kill a wraith, just slow it temporarily. If the wraiths weren’t bent on Kaye, the man would be dead by now. And the man was in danger from more than wraiths, too; he was a witness.
The wight had collected the floating debris of its body, made itself as whole as possible. Though it had mass, it lacked solidity. It lunged again, and Jack ducked, putting a little nonhuman force into a strike that planted it face forward in the street, its dusty tissue again coughing into the air. Unclean things.
This fight was too familiar—the smell, the sounds of fear. He’d battled these creatures a hundred times before, but never alongside a mage woman. Jack wished his damn bone would heal so he could have the use of both arms. The pain of the burn put an edge on his mood.
He looked over his shoulder to see Kaye scramble up.
“What do you want to do?” he demanded. He didn’t think she wanted to kill the wraiths one by one, though he’d be willing to set them up for her if she’d burn them each into oblivion.
“Fire,” she said. She was glowing again, but not illuminated from the inside like the white-bright of a soul. No, Kaye was a flame, the fire itself, just trapped in the shape of an incomparable woman.
She lifted her hand to the gloomy street and lit the night.
If Jack needed proof that Shadow had seeped into every nook and cranny of mortality, Kaye’s show of power confirmed it. Darkness coursed from every void, swirling and eddying into spinning devils of magic. They churned together, rushing, sparking, and taking on molten hues of color in a river of faery flame. It carried the scent of Twilight, dark and intoxicating, soul seducing, even to an angel. Certainly to this angel.
The fire flooded the length of the street, tumbling waves fed by ready magic. Two wraiths were caught immediately by the tide. The fire climbed their bodies and clawed them down into death, their screams strangled by the deluge. Another two had yet to finish regenerating from gunshots and were swallowed in a silent final reckoning.
From Jack’s place on the steps, he forced the thrashing wight into the flow. It went down with an almost human keen of fear.
The man with the shotgun had attempted to scale another townhome via the decorative iron railings covering the lower windows and now clutched the exterior like a child afraid to come out of a tree. He was terrified, but the names of two women were foremost in his mind.
The fire licked at the pavement, and then flickered and sparked back into darkness. Heaps of wraith flesh remained wrapped in the burnt remnants of their soiled clothing.
A police car finally turned down the street, trolling slowly, its strobe wheeling. Too late, yet just in time.
Jack almost forced the vigilante down from his perch, almost altered his memory to forget what Kaye had done. Almost, but no. Grey might need a witness to believe what happened here. A single witness, hardly problematic to magekind, to make the lack of public exposure plausible. The rest of the neighbors had been smart enough to hide deep in their homes.
Kaye’s clothing was falling to pieces of char and dust, revealing the dip of her waist, the swell of her bare breast, her exposed thigh. Smudges of black marked her smooth skin. She passed him by on her way back to the town house. Faltered.
Jack swept her up into his arms.
“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” she mumbled.
The vigilante scrambled down to meet the police officers, pointing toward Jack, his mind full of images of fire, his words tripping to describe it. The officers looked over, but Jack mentally rebuffed their interest, recasting the vigilante’s words as the ravings of a madman. No matter what the man said, they would not bother Kaye. Besides, the officers had a wraith mess to clean up; he nudged them toward that duty. Reports of tonight’s events would be convoluted at best.
Jack carried Kaye inside. Locked the door, though he knew it wouldn’t do any good. What
The wight had collected the floating debris of its body, made itself as whole as possible. Though it had mass, it lacked solidity. It lunged again, and Jack ducked, putting a little nonhuman force into a strike that planted it face forward in the street, its dusty tissue again coughing into the air. Unclean things.
This fight was too familiar—the smell, the sounds of fear. He’d battled these creatures a hundred times before, but never alongside a mage woman. Jack wished his damn bone would heal so he could have the use of both arms. The pain of the burn put an edge on his mood.
He looked over his shoulder to see Kaye scramble up.
“What do you want to do?” he demanded. He didn’t think she wanted to kill the wraiths one by one, though he’d be willing to set them up for her if she’d burn them each into oblivion.
“Fire,” she said. She was glowing again, but not illuminated from the inside like the white-bright of a soul. No, Kaye was a flame, the fire itself, just trapped in the shape of an incomparable woman.
She lifted her hand to the gloomy street and lit the night.
If Jack needed proof that Shadow had seeped into every nook and cranny of mortality, Kaye’s show of power confirmed it. Darkness coursed from every void, swirling and eddying into spinning devils of magic. They churned together, rushing, sparking, and taking on molten hues of color in a river of faery flame. It carried the scent of Twilight, dark and intoxicating, soul seducing, even to an angel. Certainly to this angel.
The fire flooded the length of the street, tumbling waves fed by ready magic. Two wraiths were caught immediately by the tide. The fire climbed their bodies and clawed them down into death, their screams strangled by the deluge. Another two had yet to finish regenerating from gunshots and were swallowed in a silent final reckoning.
From Jack’s place on the steps, he forced the thrashing wight into the flow. It went down with an almost human keen of fear.
The man with the shotgun had attempted to scale another townhome via the decorative iron railings covering the lower windows and now clutched the exterior like a child afraid to come out of a tree. He was terrified, but the names of two women were foremost in his mind.
The fire licked at the pavement, and then flickered and sparked back into darkness. Heaps of wraith flesh remained wrapped in the burnt remnants of their soiled clothing.
A police car finally turned down the street, trolling slowly, its strobe wheeling. Too late, yet just in time.
Jack almost forced the vigilante down from his perch, almost altered his memory to forget what Kaye had done. Almost, but no. Grey might need a witness to believe what happened here. A single witness, hardly problematic to magekind, to make the lack of public exposure plausible. The rest of the neighbors had been smart enough to hide deep in their homes.
Kaye’s clothing was falling to pieces of char and dust, revealing the dip of her waist, the swell of her bare breast, her exposed thigh. Smudges of black marked her smooth skin. She passed him by on her way back to the town house. Faltered.
Jack swept her up into his arms.
“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” she mumbled.
The vigilante scrambled down to meet the police officers, pointing toward Jack, his mind full of images of fire, his words tripping to describe it. The officers looked over, but Jack mentally rebuffed their interest, recasting the vigilante’s words as the ravings of a madman. No matter what the man said, they would not bother Kaye. Besides, the officers had a wraith mess to clean up; he nudged them toward that duty. Reports of tonight’s events would be convoluted at best.
Jack carried Kaye inside. Locked the door, though he knew it wouldn’t do any good. What
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