The Last Slayer (8 page)

Apollyon stepped back until he stood with the other dragonlords. The small patch of forest we were in began shaking, tree branches and leaves rustling alarmingly. Ancient power traveled underground, coming closer to where Patterson stood. Cracks formed in the packed dirt beneath his feet and snaked out.

He jumped away just as the earth exploded. A wyrm surged from the ground, thick as a thousand-year-old oak and long as a nine-car train. Wet black scales glistened as it moved, and an odor of death and old magic sent the birds and small animals around us into flight. A fine tremor ran through me. I’d known dragons were large. Textbooks had diagrams and dimensions. But it was one thing to read about such creatures, quite another to see one in real life. I had serious doubts about my effectiveness going against something this enormous and powerful.

The wyrm’s slitted yellow eyes opened, translucent nictitating membranes moving across them like theater curtains, and scanned the area.

Patterson had landed in an athletic crouch. “Come hither,” he said in the standard dialect taught to the dragon specialists. It was actually somewhat impressive. Not a skill I’d expected from a necromancer flunky.

The wyrm’s head turned to him. Hissing, it slithered slowly over the grass. Patterson stood up. He looked smug and glanced at his boss like a sea lion waiting for a fish for a job well done. He still wore the expression when the wyrm threw itself at him and plunged its garage-sized head over where he stood.

A female executive screamed.

There was a horrible crunching sound and the wyrm reared back, fresh blood gushing from its mouth. Patterson’s torsoless legs collapsed, knees hitting the ground first. Crimson pooled around them. The coppery smell of fresh death turned my stomach, but I managed to keep my face expressionless. Nobody was paying me to panic. A bodyguard caught the female executive as she fainted.

Apollyon didn’t look all that concerned. Nathanael and Semangelaf were discussing something and didn’t even glance up.

“This…this is an outrage.” Swain’s voice shook despite his best effort to look on top of the situation. It’s hard to be in command when one of your men has just had his upper body gobbled by a dragon.

Apollyon shrugged. “I did warn you.”

The wyrm didn’t retreat as I’d expected. It coiled itself around Patterson’s fallen legs possessively, neck scales rippling in peristalsis as it moved Patterson’s torso down its gullet. The TriMedica people scrambled backward. Only the hunters from the firm, Valerie, Andersen and I maintained our positions. The dragonlords did nothing to put the wyrm back underground. Its tongue flickered out, testing the air. I realized that Patterson had just been an appetizer.

A very small one.

The dragonlords had promised not to hurt anyone, but the wyrm hadn’t. Swain had been a fool to invite one in. Now it began to move slowly toward one of my team.

Enough was enough. I might not be able to kill the wyrm, but I could maybe buy enough time to evacuate everyone.

I shook Andersen’s hand off my arm and quietly recited the incantation for
draco perditio.
Magic filled my mouth, tingled my lips, prickled my skin like an electric current. A heady sensation of fogginess and power expanded within me as the magic began to sing inside my body. In an instant the intensity seemed ready to rip me in half, and still it built. I’d performed powerful spells before, but nothing like this.

Apollyon glanced at me, his teeth bared in a sneer. The wyrm turned its head toward me and in the same motion began accelerating in my direction. I had a split second before I’d end up like Patterson.

“Draco perditio,”
I whispered.

The spell shot out like a cannonball, the earth crumbling in a line beneath the bolt as it traveled, and exploded into the wyrm. It screeched like a metal shutter being ripped in half, writhing even as it began to shrivel.

The spell tore every bit of magic from me, and I gasped, falling to my knees. My heart pumped hard, as if it would explode from the exertion, and I couldn’t get enough air. Dimly I saw that all the mortals were standing with their hands over their ears.

The wyrm was rapidly shrinking into a hard lump of rough blackened leather, but its momentum carried it forward until it stopped just short of where I knelt. I reached out weakly and touched the charred baseball-sized carcass…if it could be called that. It was freezing cold and prickly, like dry ice.

Oh god, I did it. The spell worked.

Something in my peripheral vision caught my attention, and I looked up. Nathanael stood before me, the tip of a nine-foot-long sword pointed at my throat.

The blade shone in the light. His hand was tight and rock steady around the jewel-encrusted hilt as he regarded me. Suddenly he didn’t look bored anymore.

“Where did you learn the forbidden spell?” he demanded, his voice like a silken whip.

An invisible vise clamped down on my chest, squeezing all the air out of my lungs. I gasped and collapsed on my side. My vision blurred and darkened.

