Kate Daniels 03 - Magic Strikes

lolled. Saiman struck and struck, growling, oblivious to the red mess of blood and bone that stained his hands. The wire cut deeper and deeper.
    “He’s going to push him through that fence like a sieve,” Jim growled.
    The crowd had gone silent, stunned by the ferocity of his onslaught. Only Saiman’s labored breathing, laced with furious grunts, echoed through the Pit.
    I turned to the guard. “The Reaper’s dead; pull him off.”
    The guard gave me a look reserved for the mentally ill. “Are you out of your mind? Nobody’s going to get into the Pit with him. You step in there, you’re his target.”
    A group of patrolmen gathered behind us. “Jesus,” one of them murmured.
    There was nothing left to do. We stood and watched Saiman vent his rage and terror on a battered piece of Reaper meat.
    Four minutes later, the magic drained from the world in an abrupt gush and Saiman finally stepped away from the corpse. The thing that slid to the floor of the Pit no longer bore any resemblance to a man. Wet, red, soft, it was just a heavy mess of tissue, stuffed into black boots.
    Saiman retrieved his club. The trance dissipated from his face. He looked around, shook his head as if surprised to find himself there, and raised his weapon.
    A lonely male voice from the left screamed, “Yeaaaaaahhhhh!”
    The audience exploded in an avalanche of cheering.
    Saiman turned, buoyed by the applause, and stumbled, favoring his blood-drenched leg. He was about to make history as the first man with regeneration to bleed to death.
    “This way!” I jumped and waved my arms. “Come this way!”
    Saiman shambled about in a bewildered daze.
    “Here!” Jim’s roar momentarily overwhelmed the noise of the crowd, punching my eardrum. I stuck my finger into my left ear and wiggled it a bit.
    Saiman jerked and pivoted toward us. Recognition ignited in his eyes and he limped to us, dragging his club behind him. The guard swung open the fence door and took off like a frightened rabbit. Saiman paused at the fence. Oh, for God’s sake.
    “Come on, this way.” I waved my arms at him. “Come on!”
    He limped through the gate, using his club like a crutch, sagged, and would’ve fallen but Jim slid his shoulder under him. Suddenly the hallway was full of Red Guards. They closed about us like a wall of black and red.
    “Blood loss.” Saiman’s voice came in a gasp.
    “Next time, remember to heal,” Jim grunted, keeping him upright.
    “I won.”
    “Yes, you did,” I agreed. “Very well-done.”
    Saiman dropped his bloodied club. I picked it up and fought not to bend double under the weight. Sixty pounds at least. I maneuvered it over my shoulder.
    We moved down the hallway, shielded by the guards on all sides.
    “You plant the bug?” Jim murmured.
    “Yes. Pushed it into his chest. I need to sit down.”
    “Keep it together, almost to the room.” Jim’s face showed no strain, but the muscles on his arms bulged with effort.
    “It’s over,” Saiman gasped. “I’m so glad it’s over.”
     
     
    “ALL RIGHT, GENTLEMEN.”
    I thought to point out that I wasn’t a gentleman, but Rene’s voice had that “shut up, I’m working” tone that left no room for discussion.
    She surveyed us. Saiman sat on the floor, with his back against the wall. He had drunk almost a gallon of water before the bleeding finally stopped. The wound sealed and now his eyes were closed. Jim stood next to him, making everyone feel unwelcome in the close vicinity of his personal space. Behind Rene four Red Guards blocked the entrance to our room. Two more stood inside, watching us as though we were thieves in a jewelry store.
    “The Reapers are a new team. This is their first loss.”
    Second, technically, if you counted the fellow in the parking lot.
    “We’re going to do this by the book. The Reapers are grounded. You have one hour to clear the premises and be on your way, which will give you a reasonable head start. I strongly urge you not to linger. We want to avoid unpleasantries outside the Pit.”
    There was a slight commotion outside.
    “The Reapers are here to congratulate you.”
    “Are you out of your mind?” I stepped between the door and Saiman. Slayer was in my hand. I didn’t recall drawing it.
    “It’s a twenty-year tradition,” Rene said.
    The guards parted, and Mart and the tattooed Reaper stepped into the room. Rene and the Red Guards looked like dogs who had just sighted a deer.
    Mart leveled his thousand-yard