Collette was again grabbed by her hair, her head jerked viciously backwards, while another attacker twisted her arm behind her. She could only attempt to roll with the impact as the third assailant lined up a running kick to her jaw, planting the sole of his shoe directly on her chin. The blow sent a spray of blood flying from her mouth, and knocked them all backwards in a heap.
Collette stabbed blindly as she fell on the man tugging on her hair, the knife sinking repeatedly into the soft flesh of his abdomen. The man moaned and whimpered, and Collette twisted, cutting along the under part of his arm and then up through the wrist, breaking the hold. The man with a grip on her arm twisted it, forcing a cry out of Collette and leveraging her to the ground, where he stepped on the shoulder joint, pinning her down. He tried to stomp on her head with his other foot, and Collette barely managed to move in time. He caught her ear instead on the way down, nearly tearing it from the side of her head.
Gritting her teeth, Collette dislocated her shoulder, and then used the freedom of movement to roll over, driving the knife into her attacker’s groin, where the thigh met the hip. He struck her in the side of the head, twice, and her ears buzzed and her eyes leaked, but Collette held on to the knife, and kept pushing and twisting. The spout of blood when she finally found the artery was astonishing, as was the horror in his eyes as the life spilled out of him.
Collette crawled over to the elevator wall, grimaced, and then bashed her shoulder against it, whimpering as it popped back into place. She pressed buttons randomly on the elevator panel, and then stepped out as soon as the doors opened, heedless of which floor, or of the small crowd of hotel guests and their excitement at the carnage in the elevator, the wounded and the dying, her own bleeding body. She stumbled past them, pushing aside a maid and locking herself in the first room with an open door she could find.
Collette used the last of her strength to topple a bureau and a couple of pieces of luggage against one door, wedged a chair beneath the handle of the other, and then collapsed on the unmade bed, activating an emergency telepathic implant and rescue beacon as she lost consciousness.
***
“So…this is going to be an apport?”
Marcus Bay-Davies glared at him, one eye markedly more open than the other.
“No, as I said, this is nothing like an apport,” Marcus said heatedly. “An apport technician charts a passage through the Ether. I prefer to go around.”
“What does that even mean?” Alex complained, standing on the opposite side of the raised bed. “Around?”
“Yes. Exactly.” The white-haired man sniffed as he fussed with the mounded dirt around a rose bush with a singular bloom. “It’s a handy shortcut to know. Our transit cannot be tracked or anticipated in the manner of an apport, and our comings and goings cannot be prevented by conventional means.”
“You can do all that?” Alex looked doubtful. “That’s cool, I guess. Still sounds like an apport to me, though.”
“Not at all!” Marcus objected furiously. “Is a train the same as a car, or a boat the same as a submarine?”
“Uh, no. Obviously.”
“Same difference,” Marcus grunted, adding a handful of beige powder to the soil around the rose, and then mixing it around. “Don’t generalize.”
“Fine, sure.”
“Don’t!”
“I said I wouldn’t!”
“Good, then.” Marcus picked up a watering can and liberally soaked the rose bush. “We’ve talked about what I can do. Let’s talk about what you can do.”
“What about it?” Alex shuffled nervously on the soft grass. “The Absolute Protocol. You know that.”
“Yes. I know all about the Absolute Protocol.” Marcus set aside the watering can and picked up a red-handled pair of clippers instead, ruthlessly deadheading the old blossoms. “That isn’t what I’m getting at, though. I know what the Absolute Protocol is capable of, Alex. I’m less certain of your capabilities.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ve read the literature on you, young man.” Marcus lopped one cane short, and then leaned back to take in the new shape of the bush. “You’re hardly a crack Operator…”
“Auditor,” Alex corrected. “In training, but whatever.”
Marcus nodded to himself, and then moved on to the first bush in the adjoining bed, Alex trailing along with him.
“…and your protocol is described as slow to activate, difficult to focus, with grievous consequences for use and no practical application as far as anyone can see.”
“So?”
