I walked back to the doorway. A metal wheel thrust from the wall by the exit. I turned it and heard the clang of a metal bridge sliding into place. I stepped onto the breezeway and saw Curran running up the bridge. The rest of our people waited on the ledge, looking at us. “You okay?”
I swallowed and nodded. “Don’t go into the room. She’ll kill you. As long as nobody enters, we can pass to the other side.”
“She who? What the hell was in there?” Curran asked.
“The bones of my grandmother.”
Curran opened his mouth, closed it, and finally said, “Your grandmother is the magic of Mishmar?”
“She wants to go back to the Tigris. She hates it here.” I slid Sarrat a little out of its sheath. “Look, she gave me a new sword.”
Curran peered at it. “It looks like Slayer.”
“That’s because they’re both made of her bones.”
“Your sword is made out of your grandmother’s bones?”
“Okay, I see how it sounds weird when you say it in that tone of voice . . .”
Curran grabbed my hand. “I’m not even going to say anything else. Let’s just get out of here.”
16
I HAD STOOD in the doorway of my grandmother’s tomb, blocking access to the inside, until the last of our party made it across. She let us go. When I got to the other side, nobody spoke. They just looked at me, their faces freaked out.
“Keep moving,” Curran growled.
We ran through the twisted hallways of Mishmar. We’d been going for the better part of an hour now. I was so damn tired.
“Break,” Curran called.
I almost ran into him, but at the last moment, I twisted away and sagged against the wall. Kate Daniels, the picture of grace.
Ghastek paused in front of me, still in the arms of his vampire. “I demand an explanation.”
Bite me. How about that for an explanation?
“Let me know how that goes for you,” Robert told him. “I’ve been demanding explanations for the last two weeks.”
“You’re not in a position to demand anything,” Jim said.
“Me?” Robert turned to Jim.
“No, him.” Jim nodded at Ghastek.
“Clearly, I haven’t been made aware of certain things, and considering that I’m an innocent bystander to this entire sordid affair, I deserve to know what’s going on,” Ghastek said.
Curran turned. His voice dropped into the flat tone that usually meant he was half a second from erupting into violence. “You and your undead brood came to my house and threatened my people and my mate. I have a strong urge to crush your neck between my teeth. Now, so far I’ve been resisting this urge because Kate is fond of you—why, I can’t understand. But my patience is wearing thin.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Ghastek told him.
Curran glanced at Jim. “Would I dare?”
Jim chuckled. “You would. In fact, I can’t understand why you haven’t dared yet. Mulradin is already dead. If Ghastek doesn’t make it out, the People will experience a power vacuum. Either they’ll fight it out or they’ll get a new boss from above who doesn’t know anything about Atlanta. Either way it’s a win for us.”
“We don’t really have to kill you,” Thomas said. “It can be a happy accident. You could step into a dark hole and break your neck. Or you and Jim could linger behind for a moment or two, and then you’ll slip and fall.”
“On my claws,” Jim added. “Very unfortunate.”
“Or I could accidentally shoot you,” Andrea offered from behind. “It was dark, I saw something move. Everybody knows I’m a terrible shot.”
“Ha-ha,” I told her.
“We’d get back,” Robert said. “And the People would ask us ‘Where is Ghastek?’ and we’d say ‘Terribly sorry, couldn’t find him. Mishmar is a big place, you know.’”
“I feel like I’ve been captured by a horde of savages,” Ghastek said dryly.
“You are a man who pilots monsters,” Nasrin said. “We are monsters. We look after our own. You are not one of our own.”
“I would like to go on record now: we should kill him,” Jim said. “We’ll be kicking ourselves in the ass if we don’t.”
“Yes, Curran,” Andrea said. “After all, how mad would Kate really be? She loves you. She’ll kick you a couple of times and then she’ll forgive you.”
“You guys are a riot,” I said. I didn’t hold Ghastek’s head above the water for hours so they could bump him off. “I promised him he would get out of here. You’re not killing him.”
A flood of undead magic rushed at us, as hundreds of bloodsuckers surged toward us somewhere above. The vampires must have found a way around Semiramis’s chamber.
