Reckoning (17 page)

He reached up, very slowly. I locked my fingers outside the trigger guard, let him pry the shotgun away from me. He lowered it, pointing the business end very carefully at the floor, and what he did next surprised me.

His free hand touched my shoulder. Slid under my hair, curled over the back of my neck. He pulled me forward, and I went gladly. The shaking turned outward, and when I laid my cheek against his sweater, he sighed, hard. His breath touched my hair, because he’d lowered his chin and was breathing on me.

“Dru,” he whispered. “
Dru
.”

I didn’t say anything else. I couldn’t. I shut my eyes and leaned into him, for just a few moments. Clinging to him, but I suppose it was okay. He was clinging to me too.

And right then, it was enough.

Less than ten
minutes later, we were packed up and the room’s phone shrilled again. Christophe scooped it up before it got halfway through the first ring, held it to his ear. His face didn’t change.

Graves was still out cold, curled up next to the window. Ash rocked back and forth slightly, watching him.

Christophe laid the phone down gently. “They’ll bring him. We need to go.”

“I’m not—” I began, but he brushed past me and was suddenly at the door. The locks chucked aside and it opened, and a familiar pair of cat-tilted blue eyes peered past him.

Nathalie barely paused, barging straight in. Her sleek dark head bobbed, her blue eyes were spangled with little bits of yellow wulfen glow, and I braced myself for anger or worse—disappointment.

After all, I’d been a raving bitch to her the last time she’d seen me.

She threw her arms around me, and her odd musky perfume
wrapped around me too. As usual, she looked impeccable, from the royal-blue scarf twisted around her neck to her long dangling key-shaped earrings, her jeans torn just right and her espadrilles fashionably frayed.

“Nat!” I almost got a mouthful of her hair. “I’m so sor—”

“You
moron
!” She hugged me so tight I could feel a wulfen’s strength in her. My bones creaked. “You’re an
idiot
! I would’ve come
with
you! Don’t ever
do
that
again
!” She eased up enough to hold me at arm’s length and shake me, three times, precisely, then grabbed me again and hugged me so hard the air whoofed out of me. “Moron!
Dumbass
! Jesus, Dru!”

“Skyrunner.” Christophe sounded grimly amused. “A little quieter, if you please.”

More familiar faces. Shanks slid by Christophe, his lean face set and his legs looking longer than ever. He pushed at the emo-boy swoop of dark hair over his forehead and glanced at me, then at the window, where Ash still crouched. “Sheeeee-yit,” he drawled.

“Is that Graves?” Blond, anxious Dibs crowded past him. “Is he hurt? I’ve got the restraints. What
happened
?”

“He’s Broken.” Christophe swept the door mostly closed. “Get him prepped for travel and be cautious. Milady Dru won’t leave here without him.”

Damn right I won’t
. “Oh my God—” I almost got another mouthful of Nat’s hair. She was holding on for dear life. “Jesus, guys, it’s good to see you.”

“Hey, Dru.” Dibs shuffled past, carefully not looking at me. Clashing, jangling silver dripped from his hands, but I was too busy hugging Nat to really see what he carried. “We were worried. Bobby almost had a heart attack.”

“Not me.” Shanks hopped up on the bed I’d been sleeping in,
folding down into an easy crouch. “Benjamin, though, he looked about ready to have kittens. You went right out the damn window and vanished, Dru. Congrats on never being boring.”

Which was as close as he’d ever get to telling me he was happy to see me.

Nat sniffed and let up on me, patting at her cheeks. “Crap. Now my eyeliner’s probably ruined. We were
worried
, Dru. Don’t ever pull a boner stunt like that again, you hear me?”

So she wasn’t mad. Thank God. The terrible knot inside my chest eased slightly. “I’m so sorry—”

“Can we move it along here?” Christophe’s tone could have sliced solid granite. “This is an emergency.”

Dibs crouched next to Graves. The silver turned out to be thread-thin glittering restraints, and I swallowed a sick feeling as he quickly, efficiently had Goth Boy trussed up like a Christmas goose. “These work on wulfen.” Dibs ducked his head, talking to the floor. “Should work on him, too. Unless he convinces someone to take them off.”

“Which is why Nat and me’re here.” Shanks cocked his head. “Dru, what the hell happened?”

