WHEN I WALKED OUT OF THE WOODS, A MAN STOOD by my Jeep, leaning on a tall unfinished wooden staff with a thick top. It looked like he had just cut a thick sapling, haphazardly chopped off the branches, stripped it of its bark, and made himself a walking stick.
A black robe hung from his shoulders down to just below his knees, revealing leather boots. Silver embroidery ran along the wide cuffs of the robe and along the hem. A wide leather belt caught the robe at the waist, and small canteens and charms dripped from it on chains and cords. A deep hood hid most of his face.
A volhv. If the staff hadn’t given him away, the charms on the belt would have. Judging by the embroidery, not a lightweight, but not one of the really old ones either. The younger volhvs couldn’t afford hand-stitched silver, and the older ones didn’t bother with it.
“I have a real problem with people in hoods,” I said.
“That’s too bad.” He had a rich voice, deep and confident. Yep, a fun and exciting storm of magic was about to come my way. Why was it I never got a tech shift when I needed one?
The volhv pulled the hood back. Large eyes, dark like molten tar and framed in thick black eyelashes, looked at me with wry amusement. His features were well cut: high cheekbones, strong masculine jaw, and an aquiline nose, made more prominent because the hair on the sides of his head had been shaved off past his ears. The rest of his jet-black hair fell down his back like a horse mane. His mustache was black, too. His beard was nonexistent, except for a carefully trimmed goatee that met his mustache on both sides of his mouth. His full lips curved into a half smile.
The overall effect was decidedly villainous. He needed a black horse and a barbarian horde to lead.
That or a crew of cutthroats, a ship with blood-red sails, and some knucklehead heroine to lust after. He would fit right into Andrea’s romance novels as some evil pirate captain. If he started stroking his beard, I’d have to kill him on principle.
“Grigorii?” Probably not.
“Grigorii doesn’t bother with the likes of you.”
As expected. “Look, I’ve had a bad day. How about you just walk away from my Jeep?”
The volhv smiled wider, flashing even white teeth. “You went to see the witch. What did she tell you?”
“She said your dress was so last season.”
“Oh? Is that so?” He raised his hand to his goatee.
That does it. “Yeah. And what’s with the beard and the horse mane? You look like Rent-a-Villain.”
The volhv’s eyes widened. He waved his hand at me. “Well you don’t look . . . female . . . in your pants.”
“That’s a hell of an insult. Did you think of it all by yourself or did you have to ask your god for help?”
The volhv pointed at me. “Now, don’t you blaspheme. That’s not nice. Tell me what the witch said, hmm? Now, come on, you know you want to tell me.” He winked at me. “Come on, share. You tell me, I don’t kill you right away, everybody’s happy.”
I pulled Slayer out of its back sheath.
The volhv blinked. “No? Don’t want to tell me?”
“Step away from my vehicle.”
“I didn’t want to do this, but fine.” He raised his staff and struck the pavement. The thick wood at the top of the staff flowed, morphing. A vicious wooden beak emerged from the shaft, followed by savage round eyes.
“Safety’s off,” the volhv said. “Last chance to tell me what the witch said.”
In my head I charged, Slayer ready to strike. But my knee popped with a dry crunch, my leg snapped, and I rolled onto the pavement just in time to see the end of the volhv’s staff as it punctured my chest.
Great. No running. Doolittle had performed medical miracles and the knee didn’t hurt, but I didn’t want to take chances. I needed to save the leg for the close-up fighting. I’d have to rely on magic until I got within striking range. And if I did kill him, I’d have a volhv stampede on my doorstep. They’d race each other to take a shot at me. I’d start the war between the volhvs and the Pack and kill Adam Kamen with one fight. Oh goody.
I strode toward the volhv, broadcasting as much menace as I could muster. Maybe he’d panic and drop to his knees with his hands in the air.
Fat chance.
The volhv watched me. “Hurry up. At least put some effort into it!”
“For the likes of you? Why bother?”
The volhv spun in place, his staff slicing through the air. The wooden beak gaped open with a creak and belched a swarm of tiny black flies. Probably poisonous. Great. This fight was in the bag.
I jerked a bag of rosemary powder from my belt and ripped it open, chanting under my breath.
The swarm shot to me.
I tossed the dust into the air. My magic clutched it and it hung motionless like a cloud frozen in midmotion. The swarm pierced it. For half a second, nothing happened and then the flies and rosemary rained to the ground.
Sweat drenched my hairline. That took a wallop of magic. I kept walking.
The volhv planted the staff into the pavement and let go. It remained upright. He jerked a twig charm off his belt, snapped it in half and tossed one part into the street, clutching the other in his fist. The twig exploded into thick black smoke and coalesced into a mastiff-sized dog. Rivulets of smoke slid and curled along its sable fur. Pure white eyes stared at me, like two stars caught in a storm cloud.