Child of Fire (32 page)

“I know.”

“We need some kind of silver weapons, don’t we? Silver bullets or something?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t planning to fight them. That’s why we were running away. But I don’t know if silver will work.”

“What happened out there?” the man with the mustache asked. He looked like he wanted to throw his gun down and run. The middle-aged man was even more spooked. “Where’s Roger and Binky?”

“They’re both dead,” Arlene snapped. “So is Reverend Wilson.”

“What?” Mustache said. “How—”

Everyone began talking at once, in high, panicked tones.

I felt someone try the handle. Someone pushed. Someone strong. I pushed back. I could hear sounds coming from the other side of the door, but I couldn’t make them out.

“Hey!” I shouted at them. “Be quiet!” No effect. Everyone was still badgering Arlene for explanations. Frank began to look pale. Miriam rushed to him. “Shut up!” I shouted at them, but all I did was add to the noise.

From the other side of the door, a wolf howled. Then two, then a third. Everyone in the room fell silent.

“All right in there,” Luke Dubois said. He didn’t sound like a man who had just been shot. He sounded happy. “What say we talk terms?”

“Sure thing,” I said. “Let everyone in this room leave unharmed, and I won’t rain hellfire on your ass.”

Luke chuckled. “Hellfire, huh? You didn’t look like you had much hellfire on hand when you were scurrying into that hospital room. You looked like you had a load in your pants.”

“You don’t know who I am,” I said.

“Don’t care, neither. Not anymore.”

“That’s because you’re stupid.” I took the ghost knife out and threw it through the door. It cut a slit in the wood and passed through. I heard Luke grunt. Something metallic fell onto the tiled floor. I
reached
for the ghost knife. It flew back to me, cutting a second slit through the wooden door and landing in my hand.

“What …” Luke’s voice was small and frightened. “What was that?” I knew the ghost knife had taken the fight out of him. Hopefully, it would give him pause, too.

“That was just the start. That was small magic for small potatoes like you. Where did you get this trick for shape-shifting, Luke? Straight from the Hammer family,
I’ll bet. I’ll bet the first Cabot gave it to your grandfather, and he’s passed it down over the years. I’m right, aren’t I? Didn’t you ever wonder where he learned the trick?”

“He’s rich,” Luke said, as if that explained everything.

“Please. He got his magic from the same place I got mine. From the same book, in fact. But he only taught the Dubois family that one trick, right? He only gave you that one spell. And you didn’t even know enough about it to be sure the magic protected you. Not until Peter Lemly unloaded a round into one of you.”

I just kept talking, hoping to stall him. I didn’t know what to stall him for, but it was all I had.

“So what? What does that have to do with you?”

Cynthia came up to me and held out her hand. “This was all I could find,” she whispered. She had a delicate silver chain in her palm. I took it. I hoped it would do some good.

“Damn, Luke,” I said, “you fellas have been stumbling around in the dark for years. And now, when you finally realize what you have, you blow it by killing Karoly and Lemly, and now going after the mayor. You drew too much attention to yourselves. Now we’re here to take the magic back.”

“We’re just protecting our own interests,” he said, his voice almost complaining. “This is our territory.”

I waved at the two fat men while Luke kept talking. They approached me timidly. Rake-Thin Arms was about to ask a question, but I held my finger to my lips. I gestured for them to throw their weight against the door. They did.

I ran to the window. We were on the fourth floor—too damn high to jump. But there was a ledge. I took out my ghost knife and cut a large hole in the window, as large as I could make it. Then I turned to Cynthia and the doctor. “Out onto the ledge,” I whispered.

Cynthia didn’t hesitate. She stepped through the window and climbed out. The ledge was only six inches wide, and there was nothing but parking lot below, but she inched her way along.

The doctor followed her after a moment’s hesitation. Frank didn’t have the strength for that kind of climbing, and Miriam wasn’t going to leave him. Arlene wasn’t going to leave Miriam.

I went back to the door and shoved the fat guys aside. “Go,” I whispered. What ever Luke had been saying, he was done saying it. I laid my arms against the door and braced myself, for what ever that was worth. I looked over my shoulder.

The two fat guys rushed toward the window. Mustache looked out at the ledge, then turned back to me. I could see he wasn’t going to risk it. Rake-Thin shoved him aside.

