Two hours into his stint at Whiskey Tango, Benjamin’s lips were numb, his tongue was numb, and even his teeth were numb. He’d graduated from Scotch to Long Island iced teas at six p.m. It was now seven, and the only things he hadn’t managed to numb were his emotions and his conscience. Maybe he wasn’t trying hard enough. He raised his hand and signaled Marc for another drink.
“Happy fucking New Year,” he said to the dregs at the bottom of his highball, before he emptied the glass.
Around him the bar patrons laughed and clinked glasses, a prelude to the revelry to come. It seemed First Night Boston was in full swing. The noisy, ubiquitous crowds were going to get hurt if a battle truly did go down on Boston Common. How in the hell the coven would manage to keep this impending cluster fuck out of the papers was going to be a real treat to watch. They’d probably play it off as a major First Night event that got out of hand.
An herbal scent tickled Benjamin’s nose, and he lifted his head. Golden sparks coalesced as Nyx resolved near his chair. Breathless, cheeks still chilled from the subzero temperatures, she gave him a quick hug and plunked down in the wingback chair he’d been saving for her.
“You stink,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
He saluted her with his empty glass. “I love you too, Nyxi Sticks.”
She snorted at the childhood nickname.
For a brief moment it was any other night. They were just two friends out to enjoy themselves after a crappy week at work. Except he didn’t have a job, and this—even for Benjamin—hadn’t been a normal week. Not even close.
He and Nyx had left Tzadkiel’s mora in a theatre-turned-bunker, preparing for a battle none of them knew how to win. He had told Nyx about Tzadkiel’s request to find a way to destroy the pentacle by midnight. Really, it had been a no-brainer once he’d had time to think about it. If the witches won, Nyx was screwed. Benjamin was screwed. Akito…well, he was probably screwed anyway.
Speaking of…“Have you heard from Akito?”
“No.” Nyx shook her head, unwinding her scarf. As she shed her jacket, Marc approached with Benjamin’s drink and took her order. “Black tea. Honey, no milk.”
Worry over Akito beat at what little composure Benjamin had managed to scrape together. No note had arrived proclaiming him a hostage, and though Benjamin and Nyx had discussed trying to find him, there hadn’t been time for them to do that and plan to destroy the pentacle. He’d wanted to go save Akito alone, but Nyx had forbidden it, saying she didn’t need to chase after them both should something go wrong.
“I scouted the area.” She blew out a breath, fluffing her bangs. “There were some weres hanging around—kids I’ve seen before who were kicked out by the Alpha for dealing.”
“If you’re about to tell me that our only hope of breaking that pentacle is a couple of drug dealing, packless weres then I hope you brought lube with you.” Benjamin’s fingers tightened around his glass. “Cuz we’re fucked.”
“Gross, Ben.” She smacked his arm with the back of her hand. “You and I are going to go with them. I’m going to distract my father’s flunkies—who are undoubtedly skulking somewhere around the site. The weres will guard you while you put this to use.”
Nyx held out her hand, and Benjamin took a small, brown paper bag from her.
“The lube?” he asked.
She hit him again, harder this time, and growled, “Be serious.”
Humor. He had to hang on to it, because even with the alcohol’s cloud, he was perilously close to freaking out.
“I’m drunk,” he said, as if it explained everything, which to his mind it did.
He’d planned it this way, and Nyx liked nothing more than a good plan. He frowned. Come to think of it, so did Tzadkiel. At the thought of the vampire, Benjamin’s emotions rattled, a coiled snake ready to strike. He downed the rest of his drink.
A long-suffering sigh issued from between Nyx’s lips. “I’ll fix you before we leave.”
“Oh h-hell, no.” He hiccupped, then belched. “I don’t want to feel my death.”
Or Tzadkiel’s.
“Too bad.” Something dropped into his water glass on the table and fizzed. “Drink. It’s what you do best.”
Benjamin tried to stick out his tongue at her, but ended up drooling on himself. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand and then attempted to down whatever concoction she’d added to his water. It tasted so bitter he nearly spat.
“Seriously?” he gasped.
“Drink.”
Twenty minutes later, the world didn’t feel quite so far away. The music’s backbeat no longer warbled, and voices around him seemed less shrill. Shame, hot and bright, coursed through him. Tzadkiel had been right. He was a coward. In his mind he reviewed Nyx’s plan and then remembered the package in his hands.
Dry paper slid underneath his questing fingertips, its creases and folds forming ridges that crinkled around a somewhat cylindrical object. “What is this?”
She lowered her tea and leaned in. “Death.”
“What?” He fumbled after the package, nearly dropping it.
“It’s an iron railroad spike. You need to drive it into the pentacle to break its bond.” She shrugged. “It is death to the magic in the silver.”
“Cute.” Benjamin pursed his lips. “How do we even know where the silver is under the pavement?”
