Читать книгу Enchanted Guardian - Sharon Ashwood - Страница 12

Chapter 5

Nim ran and ran and ran, her single thought, to put distance between herself and the scene of Tramar’s death. The agony of having her soul ripped apart returned in a flood of nausea. She retched into the gutter, the wine she’d drunk coming back in a hot, acidic flood. But as soon as she could stand, she sped into the darkness again. If she’d had any doubts about leaving Carlyle, they’d vanished. Death she could face. She couldn’t risk another attack like that one.

Miles passed before Nim slowed her steps. She wasn’t sure where to go. She’d had to park some distance from the reception and had been on her way back to her car when Tramar had chased her. Now the car was miles in the opposite direction. Her shop and apartment were too far away to walk, and she’d lost her shoes. She didn’t trust cabs or the bus—she couldn’t bear to be enclosed with no way to run. If there were more assassins with more amulets, using her magic might well be a death sentence.

At that last thought, she came to a complete stop, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. The night had finally cooled, but her skin was slick with sweat from running. Making a slow circle, she looked around, considering her options. The street was deathly silent, empty but for the flickering aura of a slowly dying streetlight.

Her thoughts scattered, refusing to order themselves. Only one remained front and center. I nearly died tonight. Her hand went to her side, where a sharp pain clawed her. Her fingers came away warm and wet. She stared at the blood, briefly stupefied. She couldn’t remember when the injury had happened. Maybe in those last moments, when her would-be killer had wrestled her to the ground. Tramar.

She hadn’t known Tramar Lightborn had been the assassin following her for the last weeks, but when she’d finally seen his face, it had all fallen into place—his voice, his movements, even his scent. They’d played together as children, dunking each other in the icy streams of the Hollow Hills and chasing the goats that played among the gently rolling hills. Not that such bonds meant anything among the fae these days. He’d just tried to steal whatever traces of soul she had left before he killed her, and she’d just annihilated his remains. No thoughts of burial or mourning had crossed her mind, just a need to keep the human police ignorant and herself free from an accusation of murder. And Lancelot, who’d actually done the killing. She owed him that much protection for saving her life.

Nim searched her heart, looking for grief but finding only stunned silence. Her childhood friend deserved more, but she had nothing to give. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Pain scrambled her thoughts. There was no way to know how deep the wound was, but it was bleeding freely. Healing magic wasn’t her strength, and using it might beckon to a second assassin. Holding her side, Nim began to walk aimlessly, not knowing where she was going but aware it was stupid to remain in this seedy part of town. Her bare feet hurt, already scraped raw by the hard pavement.

Nim turned a corner, instinct guiding her toward the light of a busier street. She made out the sign of a liquor store, a late-night pharmacy and a diner. Like a moth, she craved the comfort the brightness promised. She clutched her side, the pain of her wound mixing with exhaustion. It felt as if she’d cried until her ribs ached even though she hadn’t shed a tear.

A memory came uninvited: Lancelot, sitting on the dapple gray mount she’d given him, his face set in obstinate lines. He was lingering with her before a ride. He always did, except this time it was only for the moment it took to say goodbye. It was too short a time for everything she wanted to say.

So very brief for the end of everything they’d known together.

“I cannot remain with you,” Lancelot had said to her, looking down from the tall steed. The sun had turned his hair to burnished gold, giving him the look of a warrior angel. “Camelot awaits. I can make a name there. I can become somebody.”

As if he was nothing when he was with her. As if all their love was a mere ripple upon water. They had embraced and she had let him go, playing the generous lover. She’d refused to cry, at least until he was out of sight. Then she’d stood in that forest path, barefoot among the autumn leaves, and wept until she could no longer stand.

The image hit Nim like an electric shock. She reached out to brace herself against the side of a building, every nerve ending on fire. Even in her broken state, the pull of the past was intoxicating. She couldn’t give in to it, and the fact that some corner of her wanted to made it all the more imperative that she leave. Lancelot would die to defend her, and that would destroy whatever was left of the woman she’d been.

Tonight’s events meant she had to go now. She’d finally made contact with the individual who could make her disappear. Not just mundane practical aid, but the magical kind. There were only two people she knew with as much or more magic than she already had. One was LaFaye, and the other was Merlin Ambrosius, once enchanter to Camelot’s king. Nim was one of very, very few people who knew Merlin still lived.

All at once, Nim realized what street she was on and where her feet had been taking her. Perhaps part of her had known where she was going since the moment she’d begun to run. Her contact wasn’t expecting her until tomorrow, but he’d just have to deal with an early appointment.

