Blackbird Broken (The Witch King's Crown #2) - Keri Arthur Page 0,21
the door. More dirt showered down past the stone ledge. I gripped the edge of the doorframe and leaned out. It took me a moment to spot him; the halfling’s thin form matched the color of the brickwork so well, he was almost invisible. He was currently under the building’s eaves, skittering sideways with an ease that very much reminded me of a spider.
I couldn’t see Luc and Barney, nor could I hear them. Even if they were up on the roof, they wouldn’t see the halfling; he’d already scuttled across to the next apartment. If I didn’t do something, we’d lose him. Unfortunately, using Vita and Nex was out of the question; they were life and death, not capture.
“Mo, need your help here.”
“What have you found?” She hurried over and peered past me. “Well, I haven’t seen one of them for quite a long time.”
“What is it?”
“A half-blood Aranea, from the look of him. They caused a lot of damage in Uhtric’s time, as they could climb over any sort of defense.”
“Not magical, surely.”
“No, but they were able to weave a way through most of our spells.”
I frowned. “Demons aren’t capable of magic.”
“Aranea are neither demons nor dark elves, but rather a Darkside version of humanity.”
“A revelation that’s guaranteed to give me nightmares.”
“Here’s another one, then—where there’s one Aranea, there’re usually others. They nest together.”
“Great. Thanks.” I watched the brown figure for a second. “Does the nesting thing apply to half-bloods?”
“That I don’t know, as I’ve never come across one before. I’ve a feeling we’d better find out, though.”
“Then you’d better fling a tracker spell, because he’s about to escape.”
“I will, but you’d better ring your brother. If they attacked us, they may well attack him.”
I nodded and immediately called Max.
“What’s up?” he said.
“We were just attacked by an Aranea—”
“What? Are you both okay?”
“Yes, but Mo thinks they’ll also come after you.”
“Why? The sword’s been drawn—the game is over.”
“Except it may not be—”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing right now. Look, Mo’s about to fling a tracker at the Aranea, so I’ve got to go. Hunker down and keep safe.”
“Only if you do the same. I need you alive, little sister.”
“Getting dead is not on my to-do list for today. Catch you later—”
I was talking to air. He’d already gone. As I put my phone away, Mo flung her spell. It hit the halfling’s butt just as he went around the corner.
“Let’s go.”
She shifted shape and soared upward. I hastily lashed my daggers together and followed. The spiderlike halfling moved with surprising speed and dexterity considering he didn’t actually have eight legs. I wondered if his full-blooded cousins did … and shuddered at the images that instantly rose. I didn’t need to be thinking about that sort of shit when we were about to enter a possible damn nest of the things.
The Aranea continued to scramble across multiple buildings, his coloring changing to match whatever brickwork he was currently on. He generally kept under the eaves but moved up to the roof whenever the size of a window made the crawling space too small. And while he didn’t appear able to fly, he could certainly jump—the streets in Ainslyn’s medieval section were fairly narrow, but beyond her walls, the streets widened out. He seemed to leap most distances with ease.
After another few minutes, he leapt onto the roof of a brown-brick Georgian building that had once been—according to the sign at the front—a funeral parlor, then clambered around the back and went in through an open window. I followed Mo down the small laneway that ran along the left side of the building and shifted shape under the convenient—but empty—carport.
I eyed the run-down garages that lined the building’s rear fence, seeing a lot of cobwebs and half wondering if Aranea had spun them. “I don’t suppose you can tell from here if we’re dealing with one half spider thing or a nest?”
She smiled. “Well, no, and there’re no obvious signs of occupation.”
Maybe not, but we’d learned the hard way that didn’t really mean anything. Three halflings had been monitoring our place from the building next door, and we’d had absolutely no idea until Ginny had mentioned the possibility.
“It’s promising that we can’t smell them,” I said.
“We didn’t smell the lot next door, either. Not until we raided the place.”
And discovered they’d chosen to defecate all over the floor rather than risk us hearing the toilet flushing at a time when we knew our neighbor—Saskia—was away visiting relatives.