Gunmetal Magic: A Novel in the World of Kate Daniels

boats, play ranches with pampered horses…But the magic had wrecked the infrastructure and the residents quickly learned that the mountains in winter are much less fun without electricity and takeout. Now the homes lay abandoned or taken over by die-hard locals. Little villages sprang up here and there, small remote communities whose residents peered suspiciously at us as we drove by.
    Cliffside Lake was beautiful, but we had no time forsightseeing. Eight hours after we had left the Keep, we stood by a mountain scoured with white lightning whip marks.
    I had expected an altar, or some sort of mark to show the right spot, but there was nothing. Just a cliff.
    I dumped a bowl full of jewelry and bullets onto the rocks. They scattered, clinking. “Ivar?”
    Nothing happened.
    Doolittle’s face fell.
    “Ivar, let us in!”
    The mountains were silent. Only Roderick’s hoarse breathing broke the quiet.
    We should’ve gotten here sooner. Maybe the offering worked only during a magic wave, but as soon as magic hit, the necklace would snap Roderick’s neck.
    “Let us in!” I yelled.
    No answer.
    “Let us in, you fucking sonovabitch.” I hit the mountain with the bowl. “Let us in!”
    “Kate,” Curran said softly. “We’re out of time, baby.”
    Doolittle sat down on a rock and smiled at Roderick, that patient calming smile. “Come sit with me.”
    The boy walked over and scooted onto the rock.
    I sagged against the mountain wall.
It didn’t work. All this and it didn’t work.
    “It’s pretty up here,” Roderick said.
    It wasn’t fair. He was only a boy…I buried my face in Curran’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me.
    “Can you hear the birds?” Doolittle asked.
    “Yes,” Roderick said.
    “Very peaceful,” Doolittle said.
    I felt Curran tense and looked up.
    A man walked up the path. Broad and muscular, built like he wrestled bears for a living, he had a wide face, lined with wrinkles and framed with a short dark beard and long brown hair. He wore a pair of soot-stained jeans and a tunic.
    His gaze fell on Roderick and the necklace. Thick hairy eyebrows crept up above his pale blue eyes.
    “What are you guys doing up here?” he asked.
    “We’re looking for Ivar,” Curran said.
    “I’ll take you.” The man looked at Roderick and held out his hand. “Come, little one.”
    Roderick hopped off the rock and walked over. The dark-haired man took his hand. Together they walked up the steep mountain path. We followed.
    The path turned behind the cliff, and I saw a narrow gap in the mountain, its walls completely sheer, as if someone had sliced through the rock with a colossal sword. We walked into it, stepping over gravel and rocks.
    “Where are you folks from?” the man asked.
    “Atlanta,” I said.
    “Big city,” he said.
    “Yes.” None of us mentioned the necklace choking the boy’s throat.
    Ahead the sun shone through the gap. A moment and we passed through and stepped into the light. A valley lay in front of us, the ground gently sloping to the waters of a narrow lake. A watermill turned and creaked on the far shore. To the right a two-story house sat on the lawn of green grass. A few dozen yards to the side a smithy rose and behind it a garden stretched up the slope, enclosed by a chain-link fence. Further still, pale horses ran in a pasture.
    The necklace clicked and fell off Roderick’s neck. The dark-haired man caught it and snapped it in half. “I’ll take that, then.”
    Roderick drew a breath. Tiny red dots swelled on his neck, where the necklace had punctured skin.
    “No worries,” the man said. “It will heal in the next magic wave.”
    A shaggy gray dog trotted up to us, spat a tennis ball out of his mouth, and pondered Roderick with big eyes.
    “That’s Ruckus,” the man said. “He’d like it if you threw the ball for him.”
    Roderick picked up the tennis ball, looked at it for a moment, and then tossed it down the slope. The dog took off after it. The boy turned to us.
    “Go ahead,” Doolittle told him.
    Roderick dashed down the slope.
    “So you’re Ivar,” I said.
    “I am.”
    It finally sank in. The necklace was gone. Roderick was safe. My legs gave a little bit and I leaned against the nearest tree.
    Ivar studied me. “Oh now, that’s not good. Why don’t y’all come down to the house? Trisha was making iced tea before I left. It should be about done.”
    As if in a dream I followed him down to the house. We sat on a covered porch, and