Magick Rising (7 page)

her.

“Apophis,
I’m
your enemy. Not this mere human.”

Once again, Hadrian’s voice released her from the snake thing’s thrall.

She shifted to one side.

“My Massster hasss ssspoken, Misss Jonesss. Ssstay.”

Her foot slipped. She was on her back, staring up at the face of

nightmares. Apophis, as Hadrian called it, loomed over her, its hideous

tongue licking her cheek. In her head, she screamed. But years of training

with Nic and others kicked in. She struck out with both feet.

“Eee-yah.” Her
kiai
sounded puny to her own ears, but it focused her.

Apophis’ face split in what she guessed was supposed to be a mocking

grin. Its neck bent at an angle impossible for a human but easy for a snake

about to strike. The reek of him robbed her of breath.

She rolled, preparing a crescent kick—a
mikazuki
—to the side. Hell if

she’d go down without a fight.

The creature’s fangs snagged her collar, missing her jugular by

millimeters. It reared back.

A sword shot from a blinding glare, cleaving the thing from the

shoulder to the middle of its ribcage. Fetid black blood spurted onto her

face.

This time her scream came out as a gurgle of revulsion.

Hadrian reached down and rolled Apophis onto its back. He spared

Miko a glance as he shifted his sword. “Are you injured?”

“I—I—I . . .” Her gaze zipped between him, his weapon, and Apophis,

finally settling on the latter.

Although the wound should’ve been immediately fatal, the snake man

heaved itself toward her. Hadrian grabbed it, and in one smooth move,

thrust the glowing dagger up through its abdomen.

The identical killing track of the Skid Row Butcher.

As he withdrew the blade, it pulsed brighter, illuminating an area larger

than her living room. What the hell kind of knife glowed like that?

She slid a hand to the side and hit something warm and sticky. She

risked a glance.

Another dead body. But . . .

His face was deformed with a beak-like mouth, and his arms were

mangled into weird angles. Black feathers protruded from his hands and

neck. “What the hell is that?”

Miko didn’t realize she’d said it aloud until Hawken answered:

“Malphas.”

Her heart hammered against her ribs. Another case of the Skid Row

Butcher in action? But what had he acted against? A snake thing? A bird

man? A . . . malphas?

She risked meeting Hawken’s gaze. No madness, no insane gleam

lurked there. Concern, yes, and resignation. But no look of murderous intent

toward her. So, she asked.

“What’s a malphas?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he seemed to wait for a large white cat to join

him, then said as if to it, “Secrecy is moot. For her safety, she must be

informed.”

“Yes.” Miko agreed as calmly as she could. She didn’t know what was

going on, but she didn’t want to upset him. “Tell me. It’ll help if you tell

me.”

“These two were sent to kill you.” Hawken took a step toward her, and

she scooted back. “You’ve become a danger to these creatures and their

master’s plans.”

“But why? Who? I don’t—”

“No.” Hawken whirled to face the cat. “No, Azrael. I cannot.” Pain

suffused his face as he looked back at her. “I will not.”

She shot glances down the river path and around. The weather and

murders had driven even the die-hard runners and cyclists away. She had

seen Hawken’s speed; she’d never outrun him.

“I will not slay another innocent.”

Slay. As in kill
.

“Wait a minute. Let’s not be in a hurry here.” Was she the innocent he

was talking about? She started to rise, felt her
kanzashi
under her hand. Hell,

being skewered with her hair sticks might slow him down. He might be

saying he wouldn’t kill an innocent, but maybe she wasn’t the innocent one.

And she’d just seen him executing a Butcher-style kill.
Time to bug out,

Jones
. She pushed herself up, got her balance.

Still holding his weapons, Hawken reached for her. She gripped the

kanzashi
tightly and lunged at him.

His dagger sparked as it deflected them. Electricity zinged down her

arm, through her chest, and into her brain.

She dropped.

MIKO’S THROAT HURT. Correction, it felt like a herd of buffalo had

trampled it. She tried a breath.

Well, that works
. No broken ribs.

Lifting her hands to feel for damage felt like moving through tar.

However, her neck seemed to be intact, if tender to touch.

Her chest received the same review. Same results. Sore but intact. Her

breath came naturally, if a bit painfully.

Hawken
. Miko’s eyes flew open, and she immediately regretted it. She

moaned, closing them and turning her head away.

“I told you your quest was dangerous.”

Miko opened her eyes again and swung her head to her right. Too fast.

The room circled a few times before she risked squinting into the lamplight.

One long-fingered hand stroking the fur of the massive white cat at his

side, Hadrian Hawken lounged in a leather chair across a fireplace from her.

Memory returned. Miko’s heart kicked into high gear, and she tried to sit up,

to run. But her limbs wouldn’t quite obey.

“Will you cease your investigation now?” A whisper of anger tinged his

words. He surged to his feet. He was tall, but now his height was daunting.

Miko resisted flinching—barely—when he stalked to her side and stared

down at her, dark eyes piercing, probing.

A migraine threatened the edges of her consciousness, but Miko

shoved the pain away for the moment. She had to stall until she could stand

up. “Where am I? How did I get here?”

He reached out and stroked the back of his fingers along her sore neck.

“Your location? My lodgings. As for how you got here? I carried you.”

Okay, she had her answers.
Now what the heck do I do?

She’d witnessed this guy kill . . . things . . . using the same knife

technique as the Skid Row Butcher. Didn’t take much of a leap to assume

here
was
the Butcher.

And no one knows where I am.
I
don’t even know where I am
.

She risked a glance around, but heavy drapes blocked the windows.

