Illusion (6 page)

“Hell. All I know is I’m dead broke and need a drink.” Maya’s voice came out natural, even though she stilled at the news. Surely it didn’t have anything to do with her? “I’d be happier if it was Anu, but taking Horus out of commission puts a smile on my face. They can destroy each other for all I care and a strike will keep Jhara busy.” Not to mention Oxyhiayal.

Jane murmured her agreement. “Don’t get yourself killed before your birthday. I already made reservations for dinner next Saturday.” She held out a glass of bourbon and batted a limp hand, gesturing for Maya to drink up.

Maya pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead.

“Fine.” She sighed. Right now it was the last thing on her mind. Maybe life would be simpler in a week. Turning twenty-five was nothing to celebrate when the events of the day ran around her head. She accepted the glass and Jane went into the bathroom to smear on more violet lipstick. She pulled on a gray tank with slinky black cats traipsing across the front. At the last minute she tossed a hip-length coat over her shoulder and jerked on six-inch peep-toe boots. Not that anyone would look at her with Jane around.

She checked her hands and sagged when she spotted the ragged, torn nails.
Get a grip.

Perhaps she’d ask if she could bunk on Jane’s couch tonight.

Maya sipped the bourbon and felt the burn all the way to her stomach. She turned to place the glass on the bedside table and caught the black shapes out of the corner of her eye. The two ravens waited, one tapping vigorously on the glass. It peered through the window, its fathomless bleak eyes gazing back at her, something clasped in its claws. The other raven spread its wings, stepped off the ledge, and took flight.

Her hands shook a little as she opened the casement window and picked up a shredded piece of bloodstained nightgown. She stared down at the remaining bird, her hand trembling. Time slowed as their eyes met. It ruffled its feathers, turned its head, and flew away.

* * * *

Maya followed Jane down the stairs to Absinthe, nodding to the mage manning the counter. He manipulated the stamp between thumb and hand-spur—marking their wrists with the symbol of an eagle and holding out coupons for free drinks. The deep ultraviolet light highlighted the red spidery veins on his skin, marking him as a crossbreed. Jane leaned close and whispered in his long, pointed ear and he laughed. As she sauntered by, he smacked her on the bottom with a backward-bending flick of black talons. She stopped, sizing him up, and he passed her a few more coupons. Even in the dimness, his eyes gleamed like she was his personal piece of candy.

Maya followed Jane into the smoky nightclub. Nude dancers gyrated on electrified glass stages, the reflector spotlights casting a purple grid in the room.

From the ceiling hung thin glass fission cylinders cycling cold blue and white light while the mirrored walls reflected the lightning thrown from the radiation traps. Industrial metal music pounded through hidden speakers, the bass thumping through Maya’s body. Optical fibers and neon strips hung over the bar, advertising Corona beer and euphoria spells. It was a rough world that was safe and familiar.

Jane dragged her to a booth in a dark corner and shoved her onto a plastic banquette seat, shouting in her ear that she’d buy the first round of Boston Sours. Which meant that they were here for a while, several hours of drinking and dancing and who cared, Maya didn’t have a job to go to in the morning. She slid across the seat and rested her arms on the sticky table, watching her friend swivel her jean-clad hips through the humans and magi at the steel-topped bar.

Jane dropped a coupon to the floor and blinked spiky eyelashes. She smiled at the three lower magi leaning on the bar. The magi grinned and said something Maya couldn’t hear. A leather-clad human knocked his way through the crowd and squatted down, pinching the slip between finger and thumb and holding it out to Jane, who smiled and accepted it graciously. He gestured for the bartender and held up three fingers. Chivalry wasn’t dead then. Maya should’ve figured Jane would score free drinks—the girl could charm the rungs off a ladder.

“We meet again,” a voice purred in her ear.

Her stomach squirmed as if a giant fist had squashed it.

