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The creature that used to be Linda Sobanto burst through the doorway, a boiling cloud of black, streaked with violent scarlet. The cloud churned, and a woman’s face congealed from its depth. She opened her mouth. Sobanto took a step back, his hands raised before him. The cloud lunged …
And howled in fury.
Siroun twisted her knife, turning it all the way around Sobanto’s neck. The resistance against her blade was so slight, she barely felt it.
A thick stream of blood slid across the blade to drip on the floor. Sobanto opened his mouth. Blood gushed. Siroun withdrew the blade. He stayed upright for another moment and crumpled to the floor.
The entity screamed. The crimson within her flared and streaked apart, ripping the darkness into pieces. The darkness folded on itself, sucked into a tiny point, and vanished. Quiet reigned.
Adam crashed to the floor.
She crouched by him and brushed the blue hair from his face.
“We had no claim,” he murmured.
“I know,” she said, and wiped a smudge of blood from his lips. “Rest now. Let your body heal. Once the wound closes, I will get you out of here.”
“Why did you kill him?”
“Linda made a bargain: her body for the life of her husband. The transfer would not be complete until the creature that took her form killed Sobanto. If it took his life, it would no longer be a cloud, Adam. It would be an old god made flesh. It wouldn’t harm me because of what I am. But it would kill you.”
She leaned over him and kissed him gently on the forehead. “I couldn’t let it kill you.” After all, you’re all I have.
* * *
Author’s Bio:
Ilona Andrews is the pseudonym for a husband-and-wife writing team of Andrew and Ilona Gordon. They reside in Oregon with their two children, three dogs, and a cat. They’ve coauthored two series, the bestselling urban fantasy of Kate Daniels and the romantic urban fantasy of The Edge. Enjoy reading more about them at www.ilona-andrews.com.
BIGFOOT ON CAMPUS
by JIM BUTCHER
The campus police officer folded his hands and stared at me from across the table. “Coffee?”
“What flavor is it?” I asked.
He was in his forties, a big, solid man with bags under his calm, wary eyes, and his name tag read DEAN. “It’s coffee-flavored coffee.”
“No mocha?”
“Fuck mocha.”
“Thank God,” I said. “Black.”
Officer Dean gave me hot black coffee in a paper cup, and I sipped at it gratefully. I was almost done shivering. It just came in intermittent bursts now. The old wool blanket Dean had given me was more gesture than cure.
“Am I under arrest?” I asked him.
Officer Dean moved his shoulders in what could have been a shrug. “That’s what we’re going to talk about.”
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“Maybe,” he said in a slow, rural drawl, “you could explain to me why I found you in the middle of an orgy.”
“Well,” I said, “if you’re going to be in an orgy, the middle is the best spot, isn’t it.”
He made a thoughtful sound. “Maybe you could explain why there was a car on the fourth floor of the dorm.”
