Bitten in Two

by Jennifer Rardin

  Sterling chuckled. “I hope not, for my sake. You’re too damn skinny to turn streaker!”

  “Everybody stays dressed,” I ordered. “Sterling, keep the goodies stowed. We may need them later. Bergman, relax. Nobody gives a crap what you’re doing as long as you act normal; they’re too busy having their own lives.”

  Muttering something that sounded like, “If you say so,” Bergman watched Sterling unpack, well, it looked like a wooden dandelion. A late-phase one, after the bloom has gone to the spunky white seed that reminded me strongly of my landlady’s Sunday-go-to-meeting wig. Except where the hair made me want to pile drive her into a frozen pond to see if the spikes were as sharp as they looked, the carving was so intricate I wondered if its artist had studied under the guy who’d done Vayl’s cane. Or maybe taught him.

  I slapped the cane against my leg, wondering idly if the sword it covered contained any silver, as Sterling nodded at Bergman. “Just like we discussed, now,” he said.

  Miles eyed the junction box nearest our position. He took a breath so deep that for a second I could detect his ribs straining against the material of his shirt. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Sterling caught my eye. “Okay, Chill. Whenever you give the word.”

  I checked on Vayl. No movement from him or the roofbound Were. “Cole, are you ready?”

  “I’m set. Should I take out restaurant boy first?”

  I considered our options. “Yeah,” I decided. “Do it right before the lights go out. I figure Vayl will move on him as soon as the funkiness begins, and I don’t want any friendly fire casualties tonight.”

  “But…” Bergman lowered his voice. “Can Vayl handle him in his present condition? Especially if he doesn’t know what we’re up to?”

  “It doesn’t matter what year Vayl thinks it is,” I said. “He’s still the baddest fighter in this square. Probably on the whole damn continent. He’ll be fine.”

  Bergman shrugged. I looked from him to Sterling to Kyphas. “Ready?” Each of them nodded.

  “Okay,” I said. “Cole downs the Weres. Remember they’ll be wounded, not dead, so we may have to deal with a couple of them before we can move in and grab the mage. Sterling, you’re going to be able to immobilize Ahmed before he can put the whammy on us?”

  “It’s what I do.”

  “Kyphas, are you prepared?”

  She pulled the tahruyt off her head and slid it lovingly through her hands. “Oh, yes.”

  I pulled out my bolo, slipped it into Bergman’s belt, and covered it with his shirt. “Just in case,” I whispered as he pulled up his sleeve. He glanced down. “Oh!” He went so pale I put out an arm to steady him. He jerked away. “I’m fine!”

  I shoved my hand back in my pocket, contacting the poker chips I kept there, imagining that I’d piled them on a green felt table where I could hear the click clack as they slid through my shuffling fingers, constantly revising their positions but never losing their integrity.

  I said, “Miles, you and Sterling begin as soon as the Were goes down. Cole?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “When you’re ready.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Cole’s shot cracked across the square like the signal for a set of kickass fireworks. The pack leader fell back in his chair, his Luureken and the people at the surrounding tables staring dumbly as they tried to figure out what had happened.

  At ground level, a few people looked for fire in the sky. And they got it. Bergman released four of his missiles at the junction box. They didn’t want to go up, however. They were made to seek the warmth of bodies, and the street below was packed with them. Which was where Sterling’s wooden seedpod came into play.

  He whirled it above his head, chanting, “Up draft. Up breeze. Up current. Fly!” The seedpods broke off the stem, formed a carpet of white that sped after the missiles, caught them, carried them high over the heads of the crowd, and slammed them straight into their target.

  Sparks flew. Blue threads exploded from them, reached over the screaming crowd and slammed into two more junction boxes, throwing the square into darkness.

  Panic, both in the restaurant, where they’d just figured out the man on the floor was bleeding from a massive head wound and his “kid” had been shot as well, and on the ground, where a fire had started in one of the mobile food stalls when someone accidentally tipped over a pot full of boiling oil.

  I saw Vayl cast his eyes around at the rising chaos before separating himself from cart eleven and heading toward the downed Were. I wanted to follow him. But his memory still rested back with Ahmed.

