“You do?”
“Her name is Lucille Robinson.”
“Go on.”
“I want you to kill her.”
He’s waiting for you to say something. So say something! Wait, don’t swear. Don’t call him an asshole. Okay, go ahead. “And tell me why I have to do your dirty work for you?”
He sighed with disgust. “Reavers cannot kill unless their victims have been Marked and paid for, or unless they can prove self-defense. Why do you keep making me say that?”
“Because I know it pisses you off?”
“I despise rules.”
“You know I never do anything unless there is some advantage to me,” I said.
Yale fixed me with that yellow glare. It was like looking into the eyes of a python. “The woman, Lucille’s, Spirit Eye is beginning to open.”
Spirit Eye . . . what the hell is that? It just can’t be good. Not even if it’s bad for reavers. What if it’s in the middle of my forehead, like theirs? Eeew! My hand itched to travel up my face and feel the familiar lines that creased my brow whenever I frowned. Would there be a new one with an eyeball underneath? The thought made me want to gag. Okay, get a grip. You’re working. Freak out on your own time.
I said, “How should that affect my plans?”
“It already has. She can see the weakness in the young ones’ shields. She has killed two of them, including Wu, who I’d placed aboard your yacht just today.” He jabbed a finger at me as if it was my fault. Which, of course, it was. Speaking of shields, I couldn’t see his. Not at all. The medallion was working for, and against me, once again.
“Are you sure it was her? Perhaps—”
“I am sure. I do not know the source of her power, but she is beginning to See, Pengfei. And when her Eye fully opens, she will also begin to Know. After that none of us will find life as easy or as lengthy as before. Do you understand?”
Though I didn’t understand, I nodded, because I figured I was supposed to. I said, “Tell me how to find her.”
“Lure her to you. She will not be able to resist the chase once you have killed the woman she was with the day I met her.”
“Do you know where to find this woman?”
“Her name is Cassandra. The cab company picked her up at this location. I believe she is one of the entertainers.”
“Oh my God, was that cool or what?” The voice belonged to a young guy, coming this way by the sound of it.
“You have got to be the king of first dates!” Sweet-sounding girl. Cruising for a make-out spot? Go away!
Yale’s eyes glowed as he nodded at me and licked his lips with the tip of that grisly pink tongue.
“There they are,” he whispered to me. “The boy has been Marked by his ex-girlfriend. I was going to share him with Wu, but given the circumstances, why don’t I treat you to dessert?”
Aw, hell. Could this be worse timing?
Yale pulled aside a flap on the right leg of his sleek leather pants that hid a long, slender sword. I used his momentary distraction to draw Grief. Taking a deep breath, I yelled, “Get lost, kids! There’s a maniac with a sword over here!” Girly scream and sounds of running feet. Apparently they’d seen some horror flicks recently and knew better than to come exploring. Good for them.
Yale, having seen his share of battles, didn’t stay surprised long. Still, I had time to nail him with every bit of ammunition Grief held. Bullets. Bolts. They backed him up, gave me room to kick in the only blade left on me worth using. Vayl’s.
I twisted the blue jewel at the hilt, launching the carved sheath at the reaver. It hit him in the throat. Dammit, he didn’t even grunt! Hoping to score some intimidation points, I came at him fast and figured out quick that I’d discovered his niche. Only my age and training prevented him from transforming me into a Jaz-kebob right then and there.
Clearly he’d been parrying and riposting since long before my Granny’s gran was a baby. My techniques, all learned at the knees of my martial arts teachers, barely kept their feet under his concerted attacks. Even if I lucked out and squeaked in an offensive move here or there, I didn’t know where to direct them because . . . the medallion’s still blocking my view of the shield. Take the damn thing off, Jaz!
God, he could wield that blade. Was it actually coming faster or was I just getting worse?
I grabbed the chain around my neck and yanked. “Ow!” Chains always break easily in movies. This one may have caused minor whiplash. But that was fine and dandy, because suddenly I understood about the Spirit Eye.
As I parried a slash that saved a good part of my forearm I noted the heat in Cirilai. Even for those few minutes I had felt disturbingly incomplete without it. Its increased warmth assured me Vayl was on his way. I just needed to survive.
