Black Of Mood (Quentin Black: Shadow Wars #2): Quentin Black World

by JC Andrijeski

  Pings hit the outside of the door, denting the metal.

  Angel flinched at each one, cursing as she tried to pull her leg out from under her.

  “Angel!” Nick had ahold of her shirt in one fist. “Are you okay?”

  She shook her head. Then, thinking, she nodded. “I got hit in the leg. But I’m all right. What about you?”

  He looked down, and she followed his eyes to his side, where he had a hand pressed against the lower part of his ribs. He winced as he took the hand off, looking at it. Cowboy moved over to him, shoving Nick’s hands aside and pushing up his shirt. Nick struggled at first, trying to block his hands. Then, when Cowboy caught hold of his wrist, logic seemed to reassert itself and Nick realized the other man wasn’t trying to hurt him.

  Cowboy finished pushing up his shirt and assessed the wound, pressing on it with one palm.

  Nick sucked in a breath, biting his lip. “Jesus. Do you mind?”

  Cowboy didn’t answer. Walking around behind him, he looked at Nick’s back, lifting his shirt on that side, too.

  “Went through clean,” he pronounced. “Not bleeding too bad. Doesn’t look like it hit anything important.” Nick let out a humorless snort, but Cowboy barely seemed to hear him. “That pain’s likely from a rib. Looks like it broke at least one on the way through. It’s too low to puncture a lung most likely, but it’s going to hurt like a bitch until someone tapes it up. Keep pressure on it, if you can.”

  Nick grunted, rolling his eyes a little, then winced as he drew in a breath.

  “Check Angel,” is all he said.

  Cowboy crouched by Angel’s leg, giving her an apologetic look before he pulled a knife out of a sheath on his lower back. She winced as he used it to cut into her favorite pair of black pants, slicing the fabric up to the knee. Once he had the wound exposed, he prodded it with his fingers, just like he had with Nick.

  “It went through,” he announced. “You’re good. Tore up a fair bit of muscle though.”

  Angel winced as he continued to prod at her.

  He cut off the rest of her pant leg below the knee, then wrapped it tightly around her calf where the bullet hole was. She bit the inside of her cheek while he did it, then her tongue, fighting not to curse at him as he knotted the fabric once, then twice.

  “We need to move,” Angel said. “They probably know they hit us. And we have no way to call for back-up. That cell phone blocker probably isn’t a coincidence.”

  Nick and Cowboy exchanged looks. Then Cowboy looked back at her.

  “Right. I’m going to help you. You got any objections to my doing so?”

  She rolled her eyes, laughing in spite of the fire-like pain in her leg. “You pick now to get all respectful of my boundaries? Figures.” Grunting, she held out her arms. “Help me up.”

  Ignoring her offered arms, he wrapped a lean, tanned arm around her waist and pulled her upright so easily it startled her. He set her carefully against the wall, his hands surprisingly gentle, then turned to Nick. She found herself watching him, bewildered, as he bent down to grasp Nick’s arm and help him up as well. That took a bit more work, and a few more curses from Nick, but after another handful of seconds, all three of them were standing.

  “You can walk okay on your own?” Cowboy asked Nick.

  Nick nodded, waving him off. Angel frowned when she saw the pain in Nick’s expression, but she couldn’t really think of a solution, so didn’t say anything.

  Anyway, that dimmer alarm in the background of her mind was getting louder.

  “Cowboy,” she urged. “We need to go.”

  “You got guns?” he said. When Nick opened his jacket to show him the Beretta he wore on a side holster, Cowboy looked at Angel. “All of us?”

  She grimaced, nodding towards her ankle. “Down there. Can you put it in my pocket?”

  Bending smoothly, he removed the .38 she kept in an ankle-holster. After checking the barrel chamber and making sure it wasn’t cocked, he shoved it in the front of her pants.

  “For emergencies,” he told her with a smile.

  She rolled her eyes, smiling in spite of herself, and he wrapped his arm around her waist again, holding her against his hip.

  “You go first,” he told Nick, nodding towards the holster he wore. “Probably wanting to have that gun out about now.”

