Magic Triumphs (Kate Daniels, #10)

by Ilona Andrews

Erra took him, holding him up by the pure magic coursing through her ghostly arms. A pulse of power shot through her and into the baby. For a second, my son glowed. “The blood bred true.” Pride vibrated in Erra’s voice. “Behold the Prince of Shinar and know he is perfect!”

We kept shapeshifters’ hours, late to bed, late to rise. Everyone I knew was aware of that. “Uh-oh!” Conlan said. Uh-oh is right.

Luther strode toward us. Stocky and dark-haired, he was wearing boots, a pair of stained shorts, and a T-shirt that said KNIGHT IN THE STREETS, WIZARD IN THE SHEETS. “I like the T-shirt,” I told him. “Very professional.”

But, being Southern, Mr. Tucker also believed in politeness. “Repent! The end is here! How you folks doing today?”

“Hey, there’s a Kate Lennart calling for the Fearless Leader. She’s not on the list.” Apparently, Noah hadn’t mastered putting people on hold. “Kate who?” another male voice asked. “Kate Lennart?” “You idiot, that’s the In-Shinar!” “What?” Noah squeaked. “You put the In-Shinar on hold, you dumbass! Ghastek’s going to hang you by your balls.” Ugh. “What do I do?” Panic spiked in Noah’s voice. You could connect me to Ghastek. If I said something now, it would only freak them out more. There was some random beeping. I had a vision of Noah frantically pawing at the phone, smacking keys at random like a toddler. A disconnect signal beeped in my ear. The last time I attended the induction of candidates to the ranks of journeymen, Ghastek introduced me as “Behold, the Immortal One, the In-Shinar, the Blood Blade of Atlanta.” I spent the whole ceremony trying to kill him with my brain. When I chewed him out afterward, he asked who I would rather risk my life for, the Blood Blade of Atlanta or Kate Lennart, small business owner. I should’ve told him to stuff it. I had only myself to blame.

“How is Baby B doing?” He grinned. “A wolf boy tried to steal her toy at the picnic last week. She chased him down, took the toy away, and beat him bloody with it.” “You must be so proud.” “Oh, I am.”

TWO BIG GRAY eyes regarded me from a round face, lit up by the morning light filtering through the kitchen window. Conlan pushed the oatmeal away. “No.” “Yes.” “Huny.” I crossed my arms. “Did Grandma give you honey muffins yesterday?” His eyes lit up. “Gama!” “Grandma isn’t here.” My son made nom-nom noises.

Those books made it crystal clear that giving honey to your baby before he was a year old made you a terrible mother. The moment a spoon of honey would touch his lips, the words “Awful Mother” would appear on your forehead, forever branding you as a parenting failure. I had explained this to Mahon and Martha. They listened, nodded, and agreed, and then proceeded to ignore me. They’d been giving him honey and various honey-infused sweets since he was able to hold them in his tiny hands and then lied to my face about it. Werebear parents-in-law came with their own challenges.

“Huny.” Conlan sniffled. “I don’t negotiate with terrorists. Oatmeal or nothing.”

Conlan must’ve decided that Nick needed cheering up, because he took his soggy pretzel out of his mouth and tried to feed it to the knight-protector.

“Say bye to Uncle Stupidhead.” Conlan waved his hand. “Bye-bye.” “Bye-bye!” Nick waved back.

He was a baby and babies threw tantrums, because life was hard and not fair and their wishes were rarely taken into account.

About fifteen minutes into the drive, Conlan gave up singing the sad song of his people and fell asleep.

A clawed paw shot out from under the bed and swiped at my leg. I jumped a foot in the air and three feet back. It couldn’t be. I dropped down on the floor. A pair of glowing gray eyes stared at me from under the bed. Gold light rolled over them, the telltale shapeshifter fire. I’d seen that gold glow just five days ago, when our idiot poodle tried to throw up by Curran’s chair. “Conlan?” A low growling noise answered me. Oh crap. Crap, crap, crap. He’d shifted. He’d turned into a baby lion. Oh my God. I stared at the eyes. Maybe I was imagining it. “Conlan?” “Rawwr rawwr rawwroo.” Nope. Not imagining it.