But maybe I could do more.
Yale’s shield showed plainly against the backdrop of the shoreline, no longer a single color now, but deep velvety black with lighter areas of purple and blue where I’d hit him and, theoretically at least, weakened his resistance. It didn’t waver the way the first two reavers’ had, however. Not encouraging when sliding a weapon in those breaks was the only way I’d found to kill them.
He fought purely as a swordsman, and it took all my concentration to keep him from slicing and dicing me like a sack of Idaho russets. But I wasn’t beneath throwing in a kick or a punch when I could manage them. It felt like connecting with an old freezer, but the shield lightened in those spots too.
I kept moving, trying not to let him back me into the water where I’d be trapped. But with all my attention on that swift, sharp sword of his, I had none left for footing. I stepped into one of the craters left by Lung’s explosive spikes and went down, the breath bursting from my lungs so utterly I lay there gasping like an asthmatic.
Yale grinned, the tip of his tongue wagging free as he swung his sword in a long arc, meaning to split me wide open. I rolled clear, the blade slicing the point where my throat had been seconds earlier. Just as quickly I spun back, using the trick he’d pulled on me at Sustenance to catch him behind the knee. Already somewhat off balance, he fell easily.
LOOK, Raoul’s voice boomed in my head, focusing that part of me that saw beyond color and form into the realm of other. What Yale had called my Spirit Eye. To keep myself from freaking further about the eyeball-in-the-forehead possibility, I imagined it as a lovely, azure blue, long-lashed orb floating above my head, slowly waking to a new, bigger reality.
Just now it saw ratty Jaz and stunned Yale lying on the ground mere yards from a gazebo containing a badly mutilated corpse. Yale moved better than Jaz, which did not bode well for her future health. Especially since his shield, while wearing the purples, blues, and even yellows of a bad bruise, still seemed wholly intact. However, a ridge in the middle of his forehead was rimmed in bright, glowing red like a big, circular target.
Huh.
Snapping back to myself, I bear crawled over to Yale, grabbed him by the shoulders, and head-butted him so hard that for a second my regular vision completely winked out. It returned just as Yale staggered to his feet and retrieved his sword. Spurt of fear as I realized I didn’t know where my weapons had gone. In fact, the last thirty seconds were kinda hazy. I put my hand to my forehead and felt the bump.
OH MY GOD, I AM GETTING A THIRD EYE! The fear woke me right up. Nope, probably just a slight concussion from the skull tackle. What a relief.
That delay had allowed Yale to formulate his next plan of attack. He came at me, swinging his sword in a circle as if to take my head off. But his pace, slow and unsteady, gave me the time to duck and scramble away.
I lost my balance and fell from trying to move too fast with a battered brain. But it worked out for the best. When I crawled across something hard and sharp I realized I’d found Vayl’s sword. What luck! Maybe my knee wouldn’t feel the same later on. But it’s really all about perspective.
I meant to jump to my feet and wade into the battle, but the dizzies returned, so it beca
me more of a wide-footed waddle. How I was going to defend my life, much less defeat the reaver, I wasn’t sure. He walked toward me, his expression changing from caution to confidence with each step. He swung once, twice, three times, and each time I barely saved my neck. The fourth time a large, glittering arm intervened. Yale’s sword went clack and stopped dead. We both stared at it in confusion. We looked up. I smiled. “Hi, Vayl.”
“I am sorry it took me so long to get back down the hill,” he said. “I believe your transmitter has fallen off, and Cirilai did not warn me of your danger until just now.”
I looked at Yale. “My boss is here now. You are in such trouble.” I looked back to Vayl. “That is so not something I would usually say. I think I have brain damage. That son of a bitch has a hard head.”
Vayl nodded. “Shall I dispatch him for you?”
I smiled again. “Sometimes you are so eighteenth century.”
Yale finally got tired of the patter. With a growl, he withdrew his sword. But he came back fast, his attacks a blur of motion that Vayl met with a backhanded blow that flipped him completely over and landed him flat on his back, where he lay, wheezing.
