Master and Apprentice (16 page)

“You know that alarm system I set up for you?”

“The wards.”

“Yeah. Those.” He glanced toward the now silent thug. I really hoped he’d knocked him out. “Well, they went crazy. And then they fell apart. I tried to come through your mirror, but nothing happened.”

“It’s broken.”

“I got that impression. So I used Ian’s instead. And then I heard a gunshot in here.”

“And then you saved my ass.” I opened my eyes. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” A deep frown etched furrows in his mouth. “I shouldn’t have had to, though. There’s only one guy here, and he’s not even djinn. What happened? Where’re Ian and Akila?”

I really didn’t want to answer that last question. I sat up slowly and nodded in Ray’s direction. “There were five of
them,” I said. “He’s the last. I killed one.” Saying it out loud sent a wave of revulsion through me. “The rest … well, they’re gone.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell him they’d taken Akila. Not yet. There were too many things we still had to figure out, and either Tory or Ian would rush off to save her without a plan—and get themselves caught or killed in the process. Alone, I wouldn’t be able to get them all back. “They’re descendants, like me. Only they’re Morai.”

“Impossible.”

“Everybody keeps saying that, but it’s not going to change the facts.” I grabbed the door frame and hauled myself to my feet. “They’re Morai. There’s a shit ton more where those came from. And Ian … is in bad shape.” I had to drop my gaze. “He’s in the living room. I think.”

Without a word, Tory whirled and ran for it. I took my time. Besides feeling like a pile of shit caught in an elephant stampede, I already knew what he looked like. And I was in no hurry to see it again.

Tory’s anguished cry tore through me when I stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

“Marco,” I called up after giving him a minute, hoping Jazz could hear me. I didn’t think I could climb all those steps. A few muffled thumps later, the bathroom door slivered open.

“Polo.”

It was the most beautiful word I’d ever heard. Relief convulsed my throat, and it took a few seconds for my voice to squeeze through. “It’s safe,” I said. “But I don’t know if you should bring Cyrus out of there yet.”

Jazz opened the door farther. “How bad is it?”

“Remember Buffalo?”

“Yeah.”

“Worse than that.”

“Great.” She let out a long breath. Back when I was a full-time thief, and Jazz drove getaway, we’d been in on a job that overlapped a mob operation. Nobody told us that little detail, and we’d accidentally busted up an informant torture party. It was the only time I’d seen her close to puking. “Well, I can’t keep him in here for long, and he sure as hell isn’t going to sleep. I’ll give you a few minutes, but we have to come down soon.”

“All right.” A few minutes wasn’t going to be enough time to put Ian back together. I wasn’t even sure if Tory and I combined could fix him.

I headed reluctantly to the living room, barely taking note of the destruction they’d caused. At first I didn’t see Ian—only Tory, standing motionless in front of a wall. Finally I realized Ian was there too. But it was an image my mind didn’t want to recognize.

Lynus had crucified him.

Arms spread, legs together, spears tacked him to the wall like a gruesome life-size poster. One in each wrist, one through both ankles. Another silver shaft protruded from his chest. I guessed that one had been to anchor him in place, since pinning his limbs alone wouldn’t have kept him upright. His bowed head wasn’t quite enough to hide the damage he’d taken from the bullet in the face. In the few places he wasn’t drenched in blood or blasted apart, his flesh looked dirty gray tinged with blue. Like a corpse fresh from the morgue.

Tory turned toward me. His eyes practically glowed. Tics and spasms contorted his features with an irregular rhythm. “Akila,” he ground out. “She’s stronger than me. Might be able to heal him.”

I stopped myself from blurting out the rest of the bad news right away. “Let me try and help him first,” I said. “He can draw
power from me. Sometimes. We’re gonna need that asshole in the kitchen. Can you bring him in here? We should keep an eye on him.”

“Damn it, Donatti. What happened to Akila?”

So much for stalling. “She’s … not here.”

“Where is she?”

The ferocity in his voice shook me. He sounded so much like Ian, I started to wonder if he had some wolf in him after all. I’d have to hope he didn’t decide to shoot the messenger. “Listen, Tory, don’t get crazy on me. We’ve got to think this through, or—”

“Tell me!”

I could barely get the words out. “They took her.”

“They … what?”

“Jesus Christ. They fucking took her!” I wanted to scream, hit something, rip things apart. “They shot her. Tied her with some magic goddamn rope or something and took her back to their compound. I don’t know what the hell’s going on, why they wanted her. So go get that fuckwad and bring him in here. And we’ll ask him.”

