“My mother was raped by a thoas,” Urow said. “Although the rest of the family seems to think otherwise.”
Cerise cleared her throat. “We don’t dispute the thoas part. We’re just a bit unsure about the rape.”
Urow leaned to him and wagged his eyebrows. William fought an urge to jump back.
“My mother was a woman of loose morals.” Urow winked.
“You make her sound like a whore.” Cerise grimaced. “Aunt Alina just liked to have fun. Besides, she was just about the only one of the family your wife could stand.”
Wife?
“Don’t say it,” Cerise warned.
“You’re married?” William asked.
She sighed. “Now you’ve done it. He’ll never be quiet about it now. The whole trip will be, ‘Oh, look at my pretty wife. Oh, look at my pretty babies.’ ”
Urow dipped his head and pulled a plastic wallet off his neck. “Just because you don’t have a pretty wife …”
“I don’t want one.” She sighed. “Wives are too much trouble.”
William barked a short laugh.
Urow passed the wallet to William. “The redhead is my wife. On the right that’s my three boys and a baby.”
“Three boys and a daughter,” Cerise told him.
“Right now it’s a baby. When it starts talking to me and comes when I call, then it’s a daughter.”
William opened the wallet, carefully holding it by the edges. A picture of a pretty redheaded woman looked at him from the left. Three adolescent boys crowded into the picture on the right. All had black hair and a grayish tint to their skin. The oldest looked like a younger copy of Urow, down to an oversized hand and claws. The smallest, the one holding a baby, could almost pass for a human.
William closed the wallet. Even this man got to have a family. But no matter how he tried, he just made a mess of things. He slapped a lid on the familiar frustration before it took over and made him do something he might regret.
They were looking at him. This was one of those human situations when he was expected to say something. “Your wife is very pretty.”
He tensed, in case Urow lunged at him.
The gray man grinned and took the wallet from William’s hand. “She is, isn’t she? I have the prettiest wife in the whole of the Mire.”
“Maybe you should stop rubbing it in,” Cerise said softly.
She must’ve seen something in his face. William pushed his regrets deeper, away from the surface.
“Do you have any family, Lord Bill?” she asked softly.
“No.” He didn’t even know what his mother had looked like.
Urow’s eyebrows crept up. “All right, all right.” He slid the wallet around his neck.
A bolt thrust through Urow’s shoulder. It was attached to a line.
William grabbed for Urow, but the line snapped taut and jerked the gray man off the boat.
UROW plunged into cold water. Webs snapped open between his toes, and he kicked, but the line dragged him to the surface. He skimmed the face of the river in a shower of spray. Water burned his stomach. He flipped on his side and back on his stomach again, digging deep into the waves, and thrust his hands into the current. His fingers found the line and gripped it. He searched for something to brace his legs against but met only water.
A dark form rushed at him through the waves and smashed into his gut. The last of the air burst from his mouth in a violent, silent scream. Pain bathed his left side. He clutched at the obstruction, gripping it with his limbs. Rotting bark, slick with algae, crumbled under his fingers. A log, Urow realized, and dug his claws into the soft water-soaked wood.
They shot him. The sonovabitches shot him with a harpoon and pulled him off his own boat. He’d rip out their guts and make them eat it.
The line pulled. The bolt tore at his flesh, hard, harder, ripping a growl from him. Urow clung to the tree and felt the heavy sodden mass move, compelled by the draw of the line. Pain burned him, reaching down across his chest to his ribs and his neck.
Something whistled through the air and punched the tree in twin thuds. The line snapped free, and the log rolled back under his weight. Urow submerged and surfaced. Two short black bolts punctured the wet bark of the log. Someone had shot the line, severing it.
Urow grabbed the bolt lodged in his shoulder and wrenched it free with a snarl. A piece of his bloody flesh still quivered on the barbs of the bolt’s hooked head, and he rammed it into the sodden wood. Bleeding but free, he pulled himself onto the log and crouched on it.
