She frowned, but didn’t raise the weapon.

  The drive was growing rougher by the minute, and the kids were bouncing around the cab like rubber balls. I didn’t think my dad would be pleased with what I was doing to his struts and shocks.

  Something streaked downward into the road only a few feet in front of us, and when it hit, flames erupted from the pavement. I jammed on the brakes. Gracie’s left arm shot out, pinning the kids to the seat like one of those metal bars on an amusement park ride.

  A second impact behind us shook the truck. I checked the rearview mirror. Fire blocked our way back as well.

  “I don’t think we’re driving any farther,” I said over the pounding of the helicopter rotors, which were growing louder by the minute.

  Magic brushed my skin. I glanced at Gracie and then at the blaze in front of us. The flames wavered but didn’t go out. She tried the spell—whatever it was—a second time. Again, the fire guttered, like a candle in a hard wind. But still it burned, perhaps even a bit brighter than before.

  “Damn it!” she muttered.

  Emmy shook her head like a disapproving parent. “You owe us a quarter, Mommy. Each!”

  Zach actually laughed. I was starting to like these kids.

  “Yes, I do,” Gracie said. But she was watching me.

  I recited a warding spell in my head, the most comprehensive I could think of. I visualized it as a set of domes, one for each of us. Clear, flexible, stretching from head to toe, impermeable to magic and bullets and anything else those guys in the chopper might throw down at us. I held tight to the magic, allowing it to build, until at last I released the spell and felt my shield cover my body. This time both Emmy and Gracie stared at me.

  “What was that?” Emmy asked.

  “A spell to keep you safe, to keep all of us safe.”

  A moment later a second spell draped over me.

  Gracie eyed me, daring me to complain. “If you think I’m going to put all my trust in another person’s warding, you’re nuts.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  One corner of her mouth quirked upward.

  “We’re going to get out of the truck,” I told the kids. “Stick close to your mom, all right?”

  I hesitated, but then pulled my Glock from its holster. In my opinion, firearms and children don’t mix; I don’t like having my weapon out where kids can even see it. But in this case, I wasn’t willing to leave the car unarmed.

  “Cool!” Zach said. “Can I see?”

  I held it up, well beyond his reach.

  “I mean—”

  “I know what you meant. This isn’t the time or place.”

  He scowled.

  “This way out, kiddo,” his mom said.

  She pushed open her door. I did the same.

  Once again, as soon as my boots hit the pavement, I felt the moon, its pressure on my mind about as light as an anvil.

  The helicopter, shiny and black, unmarked as far as I could see, hovered above us. Five blades, a rear horizontal stabilizer with a vertical two-bladed rear rotor, and a smallish pod that might have held four people. I was guessing this was an MD 500, or maybe a 530, given the terrain. Small, fast, agile, and maneuverable enough to track us no matter where we might go.

  I couldn’t tell from this angle how many people were inside, but at least one guy had his door open and held what appeared to be a high-powered rifle. Even directly overhead, he was too far away for a clear view, but I thought I saw a blur of magic on his face.

  We struck out into the desert. There was no trailhead here, but the terrain was open enough that we could scramble over rock and dirt anyway. Unfortunately this also meant that they could see us.

  “I think the one with the weapon is a weremyste.”

  “They all are,” Gracie said, speaking with such certainty that I didn’t dare question her.

  A sharp, flat sound drew my eyes skyward once more. The gunman had Gracie sighted, but he didn’t look at all pleased.

  “That was a good warding,” she said.

  “He shot at us?”

  “At me. He missed.”

  “That didn’t sound like a—”

  “I don’t think it’s a regular rifle.”

  Of course. “Probably a trank.”

  “What’s a trank?” Zach asked.

  “It’s a kind of bullet that would have put me to sleep,” Gracie said.

  That was a better answer than I would have given. At least we knew they didn’t want her dead. Me, on the other hand, they probably didn’t care about one way or another.

