Rhiana Page 2

  A lissome nymph with violet hair, black wings, and rings on every finger dove off Dorcha’s back and swam my way. “Greetings from Poseidon,” she announced in a high, clear voice. “He welcomes you to his realm.”

  Oh-oh.

  Selecting my response carefully, I inclined my head. “Tell him I wish him well, and we shan’t remain long.”

  Her rosy lips parted in a slight smile. “You know our liege.”

  “That I do.” I left it at that. If the Celts were dicks, Poseidon was a straight-up bastard. Arrogant and arbitrary, nothing was ever his fault. He slung shit at his underlings, expecting them to suck it up for the privilege of remaining his subjects.

  “His favorite assassin left,” the Nereid went on. “He will pay you handsomely to locate and return her.”

  “Be sure to thank him for his faith in me, but I’m in the middle of another job. Dorcha and I were taking a break, or we wouldn’t be here at all.”

  I flipped over and began stroking for shore with the Nereid pacing me. She could swim rings around me, but her tail gave her a strong edge. My toes touched bottom; I switched from swimming to plodding through the water intent on dressing and getting the fuck out of here.

  Poseidon’s methods were legendary. He’d hunt me down if his messenger didn’t return with the right answer: that I’d drop everything and do his bidding. Not that he couldn’t find me no matter where I went, but I wouldn’t make it easy for him. Technically, I worked for the Circle, which meant all assignments were handled by Grigori. It gave me an out—if I chose to play that card.

  I wrung water from my hair and chucked it over my shoulders. Funneling magic to dry myself, I trotted to where I’d left my clothes.

  “Lovely as ever, my dear,” rang from behind me.

  Fuckity-fuck. Poseidon hadn’t waited for the Nereid to return. He’d been listening to our conversation, and now he was here to do his damnedest to keep Dorcha and me from leaving. Eh, probably not Dorcha. I was who he was interested in. And I knew damn good and well where his escaped mage was. Hiding in plain sight and transformed by magic to ensure she’d never be captured.

  Swathing my mind in strong wards—so he couldn’t pluck thoughts from it—I aimed for an airy tone. “Give a lady a spot of privacy to dress.”

  “What for? I’d rather enjoy the view. Besides, it’s not as if I haven’t seen everything before.”

  Great. Mr. Tact-and-Diplomacy was in full bloom. We’d had a fling centuries ago. Emphasis on “a fling.” I’d never been tempted into a rematch. He was as boorish and inconsiderate in bed as out. Keeping my back to him, I pulled my trousers up still damp legs and settled my tunic over my head. The cloak came last, and I relished its soft folds.

  Dorcha cantered close. “Ready to go?” she asked brightly.

  My, “Sure,” collided with Poseidon’s, “Not done with her.”

  After wringing more water from my hair, I turned to face him. He hadn’t changed a bit. Tall with a full head of silver hair that spilled to his knees, he was handsome in an imperious sort of way. The trident staff I remembered was held loosely in one hand. He’s always favored robes. Today’s was pale blue sashed in white with embroidered tridents.

  “Sorry about your assassin, but hire someone else,” I said.

  “You’d be perfect,” he insisted. “Being an assassin yourself and all.” His voice took on a wheedling note, and I tasted compulsion, thick and cloying, clinging to the words. “I can’t leave the sea for long. When I do, my powers fade, but you can operate anywhere.”

  I shrugged. “You’re a god. I’m merely a mage. Plusses and minuses all around.”

  “Come on, Rhiana. For old times’ sake. This wouldn’t take long. I’ll pay you whatever you wish.”

  We had no “old times,” not good ones. “I really am swamped.”

  “I can wait. Whenever you get to this is fine.”

  Nice wasn’t working. I shifted tactics. “I’m not interested. Period.”

  Nereids had slithered up the sand, forming a circle around Dorcha and me. I had a feeling they meant to keep us here. If we’d still been in the water, it might have worked.

  The next wave washed over my feet. If I tarried, the sea would come to us, and the Nereids’ circle would hem us in. They only looked fluffy and harmless, but they did Poseidon’s bidding because punishment for non-compliance was swift, sure, and deadly.

