Magic Rises by Ilona Andrews Page A

best idea.
    “Watch yourself,” Doolittle said. He sat on the side, holding a book.
    “Are you going to join us, Doc?” Raphael asked.
    “I’m sunbathing,” Doolittle told him. “And enjoying my book. Don’t bother me with your foolishness.”
    Barabas held up a folder. “As long as we’re all here, I need to brief you on our situation.”
    “Maybe later?” Keira said. “I have plans.”
    “What plans?” Barabas peered at her.
    “I was going to go and think deep thoughts, somewhere in the sun.”
    “With your eyes closed?” George asked.
    “Possibly.”
    “Someone sit on her before she escapes.” Barabas raised his folder. “It’s my job to make sure we don’t go into this venture blind. You’re all here, so you will have to suffer through this whether you like it or not.”
    “But . . .” Keira began.
    Curran glanced at her.
    “Oh, fine.” She stretched out on the deck. “I’m listening.”
    “You’ve all heard about Desandra and the twins by now,” Barabas began. “However, this fight isn’t really about the babies. It’s about territory. The Carpathians form a mountain range in the shape of a backward C that runs through many different countries, including Poland, Slovakia, Hungary, Romania, Ukraine, and Serbia. These mountains constitute Europe’s largest forested area and contain over a third of all European plant species.”
    Keira yawned.
    Barabas rolled his eyes. “Here is the deal. It’s shapeshifter paradise. Miles and miles of wooded mountains, lakes, rivers, and a good supply of fresh water and game. The terrain is harsh and the human population is light. You could dump a battalion of Army Rangers into the Carpathians, and they would wander around for years, shooting at shadows.”
    “Sounds good,” Mahon boomed.
    “It is. Prime country. So this guy, Jarek Kral, figured this out early on. He clawed his way to the top of a small wolf pack and spent the next twenty years murdering, bargaining, and scheming to get more land. Now he controls a big chunk in the northeast. He’s a powerful sonovabitch, and he’s got serious anger management issues. Holds grudges and never forgets an insult. There was this werebear who said something Jarek didn’t like. Three years later Jarek sees him at a dinner, walks over, stabs him with a knife, rips the guy’s heart out of his body, throws it on the ground, and stomps it into mush. And then goes back to finish his food. He’s famous for it.”
    “Sounds like a lovely man,” George said.
    “Here, I’ve got a picture.” Barabas passed a photograph to Eduardo on his left. “Jarek is a powerful guy, but he has a problem. In thirty years he managed eleven children. Seven went loup, two were killed with their mother when a rival pack ambushed them, one challenged Jarek and lost, and that leaves him with Desandra. Jarek is like our Mahon. He’s all about dynasties and alliances. It’s killing him that he doesn’t have a son.”
    Mahon sighed. “Wait until you live as long as I have. And I have a son. I just wasn’t his first father, that’s all.”
    Curran grinned.
    The photograph of Jarek finally made its way to me. A man in his late forties stared to the side with an expression of derision and disbelief on his face, as if he had just stepped on a worm and was flabbergasted that the creature had managed to get itself plastered to the bottom of his shoe. His brown wavy hair fell around his face, reaching to his broad shoulders, but did nothing to soften the impact of the face. Jarek’s features were made with broad strokes: large eyes under bushy slanted eyebrows, large nose, wide mouth, firm chin and a square jaw. It was a powerful face, male and strong, but lacking refinement. He didn’t look like a thug, but rather like a man without conscience, who killed because it was convenient.
    Not the type of man I’d want to cross.
    Curran looked over my shoulder. “Yes. That’s him.”
    I leaned against him and passed the