Damn, he’s a tough one, she thinks. There will be no simple telepathic suggestions.
“Turn your eyes, whore. Then tell us your message and be on your way,” he says in an offhand manner.
“My message is for your ears only.” She steps forward and tries to take his hand, but he pulls it back and stands up quickly. Then he steps forward even more quickly and harshly slaps Silithes across the faces.
The slap stings. She collapses to the ground as a good victim should and even gives a whimper for show. But inside Silithes is a different story. She sees red. Her thoughts go to Znuul’s original plan. She thinks how gratifying it would be to just kill them all and drag this Lion asshole out to the alley.
“Speak your message. Now!”
Silithes looks up at him briefly, then moves her eyes back down , recognizing her place in their minds. “My message is for you only.”
Jalal looks over to one of his cronies at the table and tells him, “Put a bullet in this cur and let’s see if she talks then.”
Doorman speaks up as the other man produces a handgun and stands up. “There are other ways to loosen a woman’s tongue. Let us take our pleasure with her. She will talk.”
That disgusts Silithes. These revolting, smelly men taking their pleasure with her? With her? Defiling her temple? Not a chance.
There’s something else she can say: “My message is from Ahtsag Znuul himself.”
That gets silence from the room, and the gunman stops in his tracks and looks at Jalal.
The fallen angel speaks to you? A woman? When he speaks to me directly at his will? You are a deceiver and a whore. Fariq, shoot this bitch in the head.”
Fariq begins to step around the table but stops in his tracks when Sil says, “No. I can prove my words.”
What stops him isn’t what she said, but how she said it. Silithes used her own voice, dropping all pretense. Her voice carried a tone and gravity that Saleel’s never did. She looks up at Jalal, smiling, with confidence in her eyes. “Do you wish me to prove my words?”
Jalal nods. “Quickly, or die where you are.”
Sil stands calmly, then takes her burqa by the hem and begins to lift it up, deftly making sure to grab the transponder from her belly and pull the earpiece out while she doffs the whole thing on the floor so it won’t be noticed.
She stands there naked, taking them in, reading their body language. She has them on their heels, except for Jalal.
“I can buy better in Cairo,” he sneers. “Fariq—”
“No, you can’t, Jalal,” she says with a silky confidence. With that, she transforms into her normal succubic self.
Doorman falls back over his own feet, landing butt first on the floor. Jalal’s eyes widen. Fariq shakily trains the gun on her. The other guy at the table mutters something to the effect of, “Allah save us.”
“Behold my true beauty.”
They are enraptured. Silithes is pleased.
“Arthur’s going to be so happy with how I pulled this one out,” she thinks.
Chapter 36
“Lock and load, ladies and gents,” exclaims Znuul.
That leaves me a bit mystified. Yeah, it sounded like things got rocky, but now it sounds like Sil has them eating from her hands. “She pulled it out of the weeds, Z. It’s all under control.”
That gets me a sarcastic smile and a serious eye. “Sure, under control. Until someone hears this black-haired succubus ran off with his terrorist funding agent. You need to stay dead. Think of your family. You take one of his—”
Oh shit. That brings it to home. I don’t bother answering, I’m sure my wide eyes and great poker face give it all away. I just pull my sidearm and nod.
Znuul looks over to Vets. “You and Arthur take the front door. Sheyliene, you're in the air. Warn us if anyone approaches. No survivors. I’ll take the rear. I’ll give the signal over the com. Kitten, you pull them around to the front. Ski masks on. We make this quick.”
Vets nods to Znuul and I give him a “Roger that.”
Znuul dons his ski mask and is out the door into the dark alley behind the house. I press the button on my neckpiece. “Com check.”
Vets nods to me, and I hear a deep voice saying “Check” from Znuul’s end.
Kitten moves the van around the block and delivers us to the front door. We step out, followed by tiny Shey, who’s ready to cover our rear with her bow from above if anyone tries to come in behind us. I push the button to the com. “Ready.”
