“Lukas! Stop it! He’s your friend!” I screamed. “Hexe is your friend!”
To my surprise, Lukas stopped his attack on Hexe and turned his head in my direction. His green-gold gaze locked with mine, and I saw recognition flicker in his eyes, if only for the briefest moment. I had definitely caught the were-cat’s attention, but I had no way of knowing if he understood me.
“Get away from there, you crazy nump,” Nach snarled. Lukas hissed angrily upon catching sight of the Malandanti goon as Nach grabbed my arm and brusquely yanked me back in line.
“Keep that stupid bitch quiet,” Boss Marz snarled.
Nach nodded his head and clamped his metal hand over my mouth. I winced in pain as the overlapping fish-like scales bit into my flesh. I cried out in protest, only to have my cry reduced to a muffled moan.
Hexe began edging away from the distracted were-cat and crawling toward the knife. Lukas caught the movement at the corner of his eye and spun back around, swatting Hexe hard enough to flip him onto his back. Hexe lifted his head from the sawdust, keeping his eyes on Lukas. He knew the second he looked away the were-cat would be on him. Although his opponent seemed completely helpless, Lukas slowly edged forward, as if wary of a trap.
While he kept Lukas’s attention fixed on his face, Hexe slowly . . . slowly . . . slowly stretched out his left arm toward the dropped knife. Lukas took a cautious step forward, then another, head held low, ears flattened against his skull. Hexe’s fingertips brushed the handle of the knife and, with nightmare slowness, pulled the hilt into his palm. Lukas stood directly over Hexe’s prone body, dripping fangs inches from his exposed throat as his fingers twined themselves about the blade.
The wagering grew even fiercer as the twunts bet on whether Lukas would bury his fangs into Hexe’s throat before Hexe plunged the knife into Lukas’s chest. The smart money was that they would die together. I tried to block out the sound of the gamblers taking odds, as hot, salty tears spilled from my eyes and trickled down Nach’s cold metal hand. All I wanted was to break free of my captor and leap into the pit alongside my friends. It would be better to die alongside them than to be forced to endure the torment of watching them kill each other.
Just as Lukas was about to sink his fangs into his opponent’s throat, the were-cat suddenly stopped in mid-snarl and began to sniff Hexe’s body. I could see Hexe lying there, bleeding, his outstretched arm holding the knife trembling, while he debated on whether or not to plunge its blade into his friend’s body.
Please wake up, Lukas, I prayed silently. I know you’re in there. Just please wake up.
As if in answer, the were-cat leaned in close and began to lick Hexe’s cheek, his growl down-clutching into a purr. Hexe burst into relieved laughter and dropped the knife. He wrapped his free arm around Lukas in an awkward embrace and buried his face in his friend’s furry neck.
The onlookers’ response to this heartwarming show of loyalty was to boo and start throwing beer cans and bottles, empty or otherwise, at both the fighters in the pit and the grandstand.
Boss Marz leaped from his makeshift throne, his face dark with rage. “Damned dexie! I told you I wanted a good fight! Nach—kill them! Kill them all!”
“Even the girl?”
“What part of ‘kill them all’ do you not understand, nitwitch?” Marz growled. “Phelan—I need you to kidnap the old were-tiger and his pretty little daughter. Perhaps they’ll provide better sport when pitted against each other.”
Lukas roared in anger and launched himself at Boss Marz, sinking his claws in deep as he fought to scale the steep sides of the pit. The lord of the Malandanti flinched and took a step back from the railing.
Hexe got to his feet, pressing his free hand over his bleeding wounds. “Marz! You gave me your word! You said you wouldn’t hurt her!”
“No, I said I wouldn’t hand her over to Bonzo,” Boss Marz replied. “I didn’t promise I wouldn’t let Nach kill her. But first, I’ll have him get rid of you and your mangy friend.”
As Nach handed me over to Phelan for safekeeping, I thought I saw a familiar silhouette moving along the rafters overhead. I looked again to make sure, but the glare from the arena lights made it impossible to see anything besides blobs of pulsing shadow.
The pink-haired Malandanti stepped forward, holding aloft his metal left hand as he summoned forth the hellfire that would turn Hexe and Lukas into unrecognizable lumps of carbon.