“He’s eating something. What could he be chewing under there?” Andrea frowned. “Electric cords. Old tissues. Dead bugs.” Kate Lennart, mother of the year. What do you feed your son? Dead bugs he found under the bed, of course.

Andrea rolled her eyes. “Have I told you that you’re a helicopter parent?” “I’m going to be the Wrath of Hell parent in a minute.” I crouched by the bed. “You lift, I grab.” “Okay.” Andrea gripped the edge of the massive bed and jerked it up like it weighed nothing. A black lion cub the size of a small Chow Chow darted toward her. I lunged for him and missed. He snarled and locked his teeth on Andrea’s shin. “Ow!”

Wait until I tell Raphael.” “I wish you wouldn’t.” “What? Why?” “Because your husband gossips like a church lady.” “Please. Don’t insult me. Church ladies line up around the block to take gossip lessons from Raphael.”

“The Wild is unpredictable,” Erra said. “I’ve had a trying couple of days,” I told her. “Normally I love listening to a blistering lecture on my failure to choose a proper husband. It’s my absolute favorite. But if you don’t stop, I will put your dagger into the stables.” Erra fixed me with her stare. “Sometimes I despair at your lack of respect.” “I had the best role model. She once punched the head priest of Nineveh when he told her to bow. Maybe you’ve heard of her?” She snorted. “He was an insufferable prick.” “Takes one to know one.” “Your husband loves you,” she said. “I suppose you could’ve done worse.” I stopped what I was doing and did an exaggerated double take. My aunt rolled her eyes. “Yes, you could’ve done worse.” “Be still my beating heart. How will I ever deal with such faint praise?” Andrea snickered. We both looked at her. “I love the Kate and Erra show,” she said. “You should take it on the road.”

“As I was saying,” Erra continued, “there has never been a child of the Wild within our bloodline. I was hoping that the Wild wouldn’t manifest, but it did and now it coexists with our powers inside his body. The might of our magic fuels him. I fear for my grandnephew, for he may be capable of terrible things.” My aunt, the party pooper. “Why should he be any different than the rest of us?” My aunt opened her mouth and closed it. “Good point.”

Besides, having a pile of rotting human heads is unhygienic,” Erra said. Of course. When making monuments of human skulls, one must always keep hygiene in mind.

Julie’s eyes lit up. “Don’t do it,” I told her. She held her hands out. “Aliens.” “No.” “Oh, come on, why can’t it be aliens? Ooo, maybe your whole family is aliens.” I turned and went back to the house.

My morning started with Curran kissing me, which was very welcome. At which point we discovered that our son had shifted back into a human in the middle of the night, because he climbed onto our bed in all of his nude glory, slapped his belly, and yelled, “Natned!” Then he grabbed himself, in case we missed his point. After Curran stopped laughing, I handed our child over to him and escaped into the bathroom. Conlan had been yelling “Natned” since I packed him into his car seat twenty minutes ago. He’d clearly decided that clothes were overrated.

“It’s funny how you use logic in an argument and think it will persuade me.” “He is still teething. He’ll need something to gnaw on.” “On one hand, a clean Conlan eating cereal. On the other, Conlan covered in blood gnawing on a deer leg.” “Which one seems more like your kid?” Curran asked. I gave him the look of death. He laughed. “Okay,” I told him. “But if he gets worms, it’s on you.” Curran turned onto Jeremiah Street. “I let him eat a mouse in the forest yesterday.” “Of course you did. Why wouldn’t you let your baby eat some filthy rodent in the woods?” “He caught it himself. I’m not going to take his kill away from him.” Why me?

