Gregor bellowed her name, running. She cast a single glance over her shoulder as she opened the throttle and yanked the boat away from the dock.
He calculated the jump until he reached the end of the dock. Even with his abilities, he’d never make it. At a sound behind him, he spun, looking forward to slicing up whatever trailed him.
Auger drew up, palms splayed, the two giants behind him. They all looked worse for wear. What kind of Aegis was this? Infighting, lack of discipline, leaving their master to go off on his own, unattended. The only one of them worth the hide covering their useless flesh was Ana. And she was insane to think she could stop the thing that had Raymond and the necromancer waiting for it.
Repaying Azrael’s debt and gaining intelligence wouldn’t matter if Raymond fell tonight. Azrael would lose a potential ally. The North American territory, according to Ana, less stable than he’d assumed, would plunge into chaos.
A roar welled up deep inside him, sending the pigeons scattering from the rafters with cries of alarm. “Get me a fucking boat. Now.”
Gregor kept his eyes on the horizon. The dark-shuttered island grew larger as Auger pushed the boat faster over the choppy water. The speedboat surged and leaped at a bumpy patch, and Gregor’s stomach engaged in the kind of acrobatics that would have threatened any recent meals. Chopper blades beat the growing dusk above them. Why hadn’t he waited for the helicopter?
Ahead, two necromancers and a riddle of a sea monster waited, and gods only knew what else besides. He could not go in there on desperation and fury. As if reading his mind, Auger called over the sound of the engine, “Got a plan?”
Find Ana. Help Ana. Kill whatever it took to keep Ana alive.
Auger’s loyalty to Ana might be more than the big men overhead: they hadn’t shown even the slightest interest in getting in the boat, instead calling in the helicopter once Auger and Gregor were underway. Still, Gregor didn’t trust any of them. He wanted them out of the way. Out of his way.
“You are Raymond’s Aegis,” he said, stifling the accusation in the words. “You get to your boss and do your job. I’ll take care of the creature.”
Auger cut the engine as the island loomed large. He navigated around the rocky base, searching the growing darkness for the shape of a dock.
Gregor pointed at the dock where Ana must have slowed her boat enough for a flying dismount. The craft drifted away from the rocky shore, its engine sputtering.
Auger drew in closer. “And Ana?”
Gregor stepped onto the bow, preparing himself for a leap. “Leave Ana to me.”
A pack of undead in rotted prison gear staggered toward the shore, little more than senseless automatons. Auger joined him at the bow.
“Allow me to take out the trash,” Auger said, surprising him.
Gregor acknowledged him with a nod. “Watch your right side.”
Auger barked a laugh as Gregor leaped ashore, landing beside him in a crouch a moment later. He gave Gregor a salute. “Good hunting.”
The street fighter stood, strolling toward the staggering mob with a thick metal-studded club in his left hand. The right uncoiled a chain and set it swinging with a dull whomp, whomp.
Whoever had created these undead had given them the typical drooling, savage-minded intent common to Hollywood zombies. These did the tradition proud, all bloody mouthed and wild-eyed. Auger skipped the last few steps into the fray, whistling.
The helicopter circled overhead, searching for a place to land.
Gregor skirted the mob, trailed by the meaty thumps of a club working its way through skulls. Lights flickered as he crossed the main road and started up the slope to the looming cell block in the center of the island. The electricity was on the fritz, spun into chaos by the necromancers drawing power. Energy crackled in the air, stinging his skin like miniature lightning strikes. Two powerful necromancers in the same place always had that effect.
It drew him like a beacon. He checked his ammunition, loaded a fresh magazine, and slid the blade from between his shoulders.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ana watched the creature drag Raymond toward the cell-block building, bound from head to toe in the thick, muscular bonds of her tentacles. Not a creature. Laughing Girl. Ana’s gift blurred her vision, and she blinked hard to clear it. Something else rose underneath, an image little more than a ghost but enough to screw up her sight. She focused on Raymond instead, picking out a geas for submission binding him as tightly as the tentacles.
