Grave Dance (Alex Craft, #2)(103)

Sea serpent?

Then another head emerged. And another. I stumbled back against the railing of the bridge as two more heads on long, scaled necks emerged. How many of these things are there?

Seven. Heads, at least. Then the first huge taloned foot grabbed the side of the bridge as the creature hauled itself up, and I realized that al the heads were attached to one beast. Hydra.

And another construct. How many souls are fueling that thing? The mist under its glamoured form was solid, completely obscuring the charmed disk in the jumble of souls.

The police, whom I hadn’t seen, shouted into radios, cal ing for backup. I glanced at the edge of the bridge, wondering if I even had a chance of making it to the bank—

this thing’s reach was massive. Then my senses picked up on familiar magic that was not part of the construct.

I let my eyes fol ow my senses. There, around the center head’s neck was a large col ar, and dangling from the col ar was a ruby saturated with Hol y’s magic. I’d never seen her was a ruby saturated with Hol y’s magic. I’d never seen her without the charm.

The police surged forward, opening fire on the hydra.

Their bul ets were too smal in caliber to do much against the hydra’s thick hide, but the col ectors were a lot more effective as they lunged at heads and jerked souls free.

“Wait! It’s wearing one of Hol y’s charms. Maybe it’s supposed to take me somewhere,” I yel ed, staring at the head with the jewel strapped to its neck. I met its red eyes, looking for a sign of intel igence, of intent.

It blinked large, reptilian eyes at me. Then lunged.

Huge fangs hurtled toward me, but Death reached me first. He tackled me to the ground, his hand behind my head keeping my skul from cracking against the stone. The hydra’s head sliced through the air above him, taking out a section of the bridge railing where I’d been standing. Death twisted, watching the head withdraw. Then he turned back toward me.

“Love, the only way that thing is supposed to take you somewhere is if it passes off the spel in its fangs. Don’t try to reason with it,” he said, his face close enough that his breath drifted over my lips as he spoke. His face wasn’t the only thing close. The entire front of his body pressed against mine. He seemed to realize that fact at the same time I did because a grin spread over his face. “I real y wish there wasn’t a hydra here,” he said, his voice pitched low.

Then he rol ed off me and helped me to my feet.

Damn hydra.

Death stepped away, his focus on the hydra again. Oh, I wanted to destroy that construct. Bad.

I glanced at my dagger. If my reach had been a handicap with the gryphon, it was astronomical y worse with the hydra. The dagger was just too smal . Only one other option.

I dropped my shields.

I could feel graves in the darkness. The essence from smal dead animals, some not so smal , and some that smal dead animals, some not so smal , and some that were most definitely not animals, reached for me. Fresh graves. Old graves. And some graves that felt ancient as the essence clawed at me, trying to sink under my skin.

I didn’t have enough time to do more than try to block out the encroaching essence as one of the hydra’s heads snapped toward me. I dove to the side, reaching with power. As the head recoiled for another strike, I pul ed with magic. A soul popped free. The head shrank. One soul down.

Someone released a sharp scream and I whirled around.

Beside me, the raver pressed a hand over her arm—an arm soaked in blood. The hydra can hurt them? My racing heart stumbled in my chest, missing several beats as my gaze snapped to where Death dodged the lunging heads, his hands darting out whenever one got too close. The head always drew back smal er, down one more soul. Then two heads rushed him at once.

No!

I thrust my power into the head lunging for his back, and jerked at the souls inside. One. Two. Three souls popped free. Then I was fal ing forward, the bridge rushing up to slam into my knees. The gray man stood above me, jabbing his cane into the nostril of a head fil ing the space where I’d been.

“Watch your own back, girl. He’l watch his,” he said as he pul ed his cane free. “We could use more room to maneuver. The beast is targeting you. Lead it to the bank.

We’l cover you.”

Right. I pushed to my feet, then immediately dove to the side as another head lunged forward. I made it only a few feet with each sprint, but true to his word, the gray man covered my dash off the bridge. Two men in uniform met me on the bank.

“Bul ets won’t pierce its skin,” I said, turning back to reach with my power again. The hand I lifted shook too hard to hold straight.

hold straight.

“It’s fae, right?” one of the men asked as he snapped a clip into his gun. A gun I wasn’t familiar with but bigger than the Glocks that most of the homicide detectives carried. It was also spel ed. He pul ed the trigger and one of the heads exploded.

I blinked at him, wide-eyed, as he squeezed off three more shots. Another head scattered into mist. We’d already destroyed two, and while he lined up another shot, the col ectors finished off the last three heads. Then al that was left was a lumbering body. The col ectors tore into it as the gunman squeezed the trigger twice more.

He smiled as the beast vanished and a disk the size of a tabletop hit the ground. “Spel ed iron,” he said, clearly thinking his bul ets had done the trick. I so wanted to disil usion him, but I didn’t. He turned to me and held out his hand. “Name’s Tucker.”