by Tanya Huff
The apartment door opened.
Tony glanced up to see a young man blinking at them blearily, keys dangling from one hand. When he finally managed to take in the tableau, he grinned and flashed a double thumbs-up. “Dude!”
“Ignore him,” Leah snapped, tapping the tat with one scarlet-tipped finger. “Check the rune.”
“Wait a minute.” He was sounding less bleary by the word. “Why are you in my…”
“Got it.”
“…apartment?”
Tony stood as Leah turned, dimples flashing an offer no straight boy could refuse. He tugged the center of the glowing blue line farther out from the center of the pattern then pushed. With a sizzle and a faint smell of burning plastic, the rune slipped the rest of the way through.
One more.
Half finished with the fourth rune, refusing to be distracted by what was happening on the sofa, Tony felt the hair lift off his body—his entire body, not just the back of his neck. Man, never going to get used to that. Turning, he got an eyeful of Ryne Cyratane and had barely made the very short trip from appreciation to apprehension when a spray of red-and-purple sparks arced out into the room.
They were coming from the shelves of DVDs.
Crap!
Tony finished off the fourth rune so fast he nearly sprained his wrist. Left hand flat against it, he shoved it after the others.
And stumbled forward, unable to lift his hand.
A heartbeat later, he was wrist-deep in the DVDs.
“Leah!”
“Busy.”
“I don’t care!” Yanking back only threatened to dislocate his elbow. “Le—!”
Hands closed on his shoulders, fingers digging in painfully tight. Next thing he knew he was flying. A short flight and a bad landing. Lying in a crumpled heap on the ruin of a cheap coffee table, Tony checked to make sure his arm had actually come with him.
“Time to go.”
“Ow. Ow! OW!” Protests didn’t seem to matter. Leah hauled him to his feet and hustled him toward the door. Seemed like everything worked. Not quite to the original specs, but he was up and moving. He snagged his laptop case as they passed. “What about…?”
“He got a great memory and a broken coffee table,” Leah snapped, dragging him out into the hall and shutting the door. “I think he came out even. Come on. If we get into the elevator before he gets his pants back on, he’ll never know what we looked like.”
“What if we have to wait for the elevator?”
They didn’t.
She shoved him in, charged in after him, hit the button to close the door, hit the button for the first floor, and sagged against the stainless steel wall. “What did you do?”
“Me?”
“That spot wasn’t close enough to blow like that.”
“It was plenty close.”
“Not close enough. I’d have felt it!”
They glared at each other for a moment.
“Okay.” Tony flexed the fingers of his left hand. The scar felt hot. “Let me think about this for a minute.”
“Don’t strain anything,” she muttered, adjusting her clothes.
“Nice. I think we hit a metaphysical overload.”
“A what?”
“Between that weak spot being so close, you and your tat, me and my…” He waved the scar. “…power, then the whole distracting with sex invoking your Demonlord, I think we reached a point where things started to happen.”
“That actually makes a certain logical sense.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Sighing, he mirrored her position on the opposite wall. “And thanks for hauling me out.”
She stopped buttoning her shirt long enough to shrug. “Even I can’t get a guy to ignore you if you keep hanging around.”
“Not then. When you pulled me out of the DVDs.”
Dark brows rose.
“You didn’t pull me out of the DVDs?”
“I didn’t pull you out of the DVDs.”
“Then who…” His gaze dropped to the tat, disappearing under white silk.
“No.” Leah shook her head as the door opened and they moved quickly across the apartment building lobby. “First of all, he has no corporeal form on this plane and second, why would he help you? You’re trying to stop him.”
“Maybe I’m not.”
“What? Stopping him?” She linked her arm through his and dropped to a sedate walk as they moved away from the apartment building and toward his car. He wanted to run, but he made himself match her pace. “Since I remain unslaughtered, I think you’re stopping him fine so far.”
“Not what I meant. Maybe…” The theme from Darkest Night cut him off. Sliding his cell phone out of the pocket on his backpack, Tony flipped it open and glanced at the screen. “It’s Amy.” Thumbing it on, he held it to his left ear.
“Tony! It’s out! There were all kinds of wild lights, and then it was like a bomb went off! This tanker by Ballard Power Systems totally blew! I had to call 911 before I called you!”
Shit. Shit. Shit. “CB?”
“He’s making sure everyone’s out of the building. I’m heading to the Future Shop warehouse to do the same! Tony, this thing was nasty looking. It took a swipe at me as it went by.”
The metaphysical taint! He’d totally fucking forgotten it when he’d sent Amy out to face a demon.
To observe a harmless little weak spot.
Yeah. Big difference.
“Are you okay?”
“It knocked me on my ass, but it was like I wasn’t worth its time. I’m…”
Call waiting beeped out the last few words.
He checked the screen. Lee. Who’d been shadow-held twice. And possessed. If Amy had a faint taint just from acting as an anchor while he spoke with a dead housemaid, Lee must have a big red metaphysical target painted on his chest. “Amy, tell me you’re fine!”
“I’m fine!”