“Get up, Reaver,” said Vayl. “My avhar wants vengeance for that woman you killed and I mean to get it for her, even if it takes all night.”
Yale struggled to his feet. Despite the fall, his shield held firm. He could probably fight all night as well. And on into the morning.
Except he also had an enormous bump on the forehead. It looked about as painful as mine felt. Now, what was the deal with that, really? I’d shot the guy multiple times and it hadn’t even stained his pretty plaid shirt. But knock him in the noggin and he’s gonna need an ice pack for the next twenty-four. Why was that?
Because it’s not his eye, my mind whispered. Remember the Enkyklios movie? When the reaver gave up that soul, he had to take some poor woman’s eye to replace the one he’d lost. If it’s not part of him, maybe it’s not protected as well. Maybe it’s his weak spot.
“Go for the forehead, Vayl!” I yelled. “That’s his Achilles’ heel!” I stopped. Okay, was that just the stupidest thing I’d ever said? The jury didn’t have time to weigh in because Desmond Yale chose that moment to make a run for it.
Vayl started after him, but he was slow in this form. Slower even than me. “Dammit, he is going to get away!”
I said, “I think I can track him, just like Pengfei. But we need some wheels!”
Vayl started listing possibilities. “RV. Mopeds. Taxi. Commandeer a vehicle.”
“Cole!” I yelled.
“Yeah!” I could see him running toward us down the hill, dodging craters like a ski-less moguls pro.
“Call Jericho! We need wheels at the RV, now!” I turned to Vayl. “Does that work for you?”
“As long as it happens quickly.”
“Agreed.” We ran to the RV. Vayl waited outside for our ride while I went in to change. A headache that promised to build to massive had replaced my dizziness, so I called for a couple of Advil on my way to the bedroom. Within five minutes I’d ripped off the dress, donned blue jeans, a burgundy sweater, and my black leather jacket, reloaded Grief, stuck a spare clip in my pocket, slipped my muddy feet into Cassandra’s blister-builders, and promised to buy her a new pair.
“Jericho’s here!” Cole yelled from the front of the RV. I ran forward, my feet already aching. I passed Bergman, who’d paused in his packing and stacking to get the lowdown from Cole as he stood in the open doorway.
“I know you’re in a hurry to leave,” I told Miles as I passed him, “and I don’t blame you. In fact, I commend you. But Vayl is still stuck inside that armor. If you happen to think of anything he might try that will allow him to lose it before dawn, let us know, will ya?”
Bergman nodded. I took the pills and a glass of water from Cassandra, who gave me an I-wish-I-could-help look. “Stay inside,” I told her. “The reaver has targeted you as a way to get to me.” If I was lucky, by the time I returned she would have joined Bergman in the exodus.
I sped through the near empty streets of Corpus Christi on a hot, red Kawasaki Ninja 250. Jericho’s personal ride. Vayl sat behind me, one arm wrapped tightly around my waist. I could no longer feel my back, and my teeth were starting to chatter. Otherwise, I felt fine. Beautiful motorcycles will do that to me.
“We’re getting close,” I told Vayl through the mike. When Cole had discovered we’d be on two wheels rather than four, he’d pulled our helmets from the trailer. They went much better with this bike than the mopeds. He followed us with Jericho and the three cops he could round up in a sleek black dual cab 4×4. I didn’t think their presence was necessary or even smart. But I didn’t have time to argue. And frankly, if I owned the bike I presently rode, I’d be keeping a close eye on it myself.
The reaver’s scent pulled me past classic Southwestern buildings dressed in rich earth tones that abutted glass and steel high-rises. Even complemented by row after row of stately palm trees, the mix bewildered me. There seemed to be no transition between present and past here, nothing to keep the city from somehow cracking as it tried to assume far too many personalities. Then I saw the others. Vampires mostly, the kind who want to blend. But my new senses told me they weren’t alone. I wanted some confirmation though.
“Vayl, ask Cole what he’s sensing.”
Vayl obliged, and moments later he relayed the news. “Cole notes an abundance of witches, weres of some sort, though he is not sure exactly what. And he believes those two lovely women we just passed are nereids.” I glanced into the rearview. Wow. When you knew what to look for, it made sense. Those two ultratall silver-haired girls obviously spent more time swimming the ocean than they did pounding the pavement.
