There was nothing out of place and no evidence that anyone or anything had entered. The front door remained locked and bolted.
Whatever Nex sensed, it wasn’t as yet in the building.
I walked down the nearest shelving aisle and stopped just behind the small T at the end. By removing a couple of ornaments and books, I’d be able to see the front door while still remaining hidden.
Magic touched the air, a familiar caress of power. Mo, creating her net underneath the hole in the roof. I couldn’t help but hope it wouldn’t be necessary. The last thing we needed with a storm in full fury was a sliced-open tarp incapable of keeping the weather out.
A hulking, half-shadowed figure moved across the front window and stopped close to the inset doorway. My heart leapt into high gear, beating so fast it felt ready to tear out of my chest. I knew exactly what that figure was. Knew the damage he could inflict. And I certainly knew from bitter experience just how easily the energy whip coiled in his left hand—a hand that was the size of a shovel—burned through metal, wood, and flesh. I still bore the scars of my encounter with the last one.
I sucked in a breath and resisted the urge to draw the knives and cinder his ass. Until I was sure there wasn’t anyone else out there, I had to be patient.
Patience had never been one of my strong points.
I shifted from one foot to the other, then stilled as a faint sparkle formed around the door’s sliding bolt; a heartbeat later, it was open. A similar sparkle assaulted the deadlock, then the handle turned and the door opened to reveal … no one.
Which was impossible, of course. The giant hadn’t moved and certainly couldn’t have been responsible for unlocking the door. He was a half-demon and incapable of magic.
I narrowed my gaze and gripped Nex’s hilt. That was when I saw it—a faint shift in shadows.
A Blackbird.
The giant was with a fucking Blackbird.
While I was well aware that Darkside had their hooks into witches right across the spectrum, I hadn’t expected the Durants to be amongst their number. They were the ancient protectors of witch kings and still offered their services to the current royal family, even if that duty had technically ended when the crown had passed from witch to human. Their main skill set was the ability to manipulate both light and shadow, and it made them dangerous enemies, especially when many of them were also spell capable.
But it did at least explain why the spells protecting this place hadn’t reacted—Mo had recently redefined who could and couldn’t enter the building after hours, and in that process had added an exception for Blackbirds.
For several seconds, those shadows neither moved into the store nor back out of the giant’s way. Then they parted, and a woman stepped out. She was tall, curvaceous, and dressed from head to toe in black. What surprised me was the sword strapped across her back. As far as I’d been aware, only the male members of the Durant line of witches could wield the spirit blades. There were twelve in existence—one for each of the Blackbirds who stood at the round table—and each sword contained the soul of a witch whose penance on death was to destroy the dark forces whose power they’d coveted in life.
Of course, that didn’t mean more swords couldn’t have been made in recent years, or that the males of the Durant line were in fact the only ones with the power or the ability to wield them.
It also didn’t mean this sword was a spirit sword. It might simply be regular old body-slicing steel.
The Durant glanced around, her gaze sweeping across the three shelving aisles before returning to the one hiding me. My breath caught in my throat, and I froze, mentally crossing all things that she wasn’t sensing Nex’s continuing pulse. While her energy was more an electrical discharge along the same lines of lightning than magic, it was now so damn strong that the faint smell of sulfur touched the air. Which was yet another new development when it came to these knives and one I could do without at this particular moment.
After several more seconds, the Durant turned and began to weave an exception into Mo’s magic—something that absolutely should not have been possible. Not by anyone unfamiliar with her magic, at any rate. Mo wasn’t just an ordinary witch—she was an old-fashioned mage, proficient in both elemental magic and spellcraft. She basically held more power in her pinkie finger than most witches had in their entire being.
The only person who could have told her how to safely alter Mo’s spells was Max—but why would he do that if the Durant worked for a different faction?
It made no sense.
But then, few things did these days.
I tightened my grip on Nex’s hilt, then stepped clear of the shelving and silently walked forward.
“I’d rather you didn’t weave a door into our magic for your hulking friend,” I said, voice flat. “The last time one of those bastards got in here, he half destroyed the place.”
She made no sound or response; she didn’t even look around. She simply wrapped the shadows back around her body and disappeared from sight.
Or so she thought.
While I couldn’t physically see her, I could still see the blur of her shadows as she came at me. I had no idea whether this was due to my death grip on Nex or a result of my deepening connection with Luc Durant—a Blackbird who did hold a seat at the round table—but either way, it was a useful development.
Particularly in a situation like this.
I pretended to look around, as if confused by her sudden disappearance, but every sense I had was attuned to her silent approach. When the breeze of her incoming sword blow was close enough to wash across my skin, I dove away, rolled back up, then spun and lashed out with one booted foot, attempting to kick her legs out from underneath her.
She didn’t fall. Not entirely.
Once again, the air gave warning. I drew Nex and Vita, then thrust upright to meet the blow. Sparks flew as the crossed blades caught and held invisible steel. Nex’s lightning flared brighter and, just for an instant, I heard a scream—one that was high-pitched and not of this world.
I frowned but sent Nex’s lightning up the sword onto its hilt, and then across the hand that held it. The stench of burning skin filled the air, and the woman hissed, quickly releasing her weapon. But as the sword clattered to the floor near my feet, the shadows moved, giving me a brief glimpse of the knuckle-duster coming straight at my face. I leaned back but not fast enough. Metal scraped across my chin, drawing blood.
I lashed out with Vita, slicing through flesh and bone as easily as shadow. Blood sprayed, and the woman howled, a sound of agony and fury combined. I didn’t give her time to react—I stepped back, raised a booted foot, and kicked at the deep center of her shadowed form. There was a grunt, followed by a crash. The shelving shook as books and a body fell to the floor. I rebalanced and watched as the shadows unraveled around my attacker.
She didn’t get up. There was blood on her face, a deep cut on her left arm, and part of her hand was gone. I glanced down and saw the missing digits still wrapped around the sword’s grip.
An odd whistling had my head snapping around. The mutant man-mountain now stood in the doorway, and the energy whip lit the air as it cracked toward me.
I cursed and dropped low. The blow that would have taken off my head sheered instead through the shelf behind me, destroying the long line of potions stacked there and sending glass and liquid flying.