  “Cole?” I asked. In my earpiece I heard another shot. Then another. He didn’t speak until he’d taken six altogether.

  “Three pairs down,” he said professionally. “I’ve got men moving on my position. I’m relocating. If I can, I’ll do the rest after I lose these chasers.”

  “Roger that,” I replied. We both knew he’d try like hell to even our odds, but time was not our friend.

  I tossed Vayl’s cane to my left hand, jerked my right wrist, and felt my staff slide into my palm, its cool handle reminding me to take deeper breaths as it stretched to full length. Following my lead, Bergman pulled my knife. He stared at it doubtfully, like he thought it might leap out of his hand and stab him while he wasn’t looking. In the end he took a tighter grip and checked his missiles. Four still nestled in the sheath he’d created for them. Encouraged, he pulled out the wallet-sized tracking unit that would allow us to find Ahmed again.

  Sterling watched Kyphas transform her scarf into the flyssa that would, hopefully, stick to Weres this evening. But he didn’t prepare anything extra for our trip back to the mage. Just followed at his easy pace as Bergman led us back to the bill Cole had left with Ahmed earlier.

  We shoved our way through the yelling, panicked crowd toward one of the streets that led away from the square and finally found Ahmed trying to make his escape with his arms full of half-hat boxes. He hadn’t waited long for an escort, but then maybe he’d realized they were indisposed. We’d passed two of them on our way to intercept the mage. One had been lying across a picnic table trying to hold its intestines inside its body cavity while its Luureken lay in a pool of blood at its feet. The other Were had toppled into a juice seller’s cart, burying itself in mounds of ripe, orange fruit. Its rider had disappeared, leaving a blood trail we didn’t have time to follow.

  “Ahmed,” I said as we surrounded him. “We have some business with you. Leave the snakes.” Kyphas took the boxes and put them down as Sterling grabbed the mage by the wrists and forced his hands into a clapping position. Sterling banged their foreheads together as he whispered, “Bound to me now.” His bracelets reached out, clasped onto Ahmed’s wrists, and then twisted into one another until they seemed to be made from one single line of bone.

  I traded amazed looks with Bergman, our specialized contact lenses making our awed faces look even greener with envy as we watched Ahmed try desperately to twist his hands free. But the shackles had become so tight he could barely wiggle his fingers.

  “What—” he began, but Sterling held up a finger.

  “You can talk—later. Now follow me.” Just words to Bergman. But I felt the magic behind them, like the thickness in the air before a storm. My whole body tightened as it surrounded me, and I took a second to congratulate myself that Sterling was on my side. It must feel to Ahmed like being bitten all at once by a thousand mosquitoes.

  Our warlock took us back toward Vayl. But before we got there the lights flickered on in the west half of the square. And we were attacked.

  We did have some warning. A flash of neon. The scent of wolf. I yelled, “Sterling, guard the mage!” Then a white-furred form took me to the ground, its snapping jaws so close to my jugular I could feel snippets of skin come away in its teeth.

  It had seen the staff in my right hand and managed to pin that wrist to the ground. The other I rammed into its mouth. The scrape of my metal gauntlet
against fangs made me shiver as I brought both knees up and smashed them into the wolf’s ribs. Its claws raked down my right arm, but then they lifted and I was free. I swung the staff like I meant to ski down a mountain. It hit square, bruising flesh, splintering bone, making the Were scream in agony.

  It staggered one way, I rolled the other, abandoning the staff for Grief. But not soon enough. The Were’s Luureken, a flame-eyed girl with such deep facial scars that parts of her cheek flapped independently as she screamed, launched herself at me. Though spikes had emerged from her head and her body had grown a hard, outer shell, I figured bullets could still penetrate at close range. If I could only grab my gun.

  The Luureken had every advantage. Position. Speed. Madness. And a nightmare weapon. The raes was so close I could already feel it piercing my skin. For a split second I knew that nothing I did or said was going to prevent the claw inside it from ripping out my heart.