The electricity had already been weakened by the proximity of a necromancer, but Raymond’s presence sent it haywire. Transformers exploded all over the island, casting the dim structure in a shuddering darkness. Emergency lighting, the bare bones needed to maintain the island, flickered on in irregular bursts. The wind battered her, whipping her hair and clothes, and she recognized Raymond calling on his element and gathering strength. She stalked them, waiting for her moment.
The creature went through the open cell-block doors. Ana kept to the abundant shadows inside the building as Laughing Girl dragged Raymond down the aisle. On the overhead catwalk, a figure crouched, his cloak whipping in the growing wind. He leaped to the floor. The wind whipped his hood from his face, revealing the rival necromancer for the first time. Barnabas Huxley looked younger than the images Auger had sent. As he leapt to the floor to meet his prize, the grey streaked brown hair whipped around his face, and his skin was firmer and more vital. Necromancers stopped aging and sometimes even appeared younger as they grew more powerful. This was a bad sign.
Raymond, waterlogged and battered, didn’t even struggle when Laughing Girl shook him loose from her tentacles. The creature kept him restrained, arms to chest and ankles bound, just out of Barnabas’s reach.
Ana calculated her odds. If Gregor were here, they would have had a plan, even if it was mostly improvised. Having someone at her back had been a luxury she had never known until him. Fighting beside him felt natural. But Gregor had made clear in the car what he thought about her duty and loyalty to Raymond.
She glanced at her swords, a gift from her master when she’d been taken from her training. Even without Gregor, she was never alone.
“Old swords,” the woman said, dismissing them as she placed them before the small roll of Ana’s belongings. The mountings were old, the saya faded and cracked.
Ana tucked her chin to hide her shame that she was only worthy of such disused equipment.
“Too small for any respectable warrior,” she went on, loud enough for the servants she knew had clustered down the hall, eavesdropping. “But enough, perhaps, for someone not meant for daishō.”
Her face burned. Her master leaned into the space between them, lowering her voice. “Enough, perhaps, for one who has earned the right anyway.”
Surprise at the curious softness made her brave, made her look into her master’s weathered, inscrutable face. Yes, Ana thought centuries later, she had smiled. It wasn’t until she’d unpacked her belongings in her new home that she’d understood the gift had been part of the lesson she’d tried to impart to her. “Let them underestimate you. It will be their last mistake.” She studied the distinct waved pattern of the steel blade in awe, traced her thumb along the razor edge at the hilt and gloried in the flash of pain and bead of blood that emerged from the callused skin.
Centuries and wealth had seen mounts more fitting, and the fragile saya that housed her swords at her sides had been often been replaced. But the blades remained the same.
Late one summer night, when the heat made sleep impossible, Takami rolled off her sleeping mat and joined Ana on the floor. The girl had seen through the ruse of Ana being a country cousin long ago, though among the adults she was wise enough to pretend it still held. Shoulder to shoulder they peered at the blades revealed beneath the burlap where Ana kept them hidden.
Takami always begged to see them, and Ana—sleepless and irritable—had complied. “What are they called?”
Ana frowned. �
�Called?”
The younger girl bumped her shoulder. “They all have names in the stories, the samurai.”
“I am not samurai. And these are just swords.”
Takami rolled her eyes. “Fine. I will name them for you.”
Her slim fingers hovered over the larger of the two, still small as katana went. Ana expected something fanciful and fearsome, something out of the old tales Takami snuck from her father’s library. Takami smiled. “Onee-san.”
Amused at the simplicity, Ana nodded. “And the other?”
Takami’s brow furrowed, and Ana recognized her expression from their hours with the English language tutor. She formed the words carefully as she looked into Ana’s eyes. “Little Sister.”
Ana broke their stare first. Imouto. She often wondered how much Takami suspected of the truth of their relationship. She knew her mother’s terrible barbarian features dulled any resemblance to their father. And yet. Takami had always seen true. They had that in common.
The names had stuck. Ana trusted no weapons more than these. Gregor could keep his soul steel. She had her swords, a century of skill, and death on her side.