Conlan, who’d been running around the tables in a circle, sighted Robert and went into a crouch. Robert raised his eyebrows and took a step forward. The shift was instant. One second normal—well, mostly normal—human child, the next an oversized black lion cub. Robert’s jaw hung open. He actually did a double take. I didn’t blame him. Conlan made an adorable lion cub. At least he hadn’t gone into warrior form again. “Congratulations,” Robert finally managed. “Thank you,” Curran said, his face nonchalant, as if nothing notable were happening. My son shrugged the shreds of his clothes off himself and showed Robert his lion fangs. “Rawrrawrrr!” “Is he challenging me?” Robert’s eyes sparkled. I put my hand over my face. “Rawrwrwa!” “That’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.” “Conlan,” Curran said, putting some growl into his voice. “Come here.” “Rawr.” Curran got up and strode toward Conlan. My kid lunged sideways, but Curran was too fast. His hand snapped out, and he lifted Conlan by the scruff of his neck. “No.” Conlan settled into his father’s arms, eyeing Robert like he was a cobra.

“Julie. He’s been to the house. Why didn’t you tell me?” She waved her hands. “It didn’t come up.” “What do you mean, it didn’t come up?” Curran growled. Damn it. “The next time you bring a half-dragon to the house, I want to know about it. That’s the kind of essential information I should have.” “He’s just a guy I went to school with. We don’t make a big deal about it.” Argh.

Teddy Jo grimaced. “It’s not a corpse bus. It’s a Multiple Recently Deceased Efficient Removal vehicle.” “You do realize that spells MURDER?” Derek asked. Teddy Jo gave him a look. “Yes, I do. That’s the point.” Angel of death humor, what would we do without it?

I tried to give him cereal. He flipped the bowl and put it on his head. We made the fatal mistake of laughing, and he decided the bowl was an essential accessory and refused to give it up. He also decided that cereal was clearly beneath him and spat it out in various creative ways.

“Bada!” Conlan squirmed in his chair. “Stay,” I told him. “Dadbadaa!” “Don’t talk back to your mother,” Curran told him.

“Who’s going to be watching him?” “Adora.” Dali wrinkled her nose. “Is she capable of watching him? You know how she is. What if she sees a butterfly?” “I’ll pay her.” A few months ago, Adora had figured out that when she did a job for the Guild, she earned money, which she could then spend however she pleased. After she’d repeatedly shown the money to me, and I confirmed several times that it was, indeed, her own money, she went out shopping for the first time and we got to find out what $1,200 of candy looked like. She ate candy for three days straight, then spent the remainder of the week on our couch with a stomachache.

“Okay,” Dali said. Her tone told me she didn’t like it. That was okay. I didn’t like a great many things, but the universe didn’t give a crap, so I didn’t see why it should bend on Dali’s account.

“And you’re sure it wasn’t your dad in disguise?” Curran asked. “Yes. The eyes were different.” My husband crossed his arms. “How long did you gaze into his eyes, exactly?” “About three seconds, while I waited for him to speak.” I pointed my teaspoon at him. “I know what you’re thinking. Stop thinking it.” Julie kept a straight face, but her eyes laughed at me from above the rim of her cup. Derek appeared stoic. “What am I supposed to think? First, someone sends you a red rose.” “And a knife. And a box full of ash.” “Exactly. Is it a threat? Is it a conditional declaration of war?” I shrugged. “Maybe it’s a gift from a socially awkward horticulturalist.” Julie laughed into her tea. Derek pretended not to hear, but the corners of his mouth curved up. “Sure it is. Then you call your dad and some golden-haired pretty boy shows up dressed to impress.”

Curran examined him, his jaw set. Julie snapped a few pictures. “You didn’t say he was handsome.” Thanks, just what I needed.

“I’ll carry you,” he told me. “It will be quieter.” “No, it won’t.” “You stomp like a rhino.” “I glide like a silent killer.” His eyes shone. “A cute rhino.” “Cute?” “Mm-hm.” “See, now you’ve sealed your fate. I’ll have to kill you . . .”

