Chapter 12 #2
I called again for the storm, this time reaching for it through the foulness of the blade’s music.
Thunder rumbled, closer now, filled with fury and the need to destroy, but whatever magic had leashed my ability to call to the weather and my knives still vibrated through these walls.
To use either, I first needed to destroy that magic.
And I had no idea where the spell was anchored.
“From this moment on,” Carla was saying, satisfaction practically oozing from her skin, “you will obey my every order.”
The knife flared, and once again its heat surged through me. Doing nothing, telling me nothing.
“You will report your relic-related movements and discoveries on a daily basis whenever you’re undertaking a hunt. Understood?”
“Yes,” I said, in a monotone voice.
Thunder cracked overhead, a sound that echoed through the stone around us.
Carla glanced up, her concern flicking through the air. “Are you doing that?”
“No,” I responded.
Another deep rumble, and electricity began to build in the crypt, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. Soon, the storm seemed to whisper, soon we will break through.
Soon we will kill her.
But not before she’d fucking talked.
“What is your phone number?” she was saying.
I reeled it off. Again, the sky rumbled its fury, and power surged, striking at the building, sending a shock wave of electricity through its stone. Somewhere in the distance, glass exploded.
Carla looked over her shoulder, then added hastily, “Once you have written your daily report, place it in an envelope addressed to Pam, and then walk it down to Dusty Diamonds and give it to them. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“You will not come after me. You will not attack or follow my men when they release you. You will remember nothing of our meeting or anything that has happened here. Understood?”
Another flat acknowledgement. She hastily pulled the knife free. The wound didn’t heal, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was too busy looking up at the ceiling and the thickening rain of stone dust. She shoved the knife away and gave me a smile that sent chills down my spine.
“I have a final gift for you, dear Bethany, before you utterly forget this event.”
She stepped back, and a weird shimmer rolled over her body, concealing it from sight. When it retreated a few seconds later, I was looking at myself. Fury swept me, a fury so deep that something inside cracked. Outside, thunder rumbled, a long roll that promised revenge. Promised death.
She glanced up again, then returned her gaze to mine. “Sgott will feel the sweet enticement of the blade—”
I screamed and lunged for her; I didn’t get close enough to do her any harm thanks to the men still gripping me, but her face nevertheless paled. Whatever she’d seen in my expression had scared the hell out of her.
And rightly so. She was a dead woman walking.
“Enjoy the memories you have of Sgott,” she snapped, “because all he will see is you stabbing him, you betraying him. And he will ostracize you, never talking or seeing you again. And if you try to make it otherwise, I will destroy him.”
With that hanging in the air, she turned and hurriedly left.
I screamed after her, but she didn’t stop, and she didn’t reply.
But the storm did.
The ceiling exploded, raining enormous slabs of stone and goddess only knew what else all around me.
Carla’s men swore and released me, stumbling for the door, trying to escape.
The rain of destruction chased them, stopped them, but none of it touched me.
I remained in a small bubble of calm while destruction fell on the men who’d held me prisoner.
As the last of them died, I called to my knives.
They thudded into my hands, their fullers glowing brightly, their light breaking the veil of darkness, allowing me to see the hallway beyond the half destroyed door and the ceiling high, high above.
There was no sound up there, no light, no panic.
The place was empty. Empty except for me and the dead woman running.
I called to a thread of air, wrapped it around the hilt of one knife, and directed it to the ropes binding my wrists.
Once they were cut away, I retrieved the blade, sliced through the leash binding my ankles, and carefully stood.
Pain slithered up my leg and across various bits of my body, but they were all distant things and easily ignored.
Again, the thunder rumbled, a deeply furious sound bidding me to hurry.
I picked my way through the destruction and scrambled over the stone half blocking the door.
Dust hung heavily in the corridor beyond, making it impossible to see.
I called to the electricity that danced through the air and forced it through the blades.
Lightning shot out left and right, briefly illuminating the corridor and the destruction the storm had caused—was still causing.
