Shocked that Pengfei would attempt to kill him, Lung’s first reaction was defensive. He crouched. After a brief delay, maybe only two or three heartbeats, the armor raced to cover his head. Already he had horns and fangs.
But that short pause had given me the opening I needed.
Using both hands to power the move, I jammed the bola through his cheek and into his nose. He screamed and jerked away, launching one of the spines off his back, more out of instinct, I think, than any real attempt to hurt me with it. It landed halfway up the hill and exploded, sending grass and dirt flying.
I yelled, “Vayl! Gazebo! Now!” Trying to avoid getting blown to bits or crispy-curled, I stayed in close, and I mean tight, like a tick on a German shepherd in the middle of July. Lung did his expanding act while I slammed kicks into his growing torso, trying to keep one eye on his tail and the other on his fire-breathing apparatus.
But it looked like the knife had done a number on the mechanism. In fact, a quarter of his face from cheek to forehead still remained scale-free. Blood splattered across his shoulders, me, and the grass as he shook his head, trying to dislodge the knife, but it wouldn’t budge.
When his claws ripped out of their wrappings I darted clear, remembering the damage they’d done his attackers on the yacht. But he seemed more intent on using them to knock the bola free. He roared as he somehow managed to wiggle it deeper, and a fresh gout of blood ran down his cheek and neck.
I popped the top button of Pengfei’s dress and drew Grief. It felt like taking aim at an F-18 with a spit wad. I was so not packing the necessary heat to smoke this monster. Hell, that kind of firepower might not even exist. But Vayl’s sudden presence along with his reassuring “I am here,” made me hope otherwise.
He ran past me so quickly I barely saw the blur as he leaped at Chien-Lung, making my heart stop for a terrifying two seconds as he went straight for the face and I thought, “Oh my God, what if the fire erupts now? What if he burns? He’ll never come back!” The possibility took the starch right out of my knees.
In movements so swift my eyes could barely follow, Vayl jerked Lung’s head around, using the hilt of the knife as a handle, and sank his fangs into the exposed skin of his face.
Lung went nuts. He screamed as if all the demons in hell were shredding his soul bit by tiny bit. He launched every single spike from his back, blowing so many pits in Sanford Park’s hillside it looked like the land had developed a skin-eating infection. His tail whipped wildly from side to side. He beat Vayl with his claws. He raked at his back, which should’ve left deep furrows that should have filled first with poison and then with blood. But they did neither.
Vayl released Lung and jumped away from him. I scrambled to my feet, keeping my eyes on those nongrievous wounds. I couldn’t believe what I saw.
“Vayl,” I whispered. “What’s happening?”
“The power you gave me tonight with your blood,” he said, his voice ringing with triumph. “Remember I said I could feel the change?”
“Yeah.”
“It is a second cantrantia. The ability to consume another vampire’s power and make it my own.”
I came close to him, close enough to touch the torn edges of his shirt, the gaping openings of which revealed—“Ice,” I said. “You’re armored in ice.”
Bergman’s voice came tinny and distant in my ears. “Jaz, what’s happening? What did you say?”
“Bergman, I thought you said this armor was . . . was man-made. How could it . . . How could this . . .” Speech failed me as I watched scales cover the rest of Vayl’s back, neck, head, and face. Frosty-white scales that covered him with his own thick, hard armor. He didn’t get the dragon face. Didn’t grow to massive proportions or develop freaky claws. He simply looked as if he’d stood outside during a vicious ice storm.
I touched his back and yanked my fingers away, singed by the cold. His clothes weren’t holding up too well either. Rips developed in the thighs of his pants and his shirt pretty much disintegrated. Beneath—beautiful white scales. Even though I knew Vayl had somehow commandeered the biological portion of the armor and rebuilt it according to his own powers, my brain said, Bullshit, as my head shook from side to side in absolute agreement.
Lung couldn’t believe it either. “NO!” he screamed. “Not the white dragon!”
