Bitten in Two (22 page)

“No problem.”

“Deal.”

I replaced my Party Line so I could snoop. Their conversation wasn’t nearly as fun as the one I’d imagined.

Bergman was saying, “… stil think the hardest part wil be distracting everybody from what we’re doing. There’s”—

Bergman gestured around helplessly—“no privacy.” Sterling said, “Stickman, if you’re that worried about it, I can toss the ingredients for my special tea into this dude’s pot instead of using mine.” He nudged his elbow toward sel er number seven. “In thirty seconds nobody within a hundred feet wil care if we’re dancing naked on the tables.” Bergman frowned down at himself. “
Are
we going to want to dance naked… anywhere?”

Sterling chuckled. “I hope not, for my sake. You’re too damn skinny to turn streaker!”

“Everybody stays dressed,” I ordered. “Sterling, keep the goodies stowed. We may need them later. Bergman, relax. Nobody gives a crap what you’re doing as long as you act normal; they’re too busy having their own lives.” Muttering something that sounded like, “If you say so,” Bergman watched Sterling unpack, wel , it looked like a Bergman watched Sterling unpack, wel , it looked like a wooden dandelion. A late-phase one, after the bloom has gone to the spunky white seed that reminded me strongly of my landlady’s Sunday-go-to-meeting wig. Except where the hair made me want to pile drive her into a frozen pond to see if the spikes were as sharp as they looked, the carving was so intricate I wondered if its artist had studied under the guy who’d done Vayl’s cane. Or maybe taught him.

I slapped the cane against my leg, wondering idly if the sword it covered contained any silver, as Sterling nodded at Bergman. “Just like we discussed, now,” he said.

Miles eyed the junction box nearest our position. He took a breath so deep that for a second I could detect his ribs straining against the material of his shirt. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Sterling caught my eye. “Okay, Chil . Whenever you give the word.”

I checked on Vayl. No movement from him or the roofbound Were. “Cole, are you ready?”

“I’m set. Should I take out restaurant boy first?” I considered our options. “Yeah,” I decided. “Do it right before the lights go out. I figure Vayl wil move on him as soon as the funkiness begins, and I don’t want any friendly fire casualties tonight.”

“But…” Bergman lowered his voice. “Can Vayl handle him in his present condition? Especial y if he doesn’t know what we’re up to?”

“It doesn’t matter what year Vayl thinks it is,” I said.

“He’s stil the baddest fighter in this square. Probably on the whole damn continent. He’l be fine.”

Bergman shrugged. I looked from him to Sterling to Kyphas. “Ready?” Each of them nodded.

“Okay,” I said. “Cole downs the Weres. Remember they’l be wounded, not dead, so we may have to deal with a couple of them before we can move in and grab the mage. Sterling, you’re going to be able to immobilize Ahmed before he can put the whammy on us?”

“It’s what I do.”

“Kyphas, are you prepared?”

She pul ed the
tahruyt
off her head and slid it lovingly through her hands. “Oh, yes.”

I pul ed out my bolo, slipped it into Bergman’s belt, and covered it with his shirt. “Just in case,” I whispered as he pul ed up his sleeve. He glanced down. “Oh!” He went so pale I put out an arm to steady him. He jerked away. “I’m fine!”

I shoved my hand back in my pocket, contacting the poker chips I kept there, imagining that I’d piled them on a green felt table where I could hear the
click clack
as they slid through my shuffling fingers, constantly revising their positions but never losing their integrity.

I said, “Miles, you and Sterling begin as soon as the Were goes down. Cole?”

“Yes, dear?”

“When you’re ready.”

Cole’s shot cracked across the square like the signal for a set of kickass fireworks. The pack leader fel back in his chair, his Luureken and the people at the surrounding tables staring dumbly as they tried to figure out what had happened.

At ground level, a few people looked for fire in the sky.

And they got it. Bergman released four of his missiles at the junction box. They didn’t want to go up, however. They were made to seek the warmth of bodies, and the street below was packed with them. Which was where Sterling’s wooden seedpod came into play.

