Obsidian Butterfly ab-9

by Laurell K. Hamilton

"Add in the shapeshifters," Edward said.

  It had turned into a competition. I wasn't really sure that I wanted to seem as dangerous as I really was, but I trusted Edward's judgment. "Oh, hell, Edward, I don't know." I started counting in my head. Finally, I said, "Seven."

  "So fifty," he said.

  Just hearing it out loud made me want to cringe. It sounded so Psychos'R'Us.

  "I've still got you beat, bitch," Simon said.

  He was beginning to get on my nerves. "The fifty only counts the people I did personally with a weapon."

  "You mean it doesn't count the ones you killed barehanded?" He smiled when he said it, like he didn't believe it.

  "No, I counted those."

  The smile got positively condescending. "Then what didn't you count, little bitch."

  "Witches, necromancers, things like that."

  "Why not count them?" This from Mickey.

  I shrugged.

  "Because using magic to kill is an automatic death sentence," Edward said.

  I frowned at him. "I never said anything about magic."

  "We aren't friends," Simon said, "but you can be honest tonight, bitch. We won't tell the cops. Will we, boys?" He laughed and they laughed with him, with that same sort of nervous mirth that Itzpapalotl's vampires had had, like they were afraid not to laugh.

  I shrugged. "Most of the fifty are sanctioned kills. The cops already know about them."

  "You ever been on trial?" This from the until now silent Rooster.

  "No."

  "Fifty legal kills," Simon said.

  "Give or take," I said.

  Simon looked at Edward. They had another one of those weighted staring contests.

  "Would Van Cleef like her?"

  "Yes, but she wouldn't like him."

  "Why not?"

  "She's not big on orders and listening to people just because they've got an extra stripe on their shoulder."

  "Not disciplined," Simon said.

  "She's disciplined. You just got to have more than rank to get her to listen to you."

  "She listens to you," Simon said. "She didn't want to talk about her kills, but she took your lead."

  His saying that meant Simon was very observant, too observant for comfort actually. I'd underestimated him. Stupid of me. No, not stupid, careless.

  Another man came up with the identical gun in his hands. He was just shy of six foot, but seemed smaller, delicate somehow. The hair was a deep brown, cut short, curly. The face was pretty in a girlish kind of way. His skin was that dark tan that isn't really tan at all. He had a set of small headphones around his neck, with wires connecting them to a metal box and a small flat ... wand attached with a cord to the box. It had to be Deuce and the wand.

  I didn't know what it was, but Edward went very still. He knew what it was, and he didn't like it. Not a good sign.

  "Where the fuck have you been?" Mickey said.

  "Mickey," Simon said, and he said 'Mickey' the way that Edward could say 'Olaf' and get perfect obedience. There was no more comment from the backup players. Simon looked at Deuce. "Do it."

  Deuce slipped the headphones on, hit a switch and some knobs on the box, and a light went on on the box. He got a distracted inward look on his face as if he were listening to things we couldn't hear. He started at Edward's hat and worked down, hesitated over the chest area, then continued the sweep. He knelt on the ground beside Edward and waved the wand up the backside of Edward. He was careful to stay out of the line of fire of all three guns. His own gun was on a sling that he pushed far behind his back, keeping it out of the way with a well-placed elbow as he moved.

  He stood, slipped the headphones off, and unplugged them from the box. "Listen to this." He waved the wand over Edward's chest. It beeped frantically.

  "Take off the shirt," Simon said.

  Edward didn't argue, He unbuttoned the shirt and handed it to Deuce, who waved the wand over it. The thing stayed silent.

  Deuce waved the wand over Edward's chest again, and the wand beeped. He ran the wand over the shirt in his hand, no noise. Deuce shook his head.

  "The undershirt," Simon said.

  Edward had to take his hat off. He handed it to me, then lifted the undershirt over his head. The Kevlar looked very artificial and white. He handed the undershirt to Deuce, and we went through the same routine again.

  "Take the vest off," Simon said.

  "Tell me one thing first," Edward asked. "Are the kids all right?"

  "Why the fuck do you care about some bitch's kids?"

  Edward just looked at him, but there was something in that look that made Simon take a step back. He noticed what he'd done and took the step back, pointing the gun very solidly at Edward's chest. "Take off the damn vest."