A small river barge crowded with people headed for his boat, drawn by three rolpies. Cerise had her sword out, and the blueblood was reloading a crossbow. So that was where the bolts had come from. He’d have to thank the guy later. Right now he had work to do.
To the far left, a second boat struggled, its towing pulley spinning wildly, the way it did when the line had snapped. Four people manned it, as its driver tried to guide their rolpie into a tight turn.
Hello, fellas. Shoot me, will you? Time to go over and say hello, in a friendly Mire way.
An ugly snarl rippled from Urow’s mouth, and he dived into the river, heading for the smaller cutter and its crew. They had no idea how fast the son of a thoas could swim.
WILLIAM reloaded. Thirty yards away a large boat sped toward them. He counted the shadowy figures on the deck. Ten. They weren’t kidding.
Magic pricked his skin with a hot needle. “The Hand.”
Cerise didn’t answer. He glanced at her face and saw rage. She kicked aside a coil of docking line and stood in the center of the deck, leaning lightly forward, her sword pointing downward. A white glow rolled over her eyes.
So she could flash.
Twenty yards. Six men, three women. One undetermined in a long cloak.
They should’ve been shot at by now.
“No bows,” William said. “They want you alive.”
“Bad for them,” Cerise whispered. “Good for me.”
William raised his bow, sighted, and fired. A woman screamed and one of the figures stumbled back. The rest ducked, trying to take cover, all except the guy in the cloak, as expected. William reloaded and fired again at the man in the cloak. The bolt sprouted from his target’s neck.
The man shuddered. The cloak fell from his shoulders, revealing a naked hairless body. The man gripped the shaft of the bolt and ripped it out of his throat. An odd clicking, like the sound of nut shells crunching under someone’s foot, issued from his mouth.
One of the Hand’s freaks. William bared his teeth. He’d met this kind before. He didn’t even need the Mirror’s intel to identify it. This type was called a hunter. They specialized in tracking and apprehending. Spider really wanted Cerise.
The Hand’s agent snapped the bolt in two, tossed it overboard, and licked his fingers.
“Stay back this time,” Cerise said. “It’s my fight.”
“There are nine of them. Don’t be stupid.”
“Stay the fuck back, William.”
“Fine.” He took a step back and raised his crossbow. If that’s the way she wanted it, he could always rescue her later. “Let’s see what you got.”
The larger boat slammed into them, sending a quake through the hull. Two men jumped onto the deck.
Cerise struck and paused, blood running down her blade.
The first two fighters died without a scream. One moment they stood on deck, and the next the top halves of their bodies slid down into the river.
William closed his mouth with a click.
The attackers drew back.
The edge of Cerise’s sword shone once, as if a glowing silver hair were stretched along the blade. She leaped onto the larger boat.
They swarmed her. She whirled, cutting through them, slicing limbs in half, severing muscle and bone. Blood sprayed, she paused again, and the fighters around her fell without a single moan.
Four seconds and the deck was empty. Nothing moved.
She was th
e most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
He would have to fight her before this was over, just to find out if he could beat her.
A rapid staccato of clicks came from the back of the larger boat. The hunter was still alive.
“I see I missed a spot,” Cerise said.
The hunter stared at her, his eyes solid black in the moonlight. His hand jerked up …
William jumped, shoving her out of the way.
Pale liquid sprayed the deck in the spot where she had just stood and hissed, hardening into a corrosive paste.
The hunter creaked like he was crushing a load of beetles in his throat. “Give girl.”
William snarled. “Come and take her.”
The second stream of spray hit the spot where he’d just stood. Now both of the hunter’s hands were empty. No more web.
The hunter charged him, clawed hands ripping the air in a wide swing. William dropped under the thick arms and swept at the agent’s legs from a crouch. The hunter jumped, avoiding the kick, and struck, claws poised like daggers.
