Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
“Go, go,” I said urgently, both aloud and to Atticus.
Magic surged from within the apartment, its caress “clean” rather than dark. I didn’t recognize the spell, but magically, it had the same feel as the defensive flare I’d felt in the mall.
Monica, inside and spelling.
In the mall, that defensive flare had obviously been faked because she was working with her captors at the time. Here, it felt more desperate. More a matter of life or death.
The question was, what had changed? Had they decided she was too much of a problem now? Unlikely, given she was their one—and only—ace when it came to getting what they wanted out of her father.
René hit the door with a spell so strong it tore the thing off its hinges and sent it tumbling into the room. “Find Monica,” he growled, and disappeared inside.
I swore and raced after him. The screaming had cut off abruptly, but the remnants of Monica’s spell drifted out from the room to my right.
Directly ahead, almost totally encasing what looked to be a large kitchen-diner, was a roiling mass of shadows—the same sort of shadows that had haunted the mall and hidden the éan olc that had been hunting me.
And René was running straight into them.
The man had a death wish, obviously.
I wound a repelling spell around my fingers and wished the kitchen had been clear of shadows so I could grab some salt on the way through. It would have enabled me to quickly create a barrier around me and Monica.
The thought of confronting one of the bastards had fear tripping through me, but I ignored it and ran toward what I presumed was the main living area, given it faced the racecourse.
Atticus?
Here.
Define here.
In the living room, protecting Monica’s unworthy ass.
She’s alive?
Yes. The éan olc currently prowls to the left of the door, looking for a way past my barrier; a man hides behind that same door on its right side. Spin your spell at the demon and then take out the man.
Won’t that just piss off said demon?
These demons are not autonomous. It will retreat into the shadows rather than attack, as it has not been sent here after you.
You can’t be sure of that.
You do not run lightly. If it was going to attack you, it would have already.
Hope you’re right.
You need to accept that I am rarely wrong.
I snorted and unleashed my spell, casting it through the door and then around to the left.
There was an odd fluttering of wings and a soft thump, then the sense of evil evaporated.
Relief stirred, but I pushed it away and, with as much force as I could muster, threw my weight against the front of the door, crushing my would-be assailant between it and the wall.
There was a grunt of pain, then the door came back at me, slamming against my hands and jarring my wrists.
A second later, a thickset man staggered free, his nose mashed and bloody.
I didn’t give him recovery time; I feigned swinging my handbag at his head, then released it as he ducked and spun around, lashing out with a booted foot.
It hit the side of his face with enough force to split his cheek.
Blood sprayed across the wall and the floor, and he roared in fury and pain.
He turned, his fists clenched and arms swinging.
I retreated and hurriedly called a containment spell to my fingers, but didn’t unleash it as a flash of brown and gold cut between me and him.
Then Ginny was on his head, her claws digging deep into his scalp. He screamed, and this time, it was all pain. He tried batting her away, but she avoided his blows easily and went for his spine instead.
“If you don’t want your back shredded, I suggest you stop fighting right now and sit your ass down,” I growled, the containment spell buzzing around my fingers.
Even though he’d shown no inclination to spell against either of us—suggesting he was likely an ordinary thug, rather than a witch—I wasn’t about to relax just yet.
Although the question had to be asked: Why would they send thugs here as well as the éan olc? What was the point?
Food, Atticus said. Monica would not satisfy three of them.
Three? Meaning René had gone into that smoke against two of them?
He is capable.
Considering you can’t feel the extent of his power, you can’t say that with any certainty. Besides, it’s now three against one, thanks to my sending that other one back in.
While the former is true, he went into that transport maelstrom, as dangerous as they are, without hesitation. He does not strike me as someone with a death wish. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Even so, I’m thinking this is not a good way to test out his skills.
The only thinking you’re doing is with your raging hormones.
I rolled my eyes and returned my attention to my now seated prisoner.
Ginny had shifted shape and was glaring at the man in the same sort of way a hawk on high might eye off its next meal.
His expression was uneasy, and his face a mess, with blood pouring from his nose and his split cheek.
I didn’t feel sorry for him, though, given his fists would have done far worse to my face had his blows landed.