“So?” Marcus snorted. “Alex, the whole world looks at you as enhancement talent. The focus has been entirely on your abilities as a catalyst since your Activation, and most of the value you possess, in the eyes of your teachers and the cartels, is in acting to boost the capabilities of someone more useful.”
“Really?” Alex rubbed his head. “Ouch. That’s…”
Marcus smiled and gestured for the watering can, which was just out of his reach. Alex sighed and handed it to him.
“What can you say for yourself? Is everyone wrong about you, Alex?”
Marcus went to pour water on the rose, shaking the can when nothing came out of the spout. Upturning the watering can and looking inside, he found the contents frozen solid.
“I don’t know, old man,” Alex said. “You tell me.”
***
Gaul Thule hurried through the vacant Great Hall of the Assembly with his nephew, Egill Johannsson, following closely. The sound of their footsteps echoed from the enameled walls and engraved ceiling. The ceiling contained murals of Central’s history and the walls were lined with dim portraits of the Founder, the Directors, and the Great Families of the Hegemony and the Black Sun. The room was still in significant disarray from the chaotic meeting that had followed the attack on the Black Sun in Harbin.
Gaul was roughly halfway across the room when he stopped, Egill nearly colliding with him. He checked his watch, and then cleared his throat loudly, the sound bouncing around the empty room.
“I realize that I am slightly early,” Lord Thule explained apologetically. “I have any number of things to do today, however. Accordingly, if you might present yourself, Mr. Rurikovich, we can bring this matter to its conclusion.”
Peter Rurikovich stepped from a shadowy corner of the Hall, wearing an old Soviet greatcoat over his suit, and dress shoes polished to such a high shine that they gleamed even under the limited illumination of the skylights.
“Lord Thule,” Peter said, with a respectful nod. “Egill Johannsson. I am surprised that you have anticipated my presence here.”
“Anticipated?” Gaul snorted. “Hardly. I would have brought a sufficient guard with me, had I expected you. I realized only after I set foot in the Great Hall. You are impressively obscure, Mr. Rurikovich.”
“An interesting observation, and one I have heard before. It is unfortunate that we cannot pursue this matter further, sir, but I must inform you that the Lady Martynova has decreed your death.”
Gaul frowned.
“I see.”
“Surely this cannot come as a surprise?”
“Not a surprise. Truly, more of an annoyance. I am naturally already aware of Anastasia Martynova’s intentions. I am curious to know, however, how you mean to actualize those ambitions. I am a hard man to kill, Mr. Rurikovich.”
“You are a precognitive,” Peter said, with a look of amusement. “As is my sister Olivia. I come forewarned that your implant is active, Lord Thule, and that you have full access to the resources of the Etheric Network. You have no surprises for me.”
Gaul offered him a skeptical look and a furious telepathic assault.
Lord Thule deactivated his implant a moment later, while the young Pole looked pleased with himself.
“I see you are well defended,” Gaul observed. “Perhaps against telepathy alone?”
The implant vibrated in his brain as Gaul directed a barrage of pure telekinetic f
orce at Peter. The floor around the Black Sun Operator fractured and sank, the shock wave sending burning furniture ricocheting off the walls and shattering ancient stained glass, a cloud of smoldering paperwork filling the hall and temporarily obscuring vision.
Peter Rurikovich waited politely until the outburst was concluded. His greatcoat was much the worse for wear, but the young man himself was perfectly intact.
“I see that your resistance is not limited to telepathy,” Gaul observed dryly. “Not unlike your Mistress in that, aren’t you?”
“The Lady Martynova does not discuss her secrets with me, Lord Thule. I cannot say whether her talents and mine are similar. The observation flatters, in any case.”
“You are correct, Mr. Rurikovich. The profile of your abilities differs greatly,” Gaul said woodenly, eyes distant in contemplation of the Etheric Network. “Anastasia Martynova is a blank. You, on the other hand, are merely highly resilient.”
“That has always been enough, in my experience.” Peter Rurikovich shifted his shredded coat to expose a holster and the polished chrome of an antique revolver. “Lord Thule, I challenge you to a duel, as is my right under the terms of the Agreement.”
