Sinister Magic: An Urban Fantasy Dragon Series (Death Before Dragons #1) - Lindsay Buroker Page 0,67
us. Your charm can’t hide anyone else, right? They’ll see Dimitri. I don’t think we’ll be able to get back to the van without a fight.
Thinking of the dead security guard, I replied, I wouldn’t mind a fight.
Dark elves are strong and agile. And what about Dimitri? He has no magical weapons with which to defend himself.
That was the problem. Belatedly, it occurred to me that we should have fought the dark elves and then gotten Dimitri out of the house’s weird alter dimension.
I almost called 911 to report the dead security guard—that ought to have police milling all over the property, and if the dark elves were as dedicated to not being seen as Willard had said, they would disappear. But I was a wanted woman. Calling the police would get me in more trouble than the dark elves.
They’re by the playhouse again, Sindari reported. I can hear them talking. They feel the magic of this carriage house, and that’s the only reason they haven’t made their move, but they’re thinking about charging in to look for us.
I eyed a handful of lawn-maintenance tools inside the door. I doubted a weed whacker and a leaf blower would scare the elves away, but perhaps they could be deterred by another distraction. Or a threat.
A rusty five-gallon can tucked behind the yard tools caught my eye—was that gasoline for the weed whacker?
“Dimitri,” I whispered. “Do you have a lighter?”
“No.”
“I should have brought Mom.”
“Hey, I’m useful. I can make things with my hands and imbue them with magic.”
“Yeah?” I grabbed the canister, opened it, and sniffed, confirming that it was gasoline. Possibly gasoline that had been there for decades—I hadn’t seen a tin like that for ages. “Can you turn this gas can into a Molotov cocktail?”
I was being sarcastic, but he shrugged and said, “Easy. Are we burning down the carriage house?”
“No.” I pointed toward the dark elves—I couldn’t see them, but I trusted Sindari’s senses.
“The main house?” Dimitri threw me a shocked looked. Perhaps for an obvious reason, he hadn’t sounded disagreeable about burning the haunted carriage house, but someone’s estate was another matter.
“Just the playhouse. We’ll be doing the next owners a favor. You wouldn’t want your kids playing next to this evil carriage house, would you?” I shoved the gas can toward him. “Also, the playhouse is full of dark elves getting ready to storm in and slay us.”
His grunt didn’t sound that agreeable, but he went hunting for a rag and went to work.
Something clanked onto the roof. I leaned out the door, ready to shoot if the dark elves were charging us. Something cylindrical—a homemade grenade?—bounced off the roof. Far off. As if it had been launched from a trampoline rather than simply hitting wood boards. Was the house defending itself?
The grenade flew up more than a hundred feet before exploding with a fiery orange boom. If anyone in the neighborhood had been asleep, they were awake now.
A faint twang reached my ears, and I ducked back inside. A crossbow quarrel slammed into the door where my head had been.
“I don’t think we have much time,” I muttered.
“This won’t take long,” Dimitri said.
What’s behind this property, Sindari? Do you know? On the way to the carriage house, I’d seen the back fence, tall grass beyond it, and houselights in the distance, but they’d been a good hundred yards away. Is there another way to get to the road if we sneak out the back?
There is an equestrian trail behind this property. It smells strongly of their droppings. I do not know where it goes.
I’m sure we can loop back through someone’s yard.
“Ready.” Dimitri hefted the can, his fingers gripping the end of the fuse he’d made.
He’d done more than that, I realized, now sensing magic emanating from the rag and the can.
“Can you throw it all the way to the playhouse? And time it so it’ll blow up as it lands? All while not being shot by dark elves with crossbows?”
“Uh.” He peeked out the doorway. “Maybe.”
Another faint twang sounded, and I yanked him back inside. A crossbow quarrel quivered from the edge of the door, inches from where the first one had struck.
Dimitri looked grimly at it. “I’ll find a way. Hang on.” He closed his eyes and ran a hand along the bottom of the rusty can.
He’s a natural maker, Sindari noted.
You’ve seen his yard art.
He appears to have only one-quarter dwarven blood. Whoever his magical ancestor was, he must have been very powerful.