Bitter Night

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  More gunshots. One burrowed into the back of Alexander’s thigh. Another pinged from the fender. Alexander yanked the mirror from the door and flung it at Mercury. He followed it, never stopping. He was fast’faster than they knew. He had never showed them all that he could do, nor how viciously he was willing to fight.

  He lunged low, shouldering into the blocky man’s legs. It was not enough to do any real damage, but it gave Alexander time to reach into Mercury’s knees and shatter them with his telekinesis. The joints cracked sickeningly. Mercury made a high-pitched sound and crumpled to the pavement even as three of Thor’s bullets pounded Alexander’s chest in quick succession. The impact slammed him backward. The pain was fierce and his right arm went numb. But astonishingly, Thor had missed anything vital. Alexander let the momentum of the bullets carry him over. He somersaulted backward onto his feet, snatching for his gun in the small of his back with his left hand as he rolled. A bare second later he was on his feet, breathing raggedly.

  “Do you think you can get me before I drill you?” Thor drawled in his Texan twang.

  Alexander froze. He might be able to foul Thor’s gun with telekinesis, but breaking Mercury’s knees had cost him. He had four bullet wounds and was losing blood fast. Between the two, he could not muster the focus he needed.

  Cleo had come to her feet, her face twisted in fury. “Kill the bastard,” she urged, cradling her mangled hand against her chest. Mercury lay on the ground clutching his knees and swearing.

  Thor ignored her. “Brynna said we couldn’t trust you. Guess she was right.”

  “I will not hunt children,” Alexander said flatly.

  “Then you don’t want back into Aulne Rouge. Because that’s the price.”

  Alexander lifted his chin, a muscle in his cheek twitching. He said nothing.

  Cleo suddenly swore. “I knew it. This was bullshit all along. I couldn’t figure out why you would agree to catching kids, no matter how bad you wanted back in. I figured you had to be up to something. What is it?”

  What was he going to do? Cleo and Mercury would not heal quickly’if he could take out Thor, he could deal with the other two. His right arm hung at his side, nearly useless. Blood soaked his shirt and ran down his leg. His healing spells had been so taxed in the last couple of days that they would be slow to close his wounds. Thor was unhurt. Alexander knew he could not defeat him physically. He had to try telekinesis. Max was depending on him, whether she knew it or not. His hand tightened on the grip of his gun dangling at his side.

  “Are you going to finish what you started the other night?” he asked, playing for time as he collected his focus. He was only going to have one chance at this. “You were eager enough for my blood. So much for friendship.”

  “We were never friends,” Cleo said sharply.

  “I noticed.” Alexander paused, then gave an inward shrug. Why not say it? It did not matter if they did not believe him. But saying the words did. “I am sorry. I should have been a better Prime. Had I been’I am beginning to learn what makes a good Prime and I was not. Not like I could have been.”

  Thor frowned. “What’re you talking about? You always did okay by us.”

  The corner of Alexander’s mouth went up, thinking of Max and her Shadowblades. “Not enough to keep you from trying to kill me.”

  “We had our orders. It wasn’t personal,” Thor said.

  “Maybe it should have been,” Alexander said quietly.

  “We’re wasting time,” Cleo said. “My fucking arm is killing me and Mercury is crying like a baby. Put a bullet in his fucking head and let’s get outta here.”

  Thor sucked his teeth and gave a faint shake of his head. “Not so fast. I figure Selange is going to want to have a little talk with him.” His head tipped to the side as he scrutinized Alexander. His pale eyes narrowed. “I never would’ve figured you to turn on Selange. Never heard of a more loyal Prime than you.”

  “She cut me loose,” Alexander said. “I do not owe her anything.”

  Thor shook his head. “Doesn’t make sense. Somebody else maybe, but not you. And why come back with her’the other witch’s Prime?”