After all these years, everything came down to this. If she put herself between necromancers, she would fall. Live to die, wasn’t that the way of the samurai. True, she might not have been born one, but she couldn’t lie that part of her had longed to be judged worthy. And now the moment of truth. The specter of death, the best gift that could be given, waited for deliverance.
She should act soon or lose her advantage.
The look on Gregor’s face when she’d left him on the docks carved a hollow inside of her rib cage.
“You promised me,” the creature grated out. Her voice reminded Ana of breaking surf on cliffs, just as uneven. “I give him to you, you release me. You end this life.”
“Would you abandon your new promised one, lady?” Barnabas bowed, arms wide. Whatever color his eyes had been, a red, iridescent glow glazed them. He had not ascended as other necromancers had. Something was wrong with the power that clung to him. She narrowed her eyes, trying to refine her sight. “I have need of you yet.”
Raymond’s head lolled on his shoulders. With their connection Ana sensed his consciousness returning, but too slowly.
“You will be rewarded. A place of honor in my new house.”
“I don’t want your honor,” Laughing Girl screamed. “I want my freedom. I want the death I was promised.”
The words rocked through Ana. The bargain, the betrayal. She blinked again hard, and now the second image was clear. The woman beneath the monster, worn down with grief and age. The lines in a face once beautiful, the haggard slump of her shoulders.
“And you shall have it,” Barnabas admitted. “But not today.”
Laughing Girl shrieked and her tentacles tightened as fury got the best of her. Raymond groaned.
Ana attacked.
Severing tentacles had failed on the boat, so she drove Imouto down into the thinnest part of Laughing Girl’s body, locking it into the floor. Laughing Girl screamed. Ana dodged, dancing closer to slice the two meaty ropes holding Raymond. Ana shoved him aside as the tentacles wrapped around her ankles, slamming her to the floor and the wall before she could cut herself free. Gasping as pain rocked up her side, she staggered back, putting herself between Laughing Girl and Raymond. Laughing Girl managed to dislodge the blade and swung her bulk between Ana and Barnabas. Behind her, Barnabas’s eyes flashed with rage.
Ana curled both hands around the hilt of Onee-san, preparing for the fight of her life.
“Missing something?” Gregor skidded to Ana’s side. He kept his attention on the creature, but he offered Imouto, hilt first, over his forearm.
Giddy relief swept through her. The euphoric joy of feeling him in place beside her. Where he belonged. Ana closed her fingers over the hilt.
He flipped his wrist and the black blade appeared—smoke made solid by magic. “Soul steel not such a bad idea now.”
She snorted. “You still seem to think I require steel.”
“I’m beginning to understand what you’re capable of, Ms. Gozen.” Gregor winked.
At least she’d face death with a smile on her face. Raymond rose to his hands and knees, groaning.
Barnabas straightened, his gaze sweeping them. He didn’t seem to want to issue a challenge that would send him and Raymond into the In Between to battle for supremacy, according to the necromancer code. He had no Aegis either. What had his plan been?
“Hold them,” he shouted.
Ana dropped her shoulder, ready for a fight.
He ran. Laughing Girl maneuvered between them and the open doors through which Barnabas fled. Her tentacles slapped the cement floor, the metal-bound one ringing. But Ana only saw the woman within.
Gregor exhaled. Their eyes met, brows lifted in unison.
Ana almost laughed. Instead, she stood up and sheathed her blades. “Now we make an ally.”
An ally. Gregor should have been happy, but he didn’t relax his grip on his sword. He didn’t like that Barnabas hadn’t challenged Raymond. Necromancers challenged for dominance and fought to the death. They absorbed one another’s powers in victory. Barnabas, it seemed, had something else in mind.
Ana took two cautious strides toward the creature, her hands empty. The creature hissed and Ana stopped. Neither backed down.
Ana called back to him, “Sheathe your sword.”
“Not until an accord is struck.” He might be crazy, but he wasn’t stupid. Those tentacles had crushed a ferry.