Nathanael eased the pressure slightly. “Speak.”

“From…a book.”

His eyes narrowed. I followed the movement of his sword as its tip descended and rested lightly on the hollow of my neck. “Give it to me.”

“Don’t…have it…with me.”

“Then you’ll fetch it. I vowed to not harm any mortals on this visit, but I regard those who can use
draco perditio
not as mortals, but as my enemies.”

Had I thought he had no feelings? His eyes held a hint of fear and grief. Fear of me and…grief for the dead wyrm?

Somehow I doubted that. And it scared me shitless that I’d managed to break his control.

He stepped back and lowered his sword in one fluid motion. The pressure around my chest vanished. “Go.”

It was an effort to get to my feet. Everyone—well, every mortal—looked horrified. Whether they were horrified at the dead wyrm or the sword or the spell I’d used, I couldn’t tell. The dragonlords merely stared at me, all of them now somehow holding long swords. Surely they weren’t afraid of me? I couldn’t even have managed a lighting spell after what I’d just done.

Now I was on the dragonlords’ shit list. I guess it came under the heading of “work hazard,” but I was pretty sure the firm’s insurance wouldn’t cover this particular item.

I walked toward the parking lot. Every muscle in my body hurt like hell, but I went with as much dignity as possible, managing not to double over and moan. That would have been humiliating. Valerie stayed behind for damage control, and Andersen escorted me to my car.

“Are you going to be all right?”

“I guess.” Even if I weren’t, what could he do? Heal me?

“Here. Valerie told me to give this to you.”

A bottle of Sex. I drained the midsize vial, not wasting a drop, and felt slightly less crippled. Too bad she’d sent only one. I could’ve used at least five more, disgusting or not.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Andersen said.

“Right. I should have just let the thing devour me.”

Andersen’s mouth thinned. “You could have immobilized it. Killing it ruined our strategy.”

“Strategy? To get Patterson killed?”

“He knew what he was doing.”

“He knew what he was doing. Swain knows what he’s doing.” I wanted to bang my head against the side of my Audi, but I didn’t have the energy. “Why don’t you find out what Patterson’s concentration was?”

“What are you talking about?”

“In college. His major. He was a failed
necromancer.
What did he know about dragons?” I got into my car like an eighty-year-old. “I’m going to go get the book, since that’s what they want. Keep your eye on them and don’t let Swain invite any more wyrms.”

Before he could say a word I turned the key and stepped on the accelerator, letting the momentum slam my door shut for me. I wasn’t in the mood to listen to why I should’ve restrained myself. My job description didn’t include “dragon fodder.”

Traffic was congested and I revived a bit as I drove. Along my side of the road, mobs of people were waving various signs declaring their devotion to the dragonlords and screaming inanely. The cops keeping them back scowled at everyone. They were probably sick of dealing with idiots.

On the other side, clots of religious fanatics called the groupies devil worshippers and other lovely things. They were so loud I could hear them over the radio, which I had blasting my favorite boy band.

Freedom of religion. Had the founding fathers thought of this when they decided that it was a dandy idea for our great nation?

A uniformed officer stopped me as I slowly made my way out of downtown. He tapped on my windshield, and I lowered my window and turned down the radio.

“ID and pass, ma’am?” he yelled. I could barely hear him.

“Here.” I flipped my wallet open and showed him my driver’s license and the pass Valerie had given me. Nobody could get in or out without a special permit, not today anyway.

He nodded and gestured at me to go. The traffic was lighter after the checkpoint, and I raised the window and drove off. I-66 was clear, at least the westbound lanes were. I put on sunglasses to avoid the glare of a thousand windshields going nowhere on the other side. A futile attempt to see a dragonlord. Their desperation made me cringe. Dragonlords aren’t fairytale godmothers who make dreams come true.

And speaking of dragonlords, how was I supposed to bring the book back to Nathanael? Using a helicopter? Because that seemed to be the only way into Arlington at the moment.

The steering wheel began to vibrate. I looked at it, puzzled. The radio wasn’t
that
loud. Then the entire Audi was trembling. I realized that it wasn’t my car, it was the ground underneath.

Just like what had happened at TriMedica.

I looked at the speedometer. 45 mph. Had Nathanael sent a wyrm after me? Stupidly enough, I hadn’t gotten their promise that they wouldn’t kill me while I went for the book. Now, if they wanted to kill me, they could have terminated their visit the second I left.

Shit.

The shaking grew so intense that it became difficult stay in control. I stomped on the brake, got out and ran to the shoulder. My Audi remained in the middle lane with the door open. A convertible whipped by me, its driver’s eyes wide.