  I vaulted atop Dorcha and married my power with hers. This should be a slam-dunk. She and I hadn’t had a chance to hash out a destination, so I tried to take us back to London. She had other plans. At cross purposes, our magic crashed against itself. The craggy shoreline, which had begun to shimmer and fade, stuttered back into place.

  “Dorcha. Leave off.”

  “I am not going back to that circus.”

  Water was up to her hocks. We were running out of time. “It’s the easiest place,” I argued having given up on telepathy. I needed all my power.

  Poseidon was laughing uproariously. Yup. I bet he knew a thing or two about insurrection in his ranks. All his underlings hated him. Not that Dorcha was subservient in any way. The press of sea magic, dense with the scents of salt and seaweed, wafted around us.

  I switched things up and visualized one of the Circle of Assassin guild houses. It would take piles more magic to move us there since it wasn’t located on Earth.

  Dorcha grunted something that might have been assent and opened her magic to me again. I used every trick at my disposal, but the Nereids’ circle blocked our escape. With Poseidon’s laughter as a backdrop, I gave up after my third attempt boomeranged back in my face.

  Whatever he had in mind—like imprisoning me until I capitulated—wouldn’t fly.

  Dorcha reared. I wasn’t ready for it and slid down her haunches, landing on my butt. Screaming horsey outrage at Poseidon, her hoofs thundered against his chest, driving him to the ground.

  “How dare you?” Dorcha screeched. “Release us immediately.”

  He still had hold of his trident, and he tried to angle it to stab my unicorn in the belly. Fat fucking chance. I bolted to where he was pinned and kicked the staff out of his hand. I’d just declared a full-out war on the god of the sea. It was bound to end badly, but I didn’t care.

  2

  Dorcha reared again and brought her hoofs down on Poseidon’s chest. The crunch of bones breaking was welcome, but he’d heal as quickly as she dealt damage. The Nereids had scattered, gone as fast as they’d materialized. Without his attention directly on them, they’d deemed it safe to leave.

  Something was seriously wrong, though. Poseidon could have merged with the sea. Over a foot deep in our boulder-shrouded alcove, it offered an escape hatch. Why hadn’t he taken it? Dorcha had him pinned, sure, but it shouldn’t pose a problem.

  I gave the trident staff a wide berth and ended up with my feet at Poseidon’s head facing Dorcha. Sparks shot from the staff, turning the water blue-black. “Why aren’t you fighting back?” I asked Poseidon pointblank. “Or leaving?”

  “Who cares?” Dorcha whinnied. “What he did was rude. It violates our code.”

  “Newsflash. He’s not one of us,” I reminded my bondmate.

  “So? It shouldn’t excuse him from treating us with respect.”

  “Why would he start now?” I muttered.

  His head was underwater, but it wasn’t a showstopper for him. Hell, he was probably stronger for it, not weaker. “Let him up,” I told Dorcha.

  “No.” She showed me a mouthful of squared-off teeth.

  “We need to leave. Now.”

  “He’s not going anywhere,” she retorted. “We can take our time.”

  The sixth sense that’s always been my best friend sent a shudder down my back. Small hairs on the back of my neck prickled unpleasantly. “Dorcha. We have to leave. Now.”

  She raised her head and stared stubbornly at me. The shudder turned into a cascade of horror mixed with outrage. Too late, I identified the magic hurtling toward
us. Dorcha splashed through water as Poseidon hightailed it to greener pastures. No more reason for him to remain. His henchman was almost upon us.

  Fetid breath turned the fresh salt air sour. Scales the size of meat trenchers glistened and retreated.

  “Kraken,” Dorcha whinnied indignation.

  I opened my mouth to tell her she should have listened to me but closed it fast. I could sling blame all I wanted later. The task of the moment was escape. I leapt onto her back, winding a few strands of power to make sure we didn’t get separated. We were stronger fighting as a unit, and we had a common enemy.

  No matter how much she and I fussed and squabbled, when the rubber met the road we agreed on the important shit.