He whirled it above his head, chanting, “Up draft. Up breeze. Up current. Fly!” The seedpods broke off the stem, formed a carpet of white that sped after the missiles, caught them, carried them high over the heads of the crowd, and slammed them straight into their target.

Sparks flew. Blue threads exploded from them, reached over the screaming crowd and slammed into two more junction boxes, throwing the square into darkness.

Panic, both in the restaurant, where they’d just figured out the man on the floor was bleeding from a massive head wound and his “kid” had been shot as wel , and on the ground, where a fire had started in one of the mobile food stal s when someone accidental y tipped over a pot ful of boiling oil.

I saw Vayl cast his eyes around at the rising chaos before separating himself from cart eleven and heading toward the downed Were. I wanted to fol ow him. But his memory stil rested back with Ahmed.

“Cole?” I asked. In my earpiece I heard another shot.

Then another. He didn’t speak until he’d taken six altogether.

“Three pairs down,” he said professional y. “I’ve got men moving on my position. I’m relocating. If I can, I’l do the rest after I lose these chasers.”

“Roger that,” I replied. We both knew he’d try like hel to even our odds, but time was not our friend.

I tossed Vayl’s cane to my left hand, jerked my right wrist, and felt my staff slide into my palm, its cool handle reminding me to take deeper breaths as it stretched to ful length. Fol owing my lead, Bergman pul ed my knife. He stared at it doubtful y, like he thought it might leap out of his hand and stab him while he wasn’t looking. In the end he took a tighter grip and checked his missiles. Four stil nestled in the sheath he’d created for them. Encouraged, he pul ed out the wal et-sized tracking unit that would al ow us to find Ahmed again.

Sterling watched Kyphas transform her scarf into the flyssa that would, hopeful y, stick to Weres this evening. But he didn’t prepare anything extra for our trip back to the mage. Just fol owed at his easy pace as Bergman led us back to the bil Cole had left with Ahmed earlier.

We shoved our way through the yel ing, panicked crowd toward one of the streets that led away from the square and final y found Ahmed trying to make his escape with his arms ful of half-hat boxes. He hadn’t waited long for an escort, but then maybe he’d realized they were indisposed.

We’d passed two of them on our way to intercept the mage.

One had been lying across a picnic table trying to hold its intestines inside its body cavity while its Luureken lay in a pool of blood at its feet. The other Were had toppled into a juice sel er’s cart, burying itself in mounds of ripe, orange fruit. Its rider had disappeared, leaving a blood trail we didn’t have time to fol ow.

didn’t have time to fol ow.

“Ahmed,” I said as we surrounded him. “We have some business with you. Leave the snakes.” Kyphas took the boxes and put them down as Sterling grabbed the mage by the wrists and forced his hands into a clapping position.

Sterling banged their foreheads together as he whispered,

“Bound to me now.” His bracelets
reached out
, clasped onto Ahmed’s wrists, and then twisted into one another until they seemed to be made from one single line of bone.

I traded amazed looks with Bergman, our specialized contact lenses making our awed faces look even greener with envy as we watched Ahmed try desperately to twist his hands free. But the shackles had become so tight he could barely wiggle his fingers.

“What—” he began, but Sterling held up a finger.

“You can talk—later. Now fol ow me.” Just words to Bergman. But I felt the magic behind them, like the thickness in the air before a storm. My whole body tightened as it surrounded me, and I took a second to congratulate myself that Sterling was on my side. It must feel to Ahmed like being bitten al at once by a thousand mosquitoes.

Our warlock took us back toward Vayl. But before we got there the lights flickered on in the west half of the square. And we were attacked.

We did have some warning. A flash of neon. The scent of wolf. I yel ed, “Sterling, guard the mage!” Then a white-furred form took me to the ground, its snapping jaws so close to my jugular I could feel snippets of skin come away in its teeth.

It had seen the staff in my right hand and managed to pin that wrist to the ground. The other I rammed into its mouth. The scrape of my metal gauntlet against fangs made me shiver as I brought both knees up and smashed them into the wolf’s ribs. Its claws raked down my right arm, but then they lifted and I was free. I swung the staff like I meant to ski down a mountain. It hit square, bruising flesh, splintering bone, making the Were scream in agony.

