In Truth and Claw (A Mick Oberon Job #4)

by Ari Marmell

  Slow, way too slow, the edges of the wounds crept together, knitted shut, even as the rest of her body changed around ’em. Again her skin went red, her form ropey with muscle. Horns and wings sprouted, hoving the desk over onto one narrow end where it tottered and swayed.

  “Outside!” I shouted, already movin’. I threw myself at the empty space where the doorway had been, and Pete dived for the curtained window.

  Didn’t see what happened to Ramona at first. The thing that’d once been a lion was on my heels, roaring its silent roar, snapping at me with phantom jaws that I knew damn well would feel all too real, more than real, if I let ’em catch me. Even at that thought, they slammed shut, yankin’ me to a halt by my coat.

  I didn’t even try to tug it loose, just folded my arms back and slipped out of it, leavin’ the flogger behind. The beast savaged it, just for a sec—when I glanced back, it looked like it hung by absolutely nothin’ from the lion’s chin, but huge holes appeared with every shake—and then it was after me again.

  The pen across from me burst as a small herd of cattle stampeded away from the threat they sensed but couldn’t even comprehend, the wooden fencing not near a match for so many tons of panicked beef. A couple of the smaller cows didn’t make it through, crushed against the barrier and then beneath the hooves of the rest.

  I staggered, slipped, slid through the mud, tryin’ to focus through the wand, to scoop as much sheer luck from anything and everything around me, to wind it around myself as a shield against the impossibility tryin’ to tear me apart. Hell, I mighta been responsible for a few of those dead cattle, misfortune running them down because I’d drawn all the good luck from ’em.

  I’d say I was sorry, but under the circumstances…

  Another ghostly roar nearly split my noggin, and it pounced again.

  I spun midstep, lettin’ myself tumble backwards. Mud sprayed up and around me as I landed, coatin’ me with filth, almost choking me with the scent of animal effluvia that soaked the entire stockyard. The lion-shaped horror sailed through where I’d stood, over me, and I stabbed up with the L&G as it passed.

  No sense tryin’ for pain; with a false body I didn’t know if the friggin’ thing even felt pain. Instead I dragged the wand through its aura, not just draining luck from it, but deliberately twisting and corrupting what remained.

  Stitches burst, wood cracked, rents and worn holes ripped through a pelt suddenly subjected to every bad day, every possible misfortune, every process of age that the museum’s preservative chemicals had kept at bay.

  The creature landed, staggered, howled, and turned. Whole torrents of dust poured from the open “wounds,” and the skin hung off it in tatters like a bad shawl.

  It stared through empty glass spheres, not too different from marbles, that had served as artificial eyes. Seemed to me at first that they glowed, but no, it was… somethin’ else that made ’em gleam. Something weirder.

  There was no light within ’em to push away the dusk and the gloom. No, it was the darkness itself that wouldn’t quite come near those orbs. Like, I dunno, a bubble or surface tension in a glass of inky water. They weren’t alight, just less dark.

  Best I can describe, anyway.

  It started back toward me and I scrambled upright, feedin’ on the new luck, keepin’ my own essence fat and flush to avoid slipping again in the sludge. Tossin’ the wand to my left mitt, I drew my sword with my right. It leapt and I spun, some weird combination of matador and ballerina, and the lunge didn’t even come close, but neither did the slash I aimed at its side.

  Another landing, more sprayin’ mud. It turned again, and I tensed…

  The roof of the rapidly disintegrating office building blew apart as Ramona shot into the sky, wings spread wide, the full succubus in all her diabolical glory. She hovered in the night, silhouetted against the autumn clouds, and her eyes definitely glowed.

  No, they burned.

  “You want to try that again, you naughty kitty?”

  It roared in fury, and Ramona dove.

  But not without a quick glance my way first. I jerked her a sharp nod.

  The lion-thing tensed, belly nearly dragging, ready to spring and meet the plummeting demon halfway. Which meant, for just a second, it’d forgotten about me in favor of the more immediate threat.

  With all the speed an old aes sidhe could muster, augmented by the reservoir of magic practically flooding from the L&G, I sprinted forward, hauled back my arm, and…

  Well, ain’t any other way to put it. I shivved that lion in the keister with my wand.

