Oh my God. “Hold your fire!” I snapped.
Alessandro yanked the pipe out, dropped it, and hurled the dying man into the third hunter. The woman stumbled, Alessandro darted around her, and she clutched her throat. Blood gushed out between her fingers. Alessandro lunged at the fourth gunman. A wicked-looking knife flashed in his hand. He caught the man’s HK with his left hand, pushed it aside, and stabbed the hunter once, twice, three times, his hand a blur.
The hair on the back of my neck rose.
“Damn . . .” the scarred hunter said, his voice too loud.
Alessandro whipped around, pulled a gun from a holster on his thigh, and fired four times. The hunters protecting me collapsed like puppets cut from their strings.
He did it again. He killed my source of information.
Alessandro marched up to me. His magic coiled and flexed around him, so potent I could actually see it. It shimmered like hot air rising from scalding pavement, flashing with orange fire that burst into life for the briefest of moments and melted back into transparent heat. He walked like he was a fallen angel, looking for someone to punish.
Breath caught in my throat. So much power . . .
He reached to grab my forearm. “We have to go!”
I stepped out of the way. The little dog let out a surprisingly vicious snarl.
Alessandro halted. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s my dog.”
“Fine, bring it, but we have to leave. Now.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Catalina, we can’t stay here. They called for backup when they got here. More of them are on the way.”
“That’s fine.” I couldn’t go anywhere with him. I had no idea how he was involved in any of this. “You go your way and I’ll go mine.”
“How? They shredded your tires. Your car isn’t going anywhere, you’re not going anywhere, your little dog isn’t going anywhere. Come with me.”
“No.” I jerked back from him.
“I’m trying to keep you alive!”
“I don’t need your help. I’m doing fine on my own.”
“Don’t make me carry you out of here,” he snarled.
“Try it.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
The little dog barked at him.
“We don’t have time for this.” He spaced his words out, speaking slowly and clearly as if to a child. “Why are you being . . . difficult?”
“You just killed eight people! I don’t even know why you’re here, how you’re involved in this or why, and you want me to just get into the car with you.”
He growled and thrust his gun into my hands. “Here, you can have my gun. You can point it at me the entire way.”
“No thanks. I have my own.”
“Cazzo.” He raised his arms. “Is there another elephant I can shoot to make you come with me?”
I shut up and ran for the door.
Chapter 8
I jumped into the passenger seat of a silver Alfa Romeo 4C and buckled my seat belt, the little dog on my lap. Alessandro slid behind the wheel and pushed the start button. The tiny car purred. He fastened his seat belt, put the Alfa into gear, and we sped off.
“You shot the elephant?”
The remains of my Element with bald wheels and bullet hole scars in the doors flashed by us.
“Of course I shot the damn elephant.”
At the other end of the parking lot another Guardian roared, coming up the street. Alessandro took a turn at an insane speed. The Alfa all but floated above the pavement. We circled the mall and shot out onto Old Post Road like a bullet.
“Who’s in that Guardian?”
“Celia.”
“What? Rose-gold Celia?”
“Yes. I told you to let it go. I told you to go home. And what did you do?” His magic pulsed with a flash of orange. “You flounced straight into that snake pit.”
“Flounced?”
“Like a lamb, Catalina. Like a stupid, pretty little lamb bouncing over green grass straight into the wolf’s den. Do you have any idea what Benedict does to women?”
“No, why don’t you enlighten me?”
“The man is a degenerate. Ma porca puttana! What were you thinking?”
Well, look who lost his temper. I would have agreed with his assessment of Benedict, except in Italy “that whore of a pig” only applied to situations, and never to a person.
“I was thinking I have a client whose mother was murdered and whose seventeen-year-old sister is missing. Instead of posturing and cursing, you could help me. Where is Halle, Alessandro?”
“I wish I knew so I could kidnap her back and leave her on your doorstep with a bow to keep you from sticking your pretty nose into things you don’t understand.”
He said I had a pretty nose. “Stop treating me like I’m an idiot.”