The ground exploded, the force sending my car flying. An enormous wyrm, three times the size of the one I’d killed, surged out and snapped its jaws shut on my poor Audi while the car was still spinning in the air. It crumpled like an aluminum can with a huge crunching metal noise. I’d had that gorgeous piece of German engineering for less than a month. The insurance company was going to be pissed.

The wyrm spat bits of steel from its mouth, saliva dripping in pools. This one had iridescent mother-of-pearl scales. The white sun turned them into a sparkling luster that would have blinded me if it hadn’t been for my sunglasses. Pupiless murky brown eyes stared at the carcass of my car as if looking for signs of life. I stayed low, hoping it wouldn’t notice me and go away.

Several automobiles screeched to a stop, their drivers staring out the windshields. Goddamn it. If these people stayed, they could get hurt. My valiant and courageous plan to remain hidden wasn’t going to work.

“Go! Get out!” I swung my arms, gesturing at them to continue driving. “Danger, danger!”

Apparently, in addition to reducing their IQ by about half, the presence of a wyrm turned everyone deaf. Nobody even glanced my way. Several people took out their cell phones and began to snap photos.

What kind of idiot takes pictures of a deadly predator on the loose instead of running away? “Get out!” This was the last time I was going to waste my breath on the crowd. I waved at the wyrm. “Hey, I’m the one you want!”

The wyrm turned. It was completely out of the ground now, hissing like an overheated steam valve. Its tail swiped the ground, and people and cars smashed against the concrete divider between the west and eastbound lanes. On the other side, drivers began to climb out of their cars to gawk. Northern Virginia Rubberneck Syndrome. Some were on the phone, most likely to regale their friends and families with the terror and excitement of seeing a real wyrm up close and personal.

The problem with such people is that you can’t cure stupidity, not even with magic. Not that I could work anything after
draco perditio
had wrung me dry. Whatever Valerie’s Sex had replenished wasn’t even enough for a circle of containment.

The wyrm raised its head high as if to intimidate me. A wasted move, since I was already intimidated. But maybe it appealed to its sense of drama. Long teeth dripped acid from its open jaws. Drops hit the ground and sizzled on the asphalt, creating fumes that smelled like ammonia. I coughed, backing away. I did
not
want the wyrm’s saliva on me. It’s one thing to be mousy, another to be disfigured.

The wyrm thickened the air with its poison breath. The dragon closed its mouth, its cheeks expanding cartoonishly. What the…

A puffer wyrm?

Poison came spewing out of its mouth, needlelike liquid missiles arcing in the air, landing on whatever was in the way. I gathered enough power—which meant not much—to put up a low-grade shield to protect myself. Others weren’t so fortunate. There were loud
splats,
and people started screaming. A woman next to me crumpled. The poison didn’t just melt her flesh. It squirmed like a sack of maggots, eating into her skin and the meat of her body. With each bite the bits of poison grew bigger and smelled more like rancid fish oil. She shrieked as she rolled on the ground, trying to brush them off her skin, but wherever she touched them they split and reproduced.

She wasn’t the only one thrashing around, and I swallowed hard. My protective instinct screamed at me to do something. Those who hadn’t gotten hit by the spit maggots jumped into their vehicles and tried to get away. But on the west side they couldn’t get past the wyrm, and on the east side all the lanes were jammed. The wyrm saliva began to eat at steel and glass.

Damn, damn, damn.

The wyrm geared itself up for another attack, and this time I wouldn’t be able to protect myself. I honestly had nothing left in me. I looked around desperately for something to hide behind.

The dragon reared back and spat again. I ducked and rolled, but part of it hit me, and I gasped at the searing pain on my left shoulder. I could see the maggot, its little teeth tearing my flesh. I whipped out the knife I used for killing demons, but the maggot was faster. It burrowed into my shoulder, like a hot poker penetrating deeper and deeper into the joint, and I bit my lower lip until it bled. Finally I screamed.

My vision began to blur, but I could see the wyrm arcing toward me, its slavering maw wide open. For its size, it was surprisingly fast. I tried to roll away, but it closed its jaws on my other shoulder, the good one, and pumped poison into my system. Tens—perhaps hundreds—of maggots wiggled into my body. The wyrm raised its head high, my body still clamped between its jaws, and the world tilted crazily.

Suddenly a figure appeared before the wyrm. A white cape fell from his broad shoulders, and silver-white moonbeam hair swayed down his back. In his right hand, he held a seven-foot sword. His feet were planted widely apart, and he seemed to radiate light.

