Magic Tides (Kate Daniels: Wilmington Years #1)(30)

This must be what war would be like. We are under a siege. Like in the stories.

The scout shapeshifter started shaking all over.

“I think he smells you,” Mr. Keelan said to Dad.

The wererat turned back the way he’d come and sprinted away. Fast.

“Smart man,” Dad said.

“If he is, he’ll keep running like the Devil himself is chasing him until he’s well out of Wilmington,” Mr. Keelan said.

People poured out of the forest tunnel that hugged our road. Ten, fifteen, thirty…fifty…

They approached the walls and stopped about twenty yards away.

“Here they are,” Mr. Paul’s wife said, her voice sharp with anger.

A woman in the front line started waving her arms. A knot of magic began to form around her.

“Mage,” I said. “Front row, third person on the left.”

Dad looked at her.

She waved her arms some more.

“It’s taking her a while,” Mr. Keelan said. “We could just shoot her.”

“Let them make the first move,” Dad said. “So far, they’re just people standing around outside the walls.”

Finally, the mage thrust her arms out like she was pushing someone, and a fireball exploded against the wall, three feet to the right of the gates. She had missed. Still, I could feel the heat from where we waited. She wasn’t great, but she had some power.

The mob cheered. The man in front, a big, bearded guy painted with red swirls, screamed, “Fuck them up!”

“I believe that’s our cue,” Dad said. Then he turned and looked directly at me. “Conlan, remember what I said.”

“Yes, sir. I stay on the wall. I protect the archers. If I need help, I roar.”

Dad nodded and turned away.

“Good lad,” Mr. Keelan said. “Keep your wits about you and everything will be fine. Your father and I will handle the rest of this rabble.”

Another fireball smashed into the wall, this time less than a foot from the gates.

Dad leaped onto the parapet. Bright moonlight spilled over him, as he stood on the edge, perfectly balanced. Muscles bulged from his shoulders and chest.

“Watch this,” Keelan murmured to his shapeshifters. “This is a moment to remember.”

When we shifted, it was fast. An instant of pain when you couldn’t move, as if you were tied up, then suddenly freedom and a new shape. Dad slowed it down. He did it the way he lifted weights. It wasn’t a jerky snap. It was a slow, controlled wave. It began with his head. His skull expanded. Bone flowed like candle wax, the human features melting into a huge, scary lion head. His neck thickened, his shoulders bulged out. His spine stretched, his new body ripping his shirt. Thick muscles wrapped his new arms. Claws burst from his fingers.

The shapeshifters stared at him with glowing eyes, mesmerized.

His hips shifted. His legs grew. Gray fur striped with faint darker stripes slid over his form. His blond hair turned dark and flared into a big, shaggy mane. He opened his giant mouth, showing everyone his terrible fangs, and roared.

THUNDER.

The shapeshifters jerked.

The roar smashed into you. You could feel it in your bones.

THUNDER.

A couple of people down below turned around and started running to the woods.

Mr. Keelan shifted, and a huge black wolf in warrior form landed on the wall. He raised his head, his eyes filled with moonlight, and howled. High and haunting the way only wolves could, singing about the moon, the hunt, and the blood.

The hair on the scruff of my neck stood up.

Down below, the mob took a big step back.

The other shapeshifters changed shape, except for the bouda. The wolves and jackals joined in, turning the howl into a chorus. The bouda giggled in that weird way they did, her cackle jagged like glass breaking.

To the side, Mr. Paul’s brother-in-law raised his tall bow and loosed an arrow. It climbed high into the sky, curved, plunged down, and pierced the bearded guy through his head. He fell.

The bouda doubled over laughing.

Dad leaped off the wall. He started the jump in his warrior form, then shifted again in midair. A giant gray lion landed in the middle of the mob. The shock must have been too much because everyone froze. Dad swiped at the nearest fighter with his big paw, sending them flying.

Mr. Keelan held his giant sword up in the air, let out another howl and jumped down. His pack followed except for the bouda who laughed again and moved to stand next to me.

Great. I didn’t need a babysitter.

“You can go with them,” I told her. “I got this.”

She shook her head. “No offence, kid, but your dad and my alpha say otherwise. Sucks for us but at least we get to watch the show.”

“My name’s Conlan.”

“Yeah, I know.” She held out her hand with very long, pink nails. “Jynx. With a y.”

I shook her hand with the long, pink nails.

“Anything happens, stay behind me. If things get really bad, be a good boy and call for backup.” She sighed dramatically and pointed down to the ground in front of the gates. “By the look of it, neither of us is going to have any fun tonight.”

Below us Dad was crashing into bodies. His huge paws were swatting at everyone in his path, but his claws weren’t out. He was holding back.

A man stabbed at him from behind with a spear. Dad twisted, pawed the weapon away, and leaped onto him. His weight forced the man down to the ground. He put the spearman’s whole head into his mouth but didn’t bite down. He just held it gently and then released him. The man scuttled back, got to his feet, and started running back toward the forest.