“Yeah, only you haven’t found it yet.”
“Give me a minute,” he growled, and then his head jerked up. And he leapt—but not at me. It took me a second to realize that he had raced back into the hallway, and I didn’t think it was out of fear of my little knives.
I dropped the bread knife, which had been a lousy choice anyway, grabbed my iron version off the floor where Scarface had tossed it and shoved the bloody thing back into the straps at the small of my back. Then I scooped up the duffel and tucked it under my arm. That left me a hand for my sword and one for the cleaver, and that was as good as things were going to get.
The rain was coming down harder now, drumming on the windows and the ceiling overhead. But not enough to muffle the ring of steel on steel. I ran to the hall door and saw two things: Cheung and Scarface, halfway up the stairs, fighting three fey back to back. And Louis-Cesare battlingsubrand in the middle of the vestibule.
All around there were blackened marks on the boards of the floor, the stairs and, in one case, in a man-shaped smudge on the wall. Shapes I strongly suspected were the remains of Cheung’s men. I glanced up, and through the ruined ceiling spied other battles going on above our heads, but there looked to be more fey than vamps.
And then I wasn’t thinking anymore, because my eyes had caught sight of the glowing sword insubrand’s hand. My heart lurched sickeningly and an icy fist tightened in my gut. And then I was throwing everything in my bag at anything that moved, but especially at him.
I had a small fortune in legal and not so legal weapons, and I used them all. A couple of disorienting spheres did nothing—I was going to stop buying the damn useless things—but a disruptor had more luck. It packs the punch of a few dozen human grenades, and I timed it perfectly—it hit the floor at his feet and exploded almost at the same time, too fast for even a fey’s reflexes to knock it away.
But when the dust cleared, I saw a chasm where the floor had been, new holes in the roof and half the remaining stairs gone. Cheung and Scarface had one less opponent, who was now a smear all over the wall behind the stairs. Butsubrand was still standing.
It hadn’t gotten through his shields.
“The little creature spits and hisses,” he said, mockingly. “Come, dhampir. Is that the best you can do?”
“Get back!” I told Louis-Cesare, who in a fit of complete insanity was about to jump the chasm. He saw what was in my hand, and his eyes widened, before he changed direction and jumped for the door of the living room instead. Scarface cursed, grabbed Cheung around the waist and dove for the second story. And I threw the nastiest weapon I had.
I didn’t see the dislocator hit, because I’d leapt back into the kitchen the second it left my hand. I didn’t hear it, either, because those things don’t explode in the conventional sense. But I felt the deadly current ripple past. I crouched behind the heavy table, huddled over the duffel bag and stared at nothing.
“What the fuck was that?” Ray whispered below me.
Oh, shit. Ray. “Tell me you were behind something,” I said, belatedly realizing I hadn’t thought to check.
“Fuck yeah, I was fucking behind something,” he whispered viciously, as the vibrations slowly subsided. “My ass is outside with the sane people!”
I breathed a sigh of relief. Dislocators do exactly what their name implies. And it wouldn’t help Ray to get him back together if the pieces were all jumbled up.
After a minute, I edged around the blackened mark on the floor, the edges of which were still sizzling, and crept across the kitchen. Everything was quiet, peaceful. I stuck my head out the door, cautiously looking around. I didn’t see anything.
That was a disappointment, as I’d been hoping for an arm growing out of a wall, or maybe a torso where the banister used to be. As long as it wassubrand’s, I wasn’t picky. But there was nothing.
He must have had time to get out the back door, I thought furiously. I shouldn’t have hesitated, waiting for Cheung, but as much as I had no reason to like the guy, dislocating half his organs seemed a bit much. But now that complete bastard was probably half a block away—
And someone grabbed me from behind.
“Stop doing that!” I said as I was yanked back against a hard chest. “You’re going to scare me to death.”
And then Louis-Cesare walked out of the living room—on the opposite side of the hall.
“That would at least be a novel way to die,”subrand said, casually breaking my wrist. The sword fell to the ground with a clatter.