With its leather seating, bookcases, and crackling fire in the tiled fireplace,

the room looked like a library in an English manor. Keeping an eye on

Hadrian, she stretched out with her other senses for clues, but no telltale

noise, vibrations, or scents penetrated into the room. She could be

anywhere.

The ornate mantel clock indicated she’d been out somewhere close to

an hour. A quick peek at her watch confirmed it. So she could be anywhere

within an hour of the latest murder site.

She watched him warily when he knelt in front of her. He took her

hands in his, infusing a warmth that rivaled the fireplace. The aroma of

sweet incense settled around her. Despite everything that told her to pull

away, she left her hands in his, searching his face for clues to this terrifying,

puzzling man. He studied her as well.

A minute passed. She blinked and pulled her hands away, breaking the

tableau. Damn, she wished she knew where her
kanzashi
were.

Great-times-something grandmother’s magick would be useful right now. If

she could figure how to trigger it.

Although she might’ve done something along those lines before she

blacked out.

Hawken seemed distracted for a moment then shook himself. “You

must have a headache. Perhaps a cup of tea.”

Careful not to touch him, she sat up and dropped her feet to the floor.

Her head did the spinning room thing again, forcing her to close her eyes

and lie back.

A short bit later, she heard a rattle of china and sensed someone

standing over her. She squinted open her eyes to find a fancy cup close to

her face.

“Darjeeling with two sugars,” Hawken said, his expression neutral.

Doubt filtered into her admittedly rattled brain. What sort of hardcore

serial killer would change his
modus operandi
and prepare tea for her?

She pushed upright and took the cup. It rattled in the saucer as she

brought it to her nose. What would a profiler say about a murderer who

sliced and diced possibly turning to poison? “No, thanks.”

“By all that is holy, drink it.”

With hands that trembled a bit, she placed the tea on the cushion next

to her. “No. Thank you.”

Hawken reached for the cup.

Her hand got there first, sliding it away from his. “I said no.”

He stared at her. She sat straighter and pressed down with her legs.

Nope, still spaghetti legs, too weak to run.

“You believe I would poison you.” His tone expressed shock. And

offense.

“No . . . yes . . . oh, hell.” She slumped back.

He pried the cup from her. Lifting it to his lips, he took a generous

slurp. She could see the tea enter his mouth, and he made a show of

swallowing. “It’s Darjeeling with two lumps of sugar. Nothing more.”

Miko took the offered cup. She took a miniscule sip, tasting nothing but

tea. Apparently satisfied, he returned to his chair. She waited for any odd

sensations, but since she’d never been poisoned, she wasn’t sure what to

expect. She kept her eyes on his as she finished the tea, hoping she’d detect

any sinister intent.

As she set the cup and saucer onto the table beside the couch, he turned

his attention to the cat which hadn’t moved the whole time. Strange animal

for a strange owner.

The cat rose then walked to her and sniffed her leg. It twisted toward

the side table where she hadn’t noticed her
kanzashi
rested. Just having them

in reach provided her with a degree of reassurance.
Yea, Grandma
.

Knocking them onto the floor with one massive paw, the feline

proceeded to snuffle all over them.

“Hey, cat, leave those alone.”

Zzzzzap
!

With a snarl, the cat leaped backwards. A growl rumbled deep in its

throat as it licked repeatedly at its lips.

Miko grabbed the sticks, avoiding the damp bits. “They’re antiques.”

“They are unharmed. Unlike Azrael’s nose.”

His tone was so mild, so amused that she gave herself a reality check to

reconcile the tormented man she’d sensed previously, the man with glowing

weapons who killed strange creatures, and the man sitting across from her.

Okay, he made her tea, he hadn’t sliced her up, he hadn’t made a single

threatening move.

And
he’d rescued her from Apophis and Malphas.

Could she trust him?
Should
she?

She took a breath into her center. Something about him, about the

whole Butcher situation was off, but the only way she was going to work it

out was for him to let her leave. Then she’d puzzle it out. She’d dig down to

find the truth. All of it.

She looked up to find Hawken letting the cat out a door she hadn’t

noticed earlier.

An opening. She tested her legs—good to go—and shoved to her feet.

It was a matter of a few steps to reach the opposite door.

As she grasped the ornate doorknob, Hawken’s hand closed around

hers. Her heart hammered in her ears. His breath ruffled her hair.

“Not just yet.”

Miko forced herself to inhale deep into her core. Her hand still on the

doorknob, she said, “I’d like to go now.”

Good. No tremble in her voice.

“Not yet.” Hawken wrenched her hand free and spun her around.

“I want to go. Now.” She inhaled again, pleased to feel strength

returning.

His pinned her to the door with hands like steel manacles.

“Explanations first.”

She rocketed her hands upward between them, knocking his head back.

It was like slamming into a rock wall, but she’d made enough room to thrust

her arms up again and bring them downward onto his arms.

They didn’t budge.

He lowered his head and glared. “A futile effort, Miko Jones.”

She jerked her knee up between them. His thigh blocked it.

“Futile.” He narrowed the space between them, pressing against her,

forcing her arms above her head and holding them there.

Damn if the man wasn’t enjoying this. In fact, if she was right about the

pressure against her hip, he was more than enjoying it.

“This will proceed better if you sit.” His voice vibrated from his chest

through hers.

She struggled one more time before her brief burst of energy faded.

Her head throbbed. She just wanted to close her eyes and sleep somewhere

safe.

She sagged against the door. Hawken leaned back, his piercing gaze

captured hers. It dropped to her lips.

Her mouth went dry. She forced herself to swallow.

Logs crackled in the fireplace. The clock ticked on the mantle. She