I reached back into my pocket, and my fingers brushed over the dagger. Zayvion’s knife. He had said I could use it to break the Binding. I exhaled. A stroke of heat pulsed through me again. I closed my eyes, waiting for it to pass.
Sweet hells. Intimate didn’t cover it. Blood magic was far more than that. It was sexual. Orgasmic. Needful. No wonder people got hooked. And if they mixed it with drugs… Hells.
“This is it,” the driver said.
I opened my eyes. Dawn was trying to wedge night aside. In the low light of streetlamps, the freestanding arched columns and cobbled bricks of Ankeny Square shone blue, black, and gold.
It was too early for any of the shops to be open yet.
My fingers were wrapped around the door handle.
Stop it, Allie, I told myself. Don’t open the door. Tell the cabbie to take you home. Tell the cabbie to call the police.
The hook in my chest tugged, and I bit my lip to keep from gasping. I had to get out of the cab. Had to go. Go to Trager.
I left money on the seat. Left other things there too, I think. My hat. My gloves. I got out. Stood there, trembling in pain and need in the ice-covered square. The cab pulled away.
The hook in my chest tugged again. Forced me to take a step. One step closer to Trager. To what I wanted.
No, what I didn’t want.
I still had my jacket. Still had the dagger. Breathing hard, I pulled out both phones and opened each in turn. Dead and dead. Okay, that left me, the knife, and magic.
I could do this. I could break this hold. But if I pulled on magic to fight Trager, the Veiled would try to eat me. And it didn’t matter how strong I was. I didn’t think I could fight off dead magic users while I was trying to take down one of the most notorious drug and blood dealers in the city, who had his hook in my chest and thigh.
So much for magic. Okay, that left me and the knife.
I took the dagger out of my coat pocket and drew it free of its sheath. Light caught at the slim edges, pooled in the glyphwork that flowed from the hilt, down the blade, across the glass center, and slipped off the razor edge, glowing in the same metallic shades as the marks on my arm.
I didn’t know how to break the Binding. Couldn’t remember what Zayvion had told me to do. Fine. There were other things a sharp blade could be used for. Things like self-defense. And kicking ass. I gripped the hilt like I knew how to use the thing and scanned the square for Trager and his goons. A shadow detached itself from the pillars. He-I was sure it was a he-started toward me with a slow, limping gate.
I inhaled, sorted through the smells of ice and asphalt, and got a noseful of hickory and soap. And blood. Lots of blood.
“Pike?” I breathed.
He continued his slow, slow walk. Damn him. He had Hounded Trager without me, without the police. He’d broken his promise. Gone vigilante. I was so going to kick his retired ass.
“Pike?” I said a little louder. Still no answer. The hook in my chest stung and throbbed, until I took another step. Closer to Pike. That worked for me, so I kept walking, trying to focus on Pike and not the strokes of pleasure and pain. I picked my way across the icy uneven cobbles.
Pike trudged forward, swaying drunkenly. And the closer I came to him, I knew why.
A gory portrait out of a bad dream, Pike was covered in blood. A meaty, sloppy mess was all that was left of where his left eye should be. His cheekbone stuck out of his skin. His left arm swung and grinded with a loose gristle-over-bone sound. His T-shirt was so wet with blood, there was nothing of the original blue left. The front of his jeans were so heavy with blood, each grueling step he took toward me left behind a dark, wet footprint.
He wasn’t breathing very well. Or very much.
“Oh, no. Oh, fuck, Pike,” I said. “Where’s Davy? Who’s watching you? Covering your back? Who has a fucking phone?” I tried to jog the remainder of the distance, tried to reach him.
Just as I was almost close enough to touch him, pain exploded in my chest. No pleasure this time. Hot spikes rattled over my ribs, each one in turn until I thought they’d break. I groaned.
Pike grunted, tipped his working eye up to look at me, and then folded down to his knees. His exhale wheezed with horrible wetness.
I stood above him, close enough to touch him but unable to move, unable to bend in the vise grip of pain and the damn Binding. I listened as his breathing grew more shallow. I didn’t know how he was getting any air through all that wetness.
In the still air of the morning, where traffic moved in the distance like a muted dream, I could very clearly hear the soft snicking of Pike’s blood falling onto ice and stone.
I pushed against the pain, the need, against the Binding that held me frozen. I couldn’t even move my fingers.
Then the pain eased and I could move. But I wasn’t the one in control of my legs any more.
I took a step away from Pike, a step past him. Trager. The asshole was dragging me to him. Making me leave Pike behind. Another step. Two.
I fought the pull of the Binding, leaned back against it. Yelled as the hook shifted to catch at my lungs. I couldn’t leave Pike, couldn’t leave him dying behind me.
I still had the dagger. By damn, I was going to use it. I forced my hands up, trembled as I turned the knife to my chest, aiming for the hook. I had to use both hands to hold it steady, to press it against my chest. The tip slipped through the thin fabric of my shirt, nipped gently at my skin.
I took another step, heard the deadweight thunk as Pike fell the rest of the way to the ground. I couldn’t turn to look at him. I pressed the dagger harder, broke the skin over my breastbone.
Wait. Something was wrong with this. Magic dagger or not, if I shoved a knife through my heart, I wouldn’t be around long enough to do anything else.
Holy hells.
Think, Allie.
The glyph. The Binding on my thigh. I could cut the bastard’s magic out of me.
I took another step and shifted the grip on the blade. Before Trager could make me take another step, I slid the tip-okay, more than just the tip, the whole damn length of the blade-across my thigh.
The knife sliced effortlessly through the heavy denim of my jeans. It sank into my thigh like heated glass. I yelled. Felt like barfing. Instead I jerked the blade out of my leg. I tugged at the hole in my jeans, ripping it open. I blinked sweat out of my eyes and looked down at the glyph.
What I saw was blood, my blood, pouring down the pus green venous ridges of the Binding glyph. I had to pull the magic out of it. Zayvion had said that. Pull the magic out.
But I needed magic to do that. Needed magic to see what I was doing.
Fuck it all.
I tried to calm my mind. I whispered a mantra over and over: Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack, all dressed in black, black, black… I set a Disbursement-I was so done with having a headache and fever and went for a nice head cold this time. I jerkily traced the glyph for Reveal over my thigh and drew magic up out of my body to pour into it.
Magic responded strangely. It skittered beneath my skin like a rock over a pond instead of flowing smoothly. It took all the concentration I had to guide the magic into the spell I’d cast.
And doing that made everything hurt.
Trager yanked on the hook in my chest.
But my leg wasn’t working so good. I stumbled forward and fell.
It is amazing how it doesn’t matter how much pain I’m in, I can always feel one more thing. I hit the ground hard, banged my elbow, my hip, scraped the side of my face. Managed not to hit my head, break my hold on the Reveal spell, or impale myself on the knife.