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  Wizards at three o’clock.

  Invisible. Powerful. And sixteen or twenty to his one.

  So-so odds if these were powerless bad guys. But this kind of power required equal power. He didn’t fucking have it. Right now he was sustaining Nomis and his own invisibility. A no-brainer. Usually. The protective shield around both Kess and the cave wouldn’t usually have required more than a thought, but now he felt the pull and fizz of his power as it pulsed in and out of sync.

  They were several clicks away, but if he knew they were there, they knew he was here. He mate rialized. Conserving juice.

  He needed every vestige of his power, and he needed it now.

  His mind raced. He was damned if he’d pull the protection spell from Kess. Without it—without him—she didn’t stand a chance in hell. But if he pulled away most of Nomis’s functions he’d have a tad more capability. Not a hell of a lot, but maybe enough to stay alive longer than he would without it.

  Something slithery rustled in the grass near Kess’s booted foot. She’d put the lantern on the rocky ground, turning the lantern down as low as she could without snuffing out the flame. The barely adequate illumination showed the blades of grass moving as something retreated. Something small. She hoped, doing everything she could not to remind herself that small insects and animals could be just as deadly as their larger brothers and cousins.

  The heavy gun wavered in her left hand. Of course, as soon as she’d left the cave, found a hidden spot with a bit of grass, set the lantern on the ground, undone her belt, yanked down her zipper, and pulled down her pants—all while trying not to shoot herself as she juggled the freaking gun—she’d found that she no longer wanted to pee.

  With a silent sigh, she reversed the order of things and picked up the lantern. She couldn’t hunker down out here forever. Simon was going to come looking for her any minute.

  Her stomach rumbled as the smell of sizzling steak drifted on the slight breeze. Yum. Mouth watering, she trudged up the rocky incline to the cave.

  One minute she was watching her footing, the next Simon was directly in front of her. Lord, the man moved like a freaking ghost. “Don’t do that,” she whispered, heart pounding. Maybe she did need the shrub after all. Maybe she should think about tying a bell around his neck or something. Anything to warn her of his presence. Not that she needed a lot of warning. She was already dangerously aware of every beautiful inch of him. The way his lips quirked when he was amused, the way his shoulders dipped ever so slightly as he walked. The outline of strong, sculpted muscle beneath his shirt. Yeah. A bell would be good.

  He put a finger to his lips. Yeah. She got it. Shut up. She nodded. The meager light made him appear to flicker, which, when added to the sound of creepy-crawlies slithering in the grass, a screeching bird, and the deep, gruff roar of a far—she hoped—distant lion, gave her some wicked goose bumps.

  He forged ahead and she hurried after him, her boots sliding on the sandy, rocky terrain. Tufts of grass and a few shrubs would have been helpful, but she had no intention of putting her hands anywhere there might be tenants.

  The thought of reaching for a bush to pull herself along and grabbing a giant spider instead kept her hands firmly on her gun and lantern. Simon didn’t offer to carry either.

  The enticing smell of the cooking steak turned to the stinky smell of burning meat. Kess put some muscle into the easy climb. She was starving, and while she wasn’t a picky eater, she hated to waste a perfectly good steak.

  Her foot came down on a rock. It went one way, she the other. Because her hands were full, Kess fell flat on her face, then slid backward a few feet, still holding the lantern and gun.

  Hauling herself upright, she glanced up to see if Simon was on his way back to help her up. He wasn’t. From her lower vantage point, she thought he looked blurred, as though he were behind a curtain of slowly moving water. A veil of transparency that made him appear even more ghostlike than a few minutes ago.

  Starvation-induced hallucination. She could see a thin line of smoke coming out of the cave up ahead. Damn it, he was burning their dinner.

  Other than a scraped chin, she was fine. Not that Simon bothered to even turn around to check as he walked into the cave.

  Fine. She was a big girl. A lacerated chin wouldn’t kill her.

  The second she stepped into the cave the small wick of the lantern gave out, plunging the cave into semidarkness. The moon was out, and a blue flame leapt beneath the steak burning in the fry pan. In a minute her eyes would adjust and she’d be able to see just fine. Kess walked toward her burning dinner.

