The car pulled up in front of a row of warehouses, in an older, industrial area of Van Nuys. The street was deserted, dimly lit by distant streetlights, the shadows hiding everything but the outline of large buildings. The driver motioned at them to stay in the car and moved carefully toward one of the warehouse doors, drawing an automatic pistol from beneath his jacket. He glanced inside, then waved to them to join him.
Roberta was out of the car a split-second later, running to the door. Kayla followed her and stopped short at the entrance to the warehouse.
It was like a vision of hell. There was blood everywhere, unmoving bodies lying on the floor and across the wooden boxes, some wearing the bright blue of the black city boys, others in the plaid and bandannas of the homeboys. Several homeboys moved among the dead and wounded. Carlos was on the other side of the warehouse, holding Roberta in his arms and speaking quietly to her. She didn't see Ramon among the wounded or dying, and a wave of relief went through her.
She stared at the carnage, and suddenly the smell of it hit her as hard as physical pain; she clutched at the doorpost for support, mentally trying to shove all that terror and agony away from her. It flooded down on her mind, threatening to crush her beneath the pain.
She held it back, fought to overcome it. As the pain receded enough for her to move, she went without thinking to the closest wounded young man. She recognized Fernando, lying sprawled across a wooden crate, blood trickling down from his mouth and chest. She placed her hands on his face, his blood wet and warm against her fingers, and called the magic to her.
She felt a fierce joy, feeling the power coursing through her, sliding down into Fernando's pain. She found the source of it, the bullet lodged in his lung, and drew it out with her thoughts, sealing up the wound behind it. She could feel the life returning to him, as the pain faded away from within her mind, to be replaced by dizziness and exhaustion.
Kayla paused long enough to catch her breath and forced herself to move to the next man, who was curled on the floor, clutching his leg and whimpering in pain. A bullet had shattered his leg, leaving white fragments of bone sticking out through the shredded denim of his blood-soaked jeans. He nodded weakly at her as she touched him, forcing the pain away from his mind. She coaxed the bone back into place, forcing the broken pieces to knit back together again.
Exhaustion burned through her mind and body when she was done, dragging her down into the shadows. She knelt by another man, lying facedown on the floor, and carefully turned him over. It was Jose, a look of shocked horror on his face.
She stared at him, trying to touch him with her magic and finding . . . nothing. Only a dark emptiness, a nothingness where he had been. She bit her lip, unable to keep the tears from her eyes.
"Why aren't you helping him?" She turned to see Carlos standing close behind her. He was pale and shaking, a crying Roberta clinging to his arm. "Help him, bruja!"
"I can't. He's dead."
"Heal him!" His face was streaked with tears as he shouted at her. "You little bitch, help him!"
"There's nothing there, he's gone, there's nothing left to help!"
Roberta tugged Carlos away from Jose's body, whispering something in Spanish to him. Kayla quickly turned to another wounded guy, a kid that looked younger than herself, one of the black boys. His eyes were wild with pain, but he smiled. "Hey, pretty lady," he whispered.
"You'll be all right," she whispered back. She saw where he'd been shot, one gaping wound in his chest, another in his shoulder. It was bad, but she knew she could heal him, it wasn't any worse than Fernando with the bullet in his lung. She set her hands, shaking with exhaustion, on his chest, and began to concentrate . . .
Someone grabbed her arm and yanked her up, just as she felt the first stirrings of the magic beginning within her. "No, not that one!" Carlos said roughly. His eyes burned with anger. "He's not one of ours."
"I don't give a shit! He's hurt, I can help him!"
"You'll heal Miguel next, bruja!"
Kayla pulled her arm free of his grasp. "Like hell, you bastard!"
The force of his hand slapping her across the face knocked her to the floor. Stunned, she landed close to the hurt black kid, nearly on top of him.
The boy looked at her with pain-filled eyes as she wiped the blood from her mouth. "S'alright, pretty lady . . ." he whispered. The glow of his body, the sensation that he was alive and close to her, faded away a moment later. His eyes were still staring at her, but they were empty, no longer seeing her or anything else.
Kayla stared at the boy's lifeless body; she sobbed and turned on Carlos. "Damn you!" she screamed. "I could've saved him!" Her hand brushed against something cold, metallic: a semi-automatic pistol lying next to the boy's body. She grabbed it and brought it up, aiming it at Carlos.
He stood very still, watching her.
She blinked back tears, trying to hold the pistol steady. Carlos didn't move. Kayla could see Roberta's horrified face beyond Carlos; one of the homeboys drawing a pistol, but hesitating, not certain whether to shoot her or not.