“On three.” Vets steps up to the door. “One. Two. Three.” Vets kicks the door in at the lock plate and we both surge in. The lounging gentlemen are surprised and scrambling. I hear pfft! pfft! pfft! Three rounds from Vets’ silenced 9mm. I hear some vocal indications of pain. I take to the stairs next to the front door to sweep the rooms upstairs. 9mm trained, I look up to see a mother with a child no more than three years old clutching her leg. The woman looks terrified.
I nod to her emphatically to go back upstairs.
I hear more rounds from Vets’ gun—she’s finishing what she started. I look over to her and she to me. “Clear?” she asks.
“Think so.”
***
Silithes is feeling empowered. She looks to the other man who called for Allah. “Since Allah isn’t going to need to save you, why don’t you be a dear and hand me my burqa? Jalal and I need to step outside to speak.”
Her gaze returns to Jalal, promising many things. She thinks that they better be ready in that alley. She does not like these men, and she’d prefer not to have to play the temptress. The role of the butcher would feel much better.
Allah-help-us reaches for the burqa, when all heads turn to the living room after hearing a crash followed by cries that end a little too abruptly. Fariq starts to the door. Allah-help-us reaches for a weapon.
Then the back door splinters into the kitchen. Fariq spins around and tries to train his weapon at the huge man in black coming in.
Thwup! Thwup! Thwup!
Fariq’s head explodes, painting the wall in blood and brains. Allah-help-us is tossed back over his chair in a gory spray and doorman falls to the ground, part of his head missing. Jalal reaches for the weapon in his trousers and is stopped in his tracks by Sil’s hand on his neck, thumb wrapped under his chin.
Jalal is motionless.
“I had this under control,” Silithes says, her voice dripping with venom.
“Explanations later,” snaps Znuul.
Znuul produces a syringe, steps over to Jalal, and jabs it in his neck. Sil releases her hand from his neck and Jalal stands there motionless as a statue for a moment, then tumbles to the ground.
“Nice work there. Now make yourself presentable and get him into the van. Now.”
Silithes rolls her eyes and begins transforming back to her human form. Out of the corner of her eye she sees doorman trying to crawl away. She looks at Znuul, who says, “Resilient.” Sil walks over to him and steps on his back , stopping him. Then she casually moves over and puts that foot on the back of his neck, pressing down until she feels the crunch of bone breaking and sees his body twitch.
“You through having fun? Get the bastard to the van,” Znuul says.
Then they both stop as the crack! crack! of large weapons fire comes from the living room.
***
Vets was incredibly efficient in her dispatching of the living room crew. I guess that nerves of steel translate to a pretty steady shooting hand. After downing the three of them upon her entrance, she made very sure with an extra round that no one was getting up.
I feel good about sparing the mother and son. That’s just a level of brutality I’m not ready to embrace.
We hear Znuul’s entrance shortly after ours. Nice. He used us as a distraction—actually kind of smart. He is telling Sil something. His deep tone carries, though I can’t make out what he’s saying. I catch some movement out of the corner of my eye and turn to the stairs. Mom is flying down them and wheels around with a
n AK-47.
I move for cover and feel a sharp thud against my chest that spins me around. Instinctively, I try to move around to take aim. As the stairs come into view, I see the mother falling down, blood-spray across the wall behind where she stood.
Vets, catty-corner to the stairs, had a direct shot and took it. The kitchen door bursts open, literally, as Znuul just about takes it off the hinges. Naked Silithes is in his trail not far behind.
Both Vets and Sil have looks of concern on their faces, and my chest is on fire.
“You have been struck!” Vets bounds over to me, patting me down for injury. She helps me stand, ,and brother Z is looking at me from under his ski mask with disapproval. He reaches to my chest and pulls the slug from my body armor, then turns to Sil.
“Get Jalal to the van, now. And you,” he says, turning to me. “You should know better. Is there anyone else up there?”
I look over to see a small pair of feet at the top of the stairs. My heart breaks. No child should set eyes upon what he just saw. Why couldn’t she just have stayed upstairs?