My phone rang. I answered it. “Hello?”
“Good news,” Bug said.
I put him on speaker.
“I found your vomit muffin. He’s driving a crappy silver Italian import. He’s about to merge onto the I-10. Where are you?”
“In the passenger seat of the crappy import.”
“This is a great car.” Alessandro executed a hair-raising merge and cut across three lanes of traffic with three inches of room to spare. “Italians make the best cars.”
Bug sputtered. “Ask Captain Vapid if he knows what Fiat stands for. Fix It Again, Tony!”
Alessandro shifted lanes again. “You better ask Tony how good he is at fixing surveillance drones.”
“You son of a bitch! When I get my hands on you—”
“You’ll wish you hadn’t.”
“Will the two of you shut up?” I snapped. “Bug, there is a Guardian following us. We need to lose it.”
Alessandro cut across two lanes to the right, weaving in and out of traffic. The Alfa slid between two trucks about an inch from the front vehicle’s bumper. Someone laid on their horn.
“I don’t understand why we couldn’t just fight her at the mall,” I squeezed out through clenched teeth.
“Because your magic won’t work on her in her active state and I don’t have a gun large enough to take her down. I looked.”
“I have the Guardian,” Bug reported. “Bad news. They’ve got a Cockerill MK III 90mm cannon mounted on that thing. People are getting out of their way like the Red Sea before Moses.”
Alessandro stepped on the gas. The Alfa jumped forward into the lane on our left, sped around a semi, and slid in front of it, nearly skidding.
“Find us an exit strategy,” I barked. “Before we wreck.”
“We won’t wreck.” Alessandro’s voice was completely calm.
“If you keep driving this way, we won’t have to. This is Texas, someone will shoot us.”
“It’s not my fault you have barbaric gun laws.” He switched lanes again.
“Stop driving like a maniac!” Bug yelled. “Slow down.”
Behind us a horn blared. I turned. The huge semi we’d passed was moving into the left lane, which was illegal.
“Oh shit,” Bug said.
The semi finally merged over. Behind it the Guardian sped up, a huge barrel pointing at us. Holy crap, that thing could put a hole in a tank.
“There’s no way they can fire that cannon at us,” I said. “The shell would go through our car and wipe out three lanes around us. Diatheke would be finished.”
“That’s not for us,” Alessandro said. His eyes scanned the lanes ahead of us, but there was no opening. We were stuck.
The top of the Guardian came open and Celia climbed out in her pink Chanel suit. She stood, her arms out, trying to balance on top of the Guardian in her pumps.
What the hell was she doing?
Long dark quills thrust out of her, piercing her suit. Her skin stretched and tore, and a creature twice her size burst out of her, muscles bulging under dense red fur. It sat on its haunches, the sickle-shaped tiger claws of its hi
nd feet digging into the metal of the Guardian. Its forelimbs, thick and powerful, like a gorilla’s, clutched at the barrel of the Guardian, anchoring the beast. A dense red mane that was more hair than fur thrust from its head and shoulders. Two-foot-long quills protruded from the mane and the backs of its forelimbs. Its face was horrible; a meld of cat and ape, with beady eyes sunken deep into its skull, a simian nose with huge nostrils, and feline mouth filled with long dagger teeth. A long, whiplike tail snapped behind it.
A metamorphosis mage. Shit.
The gun wasn’t for us. That cannon was for her, in case she went off the rails. When a metamorphosis mage transformed, they lost most of their ability to reason, reverting to a primal state somewhere between an attack dog and an enraged ape. There would be no reasoning with her. Anything short of a lethal injury would just piss her off.
“Can you nullify her with your magic?” I asked.
“Not once she’s in that shape. She’s fucking immune to everything.”
Celia’s enraged eyes fixed on us. She opened her mouth and howled, flinging spit into the wind. Oh God.
“Drive faster, Alessandro!”
“Go,” Bug screamed from the phone. “Go, go, go!”