  The helicopter banked away from us, flew a tight circle, and hovered over the road. After a moment it began to descend. It would be a tight fit, but apparently the pilot believed he could land the thing on that dirt track.

  “Up there,” I said, pointing toward the nearest of the rocky peaks surrounding us.

  Gracie’s brow furrowed. “It’ll be slow going.” Her gaze flicked in Zach’s direction. “He’s just five.”

  “I can carry him if I have to. But they’re going to be on foot, and I want the higher ground.”

  She faltered, nodded.

  “Hey, Zach,” I said. “Think you can climb this mountain?”

  He stopped to gaze at the summit, an open hand shading his eyes, his disappointment at not getting to hold my pistol seemingly forgotten. “You mean to the top?”

  “The very tippity top.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Emmy, how about you?”

  “If he can, I can,” she said. But she was staring back at the copter, fear in her dark eyes. “Mommy?”

  Something in the girl’s tone stopped Gracie in her tracks. “What is it, sweetie?”

  “He’s here. The old man.”

  Even I understood. The silver-haired gentleman. Fitzwater.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  Gracie grabbed both kids by the hand and led them up the hillside. “She’s always sure.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Moments later, the helicopter set down on the road. The doors opened and four men clambered out, ran to the side of the road with their heads down and started up the hillside after us. Two of them—one with the rifle and another carrying a pistol—were big, broad as well as tall, with military-style buzz cuts. They wore navy windbreakers over powder blue dress shirts and dark slacks, reminding me of security men I had seen at the home of Regina Witcombe, a billionaire financier who also happened to be a weremancer and a friend of Saorla. Now that I thought about it, Witcombe was one of the few weremystes I knew of who could afford an MD helicopter.

  A third man, who I assumed must be the pilot, since the helicopter stood empty, was smaller, wiry. Of the four, he seemed most comfortable blazing a trail across open desert.

  The fourth man, as Emmy had anticipated, was our weremyste vampire, the man I had seen in my scrying at Burt Kendall’s pawn shop, and, I was sure, the man Gracie had escaped at the Burger Royale. He wore a tweed jacket, a dress shirt and tie, and black slacks. He also had on a fedora that matched the jacket, but I could see that his hair was silver. I thought he also had a neatly trimmed silver beard, but I couldn’t be certain. His face was little more than a flesh-colored smudge of magic. I hadn’t seen such power on a weremyste in years.

  Fortunately, neither he nor the security guys seemed to have anticipated an off-road experience. They wore dress shoes and were having trouble keeping up with the pilot, who appeared more at ease in the wild.

  We made good progress for the first five minutes or so, but then Zach started to slow down. Emmy wasn’t doing much better. Against my better judgment we stopped.

  “I can’t carry both of them,” I said to Gracie, thinking that my voice was low enough to escape the kids’ notice. I was wrong.

  “You don’t have to carry me,” Emmy said, glowering. I wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t seem to like me very much. “I can walk.”

  “All right.” I turned to Zach, who was breathing hard, his cheeks flushed almost to glowing. “You want to get on my shoulders, kiddo?”

  Emmy had taken her mother’s hand and was climbing again, but she glared back in my direction. “Don’t call him that.”

  “Sorry.” She had already faced forward again, and I don’t think she heard me. At least now, though, I understood her hostility: she didn’t want me acting like I was their dad. “You want me to carry you?” I asked Zach again.

  He nodded. I picked him up, swung him onto my shoulders, and resumed my climb. It was harder with the kid, but not much. He didn’t weigh a lot, and frankly having a weremyste vampire at my back was all the motivation I needed.

  We were still some distance from the top when another ball of fire burst from the ground a couple of feet in front of Gracie and Emmy. The girl let out a scream, and Gracie halted, clutching her daughter to her.

  “That’s far enough, I believe,” came a voice from behind us.

  I stopped, my shoulders aching, sweat soaking my shirt. I wanted to urge Gracie on, but it seemed she had decided to face her pursuers here, and since I didn’t know them as well as she did, I followed her lead. At least for now.