As the first tongue of flame began to flicker in the hollow of Nach’s palm, the Cyber-Panther jumped onto his back from its hiding place in the warehouse rafters, knocking him over the railing and into the nest of razor wire surrounding the upper lip of the pit. Nach screamed in agony as the wire sliced through his clothes and into his upper body, while his legs dangled into the pit. Roaring in triumph, Lukas made a second running jump, only this time his claws sank into flesh, not wood.
As the were-cat pulled the shrieking Malandanti down into the pit, the audience began to panic. There was a horrific scream as Nach dropped to the sawdust with a heavy thud, leaving his prosthetic left arm behind in the razor wire perimeter. The panic turned into full-fledged chaos as the spectators filling the bleachers began climbing over one another in a desperate attempt to escape.
I don’t know how the Cyber-Panther had escaped the destruction of his fellow sculptures, or how it was able to move about on its own. Perhaps Hexe was right and that a part of Lukas was inside the sculpture. Perhaps I had created a doppelgänger instead of a piece of art. Whatever the reason, I couldn’t have been happier to see it if it was Santa Claus, James Bond, and Elvis rolled into one.
The Cyber-Panther, his unblinking gaze fixed on Boss Marz, made a noise that sounded like a buzz saw ripping into a tin roof. As it stepped forward, Marz snatched me from Phelan, shoving me in front of himself like a shield. The Cyber-Panther halted its advance, its segmented metal tail lashing back and forth in consternation.
“Tell it to back off!” Marz snapped.
“Like hell I will,” I snapped. “Sic him, kitty!”
Bonzo leaped from his master’s shoulder, transforming in midair into his demon-ape aspect. He struck the Cyber-Panther full force, carrying them both off the grandstand and onto the concrete floor below.
Although fashioned from steel the same thickness of an automobile body, the Cyber-Panther was still, essentially, a work of art, not a war machine. He didn’t stand a chance against a demon spawned in the bowels of hell. Bonzo pinned the Cyber-Panther to the floor and effortlessly ripped his head from his shoulders. Whooping in triumph, the familiar held aloft his trophy. My heart sank as the light faded from the Cyber-Panther’s LED eyes.
From somewhere on the other side of the warehouse there came a thunderous thumping sound, as if a giant were knocking on the side of the building. One of Marz’s croggies ran up onto the grandstand, looking extremely nervous.
“Are you okay, Boss?”
“I’m fine. What in seven hells is that noise?”
“There’s a seven-foot-tall woman with one eye banging on the loading dock door with the biggest chuffin’ hammer I’ve ever seen in my life!”
A look of alarm crossed Boss Marz’s face. “Bonzo!” he shouted, pointing toward the pit. “Kill Hexe and the were-cat! Do it now!”
Before Bonzo could do his master’s bidding, there was the sound of something shattering overhead, followed by a rain of broken glass. Shielding my eyes, I looked up to see Scratch, in full demonic aspect, drop down through the skylight, dragon wings spread wide and talons extended. The familiar hit the ground pissed off, knocking a Malandanti goon halfway across the warehouse with a lash of his crocodilian tail.
Bonzo jumped onto Scratch, biting and clawing the invading familiar viciously, only to have Scratch return the attack in kind. Locked in infernal combat, the familiars rolled about on the floor, knocking over bleachers and slamming into the fleeing spectators. The noise the demons made as they battled each other was like something from a Godzilla movie. I
t was so loud, in fact, I didn’t realize the loading dock door had been breached until I heard the sound of approaching motorcycles.
The Golgotham Iron Maidens MC, two-dozen strong, came roaring through the warehouse, Hildy and Lyta leading the charge on a Harley Trike. The Amazon was hunched over the handlebars, while the Valkyrie rode pillion, wielding a thirty-pound sledgehammer to bash Malandanti who got in their way.
Boss Marz’s men, already spread thin trying to control the mass exodus of frightened spectators while staying clear of the battling familiars, were unable to defend themselves from the unexpected attack. As they fumbled with their spells, desperately trying to summon forth hellfire or some other form of magical weapon, the lesbian bikers tore into them with war axes, crossbows, and chains, their voices raised in an ululating war cry.
Boss Marz grabbed Phelan’s arm, a look of genuine fear on his face. “Get me out of here—now!”
“The secret tunnel to Ghastly’s is gonna be jammed,” the werewolf said. “But we can escape through the kennels.”
