But this wasn’t one of those neighborhoods.
From where we’d parked, I could see at least a half-dozen warning signs that sent alarm bells clanging inside my head. The building next to us, for example, had a burned-out room in its center that stood out like a gaping wound, not to mention several shattered windows and a kaleidoscope of spray-painted gang tags marring the walls. No cars lined the road. Down one alley a group of homeless people huddled over a trashcan fire, warming their hands despite the comfortable weather. The streetlights were busted out in places, leaving behind pockets of shadow that the waning sunlight hardly touched.
I glared at Robin. “This is where the Chancery put a safehouse?”
“You expected a penthouse hotel room?” Robin replied drily.
“It’s fine,” Jeffries said in a hard tone as he clambered out of the van he and Hilde had followed us in. I could tell he was as on edge as I was. “We’ll find your man and get out of here as quickly as we can.”
Warren, looking particularly nervous, ducked out of the car. “He’s close. I apologize for the delay. Locating psychic energy is tricky at best, and the false reads kept drawing us off course.”
On the way over, I’d coerced Warren into confessing how he planned to track Christoff. Apparently, people left residual psychic energy all over the place, but it tended to gather most in locations we had strong connections to, like our homes. Warren had managed to pick up the unique frequency Christoff’s energy emitted and then hunt down its source. Unfortunately, it had taken us a while to realize that Christoff’s bar—his home away from home—had soaked up the very same energy.
“Can ye tell us exactly where he is? Now that we’re close?” I asked.
Warren shook his head. “I can’t narrow it down any further. He’s in this area, but that’s all I know.”
“Guess we’ll have to go old school and knock on doors,” Jeffries said, looking less than pleased. He rapped his fingers on the car’s window. Lakota rolled it down and leaned over the console, one hand on the wheel. “Keep an eye on the vehicles,” Jeffries said. “I’d rather not come back to find our tires missing.”
Lakota flashed him a thumbs up, blew a ridiculously large bubble, and let it pop.
“So, divide and conquer?” I asked, eyeing the dilapidated street. “Or strength in numbers?”
“I’ll take Warren and the Fae,” Jeffries said. “That won’t be a problem, will it?”
“Not at all,” Robin said, exchanging looks with me. I shrugged. It was clear Jeffries didn’t trust either of us; he wouldn’t have split us up, otherwise. But I didn’t care. As long as we found Christoff, I could handle the Special Agent’s skepticism.
“Hilde,” Jeffries continued, “you and Quinn take the building on the right. The one that isn’t abandoned,” he added, pointing past the ramshackle structure I’d noticed when we arrived towards a battered apartment complex further down the road.
“Alright,” Hilde said. “Be careful.”
I nudged Robin. “Dibs on your hat if ye die.”
“You want my bloody cap?” Robin asked, dubiously.
“I’m bettin’ I could fetch a decent price for it, if I find the right buyer,” I quipped.
“Cute,” he said, rolling his eyes.
With that, we went our separate ways.
Hilde took the lead. The clip of our heels on the cracked pavement echoed in the near silence. Despite the warm weather, I felt a bit conspicuous in a plain white t-shirt, so I slid my fur coat over my shoulders and tapped it once more. The fur flattened and coarsened, binding together to become denim fibers. Brass buttons burst along the jean jacket’s center front.
“Ye know, ye Valkyries should have your own brand,” I said, admiring the finished product.
Hilde shook her head. “Those fibers are woven from the hair of Skadi, forged from the scales of Jormangund, and infused with the spirit of Ymir.” She glanced back at me, emphasizing the value of her gift with a stiff nod. “Mass production isn’t exactly doable. Besides, we’d ruin the entire infrastructure. You’d never need to buy clothes again, and the whole industry would collapse.”
I considered that as we walked, then nodded. “You’re right. These threads are like an Everlastin’ Gobstopper.”
“A what?” Hilde asked.
“Ye know, from Willy Wonka?”
Hilde snorted. “Has anyone told you that you’re strange, even for a Freak?”