  Nick gave him an irritated look, probably more pain then real anger, but he pulled out the gun, clicking the safety off before he began walking down the stairs.

  “Remind me again why we didn’t bring a seer along with us?” Angel muttered as the three of them made their way down the stairs.

  She was being sarcastic, but Cowboy answered her anyway.

  “Same reason Black asked Nick to do this, and not Ravi or one of the others.” He glanced at Angel’s face from only a few inches away. “We need to get the hell out of here in one piece, to justify that trust. And to keep him and Miri alive.”

  Nick glanced up, his eyes showing he’d been listening.

  “Or maybe just to keep ourselves alive,” he muttered. “I love Miri and all, but I’m not ready to fall on a sword for her just yet.” He paused to rattle the door handle on the landing below. “Locked,” he said, glancing at Cowboy. “Next floor?”

  Cowboy nodded, gripping Angel tighter as he followed Nick.

  “Won’t do us much good to live through this, if Black gets killed,” Cowboy observed. “The vamps’ll kill us just for knowing what they are. Or worse.” His voice grew thoughtful. “Charles might do the same. Before Black, no humans were allowed to know about seers, either. And Uncle Charlie’s been open to compromises of various kinds with the bloodsuckers before.”

  Pausing, he helped Angel down to the next set of stairs.

  “That treaty they had... I guess it was chock full of compromises,” he added, grunting. “Some of those things, Black plain couldn’t live with. He’d fight Charles pretty hard, if the vamps wanted to reinstate some of those provisions.” He gripped her tighter. “So we cover Black’s ass, keep him and Miri in charge instead of Charles. We do that, and we might just make it through this. Not just us three, but all of us. Humans.”

  Nick glanced up from the next landing, where he’d tried the next door and found it also locked. He frowned in Cowboy’s direction.

  “Compromises? You mean that tribute crap Black told us about? The deal Charles had going with them?”

  “Ayuh, that. But I suspect Black thinks there’s some new compromises the vamps might want, now that they know about Miri.” Cowboy shrugged. “Man’s protecting his wife. Can you blame him?”

  Angel turned, staring at Cowboy. “You’re saying Black thinks Charles would sell out Miri? Why the hell would he do that?”

  Cowboy gave her another look. That time, the intelligence in his eyes was unveiled, leaving the light gray irises as sharp and clear as glass.

  “I doubt he knows any such thing for certain,” he conceded. “But Black knows Brick has an unnatural interest in his wife. I doubt that fact’s escaped Charles’ notice, either. It could be Miri is Charles’ ace in the hole. A final bargaining chip.” Pausing, Cowboy looked between them, helping Angel down a few more stairs. “That whole racial destiny thing seems to mean a lot to Charles. Black tells me it’s like a religion with him. Miri’s a half-blood. He loves her, but I doubt he’d risk his race for her. She’s only half of one o’ them, after all.”

  Nick frowned, glancing over his shoulder at Angel.

  Then, moving towards the staircase bannister, he poked his head down the stairwell, looking at the flights below. He looked about to speak, when––

  ––gunshots echoed up in, causing Nick to jerk back from the edge. The sound reverberated in the narrow space, bouncing against the metal doors and bannisters, deafening.

  “They coming up?” Cowboy said.

  Still panting from the near-miss, Nick gave him an incredulous look. “What the hell do you think?”

  Gripping Angel more tightly around the
waist, Cowboy pulled her faster with him down the stairs, joining Nick on the next landing. When they reached where he was, Nick leaned against the wall, breathing hard, his gun up at ready position, his other hand pressed against his lower ribs. Angel couldn’t help noticing how pale he looked.

  “How far up are they?” Cowboy said, his voice still unfazed. “We got the room to get out on this floor, if I pick the lock?”

  Nick frowned, glancing back without lowering his gun. “We might. If you’re fast at it.”

  Cowboy nodded. “Let’s hope.”

  Without another word, he half-carried Angel to the wall, leaning her against it right next to Nick. Pulling a small toolkit out of the inside of his jean jacket pocket, he bent his knees in front of the door, angling two fine pieces of metal into the lock opening. Angel winced, gripping hold of Nick’s arm as she bent down to touch her leg.

