I spotted Mr. Cane. He strolled down the center of the median, his black coat flaring behind him in the cold wind. He wore a Homeland Security-issue tactical harness over his suit, likely to carry the various guns holstered against his torso. He was doing something with the rocket launcher, his hands moving with swift, practiced motions.
Oh, yeah. He was reloading it.
The weapon snapped up to his shoulder, the business end pointed at the wrecked truck.
I sprinted forward, squeezing past the hood and the railing and running further up the causeway just as Mr. Cane fired. The rocket whooshed into the wrecked truck, and this time the explosion ripped through the ruined vehicle and flipped it the rest of the way over the railing. The shock wave knocked me off my feet and onto the icy asphalt, and as I hit the ground, I heard the truck shatter against the railway tracks below.
Mr. Cane turned as I scrambled back to my feet, that calm smile on his face never wavering. He tossed aside the rocket launcher and reached into his coat, withdrawing an M-99 carbine of the sort issued to Homeland Security officers. It had a laser sight, and I saw the red dot appear on the asphalt, harsh against the glittering black. It swept across the road, and then up my jeans, centering on my chest.
I started to pull together power for a spell, but it was too late. I was still woozy from the crash and the shock wave, and my reactions were not what they should have been. Mr. Cane pulled the trigger, and a dozen gunshots went off at once.
I heard the whine of the bullet as it passed close to my left ear. Mr. Cane had missed, and he had missed because he had stumbled to the side when a half-dozen bullets hit him in the chest and stomach.
A dozen men of varying ages emerged from the wrecked cars, weapons flashing. They must have been current or veteran men-at-arms, allowed by the High Queen’s law to carry guns in public. After the Archon attack last year, I suspected everyone in Milwaukee who owned a gun was carrying their weapon. They must have assumed that Mr. Cane was a Rebel or something.
The delay gave me an instant to pull my mind together, and I drew back my hand and thrust it forward as I cast a spell. The lightning globe spun from my fingers, spraying sparks, and struck Mr. Cane in the chest. The banehound rocked back with a snarl, his limbs twitching as fingers of lightning curled up and down his body.
The men put another volley into him, and Mr. Cane fell backward off the median.
I was sure that hadn’t killed him. It might have hurt him, it might have annoyed him, but it wouldn’t kill him, and he could probably heal his wounds in short order. He would bounce back like a rubber ball, come after me, and bite my head off.
And if any of those well-intentioned men with guns got in his way, Mr. Cane would kill them.
I looked for Riordan, but I didn’t see any trace of him. He had to have been thrown over the railing, and I felt a sick wave of fear.
I had to get away. This massive pile-up had happened because Mr. Cane had come after me, and if I stayed here, I was going to get a lot of people killed. I couldn’t run, and I couldn’t steal a car.
But I could jump.
I heard someone shout in warning, someone else start screaming, and I saw a dark shadow on the other side of the median as Mr. Cane abandoned his human form for his true shape.
I turned, starting the spell as I did, and ran for the railing. The cold metal rasped against my gloved hands, and I seized the railing and vaulted over the side.
The railway tracks hurtled towards me.
But I was already casting my spell, and I finished it in time. The levitation spell gripped me and slowed my descent. I had done this trick a few times before, jumping and using the levitation spell to keep myself from getting killed, most recently so Boccand and I could escape Corbisher Tower. That said, I had never done it from such a height before, and the levitation spell did not slow my descent as much as I wanted.
I hit the ground at an awkward, stumbling run, my arms flailing as I tried to keep my balance. I tripped over the edge of a railroad tie and fell. My elbow bounced off a rail, pain shooting up my left arm and shoulder, and I flopped onto my back with a groan of pain, my breath steaming in the air.
I couldn’t lie here. I had to find Riordan. I refused to believe that he was dead. Once I found him, we could get away and find a place where Mr. Cane wouldn’t dare to attack.
But if Mr. Cane was willing to attack me on a freeway with dozens of witnesses, was there any place where he would not try to kill me?