  Alexander felt himself smile as if someone else, some alien force, had taken possession of him. Or perhaps it was that for the first time in many years he was letting go of a habitual disguise, a second skin that he could no longer endure. Maybe the real alien was the man he truly was, without disguise.

  “She is my Prime,” he said, elucidating every word carefully so that no one could mistake them.

  “Your Prime?” scoffed Cleo. “That’s a load of crap. You’d never serve any witch but Selange, and you sure as hell wouldn’t give up being Prime for some scrawny bitch who wouldn’t know how to find her ass with both hands.”

  “Would I not?” Alexander asked, never looking away from Thor. “Maybe I found a Prime worth serving.”

  “We’re Shadowblades. We serve witches,” Thor corrected, staring intently.

  Alexander lifted his shoulder in a half shrug.

  “Why?” Thor asked. Alexander could hear the belief growing in the other man’s voice.

  “She defied her witch for me, when she should have left me to die. She should have let her Shadowblades kill me. She offered me freedom. Any one of those would be enough.”

  Thor didn’t immediately answer. Then: “What were you doing in Julian?”

  “Same as you. And now I have to get her away from Selange.”

  “That’s it?”

  Alexander knew what Thor was asking: was he planning to hurt Selange? Nervous hope unfurled through his tense muscles. Thor would not be asking if he was not considering helping Alexander. “That is all,” he promised. “I plan to go free her and get the hell out of Aulne Rouge. I do not want to set eyes on Selange again.”

  Thor nodded. In a minuscule movement, he let the nose of his gun dip. It looked like an invitation. To murder? Or something else? Alexander took the chance. He whipped up his .45 and shot Thor in the chest twice, then dropped as Cleo whirled and kicked a roundhouse at him. He avoided it, and she swung past, staggering as she struggled to balance. Her useless arm threw her off. He dove at her, slamming into her stomach. He picked her up and plowed her against the side of the van. Glass shattered and steel crumpled. He dropped her and spun to face Mercury. The other man was scrabbling for his gun, pulling himself along on his elbows. Alexander leaped for him and rammed the butt of his gun against the back of the other man’s head, dropping him in a heap.

  Alexander turned slowly, examining his handiwork. Both Cleo and Mercury were out cold. Thor lay on his back, his gun resting on his stomach, the hammer cocked, his finger on the trigger. He could have shot Alexander at any time. Blood soaked his T-shirt and flecked his square jaw. He held out the gun and Alexander took it

  “You should hurry,” he rasped. “You don’t have much time before they wake up. Better tie us up good or we’ll have to warn Selange you’re coming.”

  “Why? Why are you helping me?”

  It was Thor’s turn to smile. “Not the first time. Wasn’t you I was shooting at the other night.”

  Alexander stared. “I thought you said you had your orders.”

  “I didn’t think much of’em. I owed you more than that.”

  “Thanks.” Alexander did not know what else to say. He had misjudged the other man and that hurt, even as discovering Thor’s loyalty was a balm. Having his Shadowblades turn on him so easily had hurt more than he could let himself acknowledge.

  “Best get a move on. These wounds will keep Selange from thinking anyone helped you. But I’m healing fast, and when I do, I’ll have to try to stop you.”

  Alexander nodded and snatched up the duct tape he’d dropped. Efficiently he wrapped the ankles and arms of his three captives, leaving Thor for last. When he was through, he sat back on his heels.

  “Not enough,” Thor said.

  “You used most of the cable ties on me and Max,” Alexander said.

&n
bsp; “Max? That’s your Prime?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not much of a name, is it?”

  “Her witch seems less interested in theatrics than Selange,” Alexander said drily, wasting time, putting off the inevitable.

  Thor sobered. “Do it. Pain is just pain and you need to buy time. Bonus is we won’t be hunting children tonight, maybe not tomorrow if you do it good enough. That’s worth a lot.”

  Alexander put his hand over Thor’s, gripping it tight. “I owe you.”