That’s right. He went after Cassandra so she wouldn’t repeat some long-dead monk’s prophecy to him. Something about—I looked at Vayl, shocked into utter stillness by his alien beauty—a white dragon. Nope, I didn’t see it. But then Lung wasn’t operating even close to reality. If I had to place Vayl in some sort of prophecy I’d call him a white knight. And we all knew how those stories ended.
He zeroed in on Lung like a torpedo, and Lung, with flight no longer an option, lowered his head and took it.
They slammed into each other like a couple of bull elephants. Scales and blood flew. The ground beneath their feet churned. They clawed and grappled, lost their balance, and rolled down the slope to the edge of the water.
Chien-Lung’s immediate disadvantage was grip. He couldn’t find a purchase on Vayl’s slick armor. His claws scraped harmlessly down Vayl’s sides, off his head and back.
Vayl, having never battled within that hard shell, moved like a freshman football player, slow and awkward, unsure of angles or even his own strength. But as he fought and didn’t lose, he gained confidence. Always aware of Lung’s vulnerable spot, he attacked the face again and again until it was an unrecognizable pit of blood and gore.
But during the course of his attacks, he broke the blade free. Lung blew one fiery breath. The armor encasing Vayl’s head and right arm cracked and blew apart, shards flying in every direction. I ducked, covering my head with my arms as deadly cold missiles landed all around me. When I looked up I discovered the clash had continued, but now Vayl fought to keep Lung from raking his vulnerable right side with claws, tail, and teeth. So far, so good, but he had no way to fight the flame.
“Bergman!” I yelled. “How long does it take to recharge the fire?”
“Thirty seconds!”
Shit! I couldn’t just stand and spectate anymore. I looked at Grief waiting in my hand. Nuh-uh. I need a big-ass, surefire weapon, and I need it now!
There! On the ground where Vayl had dropped it, the crossbow that had killed Pengfei lay as if waiting for this moment. Waiting for me.
I holstered Grief as I went for the bow. I grabbed it and ran toward Lung and Vayl. They still battled, half in and half out of the muddy water.
Keeping in mind that I held a finely crafted weapon made to last, I ran like hell, putting all my might into my swing as I came upon Lung, heaved that bow around, and whacked him sideways with it like he was a gigantic red baseball. My arms buzzed in protest as the crossbow banged against his armor. The right half of the lath snapped off and flew back, hitting me in the middle of the forehead, opening a wound that bled straight down my nose. Soon I spat and snorted blood like some half-dead horse. But I could still see, and at this point that was all that mattered.
I spun the crossbow around and gave Lung another hard hit, breaking the remainder of the lath free. Now I held a stake. The pointy end was actually the stock of the crossbow, but the lath no longer stretched both ways to impede its vertical movement.
“Fifteen seconds, Jaz!” said Bergman, urgency pushing his voice a couple of notches higher.
“Vayl!” I screamed. I scrambled up Lung’s heaving body, desperately trying to keep my balance as I moved toward his head. “Gonna need your strength,” I whispered, hoping Vayl heard, that he understood.
He had, but so had Lung. The voice that thundered in my head next was not Vayl’s or Bergman’s. Raoul yelled, DUCK!
I flattened myself on Lung’s armored back as his tail swept overhead, the whoosh of air at its passing nearly ripping the wig from my head.
“Ten seconds!” howled Bergman.
I stood and ran up Lung’s spine. Out of the corner of my eye
I could see his tail swinging back around. This time it would hit me, throwing me so far up the hill I’d probably land on the hood of someone’s SUV. Unless . . .
“Vayl! Lock down on his jaw!”
“Five seconds!”
The angle had to be just right. Nearly vertical. Just like swinging on a pop can. I reared back with the stake and shoved it deep into the wound Vayl had opened.
“Now, Vayl! Pound it home!”
“Time’s up, Jaz!”
I jumped backward, landing in water so cold I thought my skin was going to pull anchor and motor off the job there for a second. I waded out fast, keeping clear of Lung’s thrashing body as Vayl hammered at the stake with his fists, plunging it deeper and deeper into Lung’s body.
It happened suddenly.
One moment Lung was writhing and shrieking. The next moment he was gone. My ears ached in the silence as I watched the smoke of his remains rise into the night.