I staggered to my feet and started to run, heading away from the causeway and further down the railway tracks. Most of the rail lines were empty, but a half-dozen trains stood motionless on the tracks, and in the distance, I heard the wail of a train’s whistle. One of the stopped trains consisted of empty cattle cars, while another was a long line of tanker cars. I was heading north, and if I remembered right thick patches of woods stood on either side of the rail lines, likely to protect the city from any potential derailments. Could I hide in the trees and escape from there?
I glanced over my shoulder as the banehound leaped over the railing and landed between two of the rail lines. I whispered a curse and ran to the left. I was in plain sight, and I had to get under cover. Or at least find a hiding place.
One of the empty cattle cars was nearby, the doors open. I jumped inside, the faint smell of manure flooding my nostrils, and risked a look back. Mr. Cane had resumed human form, and he had a pistol in his hands, his coat rippling behind him.
“Hello!” he called in a cheerful voice. I flinched, wondering if he had seen me, but his eyes kept scanning back and forth. “You might as well come out. You can’t hide from me. I can smell you.” His head turned, and I had the distinct impression he was sniffing the air. “You still smell nice. Well, nice for a human, anyway. Humans do smell better than anthrophages.”
He sounded so pleasant, a nice young man chatting about the weather or the dinner menu. He even sounded apologetic. Mr. Cane did not sound like a creature from the Shadowlands that had just killed a bunch of people on the causeway.
I eased back into the cattle car, looking around. With all the empty cattle cars, I had a billion places to hide around me. None of that mattered. Mr. Cane didn’t need his eyes to find me. He would only have to sniff me out, and he would do it before Homeland Security arrived. All their attention would be focused on the causeway, and once they got around to investigating Riordan’s truck for any survivors, I would be dead.
Mr. Cane said I smelled good. Was there a way to make myself smell worse? That wouldn’t do me any good. The banehound could still track me.
But what if I made everything smell worse?
I looked out the other side of the cattle car. Five tracks over I saw a row of tank cars like shiny steel cylinders. There were dozens of warning symbols on the side of the tank cars, warning of toxic chemicals inside.
Bleach. The cars were full of bleach.
I ran out of the car. My boots crunched against the snow and the rough ground as I ran. Could Mr. Cane hear me? I knew his nose was beyond human capability, but would his ears be as sensitive?
I reached the nearest tank car. There was a valve at the end, and I gripped it, straining with all my strength. For a moment, it did not budge. Then it jerked open, and I jumped back as clear liquid gushed from the valve, spilling on the icy ground.
The chemical smell of the bleach hit me in the face like a punch, and my eyes started to water. Hopefully, it would be strong enough that Mr. Cane couldn’t smell me through the reek. I hurried back to get away from the spreading pool of bleach. I ran to the north, looking around for any sign of Mr. Cane or Riordan, but I couldn’t see anyone. I heard the wail of sirens from the causeway. There was also a vibration in the ground. At first, I thought I was trembling from shock, then I realized a train was coming from the north. Which track? I didn’t want to escape from Mr. Cane and the ambush on the causeway only to get run over by a damned train.
I looked around again, hoping I could see
Riordan. I still had my phone with me, and I think it had survived the crash. Once I was far enough away from Mr. Cane, I would try to call Riordan. He would pick up, he had to pick up, he…
I saw a dark flicker from the corner of my eye.
I threw myself to the side, and Mr. Cane’s bullet shot past me and ricocheted off one of the tank cars. My ankle twisted from the motion, and I stumbled and fell, my left hip bouncing hard off one of the steel rails. Mr. Cane was twenty yards away, shifting his pistol to a two-handed grip as he aimed at my head.
I reacted in pure panic and flung a lightning globe at him. Mr. Cane tried to dodge, but my spell caught him in the shoulder. It exploded in a burst of sparks, lightning coiling up and down his limbs as his coat caught fire. Mr. Cane went into a jerking dance and collapsed, and I threw myself back up, running towards the empty cattle cars.