  "It's too hot for body armor anyway," Edward said. It seemed an odd thing to say for Edward man of few words, but you had to know Edward to know it was odd. I had the feeling that Edward had just put the word out for zero survivors. He undid the Velcro, slipped it over his head and handed it to Deuce.

  Edward stood there naked from the waist up. He looked fragile beside the musclebound Mickey or the very tall Simon, but they saw in him what I saw in him because unarmed and half-naked they were still scared of him. It was there in the way Simon reacted to him. The way the others, except Deuce, kept their distance. Deuce didn't seem to be working on the same instincts as the rest, though he never once crossed the fire line. He made Edward stretch out his hand, or he knelt under the direct line of fire. None of them were careless. It wasn't a good sign.

  He ran the wand over the vest. When the wand beeped, he handed it to Simon. Then he ran the wand over Edward's bare chest. Silence. Good, because I think Simon would have said, "Skin," in the same voice he'd said, shirt, undershirt, vest. Just because Edward made him nervous didn't mean he wasn't scary all of his own.

  "In the body armor, that's good," Simon said. "Most people, even if they have you strip, don't check the armor."

  Edward just looked at him.

  "Her next."

  Deuce duck-walked in front of us. Just in case someone started shooting, he was safe. No one shot anyone. Of course the night was young. He stood on the other side of me. He didn't bother to put the earphones back on, just ran the wand over me. It beeped. "Hand the hat back to him, please."

  Please -- refreshing after hearing myself called bitch about a dozen times. "My pleasure," I said and handed Edward's hat back to him.

  Deuce had looked up when I spoke, as if he wasn't used to politeness in others either. The wand ran over me, and it beeped at chest level.

  "Take the shirt off, bitch," Simon said.

  I untucked the shirt and started unbuttoning it. "My name's Anita, not bitch."

  "Like I give a fuck," he said.

  Fine, I'd tried being nice. I handed the shirt to Deuce and his magic wand.

  It beeped, but when he ran it back over me, nothing. He laid the box gently on the ground, the wand on top of it, and started looking at the shirt. In less than a minute he'd found a small wire with a slightly thicker head sewn into the collar of the shirt. "Looks like a transmitter, maybe a homing beacon."

  Simon tossed the vest to Deuce. "Cut it open, find out what's inside."

  Deuce pulled a gravity knife from his back pocket, did one of those quick wrist movements that spilled the blade open. He went over the vest with his hands first, eyes closed, then he started cutting. It was a longer wire, with a little box attached. "It's a receiver. Someone out there is hearing everything we say."

  "Destroy the homer."

  Deuce crushed mine under his heel. When it was a little metallic and plastic slimy place on the porch, he smiled up at us as if he'd done a good thing. Deuce was a few bricks shy of a load. Funny how many people that Edward introduced me to were.

  "Who's out there, Undertaker?" Simon asked.

  Edward had put his hat back on. It looked funny with the shirt gone, but he seemed perfectly at ease. If he was nervous, you couldn'
t tell it.

  "I am going to ask you this, one more time nice, then it won't be so nice." He seemed to square his shoulders as if he were the one about to take a beating. "Who was on the other end of this wire? Who's out there?"

  Edward shook his head.

  Simon nodded.

  Rooster hit him in the back, and it must have been hard because it drove him to his knees. Something on the butt of the gun broke the skin in two small cuts. He stayed on all fours for a few seconds as if it had stunned him, then he got up, on his feet and faced Simon.

  "Answer the question, Undertaker."

  Edward shook his head, again. He was ready for the next blow. It staggered him, but he didn't go down. There was a third small cut. The cuts weren't anything, but they showed how much force was being used. He was going to be bruised all to hell come morning.

  "Maybe she knows," Mickey said.

  "I don't know who they are," I said, and the lie fell smoothly off my tongue. "Edward said we needed backup. He found some."

  "You'd come into a situation like this with unknown people at your back? You don't seem that stupid," Simon said.

  "Edward vouched for them," I said.

  "And you trust him?"

  I nodded.

  "You trust him with your life?"

  "Yes," I said.

  Simon looked at me, then back to Edward. "She your squeeze?"

