, I said.
Allison
, he warned.
No. Done. Final.
I slowed and walked down the narrow path behind the shed, brambles as high as my head forming a wall uphill to the left of me, the shed to my right. A pile of discarded wood-two-by-fours and broken pallets-made the footing tricky. There was no room here to swing the machete. I traced an Impact glyph-something strong enough to blow that thing off his feet-with my left hand and held it there, pinched between my fingers, ready for me to fill it with magic.
All it needed to do was buy me some time so I could get in better machete-swinging range.
One metal panel on the back of the shed was rusted and bent open. I glanced in. There was just enough light fingering through cracks at the roofline and seams of the wall panels that I could make out the figures in the otherwise empty building. The Necromorph stood on all fours, rocking side to side, his head low. Tomi sat beside him, her arms extended to chest height, fingers spread wide, shaking, but poised to cast magic. Even in the low light I could see her eyes were wide and blank.
My heartbeat kicked into fight-or-flight, but my mind went totally clear. I could do this. Take that bastard down and save Tomi. As a matter of fact, I was looking forward to this.
We could end this. End him. He could be the proof that dark magic is too dangerous, even in good hands. The end of those who seek to open the gates and bring Mikhail back. You and I have the power to change which magic is used and how. We could rule the Authority, if we so wished.
My father was a cold fire in the center of my head, raging, babbling.
Tell me later
, I said.
When I’m not busy staying alive.
I stepped quietly into the shed, holding to the shadows alongside the wall, the machete’s blade raised so I could swing quickly.
The murderer growled, and Tomi whimpered again.
First, throw the Impact to knock him out. Next, go in swinging.
It wasn’t a big plan, but it was simple. I liked simple.
Allison,
my dad said.
Wait for him to feed on the girl. He will be vulnerable.
Like hell
, I said.
The thing sunk fangs into Tomi’s shoulder and she yelled, her blood pouring down her arms to her hands. Hands that wove a spell for him.
I poured magic into the Impact glyph and threw it at him with everything I had.
No!
But I wasn’t listening to my dad. I ran, covered the distance between me and the murderer with half a dozen pounding strides.
The Impact hit its mark and the beast toppled. Tomi crumpled, unconscious. The Necromorph only stayed down for a second before he turned, faced me.
And smiled.
Block. Block!
Dad yelled in my head.
I tried. But it is impossible to trace a glyph at a full run, with a clear enough mind to do it correctly, and fill it with magic when your frickin’ dad is yelling at you.
The Necromorph lunged at me.
Oh, shit.
My dad, all cold fire and hate in my head, pushed past me. Shoved me out of the way. A wave of vertigo spun the room. I was chanting, only it wasn’t me chanting. It was my father. Using me. Using my body, my mouth. Again.
For the love of all that’s holy, he had to stop doing that shit.
He raised my hands, tracing something with my left that made black fire-fire a lot like what I saw Zayvion wield-drip down the blade of the machete.
The Necromorph jumped, slammed into me. I went down and knocked the back of my head against the ground. I knew it hurt, but it was a distant sort of pain.
My dad angled the blade, thrust it at the Necromorph.
The Necromorph dodged out of the way, standing back on two legs.
I, or rather my dad, scrambled up onto my feet. I wasn’t even breathing hard.
“Tell me who owns you,” my father said with my mouth. “Tell me who hired you to kill me. Tell me, or this will be your end, Greyson.”
Greyson? Chase’s ex-boyfriend? The man she thought might be her Soul Complement? The man Zayvion said was dead?
Holy crap.
“There is no end for me.” Greyson stretched his neck so the disk implanted in his flesh shone a sickly green. “Not anymore. You have seen to that. You and your technology. But there is still revenge for me. And I will have it through you, Daniel Beckstrom.”
Greyson opened his mouth, his jaw unhinging so that I could see all of his serrated teeth. He inhaled, and I could feel him drawing like a hard wind in my brain.
My dad yelled. I had never heard him yell like that before, had never heard myself yell like that before.
I knew he, we, were in excruciating pain. But I didn’t feel it.
I pushed to regain control of my body, willing him to move out of the way, to step aside so I could be in the front of my own mind.
With that thought, I was fully in control of my body, and could feel every aching inch of it. I think I broke a rib.
It was too damn easy to take control of myself. And I knew why. Greyson somehow had a hold on my dad’s soul and was sucking him out of my head.
My dad still screamed, but not from inside my head.
In the dim light of the warehouse, I could just make out the watercolor image of my father wavering in the air between Greyson and me. Dark business suit, gray hair, and eyes too much like mine, his face contorted by agony. He yelled, but even as I watched, he was fading, becoming less and less solid, his screams quieter and quieter as Greyson breathed him in.
Greyson drank his soul like the Hungers had drunk down magic. The disk at his neck pulsed with magic.
I was beginning to dislike those damn things.
With each heartbeat, my father faded, and Greyson slowly changed from the beast he was back into the man he had once been.
Long black hair fell around his rugged, long-featured face-one a model would kill for. He was taller than me, wide in the shoulders, his beastly form shifting into the scarred and muscled body of an athlete, a runner.
Yes, he was naked. Yes, even with my dad screaming and Tomi unconscious and possibly dead, I looked.
Very nice in that department too.
Allison
, my father whispered.
He will hunt. Violet. Please.
Here is the problem with being left in the dark about magic and the people who use it. I wasn’t sure if Greyson draining my father’s soul was a good thing or a bad thing. But I did know this: my father had asked me
please
only once.
And I also knew that even if Greyson had been Chase’s lover, he had also killed my dad.
That did not make us friends, no matter what I thought about my father.
Fuck.
I didn’t know how to break Greyson’s hold on my dad, but I might be able to stop him.
I traced a Hold spell and poured magic into the glyph. I threw it at him. Nothing.
Well, since magic didn’t work, it was time to get back to basics. I ran past my father’s ghost and swung the machete at Greyson’s head.
A sharp pain shot across my ribs and I groaned. Yep. Broken.
My swing fell a little short, pain hitching my reach. Greyson had good reflexes. He twisted away from most of the strike. Just the tip of the blade bit flesh, drawing a deep line of blood across his biceps.
My father wasn’t screaming anymore. There wasn’t much of him left to scream. Only the very faintest outline of him and two dark holes where his eyes should be were all that remained of his soul. I didn’t know how to get him back in my head, didn’t really want him back. But swinging at Greyson had broken his concentration.