THE PROBLEM WITH having a son who’d discovered he was a shapeshifter was twofold. First, Conlan was a hyperactive toddler. Second, lions are cats, and cats like pouncing. They especially like pouncing on their happily sleeping parents and then bouncing up and down on the bed, flexing their claws. “It’s six . . .” bounce “in the morning.” Bounce. “I thought . . .” bounce “you hunted . . . in the evening.” “We’re . . .” bounce “adaptable.” Bounce. “Lions . . . are . . . crepuscular . . . active in . . . twilight.” “Can we . . . make him . . . less active?” Curran grabbed Conlan and pinned him down. “Stop annoying your mother.” “Rawrarawara!” “Why is he shifting all the time? Shouldn’t he shift once or twice every twenty-four hours and then pass out?” “He’s special,” Curran said, holding Conlan down with one hand. I groaned and put a pillow on my face.

“Maybe he’s married and living happily in some castle somewhere,” Julie said. I barked a short laugh. “Hugh?”

“Be careful,” I told her. “I was planning on blundering straight into danger without any preparation, but now that you told me, I will totally be careful.” “Blunder all you want,” I told her. “When you get into trouble, I’m not saving you.” “Ha! You will totally save me.” She stuck her tongue out at me and headed out the kitchen door to the stables for her horse. “The pervert’s right,” Curran said. “You’re contagious.”

He stepped over the magic boundary and froze, his gaze fixed on Conlan. A moment passed. Luther sputtered and pointed. “Yes, it’s a human infant,” I told him. “Give!” “I’ll let you hold him if you swear by Merlin’s beard.” Because it would be funny. “By Merlin’s beard, whatever, give.” I handed Conlan to him. Luther took him, carefully, as if my son were made of glass. Conlan stared at him with his big gray eyes. “Hello there,” Luther said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Aren’t you a wonder?” The wonder farted. I laughed. “When did he awake?” Luther asked. “Around six this morning.” “That’s not what I am asking! When did his magic manifest?” “A couple of days ago. Something scared him, and he reacted.” Luther gazed at my child in awe. They looked kind of adorable, my baby with his kitten eyes and head of soft dark hair and Luther, a slightly unkempt, eccentric wizard. “It’s like holding a nuclear bomb,” Luther said. “You ruined it.”

I dropped my magic cloak. Luther blinked. He stepped forward very carefully, deposited Conlan into my hands, and stepped back. A blond woman wearing scrubs appeared in the doorway. “What is it with all the magic splashing? Damn it, Luther, can’t you control your . . .” She saw us and stopped. Her eyes widened. “Wow,” she said softly. “I know, right?” Luther said quietly. For a while they just looked at us. Conlan squirmed in my arms. “Is this what we will be one day?” the woman murmured. “Future us?” “This is what the past us were.” Luther sighed. “Better put it away before Allen runs over here. We’ll spend the whole day trying to get him to leave.”

He waved to Conlan. “Don’t listen to your mom. You can do it. Jump!” Conlan gathered himself into a tight ball. I’d seen Curran do this a hundred times. “You can do it!” Luther prompted. Conlan leaped three feet into the air, cleared a full twelve feet, and landed in the circle. Luther’s jaw hung open. Conlan giggled and jumped out of the circle. Then back in. Then out. “So,” Luther said. “He is a shapeshifter.” “Oh yes. You’re slipping, Luther.” “I’m not slipping. He is emitting all sorts of magic, and I don’t sniff or lick other people’s children, even to diagnose their magic. That would be creepy.” In and out. In and out. When we got home, I would draw a circle for Conlan. It would keep him busy for a couple of minutes.

“Blasphemy!” Religious fanatics. Reasonable and understanding people, easily persuaded by facts and logical arguments.

“The temerity to attack me with plant magic in my own house.” “Only you would use a word like ‘temerity’ at a time like this.”