  The security guys and pilot had stopped as well. The only person moving was the older man, who stepped past his companions and halted maybe ten yards below us on the incline, one foot ahead of the other. He wasn’t breathing hard, nor did he appear to have broken a sweat.

  Magic stirred the warm air. A few feet to my left, a stone about the size of a television lifted off the ground and flew toward the man. Several feet short of him, it exploded, as if pulverized by some unseen fist.

  “I expected more from you, Gracie,” he said, his words shaded with that faint British accent I’d first heard in my scrying the day before. “That’s the name you prefer, isn’t it? Gracie, rather than Engracia. So very American. In any case, after your performance at the restaurant, naturally we warded ourselves against such a spell.”

  I lifted Zach off my shoulders and set him on the ground, the motion drawing the gentleman’s gaze. Zach sidled closer, until he stood just behind me.

  “Mister Fearsson, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “That’s right. Who are you?”

  He smiled, and even seeing him through the magic, I marveled at what it did to his features. Under any other circumstance, I would have thought him the friendliest man on the face of the earth. The crooked grin, the crinkling of the skin at the corners of his bright blue eyes, the hat and silver hair and beard. He looked charming.

  “Lionel Fitzwater. Perhaps you know of me.”

  “No, I can’t say that I do.”

  If this disappointed or angered him, he gave no indication. He shrugged and said, “No matter. You need do nothing more than stay out of my way. I have no quarrel with you for the time being. We want Gracie and her children. Whether you live or die is entirely up to you.”

  “Well, I’m afraid it’s not that simple. Because there’s no way in hell I’m letting you take Gracie or her kids.”

  The smile faded. “Very well.”

  That was all the warning I had. Something hit me in the chest with the force of a bullet, though neither of the security guys had fired a weapon. If I hadn’t been warded, I’m sure I would have died. As it was, I was thrown backwards. I landed on top of Zach, who let out a cry.

  I felt magic again, but nothing touched me. I rolled off of Zach, my chest aching, and helped him up.

  “You okay?” I asked, searching his eyes.

  He nodded.

  “Good boy.”

  I stood, moving stiffly. The security boys and pilot were climbing to their feet as well. I assumed that Gracie had retaliated for the attack that hurt Zach, and I had the feeling that whatever spell she used had done nothing at all to Lionel.

  Fitzwater smiled again, but this time it didn’t reach his eyes, and the effect was entirely different. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” he muttered. I’m not sure his companions heard him. But they certainly did when he said, “Michael would you come here please?”

  One of the security guys—the one with the rifle—started up the hill.

  “No,” Gracie whispered. Then, “Kids, run! Straight up the mountain!”

  The kids did as they were told. Gracie turned to run as well.

  I cast to give them time. The guard, his leg, and the rock in front of him. The rock hit his shin; he stumbled, fell.

  That would buy us a few more seconds. I strode after Gracie and the kids.

  Another spell brushed past me and hit Zach in the back. He fell with a little grunt. Gracie whirled at the sound. Before she could run back to him, I grabbed him around the waist, picked him up, and tucked him under my arm, barely even breaking stride.

  “Get up here!” Fitzwater said, a snarl in the words.

  We didn’t have much time, and I had no idea where we could go to escape what I knew was coming.

  “Halt!” he shouted at our backs.

  Gracie didn’t slow and neither did I.

  “I prefer to take both of them, Gracie, but really it’s only the one we want. Her, and the item you took. As far as I’m concerned, the other child is expendable.”

  At that, she did stop. Emmy took another step, yanking on her mother’s arm. But Gracie wouldn’t move. I saw her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. Then she turned.

  I did the same. I set Zach on his feet once more, but then took hold of his tiny, sweaty hand.

  My life, I knew, was forfeit. Gracie, Emmy, and the knife were the prizes. The item you took . . . If we survived this, Gracie and I were going to have a heart-to-heart. But that was for later.

