Cold Burn of Magic

  “Get your phone. Call Claudia. Tell her to get down here with some guards. Right now.”

  “Why?” Felix asked. “The car is right outside—”

  Another shadow flitted across the entrance outside. Then another. Then another. All headed this way.

  I opened my mouth to shout out a warning, but it was too late.

  Guys with swords crashed through the library doors.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  One after another, seven guys stormed the library, swords out, ready to attack.

  Ready to kill.

  “Get back!” I screamed.

  I whipped my sword out of my scabbard and stepped up to meet our attackers, even though my heart sank at the sheer number. Whoever wanted Devon dead had upped his game.

  Behind me, Devon and Felix dropped my suitcases and drew their own swords, and I knew they needed another precious few seconds before they were ready.

  So I charged into the men, whirling this way and that, cutting into every person I could reach. I hacked and slashed mostly at their hands and arms, trying to at least get them to drop their weapons. If any of them had a strength Talent, they could always strangle me to death with their bare hands, but with the swords, they didn’t even have to get close to kill me. If nothing else, I wasn’t going down easy, and they were going to have to work to murder me—and Devon and Felix, too.

  One man howled with pain as my blade bit into his wrist. His sword slipped from his nerveless fingers, and I pressed my advantage. I twirled my sword in my hand, then wrapped both hands around the black blade, brought it up, and slashed it across his chest hard and deep. The stink of blood flooded the air, and crimson drops sprayed off the end of my sword, spattering onto the books. The man screamed again and pressed his hands to his chest, even as more blood dripped out of the deep wound. I whirled around and drew my sword back the other way, opening up another vicious gash across his chest. He fell to the floor, convulsing, and he didn’t get back up.

  One down, many more to go.

  Most of the men darted past me and headed toward Devon and Felix, who moved so that they were standing back to back. Devon and Felix lashed out with their swords, keeping their attackers at bay—for now.

  I started to run over to help them, when I saw one more person step into the library—the mystery man from the Razzle Dazzle.

  Brown hair, brown eyes, not tall or short or fat or thin. He was as average and forgettable as before, right down to his beige polo shirt and khakis. He stood behind the men, his hands tucked into his pockets, as though he were watching some sort of boxing match instead of Devon and Felix fighting for their lives.

  I tightened my grip on my sword and started toward him, betting that if I took him down, some of the fight would go out of the rest of the intruders. But the mystery man saw me coming, and his face pinched into a frown. Our eyes locked, and my soulsight kicked in. Needle-sharp annoyance poked me in the chest, along with something that felt like . . . recognition. I frowned. Did I know the mystery man? I didn’t remember meeting him before, but he seemed familiar—or at least I was familiar to him.

  The mystery man saw me coming and let out a low, sharp whistle. Two of the men broke off from the group surrounding Devon and Felix and headed in my direction, cutting me off before I could reach the mystery man. He gave me a cold, thin smile and turned his attention back to the others.

  The two men advanced on my position. I didn’t want them to flank me, so I turned and ran back into the children’s section.

  The men’s footsteps thump-thump-thumped on the carpet behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder long enough to judge the distance between me and the nearest guy. I raced forward, my eyes locked onto a wooden chair that had been pushed off to one side of the play area. I put on an extra burst of speed, leaped into the chair, and immediately whipped back around, driving my sword through the air. I managed to get high and far enough to launch myself at the man who had been closest to me. My sword sliced into his neck, ripping into his throat. He dropped without a sound, and I pulled my sword back the other way and stepped up to face the next man.

  Two down, still many more to go.

  I just managed to raise my sword when the next man attacked me. His sword zip-zip-zipped through the air, and too late, I realized he had a speed Talent.

  We broke apart after a particularly fast exchange in which I only managed to parry his blows by instinct rather than by actually seeing them coming. Sweat slicked down my face, and my hands were hot and clammy around the hilt of my sword. If my attacker hit it just the right way, he’d knock the black blade from my hand, and then I’d be done for.