  Wasn’t much of a wound, considering it had no flesh or organs to puncture. But I released a blast of misfortune, ripping through not just the wood and fabric but the mojo holding the thing together.

  It staggered to its knees, and then lashed out with a backward kick more mule than lion. Shirt, skin, and tissue tore at the touch of those ghostly claws, and I probably cried out as I crumpled around a gutful of burning pain and slick blood. Without the extra luck woven through my aura, I’da been clutching at my bowels as they slipped and slid between my fingers.

  How fucking strong was this thing?

  Even more worn and ragged, lookin’ as though even the gentle nighttime breeze oughta tear it apart, it still got its hind legs under it and surged upward to meet Ramona’s plunge. For endless heartbeats they spun in place, just a couple yards above the ground, claws and fangs and talons digging and swiping.

  Finally, with a real unladylike grunt, she got both hands around it and hurled it away from her, desperate for room to breathe and recover. For all the power infusing the thing, it was still a taxidermy model, didn’t weigh near as much as the real McCoy. Propelled by her unnatural might, it sailed clear over a nearby supply shack to crash through the roof of a distant pen.

  I’d say Ramona landed beside me, but it was really more of a crash. She hit the mud with her knees, huddled around her own wounds much as I was. Neither of us had the breath for words, but a lot passed between us in that moment.

  Pete popped up next to us from wherever he’d been hidin’, helped Ramona to stand—ladies first, right?—and then me.

  He got as far as, “What do—?” before more animal screams, dozens of terrified cattle, drowned out whatever he’d meant to say. More wood shattered and they stampeded our way, bustin’ outta the pen that was no longer safe.

  A few collapsed as they fled, foaming at the mouth, breath hitching once, twice, before they died, overwhelmed by supernatural terror. The rest ran faster’n you’ve ever seen a cow go, and from right behind ’em came that empty howl.

  I shoved Pete at Ramona, who—wincing around the tug on her injuries—wrapped an arm around him and took to the air. Me, I sheathed the sword, clung tight to the wand, waited for the first of the bovine tidal wave to come closer, closer…

  And then I hurled myself across its back, bruising my ribs hard on its spine, wrappin’ my own free arm around its neck. Crazed beast was so damn terrified, I don’t think it even knew I was there.

  Cow ain’t the fastest animal in the world, but they’re quicker’n you’d think, and this one was goin’ all out. It certainly had more swift than I had in my current condition, anyway. Wouldn’t be enough, not near enough, to keep the vampiric man-eater from catching me up, but it’d take just that much longer to gain.

  Gaining it was, though. We tore through the stockyards, makin’ random turns by whatever logic or instinct a terrified cow follows, and the lion loped after us. Other cattle peeled away as it passed, fleeing down this path or between those buildings, the miniature herd parting before it like it was goddamn Moses at the Red Sea. I felt bellowing breath beneath me, the sweat soakin’ through the coarse hair, and wondered how long Bessy had left in her.

  I twisted around, even though it meant loosening my grip, and started firing.

  With every hoofbeat, pain shot through my chest; with every hoofbeat, I blasted a small flesh wound into the lion’s essence. If magic or luck we
re visible, it woulda left a bloody trail behind it, just another wounded animal. And even as it closed the distance, as I felt those jaws I couldn’t see gape wide, I thought…

  Just maybe…

  It had finally, finally started slowing. Its long strides grew ragged, a bit clumsy.

  Was just us, now. The Tsavo man-eater, me, and my cow. The rest of the cattle had vanished deeper into the yard. Again I shot it, and again, and now it was definitely staggered, but still too fast, and I readied myself to roll free before it could leap…

  Ramona landed on it like a bomb, wings curled in, body crouched so her talons struck before her feet. Pelt tore, wood snapped. Hell, wood damn near disintegrated. The thing collapsed under her, near burying itself in the mud, skidding far enough to build up a knee-high wall of muck before it finally dragged to a halt.