It staggered one way, I rol ed the other, abandoning the staff for Grief. But not soon enough. The Were’s Luureken, a flame-eyed girl with such deep facial scars that parts of her cheek flapped independently as she screamed, launched herself at me. Though spikes had emerged from her head and her body had grown a hard, outer shel , I figured bul ets could stil penetrate at close range. If I could only grab my gun.

The Luureken had every advantage. Position. Speed.

Madness. And a nightmare weapon. The raes was so close I could already feel it piercing my skin. For a split second I knew that nothing I did or said was going to prevent the claw inside it from ripping out my heart.

I felt a moment of relief that my whole life didn’t flash before my eyes. Some things you just never want to rehash.

But I did see Vayl as he’d been the night before he forgot me. His eyes flashing like a gemstone, green on green under green until I knew if I dived into them al day I’d never find their ultimate source.

He’d whispered in my ear, “Woman, you make me want to shout.”

And I’d said, “Go ahead.”

To which he’d replied, “I am too busy listening. Did you know the world was singing?”

“You’re such a softie.”

He’d kissed me. On the bel y button. “Tel no one. If news gets out they wil not even hire me to curl the poodles’

hair at Le Puppeez Salon.”

Regret. So enormous that I suspected it would swal ow the world. The raes speeded toward my chest. And then a blur, coming from my right. The whine of metal cleaving air, changing tones as it met skin and bone. Instant blindness as blood spurted into my eyes. And I knew, somehow, I was saved.

I felt a cloth hit my face. Used it to wipe my sight back as I regained my feet. The Luureken lay dead at my side, the spot between its forehead and mouth a mass of gore and brain tissue. The Were had toppled over next to it, panting heavily from its original wound and the secondary smashing I’d given it.

Around us people screamed and ran, flapping their arms like spooked chickens. I felt about that connected to them as I released Vayl’s sword from its sheath and, in one smooth motion, decapitated the wolf that had just nearly ended me.

Kyphas stood next to me, wiping her sword on a second piece of cloth that she’d cut from the Luureken’s shirt. I used the one she’d thrown me to clean Vayl’s blade and then threw it down, aiming it to cover the oozing mass of grossness that was the Luureken’s former face.

“Thanks,” I said.

“You owe me,” she said, nodding to our second pair of attackers. The Were lay, headless, near Sterling’s feet, and neither he nor the mage seemed to be able to look away from the carnage. It hadn’t returned to man-form yet, but I recognized the Luureken sprawled next to it, my bolo buried in its chest. It was the scar-faced “kid” who’d been hanging out with the snake-photo scammer.

“I said thanks,” I told her. But my eyes were on Miles.

Who was staring at his bloody hands and starting to shake.

I retrieved the knife, wiped it clean, and went to him.

“Bergman!” I snapped.

His head came up like I’d kicked him.

I shoved the hilt into his hand. Blew out a sigh of relief when he took it. “Your crisis can wait. In fact, that’s the great thing about them. They’re like the IRS. They know where you live, and as soon as you’ve decided you’re going to survive the most horrible experience of your life after al , they’re knocking at your door to make sure you pay for it.” When he gave me a smal smile I said, “Now let’s find Vayl and get the hel outta here.”

I’d like to say my extra sense led us right to him. But the big crowd surrounding the snarling creatures pretty much gave it away.

Cole found us just as we’d muscled our way to the front.

“Should we cal this progress?” he asked

I wasn’t sure how to answer. Did a word like that fit on a street that had heard the screams of invaders and absorbed the blood of defenders so often in its history that the battle waging across its bricks now wouldn’t even make the footnotes of its autobiography? I watched Vayl confront the leader of Ahmed’s guard pack, his wound already nothing more than a pink puckered spot mostly hidden by his thick black fur and the fal of drying blood on his head and neck, and understood how little the world would ever care about what happened in the next five minutes. Hel , even finding out that Luureken weren’t just fairy tales wouldn’t make them blink. Most of the crowd around us were seeing the leader’s froth-mouthed little berserker with their own eyes, and al they could think about was what an awesome story it would make when they final y found a computer café so they could post it to their travelogues. But for me and my crew, Vayl’s victory here meant everything.