  My eyes flicked right and left, looking for something that would help me, and my gaze latched on to another chair and the wooden table behind it. I swung my weapon out in a wide, reckless arc, but it had the desired effect of making my attacker leap back. I turned and ran, but I didn’t go far. I started to hop onto the seat of the chair, but the man used his speed magic to zoom past me and leap into the chair instead, making me pull up short.

  “Oh, so sorry, chickie,” the man crowed, waggling his sword at me. “Did I take your spot? What are you going to do now?”

  I grinned. “This.”

  I kicked the chair out from under him.

  The man yelped in surprise, his legs flying out from under him as he toppled back onto the table, just as I wanted him to. His speed, his magic, only gave him an advantage if he was on his feet—and now he wasn’t.

  I darted forward and slashed my sword across his chest, making him scream with pain, but he still managed to lash out with his own blade.

  This time, I was the one who screamed.

  “Lila!” I thought I heard Devon shout my name above the clashes, clangs, and snarls of the fight, but I couldn’t be sure.

  Lucky for me, my attacker’s aim was low, and the edge of his sword only caught me in my left thigh, and not across my gut. Still, the wound hurt, like a line of fire running across my leg, and I could feel blood sliding down my skin. Since the blow hadn’t been caused by any magic, my own Talent didn’t kick in, and the wound didn’t make me stronger.

  My attacker rolled off the table, regained his balance, and lunged at me again. Given my injury, he managed to knock my legs out from under me, and I went down on one knee next to a bookcase, all the air driven out of my lungs. The man loomed over me, grinning. He drew his sword back, ready to drive it into my skull.

  I sucked down a breath and managed to roll to my right. The man’s sword stabbed into the spot where my head had been a second before, spearing a book on the shelf there. He let out an angry roar and shook his sword, trying to get the book to fly off the end of the blade.

  I landed on my injured leg, and more pain shot through my body, making me hiss, but I managed to stagger back up and onto my feet. The man finally hurled the book off the point of his sword and charged at me again, moving even faster than before. There was no way I could kill him, not now.

  Not without using my transference Talent to make me strong enough to keep fighting.

  This time, instead of raising his sword, the man drew back his fist. I closed my eyes, stood my ground, and let him punch me in the face. One, two, three. That’s how many blows he landed in quick succession, using his speed Talent, before I managed to stagger back out of his reach.

  But it was worth it when the sharp, stinging pain from his punches froze into that bitter, bitter cold that filled my body, giving me the strength to surge forward again.

  The man lashed out with his fist, but I anticipated the motion and caught his hand in mine. We stood there, seesawing back and forth. Confusion filled his face as he wondered why I was suddenly so much stronger than he was, but I didn’t plan on giving him a chance to puzzle it out. I brought my sword up between us, but he was still faster, and he finally did what I’d feared he would all along—he knocked my weapon out of my sweaty grasp.

  I started to lunge for the sword, but the man slammed his ha
nd into my chest, shoving me against a bookshelf. My head snapped back against the metal rack, and this time, not even the cold burn of magic in my veins was enough for me to shake off the white stars winking on and off in my field of vision. My legs went out from under me, and my ass hit the floor. The man stepped in front of me and raised his sword high, ready to bring it down across my chest. And all I could do was sit there in a daze and watch my own death happen—

  “Stop!” a sharp voice rang out.

  At the sound, a chill blasted through the entire library, one that tickled my skin in a familiar way. Was that . . . magic?

  The man attacking me immediately froze, his sword held overhead, the muscles in his neck and arms tensing, straining, and swelling, as though he were fighting against whatever strange, invisible force was holding him in place.

  Suddenly, Devon was there, crouching down on the floor next to me. His hand wrapped around mine, and he shielded me with his body, although he never took his eyes off the other man.

  “Turn around,” Devon said in that same sharp tone.

  More magic surged through the library in chilly waves, and Devon’s hand went as cold as ice against mine. The man did as Devon commanded, although he still struggled against whatever strange power was compelling him. No, not a strange power.