  “Don’t do that, son. I don’t want your debt. I owed you for shielding us from the worst of Selange for so long, and for keeping our skins intact. Call us even.”

  “Not the same thing, my friend. That was my job. This is more. I owe you,” Alexander repeated, echoing the words Max had said to the angel. The irony was not lost on him. He had never offered his debt before’he had always been too leery of the cost. But her example was inspiring, demanding the best of him. He wanted to give it.

  He said nothing more, rolling Thor onto his stomach. Alexander pulled his knife from its sheath, and without letting himself think, he cut deeply into Thor’s lower back, severing his spinal cord. He stood and did the same to Cleo and Mercury. It was the sort of wound that would take a day or more for their bodies to repair. Their other wounds would only slow their healing. He lifted each of them into the van, digging through their pockets for their cell phones. He smashed them, then popped the hood of the van and yanked out the spark-plug wires and snapped them in half. He cut the stems off the two front tires. Air hissed out into the night.

  Returning to the rear of the van, he pulled down the blackout door separating the back from the front seats. He latched it and did the same with the metal roll-up shutters on each of the windows. If no one found them before dawn, they would not burn to ash. He looked the three of them over once more. Cleo and Mercury were still unconscious. Thor lay unmoving, watching Alexander.

  “I meant what I said,” Alexander said. “I owe you.”

  With that, he hit the locks and closed the rear doors. From their arrival to now had taken less than ten minutes. Alexander ran across the parking lot to a row of cars. He found an older Toyota Celica. He broke the window, yanking out the ignition assembly with his fingers and hot-wiring it in a matter of minutes. His right arm was functioning again, though it was a bit clumsy. Blood still leaked from his wounds, but the holes had begun to close.

  Swiftly he shoved in the clutch and put the car in gear. It would take him nearly half an hour to get back to Aulne Rouge. If Selange had not changed the wards since the Conclave, he could get inside easily enough’he had built several escape routes in the case of attack. But the real problem was going to be getting Max out of the cage. He was dearly hoping that once he released her bindings, she could manage the rest. After all, she had driven through the Conclave veil without the aid of a witch. If she could do that, maybe she could get through the containment spells on her cell. If not’

  If not, Alexander was going to have to make Selange open it. He did not want to bet on his odds of coercing a powerful witch into doing anything she did not want to do. But he would try, because he owed Max. Not for saving him, though he owed her for that, too, but for giving him back his faith and his integrity. It was a debt he doubted he could ever pay.

  AULNE ROUGE WAS LOCATED EAST OF SAN DIEGO JUST past Granite Hills off Interstate 8. It was carved into the top of a hill, as much aboveground as below. It was surrounded by a narrow band of scrub oak and brush. Beyond that were houses and a couple of small towns. It was close enough to people to fuel Selange’s magic, and secluded enough to allow her some privacy. The witches of the coven lived within a ten-mile radius’easy to summon at a moment’s notice and far enough away to keep from annoying Selange.

  Alexander parked on a dirt road at the rear of the covenstead. He pulled the Celica up beneath the spreading limbs of a gnarled black walnut, hoping the car would go unnoticed. He sat a moment, collecting himself. His wounds still seeped, though they were nearly closed. They burned fiercely. Blood loss made him a little woozy. He needed food and rest, but knew he wasn’t going to get them anytime soon.

  A wrought-iron and brick wall marched the border of the covenstead. Inside, the grounds were artistically wild and lush. Selange had lured a spring to the surface and used its water to create a green wonderland of verdant trees and twining vines.

  He walked along the wall until he found a small gate. Trespassers attempting to use it would be trapped in a painful net of magic until collected by Selange at her leisure. Jumping over was not an option. Those wards did not care who was trying to get in; they would fry him like a bug zapper. Alexander flexed his fingers. He doubted’he hoped’that Selange had not bothered to change the wards after he had failed to beat Max at the Conclave. She had more urgent matters to consider and had surely expected him to be in Giselle’s cell. But there was only one way to be sure.