Resheph had pushed into the cubicle next to her, his body packing enough muscle to cut off her only escape route, especially now that a pair of buff, shirtless guys had decided to squeeze into the opposite side of the booth. The mage’s fists were huge, scarred from fighting and clenched as if he’d like to swing a sword at someone’s neck, then toss back a keg of beer for good measure. Her gaze traveled along the vertical line of steel as it disappeared between his muscled legs and the darkness beneath the table. She averted her eyes from the damned weapon and glanced up at his face. Heat showered her face with prickles of fire. The strobe accentuated the hard bones beneath his skin and she leaned forward to see if Jane had finished with the dude at the bar.

The asshole copied her movements and her hand itched to wallop him in the face, except she’d probably do more damage to herself.

“What did you do to the pod driver?” Where did that come from? No
thanks for the coat and the ride
or
stop stalking me.
She chewed her bottom lip and looked over to the guys who were busy sucking each other’s pierced tongues.

“A small suggestion that his wife would thank me for.”

She shot Resheph a look of horror.

“And a tip to pay for the blanked memory and ride.”

“You can’t remove someone’s memory. It’s illegal.”

“You’d best call the guards then,” he said without missing a beat.

She gave him a sardonic look. Who the fuck used words like guards? The tragedy was she found him amusing, but then what did she know about men? She attracted assholes like a magnet and had learned years ago to keep her distance from the opposite sex. Tonight he’d lost some of his callousness. The harsh line of his mouth was relaxed. He leaned back against the seat, seeming almost approachable. He had beautiful skin, very tanned for someone living without direct sunlight, but hey, not many people were as white as her unless they were lying in a coffin.

“Are you from the Dark Ages?” she asked.

“The past wasn’t always dark.”

“So, you’re a history buff?”

“Isn’t the future shaped by the past? Even exiles know that.”

“You answer questions with a question. I hate that.”

“Ahh. Perhaps your answer lies in my question.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Well, I never look back.” She shut her mouth, firming her lips before something else spilled out. “So what brings you here, Resheph von Khasis?” That took them back onto safe ground.

“You.”

“Moi?” She pointed at her chest. “What could an aristocratic mage want with a human?”

“We have more in common than you think. And it’s wa-Khasis.” He pronounced his long
a
’s like
e
’s.

“Right. You’re not common, nor am I an exile, so I doubt we share anything, least of all genetic makeup. It’s not that you’re attracted to my gorgeous body.” She was skinny and small and knew it, and kept talking before he could pretend otherwise. “Don’t you think the sword will attract attention? I mean you don’t see anyone else carrying ye olde weapon.” Warrior be damned. Despite the toned-down aggression, his immense arms still shrieked
ancient barbarian
. The heat of him shimmied all the way to her toes. He was sex and death and control all wrapped up in one hard package. It was getting harder and harder to keep track of the conversation when he stared at her like that.

Resheph inclined his head. “No one can see me. Only you.”

“That’s handy. Not your usual off-the-shelf kinda spell.” Why was he revealing himself to her then?

They stared at one another; his eyes sparkled even while a small muscle ticked in his temple.

“Do you know the hunters?”

She realized the music had stopped and the atmosphere in the room was charged. The guys had broken off their sex play and were staring at something over her head. The mirror behind the booth cast an image of several
Conjurare
cops elbowing their way into the club. The crowd parted like a contagion had hurtled through the room.

It wasn’t just the tight press of helmets and formfitting suits, or even the glowing red lights on the sensor guns that made her feel sick to her stomach. It was the horrifying sight of the last two armored cops dragging a shackled Jhara that sent the words
holy
shit
through her thoughts. A wound on his temple trickled blood into his eye, although most of the goo had congealed into a black mess on his collar. On the heels of the
Conjurare
pounded the mundane police, their faces hidden by liquid body armor that projected sound and images back to headquarters.

Both forces working together was such a horrible sight that the crowd gave a collective shudder. The armed police never worked together or entered this part of town. What on earth could Jhara have told them? Had he blamed her for the factory burning, or told them she was practicing black magic? The only thing that would alert both jurisdictions was a ritual sacrifice or high-level curse. Her pulse ramped up. After interrogation, she’d be forced into a coma cell with the other high-risk magi and serial killers.