Znuul’s eyes follow mine. “Dammit, Arthur. Get to the van. I’ve got this.”
I know my expression shows protest.
But it is met with a very authoritative, “GO NOW!”
I see small feet running upstairs to hide. There’s no discussion. Znuul is on the march to the stairs. Vets takes my arm and urges me to go.
I’m not sure if my blood is boiling or just frozen over. War is hell.
We run like mad through the kitchen, down the alley, and into the van.
Shey buzzes in and Kitten tells us to close the door.
Znuul instructs us over the com to move out. He’ll catch up to us in a few blocks. We begin to move. My nerves are shot. That kid. Znuul’s silenced Desert Eagles. If mom had just stayed put.
Vets pulls off her ski mask. “You should have cleared the upstairs.”
I close my eyes and choke back hard on my anger. Vets doesn’t need to be the recipient of my wrath; that’s just how my warrior is. But still . . .
She starts to say something else, but is stopped by Pffif’s hand gripping her leg. He is looking her in the face. “I don’ know what happened, but ye should shut yer mouth unless ye want a helpin of yer Wielder’s anger.”
“Not a good time, hon,” replies Sil.
Shey is asking what happened and seems very concerned. She was outside, after all, making sure we weren't surprised by outsiders. I just look at her and shake my head. I don’t really want to discuss it.
The van comes to a stop and the passenger door opens. Znuul gets inside, folding himself up. “Get us to the warehouse.”
There is an uncomfortable silence. It feels like hours. It is probably not even a minute.
Znuul turns around as best he can in the van’s seat. “Arthur, he won’t remember anything. He’ll wake and only remember going to sleep. Now, ten, fifteen, thirty years from now, who knows what may seep back into his consciousness. But it will still suck for him, even if he doesn’t remember. Bullet may have been a favor.”
I take a deep breath of relief and kick myself for thinking the worst. “Thanks, man. It’s better he lives. Much better.”
“Who knows?” says Znuul. “Let’s hope so.”
Chapter 37
We get out of Tarim with no incident. All that is left is about a thirty-minute drive through a bunch of nothing territory. The van is quiet. I guess in between my mood affecting my summonlings and the very dark reality of leaving an orphan behind, there’s not much to banter about.
In a strange way, I’m glad to see how Znuul dealt with the situation. I thought for sure he’d solve it with a round from his silenced Desert Eagle. I think I’m even more pleased to see his overall concern for the child. He gets the orphan thing. But then it makes sense to me—at Grey’s, the kids loved him. I remember when I first arrived how they swarmed him, and I think how maybe he enjoyed it.
My musings are broken by Znuul, who tells us to get our weapons ready. Apparently there’s something ahead on the road. I look out the front window and don’t see anything, of course, but darkness.
“Just follow my lead, and hopefully we won’t have trouble.”
And just like that a pickup pulls out into the road, blocking our way.
I see two men jumping off the back, armed. Two other men open the doors and get out. The man from the passenger door makes his way over to the driver’s side. Kitten has already wound down the window and is waiting patiently. The man peers inside.
Znuul greets him in local language with a robust, “What may we do for you, brother?”
Roadblocker looks around the van. Of course, a seven-foot-plus man in commando gear might stand out a little. He focuses his gaze on Kitten.
“Americaner!” He pulls the door open and yanks Kitten outside. Znuul’s reaction is instant—the door flies open and he’s out there too. It’s very hard to see what’s going on, but I do see Z rounding the front of the van, his hands out in an attempt to calm the situation.
I hear Roadblocker shout at him to stop. Then I hear him tell his friends to get us out of the back. I also hear the threat that Kitten will be the first to fall if we don’t cooperate completely. The rear doors fly open and we are faced by three men with AKs yelling, “Get out now.”
We do.
Now this is an awkward situation. Kitten with a gun to her head. Guns on the rest of us. And Z, who is just basically trying to calm everyone down.
“Now, what is it you want, brother? We can work this out,” comes Znuul’s calm, deep voice.