  I tumbled from the racing cow, losing my balance between the momentum and the pain in my stomach. I crawled a pace to a fencepost, hauled myself up, and staggered over. I probably resembled some sorta golem more’n any living thing, a creature made entirely of dirt and mud.

  Ramona was also standin’ by the time I got there. I sucked in a breath, drew my sword, and drove it through the lion’s wooden skull.

  “Pretty sure it was already dead,” she breathed. The red skin of her true form was pale, almost pink, with exhaustion and pain.

  “Me, too, doll. Now I’m extra sure.”

  Again, Pete appeared from wherever she’d set him down. He looked… dazed. Not all there. Guess I could understand that.

  “Isn’t there still another one?” In his state, it sounded more curious than frightened.

  “Is there?” Ramona asked me. “Two bodies but a single spirit, right? Any chance that killing one…?”

  “It’s possible, but I ain’t counting on it.” Though gods help us, ’cause I had no idea how we could tangle with a second of these things and possibly surv—

  Time slowed.

  I saw, clear as the noonday sun, the horror wash over Ramona’s face at somethin’ just over my shoulder.

  I felt that shoulder throb and bruise beneath her hand as she shoved me aside, lunging to intercept what she’d seen comin’.

  Saving my life.

  I heard her shout “Mick!” as she started to move.

  My name was the last word Ramona Webb spoke before she died.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  In the instant between Ramona’s shove, and the feel of my body drifting through the air before splashin’ down yet one more time in the muck, it started to rain again, slow but heavy.

  The first drop spread across my neck, hard enough it almost hurt.

  I hit the ground, slid a few feet. Mud sloshed up under my collar and across my back in a wet slap.

  The second of the vampire-possessed Tsavo man-eaters sprang from the top of a nearby building, the leonine figurehead of a ship splittin’ the newly falling rain.

  Ramona rose to meet it, wings spread, toes never quite leavin’ the earth.

  My jaw dropped open, I think to shout somethin’, but I couldn’t even begin to tell you what it mighta been.

  Her hands came up, talons spread. She wasn’t aimin’ to claw it open—though I’m sure she wouldn’t complain much if she took a chunk outta the thing—but to catch it. To repeat her earlier trick, toss it away, buy us all a couple seconds to regroup, to react.

  And it worked again, for the most part. As before, the thing sailed up and over, propelled by inhuman strength, to vanish over a neighboring rooftop and go sprawling in another of the now empty pens.

  But this time it took a piece of Ramona with it.

  In the moment she’d grabbed it, it’d grabbed at her, too. Phantom jaws clamped tight, phantom teeth ripping through muscle and bone.

  I was at her side before her scream ended in a choking gurgle, dropped to my knees and caught her before she hit the mud.

  There wasn’t one fucking thing I could do.

  She wasn’t gone yet, but it was a difference of seconds. Her clavicle and shoulder were just missing from the neck onward. The muscles, the joint, the rest of the bones; her forearm hung from her body by a strand of underarm flesh, and nothin’ more. Blood didn’t even pump from the ghastly wound, it just fell.

  We can endure a lot, us Fae. If it doesn’t croak us outright, we can usually recover, given time. But not this. Not something this bad.

  “Ramona? Ramona, sweetheart, c’mon.” It was stupid, I knew it was stupid, and I couldn’t help sayin’ it anyway. “Hang in there. I’ll… We’ll do something. We…”

  She shuddered. Her lips moved, but she had no breath to speak, and I couldn’t see clear enough to even try to make it out.

  And I don’t even know if I was cryin’, or if it was just the rain.

  “No. Ramona, no, please. Not now. We still… We still got months to catch up on, see? When we weren’t talkin’, when we… Ramona, please!”

  Her eyes, glistening with rainwater—and not with anything else, not anymore—fluttered shut.

  I held her, curled around her. My shirt, already soaked, plastered itself to my chest with her blood. It was hotter’n human, hotter’n mine.

  She still wasn’t quite gone, but only barely. And only for a few heartbeats more.

  I mighta poured every last bit of magic into her, every last iota of luck I could pull from the world around me and damn the consequences. It woulda made jack in the way of difference, wouldn’ta kept her here a minute longer let alone saved her, but I mighta done it anyway. Except…

  “Mick?”