“He saved my life.” It was suddenly important to get that out first. “Came back with a gun while I was fighting off S-S-Serg—” I couldn’t finish the name. “
Him
. While I was fighting
him
off.”

“Come, children, let’s move.” Christophe had the shotgun, the two
malaika
hilts poking up over his shoulders. Nat was already buckling me into my own
malaika
-harness, and I caught sight of a familiar shoulder holster peeping out from under her blue linen jacket. Shanks scooped up the two duffel bags of gear and clothes, Nat’s quick efficient fingers gave a yank at the strap of my messenger bag to make it lay right, and she gave me a little shove toward the door.

“Dibs’ll handle the
loup-garou
,” she said. “Come on, you go right after Reynard. Hey, you know, he’s cute.”

“What?”

“Graves.” She fell into step behind me. “He’s cute. You didn’t mention that.”

“For Christ’s sake, Nat, he’s unconscious.” Something bitter crawled up into my throat. Was it . . . yeah, maybe a little. It was jealousy. I mean, Nat was so pretty.

Jeez. So not the time to be worrying about this, Dru
.

Christophe checked the hall. “Stay close,
milna
.”

“No worries about that.” I wished for a gun, but if we ran across vampires the
malaika
were the better bet. Plus the fact that I was toxic now. That would help.

But Sergej had gotten close enough to Anna to get his fangs in. She was
svetocha
too. He got close enough to my mother to kill her, despite her toxicity to suckers. Still, I’d tangoed with the king of the vampires a couple of times now and came out ahead.

That doesn’t mean your chances are good next time. Don’t get cocky
.

The hall was eerily silent, directionless lighting and a leggy expensive table with a flower arrangement down at the end. I wondered if anyone in the rooms around us had called down to the front desk because of the ruckus.

I glanced back over my shoulder. Shanks hefted the duffels easily, and blond little Dibs had Graves’s lanky form over his shoulder. Wulfen are way stronger than human beings, but it was still thought-provoking to see slim Dibs carrying Goth Boy like it was no big deal. Just a bulky package. Ash followed, padding silently in Dibs’s wake, his eyes still fixed on Graves.

Christophe headed away from the elevators, toward the service
stairs. His shoulders were set, and the
aspect
flickered over him in deep swells like ocean waves.

“Christophe?” I whispered.

He tilted his head slightly, letting me know he was listening.

“Shouldn’t we wait for August?”

“He’ll be around. Quiet,
kochana
, let me work.”

Well, all right. Just because I wouldn’t see Augie didn’t mean he wasn’t around. Got it. Felt like an idiot. Great.

The stairs were like every other set of industrial stairs all over—concrete, layers of chipped yellow paint on the handrails, every sound magnified. The
touch
shifted uneasily inside my head, but whether it was everyone’s uneasiness, or the nervous adrenaline rabbiting under my heartbeat, or actual danger, I couldn’t tell. There was too much static. It was as if all the filters that had been on the
touch
before had been stripped away, and I couldn’t get a clear signal.

Was that why I hadn’t sensed the vampires before? I wished Gran was alive to tell me. Except she’d probably be pissed as hell about her house burning down, and . . .

My mother’s locket cooled, metal suddenly icy against my chest. I stopped dead on the stairs, head cocked.
What was that
?

A faint scratching, claws against concrete. But stealthy; they didn’t want to be heard.

Christophe had halted, too. His head was tilted, probably at the same angle mine was.

“Did you hear that?” Nat, whispering. There was a sound—she’d drawn her Sig Sauer.

Christophe muttered something, but so softly even I couldn’t hear him. Then, “Up. Go up. Robert?”

“Shit,” Shanks breathed. “You’re kidding.” But he turned sharply,
pushed against Dibs. “You okay, Dibsie?” Ash hopped back two steps, staring.

“He’s too thin.” Dibs was careful not to bang Graves’s hanging head on the yellow-painted handrail; Ash somehow slid aside so he was behind Dibs. “I could carry him all day.”

“Don’t say that,” Nat chided, around a half-swallowed laugh. “Come on, boys. Less talk, more move.”

“Ash?” I whispered.

“Bad,” Ash whispered back.

Christophe almost ran into me. “Dru.” A fierce hot whisper in my ear. I was trying to focus past the sound of their movements. There was
another
sound—skitterings, and feather-brushings, and tiny little tapping. “We must move. Now.”

