Magic Tides (Kate Daniels: Wilmington Years #1)(25)

“Ha-ha.”

“I mean it. Stay clear if you can.”

“How good is he?” I took another bite.

“Better than a few Legati I knew.”

During my father’s rule, the Golden Legion consisted of the best Masters of the Dead, the most talented and deadly, and the Legatus that led it was the strongest of all of them. My father promoted rigorous competition and prioritized strength and talent. The position of Legatus had large turnover, and nobody had yet to retire from it.

“Your buddy Ghastek,” Hugh said. “Powerful but too smart for his own good. He thinks too much, and it makes him predictable. Barrett’s a thinker too, but nobody knows what makes him tick. He doesn’t form alliances. He doesn’t respond to threats. It’s very difficult to provoke him on purpose, but sometimes he reacts with overwhelming violence to minor shit. If he found out who you are, it might be ‘you killed my master, prepare to die’ or ‘the King is out, long rule the Queen.’ I have no idea which he’ll pick, and I wouldn’t bet a dime either way.”

I sighed and drank more of my coffee.

“What does he say about it?” Hugh asked.

“Nothing. I haven’t asked him. I try to not involve him in my business.”

“That’s for the best.”

“Does your wife know of any water gods active around Wilmington?”

“Why is it that any time a freaky deity pops up somewhere, all of you call my wife?”

“Do you really want me to answer that question?”

“…Good point. Hold on, I’ll ask.”

I held the phone away from my ear.

“HEY, HONEY? DO YOU KNOW ABOUT ANY WATER GODS IN WILMINGTON?”

How Elara put up with him I would never know. Then again, I married a man who occasionally turned into a lion in his sleep, so I had no room to judge. I finished my Danish.

“She says she doesn’t know of anything recent. With Wilmington being an international port, it’s hard to say.”

“Please tell her thank you.”

“A lot of Irish in Wilmington,” Hugh said.

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about that.”

“It could be a god or it could be something else, and either way, it’s likely dangerous. Watch yourself.”

“Thanks for the pep talk.”

“Whatever you do, don’t feed it to Curran.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Call me if you need help. Gods know you could use it.”

“If I did call you, what would you do? You’ve gone soft in your country lord life, in your keep, with your wife baking delicious desserts for you and your gang of children.”

“That’s good. I’ll remind you of that next time you call. And by the way, you can call even when you don’t need something. And you can visit.”

“I know. Take care.”

“You too.”

We did visit, eight months ago. Which was why Paul had had to work extra hard to convince Curran that there was absolutely no way to put a moat around our new residence. He still wanted it and swore he’d find a way somehow.

I finished the last swallow of my delicious coffee and went on my way.

As soon as we left the Food Lion parking lot, Cuddles picked up the pace, clopping her way on the crumbling highway like she had some place to be and needed to get there. Horses could be convinced to go faster or slower, but donkeys had a mind of their own, so I gave thanks to the donkey gods and enjoyed the ride.

Eventually we left the city behind and entered the wooded stretch that separated Wilmington proper from the little town of Porter’s Neck. Before the Shift, they were part of the same metro, but the hazards brought by the magic waves made the towns contract to their own boundaries. Here woods hugged the road, birches, maples, magnolias, all magic-fed to record size. Keeping the forest at bay was a constant fight, and the humans didn’t always win it.

The moon lit my way, its light pouring from the sky. The road ahead almost glowed. Things tracked my progress from the gloom between the trees, their eyes shining in every color. Sometimes instead of a pair, it was one giant eye, sometimes three, set in a triangle. One time it was eight, high in the tree, glowing with eerie magenta. If a giant spider decided to jump onto my head, I’d have a devil of a time convincing Cuddles to keep going in the right direction.

The eyes blinked out on both sides of the road, as if snuffed out by a gust of wind. Hurried rustling announced several furry creatures beating a very fast retreat. I glanced behind me. A vampire crouched on the road. This one was old, gristled and leathery, with claws the size of curved paring knives. Its ruby eyes stared at me with unblinking focus.

About time. It had followed me all the way from the Farm, its presence an annoying red spark on the edge of my mind.

The undead stood up straight. Cartilage crunched as the joints realigned themselves to a posture that was no longer natural. The vampire walked over and took a knee.

“Sharratum,” the undead intoned in Rimush’s voice.

Sighing wouldn’t have been politic. “Just Kate, son of Akku. I renounced that title. And all that went with it.”

“It’s who you are. You cannot renounce it any more than you can renounce being human.”

This would be a complicated conversation. “Join me.”