William dodged and laughed. The Louisianan thought that having claws made him a hotshot. It’s not the same, pal, unless you’re born with them.
The hunter whirled, slashing. William sidestepped and hammered a kick to the agent’s kneecap. Cartilage crunched. The leg folded and the hunter dropped to his knees. William grabbed the man’s bald head, locked the vertebra, and twisted. The neck snapped with a light popcorn pop.
Frothy yellow spit boiled from the hunter’s mouth. His eyes rolled back. William let go and the agent toppled like a log, facedown.
It felt good. William chuckled and stepped over the body. “Weak knees and elbows. All that magic makes them easy to break.”
He glanced at Cerise. She didn’t look happy. She should’ve been happy. They won.
Her gaze slid over him. She was sizing him up.
William shrugged, popping his neck. You want to dance, hobo queen, I’m ready. What do I get when I win?
She thought about it. He saw it in her eyes. She wasn’t sure if she could take him, but she was willing to try.
A scream ripped through the night. They both turned. Far to the left a smaller boat drifted off.
“Urow needs help,” Cerise said.
“We should help, then.”
She nodded.
He hid his disappointment and helped her fish the rolpie reins out of the water
NINE
CERISE brought Urow’s boat alongside the Hand’s second boat. A mangled corpse sprawled on the boat’s deck, his chest a bloody mess of claw marks. A trail of slick bloody smudges led away from the cadaver to a small cabin.
Oh no, Urow. No.
Cerise jumped across the water, slid a little on the wet deck, and righted herself. William landed next to her, light on his feet like a cat. The salty metallic stench of fresh blood flooded her nostrils and coated the inside of her mouth, and for a few moments, she could smell and taste nothing else.
She rushed to the cabin. The door hung crooked on its hinges. Cerise peered inside. Empty except for a corpse slumped against the cabin door.
“Here,” William called.
She circled the cabin. A woman’s body lay crumpled on the deck by a pulley. Next to her Urow sagged, curled into a ball.
Stupid man. Stupid, stupid man. She ran to him, grasped the shoulders, and heaved, flipping him on his back. A thick purple swelling marked his shoulder.
Copper. Someone had poisoned Urow with copper. Heat washed over her. Only the family would know to do that: only Mars knew that Urow was meeting her. Someone had talked to the Hand. Cerise clenched her teeth. Why? Why would anyone do that?
She probed the swollen mass of tissue with her fingers. She couldn’t even find the wound.
“That’s not normal,” William said.
“There must’ve been copper shavings in the head of the bolt. It’s poison to thoas. He’s dying.”
“What can we do?”
Nothing. “We must get him to his wife.”
She gripped his legs. William picked up Urow under his arms, grunted with effort, and lifted the body. They dragged him to the cutter.
“What the hell are you feeding him?” William growled.
“Bluebloods,” she ground through her teeth.
They maneuvered around the cabin and carried him to the rail. A foot of water separated them from their boat.
“If we drop him into the river, he’ll sink,” she said. “He’s too heavy.”
“Let me have him.” William knelt on one knee, and she wrestled Urow over his shoulders. William strained. Veins bulged under his skin. His face turned bright red. With a guttural snarl, William heaved and rose, Urow’s massive form balanced absurdly on his back. He cleared the water in a single forceful step.
She exhaled and jumped onto their boat in time to catch Urow as William lowered him gently to the deck.
THE boat sliced through the dark water at a reckless speed. William held on to the rope rail. Cerise drove like mad, tearing up through the narrow streams away from the river, deeper into the swamp. The trees flew by. If they wrecked, he’d have to jump into the water. At least he’d get a soft landing.
The gray man shuddered, groaning quietly. Cerise had insisted on dragging the hunter corpse on board, and looking at the two bodies, William wasn’t sure who looked more dead, the hunter or her cousin.
Urow’s eyes snapped open. William knelt by him. The swelling had spread through the shoulder, up his chest. William touched the affected flesh. Hard as a rock. If the swelling reached Urow’s neck, the man would suffocate. His own body would strangle him.