“Stay that way!” Left hand thumbed the link. Right hand unlocked the car. Stomach twisted as he fought the urge to puke. “Lee?”
“Tony! The tear ripped just after we got to it!”
“Are you hurt?”
“What? No! Jack emptied half a clip into the demon, and it lost interest in us.”
Lost interest in you. “My fault.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I sent you out there.”
“Hey, grown man here. I knew the risks.”
He didn’t know all the risks because Tony hadn’t thought to tell him. How could I have forgotten about…Hang on. There were alarms going off in the background. “What’s happening?”
“Our demonic buddy didn’t so much explode out of the building as explode the building!”
“Fire?”
“No. Rubble. I thought there was smoke, but it was steam. Jack says there must’ve been a boiler plant in the basement. A few of the surrounding buildings took some collateral damage. The whole place looked empty; the lights were off and all, but Jack’s checking for casualties. I called it in before I called you. Tony, we’re going to have to stick around here. We won’t make it back to the studio before…”
Good, because there’s going to be demons at the studio! Where it looked like it would be just him and Leah and Henry, and that was how it should be. No normal people—however tainted—getting hurt. Circumstances had stepped up to the plate.
“Don’t sweat it.” Phone clamped between ear and shoulder, he slammed the car into gear and roared out of his parking space and down the empty street. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, we’re good!”
We? Right. Jack. “Stay good.”
“Can you handle…?”
“Yes.” Tony took his hand off the gearshift long enough to turn off the phone and toss it toward Leah. “Both of the other weak spots blew.”
“Another metaphysical overload?” She didn’t seem to be making fun of him.
“Probably the same one. They were timed to go off together, reme
mber. When ours tried to open, theirs did, too, but only ours got closed. We’re heading for the studio.”
“I guessed.” At the edge of his vision he could see her clutching the dashboard, knuckles white. “Is everyone okay?”
“Yeah. Things blew, but no one got hurt.”
“No one we know.”
“Hey, if you know how I can fucking save everyone, tell me now!”
“I was just…” Her protest trailed off as he ran a stop sign. “Sorry.”
“We know where they’re going, and if they do any more damage, it’ll just be en route.”
“And once they arrive.”
“Yeah.” A light rain speckled his windshield. He flicked on the wipers. Trashing the studio meant trashing a lot of expensive equipment.
“They won’t be expecting a vampire.” Her tone suggested she was trying to cheer him up. It almost worked.
“Who does?”
The damp roads were greasy. Speeding around a corner, the car started to fishtail. Tony stomped on the gas and fought to straighten out, cursing under his breath. Something crunched as he passed an old blue Buick Regal, but he convinced himself it was garbage on the road and not a door panel.
“You just…”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Why are you driving? Specifically, why are you driving instead of me?”
“Good question.”
“Okay.” After a moment, she said, “Ballard Power Systems is a hydrogen fuel development company.”
“How do you know that?”
“I did some wire work around one of their tanks.”
“Big boom?”
“Then, no. Tonight, very.”
“Good thing CB and Amy were right there to call it in.” It made him feel a little less guilty about sending them.
“Seems strange that there were two sites that led to explosions plus a…Jesus, Tony!” Her fingers locked back down on the dash. “What was that for?”
“Squirrel.”
“You swerved into oncoming traffic to miss a squirrel?”
“He’s not protected by a Demongate.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Very funny.” Not much farther. Napier Street would take them right to Boundary. “Two explosions plus a what?”
“An apartment building.” He heard her settle back in the seat and wondered about her expression, but it didn’t seem smart to take his eyes off the road.
“So? You said the weak spots happen anywhere something’s missing.”
“Well, yes, but if these three are deliberate, aimed for maximum shit disturbing, as it were, why an apartment building?”
“Population density. Lots of people screaming.” Boundary traffic was annoyingly heavy. Tony slid between a truck and a hatchback and sped south toward the studio. “Furniture thrown off balconies. A distraught mother screaming that the monster has her baby.”
“You had me at population density.”
“I like to be thorough.”
“Tony…”
And sometimes, just one word was enough. South of the studio, the streetlights were blowing out all along the east side of the road. Bam. Bam. Bam. Heading north. Shards of glass showered down, glittering in the passing headlights. Tires screamed. Horns blared. No accidents yet.
No accidents in sight, Tony amended, barely slowing to head into the studio parking lot. There was a whole lot of road in between the Fraser and CB Productions. The lot lights blew as he parked the car, and a shadow passed between him and the building.
A big shadow.
So much for beating it back to the studio and setting a trap.
Feeding off Kevin Groves had been reflex. The reporter had walked into the soundstage, realized they were alone, and bared his throat, a desperate desire rolling off him like smoke.
Henry could have stopped himself, but the emotional need drew him as much as the blood. He expected the sharp intake of breath as his teeth met through soft skin. The look of peace as he swallowed a single mouthful of blood then drew back was less usual.
