Free Magic Without Mercy by Devon Monk

shoulder to shoulder with him.
    I stayed behind them, like I’d promised. And since I couldn’t throw magic, I resheathed my long knife, and pulled out the gun instead. I slapped a clip into it, andShame gave me half a glance over his shoulder. He was smiling.
    Bastard.
    Zay drew the spell to open and unlock the door. It looked like brass ribbons of magic spun out from his fingertips and clicked into five different places in the carvings on the doors.
    The doors opened.
    Magic lashed out, and wrapped us in an inferno of pain.

Chapter Five
    Z ayvion broke the attack with a clean slice of his katana, chanting a spell for Impact that grew like a wall of bullets in front of him.
    He pulled magic into the spell and sent it singing into the room.
    Shame went with a more direct attack and unloaded his gun into the room while Zayvion pulled a Block out of the ground like a liquid net of energy around Shame, me, and him.
    Yes, it smelled like hot hell. But since whoever in there casting couldn’t break the barrier, I didn’t care what it smelled like.
    We strode into the room. No use hiding. Whoever was in there had already seen us, had already decided we were dangerous and worth the fry-by-magic, ask-questions-later treatment.
    Screw that.
    Shame dropped the clip and reloaded without breaking stride. He might have looked sick and exhausted before, but he looked like someone you would not want to fuck with now.
    I caught the movement to the far left of the room. “Two men, left,” I said. “Three right.”
    “Shame, left,” Zay said. “Allie, right.”
    Zay heaved back and cleaved the spell he was holding with his sword, catching the magic of the Block in the black and silver glyphs that swirled down the blade. He yelled and swung again, this time throwing all that magic, like a spray of hot bullets, out to both sides of the room, where they struck and burned.
    He ran to the right—so did I.
    Not being able to cast magic was seriously pissing me off. But the anger was good. Anger, I could use.
    I took the first man. Shorter than me, built like a brick shit house, he met my sword with an ax, and a handful of magic. The impact of both set my bones on fire.
    Yes, I had the gun in my left hand. No, I couldn’t make myself raise it and shoot him.
    Zayvion didn’t hesitate. He threw enough magic to kill an elephant. All three men dropped, and were still.
    “Are you all right?” he asked.
    I was pretty much not all right. I was dizzy, nauseous, and in a lot of pain from that last attack I’d cleverly blocked with every bone in my body. I thought about listing my pains, but decided it would take too much lung power.
    All I got out was, “Swell.”
    He strode over to Shame. Not that he needed to. Shame had both men on the floor, flat on their backs unconscious, one of them, at least, bleeding heavily.
    Shame stood over them, lighting a cigarette.
    “Bartholomew’s,” he said. “Likely. Might be it’s time for a change of guards down here or for them to check in. We don’t know how much time we have left.”
    Zayvion glared at the men. “One way to find out.” He crouched down next to the man who was very unconscious but very not bleeding. He moved his sword into his left hand—not a handicap for him, I knew for a fact;I’d been on the sparring mats with him plenty—and placed the palm and fingers of his right hand against the guy’s forehead.
    He spoke a word, and even though I didn’t know that word, I knew it was a Disbursement spell. From the glyph that flared in the air in front of Zay, and just as quickly flashed out, I knew it was a short, brutal pain he was going to pay for this magic.
    Then he began whispering. Soft, sibilant, the words slipped out like a hush of rain. Zay said one last word. A glyph blazed bloodred in his hand, between his palm and the man’s forehead, and then sank into the man.
    Even unconscious, the man stiffened. Even unconscious, he screamed.
    Zayvion was still whispering, a rush of