“Your right?” Gaul gave him a contemptuous look. “You may be a member of a Great Family, Peter, but you are not a Lord. You have no such right to challenge.”
“I do,” Peter said, with a nod. “My father abdicated this morning, so that I might issue you this challenge. You may confirm with the Network, sir. You will find everything in order.”
Gaul did just that. His eyes narrow and the corners of his lips turned down.
“Lord Rurikovich, my apologies,” Gaul said bitterly. “Truly, I have failed to anticipate you.”
“Yes, I would imagine. Precognitives tend to rely on their gifts to excess. Do remember that my sister is also gifted with foreknowledge, Lord Thule. I am uniquely aware of your limitations.” Peter shifted in response to each of Gaul’s movements, his hand resting near the gun at his waist. “To the matter at hand, sir. Do you accept my challenge?”
Gaul removed his glasses briefly to rub his eyes.
“Reluctantly,” Gaul said. “I don’t suppose you wish to schedule a date and appoint seconds?”
“I’m afraid that events dictate a hasty course.” Peter gestured at the half-wrecked Hall of Assembly. “We find ourselves in noble surroundings, Lord Thule, and your nephew can serve as your second, if it comforts you. Why not settle affairs expediently?”
“This is a bad idea,” Egill observed, one hand on his uncle’s shoulder. “Appoint me to represent you, Lord, as is your right, and I will…”
Gaul silenced him with a look.
“Very well, Lord Rurikovich. I accept. What are your terms?”
“The terms are yours to define, Lord Thule. That is your right as the challenged party,” Peter explained, with a broad smile. “I have already denied you your due, by forcing the time and place. How would you choose to face me, Lord Thule?”
“I suppose protocols are out,” Gaul mused. “Honorable of you to provide that small demonstration, Lord Rurikovich.”
“Not very honorable of you to attack without warning, Lord Thule,” Peter responded, voice thick with contempt. “Your reputation proceeds you in that regard. Feel free to select protocols as your weapon of choice if you wish to, sir. I would not constrain your options unnecessarily.”
“I think perhaps not, given the circumstances,” Gaul said, glancing at Peter’s waist. “You appear to have come prepared, sir.”
“The gun?” Peter pretended surprise. “A Colt Single Action, Lord Thule. Vintage, save for the handles. The originals were ivory, sir, but Lady Martynova takes offense at that material, so they were replaced with mother-of-pearl. One of a pair that my grandfather commissioned. They were not originally intended as dueling pistols, obviously, but I do happen to have an extra…”
“Guns,” Gaul said, adjusting his glasses. “Oh, very well. What difference does it make?”
“A great deal, sir.” Peter swept the contents from a handy desk, and then took the revolver from its holster and placed it reverently on the table. “You may perhaps be thinking of employing your implant to influence this contest, sir. A natural conclusion, given the failure to act upon my person. Bullets are still susceptible to telekinesis, however, as well as barriers. Both techniques well within the capabilities of your implant.”
“Yes,” Gaul said, examining the pistol. “And?”
“Your implant acts rapidly, but downloading protocols takes a second or so. Black Sun technicians are monitoring the Network, Lord Thule, and will warn me should you began a download.” Peter reached beneath his coat and produced a second revolver, identical to the first, engraved with images of stallions and polished to a chromed radiance. “You may just have sufficient time to complete a download, sir, but you will not have time to employ said protocol.”
“You are certain, sir?”
“Close enough,” Peter said. “I trust in the analytical work.”
“Enough to risk your life, young man?”
“Obviously. Do you accept my challenge, Lord Thule?”
“Yes. Under protest, but…”
“Very good, sir.” Peter gestured at the revolvers. “Select your weapon, Lord Thule. Both are loaded.”
Gaul’s hand hovered first over one gun, then the other.
“What if we should miss, Lord Rurikovich? Or if one of us should be wounded?”
“The duel is to the death, sir,” Peter reminded him, with a frown. “There will be no quarter asked or given.”
“By you, perhaps,” Gaul said, selecting the pistol that had been in Peter’s holster. “I am always prepared to offer quarter. Remember that, should you regain your sanity.”