  “I’m fine, thanks,” she said a little more acerbically than the injury warranted. The sarcasm lost its impact because she was barely whispering.

  Silence.

  “Do you want me to pull the pan off the burner, or do you prefer your steak turned to a charcoal briquette? I mean I’m okay with well done, but burnt crispy isn’t my favorite way to—”

  Silence.

  Had he gone outside again? She glanced over her shoulder. Nope. He was hunkered down on his haunches at the mouth of the cave, his back against the rough wall, his gun held loosely in his right hand, which dangled between his knees. He wasn’t paying her a bit of attention.

  “Alrighty then. I’ll just go ahead and turn off the burner, okay?”

  Silence.

  Over his head the sky suddenly lit up like the Fourth of July. The brilliance of the distant lightning strike made her squeeze her eyes shut as it sheeted across the black sky. “Wow, I didn’t even hear the thunder, did you?” Kess blinked open her eyes. Simon was gone.

  “Well, hell, Blackthorne with an e, the least you could do is say good-b—” She was looking right at the cave wall when he suddenly materialized in front of it again. One minute he was gone, the next he was back in exactly the same position as he’d been before. With the hallucinations coming so fast, she definitely needed to eat before she totally lost her last grip on reality.

  Five

  Seven men materialized out of the darkness, stepping from the tree line into the moon-drenched clearing. Not seven wizards. One wizard accompanied by half a dozen henchmen. The lone wizard had the power of multiplication, a rare but effective ability to clone his “presence” footprint. Much like a porcupine fluffing its deadly quills at the enemy.

  Simon stood motionless, feet spread slightly, hands held loosely at his sides as the group approached. If this was the wizard Abi had sent him to find, Abi was in far more trouble than he knew. Hell, Simon acknowledged, right now he was the one in trouble.

  The wizard took the lead. Tall—easily seven feet, with morgue-pale skin and reddish-blond hair hanging straight to his shoulders, where it broke to flow halfway down his chest and back. In spite of the heat, the guy wore a duster of dull black leather, and dark pants tucked into knee-high black boots. He looked like a well-drawn manga character.

  Six Hureni men flanked him. Three a side. This time they’d eschewed war paint and loincloths for camo and efficient German hardware. Not as colorful, but considerably more practical and efficient than ishlangu and hunting shields.

  The presence of the Hureni didn’t bother Simon at all. The wizard, however, did.

  Power pulsed off him in unrelenting waves. Even on his best day Simon would’ve had a hard time battling this guy. The stranger’s power was damn strong. But since this wasn’t one of Simon’s best days, powerwise he’d better think fast before he turned into something unpleasant.

  Like a dung beetle. Or worse—dead.

  Mustering as much juice as he could, he took a step forward, drawing his power in tightly.

  The wizard sent a spear of brilliant, sparking electricity in a straight line aimed at his heart. Simon had zapped his enemy in just the same way, dozens of times. But never with this amount of power. Christ. He instantly teleported a foot to his left and the strike narrowly missed him. Missed, but he felt the incredible power behind the surge. The fine hairs on his body crackled
erect and his heart surged. Behind him, one of the prefab tent houses burst into flame with a whoosh and a shower of sparks.

  He quickly absorbed the swirling magic so that he could boomerang it back. “I see we’ve dispensed with the niceties,” he said dryly, instantaneously opening a large, deep pit beneath the feet of the seven men. Six disappeared from sight as they fell twelve feet down into the hole in a flurry of limbs and Hureni curses.

  The wizard floated above the hole, his long pale hair drifting gently around his upper body as he hovered. “Amateur theatrics.”

  Not done yet, dick.

  Simon ID’d the man’s coarse accent as Afrikaans. A South African wizard? Fuck. He suspected he knew who this asshole was.

  Without shifting his gaze, he conjured a thick tree branch, calling it to his opponent at warp speed. The branch struck the other wizard a resounding blow on the back of the head with the sound of a watermelon hitting concrete. The basic, yet effective, move pitched the wizard headfirst into the hole with his pals.

