“Assassins!” I hissed needlessly, as Oliver was charging them before I finished saying the word.
Mortimer was already in my hand, engulfed in the violet fire of my magic. I pushed more magic across my skin to activate my stone armor. Pain gripped me as thin plates of stone formed over my body under my clothes. Just in time, as three blades flashed through the air right at me. I leaned right to avoid the one coming at my head and let the other two harmlessly ping off my armor.
“Watch the knives. They’re poisoned,” I called to Oliver, remembering what had happened to Sebastian’s guards.
My father was mowing down the assassins with his sword, a handful of the short-statured figures already lying still on the ground.
Distracted by the knives flashing through the air at me, I didn’t notice the attack from above until it was too late. The surprise of a person’s full weight dropping onto my shoulders pulled me off balance. I stumbled and dropped Mort. Hands curled around my neck as the ninja rode me piggy-back. The sharp edge of a blade slid across the armor at my throat. It caused no injury, but if the blade were slim enough and found one of the hairline spaces between rock plates, I’d be in serious trouble.
I clamped one hand around the attacker’s elbow and yanked sharply. I felt the arm dislocate from the shoulder. A male scream of pain came from under the black fabric mask as I hurled him to the floor. I left him there, writhing. No one was badass enough to keep fighting well with a dislocated shoulder, except maybe Oliver.
The assassins came after us with daggers, having spent their throwing knives. Another ninja flew at me with a murderous yell. I dove and scooped up Mort, then went up to one knee, and pivoted just in time to slash at the glinting metal the attacker wanted to drive into me. The diminutive assassin parried with unexpected skill, lunging and stabbing at my abdomen. He was quick enough to get past my defenses, but the point of his dagger slid off my armor, leaving only a gash in my tank top.
Rather than go for a kill, I used the flat side of my broadsword to whack him on the side of the head. He crumpled to the floor.
I stood up, watching as Oliver finished off the last attacker. My father was breathing through his mouth but had barely broken a sweat.
Something wasn’t adding up here.
The ninja whose arm I’d yanked out of its socket was still on the ground and groaning in agony with his eyes pinched closed. I went to the decorative linen curtains that hung to one side of the door leading into the auditorium and pulled off the length of silvery rope that held them back. Kneeling next to the wounded ninja, I snapped my fingers in front of his face.
“Hey!” I said over his loud moans. “Shut up a second.”
He opened his eyes.
“Put your arm out straight, and I’ll pop it back in,” I said.
He did as I commanded, letting out a screech when I gripped his arm and shoulder and snapped everything back to where it was supposed to be. Before he could get any bright ideas, I flipped him to his stomach, and with my knee pressed into his lower back, I pulled his arms around behind him and tied his wrists together.
Oliver had gone to the auditorium door and pushed it open just a crack to look inside.
“Looks like they’re none the wiser,” he said over his shoulder. He let the door close softly and came to me, a baffled look twisting his face.
I stood. “These are the same guys who attacked yesterday when I was with King Sebastian,” I said.
He beckoned me away from my prisoner.
“They tried to kill the Spriggan king?” Oliver asked, his voice low enough that the tied-up ninja wouldn’t overhear.
“Yeah. I was on an assignment in a nightclub in the new Spriggan territory on the Las Vegas Strip. Sebastian was there meeting with Maxen, and the king invited me for audience. The ninjas attacked and killed a few of Sebastian’s men.”
“Did any of the attackers get away?”
“I don’t think so, but I couldn’t say for sure.” I glanced at the bodies and throwing knives scattered around the hallway, remembering how the bodies at Druid Circle had been quickly piled behind a sofa by Sebastian’s men. “This doesn’t make sense. If it was an assassination attempt, they would have gone after Marisol, but they wouldn’t have done it when she was surrounded by so many who could defend her. And it was like they knew nothing about New Gargoyles. Throwing knives and daggers are all but useless against us, unless one of them gets a lucky stab.”
“I agree.” My father looked grim. “They’re all wrong. Wrong weapons, and too small to be a match physically. I’m much more concerned about how they got in.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Suddenly, I felt a little stupid. The fortress was protected by magic that only allowed New Gargoyles to enter the premises. The doorways literally wouldn’t form for anyone who wasn’t a member of the Stone Order, unless the visitor had explicit permission to enter, and that didn’t happen often.
Oliver stalked over to the ninja I’d tied up and rolled him over, squatting to pull off the attacker’s mask. He looked similar to the one I’d unmasked at Druid Circle—ghostly pallid skin and narrow, pointed ears.
“The others looked banshee-dwarf, too,” I said.
Oliver peered down into the captive’s face, and to his credit, he stared right back.
“Who sent you?” Oliver asked, his voice deadly calm, his tone almost conversational.
A shiver raised goosebumps over my arms. When Oliver used that voice, it meant you were in deep shit. Like, waist-deep. Too much shit to try to turn and run. I remembered it well from my teenage years.
The pallid ninja just stared, his face hard.
Oliver shifted and placed a hand at the ninja’s throat.
“Who sent you?” Oliver repeated. His fingers flexed as he gave a squeeze.
The ninja’s eyes bugged a little, but he pressed his lips into a firm line. Oliver applied more pressure. One of the banshee-dwarf’s eyelids began to twitch. The twitch seemed to spread, and within a couple of seconds his entire body was making tiny jerking movements.
I lunged forward and grabbed my father’s shoulder, pulling him back just as dark purple liquid began to leak from the corner of the banshee-dwarf’s mouth. It sent up a wisp of black vapor. Oliver and I both scrambled backward to avoid inhaling it. The ninja’s jerks grew more pronounced, and then he went still, his head rolling to one side and his dead eyes slanting blankly up at the ceiling.
“Damn,” Oliver muttered. He moved toward the body and nudged the dead ninja with the toe of his boot.
“I knocked out another one,” I said, going over to the assassin I’d whacked with my sword. “Maybe he’ll talk.”
He was on his side, so I pushed him over to his back. Just as he rolled, the same dark curl of vapor rose from the liquid that dripped from his mouth. I jumped back and watched the vapor rise to the ceiling and then dissipate.