Ramiel.

He said something, a challenge, in a language I couldn’t understand.

The wyrm hissed at him but didn’t let go of me.

The man moved with the grace of an Olympic athlete, like he had oiled ball bearings for joints. He plunged his sword deep into the wyrm’s belly and ran down its length, pulling the blade as he went. The skin split open like a tightly stretched drum, and I felt the shock travel through the monster’s body.

The dragon’s guts spilled out, splattering onto the ground. A sharp metallic stench of blood mixed with digestive juices and semirotted flesh stung my nose. If I’d had the energy, I would have puked.

The wyrm keened eerily and collapsed. Its head smashed into the road, breaking it into little chunks and slamming me against the asphalt. I felt my bones crack, tendons and muscles tear loose. Fine black dust rose from the impact; breathing became difficult. I coughed blood and blinked. Things seemed suddenly far away and not all that important.

Ramiel landed on the wyrm’s cheek and glanced at me. His green eyes were crystal clear, his armor just like in my dream. God, he looked good. It wasn’t fair.

Bloody sword still in his hand, he leaned toward me. I had no idea what I should do. Maybe he wanted to fight. Maybe he wanted to decapitate me and show my head off to all his demon buddies.

My pain-drugged brain begged to shut down.

I let it.

***

Soft, warm breeze…light floral scents mingled with freshly cut grass…the murmur of a stream nearby.

My eyelids were too heavy to lift, but my other senses tuned to my environment and myself.

My maggot-eaten ribs no longer rose. The bones had snapped and punctured my lungs, filling them with blood. All of my organs felt like they had undergone a thorough pounding from a meat tenderizer. There wasn’t a single part of me left unbroken.

Yet my brain no longer registered pain. Maybe that part had been overloaded. Maybe I was dead, and nothing mattered anymore. If death meant no pain, I could stay dead for a while.

But only for a while.

A hand touched my chest. Not sexually, although somehow I knew it was a man. I couldn’t see him. But I could sense his movements. His hands traveled over my torso, checking my wounds. Why? I was beyond anyone’s reach. Not even the best healer could patch me up.

If I was going to die, it wasn’t such a bad way to go. Two wyrms in one day would be the stuff of hunter legends. Of course, I hadn’t killed the second one, but it was still dead.

The man finally rested his hands on my fractured skull, sticky with congealing blood. The touch was very gentle, almost hovering. Then his hands sank into my head, bypassing the shredded epidermis to the bones and the brain beneath.

All of a sudden the pain returned. I gasped at the agonizing burning. It shut down my senses to everything except itself.

His fingers moved gently and slowly. Wherever he went, pain followed. I tried to reject his touch. The dead deserve some peace and quiet.

His hands became more insistent as they remolded me, fit the pieces of my skull back together, ripped the still-wriggling spit-maggots from my body.

Then he moved to my neck, realigning my spine. Would it be enough to allow me to hunt again? A part of me was sourly amused that even after everything that had happened, I could still worry about my job.

He moved on to my torso. I could sense his breathing growing ragged with exertion and the draining of magic. Healing someone as damaged as I was—i.e., basically dead—takes an enormous reservoir of power, and I didn’t know anyone, at least any mortal, who had that much of it.

Furthermore, he was reaching me through the astral plane. Astral work requires extra concentration. One wrong move and both of us could very literally get stuck in limbo. Because of the sacrifice he was making—giving me his magic to save my life—I bore the pain without screaming. It was the least I could do.

Finally he reached my toes and stopped. I realized I could move again, even though my skin stung horribly. He hadn’t healed that, but I could live with it.

I kept my eyes closed. I focused on breathing instead, getting blessed air in and out of my lungs. His head rested between my bare breasts, cool silken hair covering my body. I raised my hand and wrapped the strands around my fingers. His left hand moved over my rib cage, the fingers gently skimming the skin. I winced at the burning sensation. The wyrm had flayed me, left patches of me on the asphalt.

The man’s lips touched my tattered skin. Searing pain squeezed all the air out of my lungs. My hands clenched into fists over his scalp, but he didn’t stop his agonizing assault.

Deep inside, a sliver of pleasure emerged through the red haze of pain. It was as if he controlled my body and its reaction to him. His lips ran all over me, closing my wounds and causing intense pain and pleasure equally, all mingling until I didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

It was a rebirth, and yet unbearable. I felt him on my skin, moving over the healed flesh, checking his work.