Dawn of a Dark Knight (3 page)

“There are Hashishins here,” she whispered to Markus. She glanced down expecting their favorite ensorcelled pet to slither through the asphalt beneath her feet.

Looking up she caught the tail end of Markus’s exasperated look. Clearly, he didn’t believe her. He shot her a get-it-together glare.

A knife hissed through the air. Rocks and debris exploded near Ryom’s foot.

A warning strike. Hashishins never missed. Never.

“Kill them,” Ryom yelled.

Within seconds bullets and throwing knives were zinging at random.

Markus body slammed her over the concrete rail surrounding the parking lot into the midst of wet, prickly plants.

Kira held her hands in front of her face, deflecting the spiky branches as she landed.

Immediately, she rolled to a crouch, ready. With a cringe, she worked to remove her ponytail from the branch on which it was caught.

She whispered, “You swore this deal would be a
safe little exchange
. I didn’t sign up for this—Chinese mafia and Hashishins. I’m an MD, not special ops.”

She stayed low, squirming to a break between the prickly bushes. With a grunt, she seesawed her right boot off. Efficiently she checked and chambered her gun.

“They’re Korean mafia, actually.
Kkangpae
. Throw me my gun. I’ll get you out. Don’t I always? Hell of an exciting way to celebrate New Year’s Eve, eh?” He punctuated this with an exhilarated laugh.

She removed the other boot and tossed him his gun. “Stop enjoying this. There are Hashishins here. Probably the Order of Assassins. Do you think the Koreans know they’re the targets of some major supernatural freaks?” She rezipped the boots.

“Christ, Kira. There’s no secret Persian assassin cult out there. I swear you must’ve watched a movie that freaked you out as a kid and tonight’s stress has triggered your paranoia.” He squeezed her shoulder supportively. In the low ambient light, his face was a mask of pity. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

“They’re real. And they’re here. I swear it on my mother’s grave.”

Now he used the you’ve-gone-loco look. This was exactly the reason she’d never divulged anything about her unique talents to either cousin. Neither would accept the fact some things weren’t just movie fiction. Yet to save his life she needed to convince him.

Markus led a slow crawl through the bushes.

She followed while urgently whispering, “I know they’re here. Have you ever wondered why I’m so good at telling which of your art pieces are real? The truth is I can feel energies off the real ones. Just like I can feel the evil of Hashishins.”

Markus halted so abruptly she smacked into him.

“Let’s cut the bullshit talk right now, Kira. I need you to keep your head in the game. You absolutely cannot have one of your goddamned magi-Hashishin freak-out moments.” Markus emitted a lengthy sigh and rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry. I just need for you to keep it together right now. Listen, I looked up the Order of Assassins group a few years back. Took some digging since they’re not mainstream. They claim to be an Arab-based group that studies magical arts in pursuit of self-awareness and some other holistic mumbo jumbo. Sounded like they’re a fanatical religious cult crossed with the Elk Lodge. Bogus shit. I’ll admit there’s a group whose members call themselves Hashishins, but I don’t think they’re here tonight. Nor do I think they’re anything more than a group of drug-addicted, hippie Arabs. You know what hashish is, don’t you?”

“Of course I know it’s pot. That’s all PR bullshit.”
Well, that went over as expected.

Hashishins here was bad news. For her, that is. Both Hashishins and their enemies, the Scimitar magi, sought people of her abilities, at least that’s what her mother had warned her. Magi wanted to use her for her healing gift as a resident supernatural medic. Hands down those guys were blazing hot and supposedly on the good-guys team, but she would be no more to them than an expendable accessory.

She’d met a magus once. And been utterly awed. In the eleven years since she helped the guy escape Hashishin torture, he had dominated her fantasies. That, however, was the very off-limits dream world. In reality the thought of being enslaved to mystical warriors for the rest of her life and targeted by their enemies was not an attractive life plan.

Capture by Hashishins, on the other hand, simply scared the hell out of her. An unpleasant death was the inevitable outcome. Those psycho, serpent-loving, black-magik assassins had already executed every bit of her family other than Markus and Kane, who both fortunately lacked any special abilities to attract their attention. She knew firsthand the kind of terrifying those guys could dole out, having been tortured by them once—a consequence of helping that magus. Somehow she had escaped that encounter with her life, but not unscathed. Lesson learned.