  Simon immediately cast a magical restraining net over the opening of the pit, then strolled over and looked down. Despite his casual demeanor, it was taking everything in him to maintain the power. The second they saw him standing over him, the Hureni started firing. The barrage of bullets ineffectually hit the invisible shield, bouncing around inside the hole. Two men fell, mortally hit. A third and fourth screamed in pain as they were struck by their own bullets.

  Ping. Ping. Pingpingping. Bullets ricocheted off the shield, hitting another guy who started wailing as the last man frantically tried crawling over him to get out.

  “Fuck you, too,” he told the other wizard. He spoke to the slow-to-learn Hureni: “Yo, assholes. Unless you want to kill yourselves sooner than later, fingers off the triggers.”

  He made eye contact with the furious wizard below. “Who are you?” Simon tried probing the wizard’s mind, but it was sealed, as were the minds of the Hureni. “You responsible for this massacre? No answer? Why them?” He indicated the dead medics scattered about. Personally, he couldn’t come up with a decent reason for such slaughter.

  The wizard’s eyes caught the moonlight and gleamed in the darkness of his dirt prison. “American.” His voice was coldly malevolent, sending an unwelcome, and uncharacteristic, chill up Simon’s spine. “Remember my name. Noek Joubert.”

  Jesus, he’d been right. Noek Joubert. Head of the South African–based Phoenix tango group. Abi had cause to be fucking concerned. Joubert was one of the baddest tango badasses around.

  Simon would recognize this guy’s signature from a hundred miles away if he ever encountered him again. If he was alive to encounter the guy again. He’d heard of Joubert, but intel hadn’t mentioned Joubert’s level of power. And he had intense power. Simon felt it pressing around his body like an oppressive blanket of electricity.

  The dark power held its own energy, as if it were alive. Worse, it was ten times stronger than Simon’s powers. And his own were considered, when they were fucking operating at full throttle, formidable.

  “Remember it,” Joubert said, his tone silky and filled with promise. “It will be the last name you utter before you die.”

  “Well, hell. That’s depressing.” Simon plucked a dead leaf off his sleeve. “I always thought I’d have some sexy woman’s name on my lips as I breathe my last. Noek Joubert, huh? Never heard of you. What did a bunch of do-gooder relief workers do to piss you off?”

  “I ask the questions here,” Joubert snarled, looking up at Simon with venom glinting like quicksilver in his dark eyes. “You aren’t one of the Doctors Without Borders. Who are you?”

  “I’m the one in the position to be asking the questions.” Simon’s body shook a little at the amount of strength required to hold the restraining net in place. Perspiration sheened his skin, and his heart beat like a trip-hammer in his chest. He gritted his teeth, pushing back harder.

  “Let’s try this politely. Who the fuck are you, asshole, and what’s your interest in the medics?”

  “Your shield can’t hold forever.” Anger made the man’s voice hard and vicious. “I’d suggest you return to wherever you hail from, and stay the fuck out of my business.”

  Joubert’s power pounded against Simon’s shields. Hard. Persistent. Simon stood his ground with difficulty, and for the first time as an adult felt real fear.

  Even the small bit of juice he was using to maintain Nomis would help. But he was damned if he’d leave Kess unprotected. Especially now. No. Nomis had to stay with her. If something happened to him, Nomis would get Kess to safety without Joubert knowing about it.

  Kess had to be removed to a safe location. Now. Delaying her departure wasn’t an option. He communicated with Nomis in a mental form of shorthand. Just in case…It was a bit like talking to himself. But not. “And that business is?”

  “I have neither the intention nor the inclination to explain myself to a mere Half wizard.”

  He wasn’t a Half wizard, but clearly his powers were weak enough to translate as one. Fuck. The netting was losing tension. He cut off communication with Nomis. It was only with substantial concentration that he was able to keep the more powerful wizard contained.

  Simon cocked a mocking brow. “Interesting observation since you’re the one down in that hole. Not to mention half your posse’s dead or injured from self-inflicted gunshot wounds.”

  The other wizard’s power shot up through the netting, delivering an invisible sucker punch that knocked Simon back on his ass a good thirty feet or more.