“Blueblood,” the gray man said. “Thank you for shooting the line. One in a thousand shot.”
“Not a big deal,” William said.
Urow’s lids slid closed. He trembled again and passed out.
Cerise took half a second to glance at him. Her eyes were full of ghosts.
William came to stand by her. Her scent washed over him and he savored it quietly.
The stream had narrowed, and she couldn’t maintain the break-neck speed. Even if the narrow waterway allowed it, the rolpie couldn’t take it. When she surfaced to gulp a breath, her sides heaved and foam dripped from her lips. Cerise saw it, too, and eased on the reins.
The gray man didn’t have long. “Can we bleed the poison out?” William asked.
She shook her head. “I knew this was going to happen. Urow thinks that because he can lift a small boat by himself and he looks scary, it makes him a great fighter. He has no training. He doesn’t battle, he brawls. Just waves his arms back and forth and hopes he’ll hit somebody.”
“When the shit hits the fan, brute strength doesn’t cut it.”
“You think I haven’t told him that?”
“Then why did you have him pick you up?”
Cerise clenched her teeth. “Because I’m an idiot, that’s why. He wanted to be useful. He sat there and bitched and moaned about how he never gets to do anything for the family and how if I just let him come and help this one time, he would feel that he belongs. Urow’s invited to every family celebration. He’s always welcome at the main house. He gets a portion of the family profits, just like everybody else. One of us goes to visit him at least once a month. How much more included can he be? I should’ve just said no, but he pushed all the right buttons and now he is dying and I don’t have a scratch on me.”
William looked at her face. Her lips pressed together in a rigid line. Her skin turned pale and her features looked sharper. She seemed smaller somehow, and she smelled like a cornered animal. He wanted to grab her and clench her to him, until she looked normal again.
William raked through his brain, wishing he knew the right things to say. “Let’s say you’re a soldier. They call a code-white mission and you volunteer. You assumed responsibility for your own safety and put yourself on the line. If you die, it’s on your neck, not anybody else’s. Nobody made you step forward and
accept the mission. Your cousin volunteered. If he dies, it’s not your weight to carry.”
He checked her face, but she didn’t seem any better.
“It’s like a fight,” William said. “You attack or you dodge. If you hesitate, you’ll die. If you make a mistake and get cut, you ignore the pain until the enemy is dead. You made a decision and took a wound. Slap a bandage on it and move on. You can feel sorry and second-guess yourself later, after you’ve won and you’ve got leave, a bottle, and a woman.”
Cerise stared at him for a second.
He probably shouldn’t have said that last bit.
A powerful bellow rolled through the swamp. The hair on William’s arms rose. Something ancient, huge, and brutal hid in the gloom, watching them with hungry eyes, and when it roared, it was as if the swamp itself gained voice to declare its might before swallowing them whole.
Another bellow joined the first, rolling from the left. William raised his crossbow.
“The old gators are singing,” Cerise told him.
He peered at the darkness between the colossal cypresses guarding the stream, but saw nothing except twilight gloom.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For trying to make me feel better and for saving Urow. It wasn’t your fight.”
“Yes, it was,” he told her.
Something shifted in the branches to the left. William raised his bow. Whatever the thing was, it was humanoid and fast.
The shape scuttled through the branches, wearing gloom like a mantle, and leaped to the next tree. Stocky body, black hair. A second thing dashed through the branches on the right. This one within crossbow range.
“Don’t shoot,” Cerise said. “It’s Urow’s children.”
The one on the left sprinted and dived into the water off the branch. The gray body shot through water, and the boy launched himself onto the deck.
They swam like fish. William made a mental note never to fight one in the water.
The kid rose, dripping water. His face was young, sixteen or seventeen, but his body was thick and muscled like that of a bear. The boy glanced at the gray man’s body and bared his teeth in a feral snarl.
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