“The pentacle’s purpose to the coven is twofold. The first is to trap the magic from the ley line and make it unavailable to my mother, the vamps, and the weres while it fortifies the wards around the Common.” Holding up her hand, Nyx counted off. “The second is to make it easier for my father to channel the trapped energy to himself.”
“So your father probably has a focal point that unlocks the magic and channels it to him?” Benjamin guessed. “The monument that Tzadkiel pointed out?”
“Exactly.” Nyx’s aura pulsed. “So, once the coven starts drawing from the magic stored in the silver, it’ll heat up. The magic will make the silver glow like fire to your hunter’s sense.”
“And I’ll be able to locate the pentacle and drive the spike home.”
“Ex-actly.” She emphasized the word this time.
Benjamin felt for the spike, now clearly recognizable through the paper. Could it really be so simple? “Wait. Did you bring a mallet?”
“In my duffel.” She kicked the bag on the floor, vibrating the place near his feet. “We should go soon. Get into position.”
“So early? It’s colder than a—” He felt Nyx’s glare and stopped short of saying witch’s tit. “Sorry. I’m sure yours are warm.”
“I never understood that expression,” she grumbled, standing.
Benjamin stood with her and donned his coat. He wished he had a warmer one, but any clothing he owned had burned down along with his house.
“Nyx,” he said as they made their way from the building.
“Yeah?” She paused, her aura flickering as she looked over her shoulder. “What’s up?”
“Be careful. Don’t let them see the real you.”
“Don’t worry.” She grinned, the expression indistinct without Tzadkiel’s aura to light her face for him. “I’ve been like this for so long that sometimes even I forget it’s not. The real me, that is.”
“I love you.” He folded her into a hug. “Cold boobs and all.”
“Jerk,” she said, joking, then grew serious, and held him tighter. “Don’t worry about Akito. I have a hunch he’s going to be all right.”
Benjamin snorted. It was either that or he’d cry.
“You know, you never give him enough credit.” Nyx pulled away. “He’s extremely resilient and resourceful, even if he is a human.”
Unable to speak around the lump in his throat, Benjamin nodded. They parted and descended the stairs. Benjamin’s cane, its dragon’s head clenched tightly in his left hand, scuttled ahead of him, an extension of his arm. He felt each bump and ridge in the pavement, sounding out the grates and traffic noise. Despite the absence of Tzadkiel’s aura, he knew where he was and that he could fight.
“What time is it?” he asked as they crossed to the Granary Burying Ground and headed left toward Park Street Church and the Common.
“Just before eleven.”
“Time flies…” he muttered, then said, “We should separate.”
“They won’t start until midnight,” Nyx reminded him. “When the fireworks are set off.”
How had he forgotten that crucial bit? “They can’t possibly finish the whole battle in fifteen or twenty minutes?”
“By then they’ll have some pretty strong illusion spells in place. But those will evaporate when you break the pentacle. So we’ll want to scatter quick.”
“Right.” He nodded. “Get my ass out of there. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
They were supposed to meet up afterward at the underground theatre. Benjamin swallowed hard, knowing that he would be all right at least until the vampire got his kylix back. That had been the deal, hadn’t it? No sense worrying about things until they happened. Though he knew that Tzadkiel—stupid, honorable Tzadkiel—wouldn’t hurt someone as loyal as Nyx had been, Benjamin trusted him to use that same fucked up sense of duty to see justice through. Once the vampire got his hands on the kylix, Benjamin knew he was a dead man.
“Stay safe.” Nyx waved and loped off toward the Common ahead of him.
Benjamin let her reach the corner, where she turned and winked out of sight, before he followed. Pausing, he wondered why he wasn’t supposed to break the stupid pentacle before midnight. Somehow he’d forgotten to ask about that detail. If he had to guess, the vampires wanted to flush the Morgan out into the open where they could finish their business with the coven. Unless they fought the man head-on, they would only be doing this again someday.
He popped into the coffee shop across the street to warm his hands, and waited for the church’s quarter-hour chimes to signal eleven forty-five p.m. At their opening warble, his stomach lurched. So much depended on this. He headed into the slap of cold winter air, and walked with purpose toward the T station. As he neared, two flickering gray auras separated themselves from the dark.
“I’ve come to deliver a package,” Benjamin said.
“We’ll make sure it gets there safe.” Gruff didn’t begin to describe the baritone that vibrated along Benjamin’s skin.
He’d encountered weres from time to time in the Common, but they’d pretty much left him alone. This was his first real experience of the creatures. He’d always thought they’d smell like wet dog. Instead, they reminded him of pine forests and the sweet taste of very cold spring water straight from the ground.
They ducked into the vestibule of the T station. Footsteps rushed by as revelers attempted to make it to the fireworks on time. Around the Common periphery, First Night events were ending and more people’s voices filled the streets. Noisemakers were everywhere, their shrill vibrato grating on Benjamin’s already taut nerves. No other auras presented themselves. Flanking him, the weres waited, their quiet presence reassuring.
