australia, the dancing swirl of a school of fish off the coast of Chile, the pulsing swell of life in the Amazon, the arid sift of sand in the Sahara, the ancient solidity of ice and mountain in Siberia, the dark cold deep under the Arctic. Below it all was molten heat, searing . . . searing.

His body convulsed, and Alexander fell to his knees. Abruptly, the feeling peeled away, leaving him limp. He slowly pushed back to his feet. His bones were taffy. He took a breath, forcing air into his flattened lungs. The woman had returned her attention to the column. But the two dogs continued to watch their small group with avid interest.

Alexander looked at his companions. Each looked dazed. Tears dripped down Giselle’s cheeks, and Niko was ashen. Oz trembled. Xaphan had crouched down, his wings closed tightly around his body, and Tutresiel twitched like he wanted to fling himself into the air and head for the South Pole.

“What is she?” Alexander asked softly.

Tutresiel started, and his wings flared wide with a soft chiming sound. “I don’t know. No one really does, unless the Guardians do. All I do know is that there are five: the Harbinger, the Memory, the Seeker, the Illusion, and the Spirit. One or two tend to show up when there is serious trouble somewhere. Which means Horngate is in deep shit. With a magical war raging across the world, the fact that she is here says that something epic is about to go down.”

Alexander scraped his fingers through his hair. “Which is this one? Is she going to attack?”

The angel’s jaw knotted, and he shook his head again. “I don’t know which one she is. They don’t exactly wear name tags, and I prefer to be far from where they are if at all possible. She’s here, no doubt, because of that—” He jerked his chin at the column of smoke. “Figure out what it is, and you might figure out why she’s here. But my advice is to stay the fuck away from her.”

“Tyler is down there,” Alexander said. “I mean to get him back.” He turned away and strode toward the dogs. He was startled when Niko joined him. “Stay back.”

“Don’t think so, boss.”

Alexander slanted a look at the other man. “You are about to collapse. I do not need to pull two of you out of the fire.”

“Worry about yourself. I’ll be fine. Nice puppies,” he said as they angled around the two watching black dogs.

“Those are Grims,” Xaphan called in a quiet voice. “Spirit dogs. Soul dogs. Don’t underestimate them.”

“Of course they are,” Niko said acidly. “Because every disaster needs soul stealers.”

“What have you to worry about?” Alexander asked, easing down the slope toward Tyler and his new friends. So far, the dogs were content to watch them. “I thought you were a soulless man-whore.”

Niko snickered. “I like to think I’m just generous with my attentions. After all, it would be selfish not to share myself widely. So many women and so little time, after all.”

They were within thirty feet of Tyler now. One of the big black beasts was still lying over his legs. The others watched the two approaching Blades curiously. Three stood and wandered over. Alexander and Niko stopped abruptly.

“What do you want to do?” Niko murmured.

“Let them have a look and cross my fingers they do not feel hungry.”

The big animals looked up at them with preternatural intelligence, then sniffed their legs and feet. One jumped up, its paws thumping heavily on Alexander’s shoulders. He held himself still. The Grim sniffed his head and face. Its lips curled back in a snarl—or maybe it was a smile. Who knew? The beast smelled of Uncanny magic. It was a dense scent, as if the magic had been distilled to its most powerful essence.