  I felt a moment of relief that my whole life didn’t flash before my eyes. Some things you just never want to rehash. But I did see Vayl as he’d been the night before he forgot me. His eyes flashing like a gemstone, green on green under green until I knew if I dived into them all day I’d never find their ultimate source.

  He’d whispered in my ear, “Woman, you make me want to shout.”

  And I’d said, “Go ahead.”

  To which he’d replied, “I am too busy listening. Did you know the world was singing?”

  “You’re such a softie.”

  He’d kissed me. On the belly button. “Tell no one. If news gets out they will not even hire me to curl the poodles’ hair at Le Puppeez Salon.”

  Regret. So enormous that I suspected it would swallow the world. The raes speeded toward my chest. And then a blur, coming from my right. The whine of metal cleaving air, changing tones as it met skin and bone. Instant blindness as blood spurted into my eyes. And I knew, somehow, I was saved.

  I felt a cloth hit my face. Used it to wipe my sight back as I regained my feet. The Luureken lay dead at my side, the spot between its forehead and mouth a mass of gore and brain tissue. The Were had toppled over next to it, panting heavily from its original wound and the secondary smashing I’d given it.

  Around us people screamed and ran, flapping their arms like spooked chickens. I felt about that connected to them as I released Vayl’s sword from its sheath and, in one smooth motion, decapitated the wolf that had just nearly ended me.

  Kyphas stood next to me, wiping her sword on a second piece of cloth that she’d cut from the Luureken’s shirt. I used the one she’d thrown me to clean Vayl’s blade and then threw it down, aiming it to cover the oozing mass of grossness that was the Luureken’s former face.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “You owe me,” she said, nodding to our second pair of attackers. The Were lay, headless, near Sterling’s feet, and neither he nor the mage seemed to be able to look away from the carnage. It hadn’t returned to man-form yet, but I recognized the Luureken sprawled next to it, my bolo buried in its chest. It was the scar-faced “kid” who’d been hanging out with the snake-photo scammer.

  “I said thanks,” I told her. But my eyes were on Miles. Who was staring at his bloody hands and starting to shake. I retrieved the knife, wiped it clean, and went to him. “Bergman!” I snapped.

  His head came up like I’d kicked him.

  I shoved the hilt into his hand. Blew out a sigh of relief when he took it. “Your crisis can wait. In fact, that’s the great thing about them. They’re like the IRS. They know where you live, and as soon as you’ve decided you’re going to survive the most horrible experience of your life after all, they’re knocking at your door to make sure you pay for it.”

  When he gave me a small smile I said, “Now let’s find Vayl and get the hell outta here.”

  I’d like to say my extra sense led us right to him. But the big crowd surrounding the snarling creatures pretty much gave it away.

  Cole found us just as we’d muscled our way to the front. “Should we call this progress?” he asked

  I wasn’t sure how to answer. Did a word like that fit on a street that had heard the screams of invaders and absorbed the blood of defenders so often in its history that the battle waging across its bricks now wouldn’t even make the footnotes of its autobiography? I watched Vayl confront the leader of Ahmed’s guard pack, his wound already nothing more than a pink puckered spot mostly hidden by his thick black fur and the fall of drying blood on his head and neck, and understood how little the world would ever care about what happened in the next five minutes. Hell, even finding out that Luureken weren’t just fairy tales wouldn’t make them blink. Most of the crowd around us were seeing the leader’s froth-mouthed little berserker with their own eyes, and all they could think about was what an awesome story it would make when they finally found a computer café so they could post it to their travelogues. But for me and my crew, Vayl’s victory here meant everything.

  We watched like guest surgeons at an operation while amateur bookies took bets and the people with money on the fighters screamed all around us. We’d already missed the first few moves, so we could only guess what had happened from existing injuries. The Were, bleeding from new wounds across his shoulders and flanks, was going after Vayl like my sverhamin had just drowned his latest litter. And it showed. Vayl’s coat hung in shreds from shoulders to wrists. Blood trickled steadily down his arms and the back of one leg. I saw claw marks on his thighs as well as a bite on the face that had just missed his eye.