I sucked in a breath and fought not to scream, while my brain gibbered somewhere in the background that that was impossible, that no shields held against a dislocator, that that was why the damn things were so illegal that it was a life sentence just to possess one. I’d always been willing to take the risk, on the logic that life in jail was better than no life at all. And dislocators were the option of last resort when nothing else worked.
And now we were screwed, we were screwed, we were so very screwed, my brain helpfully informed me. Because I didn’t have anything worse. I didn’t even know of anything worse.
“Release her,” Louis-Cesare said, prompting a laugh out of my captor. I could feel it vibrate through me as he jerked me hard against him.
“And if I do not?” he asked, sounding amused.
I looked down at the slim hand holding me so easily. He was only using one; the other was still wrapped around that damned sword. I watched its pale glow leech over the boards and wondered if it was going to hurt much.
The fey hadn’t looked like he’d enjoyed it, as I recalled.
“I will kill you,” Louis-Cesare said simply.
subrand sighed. “It was an intellectual challenge to breach the wards. But now that it is done, I find myself growing bored.” That hand came up around my throat again, smearing mud and someone else’s blood. “Give me what I want or die,” he said calmly.
“I knew you were a villain,” Louis-Cesare said calmly. “I did not know that you were also a coward.”
Unlike Cheung,subrand ignored him, instead tightening his grip on me. Louis-Cesare made a small movement and the hand around my throat cut off my air entirely. He stopped.
I was running scenarios through my mind, and the only one sticking was the time. I could hear the clock in the kitchen ticking so slowly that I was sure something must have been wrong with it. How many minutes were left until the wards cycled back on? Two, three?
Because I didn’t think I had that many.
And thensubrand jerked and spun, throwing me against the wall and slicing through the air behind us with the sword. It should have taken off his assailant’s head, but the guy who’d just nailed him in the temple with my lost stiletto didn’t have one. And then the knife at my back was out and stabbing up.
subrand turned at the last second, or I’d have had him; as it was, the cold iron carved a bloody furrow across his chest. It looked like those shields didn’t hold so well against one thing, I thought, as two fey dropped to the ground from overhead.
They landed almost on top of Louis-Cesare, and several others poured out of the remains of the pantry. They were trying to overwhelm him with numbers, but Scarface gave a yell from overhead and dive- bombed them, a sword in each hand and a huge grin on his face. I didn’t see any more, because I was trying to avoid getting the same treatment as the fey in the kitchen.
It wasn’t easy.subrand didn’t even flinch, either at the blood pouring down his temple or at the gash in his torso. He also didn’t slow down, and he moved even faster in person than his doppelgänger had, a blur of silver against the dark hallway.
I’d dropped as soon as the heart blow missed, grabbed my fallen sword and rolled to the side. But I hadn’t had time to get back to my feet before that glowing blade stabbed down, hard enough to stick into the floorboards. He wrenched it out, and a split second later, it was flashing down again, and again, and again, as I rolled around the vestibule, dodging the staccato-like stabs, barely stay
ing ahead of the blade and only getting my own sword up once.
That resulted in getting it sliced in two, as I was going to be any minute now, and thensubrand stumbled, cursing, the first sign of pain I’d seen. Of course, that was understandable, considering that a vampire head had latched onto his ankle like a rabid pit bull.
The rest of Ray was in the vestibule, hiding behind some furniture, which he started lobbing at us. A side table hitsubrand in the chest, and a lamp struck him in the shoulder, and then Ray’s head was sent flying to land with a wet-sounding thump well down the hallway. Whereupon his body went into a frenzy, tossing everything and anything it could get its hands on. And it wasn’t bothering to aim anymore.
Or maybe it was and it just couldn’t see that well—I didn’t know—but in short order I was pelted by a wooden chair, a vase, the matching side table, and I barely ducked in time to avoid a large mirror.subrand had been headed for me, but had had to jerk back to avoid the mirror, giving me a second to strike. And a second was all I needed.