  Power built within Dorcha as the Kraken’s sinuous coils became visible. Damn. He was half again as big as the last time I’d had a run-in with him. Had to be the same one. No room in the universe for two like him. Black scales were riddled with mold, some so eaten away they resembled Swiss cheese. His head was dragonlike, snout elongated around triple rows of wicked-looking teeth. Small beady red eyes stared at us as he considered what to do next.

  Not the brightest bulb on the shelf, the Kraken had survived by stealth and cunning and sheer size. Most everyone ran the other way—like we should have done.

  His forked tongue flicked out scenting the air, his head on a level with Dorcha’s. Behind murderously sharp neck spines, his coils wrapped around our spot in the rapidly rising water. Escaping from his physical body would have been simple, but the pulse of power, malevolent and poisonous, pressed in on us, following the same circle as his coils.

  Yup. Poseidon had snared me. I should have known better than to stick around, which made it all that much worse. He’d baited the trap with himself. When I’d switched from excuses to no, he called in the big guns.

  “What’ll it be, Missy?” the Kraken slurred. The moment he opened his mouth, my stomach clenched at the smell. Rotten bits of goddess only knew what clung to his hundreds of teeth. A cross between above-ground graves baking under a tropical sun and decayed vegetation, the fumes made my eyes water. If my stomach hadn’t been empty, I’d have heaved its contents all over the shiny coils.

  “Oh gosh. I have choices?” I shot back all the while conjuring magic to get the fuck out of here. The Nereids’ enchantment had stymied us, but there’d been about twenty of them—and they’d been shored up by Poseidon and his fucking trident.

  The Kraken’s mouth opened wider before he sprayed me with spittle and said, “Choices? Not really. All roads end in the king’s dungeon. Only a matter of how beaten up you are when you arrive there.” His tongue lashed back and forth. Several sets of tentacled arms extruded from his reptilian body. He crossed the upper ones over his chest.

  With zero warning, Dorcha charged. She didn’t even lower her head until she was moving. Wisely intuiting driving her horn through his scales would be a losing proposition, she jammed it into his open mouth. When that unicorn decides to move, she’s like greased lightning. If I hadn’t lashed myself to her with magic, I’d have fallen from her back a second time.

  The Kraken’s expression was priceless. The top layer was shock anyone had dared to take him on. Once it ceded to fury, and he whipped his head back and forth to dislodge Dorcha’s horn, it was too late. Every wriggle on his part gave her an opportunity to thrust her horn in deeper.

  Embedded in the soft palate at the top of his mouth, she pushed the horn on through into whatever passed for brains inside his scaly head. The neat pile of coils fell apart, sloughing off to the sides.

  Who knew what brain part she was killing off, but it clearly had something to do with coordination and muscle tone. I fed energy into the fledgling teleport spell encompassing the two of us. Knowing Dorcha, she wouldn’t be any readier to go now than she’d been earlier. Locked in combat with the Kraken—and winning—had to be heady as hell.

  Too bad.

  We’d missed our get-out-of-jail-free card earlier. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Without discussing anything, I tossed everything I had at a casting to take us away from all this. Dorcha might fuss and whine later, but I didn’t expect major pushback.

  The craggy shoreline that had appeared so inviting when we’d first arrived finally, finally stuttered to nothing, replaced by the blackness of a journey channel. Dorcha was breathing hard, her sides foamy with sweat.

  “I had him,” she panted.

  “Aye, sweetling, you did, but Poseidon keeps tabs on all his minions. How much longer do you think he’d have given us before he swooped in with an army of who-knows-what to rescue his pet Kraken?”

  “I had him,” she repeated. “He was stupid and slow and—”

  “Not much of a challenge?” I inserted sweetly.

  The unicorn brayed laughter. “You win. And I am glad to be gone from there, but bards would have sung songs about me. My kin would have been purple with envy. ’Tisn’t every day we fight such as him.”

  I cleared my throat. “We’d have had a far harder time escaping from Poseidon’s dungeon,” I told her.

  “Have you been there?”

  I shook my head. “Heard about it, though.”

  Dorcha culled through my spell before snorting and laying her gory horn on my shoulder. “You didn’t trick me. We’re going to the guild house.”