I tried to make a break for it, hoping all the excitement might distract my captors, but Boss Marz grabbed my upper arm, nearly yanking it out of its socket.
“You’re staying with me, nump,” he snarled. “Just in case I need a little ‘insurance’ down the line.”
Skirting the melee taking place between the Malandanti and the Iron Maidens, Phelan led Boss Marz to a door behind one of the bleachers. As we hurried past, I glanced down into the pit, but all I saw was Nach’s savaged body lying in the bloody sawdust. There was no sign of Hexe or Lukas.
Just then there came an earsplitting roar, and Scratch and Bonzo, still locked in their unholy grudge match, rolled through the razor-wire perimeter and toppled into the pit. Too bad the twunts all beat cheeks back to Ghastly’s, because they were missing one hell of a fight—literally.
The stairs led down to a different section of the vast underground kennels I had been in earlier, although it smelled just as bad and was just as poorly lit. As Boss Marz dragged me down one of the aisles, I saw a minotaur sitting in a bed of filthy straw, a shock collar about his thick neck. Upon spotting Phelan, the man-bull lurched to his feet, snorting in anger.
“Calm down, you!” the werewolf snarled, fishing the remote for the shock collar out of his pocket. “You want to get zapped, Elmer?”
The minotaur fell silent and stepped back, but the hatred smoldering in his big dark eyes did not diminish. On either side of his cage were other half-beasts and beast-men, like the yeti and wingless sphinx. All had about their necks the same kind of shock collar as the minotaur.
Farther down the aisle were the cages reserved for the shape-shifters, who were recognizable by their uni-brows. Some were bastet, like Lukas, while others were lycanthropes, and there were even a couple of heavyset berskirs. Whether were-cat, werewolf, or were-bear, they all shared the same slave-collar about their throat and resentful look in their eyes. As Boss Marz and Phelan hurried past, they hissed, barked, and growled at the werewolf who had sold them into slavery and the warlock who held them captive.
Suddenly the figure of a man stepped out of the shadows, blocking Boss Marz’s escape route. The figure raised its right hand, commanding them to stop. Although he was ragged, bloodied, and bruised, I would have recognized that silhouette anywhere.
“Hexe!” I cried. I tried to break free of Boss Marz’s grasp and run to him, but the crime lord’s grip was stronger than iron.
Marz and Phelan turned, as if to flee back the way they came, only to have Lukas slink out of the shadows behind them. The were-cat stood up on his hind legs, adding his voice to the chorus of growls and hisses from his fellow gladiators. He held up the mangled remains of his shock collar, the hated symbol of his captivity, in one taloned hand.
“So much for your Left Hand Path,” Hexe said, tossing what was left of Nach’s metal left arm at Marz’s feet. “Let her go, or I’ll make you.”
“You and what army?” Marz sneered, tightening his hold on me until I grimaced in pain.
“This one,” Hexe replied calmly, pointing his right hand at the lock of the nearest cage.
A finger of blue-white lightning shot forth, short-circuiting the electric current and making the door spring open. The magic then jumped from lock to lock up and down the row of cages, like St. Elmo’s fire, until every cage was no longer electrified and every door hung open.
The captive shape-shifters slowly got to their feet and exchanged glances with one another, unsure whether or not what they were seeing was truly real. The first one to take a tentative step toward freedom was a burly man with dark brown hair.
Phelan pointed the remote control at the were-bear, who grimaced in agony and began clawing at the collar encircling his neck. “Get back! Get back or I’ll fry each and every one of you!” the werewolf shouted.
Suddenly there was a loud, bellowing sound as Elmer the minotaur came charging up the aisle, head lowered. Before Phelan could react, he found himself tossed into the air by the man-bull’s horns. The remote control flew from his hand, to land at Lukas’s feet. The were-cat snatched it up and smashed it against the bars of a nearby cage.
Phelan yowled in terror as he fell to the ground, transforming from man to wolf in less time than it took me to blink. The werewolf scrambled to his feet and ran, yelping, past Hexe. The captive shape-shifters, roaring in unison, cast aside their human skins and gave chase to their tormentor, like hounds going after a blooded fox. Lukas shrieked in delight and dropped onto all fours, joining his fellow prisoners in the hunt.