I lunged, the broken sword that remained in my hand up and aiming for his torso. That close, I never miss—unless I’m using my left hand and wearing a dress with a trailing hem. My foot caught on the fabric, I tripped and slammed face-first into the wall. This is why I wear jeans, I thought furiously, as I spun, and plunged the sword blindly into warm, yielding flesh.
There was no chance to see what, exactly, I’d hit, because the next second I was thrown back a half dozen yards into the vestibule. I hit Ray and we went down in a tangle of thrashing limbs. I jumped back to my feet again, sword in hand—only to find that the battle was over.
Suddenly the only fey in the hall were four bodies left sprawled on the muddy boards. I scrambled toward the nearest, tripped over the dress again, cursed and staggered the rest of the way to its side.
I rolled the limp, blood- soaked figure over. The face was unrecognizable, but the torso was relatively clear of wounds—no jagged stab line and minimal blood.
The next one was the same, and the next, and the next. I stood up and kicked the wall, so furious I could barely see. I’d had him. Goddamn it, I’d had him.
Until I’d missed.
Chapter Twenty-six
The skirt of the dress was hanging half off and threatening to trip me with every step. I tore it the rest of the way loose and threw it on the floor. I was never wearing another goddamned skirt as long as I lived. Which probably wouldn’t be too long now that I’d let my best chance to rid myself of that unbelievable bastard slip through my—
Somebody whistled and I looked up, suddenly realizing that I had an audience.
And a hallway full of vampires.
The whistler was Scarface, who was leaning on the banister overhead, grinning at me. He was swinging a head by the hair, but it wasn’t Ray’s. The long, flowing silver-blond locks were gory, and the head itself was trailing veins and ligaments out of the neck, which hadn’t been severed cleanly as a sword stroke would have done. It took me a second to realize that it had been literally ripped off a fey’s shoulders.
Good, I thought viciously. And smiled back.
He patted it fondly. “Next time Convocation comes around, I’m gonna wear this on my belt.”
I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or his boss. Cheung was standing in the middle of the hall, just below the railing. His suit coat was off and his natty orange tie was askew, but otherwise he looked about the same. Except for the gun in one hand and the sword in the other. And his expression, which went better with the arms than the Armani.
I did a head count and realized that we were seriously outnumbered. In all, it looked like eight of his vampires had survived. Except for Scarface, they were crowding the small hallway, backing up the boss. And unlike their buddy, they weren’t smiling.
To make matters worse, it was past time for the wards to have kicked back in, if they were planning on doing it. The fey must have really screwed them up, probably so no one could raise them during the fight. It was a good strategy, but it meant just one thing for us.
If Cheung decided to attack, we were toast.
He glanced at me and Louis-Cesare stepped between us. Cheung regarded him impatiently, his face more fierce and hawklike than ever. “I have lost seven men tonight,” he said brusquely. “I think that is enough.”
Louis-Cesare nodded abruptly, but he didn’t drop the sword. Cheung made a disgusted sound and handed his own to one of his boys. He put a hand in his pocket and Louis-Cesare tensed. But he just took out a handkerchief to wipe some blood off his cheek. If it had been human, he’d have absorbed it, but the fey kind gives vamps no nourishment. And from what I’ve heard, it tastes foul.
“I don’t have the rune,” I told him, while I had the chance.
“I know you do not,” he told me, pretty calmly under the circumstances. “I saw your face when the fey threatened you. If you had had the stone, you would have used it. Or, if you did not know how, you would have given it to him.”
Louis-Cesare frowned. “Are you accusing Dorina of cowardice?”
“No. I would have done the same. The stone is valuable, but I would not die for it. And now I would like an explanation for why my men did so!”
Louis-Cesare and I exchanged a glance. I didn’t see any reason to correct Cheung about why the fey were here. Besides, I was fairly sure that finding Naudiz figured onsubrand’s list somewhere.
Just not at the top.
“Jókell—that’s the fey who contacted you—stole it from the Svarestri,” I told him.