There was nowhere to go. We were in the second lane from the right. Traffic clogged the interstate ahead of us. Even if we managed to force our way into the far-right lane, this section of the I-10 ran above the ground and a concrete wall guarded the edge. We couldn’t jump it. The Alfa was too small and low.
We had to exit.
“We can’t maneuver here. There’s an exit ahead,” I said. “Take Bunker Hill. We’ll lose them on the surface roads.”
“No!” Bug yelled. “Don’t take Bunker Hill, it’s closed. The tanker truck, remember?”
Two weeks ago, a tanker truck carrying thousands of gallons of gasoline overturned on the Bunker Hill exit and burst into flames. It burned for hours, and the fire ate through the concrete. A section of the exit had collapsed, plunging the burning wreck down to the street below. It was the biggest story on the news for a week.
“Bug’s right, don’t take the exit, there is a hole in it.”
“How big a hole?” Alessandro asked.
“Too big,” Bug said. “Twenty feet.”
“How many meters is that?”
“Six.”
“Ascending or descending?”
“Descending, right at the top of the curve.”
Alessandro darted into a tiny gap between a white truck and a black SUV on our right.
“Don’t do it, dickass!” Bug barked.
The green exit sign flashed over our heads, an orange warning strip across it screaming, “EXIT CLOSED.”
If h is the difference in height between the two sides of the gap, then θ is the angle of the exit’s slope, V is the velocity, and g is the standard acceleration of free fall at 9.8 m/s2; the required velocity would equal the square root of g *36m2 divided by 2(h+6tan θ)*cos2 θ . . .
I kept my voice calm. “Alessandro, you’re going to kill us. This only works in the movies and it requires a ramp. The moment our wheels leave the ground, the car will start dropping. Even if we make it, the vehicle will be crushed from the impact.”
“It will be fine.” The Alfa roared up the slope, accelerating.
“How? How will it be fine?”
He looked over at me. “This car is very light and we’re going to drive very fast.”
Striped white and orange barriers blocked the way. The small sports car smashed through them. Chunks of wood flew. Behind us the Guardian lumbered onto the exit, speeding up.
“No!” Bug screamed.
Construction vehicles flashed by on our sides. In the sideview mirror the Guardian tore up the slope, squeezing everything it could out of its engine to catch us.
“Please don’t do it,” I said.
Alessandro glanced at me for half a second and hit me with a dazzling smile. “Trust me.”
Black scorch marks stained the pavement ahead. Alessandro stood on the gas. The digital speedometer flashed 145. We were almost to the top of the slope.
I hugged the little dog to me.
The Guardian skidded to a stop. Celia leaped from the top of it, flying through the air like she had wings.
The Alfa went airborne.
I expected my life to flash before my eyes. Instead I went weightless, floating . . .
The Alfa crashed to the pavement and bounced hard. I pitched forward. My seat belt yanked me back. The Alfa skidded to a stop.
We made it. Oh my God.
“For fuck’s sake!” Bug cried out.
“See?” Alessandro grinned.
A heavy thud rocked the car. Celia landed on the roof. Two huge clawed fists smashed into the windshield like sledgehammers. The laminated glass cracked in a spiderweb pattern but didn’t shatter. Celia’s hand-paw broke through the glass and plastic. She clutched the edge of the hole and ripped the windshield out.
The little dog erupted into barks.
I pulled my Beretta out, pinned the dog with my left hand to keep it out of the way, and fired four shots through the roof. An angry shriek answered.
Eleven bullets left.
Alessandro stepped on the gas. The Alfa screeched in protest but rolled forward, weaving between the heavy construction equipment. Something must have broken on landing. We picked up speed . . .
Alessandro threw his arm in front of me and slammed on the brakes, spinning the car to the left. Celia slid off the roof, landed on the pavement on all fours, and rolled to her feet. Her maw gaped and she roared.
We had to get past Celia before the Guardian decided to start blasting the cement mixers and dump trucks blocking its view of us on the off chance the shrapnel and debris would hit the Alfa. Ramming her wouldn’t work. We didn’t have the mass and if she destroyed the car, we would be stranded on this exit.