  “You’d better check it again,” she told Nick, jerking her chin towards the stairwell.

  Taking a few steps away from the wall, he leaned over, cautiously that time. No shots rang out, but Nick retreated in a bare breath, and grimaced. He looked at Cowboy.

  “You’d better hurry,” he said. “Or we’re headed for the O.K. Corral here.”

  Just then, an audible click came from next to her, and Cowboy was opening the door, swinging it out from the wall. He peered down the passageway, gun out.

  “Apartments,” he said, glancing back at Nick.

  “We’re pretty high still,” Angel said. “Do we risk the elevator? Or would it be better to try and get past these guys instead?”

  Hesitating, Cowboy looked at her, then handed the open door to Nick. Walking over to the bannister, he peered over cautiously, gun in hand. He looked longer than Nick had, and appeared almost to be counting.

  After a few seconds, gunshots went off all around him.

  Cowboy jerked back, looking at Angel.

  “The elevator,” he said.

  Nick helped Angel through the door, followed by Cowboy, who shut the door behind them, then spent a few seconds looking for some way to lock it. After scanning the walls and floor, he walked over to the window at the end of the hall. Angel jumped when he shot at the frame, breaking the wood into splinters and cracking the glass.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Nick snapped.

  Cowboy didn’t even glance at him.

  Holstering the Python, he pulled the hunting knife out of its scabbard on his lower back. Angel and Nick just stood there, watching, as he used it to cut a piece of wood off the window frame. He cut it in the shape of a triangular wedge. Wriggling and twisting the piece of wood under the blade to get it to let go, he grabbed it off the floor when it popped off, and brought it over to the door to the stairwell. Using his boot and a hard kick, he jammed it under the bottom of the door. He kicked it again, harder, to really get it in there.

  When he finished, he glanced at Angel and Nick, who were watching him, incredulous.

  “We might need the extra minutes,” he explained.

  Nick motioned with his gun for Cowboy to follow him down the hall. Cowboy walked to Angel, wrapping his arm around her waist and helping her with him.

  “No one came out at the gunshots,” Cowboy observed.

  Nick grunted, glancing back. “Do you blame them?”

  “It might make it harder to find a fire escape, without access to a room.” He glanced at Angel. “Do we break into one of ‘em? It might be better than the elevator. Like you said, most likely they’ll be waiting for us at the bottom, we do that.”

  Angel winced. She knew people might be inside, just from her years of working as a cop. Some people’s instincts were to hide when they heard danger outside, to pretend they weren’t home. She suspected New York wouldn’t be any different from San Francisco in that respect. Although, since this appeared to be a significantly more upper-middle-class building than most of those she’d worked as a cop, chances were, people were just at work.

  On the other hand, she knew how hard it was to kick down a sturdy door. Shooting out door locks with handguns only worked in the movies.

  She gazed down at the other end of the corridor.

  “What about the window?” she said.

  Cowboy frowned, following her eyes. Walking her faster, he brought her up alongside Nick.

  “Here,” he said, handing her to him. “Take her, brother.”

  Without waiting, he unholstered his gun, jogging down the carpeted hall as soon as Nick’s arm wrapped around her waist.

  Angel turned towards Nick. Before she could speak, a loud banging started on the stairwell door behind them.

  “Hurry, brother,” Cowboy said, speaking in a loud whisper from the end of the hall. He glanced back at the stairwell door, and Angel saw his expression tighten. “We need a way out. Now. The numbers are going up.”

  Realizing he meant the elevator, which must live where the corridor hooked to the left, Angel glanced at Nick, who frowned.

  He walked faster with her, gripping her around the waist on his good side, his hand pressed against the bullet wound on the other.

  They joined Cowboy at the end of the hall.

  The thunks on the stairwell door had gotten louder.

  Glancing down the length of corridor that led to the elevator, Angel stared nervously at the climbing numbers. It was only five floors below them when it stopped again.

  “Options?” Cowboy said.