“I need to get that collar or my buyer is going to be pissed,” Markus whispered as he crawled toward a gap in the concrete barrier.

“Screw it. Let them fight over it. I’ve got no plans to get filled with holes over some piece of ancient crap.”

Markus glanced at her over his shoulder. “Even if we go around the edge of the lot, they’re likely to see us at the exit, unless you plan to tunnel your way under the office building. I figure we ought to try to get that thing as we exit.”

“We’re going to have to shoot our way out of this, aren’t we?”

“Yep. And we only have one magazine each. Choose your shots wisely.”

Kira peeked over the concrete rail spanning the perimeter of the parking lot. The Koreans looked to be headed up shit creek. The methodical strikes from the assassins’ double-edged short swords sent a shiver down her spine. They were toying. That was not their MO.

The distinctive icy shadow to their auras indicated they were
Fedavis
Hashishins, the highest level in the order. Decades of training in weapons, poison, and magik were required to attain this level.
Fedavis
in particular did not play with their targets. Their standard procedure was murder and exit.

A tall
bisht
-robed form materialized from the darkness. A dark cloth
keffiyeh
covered his head. He stared in her direction, exposing a burn-scarred left cheek and glowing aqua eyes. She gasped. The impulse to flee had her backing up hard into Markus.

“Markus, it’s him. Terek Nadir. The Grand Master
Fedavis
. I told you there were Hashishins here. And Terek isn’t dead. You said he was dead.”

“Move over. Let me see.” Markus pushed her behind him and glimpsed over the rail from their kneeling position. “I only see those Korean bodyguards getting their asses kicked by guys who seem to like small knives. It doesn’t look like we’re going to get that collar tonight. My buyer is going to be pissed.”

“Forget your buyer. You see that guy with the scarred face? That’s Terek. We need to leave right now.”

“I don’t see him. By everything I read a few years ago, it was clear he was gone. As in cold in the ground.”

Kira peeked over the edge and pointed to the shadows thirty feet away where Terek stood as if waiting for something.

Markus watched the action for a few seconds before saying, “Follow me.”

He led their crawl through the bushes until they reached the edge of the parking lot. They dashed for the exit and the street, skidding to a halt at the curb. Several darkly clothed Hashishins emerged behind them.

“I’ve got ’em,” Markus claimed as he took aim. A small knife knocked the gun from his hand before he could fire.

“They want us alive,” Kira whispered.

“Yeah, message received loud and clear,” Markus grumbled while massaging his hand. “We’re gonna have to split to thin their numbers. You go left around the block and circle back to the car and I’ll head right. Don’t forget we parked near the bank. Meet at the car in twenty. Thirty max. Go.” Without looking, he took off running.

He left me?
Although stunned, she ran.

Something grazed her thigh with a burning pain, but not enough to stop her mad dash across the street into an alley. A peek behind showed more of them were following her than Markus. Her terror and pain coalesced to push her to Olympic sprint levels.

A quick glance behind her seconds later saw nothing, but she sensed her pursuers closing in. As she hit the edge of the building at the end of the alley, she slammed into a wall of muscle. A huge arm snaked around her, imprisoning her against his body.

****

Terek Nadir couldn’t stop his smile as he approached the fray. The fear coming off the Asians was divine.

His left biceps unexpectedly shuddered as if someone had whacked him with a two-by-four. The smell of blood permeated the air. He pulled up the black sleeve of his
bisht
robe to reveal an ugly bullet wound. Yet, he felt no pain.

With a snort he chanted a short spell. The shocked gasp from the human muscle man eight feet away was enough to signal the wound had healed.

With a flick of his wrist, his Fedavis melted into the darkness.

“Who are you?” The muscle man stepped in front of his employer like a good bodyguard despite countless lacerations and two small knives protruding from his abdomen.

“Ryom has something that belongs to me.” His voice came out raspy like a multi-decade chain smoker. He didn’t care for cigarettes, but the human that owned this body before he arrived had been an addict.

He whispered a chant, reveling in the malignant energy of the spell as it swelled around him. Yet, he kept its power close.