“You have two choices, Luke,” I shouted through the door. “You can stay in Hammer Bay and be hunted like animals, or you can run for it. Rio is nice, I’m told. I’d think that would be a good place for a murderer to lie low.”

“No,” Luke said. I could hear courage in his voice. Damn. He was recovering from the ghost knife too quickly. “I don’t think so. I’ve been to Rio.”

The door seemed to explode right in front of me. Splinters of wood struck my face. I felt a dead pressure against the tattoos on my stomach. Gunshot.

I fell backward. Splinters fell around me in slow motion. I fell in slow motion, too. I knew a second gunshot was coming, but it seemed to take a long time.

Then it boomed. I hit the floor and rolled to the side. A third shot slammed past me. Then a fourth. Mustache dove for the ground. Rake-Thin Arms toppled through the window like a sack of flour and vanished. Miriam screamed as more shots blasted through the wood. At
first I thought she was screaming over the death of the middle-aged fat guy, but then I noticed a single round bullet hole just above Frank’s right eye.

Arlene grabbed Miriam and dragged her to the floor. Mustache crawled toward me, holding the rifle.

Boom boom boom
. The barrage seemed to be endless, although I’d guess there were no more than ten or twelve shots. When it ended, the door was Swiss cheese. I heard Luke eject a clip and replace it. He racked the slide.

I expected him to say something before he started shooting again, but he just jammed his pistol into one of the holes in the door and started shooting.

The barrel of the gun was only a couple of feet above me. I slashed at it with the ghost knife. The trigger fell free and landed with a
ting
on the floor outside.

Luke drew back the weapon and cursed. He kicked at the door and broke open a section with several bullet holes. His foot got stuck in the hole.

Mustache shot him through the ankle. Luke cursed violently as he yanked at his foot. Mustache and I saw the wound heal in seconds.

“Jesus wept,” Mustache said. “What do we do now?”

I had an idea. “Gimme.”

Mustache handed me the rifle. I took the silver chain from my pocket and cut it in half. Then I cut the halves as well. Might as well try it.

Luke pulled his foot free, and the black muzzle of a wolf jammed through the hole in the door. The wolf snarled and snapped at me, throwing itself against the splintering wood, forcing itself into the room.

I dropped a piece of chain down the barrel of the rifle. I held the shoulder stock low and the muzzle up, so the chain wouldn’t slide out.

The black wolf lunged at me. Saliva splashed against my face. The creature’s jaws gaped.

I jammed the rifle barrel down the wolf’s throat, as deep as it would go. Then I tilted it up. I heard the chain slide down the barrel.

The wolf yelped. It froze in place for just a moment, its eyes widening, then started to pull back.

Before I could even think about it, the ghost knife flew into my hand. I slashed it across the wolf’s throat. The gun fell backward and so did I.

The wolf tried to scream, but a solid inch of gun barrel was stuck in the back of its throat. It tried to retch. It wrenched itself back through the broken door and fell to the floor, shuddering.

“What do you know?” I said quietly. “It worked.” The gun barrel was cut at a slant now. I felt a twinge of guilt at ruining what looked to be a family heirloom.

I tried to slide a second piece of chain into the barrel, but my hands were shaking too badly. Mustache reached over my shoulder and held the weapon steady.

My thanks were drowned out by howls from the hallway. Luke called Wiley’s name. I glanced through the hole in the door and caught a glimpse of pale, blubbery flesh. Wiley had turned back into a human. Damn, it
was
like the movies.

I slid another length of chain down the barrel. “I’m sorry about the gun,” I said.

“Forget the gun, boy,” Mustache answered. “Just don’t let those bastards in here.”

“Fair enough.” I slashed the ghost knife through the barrel, cutting it at a sharp angle. Then I shaved the leading edge until it came to a rough point. It wasn’t as sharp as a spear, but it might do the job if I put my back into it.

Mustache gaped at me, the end of his rifle, and the ghost knife in turn. “What—”

“Don’t ask,” I said. “National security.”

His mouth snapped shut. I glanced over at Arlene and
Miriam, who were still crouching on the floor. Arlene’s face was blank with terror, but Miriam, holding her dead husband’s hand, looked at me with deep suspicion.

The Dubois brothers were still making a racket in the hall. I heard a slapping sound as Luke tried to revive his brother.