  “If those are vampires on the other side of that door, we won’t be able to stop them.” She motioned towards Cowboy’s Python. “Maybe you can slow them down enough to get one or two with that hunting knife, assuming they don’t bite you first.” Frowning, she added, “It won’t be enough. Not if that elevator is full of those things.”

  Cowboy nodded. “Agreed.”

  “What about the window?” Nick said. “What’s out there?”

  “It ain’t ideal, friend.”

  “But will it kill us?” Nick snapped. “We’re pretty much out of options here.”

  Cowboy frowned. Walking back to the window, he unlocked the top and fought to pry it open. Seeing a bar wedged in the top part of the frame, he tried to get that out next. After a few more seconds of struggling, he stepped back, aiming the Python at the glass. Before Angel or Nick could make a sound, he blew a hole in the middle of the window, causing glass shards to fall both out the window and onto the carpet.

  Nick was already helping Angel towards him as Cowboy took off the jean jacket he wore. He used the long hilt of his knife and scabbard through the denim to knock out the remaining shards of glass. He’d tapped out just about every jagged edge before he stuck his head through the opening, looking down.

  He pulled his head back a minute later.

  “It’s gonna be rough,” he said, matter-of-fact. “There’s a fire escape below, but it’s far. It’s gonna hurt... especially for the two of you.”

  Angel stuck her head carefully through the same opening, frowning when she saw the metal platform below. Cowboy hadn’t been exaggerating. It had to be fifteen feet down, at least.

  Cowboy was looking at her leg when she pulled her head out carefully. Nick took in the view next. Angel saw him grimace when he saw the distance.

  “So we risk whatever’s coming up on that elevator––”

  “––And through that door,” Cowboy reminded him.

  “Or we jump,” Angel said, swallowing. “And maybe break both our legs. Or die.”

  There was a silence.

  It couldn’t have lasted more than a second, but it felt longer.

  “We flip a coin?” Cowboy said.

  His voice bordered on joking.

  “No.” Nick shook his head, giving him a hard look. “We take our chances with the drop. We all know what’s on the other side of those doors.”

  Cowboy frowned, glancing at Angel, as if about to protest.

  Then, thinking, he sighed, nodding.

  “Ayuh,” he said, decisive. “I’ll go first. Maybe I
can help catch you two, when it’s your turn.”

  Before either of them could protest, he laid his jacket over the window frame, covering up the small shards of glass still sticking up. Wincing as he threw first one leg over, then the other, he glanced at the two of them, his mouth set in a grim line.

  “Wish me luck,” he said.

  Before Angel could open her mouth, he jumped.

  She let out a little gasp, jumping forward to stick her head out the window and watch him land. She focused down right as he did––in time to see him knock his arm and head into the side of the fire escape railing and slam into the wall behind him with a grunt.

  “Cowboy!” she called in a loud whisper. “Cowboy! Are you all right?”

  After a short pause where he just leaned there, panting, he looked up, touching his head with his fingers. His legs wobbled as he pulled himself upright, gripping the handrail. She saw his jeans torn at the knee on one leg, blood seeping through the black-dyed denim. He was on his feet though, even with a grimace on his face.

  He looked up, meeting her gaze.

  “Angel, you next.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at Nick, who had his gun out again. He was staring back at the elevator. Angel followed the direction of his eyes.

  The numbers were climbing again.

  “Hurry!” Nick urged, giving her a bare look.

  Taking a breath, Angel threw her hurt leg over the window frame. Pulling her second leg over after, she didn’t let herself think. She looked down at the fire escape landing long enough to know where she was going.

  Then she pushed off.

  One good thing could be said of the fall. It was over fast.

  She slammed into metal and flesh, gasping when her hurt leg crashed into something hard and unyielding. She barely took a breath when Cowboy had his arms around her, his hand clamped over her mouth where she’d let out a muffled scream. Before she could take another gasping breath, he released her, leaning her against the guardrail near the stairs that led to the floor below. She stared at him, a little shocked at the efficiency with which he’d handled her.

  Then she looked down towards the ground.

  So far, no one was waiting for them down there.