“Back off,” the bodyguard ordered, waving his gun wildly.

All three bodyguards now targeted him with their guns.

Undaunted, Terek ordered, “Stand aside.”

“What the hell is wrong with your eyes?”

Through the black soulless shields he knew now occluded his eyes, Terek watched the men posture. True warriors would use their weapons, not that the bullets would hinder him. He laughed and held his arms wide to take in the energy of their terror. Strength infused his muscles, jolting them as if he’d touched a high-voltage power line.

He released the spell. Instantly, all three guards dropped to their knees, struggling for breath. Their weapons fell to the sidewalk. Terek held his index finger and thumb apart. Slowly, he pinched them together in a mimicked squeeze.

Their terror washed over him in soothing waves. He flexed his biceps and stretched as power energized his muscles. Gods, this felt good.

When his two fingers pressed tightly together, all three men collapsed, now motionless in death, their hearts internally crushed by their own ribs. Blood dripped from the nostrils of two.

The high that followed the triple kill swamped his mind with euphoria. His brain demanded more.

Terek closed his eyes to focus on a quick meditation. He couldn’t lose sight of the end. Not yet. The residual bit of pentobarbital in his system from his injection two hours ago still packed enough suppression to keep him from losing it. Not much, but enough.

Leisurely, he walked through the dead bodies to Ryom who had backed himself against the concrete barrier at the edge of the parking lot.

“Who are you?” Ryom’s dilated gaze remained fixed on Terek’s eyes. His gun arm trembled, but he managed to keep his pistol upright. “What are you?” Ryom whispered.

“I’ve come to collect what is mine.” In a lightning-fast move, he grabbed Ryom’s gun arm. The skin of Ryom’s arm where he touched began to swell. Bloody sweat broke from dilated pores and a shocked cry gurgled from Ryom’s cracking lips.

Ryom steadied his gun as best possible through his pain.

“You’re not going to shoot.” Terek released Ryom, withdrew a small serrated knife, and nicked his own inner arm. He flicked his blood onto Ryom while chanting a new incantation. “Drop it,” Terek ordered.

Ryom’s face slackened. The gun thudded on the concrete.

“Where is my
wesekh
?” Pleasure laced his tone as he pulled Ryom away form the concrete barrier. The guy groaned and wavered. Terek placed a hand against Ryom’s chest to absorb every nerve pulsation of suffering.

Terror tears streamed down Ryom’s cheeks. The front of his khaki pants soaked through with urine.

“Coat pocket.”

Terek reached inside and withdrew the cloth-wrapped totem. Even before he exposed the object, the
wesekh’s
power blasted through him, confirming it was the right one. A thrill clenched his gut—reunited at last. Fortune would be his, again. This asswipe would die for stealing what was rightfully his.

“Who did Markus Langford have with him tonight?”

Ryom groaned and shook his head in a last effort to fight.

Terek smiled as he allowed frigid burning energy to funnel from his hands through Ryom’s chest.

“Called her his authenticator,” Ryom choked out.

“Name?”

“Didn’t say.”

“What was her reaction to the
wesekh
?”

Ryom struggled against the pressure in his chest to gasp out, “Backed off as if it was poisonous before she said it was real. Authenticated it.”

Without releasing his magnetic hold on Ryom’s chest, he ordered the
Fedavis
still hovering in the shadows, “Find the girl. Bring her alive.”

Terek smiled. With little effort, he twisted Ryom’s head off its axis and dropped it. The body slid to the ground.

Liquid pleasure from the kill rushed through him. In the ensuing high, every part of his being demanded more bloodshed.

He withdrew a preloaded syringe of pink liquid from his robes and plunged it through cloth deep into his thigh. The pentobarbital dulled the drive to destroy life. The dose was designed to kill a horse. For him, it deadened sensation for a few hours.

He staggered, barely avoiding an asphalt ass-kiss by grasping the concrete barrier. How he despised the torpor of suppression, but knew only too well once he started killing humans, he wouldn’t stop until he was so drunk from the ensuing high that he passed out. Or was shredded by magi.

Those sanctimonious bastards’ reign was about to end. He’d dodged them for a decade, and they still had no idea he was back.