Bitten in Two (38 page)

Vayl, battling for both their lives, could only say, “Run, Jasmine!”

I pointed to Cole, but the motion was more like throwing hi m an imaginary rope. “I’l save you. Just… hang on to yourself,” I said. I turned and ran, jumping two entire flights of stairs so I could get to—

No surprise. The door to our stakeout room had been closed. Bolted. Probably reinforced with another demonic seal. The thought of which made me so crazy that I actual y slammed my body against it five or six times before the pain of my fruitless attempts brought me back to myself. I imagined I could hear the steady metal ic beat of Kyphas’s chisel spel ing out Cole’s doom.

What’s happening?
screamed Teen Me as she clutched at her hair and ran circles around Granny May.

Shut up and concentrate!
Gran replied.
Kyphas is
turning Cole into a demon. Now think of a way to get us
inside quick. Because he
would
have the shortest name
ever.

Even if I’d imagined the chiseling, I wasn’t making up the screams I now heard shooting down from the roof.
She
was close. Goddammit, I wasn’t going to make it!

I could’ve dropped into the room the way Kyphas had, but she’d have expected that. Which meant something trappish would’ve been waiting for me. Think bungee sticks that I wouldn’t have seen until I’d impaled myself. That left the windows. None of which had glass or even bars. In a place like this, why bother? So there was no obstacle to slow me down when I ran into the adjoining room and jumped on the sash of the window that looked out onto the tannery just like Kyphas’s did. Straight drop and a sure hip-dislocation to the stones below. Nothing above but more cavernous holes signifying other glassless windows. Oh, and a single decorative element. A rectangular bar running the length of the building set about six feet above the window. It wasn’t in terrific shape. I could see where parts of the top edge had begun to crumble away. But I had no choice.

So I shucked my boots and turned to face the building.

Spreading my feet wide for balance, I gauged the distance and jumped.

I smashed my fingers into the bar on the way up, barking them so badly that I was afraid blood would gush, making handholds so slippery that grip would become impossible. But if I’d cut myself, it wasn’t bad enough to make me fal . I caught the bar just like I had when I was a kid on the playground in elementary school. And again in col ege when I discovered rock climbing. And yet again when the CIA realized I could be trained to kil kil ers.

I dug my toes into the outer wal of the building, finding smal caves in a surface that looked smooth as glass from the ground. And moved, quickly, quietly, to my left. I’d pul ed myself up to the edge of Kyphas’s window when Bergman blew her door off its hinges. The concussion slammed into me, ripping one hand from its anchor and punching me back into the wal of the building.

It’s funny what you recal about people. Granny May always used to say, “You never know what moments are going to stick, so you’d better try to make them al worth the glue.” Yeah, I never quite got her either.

I’d lived with Miles al three years that he’d gone to grad school. And what I remembered most about that time was the day he came back to the apartment, soaked to the skin after walking twelve blocks in one of those monsoons you occasional y get in the Midwest in late April. I’d said,

“Damn, Bergman, you look miserable.”

And he’d replied, “I am. But it’s amazing how clearly you think when nothing can get any worse. I know what I want to do with the rest of my life now.”

“Does it have anything to do with inventing umbrel as that flip out of your backpack at the first hint of rain?” I’d asked.

“Nope,” he’d said. And he hadn’t explained, but he’d had the most satisfied look on his face. Not pipe-and-slippers contented. No, this was more I-have-found-the-Grail happy. I hadn’t seen that expression on him again.

Until now.

I gave myself a second to be grateful I could see at al considering the fact that my eyes stil weren’t sure they belonged in their sockets, my head felt like it had been laboratory tested by Impact-Wrenches-United, and I’d only now managed to regain enough of a grip to pul myself up Kyphas’s window high enough to lock my arms around its edge.

Exhaustion forced me to take a short break before I did the rest of the climb. During which time I noted that Kyphas sat on a prayer mat she’d obviously stolen from a heathen, since she wasn’t developing boils by having contact with it.