  Her accusation stung. “When have I ever lied?”

  “Not lied so much as stepped over my wishes.” She hesitated before adding, “You never used to do that.”

  Her words jabbed unpleasantly—because they were true. Since I didn’t want to go there, I said, “Wonder if Ciara knows her old boss is looking for her?”

  “Doesn’t matter. We can tell her. She’s been gone for a long while, so this can’t be a new project on his part.”

  “Not new, but he could have spent the first half century or so waiting for her to come home.” I switched topics. “Any particular reason you wanted to go back to the guild house?”

  Dorcha whinnied. “To get away from London and that infernal circus.” She poked me with the horn that was still on my shoulder. “I never want to perform again. Ever. Are we clear on that?”

  I wound my fingers around her horn and moved it off to one side, and then I wiped my hand on my pants. “I’m not fond of prancing around for a bunch of mortals, either, but the circus is good cover for us.”

  “Only if you insist on dragging us to where humans are.”

  My spell developed a different feel, one that told me our journey was nearly over. I’d aimed for the forest surrounding the guild house. I wasn’t interested in detailing how I’d spent the last few years, not right away. Eventually, Grigori would find me, but I was hoping it would happen after I’d been back for a few days. Normally, he didn’t pay me much heed one way or the other.

  My spell dissipated. Dorcha tossed her mane this way and that, whinnying like a mad thing. I was glad she was happy, but I had no flipping idea what we’d do next. None. Mortals jump through hoops, eat special food, exercise their fool heads off, to dredge a few more years out of their three-score-and-ten. Most would covet my immortality.

  Each situation has plusses—and drawbacks. Humans don’t have a chance to get bored or tired or disenchanted with everything. Maybe they flirt with unhappiness, but before it establishes a solid toehold, they’re dead and gone.

  Dorcha cantered off, losing herself in a thick evergreen grove. Good for her. I must be slipping to squander time comparing anything about myself with mortals. I leaned against a tree, considering how to sneak into the guild house. Turns out it was a waste of time.

  “Rhiana!” Grigori’s deep voice boomed. “Welcome back.” Something about my expression must have tipped him off because he added, “You are back, right? Not just passing through.”

  “Blunt as ever,” I said with a jaunty grin. Grigori is a werewolf, and an old one with powerful intuitive ability. Trying for unobtrusive, I cobbled a shield around my thoughts and took a good look a
t him. Dressed in jeans and a thick black woolen sweater, he topped my height by almost a foot. Red hair shone in the afternoon light. He had it sectioned off in tiny braids, but they hit him past waist level. His blue eyes were as shrewd as ever, but new lines carved tracks in his forehead and around his eyes.

  “Usually, I like being ogled by attractive women, but you’re taking the whole ‘nice to see you again’ thing too far,” he said.

  I rolled my shoulders in a shrug. “Manners are for mortals. I had no idea if you’d be here. This is far from the only guild house. Have you been ill?”

  His russet brows shot up. “Now who’s the blunt one?”

  “Well, have you?” I persisted.

  He nodded and made shooing motions with both hands. “Into the grove.”

  I screwed my face into a quizzical expression angling for more information. Didn’t do me a bit of good. He hooked a hand beneath my arm and pushed me toward a grove of white oak trees. Keyed to his magic, they’d shield our conversation from curious ears. No easy outs. I could tell him I wasn’t interested in whatever he had in mind. Or I could make it clear I had no plans to remain longer than it took for Dorcha to come to her senses about returning to either the circus we’d left or one we had yet to find.

  I could, but was I heartless enough to say no? His joy at seeing me was so genuine, I had to at least hear him out.

  He set a brisk pace. Once he understood I’d accommodate him, he let go of my arm. I’d come close to telling him I was done with the Circle of Assassins on other occasions, but something always stopped me. I’d been here very little, my visits so infrequent I was far from up to date on who even laid claim to inclusion in the supernatural hit squad these days.

  The Circle made sense when Grigori organized it hundreds of years ago. It made far less today. Between weapons of mass destruction and religious types set on immolating themselves—and taking hundreds or thousands with them—the assassin trade wasn’t anything like it had been.