  Fitzwater had already made clear that he didn’t give a damn about me. And I had no doubt about Gracie’s priorities. She would help me, but only if she could do so without endangering the kids. She wouldn’t have stopped had Fitzwater threatened to kill me. To save Zach, though, she could gladly give her own life, much less mine.

  By this time, Michael, the security man, had joined the older gentleman and was watching him like a dutiful puppy, awaiting his instructions.

  “I can’t hold him off if he uses blood.”

  Gracie said this in a low voice and I knew she was speaking to me, but I wasn’t sure what to say in response.

  More to the point, at that moment Namid’s voice reverberated in my head. Blood magic is dark magic.

  Maybe. But hadn’t he also told me that a blood spell could be forgiven if it was cast in desperation? Well, I was desperate to save the lives of these children and their mother. Could there be any better justification for casting such a spell?

  Fitzwater smiled at the security man. “Forgive me,” he said.

  Michael frowned, canting his head to the side. I think he meant to ask why the older weremancer had apologized. He never got the chance.

  As soon as Fitzwater laid a hand on Michael’s shoulder, the security man’s eyes rolled back in his head, his knees buckled, and the rifle dropped from his hands. Still, somehow, despite the fact that Michael was six inches taller than Fitzwater and had to have fifty pounds on him, the older man held him upright with that one hand.

  The other he stretched out toward us, his wrist cocked at a shallow angle so that I could see his palm.

  Not good. Not good at all.

  I did the only thing I could think of. Power might have been all around us, but blood was right there beneath my skin. I raked the underside of my left arm with the fingernails of my right hand, opening up three ragged gashes. Blood welled in them, and as the first tendrils of Fitzwater’s power caressed my skin, I cast.

  I clung to that image—tendrils—and imagined my own spell as a thin steel wall slicing down through those leading threads of his magic and blocking the rest.

  Fitzwater staggered at the touch of my conjuring, his eyes closing for a second. As the bulk of his assault slammed into my warding, I reeled back and almost fell. I sensed the wall I’d summoned bowing under the force of his casting, and I feared it wouldn’t hold. He had drawn more blood, and he was better at this than I was. I squeezed more blood from the wounds on my arm and cast the spell again. I’m sure the second crafting saved us. That and a spell Gracie cast to bolster my warding.

  After perhaps forty-five seconds, Fitzwater opened his eyes once more, the look in them murderous. How could I have ever thought him charming?

  He released his hold on the security man, allowing him to crumple to the ground, limp as a broken marionette. I noticed a small red stain on Michael’s shirt where Fitzwater’s hand had been.

  “Holy shit, Mike!” the other security man said, running up the hillside to his friend. “What the hell happened to him?” He dropped to his knees beside Michael and felt for a pulse. “Jesus! He’s dead.” He glared up at Fitzwater. “What the hell was that? What did you do to him?”

  “You should not have interfered, Mister Fearsson,” Fitzwater said, ignoring the man beside him.

  “What are you going to do?” I pointed at Mike’s friend. “Kill him, too? Use his blood like you used Mike’s?”

  The second security man backed away from him, scrabbling on all fours, like a bug.

  “If you must know, I was planning to kill you.”

  I had an idea of what was coming and I cast, hoping that my warding would be enough against Fitzwater, thinking that at least this once he wouldn’t have access to blood.

  I should have known better.

  A small rock flew from in front of him and hit the security man square in the forehead. Sandy Koufax couldn’t have aimed it better. Blood gushed from the wound it opened, only to vanish just as quickly.

  Twice in the past year, I had been controlled by dark sorcerers, and that was two times too many. Etienne de Cahors had used such magic on me several times, and very nearly made me kill myself with my own firearm. Patty Hesslan, another of Saorla’s minions, tried to compel me to summon Namid so that she could kill us both. I hated these spells, and since the summer had been learning magic that would allow me to combat them.

  But I was still a long way from perfecting those castings.

  Fitzwater’s spell crushed my warding as if it were no more than tin foil and fell upon my mind with the weight of a boulder.

 

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