"So, are you going to kill me?" Carlos asked calmly, as if he was asking the time of day.
Her hands were shaking; she couldn't stop it. She thought about pulling the trigger, sending a bullet ripping through Carlos' chest, through his lungs or heart, shattering everything in its path. She saw him lying on the floor with the blood trickling from his mouth as he died. Another dead body, no life singing in it, nothing that she could touch. And it would be because of her, because she had done it to him.
Her finger tightened on the trigger.
And stopped.
She couldn't do it. She couldn't kill him.
She stood there, shaking, as Carlos moved toward her. With a muttered curse, he took the gun out of her hand. He shoved it under his belt and hauled her to her feet. She was barely able to walk; he manhandled her across the floor and dropped her next to another wounded homeboy. Blinded with tears, she felt the magic reaching out to the guy, drawn to his pain. When she was finished healing him, Carlos shoved her to another fallen body, to heal another wounded kid.
And another. And another.
It turned into an endless blur of pain. She was caught up in the magic, unable to stop or break free. Agony and exhaustion and terror pulled her down, and she felt as though her own life was draining out with each healing, leaving her unable to move or think. Through the haze of pain, she felt Carlos lifting her again, setting her down next to another hurt homeboy. Then the magic took her again, sending her into another wave of pain as she healed again and again.
She lay on the floor, not aware of anything but the sensation of the cold concrete against her face, trying to keep breathing. It was more and more difficult, just breathing in and out. She could still feel the magic in her hands, but it was sputtering and dying, fading away. She felt her heart falter once, skipping a beat, and then another. Everything hurt, more pain than she had ever dreamed could exist, and all she wanted to do was let go of it all, slide down beneath the shadows lurking around her. But there was someone else lying on the floor next to her, a young man. She couldn't remember his name, but he'd been one of her guards at Roberta's apartment. He'd been shot in the shoulder and was moaning quietly with the pain.
She reached out to help him, and someone grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her away from him. Someone was arguing over her, loud voices in Spanish. She recognized the voices but couldn't remember who they were. She was so tired, so very tired. . . .
"Her hands are so cold. Sit up, querida, open your eyes." She recognized Ramon's voice, and the sensation of him being close to her, the warmth of his thoughts around her. She reached for him like a dying person for water, somehow drawing on his strength in her desperation. She could feel her own heartbeat steadying, growing stronger with every second, and the electric sensation of power moving through her, wiping the exhaustion and dizziness away. Then she felt Ramon's arms sliding away from her, followed by a loud thump a moment later, a sound like a body hitting the floor.
She lay there for a moment, still just a little dizzy, then her head cleared suddenly and she opened her eyes.
Ramon was sprawled on the floor next to her, unconscious. She held his hand and tried to figure out what had happened.
"What did you do to him?"
It was Carlos, glaring down at her. "Nothing," she said, glaring back at him. "I don't know what happened. He just passed out."
Carlos crouched down beside his brother, touching Ramon's forehead and calling to him in Spanish. "He isn't waking up," he said to Kayla, giving her another accusatory look.
"Look, I don't know why he passed out! But there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with him, he's just tired. I don't understand it, okay?" He passed out, and I feel fine—no, I feel better than fine. I feel like I'm not totally exhausted for the first time in days. . . .
"Carlos, la policía!" One of the other homeboys came running in through the warehouse door. "A patrol car just went by on Oxnard Street! I don't know if they're coming back here or not."
"Don't panic, Luis. Tell the others that we have to leave now." Carlos turned back to Kayla. "You'll heal Manuel as soon as we're out of here. Walk with me now to the car." He lifted Ramon gently in his arms and started for the doorway.
Carlos set Ramon down on the back seat. Ramon was a little pale, but otherwise looked to be fine. His heartbeat was strong; Carlos couldn't understand why he had fainted, but it probably had something to do with the bruja's magic. The bruja herself, sitting next to Ramon, really looked awful, her face completely bloodless and soaked in sweat, but he assumed that her own magic would take care of her, as it had before. If it didn't, that was unfortunate. None of them knew anything about sorceresses or magic, so she was on her own.
He called Luis and Juan to join him at the car. They were lucky that this warehouse was so far away from anything but a few other businesses, there was no one here to call the policía. There wasn't much else here; the reason they'd come here earlier in the evening was to move all of the supplies to another location. Luis worked at this place during the day and had found good places to hide the small crates of their drugs, the weed and crack that the homeboys used and sold in the barrio. When Luis said that a T-Men boy had followed him to work, Carlos had decided to move everything to another location. Which was why all the homeboys were in this place at one time, when the T-Men had shown up with their assault rifles and Uzis.