“Run!” Ghastek screamed.
We sprinted through the hallway. Turn, another turn . . . The hallway opened into what must’ve been at one point a lobby. Giant double doors blocked our way and in between the doors, a narrow, hair-thin gap glowed weakly. Sunlight. We’d found the exit. I almost couldn’t believe it.
Robert slammed into the door. “Locked from the outside. I can see the bar.”
“Stand back.” Curran took a running start and rammed the door. It shuddered. He rammed it again. Wood splintered, the doors burst open, and we shot out into blinding daylight. The fresh air tasted so good. I stumbled, blinking, trying to get used to the glare.
A bridge melded together from sections of a concrete overpass stretched before us, covered with snow and chunks of ice. It spanned a gap at least two hundred yards deep and about a hundred yards wide. An enormous sheer wall encircled the gap. The bridge ran directly into the wall and in the place where they met, a large steel door marked the exit.
In the middle of the bridge stood Hugh d’Ambray.
Adrenaline surged through me. My heart hammered. The world slid into sharp focus. I saw it all at the same time in half a second: the six people in the familiar black tactical gear of the Iron Dogs behind Hugh; the E-50, an enhanced heavy machine gun that spat bullets so fast, they cut through steel like a can opener, mounted on a swivel platform to the left; the two gunners half-hidden behind the gun’s blast shield; Hugh himself, huge, wearing dark armor; and the door behind him. He stood between us and freedom. Hugh in front of us, the undead horde behind us. We had to go through him or die.
“Bar the door, please,” Ghastek said. “Also, just in case you’re wondering, I have no idea how to open that outer gate.”
“We’ll deal with it when we get there,” Jim snarled.
Thomas picked up the broken wooden bar and slid it back into the rungs. It wouldn’t hold for long, but anything was better than nothing.
Hugh’s face was grim. His cloak was black. His armor was black, too. Clearly he had a theme going. The armor didn’t look like either modern tactical gear or medieval plate. It looked woven, as if tiny metal threads had been somehow made pliant, painstakingly crafted together into a fabric, and molded to Hugh’s muscular frame. The fabric thickened into dense plates, mimicking the large muscles on his chest, stomach, and arms, and flowing over limbs and midway up Hugh’s thick neck. Part of my aunt’s blood armor looked like that, except hers was red. It looked like something my father would make, which meant claws, fangs, and blades wouldn’t cut through it.
I unsheathed Sarrat. It fit perfectly into my hands.
Where to strike? Back of the arm, covered. Inner thigh, covered. Midsection, covered. His face was about the only thing not protected, but he wasn’t going to just stand there and let me take a shot at it. I wasn’t at a hundred percent either. I had a hard time standing.
Hugh’s eyes promised death, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking to the right of me. At Curran.
Curran snarled. His irises went gold. All rational thought fled from his face. His expression turned savage. He grinned, baring his teeth.
Holy shit. Apparently they were happy to see each other.
Hugh reached behind his back and pulled out two shor
t black axes. He pointed one at Curran and roared, “Lennart!”
It was the kind of roar that would cut straight through the chaotic noise of battle. It bounced off Mishmar behind us, and far above the giant birds screeched in alarm.
“Come on!” Hugh screamed.
“Curran?” I asked.
Curran didn’t even hear me. He had already started forward, pulling off his jacket as he moved. The jacket fell on the bridge. Muscles on his back and shoulders bulged under the dark shirt. He broke into a run. Curran was gone. Only the Beast Lord remained.
Hugh gripped his axes. He must’ve decided swords couldn’t do enough damage to Curran, so he went for something that could cleave a limb off in one blow.
“Why isn’t the Beast Lord shifting?” Nasrin murmured next to me.
“No point,” I told her. Curran had fought my aunt with me. He would remember the armor. “Claws won’t penetrate that armor.”
“Shoot anyone who interferes!” Hugh roared and charged.
They tore toward each other. There wasn’t a force on the planet that could stop them from colliding. Here’s hoping the world didn’t end when they hit each other.
