Gunmetal Magic: A Novel in the World of Kate Daniels

went from drowsy and tired to full alert in half a second. Next to me Raphael sat up.
    The sound came again, a low, deep tone like a muted roar of the bull alligator mixed with the bellow of a bull.
    The window.
    I jumped to my feet and ran to the window. Raphael got there at the same time. We pressed to the wall on the opposite sides of the window frame and edged the curtains aside.
    Ammit stood below, its long-jawed, heavy head raised up. Its eyes stared at us. It didn’t seem hostile. It simply waited.
    Raphael and I traded glances.
    He slid the window open. “Hi there.”
    Ammit stared at us.
    “Shoo! Go away, girl!” I said.
    “Girl?”
    “Kate says it’s female.”
    “What is it?”
    “It’s an Egyptian demon who devours souls.”
    Raphael sighed. It was a dejected,
I am so tired of this crap
sigh and it made me want to hug him.
    Ammit stared at us.
    “If only I had a bow,” I murmured. “I could totally shoot it in the eye from here. Boom, arrow to the brain.”
    “Your bow is on the table downstairs. Do you like it?”
    “It’s the most beautiful thing in the world.” Aside from him and Baby Rory.
    “I’m so glad.”
    “How did you get one?”
    He smiled at me, that handsome, slightly evil Raphael smile. “It’s a secret.”
    I ran downstairs to fetch the bow. When I returned, Raphael still stood by the window. “It could go through the door to get to us,” Raphael said. “So why doesn’t it?”
    We peered at Ammit.
    “What is it, girl?” Raphael asked, his voice coaxing. “Did Timmy fall down the well?”
    Ammit said nothing.
    “It would be crazy to go out there,” Raphael said.
    “We’d have to be insane.”
    I pulled on my pants, socks, and sneakers. Raphael pulled out two fresh T-shirts from a chest by the basket of clean laundry and tossed one to me. I grabbed my Ifor, he got his knives, and we took off down the stairs.
    Outside, the night was bright. Pale bluish vapor rose from the chunks of concrete that made up the low wall around the house—something magic must’ve been brought out by the moonlight. I drew my bow and we snuck around the building, moving silently, carefully walking on the balls of our feet.
    Step.
    Another step.
    I turned the corner and the tip of my arrow touched Ammit’s nose. It’s amazing how far you can jump backward, if properly motivated.
    Raphael stepped around me and approached the massive beast. We had killed it. I could still picture its corpse in my mind, fresh and vivid, the blood, the dulled eyes, the great maw gaping lifelessly, spilling the tongue on the ground. Yet there it stood.
    Raphael reached out.
    “Don’t,” I warned.
    He touched its head, petting its cheek. The tentacles of Ammit’s mane twisted toward him and slid harmlessly off his hand.
    The beast sighed. Two clouds of moist vapor escaped its nostrils.
    It didn’t open its crocodile mouth and bite Raphael’s hand off.
    Slowly Ammit turned, trotted forward a few feet, and looked at us over its muscular shoulder.
    You’ve got to be kidding me.
    “No.”
    The jaws gaped open and the roar rolled forth, primal and ancient, so much older than the city around it, so alien that I wondered for a second if the illusion of Atlanta would tear under the force of that primeval call and I would end up standing in the muddy, rich waters of the Nile. I could almost see the tall slender reeds shifting in the night breeze.
    The roar sang through my veins, urging me to follow.
    Ammit took a step forward and looked at us.
    “Should we?” I murmured.
    Raphael shrugged. “Alright, Lassie. Lead on.”
    The great beast started down the slope, and we followed. Ammit built to a fast trot. We ran through the magic-soaked city. My feet were weightless, and we devoured the distance, swallowing mile after mile, tireless and exhilarated.
    Tendrils of faint orange vapor curled from the beast, streaming from its mane and back. Its magic enveloped me. It felt so right, running like this, hunting like this, next to Raphael. Lean, muscular, the white T-shirt molded to his body, he ran with grace and power, his long legs in gray Pack sweatpants carrying him forward. His skin almost glowed. Sweat dampened his dark hair. His dark eyes focused on something far ahead.
    The compound bow in my hand could be made of horn, wood, and sinew. The oversized white T-shirt Raphael had given me could be a tunic. The asphalt under my feet could be sand or the dry red soil of low hills. The air smelled of lotus