by Butcher, Jim
“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Gard rasped. “It’s not as though it would be the first time.”
I held the wound together, waiting on the glue. “I can’t,” I said quietly.
She was breathing too quickly, too hard. I could barely keep the wound closed. “Whatever you…nggh…say. After all…it’s your ass on the line.”
I grimaced and withdrew my fingers slowly, making sure the wound stayed closed. We’d gotten the last few inches, and the opening no longer gaped. “Can’t deny that,” I said. Then I squinted at her. “Who is it?” I asked. “Which signatory of the Accords swiped Marcone?”
“You’ve met them once already,” Gard said.
From downstairs Thomas suddenly shouted, “Harry!”
I whirled toward the door in time for the window, behind me, to explode in a shower of glass. It jounced off my spell-layered leather duster, but I felt a pair of hot stings as bits of glass cut my neck and my ear. I tried to turn and had the impression of something coming at my face. I slapped it aside with my left hand even as I ducked, then hopped awkwardly back from the intruder.
It landed in a crouch upon the bed, digging one foot into the helpless Gard’s wounded belly, a creature barely more than the size of a child. It was red and black, vaguely humanoid in shape, but covered in an insect’s chitin. Its eyes were too large for its head, multifaceted, and its arms ended in the serrated clamps of a preying mantis. Membranous wings fluttered at its back, a low and maddening buzzing.
And that wasn’t the scary part.
Its eyes gleamed with an inner fire, an orange-red glow—and immediately above the first set of eyes another set, this one blazing with sickly green luminescence, blinked and focused independently of the first pair. A sigil of angelic script burned against the chitin of the insect-thing’s forehead.
I suddenly wished, very much, that my staff weren’t twenty feet away and down a flight of stairs. It might as well have been on the moon, for all the good it was going to do me.
No sooner had that thought come out than the Knight of the Blackened Denarius opened its insectoid maw, let out a brassy wail of rage, and bounded at my face.
Chapter Thirteen
At one time in my life, a shapeshifted, demonically possessed maniac crashing through a window and trying to rip my face off would have come as an enormous and nasty surprise.
But that time was pretty much in the past.
I’d spent the last several years on the fringes of a supernatural war between the White Council of the wizards and the Vampire Courts. In the most recent years, I’d gotten more directly involved. Wizards who go to a fight without getting their act together tend not to come home. Worse, the people depending on them for protection wind up getting hurt.
The second most important rule of combat wizardry is a simple one: Don’t let them touch you.
Whether you’re talking about vampires or ogres or some other kind of monstrous nasty, most of them can do hideous things to you if they get close enough to touch—as even a lesser member of the gruff clan had demonstrated on my nose the night before.
The prime rule of combat wizardry is simple too: Be prepared.
Wizards can potentially wield tremendous power against just about anything that might come along—if we’re ready to handle it. The problem is that the things that come after us know that too, so the favored tactic is the sudden ambush. Wizards might live a long time, but we aren’t rend-proof. You’ve got to think ahead in order to have enough time to act when the heat is on.
I’d made myself ready and taught young wizards with even less experience than me how to be ready too—for an occasion just such as this.
The coil of steel chain in my coat pocket came out smoothly as I drew it, because I’d practiced the draw thousands of times, and I whipped one end at the mantis-thing’s face.
It was faster than me, of course. They usually are. Those two clamps seized the end of the chain. The mantis’s jaws clamped down on it, and the creature ripped the chain from my hands with a wrench of its head and upper body, quicker than thought.
That was a positive thing, really. The mantis hadn’t had time to notice two important details about the chain: first, that the whole thing was coated in copper.
Second, that a standard electrical plug was attached to the other end.
I flipped my fingers at the nearest wall outlet and barked, “Galvineus!”
The plug shot toward the outlet like a striking snake and slammed home.
The lights flickered and went dim. The Denarian hopped abruptly into the air and then came down, thrashing and twitching madly. The electricity had forced the muscles in its jaws and clamps to contract, and it couldn’t release the chain. Acrid smoke began to drift up from various points on its carapace.
“Wizard!” Gard gasped. She gripped the wooden handle of her ax and tossed it weakly toward me. I heard shouting and the bellow of a shotgun coming from downstairs. It stayed in the background, unimportant information. Everything that mattered to me was nearly within an arm’s length.
The ax bounced and struck against my leg, but my duster prevented it from cutting into me. I picked up the ax—Christ, was it heavy—hauled off, and brought it straight down on the Denarian, as if I’d been splitting cordwood.
The ax crunched home, sinking to the eye somewhere in the Denarian’s thorax. The thing’s convulsions ripped the weapon out of my hands—and the plug from the wall outlet.
The mantis’s head whipped toward me, and it screamed again. It ripped out the ax and came to its feet in the same instant.
“Get clear!” Gard rasped.
I did, diving to the side and going prone.
The wounded woman emptied her assault rifle into the mantis in two or three seconds of howling thunder, shooting from the hip from about three feet away.
Words cannot convey how messy that was. Suffice to say that it would probably cost more to remove the ichor stains than it would to strip and refinish the walls, the floor, and the ceiling.