The rumble in the ground had gotten worse, and a light flashed in the distance.
The train was coming. And it was coming a lot faster than I expected. It would turn me to mangled spare parts if it hit me.
But if I timed it right, maybe I could put the train between Mr. Cane and me. That would give me additional time to get away.
Mr. Cane sprang back to his feet, swinging his gun towards me, the muzzle flashing as he pulled the trigger. I turned and ran, and as I did, my luck ran out.
My left foot slipped on a patch of ice, and my legs shot out from under me. I landed hard on my back, my head bouncing off the ground. I was still woozy from the crash, and pain exploded through my head, bright lights flashing behind my eyes. The rail lines spun around me, and a horrible roaring noise filled my head.
No, the roaring noise filled my ears. The train was coming.
I sat up and saw Mr. Cane standing six yards away, the gun leveled at my face.
“I don’t like doing it this way, I have to admit,” said Mr. Cane. “So much mess! I don’t like involving other humans. It’s not elegant, but the rules allow it.” He shrugged, but the gun remained rock-steady. “Oh, well.”
I glanced to the side. I was lying next to the oncoming train’s tracks, and I felt the ground vibrating as the train hurtled towards us.
“Who sent you?” I said. I had to shout to make myself heard over the howl of the train. “Tell me that, at least.”
“Why not?” said Mr. Cane. “She…”
Riordan attacked the banehound.
He was a mess, his jacket and jeans tattered, blood on his face and clothes, but he moved fast. His Shadowmorph turned into its sword form, a blade of impenetrable darkness extending from his right hand. He swept the sword down and took off both of Mr. Cane’s arms at the elbow. Blood too dark to be human spurted from the stumps, and Mr. Cane rocked back with a howl of fury. He started to change, shifting from his human shape to his true form, but Riordan slammed into him. The sword had vanished, and the black lines of his Shadowmorph rippled and flowed across his face, his eyes filled with darkness.
He seized the wounded Mr. Cane, lifted him, and threw him forward.
The banehound crossed the tracks just as the train howled past.
Riordan had timed it perfectly. The train didn’t even slow down as the engine slammed into Mr. Cane. It shot away, the whistle blowing, and I wondered if the conductor had even noticed that he had just hit something.
Riordan stared after the train, breathing hard.
I took a deep breath and got to my feet, my head spinning a little.
“Riordan,” I said, stepping towards him.
“Wait,” he said. His eyes were full of darkness. “Don’t touch me.”
A wave of molten lust shot through me, and even though I was exhausted, terrified, and it was zero degrees out, I wanted to rip off my clothes and jump on him then and there. It was the influence of his Shadowmorph. It healed him and gave him superhuman strength, but it fed on life force, and it had to be hungry.
Right now, I was the nearest source of available food.
“You’re…you’re hurt?” I said. It was a stupid question.
“A bit,” said Riordan, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths, his big hands curling into fists and opening over and over. “I got thrown from the truck when the rocket exploded. I was badly hurt. The Shadowmorph was able to rebuild me, but it took a while.” He took a long breath. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I said. “You saved my life.”
“I should have been faster,” said Riordan. “I should have realized the danger.”
“It’s my fault,” I said. “I dragged you into this mess, I shouldn’t have…”
“We should go,” said Riordan. “Before Homeland Security comes.” He opened his eyes, and they had returned to their normal brown color. He seemed to have gotten himself under control.
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s go.” He nodded, still blinking fast. “North, we have to go north. We need to get away from the causeway.” I glanced back and saw the flashing lights of patrol cars on the causeway. “Homeland Security’s already here. Pretty soon they’re going to send someone to check out your truck. Might even send a helicopter to do a flyover. We need to be in the trees by then.”
“Good plan,” said Riordan. He shook his head. “You had better take charge. When the Shadowmorph does that much healing that quickly…it messes with your head. Not thinking clearly.”
“Okay,” I said. “Follow me.”
We jogged towards the trees. A moment later we entered the woods, the snow crunching under our boots, the black branches making a tangled maze against the gray winter sky. We were leaving footprints, but I suppose that was unavoidable.