For a second I was convinced he’d take a swing at me. But he started for the kitchen—slowly at first, moving in jerks and hitches, picking up speed on the way.

I made myself approach the monstrous tableau on the wall. “Ian.” I sounded like a rusty hinge. “Come on, man. Breathe. Twitch. Do something …” I laid a hand on his chest. Nothing beat or moved beneath his cold skin. “I can’t get more direct than this. Damn you, take it!”

No effect. He wasn’t dead—couldn’t be—but he wasn’t exactly alive either.

Ian has left the building.
Desperate laughter tried to claw its way from my throat. I choked back on it, knowing I couldn’t
lose control now. We weren’t safe here anymore. Those bastards had been here once, and I had no doubt they could find their way back. Maybe not as fast without the mirror, but they’d be back sooner or later. I was betting on sooner.

If I couldn’t revive Ian, at least I could try to get him down from the wall. I grabbed the shaft of the spear in his chest and almost pulled before I realized the other end was probably barbed. I pushed on it, but it didn’t budge. No surprise there. Brute strength wasn’t an option, and I didn’t have a blowtorch, or even a hacksaw.

I took a closer look at him. The protruding ends of the spears were straight, except for the notched needle-eye holes at the top where towlines were supposed to be attached. Though the idea did unpleasant things to my stomach, I could probably wrench him off. I grabbed an arm and pulled. It didn’t glide over the shaft so much as squelch and crunch. Dark blood pulsed from the hole and spattered on the carpet. If he’d been human and somehow still alive, this process would’ve finished him.

I freed both arms. His ankles were harder, nastier, but they came away eventually. I had to grab him in a demented bear hug and push back against the wall with a foot to torque his body over the last spear. Once the end cleared him, warm liquid gushed against me and soaked my shirt. I didn’t know how he could still have enough in him to bleed.

Ian unconscious had all the weight and maneuvering ease of a grand piano. I staggered toward the couch with him and managed to pile most of him on it. My muscles shivered with exertion, and I fell back to catch a breath or two.

After a minute, Tory stalked back into the living room, dragging Ray behind him by his cuffed hands. He stopped and deposited the thug beside the couch, then nodded in Ian’s direction. “Anything?”

“No.”

“Fuck!” Fury twisted his face, and he launched a kick at Ray. A muffled hiss indicated the bastard was conscious, or on his way there. Tory leaned down, hauled him up with one arm. And backhanded him. “Where is she?” he shouted.

Ray opened one eye. He gasped, drew breath, and let out a grinding laugh. “You gonna torture it outta me, are you?”

“Damn right we are.” Tory shook him hard enough to pop a few joints.

A cancerous grin spread on his face. I’d seen expressions like that too many times before. They usually preceded unpleasant surprises, like spare guns or spring-loaded blades hidden in sleeves. “Tory,” I said. “Watch his hands.”

“Oh, you ain’t gotta worry about my hands, hoss.” The grin widened, and his lower jaw worked back and forth like he had something stuck in his teeth. He bit down. A faint crunch sounded in his mouth, and he swallowed with a wince. “Bring it,” he whispered. “You got twenty seconds to get somethin’ outta me.”

“Shit! Tory, heal him. Now.”

Tory glanced over at me. “What the—”

“He popped a suicide cap. Poison. Just fucking do it!”

Ray’s eyes rolled back in his head. His body jerked and jittered like a puppet controlled by a speed freak. Saliva bubbled from his mouth, foamed at the corners, and a series of strangled half-formed sounds emerged from his throat. It sounded like laughter.

He was dead before Tory spoke a single word.

Tory dropped the body and stepped back fast, as if suicide were contagious. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t … damn it, why would anyone do that?”

“Hard-core fanatic fucks,” I muttered. “They’re
brainwashed.” And more dangerous than I’d ever imagined. If these assholes were willing to die so easily to protect whoever ran them, we didn’t stand a chance of getting Akila back. We’d be lucky to live through the end of the week ourselves.

And Ian and I were both fresh out of luck.

“Buffalo was an understatement. I’d have gone with Hiroshima.”

Jazz’s soft statement knocked me out of doom-and-gloom contemplation. She lingered at the far end of the room, holding Cyrus against her like he might float away if she let go. Her gaze locked on me, and she shuddered briefly. “Shouldn’t you fix that?”