Armor, I thought dully. We’re supposed to get the armor. I’d taken my boots off to dump the water out, so I left them on the grass as I went back to the waterline. My toes sank in the cold mud as I hooked the only bit of visible armor. The rest had sunk quicker than lead-weighted bait. Keeping my eyes on Vayl, I pulled the armor out hand over hand, feeling like a fisherman after a long day’s work.
“Bergman, come get your armor. Bring Cole with you for backup.” His joyous whoop nearly deafened me. But it brought a smile to my face too. We’d saved his baby. Speaking of which: “Did Lai calm down after you handed him to his parents?” I asked Cole as Vayl pulled himself upright and struggled onto land. I retrieved his cane from where he’d dropped it near the crossbow and tried to hand it to him.
He stared at me from transformed eyes, vertical pupils, silver irises, alien territory that still managed to look irritated with me. I thought it was because his hands, still encased in ice, couldn’t close over his cane. As I let it fall awkwardly to my side, he said, “I cannot believe that is the first thing you have to say to me!”
I took off the medallion, the better to anticipate his next move. If he decided to go all frosty on me (oh, great pun, Jaz, hardy har) we were going to have real problems. “I was actually speaking to our interpreter,” I informed him.
Cole said, “The baby was fine as soon as you took him from Lung. It was like he knew he was safe.” I nodded, satisfied now I knew we’d truly saved the kid.
I wished I could just shove my nose right up against Vayl’s and say, “As for you, what the hell crawled up your ass? We just won!” But I liked my job too well to piss off the guy who had the most influence on my continued employment. I could see his breath as he exhaled. He turned his head just before it could freeze my face.
Something about the way he held himself made me look over my shoulder. His shoulders, chest, legs were all still tensed, as if at any moment he’d have to leap back into combat. But I’m the only one here. Why’s he still playing defense? Then I had one of those aha! moments.
I took a deep breath. These were the times when I missed working solo. Just a little. Just the part where you don’t have to worry about hurting anybody else’s feelings. Ever. “Vayl, I’m a girl.”
“I do not need to be reminded . . .” he began, pulling himself up to his full height.
“Yes, you do. Obviously you do. Because I’m a girl, a baby’s safety will always come before how cool it is that you can encase yourself in ice and that you kicked Lung’s ass.”
“You . . . you think it is cool?” Did I detect a slight thaw in the ice-man?
“Are you kidding me? Look at this!” I touched a scale and pulled back quick, showing him my burned finger. “You are such a badass!”
He took a look at the evidence of his struggle with Chien-Lung. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
“And yet, if I hadn’t liked your new outfit? Would it really have made that much difference to you in the long run?” I asked. I wanted him to say no. I didn’t want to have that much influence. But I knew better.
“When you did not immediately speak, I thought you were going to say, ‘How is it that you can summon from within yourself such coldness that you only find in the Arctic? Where nothing lives? Where nothing grows? Where there is only emptiness?’” His original accent had crept into his voice, a sure sign of inner distress.
“Dude, you’re all about the chill. We humans even have a name for vamps with your abilities. Do you know how much clout having a Wraith on staff gives the CIA?”
He waved me off with a that’s-not-the-point gesture. “Jasmine, you wear my ring. You guard all that is left in me that is good. With a second cantrantia such as this, I cannot be sure if the powers I gain will benefit me, or those I serve.” His voice dropped. “Especially the ones that make me feel invincible. I am strong. I am powerful. But I am still limited by my perceptions, my experiences. If you find my powers are changing me, warping me, tell me. I will reject them.” He ran his hands down his chest, which was currently better protected than if he’d been standing behind bulletproof glass. “Even if I cannot imagine being without them ever again.”
I couldn’t help the cynicism that laced my next question. “You’d dump the armor? Just like that?”
Twitch of the lip. “Perhaps not. But you are a persistent and creative woman. I feel you will find a way to convince me.”
Cole and Bergman arrived then, Bergman to gather up his armor, Cole to envy Vayl’s new form. “So is this a permanent thing?” Cole asked hopefully.