Not that rudely, I thought to myself.
But yeah.
“Aye,” I replied as we ascended the steps that led to the apartment building’s entrance.
Hilde froze mid-stride. She whirled towards me. “Get down!”
“What? I—” I began. But Hilde tackled me to the ground before I could say anything else. I landed in the dirt with her on top of me, more than a little dazed and winded from the fall. I hip-thrusted her off me, prepared to go toe-to-toe with the mythical warrior…until I caught the din of bullets tearing into the stone steps we’d left behind.
“Down! Now!” Hilde urged again, pushing me back.
This time I didn’t argue.
Chapter 17
Hilde rolled off me and drew her arm up, producing a shield out of thin air, then hunkered down behind it. “Get behind me!” she yelled over the sound of bullets shattering the glass behind our heads. I did as she asked, staying low to the ground and balled up behind her. I tried to peer past her shield to see who was shooting at us but was forced to duck back as rifle fire blew past me.
Curiosity wasn’t about to kill this cat.
I could hear more yelling down the other side of the street, where Jeffries’ group had gone to investigate. Had we stumbled into the middle of a gang war, or was this some sort of ambush? Either way, I desperately wished I was armed; playing possum during a shootout is a pretty pathetic way to spend your evening.
“Hilde!” I yelled. “What are the odds you’d be willin’ to give a girl a gun?”
Hilde flicked her eyes back at me, then returned her attention to protecting us from the bad guys with guns, angling her shield to block most of the fire. “Zero!”
“Ah, come on! Why not?”
“Can’t risk you killing someone with my gun! Policy!”
“Can’t ye like, I don’t know, deputize me, or somethin’?” I yelled back, my voice hopeful.
“This isn’t the Wild West!”
“Tell them that,” I argued.
“We have to move before they decide to flank us,” Hilde said, ignoring me. “On three, we stand. Stay behind me, as close as you can. I’ll get us to cover and then go after them, myself.”
“Aye!” I called. I pressed a hand against Hilde’s back to let her know where I was, and felt the cool, metallic surface of her armor beneath my hand—armor I seriously hoped was bulletproof…and me proof, I realized, with a start.
I let out a shiver of relief when the armor didn’t disappear.
She gave the order and we rose, together, and made for the rundown building we’d passed earlier. Its brick and mortar walls were shoddy at best, but they’d provide more shelter than Hilde’s shield. No matter how durable the shield seemed to be—unless it could magically transform into a damn tank—I doubted we’d last much longer huddled on the ground.
“Try and look behind us as we go,” Hilde said. “Make sure there’s no one down that alley.”
I glanced back, noticing the alley we’d passed for the first time. She was right, we’d be sitting ducks if any of the shooters were lying in wait; they could come at us from both sides and mow us down. “I’ll keep an eye out!” I yelled. I kept my hand on Hilde’s back and swiveled my eyes back and forth between what lay behind us and the next several feet in front of me.
Tripping right now would be embarrassing.
Not to mention fatal.
We cleared the edge of the apartment building, and I stared down a narrow, lightless alley. I cursed, realizing I couldn’t make out a thing beyond the firs
t few feet. A killer could be lurking in those shadows, within striking distance, and I’d never even know.
“How we doing back there?” Hilde called.
“Fine,” I lied, still pressed tight up against her, moving as she moved. Frankly, explaining the situation to Hilde would take too long, and I didn’t want to risk her taking her attention away from keeping us safe. I kept my eyes on the alley, praying I’d catch the glint of a muzzle before it was too late.
I could still hear the bullets pinging off Hilde’s shield, making my shoulders twitch spasmodically with each strike. Whoever was firing had an absurd amount of ammunition, and they were good shots; if Hilde weren’t covered head to toe in armor and shielding us, we’d have been gunned down almost immediately. That’s when I saw it, the glint of a gun barrel at the far end of the alley where, luckily, a lone streetlight from the next street over was still operational—the faint light enough to reveal a dim silhouette.