The streets of Corpus Christi weren’t all that different from those of Chicago or New York or L.A. after all. They seethed with magic. Power. Creatures who could remember when horses drew wagons full of settlers down their muddied lengths. Maybe that’s what keeps any city from blowing sky high.
Two blocks later we saw the reaver, a single dark blur running down the center of a two-lane avenue. Traffic was so light he’d probably only freaked out a couple of drivers with his antics so far. Make that three.
The light turned red and Yale wrenched open the door of a silver Pontiac Grand Prix. Out flew the driver, a kid who couldn’t have had his license over a week. In went Yale. The tires squealed, the kid shook his fists, and off we went, chasing the reaver deep into the heart of the city.
“Do you think he has any idea where he is going?” asked Vayl.
“I don’t even think he knows what he’s doing,” I replied. Yale looked to be one of those old-school demons who lets somebody else do the driving while he sits in the back and does open-torso surgery on the innocents. The car fishtailed like the right rear was losing air and we hadn’t even taken a turn yet.
But Yale did have a plan after all. Crashing the Pontiac into the concrete barrier that kept the steep hill to our left from falling down onto the roadway probably wasn’t part of it, but it did stop the car. He jumped out of the vehicle and onto the barrier like a cross-country runner and began slogging up the hill.
I pulled up right behind him, Cole and his truck full of SWAT men hard on my tail. But as soon as my feet hit the pavement I knew we were outnumbered. Outgunned. Out of our minds to even think of climbing that mound. Underneath this road, that grass, a million fiends writhed in their unending tortuous dance. Like the women at a Little Italy festival, they bounced round and round an enormous vat, their hooves pounding relentlessly on the souls of their victims, turning them into Satan’s wine.
“I would make a terrible merlot,” I muttered.
“What did you say?” asked Vayl as he dismounted with a heartfelt groan. I didn’t reply. Something was stuck in my throat. If I was a guy, I’d have sworn they were my testicles.
I looked up as I set the kickstand. On top of that slope stood an abandoned church. Its steeple still
stood intact, though part of the roof had caved and all the windows had been boarded up. Though I swung my leg over the bike, it moved slowly, because it was hardwired to that part of my brain that insisted we’d found hell’s front porch and we needed to RUN!
“Vayl,” I gasped. “Do you feel it?”
“Yes,” he murmured. “It seems as if the road is filled with flesh-eating beetles, although my eyes insist we are fine.”
Behind us the guys were having even more trouble. Cole had made it out of the truck and was struggling toward us as if the asphalt was sucking at his shoes. The SWAT men, bereft of any form of protective powers, shared the narrow-eyed, tight-lipped look of soldiers who would turn and run but for their love of and loyalty to one another.
Jericho had brought what looked like the cream of the crop. A wiry, gray-headed gentleman carrying a Remington SPS Varmint sniper rifle nodded and introduced himself as Sergeant Betts. Corporal Fentimore had apparently not been satisfied with his original collection of muscles and decided to build himself a complete extra set on top of them. He and his barrel-chested, broad-shouldered buddy, who said shortly, “Call me Rand,” were both armed with SIG-551s. These men were cut from the same cloth as my brother, and my father in his prime. Just looking at them, you felt you couldn’t shake them with a mortar. And yet they danced from foot to foot like sprinters at the start line.
Which was when I realized the place was spelled. I hadn’t grasped it right away because the magic was so big. It had stunned my Sensitivity the same way your brain goes into overload when you first walk into an art museum. Until you step back and convince it to take one thing at a time, you never see a single picture.
I dumped my helmet and helped Vayl off with his. Cole had joined us by then. “There’s some kind of expellation spell on this hill,” I told them all. “What you’re feeling isn’t real.” And just knowing that, all of us would be able to function a helluva lot better.
“What about them?” asked Jericho, nodding toward the hill.
I looked over my shoulder. A line of dark shapes was pouring out of the desecrated church. Shit! “Those are a different story.”
Another One Bites the Dust Page 26
