Magic Rises

guarding him, and by the end of the fourth day, Emmanuel, he was one of the mercs, big, cut Latino guy, really calm, walked away. He just got up and left. I asked him about it later and he said it was that or he would knock their heads together just so they would shut up . . .”
    A familiar revulsion rolled over me, like an unclean oily residue laced with rotten fat. A vampire. Moving in from the right.
    The only person who could possibly have a vampire in this castle full of shapeshifters would be Hugh. He either piloted it himself or had some Masters of the Dead stashed someplace, but somewhere a necromancer was pulling on a vampire’s strings, sending it steadily toward us, like a worm on a hook.
    Trying to figure out if I could sense vampires. Nice try, Hugh.
    “A good way to piss away your fee,” Derek said.
    The vampire came closer, its mind a pinhead of hateful magic. The urge to reach out and crush its mind like a walnut was almost too much. It was close, too close. My hand itched. I wanted to get my sword and stab it.
    I couldn’t leave it just sitting here. If by some miracle it wasn’t Hugh, it could get into the room and kill Desandra. She would give it a run for its money, but a vampire was nature’s closest equivalent to a killing machine. It had no thought, consciousness, or doubts. Like a huge predatory cockroach, it obeyed only one basic impulse: feed.
    I lowered my voice. “It was mostly about self-preservation. Do you remember when you and I went to White Street? The time you got your leg ripped open?”
    Derek nodded. “I remember.”
    Here was hoping he remembered it was a vampire who tore his leg. “I think that’s how Emmanuel felt. Like something was closing on him and he just had to get out.”
    Derek looked at me, his brown eyes focused.
    “Another ten hours or so and he might have committed a homicide.” Come on, Derek. Vampire. Ten o’clock. In the wall.
    “So let me guess, he got no money.” Derek rolled into a crouch in a fluid move. He was only half listening to me.
    The vampire was almost directly to the left of me. I felt it. It was precisely eleven feet away, which put it right at the end of the room. The wall had to be hollow, because I saw nothing.
    “Nope. And the Guild slapped him with an abandonment-in-progress fee.”
    The vampire shifted about ten inches to the left. Derek turned slightly. He was tracking it.
    “In his place I would’ve left, too. When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go .”
    Derek shot toward the wall. He sprinted for half a second, jumped, flying through the air, and hammered a kick to the wall. The stone block cracked and fell, breaking. Before the last chunks bounced off the floor, I was up and moving. Derek shoved his hand into the hole and yanked a desiccated, ropy arm out. He twisted the wrist, locking the elbow, and I stabbed into the dark opening. Slayer sank into vampiric flesh, sliding along bone. Need to adjust the angle. Coils of smoke rose from the blade as it bit into undead tissue and began to melt it. I freed it with a sharp tug and thrust again. The point of the saber pressed against the hard ball of heart muscle and I felt the precise moment the bloodsucker’s heart ruptured. It writhed on the end of my sword. Still alive, nasty bugger.
    In less than a breath Desandra was off the bed and next to us. “What . . . ?”
    Derek kicked the wall directly under the opening. Cracks split the stone blocks. He kicked it again. Chunks of plaster showered the floor. Faux stone. Ahh. That explained it. Last time I checked, shapeshifters were strong but not strong enough to kick through solid stone.
    Derek yanked the vampire out of the wall, slapping it on the floor and pinning it. I moved with them, keeping Slayer right where it was. A pale body writhed on the floor: hairless, nude. Its pale green-tinged skin fit too tightly over its frame, and every muscle and ligament underneath was clearly visible, as if someone had taken a world-class athlete, bleached him, and stuck him in a dehydrator for a few weeks. The vamp hissed. Its eyes bore into me: hot, bright red, and devoid of any thought except for an insatiable thirst for hot blood.
    Slayer smoked. The flesh around the blade began to sag as the saber liquefied the vampire’s heart, trying to digest it. The vamp struggled to rise. Derek strained. The muscles on his body bulged. I leaned into Slayer.
    The vamp arched, lifting Derek off his feet for half a second. The