“Hilde!” I yelled. “Company!”
Hilde snarled. “Duck!”
I did, squatting down just as Hilde whirled, one hand clutching the shield and the other toting a short sword. She reared back and, I shit you not, flung the sword down the alleyway as if it were a Bowie knife. It spun end-over-end before burying itself hilt deep in the gunman’s chest. The gunman crashed to his knees, his gun clattering to the pavement, before he fell into the shadowed alley between us and the streetlight behind him.
“Let’s go!” Hilde snatched me by my jacket collar and drew me upwards. But, before we could continue our flight, three more men appeared in the alleyway. “Shit!” Hilde cursed.
Shit, indeed. At this point—unless Hilde could pull some crazy shit out of her ass—we were going to end up gunned down from both sides. Of course, she wasn’t the only one who could do that flinging thing.
“Hilde, be ready!” I yelled. I reached into the pocket of my jacket. I clutched Othello’s disc between my fingers like a playing card I was preparing to throw. I’d played horseshoes as a kid, and I was hoping it would be about the same. Just get it near the target—and pray.
“Ready for what?” she asked, grimacing as the newcomers raised their rifles.
“Anythin’!” I screamed. I tossed the disc. It rose into the air and then fell, skidding across the pavement, to land at their feet. Where it stayed. Unmoving. I hung my head.
Well, it was worth a shot.
The man in front barked out a command I could hardly hear over the sound of intermittent gunfire coming from behind. They crept forward, clearly hoping to fire on us at close range. But, before they could move more than a few feet, I noticed the copper disc begin to glow. So did the men. Another barked command, and they pointed their guns, not at us, but at the disc.
It was too late.
The disc, glowing red as if it had been left in a furnace, spiraled into the air, freezing in midair above their heads. The men whipped their rifles up, shouting, but unsure whether to fire or not. The stench of burning ozone assaulted my nostrils, acrid and bitter. Then, in a flash of brilliant light, a bolt of lightning came careening from the sky, colliding with the disc, which burned white hot. I covered my eyes an instant before the electricity leapt from the disc to the earth in the most convenient path it could find, the air sizzling from its descent.
Fun fact: metal is a conductor.
And guess which dumbasses were standing beneath the storm generator?
When I glanced back, the three men were on their backs twitching next to their impaled comrade. Small arcs of lighting rode their bodies like snakes. The air smelled worse now, like burnt hair and cooked meat. But I could live with that; I preferred my bad guys well done.
“What the hell was that?” Hilde hissed.
I shrugged. “Ye aren’t the only one who has nice t’ings,” I quipped.
Another bullet pinged off Hilde’s shield. She cursed, snatched my collar, and thrust me behind her. “Any more toys I should know about?” she asked, as we left the alley behind.
“Fresh out!” I called back.
I felt the wall of the run-down building at my back, a moment later. We’d made it, for whatever that was worth. I thrust my hands back and felt along the wall, sliding my fingers across jagged stone, careful not to cut myself.
“Look for a way in!” Hilde commanded, pausing.
I scoured the building, scanning left and then right.
“There!” I said, pointing to a hole at the base of the wall. A chunk of brick exploded a foot from my hand and I drew it back, cursing. As we approached, I realized the hole was actually a basement window that had been removed, leaving a gap hardly big enough for a child to slip through comfortably.
“Get in!” Hilde yelled.
“You’re jokin’, aren’t ye?” I asked.
“Now!”
I swore, muttering as many derogatory things as I could think of about Scandinavians—mostly badmouthing IKEA—as I knelt and crawled towards the hole. I thrust my feet through first and wriggled until the lower part of my body cleared the space. The backs of my thighs burned from having to scrabble against the brick, and I could tell I’d torn holes in my jeans.
Looked like I’d be testing out my self-mending clothes sooner than I thought.
But at least there was no broken glass. I held my breath as I squirmed, inching through the hole, praying my ass didn’t get stuck. My legs dangled and—for a moment—a wave of panic hit me; what if the basement floor was further down than most? I didn’t want to work this hard just to break my legs when I fell. I inched myself further in, reaching down with my toes, praying I’d brush the basement floor.