  Edward blinked, and I knew that was him trying to buy time to think what answer would be the least painful. "No."

  "I'm not sure I believe you, either of you, but if we start beating up the bitch, and she gets too hurt to do the spell, Riker'd be pissed."

  "Why don't you have Undertaker ask the backup to come in?" Deuce said.

  Everyone Sort of froze, then looked at him, Simon said, "What did you say?"

  "If they can hear us, why not have him ask them to come up, hands up, that sort of thing."

  Simon nodded, then turned hack to Edward. "Tell them to come up to the house. Hands where we can see them."

  "They won't come," Edward said.

  "They'll come or we'll blow your fucking head off." Simon put the short-butted gun to his shoulder, and put the barrel against Edward's forehead. "Ask them to come into the house. Hands up. Throw their guns down."

  It was funny how Simon had never once thought it might be the police out there, as if he didn't believe the Undertaker would bring the police to the party.

  Edward stared down the barrel of that gun, looked past it, into Simon's eyes, and the look was his usual look. His eyes were cold and empty as winter skies. There was no fear. There was no anything. It was like he wasn't there at all.

  Edward may have been calm, but I wasn't. I'd seen enough bad men to know that Simon meant it. More than that, he wanted to do it. He'd feel safer if Edward were dead. I was out of ideas, but I couldn't just stand here and watch it happen.

  "Tell them, Undertaker, or I will blow your head all over this porch."

  "Even if I asked, they wouldn't come."

  Simon pressed the barrel in, so that Edward had to brace his feet against it to keep from being pushed backwards. "You better hope they come. We don't need you alive, just her."

  "I need him alive," I said.

  Simon's eyes flicked to me, then settled back on Edward. "Lying bitch."

  "Are you a witch, Simon?" I asked, though I knew the answer. I'd have spotted it if he had been a practitioner.

  "What the fuck does that matter?"

  "Then you don't know what I need to do this spell, do you? Your boss would be pissed if you blew away someone I needed to keep him safe from the monsters."

  "Why do you need him?" Deuce asked.

  I swallowed and tried to think, nothing good was coming. I tried for truth. When I'm out of other options, it still works. "Riker said he wouldn't hurt the kids. He said he wouldn't hurt us. He said he just wanted me to save him from the monster. If you blow ... Ted's brains into the next county, then I'm not going to believe any of Riker's other promises. The second I think that Riker is going to kill the kids and us once I do the job, then I don't have any incentive to help him."

  Simon's eyes flicked to me again. "We can give you incentive." I didn't see him nod, but I felt Mickey moving behind me. I've never been good at taking a blow. I moved without thinking and he missed my shoulder, but I'd been right. He knew how to fight. I was turning towards him to do what, I'm not sure, when the butt of the gun caught me on the chin. I think I'd made him mad by ducking because he hit me hard.

  The next thing I knew I was on the ground, looking up. Deuce was kneeling by me, stroking my face. I had the impression he'd been petting me for awhile, as if I'd passed out. I didn't remember passing out. The sunglasses were gone. I didn't know if Deuce took them off, or if they flew off when my head went back.

  "She's awake," Deuce said, voice sort of dreamy. He gave me a gentle smile and kept stroking my face.

  Simon knelt by me, blocking out the light. "What's your name?"

  "Anita, Anita Blake."

  "How many fingers?"

  I watched his hand move back and forth, following it with my eyes. "Two."

  "Can you sit up?"

  It was a good question. "With help, maybe."

  Deuce put his arm behind my back and lifted me. I let him take a lot of the weight, not because it was necessary, but because them thinking I was more hurt than I was might make them think I was less of a threat. We needed some sort of edge.

  I rested against Deuce's shoulder. He was humming something tuneless under his breath, his hand cupping my face, stroking the skin, over and over. I was finally able to see everything. Edward was on his knees with his hands clasped on top of his cowboy hat. Rooster had a gun touching his head. Edward didn't look hurt. More like they'd done it to keep him from doing anything heroic.

  Mickey had a bloody lip. He was carefully not making eye contact with anyone.

  "Can you stand?" Simon asked.

  "With help, yeah."

  "Deuce."