  Devon—Devon was doing this.

  Somehow, with just his voice, he was forcing my attacker to obey him. The man who had been about to kill me was now doing whatever Devon said, like a puppet dancing to someone else’s tune.

  Eyes wide, I looked at Devon. The corner of his mouth turned up into a grim smile, but he kept his green gaze on the other man.

  “Protect us,” he commanded, a strange, hard, terrible crack of magic in his voice.

  Devon’s hand went colder still against mine, as though I were squeezing an ice cube between my fingers instead of flesh and blood.

  The puppet man let out an angry roar, but he did as Devon had said. He whipped around, raised his sword high again, and charged into the two men that were left—his own men.

  The first guy blocked the puppet man’s blow, and he stared at his friend in shock, as if the puppet man had suddenly gone mad. Maybe he had, because the puppet man kept attacking his friend, swinging his sword at him over and over again.

  And then, the unthinkable happened. The puppet man, the one Devon was controlling, buried his sword in his friend’s heart, killing him. Then he turned and did the same thing to the second man.

  Still, as shocking as all of that was, I scanned the library for the last man standing, so to speak, the mystery man who’d been leading our attackers. Where was he—

  Devon let out a surprised hiss. One moment, he was crouched next to me, holding my hand in his magic-chilled one. The next, he’d been hauled upright by the mystery man, who had one hand clamped over Devon’s mouth and a dagger pressed up against his throat. Devon started to struggle, but the mystery man dug the blade into Devon’s neck, cutting him.

  “You move, you speak, you die!” the mystery man snarled.

  Devon’s eyes met mine, and his fear socked me in the stomach. But once again, it wasn’t fear for himself, so much as it was for me and Felix. Somehow, I knew that Devon couldn’t use his Talent, his magic—not unless he could talk.

  The mystery man seemed to know it as well, since he kept his hand over Devon’s mouth even as he started dragging him toward the library doors.

  “Kill her, you idiot!” he hissed at the puppet man.

  My attacker blinked and blinked, then shook his head, as though he were flinging off the last of Devon’s magic. Then he turned toward me again.

  I gritted my teeth, grabbed my sword, and scrambled up and onto my feet. I raised my weapon, ready to fight as best I could, hoping that I could kill my attacker and chase after Devon and the mystery man—

  Suddenly, Felix was there, stabbing his sword into my attacker’s side and yanking it back out. The man toppled to the ground—dead.

  Felix and I both turned toward the mystery man, who still had his dagger up against Devon’s throat.

  The mystery man let out a disgusted snarl, but he tightened his grip on Devon and kept backing him toward the library doors. Felix and I followed them, our own weapons raised and ready.

  “Let him go,” I said. “And we’ll let you live.”

  The mystery man let out a brittle laugh, but that was his only response—

  Devon drove his left elbow into the mystery man’s stomach, making him gasp with pain. At the same time, Devon shoved his right arm up between his neck and the dagger, so that the weapon only sliced into his wrist, instead of his throat. Devon hissed with pain, blood gushing down his arm, but he broke free of the other man, whirled around, and opened his mouth—

  The mystery man stepped up and shoved him as hard as he could, sending Devon flying backward into a bookcase. The mystery man let out another angry snarl, then turned and sprinted out the front doors.

  Felix hurried over to Devon, while I limped along as best as I could. Felix helped Devon to his feet, then both guys looked at me.

  “Are you okay?” Devon asked.

  “Just peachy.”

  His gaze dropped to my left leg and the blood that had soaked my cargo pants. Then his eyes went to my sword, which I was leaning on as if it were a crutch. “Are you sure?”

  I waved my hand. “It’s just a scratch. I’m fine—”

  The last bit of magic that had been keeping me going fizzled out of my veins like bubbles escaping from a can of soda. I sagged and would have pitched forward if Devon hadn’t stepped up to catch me. He was stronger than I thought, and he easily put me back on my feet and held me steady.