An old-fashioned neon sign in the shape of a coffee cup blinked across the street. It marked the place where she hoped to find safety. Her fingers slipped into her pocket, fingering Tramar’s amulet. At least she had a bargaining chip.

* * *

Nim pushed through the glass door of the all-night diner, an electronic chime announcing her presence. The place smelled the way it looked—tinged with decay and antiseptic at the same time, as if it couldn’t quite decide whether to rot. There was only one patron at this hour, but that was on purpose. Merlin kept his office hours in the dead of night.

The waitress behind the counter looked up but didn’t comment as Nim walked directly to the booth in the back. Nor did she so much as blink at the fact that Nim was barefoot and her dress soaked in blood. That said a lot about the clientele.

When Nim reached the darkest corner, she slid into the vinyl booth, her skirt catching on the duct tape that repaired the cushion. A dark-haired man already sat across the table, his chin resting in his hand. He had a lean build, but the play of muscles in his forearms spoke of a hidden strength. He looked no more than thirty, but Nim knew they were about the same age. Nim had been born a fae, but she had no idea how Merlin had achieved immortality and wasn’t about to ask.

“You could at least look surprised.” She grabbed a handful of napkins from the dispenser and pressed them to her wound. “Our appointment was for tomorrow.”

He watched her wipe the blood from her hands. “And the other guy?”

“Lancelot killed him.”

“So your path finally crossed with Dulac’s, eh? That boy always had a way of complicating your day.” Merlin leaned back and gave her an appraising look. “Love the battlefield chic.”

“I need help.”

“Ya think?”

“I need your kind of help.”

The sorcerer narrowed his eyes, a challenging glint in their golden depths. “I don’t help anymore. These days I’m a hired gun. Or wand, if you prefer to be literal about it.”

Nim stared at the sorcerer, glad for once she felt nothing. She had every reason to hate Merlin—his bad judgment had destroyed the fae and Camelot both. Only her cold heart gave her distance enough to realize he wasn’t actually evil. He’d been desperate, and she recognized a crumb of what might have once been pity inside herself. Otherwise, she would have burned him to ash before she’d even sat down. That would have been unwise, given how badly she needed his help. “Then I will pay you for your time.”

With a grimace, he waved his fingers and she felt a pulse of heat in her side. The pain eased and the blood stopped flowing.

“Thank you,” she said, crushing the wad of bloody napkins in her hand.

“That was for old time’s sake. The rest is on the meter.” He picked up his cup, smelled it, then set it down again. “My clientele doesn’t respect freebies.”

“You must have interesting clients.”

“I like them interesting. There’s no point working for lightweights where all anyone wants is a unicorn that poops rainbows.”

They paused while the waitress filled their coffee cups and left menus. “I wouldn’t recommend the chili,” said Merlin once they were alone again. “Last time it tried to grab my spoon.”

The dimpled half smile would have been charming on anyone else. On Merlin, it was vaguely sinister. She wondered for a moment if she’d made a mistake coming here. Merlin was arrogant, bitter, and a schemer. These days, his customers came from a black magic underworld she could barely imagine. And yet, who else could she turn to who could actually help her?

“I’m looking to disappear. I need to be completely untraceable.”

He tilted his head, looking very much like a curious crow. “Any particular reason?”

“LaFaye sent one of her personal assassins after me. Tonight he nearly succeeded. The next one probably won’t miss.”

He made a sympathetic noise. “The queen is nothing if not persistent. She enjoys her little games too much.”

“I don’t know how her assassin found me.” She folded her arms, instinctively protecting herself. “I’ve only been back in town since last night.”

Merlin finally tried a sip of his coffee, his mouth twisting in disgust. “You can leave Carlyle, run and hide on a desert island, but LaFaye’s creatures can still track you. Hunting is their specialty and every magic user gives off a unique power signature the way a rose sheds its scent.”

“Magic is traceable?” The night Lightborn had chased her to the warehouse, he’d mentioned tracking her. Then she remembered burning Tramar’s body and silently cursed. Any magical bloodhounds in the area would surely scent that.

“It’s the simplest way for the queen to find you,” Merlin agreed.

“But that’s not possible. I’ve not been using spells,” she protested. “Not before tonight. Since I left LaFaye’s service, I’ve been living the life of a human. No magic for months. Not much, anyway. Just a bit.”

“Just a bit. To be sure.” Merlin’s smile grew rueful. “Out in the modern world, we’re like chain-smokers down to the occasional cigarette in the bar. That doesn’t mean we’re not lighting up.”