Hell’s balls. She shifted her gaze to find Jane in the mirror above the bar. Her friend made an appalled grimace. The biker stood still, hands deep in his pockets, looking like he’d rather be anywhere than the bar. Jane blinked slowly and Maya sank under the table, Resheph helping her down with a hand on her head. The terror of the
Conjurare
nearly made her lose the little dinner she’d eaten a few hours earlier. She crouched among empty beer bottles, urine, and vomit smelling like they’d been blended with a swizzle stick.

It made no sense, but the cops, Jhara, and particle rays did mean one thing.

They hadn’t bothered with concussion beams, so they didn’t care if they dragged Maya out alive.

Table Manners

Perspiration dribbled from her hairline, scoured the corner of her eye, and traced a vertical path for the floor. It dangled, suspended, off her jaw. The soldiers stopped at the bar several meters away, their black body armor contoured to genetically enhanced legs. Her signature would be imprinted into the sensors projecting from the cops’ visors, but they hadn’t picked her up yet. She was too far away. Glass smashed on the bar’s concrete slab.

“Thanks, bud. You owe me a drink,” Don growled. The lower mage slouched on the bar. She could see his familiar beaded leather shoes and disproportionately large shoulders between Jane and the cops. Did he know she was under the table, hiding like a rat in a junk pile?

They were going to find her; she couldn’t squat here forever, or hide from the human cops’ Reconnaissance Tracking System. As for the
Conjurare
, they didn’t need it. Their ranged detecting senses couldn’t pinpoint her location, but they’d pick up she was in the general area. Resheph shifted and brushed his knee against her cheek. She wrapped an arm around his calf to stabilize her burning thigh muscles and felt him tense. She went from being wired to confused to oddly inflamed in about three seconds. Being this close to him did things to her stomach, damn, let’s face it, to her mind. She had an image of him bending down and lowering his mouth to hers and the flush of it went right to the sweet spot between her legs. What an inconvenient time to be thinking of mouths and hot places. Terror returned in a burst of adrenaline. She had to get out of here.

The bathroom had a window she could crawl through, if she could get to it. The table was held up by a steel pole and surrounded by a semicircle of low banquette seats. She looked to the vacant quarter section against the wall. If she crawled on her stomach, she’d make the tight fit beneath the seats into the next booth. She tried to remember if anyone had been sitting in the adjacent booths. There were two banquettes between her and the corridor leading to the bathrooms. Once she reached the hallway she had a chance at escape.

Please let Jane get out.

The human cops stalked to the bar. One placed his booted foot on the concrete footrest surrounding the counter and she angled her body so she could see his profile. He turned his head and she caught a glimpse of the weapons platform on his shoulder. He tracked the room, a red laser beam scanning the booths.

Resheph reached down to touch her skull and the heat of it bloomed in her stomach. Oddly enough, it settled the pounding rhythm of her heart. The cops were still too far away to pick up her vibration. Thank God they didn’t have an acute signal range on them, but if they stepped a few yards in her direction, they’d have her.

A
Conjurare
joined the human military police at the bar. “You.
Canis
.” He gestured to the barman. “This is a Code Four investigation: a weapons ban and a bombed factory. We’re looking for a human female. A small blonde with yellow eyes. Goes by the name Maya McAdam. She came in twenty minutes ago. You must have seen her?” The
Conjurare’s
voice was deep and throaty, amplified by his headgear. Maya gripped Resheph’s leg and levered herself onto one knee, feeling his muscles shift beneath her weight. A bombing. If she was prosecuted for an offense against global legislation, it was mandatory execution for her, pure and simple. Her throat tightened.

There had to be two hundred lower magi and humans in the nightclub and no one moved. The door to the bar opened and heavy treads thumped on the floor; more cops filed into the room and circled the bar. Soon they’d have her surrounded.

“Nope.” The barman’s voice was jerky. “Seen her around a couple of nights ago but not tonight. If she was here maybe she left.”

“Keep talking.”

The barkeeper hesitated. “Last time I saw her she was with a big male. I haven’t seen him before.”

“He’s lying.” Jhara’s voice cut in, but the
Conjurare
held up a hand and there was a choking gasp, then silence.