There were stairs to my left, and while there was no sign of Carla, the swirling wind brought me the sound of her steps.
I could have ordered the wind to chase her, capture her.
I didn’t. The bitch was mine, and she would not escape me.
But just to be sure, I ordered the storm to unleash on whatever vehicles might wait beyond these walls.
Then I ran after her.
The dust caught in my throat, making me cough and causing the madmen in my head to renew their frenzied digging. Warmth flowed from my shoulder, soaking my sweater, but I didn’t care, and I certainly wasn’t going to stop.
She was not escaping me.
I reached the stairs and half ran, half limped up them as fast as I could. The wind was fiercer up here, the thunder closer. Lightning split the furious skies, hitting the side of the building to my right. Rocks and glass exploded in all directions, but the wind rose, directing it all away from me.
More lightning. In its fierce white glow, I saw my target.
I raised one knife, wrapped a sliver of wind around it, then flung it at her. Not to kill her, but to kill the magic that resided within her. The magic that allowed her to shift shape.
Thunder cracked once again, and the entire building shuddered.
Lightning hit the still-intact portion of the roof above me, sending tiles and chunks of lovely old oak beams flying.
The pixie in me mourned its destruction, but the darkness held sway right now, and it was fixated on the woman and revenge.
The knife hit her shoulder, slid deep into her flesh, and she stumbled, going down on hands and knees.
I didn’t know if she screamed and didn’t really care.
I slowed, weaving through the rain of stone and timber and tiles, untouched, uncaring, as the lightning crawled across Carla’s body and she shuddered and shook, her nails digging into the stone and her flesh shaking and crawling and shifting.
Then she pushed up and staggered on, through the doors and out into the storm-held night. I caught the wind, retrieved my knife, followed her down the first few steps, then stopped.
Ahead of us lay more destruction—a black van and a silver Renault lay in smoking pieces. Last time I’d hit a car with lightning, I’d shorted the electrical system. This time, the tires and windows had exploded as well, rendering both useless.
Carla screamed and swung around, the knife in her hand pulsing furiously. Her face was pale, waxy, and nondescript, her eyes the same brown as her short hair. “What have you done to me?”
I smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. “I killed your magic. I stopped your ability to shift shape.”
“You can’t do that. It’s impossible—”
“Unless you wield godly relics capable of not only protecting you against magic but killing it.” I raised my knives. “Mom possessed such knives. Shame she wasn’t wearing them the day you killed her.”
“I didn’t—”
“Then who did. Give me a name.”
Her gaze narrowed, and the knife’s intensity grew, its light spearing the darkness, lending it a bloody hue. “I order you to restore—”
“You can’t order me to do anything, Carla,” I cut in coldly. “You see, the thing about godly relics is, they don’t always work on the gods themselves.”
Anger ripped through her expression, and I could almost taste her desire to attack me, kill me. There was a part of me—a deep, dark, dangerous part—that wanted her to. Silently begged her to.
“You’re no fucking god,” she growled, and took a step forward.
I didn’t move, didn’t react. Though I wanted to. Gods only knew how much I wanted to. Not for what she had done to me, but for what she had threatened to do to Sgott.
“No, but I am a godling. My father was a god of storms and lightning, hence the show that happens above.” She didn’t look up, as I’d half expected her to. “Name, Carla, and you will live through this.”
She snorted. “No, I won’t. He’ll kill me. He already has the means inside my head.”
“Then tell me what you can.”
“I can tell you nothing. He’s been planning this for centuries, and he has left nothing to chance. The minute I attempt to say anything that could lead you to him, I die. The minute I land in IIT hands, I die. Kill me if you wish—in the end, you’ll be doing me a favor.”
I studied her for a second, my fingers clenching and unclenching around the hilt of the two knives. “Then what of the council?”
“What of them?”
“Give me the names of the councilors who have fallen victim to the power of Bia’s Blade.”
“No.”
And with that, she attacked.