Peter smiled as he took the other pistol from the desk.
“Ten paces, Lord Thule?”
Gaul nodded.
The men studied each other for a moment, and then turned, Peter moving first.
Three paces, and their steps were roughly in sync.
Five paces, and Gaul nodded to Egill.
Ten paces, and Peter whipped around with his pistol. Gaul did not bother to draw. Peter emptied his revolver in a flurry.
The bullets impacted a violet barrier that surrounded Gaul, a perfect circle of unintelligible text rotating around him. Egill stood nearby, eyes closed and face lined with concentration.
“A barrier from your second?” Peter’s expression was appalled. “You have no honor, Lord Thule.”
“Yes, that is true,” Gaul acknowledged wearily. “I do hope that you have seen the folly of your ways, Lord Rurikovich. We can still put this affair aside.”
“I was warned of his presence by my sister,” Peter said, reloading the gun with trembling fingers and an ashen expression. “None of the records on file indicate that your nephew is a barrier technician.”
“It is a recent addition to his talents, one of several. The protocol originally belonged to Vladimir Markov, and it has saved me far too many times in the past to let it die with him.” Gaul’s voice was flat as he labored telepathically, his implant like a furnace burning in his mind. “Now, young Lord, I do not have all day. Are you certain that you will not accept quarter?”
“You will die,” Peter Rurikovich said, finishing loading the gun, and snapping the revolver closed. “I promise you that, Lord Thule. The Mistress of the Black Sun…”
“Yes, yes. I’m certain. The future is hardly secret to me, Lord Rurikovich. Egill, please finish this.”
Peter pointed the gun at Egill as he advanced, but at a glance from Gaul, found himself unable to pull the trigger. Egill slipped on a thin pair of leather gloves, and then proceeded to throttle Peter Rurikovich, squeezing his neck until his lips went blue and the light fled his eyes.
***
“Take my hand.”
“Eh…”
“What is it?”
“Ah, no offense here, but…”
�
��Alex! I thought you were in a hurry?”
“Yeah, but…”
“…but what?”
Alex folded his arms across his chest and took a step back.
“I don’t wanna hold hands with the old guy. No offense, but you creep me out, Mr. Bay-Davies.”
“I creep you out?” Marcus Bay-Davies looked at his own extended hand in disbelief. “What’s that supposed to mean, boy?”
“You live in the Outer Dark, and you don’t seem to know how old you are.” Alex shook his head. “You’re Emily’s boss, supposedly, but neither of you wants to talk about what it is that you do. And you have a weird garden that’s just the same flower over and over again. What part of that sounds normal to you?”
“He’s got you there, Mark,” Emily said, giggling. “I think Alex means eccentric, though, rather than creepy…”
“Either way,” Marcus snapped. “Do you want to save the Changeling or not?”
“Yes, of course,” Alex sighed, his hands dropping to his sides. “You know that.”
“Then stop being an asshole, Alex, and take my hand,” Marcus said. “It is necessary.”
“Yeah, but…why?”
“Because this is not an apport,” Marcus said gruffly. “I walk through the Ether, Alex. As the Founder did before me, I find my own way through the Ether, and if you lose hold of me for even an instant during the journey, you will be lost forever in the grey nothing of the Ether.”
“Fine.” Alex took Marcus’s hand with a grimace. “That’s a pretty good reason, I guess.”
***
Leigh Feld was not a fan of stealth.
She knocked on the door of the former Muir estate. The vampire was likely the first potential guest to ever knock at what was, in truth, a two-meter high sheet of steel swinging on frictionless armored hinges, but that never occurred to her.
Leigh Feld was also not a big proponent of imagination.
The vampire whistled tunelessly, hands in the mesh pockets of her pants, the fluorescent pink straps of her sports bra visible beneath her wide-necked nylon top, Ray-Bans protecting her pale eyes, a scrunchie holding back her hair. Leigh parked herself in front of the door inset in the fence around the Estate, and waited, not particularly concerned with the confusion of cameras and speakers that surrounded her.
The Outer Dark (Central Series Book 4) Page 57
