Master of Smoke

stand a chance?
    Screw that, David growled, rejecting the fear. Once we get Smoke out of there, we’ll kick Warlock’s ass.
    Cat rumbled a feral growl of assent.
    Do you know if the cell has a weakness? David asked the elemental, slipping closer to the bars to examine them.
    Stay clear! Smoke’s faint voice went high with alarm. If you get too close, it will suck you in. It’s very powerful.
    Yes, it is, rumbled a deep voice. And so am I.
    Warlock had discovered them.
    A vision flashed through David’s mind: a huge white werewolf crouched in the center of an intricate pattern inlaid in silver in the center of a stone floor. A focus spell. He held an enormous double-bladed battle-axe in massive clawed hands. Magic swirled around the great gemstone set in the axe handle, glowing an intense crimson. Somehow David knew the axe was called Kingslayer, presented to the Saxon sorcerer by Merlin himself fifteen hundred years ago.
    And I’ll use it to kill you, you little bastard, the werewolf snarled. Leaving your body was a serious miscalculation. You’re mine now. You’re dead, you and your cat. And once you’re gone, the godling’s power will be mine. As it should be—because I deserve it.
    He pointed the axe at David/Cat, and magic exploded from it in a rolling burst of red fire.
    The silence was nerve-racking. The only sound Eva could hear was the steady pant of David’s breathing. It was too fast, and that, along with the glazed emptiness of his eyes, was beginning to seriously freak her out.
    This isn’t good, Fluffy said, a totally out-of-character remark for a career smart-ass. Why’d you let him go? God knows what he’ll come back as, assuming he comes back at all.
    How was I supposed to stop him?
    And what’s with Sir Asshat of the Round Table? He looks like the last reel of Old Yeller.
    Eva dragged her gaze away from David—it took real work—and saw Tristan sitting with Belle’s head in his lap. He looked up and caught Eva staring at him. He glowered back. “What?”
    “Uh, nothing.”
    “She shouldn’t be doing this.” He said it through his teeth. “She’s not a field witch. She does seductions. Combat’s not her thing. Especially not combat with giant magic-slinging eight-foot werewolves.”
    Eva blinked. “Seductions? That’s a job?”
    “How do you think you get vampires? The three-bites-and-you’re-a-vamp thing is bullshit. You become a vampire from having sex with a witch. Or drinking from Merlin’s Grail, which is what I did.”
    “Wait, you’re a vampire?” She frowned in confusion. “I thought you were a Knight of the Round Table.”
    “I am. I’m also a vampire.”
    “Is that why there’s no Isolde?”
    “Would you shut up about Isolde? And no, we don’t drain people. You watch too much trashy TV.”
    “Hey, Joss Whedon is god, Sir Fangsalot.”
    Tristan opened his mouth, but before he could speak, David roared in pain, his big body convulsing.
    “David!” Eva grabbed for him, but had to duck as one clawed hand swung wildly. “Oh, shit!”

    Another magical blow hit David and Cat like a hammer.
    We’ve got to attack him before he rips us apart! David thought desperately. What do I do?
    Cat snarled, an incoherent blast of animal rage and desperation. I don’t remember! Ask Smoke.
    David growled and threw himself at the image of Warlock as the werewolf lifted Kingslayer again. The figure sent another torrent of magic slamming into him, then vanished like morning mist. David shook off the blow just as the sorcerer reappeared to hit him again.
    Snarling, David chased Warlock as he appeared and vanished, swinging claws and snapping teeth the sorcerer always managed to avoid.
    It’s an illusion, Cat told him. Warlock’s using it to distract us.
    David swore, knowing he was right. How can we hit something we can’t even see?

    “Oh, hell,” Belle spat, her eyes flying open. She blinked, registering Tristan’s face above hers. “What am I doing in your lap?” She rolled onto hands and knees and scrambled toward Smoke and the werewolf woman. Smoke roared again, unmistakably a cry of agony. “Dammit, Warlock’s frying them. I’m going to have to go in.”
    “Go in where?” Tristan demanded, lunging after her. “And why?”
    “David—Smoke—oh, hell, whoever it is, he has the power, but he doesn’t remember how to use it,” Belle said tightly. “Warlock’s got those memories locked up in some kind of magic cage in his mind, along with the rest