Alessandro jumped out. Two guns appeared in his hands out of thin air. He fired at Celia.
I unbuckled my seat belt and scrambled out of the vehicle. The little dog tried to follow, but I slammed the door in its face.
The stream of bullets from Alessandro’s firearms pounded Celia. She jerked, snarled, and charged, loping forward in great leaps. I sighted her and fired. The Beretta pumped out bullets.
Eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven.
The shots tore into Celia without any visible damage. No blood.
Alessandro darted out of the way. A shotgun materialized in his hands. He pumped it and sank a burst into Celia’s stomach. She recoiled.
Six, five, four.
He pumped it again and fired at her face. She leaped aside, nimble like a cat, and flexed her tail. It whipped Alessandro, nearly taking him off his feet. He grunted and shot her again.
Three, two, one. Out.
Celia reared, swinging her arms in a frenzy. Her clawed hand closed on Alessandro’s shotgun and she tore it from his grasp, knocking him back. He stumbled and she chased him, claws rending the air.
“Celia!” I snapped. “Look at me!”
She spun toward me. I opened my wings and let my magic rip. The focused torrent of power drowned her.
“Come here,” I called, sinking enough magic to seduce a room full of people into it.
Celia rushed me. Her huge arm swung, and she backhanded me. I flew and hit a hard surface with my right side. Pain tore through my hip. Something crunched. Ow. A dump truck had thoughtfully broken my fall.
I looked up and saw Celia leaping toward me, claws ready to rend, mouth gaping. I dropped to my knees and scrambled under the truck.
Celia slammed into the vehicle with a thud and hugged the ground. Her terrible face thrust into the gap between the wheels. Tiny hate-filled eyes bore into me. She tried to squeeze in after me. I held my breath. She wiggled, pushing in another inch, and stopped. The truck sat too low.
Celia bared a mouthful of monster teeth and thrust her arm under the truck, trying to hook me with her claws. I shimmied back. She
shrieked, frustrated, jumped to her feet, and gripped the truck, trying to lift it. The huge vehicle rocked.
How strong was she?
Celia shrieked again and dropped down to the ground, her face only feet away from mine. I pulled the mace out of my pocket and sprayed her in the eyes.
Celia screamed and clawed at her face. The telltale roar of a chain saw answered. Blood spray wet the asphalt. Celia squirmed from under the truck and disappeared.
I crawled to the right, out from under the vehicle, and dashed around it.
Alessandro chased Celia with a chain saw. She dashed back and forth. Her left arm hung off her shoulder on a string of flesh, gushing blood. Bone glared from the stump. A gash sliced across her left hind leg.
I pulled my sword out and sprinted after them.
Alessandro backed Celia against the pavement roller and sliced the chain saw across her stomach. A horrible scream tore out of Celia. She threw herself at him, and the sheer weight of her took Alessandro off his feet. He fell, buried under her bleeding body.
No! I ran like I’d never run before in my whole life.
She opened her mouth and aimed for his face.
I drove my gladius into her neck. The sword slid into flesh and found bone.
Boom!
Bullets tore out of the back of her skull. Bone and brain exploded, spraying me.
I yanked the gladius out and brought it back down with everything I had. The blade carved through reinforced vertebrae. Celia jerked and collapsed. Who is your pretty little lamb now?
I dropped to my knees. “Alessandro?”
Please be alive, please be alive . . .
Celia’s body shuddered, rose, and Alessandro heaved it aside, pulling a Smith & Wesson 460XVR revolver out of her mouth. He stared at the massive gun’s fourteen-inch barrel and then looked at me, his eyes incredulous.
“It’s a hunting revolver.” I slumped back. “It’s for big game hunting.”
“Texas,” Alessandro said, loading a state’s worth of meaning into a single word.
The Alfa still worked. It wasn’t as fast or as smooth, and riding without a windshield in a tiny seat with every bump jabbing a spike of pain through my hip was a new kind of torture, but we made it off the exit onto Frontage Road.
Sapphire Flames Page 12