Boss Marz raised his left hand and hurled a fireball at Hexe. Hexe raised his right hand, moving it in a clockwise pattern, as if wiping a window, and the fireball splattered harmlessly against the invisible shield like a paintball.
“Let her go, Marz,” Hexe said. “Once they finish with the werewolf, they’ll be back for you. You’ll have a decent head start if you leave now. ...”
As Boss Marz tried to decide whether holding me hostage against Hexe was worth being torn to shreds by a pack of furious were-men, I spun around and kicked him in the shins as hard as I could.
“Take that, you creepy bastard!” I yelled as I broke free of his sweaty grasp. “Nobody makes my friends fight to the death!” I ran to Hexe, who quickly stepped in front of me, shielding me with his body.
“Don’t think this is over between us, ‘Serenity,’” Boss Marz shouted over his shoulder as he headed back the way he came. “I’ll never bend my knee to a nump-loving dexie—and I’m not the only one!”
He probably had a couple more villainous threats to hurl at us before making his escape, but he was cut short by Hildy stepping out from between the cages and hitting him like a piñata with her sledgehammer. The crime boss dropped to the floor like a poleaxed steer.
“Did I kill ’im?” Hildy asked as her partner came forward to hog-tie the fallen Malandanti.
“No such luck,” Lyta replied as she wrapped the hemp rope around Boss Marz’s ankles and wrists.
Hexe turned to me, his golden eyes darting over my body. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Did he hurt you?”
I shook my head. “I’m okay.”
“Thanks to all the gods in every heaven,” he whispered, cupping my face in his right hand. “I don’t know what I would do if anything bad ever happened to you.”
He wrapped his arms around me, pressing my body tight against his own, as his warm, pliant lips found mine. I eagerly returned his kiss, like a woman dying of thirst drinking a glass of cold, clear water. I had come so horribly close to losing this amazing man forever, I never wanted to let him go.
But as we broke our first kiss, Hexe’s eyelids fluttered and his face went deadly pale. I caught him in my arms as he fell into a swoon. It was then I realized just how badly he’d been wounded in his battle with Lukas. His naked torso was covered with deep scratches and bite marks, and when I gently cradled his back as I helped him to the ground, my arms came back bloody.<
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“What’s wrong?” Lyta asked.
“Hexe has been hurt,” I explained, trying to keep my fear at bay. Bursting into tears at that moment wasn’t going to do either one of us any good. “He’s lost a lot of blood. He needs a doctor!”
“Will I do instead?” Lady Syra asked, smiling down at me as I held her injured son in my arms. She knelt and removed a small jar of ointment from her Prada purse, which she then rubbed over Hexe’s wounds. Within seconds the bleeding stopped and the cuts and bites began to close.
“What are you doing here?” I gasped.
“Don’t look so surprised, my dear. Apparently there was at least one fan of this horrific blood sport still loyal to the royal house.” She returned the ointment to her purse and removed a flask of greenish liquid, which she tipped into her son’s mouth, causing him to spit and sputter. “I received an anonymous text message, informing me of what Marz was up to.”
Hexe’s eye fluttered open. “I should have known you were involved, Mom.” He smiled ruefully. “You’re the only other person who can let Scratch out of the house.”
“Yes, when I learned what was happening, I lost no time setting your familiar free and sending him ahead of me. Imagine my surprise,” Lady Syra said, nodding in the direction of Hildy and Lyta, “when I arrived to find the cavalry loitering in front of Ghastly’s Diner.”
“Yeah, sorry about getting here so late, guys,” Hildy said apologetically. “We were on our quarterly ride to Woodstock when I got your text. We got back as fast as we could.”
“What about Scratch?” Hexe asked as he got back on his feet. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine, son,” Lady Syra said reassuringly. “Marz’s familiar decided to dematerialize rather than risk being killed on the mortal plane. I’ve already sent Scratch home to lick his wounds. You should do the same. That healing is fresh, and I don’t want you tearing it back open.” She shook her head in disgust as she looked at the squalor of the kennels. “I took the liberty of calling the Paranormal Threat Unit just before I arrived. They should be here any minute to mop things up. I would recommend that you and your friends make yourselves scarce. The New York City justice system takes a dim view of vigilantism—even in Golgotham.”
Right Hand Magic Page 23