  “Maybe you should sit down,” he said, his green eyes twinkling just a bit.

  “Maybe just for a second.”

  He helped me over to a chair in the children’s section and eased me down into it. His hand burned on my arm, hot instead of cold, but feeling like magic all the same. A different kind of magic—one that I had no idea what to do about.

  “Thanks,” I said in a soft voice.

  “You’re welcome,” Devon replied, his voice as low as mine.

  His warm hand lingered on my arm a moment longer before he straightened up and stepped back.

  Felix looked back and forth between us, before his gaze moved over the rest of the library, taking in all the dead bodies, overturned shelves, haphazard piles of books, and busted tables and chairs. Finally, he stared at Devon.

  “You know, I think Lila’s right,” Felix said. “You should call your mom now.”

  Devon groaned.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Claudia showed up about twenty minutes later, along with Grant, Reginald, Angelo, and a dozen Sinclair guards, all wearing black cloaks and carrying swords. They swarmed into the library and started searching the building.

  “Clear!”

  “Clear!”

  “Clear!”

  The guards’ shouts rang out from one section of the library to the other.

  Devon, Felix, and I had taken refuge in the children’s area, sitting at a kid-size table and matching chairs. Once the guards had cleared the library, Claudia stalked over to us, with Reginald and Grant trailing along behind her.

  “Devon?” Claudia asked, her worried gaze locking on to the gash on his wrist.

  “I’m fine, Mom,” he said. “It’s just a cut.”

  She looked at Felix, who’d escaped the fight with some cuts and bruises and an eye that was starting to blacken, before finally turning to me. She stared at the blood trickling down my leg, despite the paper towels I was pressing to the wound.

  “What happened?” Claudia asked. “What are you doing here?”

  I opened my mouth to tell her it was my fault, but Devon beat me to it.

  “Felix and I came to help Lila pack up the rest of her things,” Devon said.

  “Is that so?” Claudia murmured, staring at all three of us in turn.

  Devon k
ept his gaze steady on hers. Felix grinned, but it was a nervous expression. I shrugged.

  Finally, she faced Devon again. “Why would you do that? Without bringing any of the guards with you?”

  Devon got to his feet. “Because I don’t need the guards. I can take care of myself.”

  Claudia started to open her mouth, but she thought better of it when she realized we were all staring at her. Instead, she jerked her head. Devon sighed and followed her over to the checkout counter, out of earshot of the rest of us. But I could imagine the lecture Claudia was giving him.

  Reginald and Grant moved off to check on the guards, and I got to my feet as well.

  “What are you doing?” Felix asked. “You should be taking it easy until we get back to the mansion, and we can get you healed up.”

  “I want to check on something. Are you going to help me or not?”

  “All right, all right,” Felix said, putting his arm around my waist.

  He helped me over to the man who had attacked me, the one who’d had a speed Talent, the one Devon had commanded. I sat down on the floor beside the dead man. Felix rolled him over, and I pulled the guy’s wallet out of his back pocket. But he didn’t have any ID on him, no driver’s license or credit cards, so I threw the wallet aside in disgust and patted down the rest of his pockets. Along with some crumpled bills, which I kept for myself, I found a pack of gum, a small comb, and one very interesting thing—a silver cuff with a wolf ’s head stamped on it.

  The Volkov Family crest.

  I showed the cuff to Felix. He went over to a couple of the other dead guys, and sure enough, they all had a similar cuff tucked into their pockets.

  Felix shook his head. “I can’t believe that they’re all Volkov guards.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it doesn’t make any sense. We don’t have any major problems with the Volkovs. Besides, the Itos were the ones who probably attacked and killed Lawrence. So why would Volkov guards attack us tonight? Why not some of the Itos instead?”

  I turned the Volkov cuff around and around in my hand, watching the silver gleam underneath the lights. Felix was right. It didn’t make sense, that one Family would be responsible for the first attack on Devon and Lawrence and a different Family for the one here in the library. There had to be something that tied them all together—or someone.