Roadblocker laughs. “Nothing from you. But we know of those who will pay us fantastically for infidels like you. More alive. Still good pay for your corpses.”
I look over at Sil. Burqa or not, she can still make for a good distraction. She gets the message and starts in with the, “Hey, boys.”
Dropping all pretense of accent, Znuul addresses Roadblocker. “Friend, that woman you are holding is the only thing keeping you alive now. Let her go and things won’t go very badly for you.”
Roadblocker’s response is pretty succinct. “Fuck you, Europe.” And with that he puts a round into Znuul’s forehead.
Taking advantage of that distraction, I run my fingers along the runes to summon Hjuul. I probably don’t even need to say, “sic ‘em!” but do anyway. While my hound is destroying one of the three men, Vets’ weapon is drawn and brings down another. A silver arrow sprouts from the forehead of the third.
My attention immediately turns to Roadblocker. Before Znuul or anyone can react after the gunfire, Kitten has swung around and trapped his arm under hers, making it impossible for him to shoot her. Then from somewhere in that burqa, her 9mm appears. There is a pfft and then another as she shoots his wrist, making him drop his weapon. She takes a step back and puts one in his knee.
“You hurt my master, you bastard!” she screams at him. Znuul’s large hand engulfs her gun to keep her from firing more.
“I’m okay,” Znuul says.
“He shot you!” Kitten is almost crying as she looks at him. Her face turns to Roadblocker and goes back to rage. “Enjoy your last moments, fucker—all ten painful minutes of them.”
Her expression then changes back to her more usual doe-eyed happy face and she looks at Znuul. “I shot him in the liver, master—a real painful slow death, just like you showed me.”
Znuul just nods and smiles, then walks over to Roadblocker, who is clutching his side, bleeding out darkly—not good, for him. Z reaches up and peels the bullet from his forehead, grasping the man’s hand away from his wound and putting the round in that hand.
“What are you?” asks Roadblocker.
“Unimpressed,” replies Znuul. Then he looks around at the rest of us.
“Told you all. Kitten has claws. Back to the road.”
Damn. He wasn’t lying. I call Hjuul over and give him a good scratch behind the ears, making sure to avoid his gory jowls. I thank him for
his help and let him know I’ll bring him back as soon as I can. Then I send him away. Unfortunately, there’s just not enough room for my hulking hellhound in the van, and a wolf would be real hard to explain here.
I watch as my brother-in-revenge walks calmly over to the pickup truck, picks it up by the bumper, and tosses it over to the side of the road to clear the way. It’s easy to forget what he is capable of. I’m glad for the reminder.
The rest of the trip goes by quickly and mostly quietly, except for Kitten’s occasional, “Nobody messes with my master.”
We get to the warehouse and pull in. Znuul grabs Jalal and casually throws him over his shoulder, taking him into the office area. He comes out, grabs some lumber, and carries it back there as well. The sound of some hammering follows, and then he comes out for another small bag of zip ties.
“The demon is getting ready for his fun,” Shey tells me. “They love torture, and General Znuul’s real good at it.”
I knew this part would be coming.
Chapter 38
“I just dosed him with a stimulant,” Znuul tells us. “Let’s give him a few to stew on it, and then we’ll see what we can learn.”
“I be a-thinkin’ to pass on the festivities.” Pffif’s look is serious. He’s filling his pipe with goodness knows what.
Big Z nods to Pffiferil.
“It’s not everyone’s cup of tea,” says Sil.
“Tea I can stomach,” says Pffif, who is now patting himself down for a light. “Ach!” Apparently fire is not forthcoming. He gives a sigh and holds out his hands as if to say, oh well.
Znuul takes Kitten over to a corner and is whispering something to her. Whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to bother her. I take advantage of the lull to summon my hound. What’s a warehouse without a guard dog?
Znuul returns and locks eyes on me while Kitten goes to sit down next to Pffif. Apparently he doesn’t want her to join the party. “Plan is simple, Arthur. We try reason, and if that doesn’t work, we get nasty, break him down. Try some reason again. Rinse, repeat.”
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