“I hear it,” I whispered back. “What—”

“Maharaj, most likely.” He pushed against me; the contact made my legs work again. He was always herding me around. “Don’t worry. I won’t let them near you.”

Gee, that’s comforting
. I opened my mouth to whisper something, God alone knows what, because just then the lights died. The blackness was a wet towel against my eyes, and the scraping little slithers crested like a wave, a few floors down.

“
Move
!” Christophe whisper-yelled, and I grabbed for the railing. Judged where Nat was by the soundless warmth in front of me, matched her step for step. Christophe managed to be right behind me without tripping me, and when his hand touched my back, I didn’t jump. Flat-palmed, his fingertips just below my bra strap, the warmth from it flushed all through me and made my cheeks burn. He didn’t push, just kept his hand there, and I wondered how he was hanging onto the shotgun and negotiating the stairs at the same time with one hand off the rail, and—

The whispering slithers drew closer. Ash and Dibs both made small sounds, and I knew without being able to see that Shanks had transferred the duffels to one hand and moved up to help Dibs. A door banged open and suddenly it was just me and Nat and Christophe.

“Graves—” I didn’t have enough breath to yell.

“They’ll take care of him!” Nat tossed over her shoulder. “
Move
!”

Christophe was now swearing. At least that’s what it sounded like, a steady stream of filthy-sounding words in a foreign language. A chill moved along my skin, and I tasted that faint maddening ghost of citrus.

Vampires. Or just something big and dangerous.

Go figure—all I had to do was get scared enough running up a dark staircase and the
touch
came through loud, if not clear. Why was the danger candy failing me? Because I’d bloomed.

Great.

My sneakered feet slapped the concrete, and I gave up trying to be quiet. It didn’t matter now. Still, it was hushed, and I realized there had been no slice of light through a door when Dibs and Shanks peeled off.

Where are they taking him? Oh, God, take care of him, please. I know I’ve been sucking at the praying lately, but
please,
dear God, please
—

“Next floor!” Christophe sounded only faintly out of breath. How fast were we going, anyway?

“Got it,” Nat barked back, and the tiptapping scraping behind us became a rumble. The handrail vibrated under my skating fingertips; Christophe pushed and I found a fresh burst of speed. We clambered around a tight turn, then Christophe shoved me across the landing, Nat hit the door like a bomb, and we burst out into dimness that seemed scorch–bright after the absolute black of the stairs. Emergency lighting glowed, and Nat skipped aside, gun up
and braced, pointed behind us. Christophe shoved me again, so hard I almost lost my footing, and whirled. He tossed something small and gleaming metallic through the door behind us, just before it whomped back closed. A shower of metal from the hydraulic overhead hit the carpet in a patter—Nat had busted it off its hinges.

“
Fire in the hole
!” Christophe yelled, and tackled me. Nat hit the floor at the same moment, rolling with sweet natural wulfen grace. My head bounced against carpet, all the breath knocked out of me, and there was a massive, grinding explosion.

What the hell
? But I knew that sound even as I curled up and clapped my hands over my ears. Grenade.

Jesus. Where had he pulled
that
out from?

My ears rang, I shook my head. Choking smoke billowed; the door listed on its hinges. Then Nat was pulling me up, Christophe flowing to his feet with
djamphir
grace, his eyes burning blue in the gloom. He said something I couldn’t hear; I shook my head. My hair had gone all crazy.

My ears cleared all at once with a pop, as if I’d just come up out of the pool. “—fine,” Nat said. “No bleeding. Dru? You okay?”

I coughed, the acrid smoke tearing at my throat. “That was a
grenade
!”

“Pays to be prepared.” Christophe was actually grinning, a fey smile. “Come, that won’t hold them long. End of the hall, ladies. We’re going to fly.”

I had a sinking sensation he wasn’t kidding. Nat brushed at me, quick swipes like Gran when I’d come home dusty. “You all right? Dizzy?”

I managed to shake my head. “That was a
grenade
!” I repeated, like an idiot, and Nat grinned. The yellow in her irises glowed too, and I wondered what my own eyes were doing.

Come on, Dru. Do you really want to know
?

I found out I didn’t. Nat got me going; we set off for the end of the hall. There was a window there, its curtains moving slightly on a breeze from nowhere. I smelled a sudden mineral tang, right before the sprinklers burst into cold drenching life.