It wasn't as bad as it could have been. Jose was dead, but he was the only one. Manuel's shoulder was still bleeding, the bruja hadn't managed to do anything for him yet, but his brother was up and walking around, so it couldn't be too bad. It was Jose's death that made Carlos want to cry inside, but there were four dead T-Men lying on the floor, which made him feel a little better.
There would be more dead T-Men because of this, he knew. As soon as his people were ready for it, they'd go into the city and make them pay. The bastards would pay for Jose's death, for the fact that Carlos had to leave Jose lying there on the concrete like a dead dog, for the policía to find. They'd pay.
Sharanya sat quietly on the balcony of Nataniel's Santa Monica townhouse, listening to Lord Perenor's speech about the dangers of human magic and trying not to look too bored. This is so tedious, she thought. Are all High Court Seelie elves like this idiot, unable to get to the point in less than twenty minutes of conversation?
A lord of the Unseelie Court would have gutted this Seelie idiot before he was halfway through this speech.
" . . . which is why we can't let any of them live. We should hunt this new mage down and kill him now." Perenor concluded his speech and looked at her expectantly.
"Somehow, I can't understand your fears of human magic, my lord," Shari said. "After all, isn't your own daughter half-human?"
The daughter in question was standing at the far edge of the balcony, gazing out at the darkened beach. It occurred to Shari that Ria Llewellyn was standing as far away as she could, and still be within hearing range of the conversation. Shari had disliked Ria Llewellyn from the moment they'd met, when the blond and elegant half-elven woman had looked at Shari like something she'd found under a rock. I wonder how long you'd survive in the Unseelie Court, darling? Shari thought. They'd probably have you for breakfast within ten minutes.
Ria spoke without looking at Shari or Perenor. "My mother is human, yes. But I don't think the fact that this new mage is human or elven really matters at all. The question is whether or not he's a danger to us. And I think he's not." She gave Shari a calculating look. "I can't imagine a human, even a mage, as a danger to any of us. Certainly the Unseelie can handle any challenges, can't they?"
Maybe you'll find that out for yourself someday, Ria. "Of course we can," Shari said, smiling. "But capturing this human without killing it might prove a little more difficult. Nataniel wants it alive; he believes this human could be useful to us. If we need any assistance, it would be for that purpose."
"You think you could use a human mage? But you can't trust humans at all, they're—" Perenor began, and was interrupted by Ria.
"No, Father," Ria said tartly. "I've learned that you can't trust anyone, humans or elves, and especially the Unseelie. I didn't ask for this meeting with Sharanya, and I'm wondering if we're going to do anything but talk about some insignificant human mage tonight. You told me that the Unseelie wanted to discuss a business proposition with me. Something to do with a loan of over twenty million dollars? Chasing down a human mage isn't my idea of a multi-million dollar business proposition. If we have nothing else to discuss, then I have my own business to attend to, elsewhere."
My, what a prickly bitch. Maybe she would survive the Court after all. Better to play this carefully; we need that money. These Seelie fools can't know yet that Nataniel's being investigated for counterfeiting. I told him to be more careful with conjuring cash, but my lord didn't listen. Our next sources of financing must be impeccably clean, or the Feds will be onto us in an instant. "Nataniel and I know what a successful businesswoman you are, Ria," Shari said silkily. "That's why I asked Perenor to arrange this meeting—to discuss a joint venture with your Llewellyn Corporation."
"What, dealing drugs? That's not an interest of mine."
Shari bit back a quick retort, speaking in a quieter tone. "Don't tell me that you suffer from ethics? There's very good money in narcotics, and I'd heard that you were a smart businesswoman, interested in making a good profit rather than any foolish human ethics."
"Ethics?" Ria shook her head. "No, I don't have any problems with ethics. The question is risk versus benefit. I assume you've heard of RICO? The Racketeer-Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act? The one that allows the government to seize any assets that were acquired illegally? I have a multi-million-dollar, completely legal, business. Any legal difficulties with my investment money would reflect back onto the Llewellyn Corporation and could result in a Federal seizure of assets. I won't risk it. Tell me about a profitable and legal investment, and I'll consider that. But not drugs, no thank you."
Shari considered that for a moment. "We can offer excellent terms for your legal risks and some good layering to separate your investment from your operations. Perhaps investing in a third-party venture? Such as an air cargo company?" Damn her, we need the money to invest in the new aircraft fleet, or it'll be another year before we expand into Northern California. We'll lose our competitive edge to the local humans, which will mean a long battle to win it back, a lot of wasted effort, and spilled human blood. We need that money now.