I glanced down at my soaked shirt. “It’s not my blood,” I said, and made a weak gesture toward the couch. She couldn’t see Ian from there. That was probably a good thing. “Um … you really shouldn’t have brought him down here.”

“Like I’m going to leave him alone right now.” Her head swiveled in Tory’s direction. “I don’t know how you got here, but I’m glad you did. Anyone have a clue what the hell’s going on?”

Cy shifted and looked around, wide eyed and solemn. “No more bad guys.”

“That’s right, baby. Daddy got them all.” She offered a faltering smile.

Not exactly.
I couldn’t tell her yet that things were worse than ever. Instead, I concentrated on the most immediate problem. “Ian’s out cold,” I said. “He’s not responding to anything.”

Jazz frowned. “What about Akila?”

I shook my head. Jazz went paper white, but she didn’t say a word.

“I’ll try to heal him.” Tory’s voice was taut as a trip wire. “We’re going to need him fast. We can’t wait much longer.”

“Wait for what?” Jazz whispered.

“To get Akila back.”

“Jesus. They took her?”

“Hold on.” I started around the couch with memory sparking a crazy idea. The last time Ian dropped in a gunfight, it’d been Cy’s touch that had brought him back. Maybe it would work again. “Jazz. Remember the thing about descendants and direct contact?”

“I guess.”

“Okay. It’s not working with me, but I’m beat. And I think Cy can help Ian.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How?”

“He only has to touch him.” I stopped in front of her and looked back. Didn’t really want to expose Cyrus to more death and destruction than necessary. “Tory. Can you get that sack of shit out of the way?”

“My pleasure.” He snagged Ray’s corpse and dragged it toward the far end of the room.

I faced Jazz again. “I’m sorry, babe,” I said. “I don’t like this either, but it’s the only option left right now.”

Some of the fierce light left her expression. “You really think Cy can heal him?”

“Yeah. He’s strong—like his mother.” I smiled and touched the side of her face.

“Uh-huh. Lay it on thicker and you’re gonna need a shovel.”

“So is that a yes?”

“What do you think, Cy?” She rubbed his back, cocked her head to look at him. “Do you want to help Uncle Ian?”

“Okay.”

“Sweet. Come on, little man.” I carried him over to the couch and stopped before Ian’s mangled body entered his line of sight. “Cy, I think it would work better if you closed your eyes real tight,” I said. “Can you do that?”

“Uh-huh.” He squinched his eyes shut. “See?”

“Good job. Keep ’em just like that. Okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.”

I knelt on the floor and took one of Cy’s hands. A sharp gasp drew my attention. Jazz stood a few feet away, rapidly turning a pale shade of green. One shaking hand flew to her mouth. She made a thick sound and looked away. “Jesus …”

Tory came up behind her. “He’ll be all right,” he said, steering her gently away. “Come on. This won’t take long.”

I gave him a grateful nod. “Ready, Cy?”

“Yep.”

With a silent prayer to whatever god might be listening, I guided Cy’s arm out and pressed his small palm against Ian’s skin. A shiver wracked his body on contact. “Uncle Ian doesn’t feel good,” he whispered. “He hurts inside.”

The words blazed a trail of gooseflesh down my back. “I’ll bet he does,” I managed through teeth that wanted to chatter like a wind-up toy. “But you’re doing great. Just keep—”

A burst of intense cold spread through me and stole my breath. Cyrus whimpered a little, but he kept his eyes closed and his hand resting on Ian. A faint glow traced Cy’s fingers, intensified, spread over Ian in undulating waves, hard and bright as a winter sun. I felt energy being pulled from me and passed through Cyrus—as though he were a living suncatcher, filtering and magnifying the light.

Cy drew back on his own before I could snatch him away. I rocked back, tried to stand. I couldn’t make my legs move. My arms trembled under Cy’s slack weight. “Jazz,” I croaked. “I can’t hold him …”

She rushed over and scooped him up. “Mommy,” he murmured. “I’m sleepy now.”

“Okay, baby. You rest awhile.” She moved away with him,
her gaze riveted to the increasing brilliance that enveloped Ian, the changing shape just visible inside the glow.

I stayed on my knees, shivering like a shaved Chihuahua. The transformation took longer than usual. Finally, the light faded and left the wolf, sides heaving, eyes closed. He slid to the floor and landed hard with a thump and a whine. One back paw scrabbled weakly on the carpet.