“There’s another one near the sliding door. He’s currently zip-tied in a fetal position, alive but unconscious last time I saw him.” Ginny grimaced. “Bastard tried to crown me with an iron bar. Who does stupid things like that when faced with a flighted shifter?”
Someone who didn’t know how fast flighted shifters could react. I spun my leash around my prisoner, pinning his arms to his sides, then leashed his legs together so he couldn’t get up. “You want to keep an eye on him while I go check Monica’s condition?”
“Can I claw him up a bit more if he moves?”
We both knew he wasn’t moving. She might not see magic, but she knew me well enough to guess what the hand movement had meant. “Feel free.”
“Excellent.”
I restrained my smile, then turned and walked across to Atticus.
He was sitting near Monica, who was broken, bloody, and unconscious.
There were several thick gouges down her arms and one across her stomach, the latter having sliced past her clothing into skin, but somehow not gutted her.
The fact that the éan olc had gotten so close at all suggested that, despite the surge of magic I’d felt in the corridor, she hadn’t had time to fully construct a shield.
What she had managed to construct had undoubtedly saved her life.
I saved her life, Atticus said haughtily. Stupid witch would have been demon food otherwise.
I stand corrected. Forgive me. And in truth, the gently fading wisps of gold that still floated in the air did indeed speak of the power of his protective circle.
I accept your apology and shall now go investigate the shadows, if they still exist.
I frowned. “What do you mean, if they still exist? Where would they go?”
He was retracting them.
“To where?”
I know not. Atticus paused. He might claim to be a canvas of no color, but he is nevertheless powerful.
He rose and walked away, the tip of his mangy tail flicking ever so slightly. Curiosity more than concern, which was at least comforting.
I returned my attention to Monica and pressed a couple of fingers against her neck; her pulse was rapid and a little thready, but I didn’t think she was in immediate danger of dying.
“She alive?” Ginny asked.
“Yep.” I tapped the earwig, informed Betty we had prisoners needing to be transported for questioning, then asked for an ambulance and a forensic team to be sent here.
I wasn’t sure if the latter would find anything, or even if any of the shadows would still be here by the time they arrived, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
And this place did belong to Luke, so there might be something here we could use to track him down.
I cast a quick spell to stop Monica from moving, then rose and went into the bathroom, looking for any sort of first aid kit.
I didn’t find one, but I did find bandages, medical tape, and a clean towel.
After washing my hands, I grabbed all three and applied them to her wounds in an attempt to stop the bleeding, holding the towel in place against her stomach with another press of magic.
Then I rose and walked back to our prisoner.
“Hey, where’s my care?” he said bluntly. “I’m bleeding to death here, you know?”
“I doubt you’re bleeding to death, and in terms of ‘fucks to give,’ I have none where you are concerned.” I stopped beside Ginny and crossed my arms. “Who sent you here?”
“I can’t tell you that—she’ll kill me.”
She. Not Luke or Orion, then, but maybe Lanie. “Hate to tell you this, but you were sent here to be fodder for a demon. You actually owe us your life.”
He frowned. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
I raised my eyebrows. “You didn’t see a black bird the size of a man with fierce ebony claws attacking Monica?”
“No.” His disbelief was evident. “I saw the witch fighting some shadows for a few minutes before she fell down all bloody and whatnot, then you came in.”
“Those shadows were concealing the demon.”
He snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“Not very bright, I’m thinking,” Ginny murmured.
“Hey, that’s not nice,” he growled.
“Being insulted is the least of your problems right now,” Ginny said. “Why were you sent here? To attack Monica?”
“We were to attack anyone who came through the door to investigate her screaming.”
“And you didn’t think it odd that she was screaming at shadows?”
“No. I mean, she’s a witch.”
And all witches were strange, his tone seemed to imply. “Who is the man who came here with you?”
“Another contractor. Don’t know his name, don’t care.”
“Then what is your name?” I said to our captive. “We’ll tear the information from your brain anyhow, so you might as well tell us now.”
“Grant Hopkins. And what do you mean, tear it from my brain? That sort of stuff is fucking illegal.”
“Not when you’re suspected of attempted murder.”
“Now hang on a moment—”