I wanted to cut Hugh into pieces. I owed him for Mauro, my broken sword, and seven days in the hole. But Curran owed him for seeing me disappear, for finding out where I went, for running after me across half the country not knowing if I was still alive, and then for fighting his way to Mishmar only to find me half-dead. Curran had a much bigger score to settle.
Blood rushed through my veins. I could hear my own heartbeat. The familiar metallic taste of adrenaline coated my tongue. Come on, Curran. Hit him hard. At least the magic was down.
“Can you take out the gunners?” Thomas asked Andrea next to me.
“No,” she said. “Not while they’re hiding behind the blast shield. I could get one, maybe.”
The two men collided.
Hugh spun the axes as if they weighed nothing and chopped with the right axe straight down, putting all of his power into the swing. Curran blocked the haft with his forearm, but Hugh’s left axe was already moving. The axe head bit into Curran’s stomach and sliced sideways right to left.
No!
The world slowed. I saw the bloody blade of the axe slide free, flinging the fine mist of Curran’s blood into the air. My heart was beating too loud in my head.
Curran dropped his guard. Hugh continued the stroke with his left axe, bringing it up and cleaving with dizzying speed. Curran knocked Hugh’s arm aside before Hugh could bury his right axe head in Curran’s side. Instead, the blade grazed Curran’s side. Move faster, baby. Move. Move!
Curran leaped back. His left side bled. The cut on his stomach couldn’t have been deep, but it bled, too.
Hugh flicked his axes and flung the blood at Curran. Red spray splashed over Curran’s neck and chest. He’d flicked Curran’s own blood at him. Asshole. Hugh smiled. Curran stepped forward, his hands raised, aiming for Hugh’s face. Hugh spun, picking up momentum, and sliced at Curran’s midsection in a horizontal cut with his right axe, leaving his face wide open. It’s a trap, Curran. Don’t!
Curran dodged and rammed his forearm into Hugh’s jaw. No.
Hugh staggered back, leaning back, turning the energy of the impact into his own blow, and chopped at Curran’s left side. The axe bit into flesh at least two inches deep. Damn it all to hell!
Curran danced back. Hugh lunged forward, slicing at Curran’s leading leg. Curran dodged left, jerked his fists up, and brought them down like a hammer toward Hugh’s head.
What was he doing? I kicked the snow. Curran was better than this. I fought him every day in our gym. He was better than this.
Hugh jerked his axes up, hafts crossed, caught Curran’s arms, and pulled the axes apart, letting Curran’s blow slide off. Curran kicked with his left leg, sweeping Hugh’s leading leg out from under him. D’Ambray rolled on the ground and sprang back up. Curran chased him. They moved across the overpass, cutting and blocking, each blow fast and hard enough to knock most fighters out of the fight.
The undead horde behind us was growing closer and closer.
Curran was cut in four places. His blood was all over the overpass. Hugh favored his right leg, but he showed no signs of tiring. His axes cleaved, chopped, and carved, one second aiming to sever an arm, the next threatening Curran’s chest. I began to pace back and forth. It was that or I’d explode.
Another graze of the axe. Another open wound. More blood.
Curran was taking too much damage, even for a shapeshifter. I wouldn’t lose him on this stupid bridge. This wasn’t the way it ended. It couldn’t be. Hugh would not take him from me.
The door behind us shuddered under the press of undead bodies. Finish it. Finish it, Curran.
Hugh reversed the blow and rammed the top of his right axe head into Curran’s midsection. Curran staggered and Hugh smashed the haft of his left axe into Curran’s skull.
My heart clenched into a painful hard ball.
Curran bent forward, dazed.
D’Ambray smiled, his grin demonic, and swung the two axes at once. Stupid flashy move. In my mind the blades connected, like razor-sharp scissors slicing closed. Curran’s head slid off his shoulders . . . My throat closed. I couldn’t take a single breath.
Curran surged up, grabbed Hugh’s wrists, planted his foot into the left side of Hugh’s stomach, and fell back. Hugh tumbled forward, pulled by Curran’s weight. Curran swung his right leg over Hugh’s neck. Hugh crashed to the ground on his back and Curran rolled up on top of him, Hugh’s arm clamped in his hands, one leg over Hugh’s throat, the other over his chest. Juji Gatame, the most powerful armlock in judo.
