Kinked (Elder Races, #6)(64)

“Andreyev,” Aryal said. “Galya Andreyev, from the Russian Steppe. Don’t let her looks fool you. I forget how old she is, but for a human she’s very old. Unnaturally so, like over three hundred years, and she didn’t turn into a Vampyre to achieve that. She did it by some other means. And no, I don’t know how.”

“How do you know of her if she never leaves Russia—or never did until now?” Quentin asked.

“Dragos knows her,” she told him. “Or at least he knows of her. He claims that Galya Andreyev is one of the most Powerful witches in the world. You remember when Urien had Pia blackmailed into using a finding charm? Dragos said at the time that he knew of only three people who could have made that charm—Urien, Rune’s mate Carling, and Galya Andreyev.”

Quentin swore. “I knew as soon as I looked at her that I was outgunned on the magic front.”

She started to say more, but lost her train of thought as the world grayed around her, and Quentin’s arm tightened until he had her hauled tightly against his lean body. “We have to get out of here now,” he said.

“What about the shadow wolves?” one of the Elven males asked. One of these days, Aryal was going to figure which of them was which. Right now, she didn’t give a rat’s ass as she could barely hold on to her own name.

“If they’re out there, we’ll just have to deal with it,” Quentin said harshly. “Those wolves were able to do the kind of damage they did to us because they caught us by surprise. I’ll bet they did the same with you. But Power affects them, and I’ve had a chance now to think about what that means. I’ve got a few offensive spells that I think will be effective.” He said to Linwe, “Your job is to help Aryal. Caerreth, as soon as we’re beyond the influence of the cell block, you work on healing her. Aralorn, you and I are the guards. As soon as we feel we’re beyond the dampening magic, we stop and keep it at our backs. There’s a boundary somewhere. It’s in our best interest to use it. If the witch comes, we slide back over the line. It doesn’t matter how Powerful she is. It’s going to nullify her magic too. Got it?”

Aryal couldn’t focus her eyes properly, but everybody must have nodded, because Quentin passed her gently over to Linwe. The Elf was smaller than she was by several inches, and she slipped easily under one of Aryal’s arms, putting an arm around her waist.

“You lean on me,” Linwe said softly.

“I don’t think I’ve got a choice,” Aryal said.

One of the Elven males came up on her other side. “I’m Caerreth,” he said. “You can lean on me too.”

While she couldn’t see his features very well in the deepening darkness, she would know him again by his scent. He was much taller than Linwe, so she slipped an arm around his waist. “Thanks,” she muttered.

“Don’t mention it,” Caerreth said. “You and Quentin came after us when you found that we were missing. If it weren’t for you, we would still be locked up. Helping is the least we can do.”

Quentin had glided away to go to the cell block door. As he worked to pick the lock, Aryal and her helpers followed more slowly.

“The dampening spell is on this door too,” Quentin said, his voice quiet.

Aryal caught the small, distinct sound of the lock clicking open.

What a useful trait, having your own lock picks on the ends of your fingers. She envied him those. Her talons were too thick, and they were too hard to file into a thinner shape. And she was fairly certain she was a sharper thinker than this usually, but she had lost too much blood and was so light-headed, she was surprised she was still conscious, let alone still stringing thoughts together in a semicoherent fashion.

Someone nudged her, and she came alert with a start. She’d lost a few moments. The cell block door was open. Quentin and Aralorn slipped out, disappearing into even darker shadows.

Quentin appeared again almost immediately. He said, “There’s a stairway. The dampening spell appears to wear off by the time you reach the top. We’ll stop there. Come on.”

Caerreth and Linwe had to carry most of Aryal’s weight up the stairs. She couldn’t hold back a groan as their lifting strained her back. Ahead of them on the stairs, she saw the silhouette of Quentin’s head as he turned to look down at her. But he said nothing, and after a few minutes they had reached the top where Aralorn stood, waiting tensely.

They were in a hallway that stretched in either direction. It was shadowed, cool and quiet, and for the moment free of shadow wolves. That was all Aryal had a chance to see before Linwe and Caerreth eased her down onto the floor.

“She has to be on her stomach,” Quentin told them.

As they eased her over on the flagstone floor, she helped them as much as she was able. Normally so strong, her own weakness filled her with rage.

Someone knelt beside her head. It was Quentin. He put a steady hand at the back of her neck. His hand was warm and bracing. She closed her eyes against how good it felt. He told her softly, “You have to change again. Do it quietly this time, hear?”

She nodded, bracing herself, and reached for the shapeshift.

Usually shapeshifting came so easily, like second nature. This one was brutally hard, taxing her meager resources, and, oh gods, it hurt. She swallowed down a scream and strained. The shift felt chainsaw rough and barely within her reach, but finally with a pained grunt she managed to change over to the harpy.