  He reached out and grasped the latch. Magic crawled over his hand and up his arm. It was gelid and sticky as it spiderwebbed over his skin. In less than three heartbeats he was enveloped in the spell lattice and unable to move.

  He waited.

  Magic wormed beneath his skin and wriggled along his bones. Alexander had no idea what it was looking for; he never had. If it sought his bond with Selange, then he had lost his gamble. But more beings than just the members of the covenstead used this gate. And that was what he was banking on.

  The seconds ticked past. He held his breath. Then suddenly the magic withdrew, leaving behind a faint itching. Alexander sagged, then collected himself and pulled open the gate. Quickly he slid through, letting it close behind him. Leaving would be easier. Selange did not waste the coven’s power on wards to keep anyone inside.

  The wild garden provided ample cover. More than once he stopped, feeling as if someone was watching. The feeling rubbed up against him like the hot electricity of an approaching storm. Each time he waited and the feeling passed. He had no idea who the hunter was. All of Selange’s Shadowblades were in San Diego.

  He kept off the paths as much as possible, pushing through the thick undergrowth. He went slowly, making hardly a sound. The night birds were oblivious, chattering at one another like gossipy old women. Insects buzzed, riding the humid air. The scent of gardenia and orange blossoms mixed with smoke was enough to cover the scent of his blood and sweat. Whoever was hunting him would have to come very close to smell him.

  At last he arrived at the entrance to the main compound. A sheer wall of rock thrust out of the ground, sculpted by magic. Set into it was a brown metal door. Anyone else would have seen only rock. Alexander had had Selange cast an illusion on the door. It was a quick escape route in case of attack. On the other side was a hallway that led directly to Alexander’s quarters, which lay below Selange’s apartments with a perpendicular shaft connecting them. The prison cells were a scant hundred feet away from his rooms on the same level. That way Selange had quick access to her prisoners, and Alexander was close enough to be summoned quickly should the need arise.

  This door was not warded. Instead it was locked in a fashion that only Alexander could open. He splayed his hands against it and pushed his senses inside the door, where eight titanium bars radiated out into the stone. There was no door handle or exterior mechanism to open it. Only the coven witches with their magic and Alexander with his telekinesis could retract the bars.

  But he was drained. The damage the rats had done to him and the bullet wounds in the escape after the Conclave had taken a heavy toll on his healing spells. The wasting dry heat of Selange’s prison cell had only stressed him more. Now he was wounded again. His jaw clenched. Max had been injured far worse than he had, and she had suffered longer in her cell. He needed to get her out.

  He pressed hard against the door, letting his forehead rest against the metal. His muscles knotted, as if physical force could help. He squeezed his eyes shut, hardening his focus. The back of his neck prickled as he f
elt that same watchful hunter creeping near. Instinct told him to find cover. He ignored it. Instead he concentrated on the locking mechanism inside. It was a four-inch wheel fixed in place by a tiny lever. Once he flipped that lever, he merely had to turn the wheel until the hydraulic system caught.

  The hunter was drawing closer. Adrenaline exploded in Alexander’s body. He held himself tightly in check. Max. He pushed up on the internal lever. It refused to move. Drawing a harsh breath, he pushed again. This time it flicked up sharply. Now he shoved against the wheel. It quivered. He threw himself harder against it and it rotated. He felt the hydraulics catch. He slumped with relief. His head throbbed. Inside the door he felt a vibration then a hum as the bars retracted. They snicked into place and the door popped open a crack. Alexander swung it open and slipped inside.

  He did not dare lock it again. He had hardly had the strength to open it, and he still had to release Max. He pushed it closed. A hidden switch farther up the hallway would trip the lock manually, but he and Max might not have the time it took to unlock the door when they made their escape if they were pursued. He would have to chance the outside hunter getting inside.