Magic Rises

twelve hours on, twelve hours off. Same instructions as last night until further notice: we do not go anywhere alone, we do not take risks, and above all we do not permit ourselves to be provoked. One last thing: the most dangerous person in this castle isn’t Jarek Kral or any of the other pack alphas. It’s Megobari.”
    Keira raised her eyebrows.
    “You’ve seen me fight,” I said. “I can’t explain to you why now, because it’s complicated and we’re being listened to, but I say this with every ounce of credibility I have: he is extremely dangerous. He has the means and ability to murder every person in this room and he will do it without any hesitation. Do not underestimate him.”
    If these creatures we fought were indeed lamassu, Roland would know about them. He could even have used them, which meant Hugh could use them as well. I had no idea to what end. But I would find out.
    * * *
    The meeting done, Raphael, Andrea, and I walked to Desandra’s room. They would start their shift and I wanted to check in on Desandra.
    “I was thinking,” Andrea said.
    “That’s a dangerous habit.”
    “I keep telling her that,” Raphael said.
    “Oh, you two are a riot. Anyway, I was thinking we should squeeze Desandra dry. She knows both clans. She has to have some idea what’s going on.”
    “Think she can handle it?” Desandra seemed about as stable as the Hawaiian Islands to me—she looked pretty, but if you searched hard enough, you’d find a volcano. Last thing I wanted was for her to self-destruct on me.
    “Sure. You saw her. She doesn’t have anyone to talk to. As long as we go easy and wear kid gloves, she’ll be happy to chat. We’ll girl-talk her.”
    Girl talk, right.
    “I’ll stay in the hallway,” Raphael told us.
    A minute later Andrea and I walked into Desandra’s room. George was sitting on the bed by Desandra, who looked as sullen as you could get without actually crossing your arms and sticking your bottom lip all the way out. Aunt B smiled in a benign way, while George carefully braided Desandra’s hair.
    Shreds of bright silver wrapping paper and pieces of cardboard littered the rug. Next to them lay a broken toilet bowl brush with a ribbon bow and a card hanging from it.
    Long strands of blond hair lay on the carpet, over the wrapping paper. Their ends were bloody.
    I pointed at the brush. “What is this?”
    “Her father sent her a present,” George said through clenched teeth. “The card says, So you’ll have something to defend yourself next time .”
    That bloody bastard.
    I nodded at the hair. “And that?”
    “After we received the gift, we got a little emotional and pulled some hair out,” Aunt B said. “But then we decided that our hair was pretty, and we shouldn’t disfigure ourselves, especially because it won’t hurt our dear father. Not even a little bit.”
    “It will grow back,” Desandra said.
    “No worries,” George told her. “I’ve hidden all of the bald spots.”
    “Why didn’t you just leave a long time ago?” Andrea said. “Just walk out and keep walking until you ended up somewhere where nobody has heard of Jarek Kral.”
    Desandra shrugged her shoulders. “And do what? Be what? I am someone here. This is all I know. Besides, where could I go that he or one of those morons he married me to wouldn’t find me?”
    George finished the hair and got off the bed.
    “She’s all yours, ladies,” Aunt B said. “We’re off to freshen up.”
    Andrea parked herself in the doorway. She carried two SIG-Sauers in hip holsters, a military-issue assault shotgun on her back, and probably a few more guns in places I couldn’t see.
    “How are you feeling today?” I asked. Kate Daniels, master of girl talk.
    “Like shit. Have you ever been pregnant?”
    “No.”
    “Let me summarize for you: your feet hurt, your back hurts, your hips hurt. None of your clothes fit, because your maternica is stretched out from the size of an apple to a basketball. The small creatures inside you keep kicking you and turning. You can’t eat things you normally eat—they make you sick. Instead you eat strange things like marinated cucumbers and you can’t stop until they also make you sick. Worst of all, you’re not a person anymore. You’re a container. Everybody is looking at you waiting for you to pop your baby out.”
    I bit my tongue before I said something that would make her shut down. “Forget I asked.”
    Desandra shrugged.
    “How about the