Unfortunately, it made sense. Nim lifted her chin. “I can quit completely.” She sounded confident, but the idea seemed bizarre. Magic was part of who she was, as integral as the color of her eyes—and yet she’d done what she could to disguise that, too.

Merlin shook his head. “You’ve got too much power to stay off the radar. You shed it whether you’re casting spells or not. Self-control won’t be your salvation.”

Something very much like panic bloomed in her chest. She could feel Tramar’s grip on her again, sucking away everything inside her. “There’s got to be a way.”

“I can help you bind your power. Then you can leave town and live your life as a human for real. That’s the only true way to disappear.”

Nim fell silent. The enormity of what Merlin suggested loomed like a forbidding mountain, poised to crush her. “I don’t know.”

“You can keep going on as you are,” Merlin said reasonably. “The one advantage you have is assassins prefer to kill in private. Your business is probably safe because there are always staff and customers. Your condo—up to a point. Your real vulnerability is when you walk alone. LaFaye’s bullyboys hunt like big cats, waiting for the ideal place to ambush their prey.”

Nim buried her face in her hands, her battered body throbbing. Merlin waved away the waitress when she approached to take their food order. When Nim didn’t say more, he leaned forward. “Safety is frequently overrated.”

“I thought you could give me a different choice. A spell so LaFaye would look elsewhere or maybe a better disguise.”

“Those spells mask your trail, but they don’t eliminate it. Sooner or later they fail.”

That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Nim picked at her hands, revolted by the blood still caked around her nails. “The fae can still feel fear,” she said in a small voice.

He leaned forward, his expression uncharacteristically gentle. “I know. I’ve been told some fae still have pieces of their soul, as if shreds were left behind.”

“Tonight he tried to steal what little I still have.” She bit her lip, panic hot inside her.

“My poor lady.”

She wasn’t anyone’s poor anything. She refused to be. She swallowed hard. “Can I unbind my magic if I choose?”

One corner of his mouth curled up. “Absolutely.”

“Are you sure? I could unleash it if things got bad?”

“Of course.”

She met his eyes. “Truly?”

“Truly.”

“Then let’s do it.”

Merlin’s smile faded. “Before we go a step further, answer me two questions. In the past, you’ve been Camelot’s friend. Are you sure you want to leave Carlyle?”

“I’ve done what I can for Arthur. I helped Gawain destroy Mordred, didn’t I? I made Excalibur, the only weapon that will kill LaFaye.” Nim swallowed hard. “Morgan laughed to have the maker of her nemesis at her beck and call!”

“And?”

“I found Lancelot for Arthur. That’s three things, a magical number by the rules of lore and magic. More than any loyalty demands. I’m done. Now that I’m in the crosshairs, the only thing I am is a magnet for danger.”

Merlin folded his hands, his expression troubled. “I have one other question. Are you really so ready to surrender everything you are? Binding my magic would be my very last choice. I might live in squalor as a mercenary to the worst bottom-feeders of the magical realms, but I will not live a lie.”

“That’s your choice.” Nim could feel Tramar sucking out her soul, the nova of pure agony stopping her heart. “I need to run.”

Merlin nodded slowly. “If this is what you wish, I will do it. You can trust me.”

“I trust you to earn your pay,” she said sharply, weary of his attempts to counsel her. She took the amulet from her pocket and slid it across the table. “I’m sure you recognize this.”

Merlin’s eyes flared, the amber depths suddenly bright. “LaFaye’s jewel.” His fingers closed around the amulet. The chain clinked across the tabletop. “Are you sure you wish to part with this?”

“I’m trying to vanish. I don’t think the queen’s toys will help me become inconspicuous.”

“Of course.” He pocketed the amulet. “Do you want time to think this over, or to take care of loose ends?”

“I’ve been planning this for weeks. I don’t need time.”

Merlin rose, leaving money for the coffees next to his half-empty cup. “Then follow me.”

He turned, not toward the door, but to the back wall of the diner. There was a framed poster of Elvis hanging against faded red wallpaper, but no exit Nim could see. Nevertheless, the sorcerer made an elaborate gesture in the air, and then stepped forward—and vanished as neatly as if he’d been sliced out of the world.

A faint internal tug reminded Nim of regret. There had been a time when magic was her calling, the one thing that defined her. And maybe once she would have fought for love, but that was beyond her now. These were just more losses in an endless string of goodbyes.

Nim followed Merlin into his lair.