Cheung’s scowl deepened and his tiger tat looked up, its emerald eyes gleaming. “He assured me that it was a family heirloom!”
“Maybe next time you should ask which family. The rune belongs to the Blarestri royal house. The Svarestri stole it with his help, and then he double-crossed them.”
Cheung’s face lost some of its color. “You are saying that there are two fey royal houses involved in this?”
“And at least three Senates. The rune’s the hottest item in town, only nobody knows where it is. And we can’t ask Jókell because he’s dead.”
“Yes. We found the body but not the stone. It had been taken.”
“By Elyas, of the European Senate,” Louis-Cesare informed him.
“Elyas.” Cheung’s hand clenched on the handkerchief. “He will pay for the losses he has caused me this night.”
“That is doubtful.”
Cheung bristled. “You believe that lightweight to be my equal? I would have challenged him years ago if I thought he would fight his own battles!”
“I believe only that it is difficult to revenge oneself on a corpse.”
Cheung looked confused.
“Elyas is dead,” I said bluntly. “Someone killed him tonight and took the stone, and no, we don’t know who.”
“You are one of the chief suspects,” Louis-Cesare added helpfully.
Cheung stared at him for a moment. “I beg your pardon.”
“Not anymore,” I objected. “He was here waiting for me while Elyas was being killed. And so were his men.”
“That is not an alibi,” Louis-Cesare argued. “He could have followed us to Elyas’s, murdered him and been here in time to intercept you on your return.”
“If he knew Elyas had the stone. But he didn’t. He wasn’t even in New York when Jókell was killed.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. We have only his word for it that he arrived in New York when he said he did. But let us assume that he was telling the truth. He could nonetheless have surmised that Elyas was the thief. He had been plagued by telephone calls from the man all day; Elyas told me so himself. When the rune turned up missing, it would not have been difficult to infer that Cheung might be responsible.”
Cheung’s face had been getting progressively redder as Louis-Cesare talked. “You are accusing me?”
“You had an excellent motive,” Louis-Cesare said, as calmly as if he weren’t outnumbered eight to one. “Probably the best
of anyone. The other interested parties merely want the stone. You need it, to avoid the wrath of your mistress.”
“But he was here all night,” I insisted, “from shortly after we escaped him at the Club.”
“And how do you know this? The man would say anything.” Louis-Cesare waved a hand, fortunately not the one with the sword in it. “He is clearly desperate.”
“He doesn’t look desperate.” Cheung looked somewhere between confused and pissed.
“Of course he is desperate. He is facing execution!”
“Execution?” Cheung said sharply, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of us.
“It is a death penalty to break the Senate’s truce. It is also death to murder another senator outside of a duel. And Elyas was slaughtered like an animal,” Louis-Cesare informed him. Cheung lost the rest of his color very quickly.
“But he was here,” I insisted. “We have a witness.”
“One of his men?” Louis-Cesare sneered. “They would say anything for him.”
“No. One of ours. He kidnapped Radu to find out who I was and to try to get me to talk. He’s around here somewhere. . . .”
“You kidnapped my Sire?” Louis-Cesare demanded, rounding on Cheung, who was starting to look a little beleaguered.
“He has not been harmed.”
“That is irrelevant. Kidnapping him alone was a violent act and a clear violation of the truce!”
“She kidnapped my servant,” Cheung said, pointing at me.
“She is not vampire. The truce does not affect her.”
“She was sent by a vampire!”
“She was sent by the Senate, who I am sure will be receiving a formal complaint from Lord Radu very shortly.” He looked pointedly at me.
“Yes,” I said, hoping I knew where he was going with this. “And I might have mentioned that you were here, when I called to let them know I have Raymond.”
“They already have men on the way,” Louis-Cesare added confidently. “Can you not feel them approach?”
I thought that was a risky strategy, but it seemed to work. Cheung began to look a little nervous. Of course, that wasn’t necessarily good for us; he might decide to kill the witnesses and blame it on the fey.