Ursula’s eyes went wide at the gleaming collection. There was a Viking sword like the one she’d so recently used to fight the shadow stalker, pointed blades for puncturing hearts and lungs, stubby Roman swords, and even a Scottish claymore. But it was the rack of Asian weapons that most drew her eye: a sword for chopping the legs off of charging horses, a pair of daggers, two long spears, and a wicked-looking katana. She had no idea why, but these swords called to her.
She bit her lip, fighting the urge to steal a few daggers. She didn’t know where she’d be resting her head tonight, but sleeping with a cold blade by her side might not be a bad idea. Especially since her new mentor had the disturbing tendency to grow claws and fangs. Maybe he was being civil to her now, but he was clearly dodgy as hell.
She reached for the katana. Black silk wrapped the hilt, and the guard was forged in the shape of a dragon. The blade shone like a viper’s tooth.
It was perfectly weighted. She hurried to the center of the room and sliced the blade through the air in a practice swing, thrilling at the feel of the steel. She swung again, and the muscles in her shoulders loosened. Home. This feels like home. Her arm still throbbed where the shadow stalker had broken it, but with the sword in her hand, the dull ache began to ease.
Turning toward the mirror, she caught a glimpse of herself and winced. Her auburn hair lay matted to her head. Blood and dirt stained her shirt and jeans, and her black eye makeup formed two dark semi-circles below her hazel eyes. I look like a goth clown—definitely worse than a drunken KISS fan.
At least the sword was beautiful. With a faint smile, she raised it above her head. She sliced downward with a yell, halting when the blade was parallel to the floor. As she lifted her arms to take another swing, Kester’s voice interrupted.
“I see you’re making yourself at home.” He leaned against the door frame, staring at her. “I would ask how you learned to wield a sword like that, but I’d wager you have no idea.”
“You’d wager right.” She turned and pointed the sword at him. He stood ten feet away, and she could be there in two steps. Before he’d have a chance to blink, she could bury the sword in his chest. After stopping his heart, she’d just take the elevator to the ground floor and disappear into the New York City night. Would it be so hard to start over as a waitress in New York?
But something stopped her. It wasn’t just his pretty face. As insane as he sounded, Kester had actually been telling the truth. Magic is real. She’d seen him transform into a hound, summon a shadow stalker, and whisk them to New York through a flaming sigil. She felt it when she lifted the sword, and what was more, some sort of magical fire now flowed in her veins. And if Kester was telling the truth, that meant there was no escape from Emerazel and her infernal flames.
She lowered the blade, wiping the makeup below her eyes on the back of her other wrist.
If Kester suspected that she’d just run through the pros and cons of stabbing him to death, his face didn’t show it.
He nodded at the sword. “I see you’ve acquainted yourself with my friend Honjo Masamune. I know he’s quite charming, but he can wait until morning. Dinner is served.”
With a heavy sigh, Ursula crossed to the racks, placing the katana in the empty spot. Until we meet again, my friend.
Chapter 10
Kester led her down the hall, past the sigil room, and pulled open the door to a dining room. A domed ceiling arched impossibly high above them, painted with a fresco of dryads and centaurs. Mahogany cabinets displayed antique porcelain and crystal glassware. In the center of the room, a silver candelabra cast warm light over the rich wood of a banquet table. Two place settings lay in one corner, along with a pair of domed silver trays.
Ursula’s back stiffened. I’ll just have to pretend that I don’t normally eat a dinner of beans and toast in front of a TV.
Kester crossed to the head of the table. “Have a seat.”
Instead of sitting in front of the tray, she pulled out a chair on the opposite side, giving herself a clear view of the door. She needed to know if anyone else was going to slip in here.
He arched an eyebrow. “A little nervous, are we?”
Reaching across the table, she dragged over the other place setting. “I like a view of the door.”
“In case an intruder comes in?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time tonight.”
“What is that?” He nodded at her hand.
She hadn’t even realized that she’d pulled out her white stone and was rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger. “It’s my good luck charm.”
“What is the point?”
“There’s no point. I’m just attached to it.” It was the one constant thing in her life.
“Good luck charms are for the desperate.”
“I’d say that describes me perfectly.”
“May I?” He asked, holding out a hand.
Reluctantly, she handed it over. “I suppose you’re going to tell me it’s something magical.”
He sighed, rolling it around in his fingers. “No. It’s ordinary hecatolite. Completely uninteresting.”
“It has sentimental value.” Though what it tied her to, she had no idea.
He eyed her. “I thought you had no memory.”
“I don’t, but I always assumed F.U.’s life was better than mine.”