Sinister Magic: An Urban Fantasy Dragon Series (Death Before Dragons #1) - Lindsay Buroker Page 0,83

distracted, but I doubted the giant squid would fit into that airlock chamber.

As I balanced precariously above the door, all I could do was hope she didn’t notice the puddle on the floor and the drips falling from my boots. If she didn’t, maybe she would lead me straight to the alchemy lab, where I could get a sample of the alchemist’s blood. I couldn’t tell if she had samples from the kraken in a pocket.

The dark elf turned, reaching for a lever to close the door, but she glanced down and paused. My puddle. Another drop of water fell off my boot. She was going to figure it out. There was no hope of avoiding notice now.

As I dropped down, trying to flatten her, I yanked a dagger free. I wanted to hold it to her throat and convince her to talk, but she reacted too quickly. With all the preternatural elven agility that the legends spoke of, she danced away from me, and I barely bumped her arm. She spun to face me and attacked with a kick. Clearly, she was close enough to see through the magical camouflage my charm gave me.

I knocked the kick aside with my knee and slashed at her leg as she retracted it. My blade sliced through her pants but didn’t draw blood. Again, she was too fast at springing away. I should have drawn Chopper.

The dark elf reached for something at her belt. I threw the knife at her to buy a second, and she had to spring to the side. By the time she recovered, I had Fezzik out, the barrel aimed at her chest.

“Stop right there.”

She froze. Did she understand English? Or only that a weapon was pointed at her? I didn’t want to fire and alert everyone in the underground lair that I was there, but I would to defend myself.

She curled her lip and scowled. I’d expected dark skin from a dark elf, the first one I’d seen up close, but she was more of an albino with matching white hair, her features elegant but frostier than a glacier.

“Are you Synaru-van?” I asked. “The alchemist?”

She looked too young to be a well-known professional in her field, but who knew with elves. I looked young for my age, too, and I only had half-elven blood.

A stream of lilting, musical words came out of her mouth. They sounded beautiful; I was positive they were a curse, probably accompanied by disparaging remarks about my ancestry.

Without letting my gun waver, I risked lifting a hand to tap my translation charm.

“…and Synaru-van will flay you for presuming to attack one of The Chosen. Then she will take you to be sacrificed at midnight with the other, you blasphemous mongrel bastard.”

“So you’re not Synaru-van. Good to know. Take me to her.”

“Goddess take you!”

The dark elf lunged again for her belt, yanking a vial out of a pouch. This time, I was faster. As she hefted the vial to throw it, I fired.

The round slammed into the glass, knocking it out of her hand and against the wall behind her head. The vial shattered, and red liquid darkened the wall as a puff of crimson vapor oozed out.

She swore, eyes bulging as she glanced at the mess and skittered away from it. Her reaction told me all I needed to know: that was some dangerous stuff.

Holding my breath so I didn’t inhale the vapor, I slammed a side kick into her torso. Even though she hadn’t been looking, she almost managed to dodge. But my boot clipped her ribs. She tumbled into the wall, the back of her hand cracking against the red stain. She shrieked and grabbed her knuckles, then shrieked again and let go.

Though I hated to kick someone when they were down—or crying out in pain—I’d already made a mess of this. Between the screaming and the gunfire, someone was sure to hear and come to investigate.

I lunged in, ramming a palm strike into her chest. Her head jerked back, clunking against the wall. I tore the pouch that had held that vial off her belt and flung it away.

She snarled and clawed at my eyes. I ducked and dove in, driving my elbow into her solar plexus.

The dark elf pitched forward, gasping for breath. I backed away, pointing Fezzik at her again, ears straining as I listened for noise that would indicate someone else was coming.

“Take me to the alchemist,” I ordered as she struggled to recover from the blow.