“Complete truth,” Groves sighed. “No codicils, no compromises.” Then his eyes snapped open, and he stared at Henry in rising panic. “It’s just, you know, lies. I get so tired of them. Everyone lies. You don’t. Even when you are. Lying. Please don’t hurt me.” He stared at the drop of blood rising from the puncture on his wrist and his eyes widened. “You really did it. Oh, God.” Shaking fingers fumbled his PDA from his jacket’s inside pocket. “I need to ask you some stuff.”
“No.”
The PDA fell from nerveless fingers, the plastic case cracking against the concrete floor. “Okay.”
“Go to Raymond Dark’s office and sit down. Stay there. Don’t move unless you’re avoiding a threat.” He could hear glass shattering outside.
“What about…”
“Now.”
Raymond Dark’s office was safer, given that it was not directly under the power residue drawing the demons. Safer. Not safe.
Concrete block walls, no windows into the soundstage. The weakest point was the large door the carpenters used. It had, once again, been left unlocked.
Metal screamed.
Henry raised a speculative brow. Apparently tonight’s demon would rather go through the door than open it.
Expected, the shower of cherries was no less annoying.
“Son of a fucking bitch!”
The big sliding door had been pulled half off its track, the steel scored in three parallel lines. CB was going to be pissed.
Something howled. A cherry bounced out into the parking lot.
Tony dropped his laptop case by the wall and took a deep, steadying breath. “Get in there and see if it’s marked for you. If not, help Henry.”
“And if it is?”
“It won’t be. Maximum mayhem, remember? There’s a lot less mayhem if it heads right for the person standing beside the guy kicking demon ass back home.”
“That was actually very convincing.”
He glanced up to see her staring speculatively down at him. “Thank you. Now haul ass.” Without waiting for a response, he turned his attention back to the laptop, clutched the pull thing on his fly—the spell needed a metal ground—and recited the words of the Notice Me Not.
This demon was no tentacled monstrosity. It walked on two legs like a man and had a caricature of a man’s face—two eyes, one nose, and a mouth. Except the eyes were orange lid to lid, the nose nearly invisible under a plate of its chitinous body armor, and the mouth lipless, with more of the body armor growing up into gleaming tusks. The armor changed color to match its surroundings, and it was now fading down from night-sky black to concrete gray. Henry got a close look at one of the arm plates as it knocked him across the soundstage to slam into the outside wall. When it withdrew the arm, it dangled a length of yellow nylon rope from one thick wrist.
It was fast but no faster than Henry.
Strong, but no stronger.
Four arms, however, that’s a bit of a problem. This time, at least, he managed to keep hold of the rope. He rolled back under a slash that gouged the floor and managed to get a loop of rope around one leg as it lifted to stomp him. Ducked. Whirled.
“Nightwalker!”
Threw the coil of rope over the left arms to the Demongate.
She caught it. Whipped it back along the floor.
Henry kicked at the side of the demon’s knee. Heard chitin crack. Scooped up the rope as he took a blow hard enough to crack even his ribs. He crashed to the floor and thought just for a moment he heard his father’s voice bellowing at him to get up. His father had never approved of him being unhorsed. Snarling, Henry caught the next descending arm and threw himself back still holding it, trapping it under another loop of the rope.
Too close!
One of the lower tusks raked his shoulder, ripping through shirt and skin and filling the room with the rich scent of his own blood. At first he thought the flash of light was based in pain, but then
he saw the rune take shape.
The demon veered away from the lines of blue fire, giving the Demongate a chance to slam it in the side of the head with what looked like a microphone stand.
Closing three hands around one end of the metal pole, the demon yanked it from her hands, raising it over its head to bring it down in a killing blow. At the apex of its backswing, the microphone stand went flying from its grip to land with a clatter behind one of the false walls.
“You must hate it that your master’s spell protects her even from you,” Henry growled and ripped a plate of chitin from its shoulder.
It shrieked.
A second rune hung in the air.
He couldn’t see Tony although it was obvious that Tony was there. Not obvious to the demon, thank God. It continued to keep clear of the runes but made no attempt to find the wizard drawing them.
Henry was hurt.
Leah wasn’t. The world rearranged itself so that that demon kept missing her. The resulting contortions would have tied a human spine in knots. Demons were more flexible.
Lots more flexible, Tony realized as, chitin plates creaking, the demon curled around limbs wrapped in rope and charged toward Henry from a completely unexpected angle.
Concentrate on the rune!
He’d already screwed the third rune up once tonight. He couldn’t afford to do it again. More specifically, Henry couldn’t afford for him to do it again.
Three runes.
His head pounded as he began the fourth, keeping it next to the third as he finished it. If he drew the final rune in its proper place, the demon might realize his intent before he finished and go after him instead of Leah and Henry. The demon wouldn’t be able to see him, not if the Notice Me Not was still working, but any kind of a charge in his direction would take it out from between the runes.
With any luck, his ability to move energy around was unique enough it would be unexpected. After all, how many wizards got trapped in haunted houses redolent with the waxy buildup of evil and ended up symbolically branding themselves in order to save the day? Well, the rune on his palm was symbolic; the branding part had been agonizingly real.