"Still too dangerous. Even if you hide the direct ownership linkages, what happens to that air cargo company's profit line when the Feds confiscate the aircraft?" Ria said, then smiled suddenly. "Of course, Nataniel keeps his limited partnership ownership of that Las Vegas hotel entirely separate from his other businesses, doesn't he? Perhaps in exchange for a percentage in that business, I could be persuaded to invest in the hotel. That would free up some of your operating capital for these other . . . ventures."
Shari pretended to consider that for a moment, but she was seething inside. She's done her homework, this one. Nataniel was a fool for saying that we could control her easily, that she's just her father's pawn. But this may be the only route we can go. If only my lord Nataniel hadn't told me that we need her aid, I'd teach this little human bitch some proper respect for the Unseelie Court. . . . "I'll suggest it to him," Shari said. "In the meantime, I think—" She stopped, listening intently. Not to any audible sound, but something far away, a distant echo that resonated in her bones. It was the noise of magic, someone working a major sorcery. She recognized it instantly: it was the human mage.
"I can sense it too, Shari. It's in the San Fernando Valley," Ria said quietly. "Studio City, I think, or maybe Van Nuys."
Shari stood up. "I'll need to go track it down immediately. If you'll excuse me . . ." She saw the glint in Perenor's eyes, a thinly disguised hunger.
"Would you like my company, Sharanya?" Perenor said, but she could hear the eagerness beneath his cultured tones. "This could be dangerous for you. I know you have considerable talents, but you might want some extra protection."
He enjoys killing them, she realized. It's like a game for him, more than anything else. This is closest we have to the Great Hunt now that we live among the humans, chasing down these pitiful human mages. Such a pity that Nataniel ordered me to bring this human back alive—I would enjoy killing it, if I could.
And Perenor is a handsome man, for a Seelie, as handsome as Nataniel. I wonder what he would be like, flushed in the success of a Great Hunt, glorying in his kill? Perhaps I'll find that out for myself, someday. "My lord, your company would be welcome, but I must caution you: Nataniel ordered me to capture this mage alive, and he would be very displeased if it were to die unexpectedly."
"I understand," Perenor said, though she could hear the frustration in his voice. Maybe I can channel that frustration into another arena, Shari thought with a silent laugh. We'll see how skilled you really are, my lord Perenor.
"Enjoy yourselves," Ria Llewellyn said, reaching for her purse and silk jacket. "I have some real work to do, if you don't mind. I'm sure we'll talk later about these investments, Shari. Call me when you two are . . . finished."
Shari flushed slightly, realizing that her thoughts must have been transparent as glass to the woman. Someday you'll learn respect for your betters, half-breed bitch, Shari thought, and smiled a cordial farewell to Ria Llewellyn. But until then, I suppose I'll have to amuse myself in other ways. . . . She extended her arm to Perenor, who gave her a courtly bow before escorting her from the townhouse.
Elizabet hesitated at the warehouse door, looking around the deserted street before touching the half-open door. She could still feel the residue of magic within, now slowly fading. It had been enough magic to startle her from her preoccupation with a backlog of juvenile-related files and bring her here, to this industrial zone. She wasn't certain what she'd find inside, but guessed that she had better be careful. She pushed the door further open with her foot, not wanting to leave any fingerprints on the smooth metal doorknob.
"Oh, God!"
She stared in horror. The warehouse floor was splattered with blood and worse, bullet holes in the wooden boxes and walls. Five young men were lying motionless on the floor . . . she moved to the closest blood-spattered boy and searched for a pulse on his carotid artery.
He was dead.
So were the other boys. From the temperature of the first boy's skin, Elizabet knew it had happened at least an hour before, maybe longer. She leaned against one of the shattered crates, breathing deeply. These boys were dead . . . there was nothing more she could do for them. But from the magic she could still feel rippling through this place, she knew that Kayla had been here, and that the girl had healed someone, or more than one person. She cringed at the thought of Kayla doing a multiple healing. The girl is powerful, true, a hundred times more than myself. But if laying hands on one person is enough to make me nearly faint, what would healing several people at one time do to Kayla?
First things first. Survey the damage, learn everything you can, and then draw your conclusions. Don't jump to conclusions; conclusions can be deadly. There's no margin for error here, not now.
She walked through the warehouse, being careful not to disturb the blood marks on the floor. Yes, there had been more wounded people here, by the looks of it—at least a dozen, all told. And the traces of magic . . . six places where she could sense magic, still glowing faintly against the concrete of the floor.