“I guess you have reason to be afraid again, huh, Luke?” I felt dizzy and manic. It felt good to have a weapon, even a hack one. A swatch of gray-flecked fur moved past the hole. I knelt and leaned toward it. A chance to kill Emmett was too good to miss.

A section of door burst open, and Luke’s arm smashed through the damaged wood. Before I could react, he ripped the rifle out of my hands.

Shit. I rolled back on my heels and started to stand, and I bumped into Mustache’s big soft belly. I reached for the rifle stock, but Luke ripped it through the broken door.

The ruined door splintered apart, and a flash of red and black burst into the room. I threw myself at it, feeling a chunk of wood strike my ear as I lunged. The wolf stumbled coming through the door, giving me the split second I needed.

Someone from the other side of the door shouted: “Sugar! Don’t!” It wasn’t Luke’s voice. It was Emmett.

I landed on its back, plunging the ghost knife into the back of its head.

The wolf faltered but didn’t go down, even with my full weight on it. I caught the ghost knife in my teeth, freeing my hands. I wrapped my arms around the wolf’s neck.

It tried to turn itself around to snap at me, but I held on, refusing to let it turn. It tried to wriggle backward out of my grip, but I swung my legs against its hind legs, knocking it to the floor. It took every ounce of strength I had, and I knew I couldn’t hold it for long.

I dipped my head, jabbing the ghost knife into the wolf’s back. It weakened, but only a little. Its feet scrabbled against the floor, twisting its body away from me and threatening to steal my only leverage. I started to lose my hold on him.

“My God!” Mustache shouted from behind me. “They’re cutting him wide open!” I had no idea what he was talking about.

The ghost knife wasn’t working. The Dubois brothers had a greater resistance to my spell than anyone I’d ever met. I knew I couldn’t stay in this position for long—the wolf would eventually scramble out from under me and I’d have no way to hold those teeth at bay any longer. I needed a plan.

The only idea that came to me was the open window. The fall wouldn’t kill Sugar, I figured, but it would put some distance between us. Maybe I could get Miriam, Arlene, and Mustache to a safe place in the time it took the wolf to come at me again.

But I had no way of gaining my feet without losing my hold.

Then I felt something. It was a sensation of power, somewhat like Annalise’s iron-gate spell when I first stole it from her so many months ago. I felt it just under my chest, in the wolf’s back. I lowered my head and slashed the ghost knife toward it.

The fur on the wolf’s back suddenly erupted in a jet of black steam and sparks. The wolf howled, and I felt the steam scald my left shoulder and neck. I tried to hold on, but the pain was too much. I shoved the wolf away from me.

It staggered back. It had blurred and become indistinct, as though some parts of it were appearing out of or receding into a fog. It was as if I was looking at two superimposed versions of the same being. The wolf was fading, and the man was reappearing.

The paws became hands. The fur became skin. The snout became Sugar’s face. The magic was still pouring out of him in iron-gray sparks and jets of black steam.

I lunged at him, grabbed him by the arm, and rushed him toward the window. Arlene and Miriam had to pull their legs back as we passed. Sugar had difficulty keeping up with me, but he was dazed enough to try.

We reached the window, and I heaved him through it.

He was still changing as he vanished below the sill. I didn’t hear him scream.

Mustache elbowed past me and looked out the window. “Sweet Jesus,” he said, “please have mercy on this sinner, as you have mercy on all of us sinners.”

I backed away from him. I didn’t want to see Sugar’s body, and I didn’t want to pray for his salvation. I wasn’t that good a person.

“Sugar!” Emmett yelled. “Sugar!”

“He’s waiting for you outside,” I said nastily. “In the parking lot.”

I heard retreating steps. They were going. Thank God.

“We did it,” I said.

“You did it, son.” Mustache clapped me on the shoulder. “Good work.”

I looked over at Frank. He was stretched out on his bed with the single bullet hole in his forehead. It didn’t seem like good work to me. I felt like a screwup of the first order. If I’d skipped a visit to Peter Lemly’s house, if I’d looked at the newspaper sooner, if I’d been more forceful when I’d told Lemly to hold off on the story, I might have saved Frank’s life, and the lives of the others, too.

“What did I just see?” Miriam said. She struggled off the floor and helped Arlene up, too. “What was that? Was that Sugar Dubois?”