The Common filled with chants of TEN…NINE…EIGHT…
Benjamin’s stomach went into free fall. He rubbed slick hands against his jeans. Frayed denim scraped at his roughened palms.
“THREE…TWO…ONE…”
Frigid wind whipped into the vestibule as the Park Street Church bells began to chime.
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
Fireworks thundered, shaking the ground beneath Benjamin’s feet. Wait. No. He stumbled outside and realized he could see the pyrotechnics. They weren’t fireworks, but rather magic bursts, being lobbed in the direction of the Public Garden. Crackling nets of light covered the sky. The scent of burned ozone hung in the air. Around Benjamin, foot traffic moved on, unaware of what his hunter’s senses detected.
“Come on,” the were nearest him growled.
Benjamin followed him, breaking into a run.
A bolt of orange-blue energy grazed Benjamin’s shoulder and he stumbled. Easy, too easy. The witches shouldn’t have missed. He was too obvious a target. What his brain told him, his feet ignored, and he kept running. As agreed, at the apex of one point of the pentacle-shaped pathway the were stopped. Benjamin dropped to his knees and tore the mallet from Nyx’s bag. In the distance he saw a flitting golden glow disappearing in and out of sight.
“How’s it looking, fellas?” Benjamin asked, focused on the task at hand.
“Not bad. The vamps are holding their own for the most part,” tall, gruff, and probably hairy said. “A few witches are down.”
“Except it seems like the coven is holding back.” The observation came from the other were. “There’s a whole group of those undead things just watching from one side.”
The pavement under Benjamin’s hands had begun to heat, creating a pool of ice water beneath his knees. Sure enough, as Nyx had said, the silver pentacle glinted, its lines red through the pavement. Except…He shook his head, thinking he saw double. The two lines resolved back into one, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
Positioning the spike over the closest pentacle line, he lifted the hammer, hoped to the gods he didn’t hit his thumb, and struck. The blow reverberated up his arm. He struck again, and again, until the spike was rooted in the pavement. Knowing that was as far as he could drive the spike himself, he stood.
“Would one of you guys like to do the honors?” He swept out his hand.
“Let me.” A shape, glowing a putrid blue-green, separated itself from the visitor’s hut.
Benjamin tensed, attempting to align what he knew he was seeing with what he knew he had heard. If this was his friend, then the man had undergone a transformation from which no good had come. This aura appeared to be one part ker and one part vampire.
“Akito?” Benjamin asked.
The ugly aura drew closer. “Yeah.”
Terror, confusion, delight, and anger warred. Refraining from the urge to either hug his friend or to beat him senseless with the mallet—there’d be time for that later—Benjamin handed over the tool to Akito.
“Hold this.” Akito passed something to him.
Silk slid against Benjamin’s fingers. It was a drawstring bag. As heavy as if it were filled with rocks, it swayed in his grip. As Akito struck the first blow with the mallet, Benjamin felt the bunched material, widening the opening. Pulling at the fabric, he plunged his hand inside to touch impossibly cold metal.
Realization dawned. “Holy fuck, Akito.”
The sound of mallet hitting metal rang among the fireworks and the magic bursts. “I thought maybe you could use it.”
They wouldn’t need the thing—or Benjamin’s blood—once the pentacle was broken. The Morgan wouldn’t have a one-man all-you-can-eat buffet of magic, and Tzadkiel would be able to return home with his mora. Boston would be all right and Benjamin would be able to hide the bag and its contents before he and the vampire met up. He’d make sure Tzadkiel never found it—at least not until Benjamin could get out of town and…
Coward.
Benjamin swallowed down self-recrimination. Akito’s second hammer blow fell. Then the third, and the fourth, like a death knell. Before the last blow was struck, Benjamin stood on a precipice overlooking his own life, and he saw his future. He knew beyond a doubt what would happen next. It was the only possible outcome, and one he was destined to fulfill.
The last mallet blow rang, and the red light that stretched down the pavement, branching from path to path, forming the pentacle…remained lit.
Benjamin waited another moment for it to disappear. When it didn’t, he whispered, “Gods save us.”
“What happened?” one of the weres asked.
“The—” Benjamin ducked reflexively. An explosion, followed by the scent of burning flesh, then another burst close by, kicked up clods of pavement and frozen dirt.
The quieter werewolf tumbled, his body falling neatly in two separate halves. There was no time to respond, and no way to fight. The coven’s arsenal was powered by the megaton bomb equivalent of magic still contained by the pentacle and channeled to the Morgan.
Benjamin, Nyx, and Tzadkiel had been outwitted. There had been two parallel lines of silver running under the pavement. They formed a pentacle within a pentacle. Benjamin had killed one of them, but the second one remained intact. As a result, the Morgan still controlled the market on Boston’s only ley line. He would spin death from his well of magic until no one in the city who opposed him remained. There was only one hope for Boston’s vampires now, and Benjamin held it in his hands. The kylix.