Gard gasped, and the empty rifle slid from her fingers. She shuddered and pressed her hands to her belly.
I moved to her side and picked her up, trying not to strain her stomach. She was heavy. Not like a sumo wrestler or anything, but she was six feet tall in her bare feet and had more than the usual amount of muscle. She felt at least as heavy as Thomas. I grunted with effort, got her settled, and started for the door.
Gard let out a croaking little whimper, and more blood welled from her injury. Faint pangs of sympathetic pain flickered through my own belly. Her eyes had rolled back in her head. It had taken a lot to beat Gard’s apparent pain threshold, but it looked like the visit from the Denarian—and the activity it had forced on her—had done it.
The day just couldn’t have gotten any more disturbing.
Until the splattered mass that had been the Denarian started quivering and moving.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” I shouted.
Where there had been one big bug thing, now there were thousands of little mantislike creatures. They all began bounding toward the center of the room, piling up into two mounds that gradually began to take on the shape of insectoid legs.
The shotgun downstairs roared again, and running footsteps approached.
“Harry!” Thomas shouted. He appeared at the bottom of the stairs, sword in hand, just as I hurried out the door, still toting Gard.
“We had company up here!” I called. I started down the stairs as quickly and carefully as I could.
“I think there are three more of them down here,” Thomas said, making way for me. He took note of Gard. “Holy crap.”
A corpse lay on the floor of the entry hall. It was black and furry and big, and I couldn’t tell much more about it than that. The top four-fifths of its head were gone and presumably accounted for the mess all over the opposite wall. Its guts were spilled out on either side of its body, steaming in the cold air drifting through the shattered front door. Hend
ricks crouched in the shadowed living room, covering the entryway with his shotgun.
Something scraped over the floorboards of the ceiling above us.
“What’s that?” Thomas asked.
“A giant preying mantis demon, dragging itself over the floor.”
Thomas blinked at me.
“That’s just a guess,” I said.
Hendricks growled, “How is she?”
“Not good,” I said. “This is a bad spot to be in. No defenses here, not even a threshold to work with. We need to bail.”
“Shouldn’t move her,” Hendricks said. “It could kill her.”
“Not moving her will kill her,” I countered. “Us too.”
Hendricks stared at me, but he didn’t argue.
Thomas was already reaching into his pocket. He was tense, his eyes flicking restlessly, maybe in an attempt to track things that he could hear moving around outside. He dug out his key ring and held it with his teeth. Then he took his saber in one hand, that monster Desert Eagle in the other, and started humming “Froggy Went A-Courting” under his breath.
Gard had slowly grown limp, and her head lolled bonelessly. I was having trouble keeping her steady. “Hendricks,” I said, nodding at Gard.
Without a word he set the shotgun aside and took the woman from me. I saw his eyes as he did, touched with worry and fear—and not for himself. He took her very gently, something I would never have imagined him doing, and growled, “How do I know you won’t leave us behind? Let them rip us apart while you run?”
“You don’t,” I said curtly, picking up my staff. “Stay if you want. These things will kill you both; I guarantee it. Or you take a chance with us. Your call.”
Hendricks glared at me for a moment, but when he glanced down at the unconscious woman in his arms, the rocky scowl faded. He nodded once.
“Harry?” Thomas asked. “How do you want to do this?”
“We head straight for your oil tanker,” I said. “Shortest route between two points and all.”
“They’ll have the door covered,” Thomas said.
“I hope so.”
“Okay,” he said, rolling his eyes. “As long as there’s a plan.”
Footsteps crossed the floor above us, and paused at the top of the stairs.
Thomas’s gun swiveled toward the stairs. I didn’t turn. I covered the doorway.
A voice like out-of-tune violin strings stroked by a rotting cobra hide drifted down the stairs. “Wizard.”
“I hear you,” I said.
“This situation might be resolved without further conflict. Are you willing to parley?”
“Why not,” I answered. I didn’t turn away from the door.
“Have I your word of safe passage?”
“You do.”
“Then you have mine,” the voice answered.
“Whatever,” I said. I lowered my voice to an almost subvocal whisper I was sure only Thomas could hear. “Watch them. They’ll try something the second they get a chance.”
“Why give them the opportunity?” Thomas murmured.
“Because we might find out something important by talking. It’s harder to question corpses. Switch with me.”
We traded places, and I kept my staff pointed at the stairs as the mantis-thing came down them. It crouched on the topmost step it could occupy while still maintaining visual contact with the entry hall. It looked none the worse for wear for being blown to hamburger by Gard’s rifle.
It crouched, the motion eerie and alien, and tilted its head almost entirely to the horizontal, first one way, then the other, as it looked at us. Then its stomach heaved. For a second I thought it was throwing up, as a yellow-and-pink mucus began to emerge from its mouth. After a second, though, it lifted its clamplike claws and gripped its head, then peeled it back and away from the mucus, the motion disturbingly akin to someone donning a too-small turtleneck sweater. A human face emerged from the mucus and gunk, while the split carapace of the head flopped about on its chest and upper back.