Six healings? That would've killed me for certain, and I don't think even Kayla could've survived that.
No, she was sure that she would've known if Kayla had died here. There would have been something, some sign of it.
She heard the sound of a car pulling up outside the warehouse and moved quickly toward the office at the back of the building. Inside the darkened office, she saw another door leading to the outside. But she could hear footsteps on the concrete outside. She pressed herself back against the wall, out of sight of the large glass window that looked out onto the warehouse.
"My, what a mess." The voice was feminine and distinctly sardonic.
"They're all dead," a male voice said.
Elizabet risked a glance through the open glass window, wanting to see who was talking so cavalierly over the bodies of those dead boys.
The pair looked normal enough. An older silver-haired man in a gray business suit, and a young dark-haired woman in a black miniskirt, blouse, and fashionable jacket, talking calmly as they stood amid the bodies and blood. It was that calm that frightened Elizabet as she ducked back into hiding, and something else that took a minute to register.
Their ears. Their long, curved, pointed ears.
She knew what they were. Elves. The Faerie Folk. Even as the shock hit her, she knew that it was true. Gram had talked of them once, when she was already in the nursing home, about how she'd danced with elves on a warm Georgia summer night. Tall, graceful, inhumanly beautiful elves, who had whirled her around in a wild midnight dance before vanishing away again at sunrise. Elizabet hadn't thought anything of it at the time, thinking it was only a dying woman's fever dreams.
The elves Gram had met were happy, benevolent creatures. This pair was more alien than that, with their obvious indifference to the dead boys on the floor. She didn't know why they were here, but guessed that it wasn't a social call. If she could get out of here without them realizing that she was here at all. . . .
She edged as close as she could to the open window, listening intently.
"Any sign of the human mage?" Elizabet thought she could hear disappointment in that quiet male voice.
"Not unless the mage is one of these dead idiots on the floor, my dear Perenor," the girl said. "No, I think our mage has fled again. It's been damn difficult to track that creature down. Once it stops using magic, I can't follow it at all. . . ."
Kayla! They're hunting Kayla, these elves!
"It's only a matter of time until you find it, Sharanya. I have complete confidence in you, m'lady."
Elizabet glanced at the closed door and wondered if she could open it without the Fay noticing her. She could crawl to the door out of view of the window, that wasn't a problem, but then she'd have to stand up and unlock the door. . . .
She crouched down and crawled across the cluttered office, straightening very slowly when she reached the door. Now she was in full sight, though the office was dark enough, and she knew it would be difficult to see her. Her hand fumbled for the deadbolts on the door.
"Look at this, Shari. They're all wearing similarly colored shirts."
"Yes, they are. . . ." Elizabet watched as the girl knelt by one of the dead bodies.
"Do you recognize him?" the man asked.
"No. But I recognize the color of that sweatshirt. He's a part of a gang, one that buys drugs from Nataniel. They're from the Inner City . . . I wonder why he's here, so far from home."
The man extended a graceful hand to help the girl back to her feet. "A street gang war?"
A street gang? That doesn't make any sense. Why would Kayla be involved with a street gang? Unless it's something the girl didn't tell me before, that she's a gangbanger. . . .
"Quite possibly. That's something I can find out, easily enough. That'll be our next stop, I think . . . I'd like to find out who these children are, and why our little mage is involved with a street gang." Her head cocked suddenly. "Perenor, did you hear something?"
Elizabet froze next to the door, not daring to move. I'm not here, she thought, imagining herself as invisible, part of the wall. I'm not here, I'm not here . . .
"Is there someone else in here?" the man asked. "I thought I heard something. . . ."
They know I'm here!
Elizabet took a deep breath, and another, and then flung the door open and leaped through.
There was a noise behind her, like a sudden thunderstorm, and the crackle of electricity. Elizabet slammed the warehouse door shut behind her, letting go of the doorknob an instant before it melted into slag. There was the sound of a muffled curse a moment later, and the door rattled but didn't open. "The other door!" she heard the man's voice say, but she was already running for her car.
She fumbled with the keys, wasting a precious second or two to unlock the door, then slid into the driver's seat and jammed the key into the ignition. She accelerated away from the warehouse, glancing back in the mirror to see the two figures emerging from the far side of the building, staring after her as she drove away. Two minutes later, driving down Oxnard Street toward the 101 Freeway, she finally remembered to breathe again.
Elves who were looking for Kayla. Dead boys from a street gang. What in the hell is that girl involved in?
She had been afraid that someone other than herself was looking for Kayla.
Now she knew.