Curran bent back and pulled the arm. Hugh screamed as his shoulder joint came apart. His rotator cuff must’ve torn. Triceps too, probably. Curran arched his hips. Hugh’s elbow joint popped like a chopstick snapping. Yes! Heal that, you sonovabitch.
Hugh roared and tried to chop at Curran with his remaining axe.
Curran rolled clear.
Hugh staggered to his feet. His left arm hung useless. It was over now. Curran would take him apart piece by piece. Hugh’s face was ashen. He was beaten and he knew it.
Hugh swung his axe. Curran leaned out of the way and hammered a quick punch into Hugh’s face. Ooo, broken nose. Curran spun and kicked him in the chest. Bone crunched. Hugh flew back and crashed into the snow.
The door creaked. In my mind, the space behind the door was just a wall of undeath.
“Shoot the left gunner,” Ghastek said quietly.
Andrea blinked.
The two gunners stood together, the right hidden by the blast shield, the left standing so just the top of his face protruded above the shield as he craned his neck to watch the fight. It was an impossible shot. We were too far away and the target was about the size of a large matchbox.
“Shoot. The left. Gunner,” Ghastek repeated, pronouncing each word exactly.
Andrea snapped her rifle up and fired.
The bullet punched the left gunner right between the eyes.
Ghastek’s scarred vampire shot out from under the bridge and knocked the remaining gunner off his feet. His second vampire leaped onto the Iron Dogs from the other side. Ha! He must’ve sent them under the bridge while we were watching the fight. They had crawled on the bridge’s sides out of sight, and now Hugh had no gun.
Hugh rolled to his feet.
Curran pounced on Hugh. The preceptor of the Order of Iron Dogs tried to kick him. Curran grabbed Hugh’s foot and kicked at the leading leg. Hugh’s knee popped.
In front of me, two of the four remaining Iron Dogs jerked their guns up. Andrea’s rifle barked twice, the shots so close they were almost one sound, and Hugh’s people fell.
The door creaked and groaned under the press of the vampires. We were out of time.
I sprinted to Curran and Hugh.
Curran knocked Hugh off his feet and ground his face into the bridge. I grabbed Curr
an’s arm. “We have to go.”
He bared his teeth.
“Now!”
Christopher, the two wererats, Nasrin, Naeemah, Ghastek, and Andrea dashed by. Behind us the door burst. An avalanche of vampires poured out onto the overpass. They tumbled over each other, a single huge mass of writhing undead flesh.
Jim landed next to me, his eyes pure green. “Come on!”
We ran.
The undead avalanche rolled over the overpass, dropping loose vampires. Hugh tried to rise. He got to his knees, saw the vampires, and froze. The undead wave crested and swallowed him whole. Bye, Hugh. Have fun with my father’s vampires. It was nice knowing you.
Andrea dropped into the E-50’s gunner seat. Jim landed next to her. The rest of us ran by the gun. I looked over my shoulder. The E-50 whirled and spat a steady stream of bullets, ripping the front line of undead into mush. But the undead horde itself hadn’t even slowed.
I reached behind me with my magic, trying to hold back the horde. It was like trying to block a tide with my fingers. There were too many, and their magic blended them into an unstoppable cataclysmic force.
“Fuck it!” Andrea leaped out of the gunner seat. Jim followed her, abandoning the gun.
Curran grabbed my arm and hauled me forward. I didn’t run, I flew, the air turning into fire in my lungs.
A door to the outside loomed before us, the only break in the sheer wall. We were about to run out of the bridge.
Christopher reached the door and screamed something. Robert dashed to the left, to the other side of the door, and grabbed a lever protruding from the wall. A square section of the wall, about a foot wide, slid open next to Christopher, revealing a complex mechanism of gears and metal dials. Christopher began to turn the dials.
We crashed into the gate. I vomited on the ground.
The mechanism next to Christopher clicked. The door swung open, revealing a narrow stone passageway. An identical door blocked it just twenty feet ahead.
“Hold the lever,” Christopher yelled. “Turn the right gear on your side when I tell you. If you let go, all doors close. They’ll be trapped.”
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