  Irritation turned to seriously pissed as he shot to his feet, rubbing his chest. Felt worse than a bullet striking through Kevlar. Much worse. Eyes narrowed, and all his attention pinpointed and focused on the binding spell, Simon once again made the net impenetrable. Power against power. The very air around him vibrated as he forced one foot in front of the other to get back to the edge of the pit. It was like walking into a hurricane-force gale. Without the sound. The clearing was eerily silent.

  The guy’s silver-black eyes gleamed up at him as Simon stood over him. Simon gave him the evil eye back. “Anyone ever mention you don’t work or play well with others?”

  “Most people appreciate the consequences of crossing me.”

  Who were Noek Joubert’s enemies? Simon wanted to give them a call, maybe buy them a beer. Whatever it took to get this asshole under control. “Crossing you—sounds dangerous. Did these doctors cross a line? Is that why you did the whole slash and splatter thing?”

  The dark wizard flicked his fingers, sending a stream of sapphire-colored energy into the netting. Sparks outlined the invisible strands in a grid of electricity. Under normal circumstances Simon’s protective tools were effective. But now—whether it was due to the dark wizard’s stalwart powers or Simon’s unpredictable outages, one flick of his fingers was all it took. The shield pulsated and started to splinter.

  “I doubt your spell will be effective much longer,” the wizard taunted, baring his teeth like a feral animal. “Heed my advice, American. As they say in your country, ‘cut and run.’”

  Simon felt his powers straining against the force emanating from the stronger wizard. He needed to buy some time. If not, the whole cut-and-run thing might just be one of two options.

  “Tell me why you killed a bunch of relief workers, and I’ll consider sparing your life.” Simon picked up shards of electricity and power like bits of lint on a black coat. It was all he had.

  The South African laughed. “Your threat is an empty one. You are neither up to the physical task nor do I make a habit of explaining myself or my actions to anyone.”

  “Make tonight an exception,” Simon suggested, spreading his feet. “Explain yourself, or I’ll hold you until hell freezes over.” Never make an ultimatum you aren’t one hundred percent positive you can keep. Unless it’s the only fucking card you’re holding.

  With a spark and a flash, the netting flew off the opening to the pit and his nemesis was free. />
  “I was hoping you’d do that,” Simon muttered, blasting the wizard with everything he had. This time, thank God, he blasted him with the full force of his resurgent powers. Joubert went flying, striking a tree twenty feet away with a bone-jarring thud and emitting a fog of green phosphorescent, foul-smelling smoke. A few seconds later he boomeranged right back, knocking Simon to the ground and enveloping him in the rank smog.

  Simon saw the glint of steel through a haze, and barely felt the bite of the gleaming sword Joubert held to his throat. His skin felt anesthetized, his breathing shallow, his vision dim—Christ.

  Photoluminescence. Joubert’s body had the ability to absorb radiation without reemitting it until he needed to use it as a weapon. Apparently harmless to him, but not so fucking harmless to Simon.

  The slower timescale of the reemission was associated with “forbidden” energy state transmission in quantum mechanics. These transitions occur less often in certain materials, like Joubert’s body; the absorbed radiation could, it would seem, be reemitted at a lower intensity. For how long? Minutes? Hours?

  Until, Simon’s senses swam as nausea climbed his throat, until I’m dead, or wished I was?

  No fucking way.

  Using his last ounce of power, taking Nomis’s strength and drawing on something even deeper, Simon conjured a sword. Using the crossguard, and a well-placed knee, he managed to lever the taller, heavier man away from his throat. Springing to his feet, Simon locked his knees until he felt steady enough to move. Jesus.

  Fucking hell.

  He felt annoyingly weak, drugged, and sapped, but he managed to two-fist the heavy sword and swing. His hands were numb, and he had to trust his fingers to maintain a tight grip. He had gained a small measure of surprise fighting with his left hand dominant. But a split second was all the advantage he had as Joubert executed a point-down deflection, grabbing his wrist.

  Simon stepped in hard, and executed a pummel strike to the other man’s face. Joubert fell back with a curse and a bloody nose. No bullet, or bullets, would work against Joubert’s wizard shield. Simon had to fight fire with fire. He poured white light down the forged steel of his blade until it burned with an icy glow, then swung it in an arc that connected the razor-sharp edge to Joubert’s upper arm. Leather, fabric, and flesh split.