Wildfire Page 19
The feline beast snarled, a strange sound that was half pissed-off tiger and half the deep bellow of a sea lion. The fringe of bright blue tendrils, six inches long, rose in a collar around its throat, the thickened ends glowing with bright blue. His huge maw gaped open, his dagger teeth an inch from Rynda’s daughter.
“This was fun,” Vincent said. “Drop the magazine.”
I opened my hand and let it fall to the floor.
“Put the gun down.”
I crouched and lowered the weapon to the floor.
“Kick it.”
I gave the Baby Desert Eagle a nudge with my foot. The gun slid across the floor to the left side. If I threw myself down, I’d be able to grab it. If I could get close enough to Vincent, I could shock him.
The last bat-ape, Vincent’s new meat shield, crouched, revealing the summoner. Vincent was about Rogan’s age, handsome, dark brown hair, a square jaw, dark eyes, and the perfect amount of scruff on a dimpled chin—generations of all the right genes in all the right places.
If I lunged at him, the bat-ape would tear me apart.
Vincent rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe I have to say this. You there, dashing male secretary! Drop the frying pan.”
The pan clattered to the floor behind me.
Vincent smiled.
That languid, assured smile told me everything I needed to know: none of us would walk out of here alive. He would kill me and Cornelius, then he would finish off Edward, Rynda, and the kids. Vincent was one of those people who derived pleasure from wielding power over others, and there was no greater power than life or death. He would toy with us, like a cat with an injured bird, then he would kill us.
“The next time someone tells you to run, Rynda, you should take their advice,” he said.
I should’ve been terrified, but instead I was angry. “Takes a lot of balls to terrorize two children.”
He glanced at me. “Another idiot with moral scruples. What is it today? Would you like to volunteer instead?”
“Yes.” I had only one shot at this. I pushed my magic out and gripped him in its fist.
Shock slapped Vincent’s face. He tried to move and couldn’t. His mind writhed in the grip of my will. Holy shit, he was strong.
I shook, straining to hold him, trying to claw at his mind. His will clashed with mine. It was like trying to hold a fire hose with the full blast of water jettisoning out of it. He was a Prime and his power was off the charts. It took all of my willpower to contain him. I couldn’t even move.
I had to ask questions. If I didn’t, he would overpower me. Questions would force him to conceal the truth and drain some of his power.
My voice came out deep, every sound dripping with magic. “What’s your name?”
Damn it. Should’ve asked something more useful.
His face shook with the effort of trying to break free.
The two summoned animals stared at him, confused.
My hold was slipping.
Now, Cornelius. Now. Do something. Rynda, run. Save yourself. Come on.
He bared his teeth. He let his creatures feed on people. He was going to murder Rynda’s children, who had no say in any of this. Rage erupted in me, boosting my magic. My will crushed Vincent’s.
A raw, guttural snarl tore out of him. “Vincent Harcourt.”
Pain blossomed at the base of my neck and rolled down in a heavy wave, like molten lead. My teeth rattled. The strain ground down my bones, as if someone took a cheese grater and drew it across my spine.
“What do you want from Rynda?”
The world wavered. Blackness swirled in the corners of the room, threatening to expand and swallow me. I couldn’t pass out. I had to hold on to consciousness.
Beads of sweat dotted Vincent’s hairline. A tremor shook him. His mind opened slightly, and within its depth, I sensed the solid wall of a hex. I had done something like that before, but I had created the illusion of it. This was the real thing, a trap saturated with magic.
“Her . . .”
My power brushed against the hex, and I almost recoiled. It felt familiar. It was set by a truthseeker.
“. . . mother . . .”
My grip slipped. Agony exploded in my brain, and I stumbled back from the impact.
“You fucking bitch,” Vincent snarled.
The bat-ape charged me, swiping with its hand. I jerked back, but its claws grazed my leg, painting a red-hot line of pain across my left thigh.
The massive cat-thing jumped in front of me, shockingly fast, knocking the bat-ape aside. The smaller creature flew from the impact, landing on my gun. It tried to rise, but the cat-monster pounced. A massive paw rose, claws flashed, and the cat-monster ripped the bat-ape apart with a single swipe. Thick red blood poured on the floor.
“What the fuck!” Vincent snarled.
“The pact is made,” Cornelius said, his voice distant and otherworldly.
“The hell it is. It’s mine!”
Magic snapped out of Vincent, gripping the cat.
I dove left, trying to push the bat-ape off my gun. The heavy body refused to move. My hands slid in the blood.
Cornelius and Vincent stood face-to-face, the cat creature crouching by Cornelius. Magic churned between the two men. I couldn’t see it, but I felt it.
I put my legs into it, heaved the beast aside, grabbed my blood-soaked Baby Desert Eagle, and spun around, scrambling to grab my magazine.
Cornelius opened his mouth and sang out a long note that sounded like the howl of a cat.
Vincent clawed the air with his hands. The magic swirled away from Cornelius, sparking in the empty air. A dark knot of smoke formed above the floor, shot through with lightning. He was about to open another portal.
I slapped the magazine into the gun. Got you, you bastard.
Rynda screamed. Power erupted from her in a torrent and slammed against Vincent.
I fired. The gun roared twice.
He jerked a fraction of a second before I squeezed the trigger, his face contorted with raw panic, and went through the window in an explosion of glass shards.
No.
I jumped to my feet and ran to the window. A well-lit backyard stretched into the night, the pool perfectly still. My first shot had grazed his shoulder. My second had gone wide. I was aiming for his head. If Rynda hadn’t done whatever she did . . . It didn’t matter. Vincent was gone.
Rynda collapsed on her knees in front of Edward’s body. The kids wailed. Edward raised his head and tried to say something.
Rynda grabbed his hand. “Don’t speak. It will be okay.”
The blue cat creature rubbed its head against Cornelius’ hand.
Vincent got away. I wanted to throw my gun against the wall. I didn’t, but I really wanted to. Instead, I pulled out my phone and dialed 911.
Rogan’s people beat the paramedics by four minutes and they brought Dr. Daniela Arias with them. When they found us, I was pressing Cornelius’ bundled jacket against Edward’s wound, the kids were wailing despite Rynda’s best efforts to calm them down, and the monster cat was making demonic noises Cornelius claimed was a form of a purr. Cat wasn’t an accurate description. There was something feline about it, something reminiscent of the broad powerful tiger, but its nose was a complicated thing of four nostrils, and the fringe of tentacles that ringed its neck moved on its own. The beast looked at me with an understanding, as if it was a lot smarter than any Earth animal. It was just odd. Really odd and unsettling.
Rogan’s people stabilized Edward, moved all of us into the upstairs living room, which was free of the nasty-smelling corpses, assigned a man with a Beretta tactical shotgun to guard us, established a perimeter, and began a systematic sweep of the house and the grounds. Cornelius and his new pet went to help.
While they did that, I called home, told Bern what happened, and then did a quick search on Vincent Harcourt. Vincent, the only son and heir apparent of House Harcourt, Prime, Summonitor, which was the official term for summoner mages. No convictions, no criminal records, worth around fifty million dollars. Summoning didn’t have great applications in the real world, but the Harcourts clearly had done well for themselves.
Rynda held Edward’s hand until the paramedics took him away.
“He’ll make it,” Daniela said. “The damage wasn’t significant. The main danger is infection.”
“Thank you,” I told her.