“All right,” I said. “I’ll have to steal a car. You look rough, and I guess I do, too. We can’t take the bus or call a taxi like this.”
Riordan grunted. “Do you even know how to steal a car?”
I gave him a look.
“Right, stupid question,” he said. “I was stupid. It didn’t even occur to me that the banehound might use guns. I’ve never heard of one using guns.”
“The anthrophages use guns,” I said. “Why not banehounds?”
“Good point,” said Riordan. “The woman.”
“What woman?” I said, looking around.
“Mr. Cane,” said Riordan. “Before I attacked, he started to talk about who had sent him. He said ‘she.' A woman sent the banehound after you.”
“Yeah,” I said. I hadn’t noticed that.
“Any ideas who it might be?” said Riordan.
“I have no idea,” I said. “I mean, there are a lot of people I’ve pissed off…but I think they’re all men. I mean…there are Rebel leaders and Dark One cultists who want to kill me, but I can’t think of any women who would have the magic to send something like a banehound after me.” I looked at Riordan. “You have a vengeful ex-wife with magic or something?”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. His previous relationships had not ended well. But Riordan only croaked out a pained laugh.
“No, thank God for that,” he said. “What’s one more mystery?”
“Do you think that killed the banehound?” I said. “Getting hit by the train?”
“Maybe,” said Riordan. “It might have done enough damage to keep him from healing. It depends on his individual strength. He might be able to heal, but it should take him a while.”
“Great,” I said. “Well, hopefully, we will have enough time to steal a car.”
###
As it turned out, it was easy to steal a car.
I had done it a bunch of times before, and some models are easier than others. Royal Motors cars tended to be harder to steal since the expensive models often have encryption chips in the keys. Lone Star Motors cars didn’t have the encryption chips, and it just took a bit of rewiring to get the starter going. I found an old Lone Star Motors Caballo truck parked behind an office building, and after some work and swearing, I got the engine started, and I drove away, heading for my storage unit.
&nb
sp; “I think we just stole some poor janitor’s truck,” said Riordan, slumped in the passenger’s seat. He looked utterly exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, and from time to time I saw the flickering lines of his Shadowmorph on his neck.
“Does that bother you?” I said.
He shrugged. “I’m an assassin, not a thief.”
I laughed. “And I’m a thief, not an assassin. Fine. We’ll park it on the street six blocks away, and I’ll use a burner phone to text the location to Homeland Security. The janitor gets his truck back. Happy?”
“Overjoyed,” he said, grunting as he straightened up. “Thank you.”
“No,” I said. “Thank you. Mr. Cane had me. If you hadn’t thrown him into the train, I would be dead.” I hesitated. “Are…you all right?”
“Fine,” said Riordan. “Better than I should be. I ought to be dead from the fall. The Shadowmorph healed everything.”
“You…don’t look so good,” I said. Truth be told, his face had turned a little gray, and despite the cold, he was sweating.
“I’m exhausted,” said Riordan. “The Shadowmorph heals by accelerating the metabolic rate. Think how long it takes to heal a broken arm or a stab wound. Think how much energy that takes, how many calories you burn to do it. Now think about expending all that energy in ten minutes. It is…a little tiring.”
“Right,” I said. “Uh. Thanks for not killing me and eating my life force.”
Riordan closed his eyes and snorted. “Self-discipline. The Family kills any Shadow Hunter that can’t keep his or her Shadowmorph under control. And I drained off a little energy from that banehound.”
He fell silent, and I let him rest. I parked the truck six blocks from my storage unit, and we got out and walked the rest of the way. Riordan stumbled a couple of times, and I told him to put his arm on my shoulder. He had to lean on me for a few blocks.
We got to the storage unit without incident, and I unlocked it. Riordan climbed into the passenger seat of my beat-up old Royal Motors Cavanserai van, and I loaded up the back with stuff I thought we would need tomorrow.
Cloak Games: Shatter Stone Page 12