Conlan raised his hand, fingers outstretched, as if they had claws, and slapped the vampire upside the face. The undead remained unmoved. “Your son doesn’t look traumatized to me,” Ghastek observed. “I’m sure this will surface as a repressed memory fifteen years from now.” Conlan smacked the vampire again. “Stop,” I told him. “What a shame,” Ghastek murmured. “He isn’t even trying to pilot.” Conlan raised his hand. “Har.” No. The ancient word rolled off my tongue, suffused with magic. I was too keyed up. Conlan dropped his hand, backed away from the vampire, and came toward me, his hands raised. “Up.” I swung him onto my hip. My right arm screamed. “Oh my God,” Rowena whispered. “He understood.” Of course he understood. “Erra sings to him in Shinar every night. He speaks it better than English at this point.”

About that time Curran and Barabas joined the Guild and eventually took it over. Barabas ran the admin side, Curran served as the Guild Master, and a year and a half ago, the mercs unanimously voted me in as a Steward, which meant whenever the mercs had problems or grievances with either of them, they ran to me and I fixed it. I’d needed the added responsibility like I needed a hole in the head. In fact, I wasn’t even at the meeting, because I’d gotten held up getting a boggart out of a local middle school. The mercs conveniently voted in my absence and then presented me with the Steward’s scroll when I showed up, dripping slime and picking trash out of my hair.

It was a wonder he didn’t dig a moat around the place.

They were so different. Christopher was in love with Barabas. Barabas loved him back, but since he’d taken care of Christopher while the other man’s mind had been fractured, he faced an ethical dilemma. The last time we’d spoken about it, he’d been worried that Christopher’s feelings weren’t love but misplaced affection for a caretaker. Barabas didn’t want to take advantage. They continued to live in the same house. They looked like a couple. They acted like a couple. Neither of them volunteered any information about their relationship. We respected their privacy, and nobody asked.

“What happened to all the tortoise spit?” “I’m wearing my good robe,” Roman said. Having your mother serve as one of the three witches of the Oracle had its perks.

Do I need to go down there and talk to this Warlock myself?” “No!” Evdokia and Sienna said in the same voice. “Why not?” They were hiding something.

He walked through the door, carrying Conlan. Conlan saw me, scooted out of his arms, and charged up the stairs at breakneck speed. I had a split-second decision: to move or to take the hit. I took the hit. My back slapped the wooden floor. Ouch. He hugged me. “Mama!” I rolled to my feet. “This sudden love is suspicious.” “He got in trouble for trying to eat scented candles.”

I dropped back and snapped a fast kick, aiming at his head. He leaned back, letting my kick fly by. “You’re at least six-two.” “You measured me with your kick?” “Yes.

“Parents,” Roman said. “Can’t live with them. Can’t kill them. You call, they don’t pick up. You don’t call, they get offended. Then they chew a hole in your head because you’re a bad son.” “He is a bad father!” I snarled. “Okay,” Roman said, his voice soothing. “Of course he is. Be reasonable. This is the guy who ordered his own grandson killed. Nobody is saying that he is a good father. All I’m saying is that parents don’t like being yelled at. He knows you’re upset and he doesn’t want to take your calls.” “That’s family business. This is an outsider attacking us. This is different!” Roman sighed. “I get it. I really do. Have you tried pleading? Maybe cry a little? That way he would know it was safe to take the call, and he would swoop in like a savior. Parents love to play saviors.” I glared at him. He raised his hands. “All I’m saying is when I need to talk to my dad, I don’t call him and scream at him because he got into a drunken brawl with Perun’s volhv, and Perun’s idiot kid followers decided to Taser Chernobog’s idol in his shrine, because that’s the closest they can come to lightning, and now my god wants them all murdered. I call and say, ‘Hey, Dad, I know you’re busy, but I’ve got a serious situation on my hands and I need your advice.’ Just try my way. I bet it will work.”