  The Luureken, whose shoulder still slumped from the slug Cole had shot through it, hadn’t escaped the sharp edge of Vayl’s weapon, a butcher’s cleaver he must have stolen from Chef Henri. Because he’d sliced four spikes off the Luureken’s head, leaving behind freely bleeding stumps.

  I called from the front of the crowd, “Lord Brâncoveanu, it’s us. We need to get moving. We have Ahmed.”

  He ignored me. I understood. This was his battle now. It should’ve been over a lot sooner. Except Vayl was… savoring… the violence. His eyes bright red with bloodlust, he repeatedly wounded when he could’ve killed. And all I could do was admire him. Because no one had forced him to become the vampire Pete had partnered me with. The quiet, controlled creature who never hunted, and killed only for his adopted country. He’d pulled himself out of the mire without help. That took guts. And strength. And honesty. I couldn’t remember when I loved him more.

  But there was such a thing as overkill. And the longer we waited, the more likely it would be that the other two Luureken-mounted Weres would show up to swing the odds.

  I murmured, “Keep a sharp eye out. The other guards could be—”

  A scream and a thump on the back stopped me. I turned around, raising Vayl’s cane like a club. What I saw was Bergman being dragged away, gaping members of the crowd leaning in to get a good look and maybe a camera-phone shot of whatever had hooked him through his side.

  “Miles!” I bolted after him, shouldering past muttering bystanders who’d only now begun to realize that they weren’t watching a performance set up just for them. In my favor was the fact that the wolf was slowed by the crowd as well. Plus he had a rider and dead weight to drag. I caught up with them less than a minute later when he tried to swing around orange juice cart number twenty-seven and collided with a red-robed water seller, sending the man, his enormous tasseled hat, and all five of his shiny golden cups crashing to the ground.

  I threw myself at the Luureken, so keyed on vengeance for Bergman that no amount of cute could veer me off, not even the lumpy-headed-pup look this one wore. I brought the rider off its mount, our impact making it drop the raes and sending Vayl’s sheath flying. Bergman screamed again as the hook jarred inside him.

  “Miles! The bolo! For chrissake, use it!” I yelled.

  Losing its rider had staggered the wolf. But it recovered fast. And its chest wound wouldn’t keep it from turning on my friend. I prayed that he wasn’t too deep in shock to react a
s I jammed the sword into the Luureken’s neck, felt muscle give, and then bone. It fell to the street like an abandoned doll.

  A scream, more animal than human, and yet I wasn’t sure whose mouth it came from until I saw Bergman trying to shove the limp Were off his chest. I ran over to help, and together we slid it aside, still breathing, but not for much longer.

  Bergman gazed up at me, his face so bloodless I’ve seen pinker corpses. “How bad is it?” he gasped.

  My eyes did not want to drop to that wound, to take in the torn and bleeding flesh. But we both needed to know. I froze my face into an unreadable mask. Leaned over him and pulled up his shirt.

  My relief put me on my ass.

  “What is it?”

  I looked up at him, smiled at his bravery. My good Miles, not even crying like he would’ve been only a few months ago. “I don’t know how you did it. Probably all those hours you spent sitting in front of computer screens. But your limited amount of body fat has all commuted to your love handles. And that’s what the Were snagged. It’s going to hurt like a muther for a long time. And we still have to worry about infection. But I think you’re going to make it.”

  We grinned at each other. I’d have hugged him, but I figured he’d had enough shocks for one day. Then his smile vanished. “What about Ahmed?”

  “The others can take care of him.”

  “Not with the rest of the wolves on the loose!”

  “Dude. I’m not leaving you bleeding on the ground in freaking Marrakech! Besides, there’s only one or two left that we really have to worry about, and they’ve both been shot—”

  He shook his head. “You’re not thinking straight. Vayl might never come back to you if you’re not there tonight. Monique gave me her number. I’ll call her. She’ll help me get to a hospital.”

  I couldn’t speak. Miles had been around before Vayl. Before Matt, even. I suddenly realized he’d been the first person after Dave and Evie to really be there, day after day. Even later, somehow he’d remained a presence. And now, with a goddamn claw shoved through his side, he wanted me to leave?