The Denarian looked like she was about fifteen years old, except for her hair, which was silvery grey, short, and plastered to her skull. She had huge and gorgeous green eyes, a heart-shaped face, and a delicate, pointy chin. Her skin was pale and clear, her cheekbones high, her features lovely and symmetrical. The second set of green eyes and the sigil of angelic script still glowed faintly on her forehead.
She smiled slowly. “I wasn’t expecting the chain. I thought fire and force were your weapons of choice.”
“You were standing on top of someone I knew,” I said. “I didn’t feel like burning her or blasting her through the wall.”
“Foolish,” the girl murmured.
“I’m still here.”
“But so am I.”
“You have five seconds to get to the fucking point,” I said. “I’m not going to let you stall while your buddies get into position.”
Mantis Girl narrowed her eyes. The eyes on her forehead narrowed as well. Très creepy. She nodded at Hendricks and Gard. “My business is with them. Not you, O Warden of the White Council. Give them to me. You may leave in peace. Once they are dead, I will gather my compatriots and we will depart the city without harm to any innocents.”
I grunted. “What if I need them alive?”
“If you wish, I can wait until you have interrogated them.”
“Yeah, that’s what I want: you, standing around behind my back.”
She lifted a talon. “I give you my solemn word. No harm will come to you or your companion.”
“Tempting,” I said.
“Shall I add in material reward as well?” Mantis Girl asked. “I’ll pay you two hundred thousand, in cash.”
“Why on earth would you do that?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “My quarrel is with the upstart Baron and his subjects—not the White Council. I would prefer to demonstrate my respect to your people, instead of causing an untoward altercation with them over the matter of your death.”
“Uh-huh.”
Her smile turned sharper. “If it pleases you, I might offer to entertain you, once business is done.”
I let out a harsh burst of laughter. “Oh,” I said, still chortling. “Oh, oh, oh. That’s funny.”
She blinked and stared at me, uncomprehending.
The expression made me laugh even harder. “You…you want me to…I mean, Hell’s bells, do you think I don’t know what happens to a mantis’s mate once the deed is done?”
She bared her teeth in sudden anger. They were shiny and black.
“You want me to trust you,” I went on, still laughing, “and you think waving some bling and some booty at me is going to get it done? God, that’s so cute I could just put you in my pocket.”
“Do not deny me what is mine, wizard,” she snarled. “I will have them. Make a pact with me. I will honor it.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve seen the way you people honor your pacts. Let me make you a counteroffer. Give me Marcone, safe and whole, and get out of town, now, and I’ll let you live.”
“Suppose your offer appeals. Why should I believe you would allow us to leave in peace?”
I gave her a faint smile and quietly paraphrased a dead friend. “Because I know what your word is worth, Denarian. And you know the worth of mine.”
She stared at me for a moment. Then she said, “I will consult my companions and return in five minutes.”
I bowed my head slightly to her. She returned the gesture and started up the stairs again.
She vanished from sight. Glass broke somewhere upstairs.
Then a red-and-black blur flashed down the stairs toward us, simultaneously with a chorus of hellish cries from outside.
Treachery doesn’t work so well when the other guy expects it, and I’d had the spell ready to go since the second she’d turned her back. Mantis Girl didn’t get to the bottom of the stairs before I pointed my staff at her and snarled, “Forzare!”
A hammer of pure kineti
c energy slammed against her. She went flying back the way she’d come, and when she reached the top of the stairs she kept going, crashing through the wall of the house with a tremendous crunch.
No time to lose. Something came charging through the doorway, to be met by Thomas’s sword and pistol. I didn’t get a good look at it, but got an impression of spiraling antlers and green scales. I drew in my will, pointed my staff at the front wall of the house and murmured, “Forzare,” sending out a slow pulse of motion. I let it press up against the front wall of the house, and then fed more energy into it, hardening it into a single striking surface.
Then I drew back and really let loose, roaring “Forzare!” at the top of my lungs. I unleashed everything I had into a blast of energy, which struck against the plate of force I’d just created. There was an enormous sound of screaming wood and steel, and the entire front wall of the house blasted free from its frame.
Demonic voices howled. I turned to find Thomas taking advantage of the distraction to whip his saber through scything arcs, rondello-style, cutting his opponent to ribbons. The Denarian bounded away, screaming in brassy pain.
“Dammit!” Thomas screamed at me. “That’s a brand-new car!”
“Quit whining and go!” I shouted back, suiting words to action. The front wall of the house had come down like a tidal wave, shattering into a small ocean of rubble, covering the hood of the Hummer. Somewhere beneath the rubble I could hear the other Denarians trying to get free.
We rushed for the Hummer and piled in. Thomas got it started just as Mantis Girl sailed down from overhead and landed on the hood of the Hummer, denting it in sharply.
“God dammit!” Thomas snarled. He slapped the Hummer into reverse and started driving backward—while emptying his gun into Mantis Girl. Bursts of fluttering insect forms flew up from the gunshots instead of sprays of blood, but judging by the screaming it hurt her plenty. She tumbled back off the hood and vanished.
Thomas manhandled the Hummer into a turn, and we left, heading back out into the heavy snowfall.
We all rode in silence for several moments while our heart rates slowed and the terror-fueled adrenaline rush faded.