“Probably not,” Bergman said, eyeing Vayl from a respectful distance. “My guess is that it will recede as soon as you sleep, just like it did with Lung. You may even be able to call it up and make it go at will. But”—he shook his head—“I don’t really know. This shouldn’t have happened. I mean, yes, as a biological tool the armor would have changed Lung in very basic ways. And by taking his blood, I guess Vayl could have conscripted that change for himself. But . . . I never anticipated . . . any of this.” His eyes darted from Vayl’s shining armor to the medallion dangling from my fingers.
“I have to go, Jaz,” he said, hugging Lung’s armor to him like some long-lost teddy bear. “I’m sorry. But I have a lot of work piling up at home.” He started to back up. “I can’t deal . . . I have to go.”
“I understand,” I said. “Really. It’s okay.”
He bobbed his head, turned, and walked away.
Beside me, the smell of grape gum accompanied by the pop of an exploding bubble distracted my attention from Bergman’s receding back.
“Well, that sucks,” said Cole. “He left before he could make me a cool gun. Like yours, only better.”
I sighed and gave him a look that I had a feeling was going to be especially reserved for him from now on. “First of all, tell me your mouth-mint is not covered with Hubba Bubba.”
“No, Bergman took it after you guys got Lung.”
“Okay, then I’ll tell you Bergman is not walking straight from here to the airport. He’s going back to the RV to pack. He may even sleep there if he can’t get a flight out tonight. So follow him back and ask him to make you a gun that you promise you will pay for. No. Wait.” I grabbed his arm before he could move away. Something had moved between my shoulder blades, a feeling between a tingle and a pain. “I don’t think you have that kind of time. Something’s coming and it’s not a vamp. It’s just a feeling, one I’ve never had before, but Vayl said I should open myself up to these things.”
“There is a bandstand just up the hill,” Vayl told him. “Take cover there.”
Cole nodded and quickly moved away.
“You too, Vayl,” I suggested. “Whatever it is, I don’t think we want news of a scaled vamp to get out, at least not until we know what we want the story to say.”
“Very well,” he said, gliding uphill with remarkable grace for one so new to the armor. He should’ve shone like starlight, but I could feel him using his power of camouflage to make himself seem to disappear.
I we
nt to the gazebo, not inside, just to the doorway, and gazed down at somebody’s daughter. Somebody’s wife. Pitifully dead woman with her body ripped open. I wanted so bad just to cover her. But that wasn’t what she needed now.
“Pengfei Yan, shouldn’t you be on the yacht?” Desmond Yale asked as he emerged from the shadows.
Holy crap, it’s the reaver! I slipped the medallion over my head as he closed the distance between us, praying he couldn’t see in the dark as well as I could. At least he was speaking English. He came into the three-foot zone to get a good look at me. “You look roasted, toasted, beaten, and battered. What happened?”
I wanted to run to the nearest Renaissance Faire, grab a really nice breastplate, and strap it over my chest. Barring that option, I crossed my arms. “Chien-Lung began to have his own ideas about our revolution. I had to teach him a lesson. What are you doing here?”
He spread his hands out in front of himself, palms up, a big gold ring flashing on the first finger of his left hand. “Did you plant the charges as I instructed? And the evidence implicating the religious fanatics?”
Right on cue the air went BOOM! and the ground shook. Yale’s icy-blue eyes hardened so sharply he could’ve sunk every boat in the marina just by looking at them. “Where are the dead, Pengfei Yan? I sense not a single casualty.”
“The police found out somehow,” I whispered. “They got all the people to safety.” Time had strung way out this evening, like a ribbon of taffy that just keeps winding. I could’ve sworn the hit on Pengfei, the search for Lai and Lung, not to mention the battle and its aftermath had lasted a couple of lifetimes. Nope. Fifteen minutes, start to finish.
“What use are you, Vampire?” Yale demanded. “You brag of your awesome powers of concealment, and yet these myopic little godspawn outmaneuver you.” He stepped toward me. Looming. Threatening. “I want my souls!”
“I guess I’m just going to have to owe you.”
He stopped. Took a second to think. “Yes, and I have just the debt in mind.”
Another One Bites the Dust Page 25