“You good, yet?” Hilde yelled.
I glanced back to see the legendary warrior hunkered down on one knee, her shield tucked tight against her side. I groaned, took a deep breath, and forced myself to scuttle further in. If I fell, I fell; I’d rather have shattered legs than be a burden. I raised both arms above my head, pulled in my shoulder blades, and dropped through the opening with a squeal.
I landed on both feet, a mere foot below the window.
I hissed in pain as the adrenaline from dodging bullets wore off, probing my side where a shard of brick had dug in. Once I confirmed I wasn’t bleeding, I rose onto my tiptoes and peered through the window. I could see Hilde’s legs, and, beyond that, the moonlit street—the remaining streetlights that had worked when we’d arrived had been shot out in the exchange. Soon the sun would fall and we’d only have moonlight to see by.
“Are you in?” Hilde yelled.
“Aye!” I called. I briefly took stock of my surroundings. I knelt in a room, probably an old office judging by the cubicles and the ancient computer equipment stacked up against the far wall. Either way, I knew I had to find higher ground. My entrance hadn’t exactly been stealthy, and I’d make an easy target down here—all they’d have to do was stick their rifles through the hole and fire until their clips ran empty. Murphy’s Law would take care of the rest.
“I’m going after them,” Hilde yelled. “Find somewhere to hide!”
“Will do. Give ‘em hell!” I cheered.
Hilde’s resounding laughter made me cringe; in the timbre of her maniacal cackle, I heard the unrestrained glee of a woman about to mow down her enemies and play Double Dutch with their intestines. For a moment, I almost pitied the assholes who’d decided to use us for target practice.
Almost.
She clomped off, the clanking of her armor rattling against itself disappearing beneath the clamor of burgeoning gunfire. I cursed and headed for the door, ducking low, doing my best not to get shot now that I’d made it relatively out of harm’s way.
I found the door that led to the stairs only to find the building had no power. Surprise, surprise. I flipped the switch a few times to be sure, then poked my head into the murky stairwell. I knew the apartment that had gone up in flames was somewhere above me, near the center of the building. I didn’t want to end up there; I’d be as likely to fall through the
floorboards to my death as to get shot by a vigilant gunman.
But if I went a few stories up, I might be able to get a better look at what was happening outside. From there, I might be able to do something. Of course, I knew the cops would show up sooner rather than later; no shootout goes down without some reaction from the police. But this was a bad part of town, and the ladies and gents in blue knew better than to drive right into the middle of a turf war—going in early would only get you killed. Sadly, I had a feeling that by the time reinforcements arrived, it would be too late; either we’d be dead, or they would.
Whoever they were.
I sighed, propped open the basement’s rusted door, and headed upstairs. From within the stairwell, the sound of the fighting outside dwindled to nothing but white noise; the sound of rifle fire little more than pebbles skittering across the ground. I had to feel my away around in the pitch-black darkness, testing each step and holding tight to the railing. The doors to the first two stories were jammed shut, either locked or too warped in their frames to move.
The third-floor door, fortunately, was unlocked. But when I tried to push it open, I noticed something had been stacked up against the door, something which made it hard to budge. I set my back against the railing, confirmed it was firmly attached, and lashed out with one foot, slamming my heel against the door. I kept at it until I had a few feet of space to work with, wincing at the startlingly loud noise I made each time my boot slammed against the metal. Once I had enough room to fit, I slid through the opening, only to stumble over a pile of what turned out to be bricks. I held on to one of them, just in case.
I began carefully feeling out the confines of the room; I was in a hallway with doors on either side. I tested the knobs, hoping to find a room with a window I could look through, but the doors were all locked. Based on what I’d seen from the outside and the basement, I was guessing this had once been an office building—the kind used by small start-ups hoping to have a space of their own, but without the means to take on a whole structure’s worth of bills.
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