  Deuce helped me to my feet, and the world wavered. I clung to Deuce, hands digging in as the world tried to slide out my ear. Maybe I wasn't pretending to be hurt.

  "Shit," Simon said. "Can you walk if Deuce helps you?"

  I started to nod, and that made me nauseated. I had to breathe through it before I could answer him. "I think so."

  "Good. Let's go." He backed into the house, eyes watching the darkness beyond, though with all the lights his night vision was probably shit. Deuce and I went next. He had Edward's wire hung around his neck like a doctor's stethoscope. Edward was next, hands still firmly on top of his head. Rooster, then Mickey bringing up the rear. They staggered us so that if someone started shooting, there was room to maneuver.

  Simon started up a flight of stairs. I looked up the long flight and the world swam. Deuce called, "Simon, I'm not sure she's up to stairs."

  "Mickey." The man in question moved up to the foot of the stairs. "Carry her."

  "I don't want him touching me," I said.

  "I didn't ask you, either of you," Simon said.

  Mickey gave his gun to Simon, then took my arm. He pulled me too fast and I was suddenly airborne on his shoulder, my head hanging down. I couldn't breathe. The world was spinning, and I was going to be sick.

  "I'm going to throw up."

  He dumped me unceremoniously back to my feet, and I fell. It was Simon who caught me, "Are you too hurt to do the spell?"

  I knew the answer to that one -- no. Because if Riker thought I couldn't help him, he would kill us all. "I can do it if Mickey here doesn't dangle me over his shoulder with my head hanging down. I need to stay upright, or it's not going to get any better."

  "Carry her in your arms, not over your shoulders," Simon said. "All those muscles got to be good for something."

  Mickey picked me up in his arms like you'd carry a small child. He stood there like I weighed nothing. He was strong but carrying like this is harder than it looks. We'd see how he di
d if there was more than one floor to climb. Here's hoping he didn't drop me.

  I put my arm around his shoulders. I'd have clasped hands around his neck to be more secure, but I couldn't reach around his deltoids without straining. "How much do you bench press?"

  "Three-ninety."

  "I'm impressed," I said.

  He preened a little. Mickey was dangerous, but if I could keep him from hitting me, he was the weak one. Rooster followed orders too well. Simon was Simon. Deuce seemed harmless, but there was something in those dreamy eyes that was a little scary. Maybe I was wrong, but I'd try Mickey before I tried Deuce, for trickery anyway. Arm wrestling, I'd take Deuce.

  Mickey walked up the stairs with me in his arms, effortlessly. I could feel the muscles in his legs pushing, working. Again, I had the sense of immense physical potential and quickness.

  "What's Mickey mean?" I asked.

  "Nothing."

  "Simon explained his nickname, I'm just wanting to know what yours means."

  Deuce answered. "It's for Mickey Mouse."

  "Shut up, Deuce."

  "He's got a tattoo of Mickey on his butt," Deuce said as if Mickey hadn't spoken.

  Mickey's face darkened, and he turned to glare at the other man. I just fought to keep my face blank. What kind of moron would have Mickey Mouse tattooed on his butt? But not out loud, not with those tree trunk arms wrapped around my tender body. If I hadn't had the marks on me, he'd have probably killed me with that one blow. No, I didn't want Mickey angry with me.

  There was a landing, and a second flight of stairs. Mickey didn't even hesitate on the landing. He just went for the next set of stairs. His legs moved as easily up the second set as the first. He never paused to catch his breath. In fact, his breathing barely sped up. Whatever you could complain about Mickey, being out of shape wasn't part of it.

  I told him so. "How far you jog a day?"

  "Five miles, every other day. How'd you know?"

  "A lot of body builders would be having trouble by now. They neglect the aerobic stuff, but you move like some kind of well-oiled machine. You're not even breathing hard." There was something very intimate about being carried in someone's arms like this, a reminder of childhood and your parents' arms maybe.

  Mickey's hands tightened on me; the one on my thigh began to massage my leg. I didn't tell him not to. It's been my experience that if a man is interested in having sex with you, they hesitate to kill you before they've had the sex. This rule is not always true, but more often than not. The trick is to get the man thinking more about sex than violence, so he's a little confused. We needed a little confusion among our enemies right now.