  Pete’s hand fell on my shoulder. The sorrow, the sympathy pourin’ offa him damn near burned, but so did the fear. “Mick, it’s coming back.”

  So it was. I spotted the darkened shape through the downpour, slinking low from around the wrecked office.

  It was comin’, and it would kill us.

  I mean, what else could happen? We’d barely been able to take down the first, and that was when there were two of us—I guess three, but Pete didn’t really count in this situation—startin’ off on all cylinders. Now I was gutted, literally and emotionally, and Ramona… Well, she wasn’t gonna be able to help us anymore.

  Was she?

  The wind picked up, makin’ the raindrops dance like it carried a tune only they could hear. Far off, the sky spoke a single peal of thunder.

  And maybe it whispered somethin’ only I could hear, ’cause I knew what to do. What I hadda do.

  No matter what it cost me.

  “Ramona, I’m so sorry.”

  I couldn’t save her. She was gonna die, no matter what. And as guilty as I felt, my stomach knotting up in pain had nothin’ to do with my wound, I knew she’da understood. So I apologized, but I didn’t ask her forgiveness.

  Ignoring the growing fear, my sense that the lion-thing grew closer with every second, I focused on the L&G…

  And drained every last bit of magic, every last bit of luck, from my dying friend. She shuddered one final time, struggled through the bloody foam that choked her throat for one last breath, and went still.

  I’d like to think I saved her some pain there, at the end. Or at least that there was enough of her left to understand and approve of the choice I made. But I guess I’ll never really know.

  I carefully laid her down, and I remember the barest second of insane worry. Her hair… She’s gonna be steamed I let her get so much mud in her hair…

  The power surging through my wand was enormous. Not the most it’d ever held, certainly, but a helluva lot more’n usual. The mojo within any of the Fae, the strength of our essence, ain’t anything to sneeze at. There’s magic in…

  In sacrifice.

  And honestly, I ain’t entirely certain the power was all hers. I was on the edge of losing control again, my usual barriers and focus splintered by pain, fear, rage. Grief.

  Most of the lights on this side of the stockyards had already been shattered or knocked over in the chaos, but I had no doubt the bulbs
would be detonating all around me like grenades if they hadn’t.

  I stood and turned, Pete at my side, to face the second man-eater. We stared, all of us locked in hatred and fury, eye to glass to eye, through the watery curtain.

  Maybe I coulda shot it, then and there. Maybe the fortune and the magic I’d taken from Ramona, combined with my own explosive emotions, coulda torn it apart, shredding the occult essence holding it together in a single blast.

  But maybe it couldn’t. What if it was fast enough that I missed? Or what if the spirit and the lingering magic of the Spear were strong enough to withstand that blast? I didn’t know, and I couldn’t afford to waste my shot on hope.

  No, I had a different plan in mind. A different target.

  Like I said, I genuinely believed that Ramona woulda understood, woulda forgiven me if she could.

  I hoped—I prayed, though I couldn’t say to who—that someday, Pete might forgive me, too.

  I reached out to rest my hand on his shoulder, as he had mine. “I’m really sorry.”

  He tore his gaze from the lion’s to meet mine. “What? Mick, what’re you—?”

  Every last bit of luck I could muster, that I’d drained from the first man-eater, that I’d taken from Ramona, flowed through the L&G. Icepicks stabbed into my temples as I struggled to weave random chance into magic, to make the near-impossible into fact.

  Twenty-four hours ago, I had no idea it could even happen. Now I hadda make it happen, no matter how stacked the odds against it.

  And thanks to Ramona, to the extra boost her essence had given me, I pulled it off.

  To this day, part of me wishes I hadn’t.

  The lion loped forward, roaring that silent roar.

  And Pete loosed a howl to match it as, in total disregard for the absence of the full moon, he changed.

  Swelling muscles, lengthening bones, and thick though patchy fur tore his flogger, his shirt, his trousers to flapping ribbons. Leather burst, leavin’ shoes and belt behind; when I dropped to one knee, mostly outta exhaustion, I made a point of scooping up his piece once again.