Ana frowned but turned her face back to the creature. “I can help you. We can help you.”
The creature recoiled, hissed, and surged toward Ana. Gregor lifted his blade. Ana held up a hand. He waited.
The first tentacle closed around her legs, slamming her to the floor. She still didn’t reach for her blades. To hell with this.
Gregor charged. Another arm slapped him aside. He rolled to his feet, reaching for the semiautomatic under his coat.
“Gregor, stop.” Ana’s voice, clear and calm, rang through the vast space. “Laughing Girl, I won’t fight you.”
He froze. The creature’s movement slowed.
“I know who you are,” Ana said. “I see you.”
The creature rose, tentacles unfurling and sliding aside like hair as it revealed the face at the heart of them, twisted with rage. Metal clanked against the concrete floor, and Gregor’s eyes found the rusted iron. An old manacle. The same kind that had once bound him in the hold of a ship.
“You are his,” the creature said, looking at Raymond, still wavering in the pile of severed tentacles. “Same as I must serve the other. You must try to kill me if he gives the word.”
“You haven’t tried to kill us,” Gregor said, sliding his blade home. He let the gun settle back in the holster and held up his palms. “Why is that?”
“Barnabas is sloppy,” the creature said, slinking back. “Words are power. He should know better. ‘Hold them’ is not ‘kill them.’”
Gregor started for Ana. “Let her go, and let us talk. Raymond can help you.”
The creature’s laughter became hoarse. “Help. The word means nothing to me now. Your Raymond promised to help me long ago and this is what came of it.”
Gregor snuck a glimpse at Ana’s face. Shock and recognition snarled in her eyes. They shone.
“I can end this, light of my heart.” They all looked up at Raymond’s words.
Raymond struggled to his feet. Barefoot and muddy, his jeans torn and his hair a tangled mess, only the shine of his eyes betrayed any remaining power. Even that flickered.
When the creature’s attention shifted to Raymond, Gregor made his move. He grabbed Ana by the shoulders, lifting her out of the slack tentacle around her legs and drawing her backward.
“Are you out of your mind,” he hissed, running his hands up and down her arms.
She knocked his hand away. “I’m fine. What are yo
u doing?”
Gregor caught himself, fingers stilling. “I thought you were going to let her…”
“Suicide by cephalopod?” she whispered, brow raised. “I am stubborn, Sticks. Not an idiot. And maybe I have something worth living for.”
Her eyes slid away from his face. He caught her chin and brought them back, the kind of relief he barely acknowledged possessing sweeping him. “Good.”
She tilted her head. “You were right.”
He followed her gaze. Raymond had gone down to one knee before the creature, one of the gnarled, sea-roughened hands in his own. They spoke in hushed tones.
“Do you understand what they’re saying?”
“Pieces,” Ana said. “He’s apologizing for abandoning her. For sending us. She’s afraid of something. Something Barnabas has… or controls. I don’t understand.”
From the mass of tentacles, a great knobby rope of muscle rose and settled in Raymond’s hands, sliding until the manacle rested on his palm. Now that they weren’t all attempting to kill him, Gregor noted it looked withered compared to the others. Raymond bowed his head over the metal.
“It binds her to Barnabas. He says this is his fault for leaving her vulnerable. He’s going to try to break it.”
Gregor winced at the sizzle and stench of burned flesh. A distant pain in his own hand made him look down. Ana gripped his fingers. He shifted their grip, lacing fingers together.
Ana let go when Raymond rose, the burn fading from his forehead. He strode toward them, his back to the creature who had settled, weeping, in his wake. Raymond took them in but seemed to be looking elsewhere.
“I cannot break it,” he said. “I suspect killing Barnabas is the only way.”
“Of course it is,” Gregor snapped. “Or you need his power to do it.”
Raymond’s eyes flashed with a hint of his old capricious fury. Gregor rose to his full height.
Ana stepped between them. “It doesn’t matter. Barnabas can’t be allowed to live after what he’s done. This ends one way.”
The Talon & the Blade Page 23