She was stil holding the Rocenz, but she’d taken a break from her work to gape at Bergman, who stood in the doorway with Astral at his side. Kittybot’s butt was stil smoking, which meant instead of convalescing, Miles had been inventing some sort of anti-spawn missile especial y tuned to her launching capabilities. Which meant he’d been planning this for a while. Had he programmed that smug expression on Astral’s face too, or should I just assume it was a cat thing?

I cursed myself for not ordering her to force Bergman to stay in his room and recover. Because he looked so thin and ethereal standing there that he could’ve passed for his own shadow. Except for the silver tools flashing in both of his hands. At least, that’s what my mind told me they were.

It was Bergman after al . Lord of the miniature screwdriver.

Why would I assume he’d be carrying a pair of Eldhayr daggers?

Except that I’d seen him take Raoul aside before my Spirit Guide had left for missions unknown. I’d registered the I-have-serious-business look on Bergman’s face. I just hadn’t gotten nosy about it because Miles was Mr.

Secretive. Why ask when you know your pal is never gonna tel ?

Now it al came together in the amount of time it took for Bergman to raise those finely crafted knives as if he was about to carve the Thanksgiving turkey. He’d gone to Raoul to demand weapons that could injure a demon. And before that, his contemptuous look at Kyphas should’ve been my clue. He’d been planning this then, deciding, for al of our sakes, that he had to be the one to kil her.

I pul ed myself into the room and ran toward them.

“KYPHAS!” I screamed before she could break him in two like she’d tried to do in Australia. She jerked around, her eyes widening as she saw me lunging toward her, pul ing my double-edged blade from its sheath as I shouted,

“Me and you!
Right now!
”

Even as I attacked I wanted to swear. Because Bergman wasn’t backing off. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the blood spreading through his shirt as he strode forward and drove the right-hand knife deep into her side.

Wait? Why is his
chest
bloody?

But no one had time to answer my questions. Kyphas was screaming, twisting to fight him. She tried to bring the hammer down on his head, but Bergman blocked her easily as he drove the second knife into her shoulder.

“Ridiculous little speck!” Kyphas screeched. “I’m going to beat you until even your own mother won’t recognize you!”

He stretched out his arms. “Bring it on!” She slammed both fists into his chest, throwing him so far back into the hal that al I could see were the soles of his shoes. But then her wailing distracted me. She was kneeling, staring at her hands, which were red with Bergman’s blood. They’d begun to steam, as if she’d just stuck them in a bowl of acid.

I dove for the stone, but she grabbed it first and shoved it back inside her chest. Then she slammed the pieces of the Rocenz together, though I could tel it tortured her to grasp anything in her burning hands.

She took a wild swing at me and missed.

I stabbed in and up, but she jumped back just in time to sustain a scratch that would probably heal before the fight was over.

Miles came scrambling back, his shirt flapping open in the breeze he made so we could both see the dove he’d carved on his own chest.

“Those knives I left in you have the blood of my dove on them,” he told her. “Just like your hands do. I assume you know what that means.”

I did. The contact with a holy symbol had weakened her.

No wonder I could fight with her on my own level. But that wasn’t al .

Looking as il as if she’d just ingested poison, she rose to her knees and reached out. “No. Please.” He grabbed her wrists and said, “I’m sending you back to hel with the mark of holiness on you. They’l tear you to pieces. Just like that man did to my friend when we were kids.” He began dragging her away from me, toward the hal . He must be heading for the canal. Which meant he’d been keeping tabs on the Party Line, the skunk.

But he looked anything but guilty as he pul ed Kyphas down the rickety stairs. He said, “You knew some horrifying details. Which meant you watched that monster torture and kil my friend. You let it al happen so you could snatch his soul and use it for bait to hook mine years later. Did it ever once occur to you to step in?” He glared at her. “Naw.

’Cause you hel spawn with your pretty faces and your demented quotas couldn’t care less about the innocent.” Bergman dragged Kyphas closer and closer to the canal while I stalked them like Yousef had been trailing me before, desperate to find my way into the action but certain of the kind of welcome I’d get if I picked the wrong approach. So I fol owed at a respectful distance and kept my trap shut, knowing that if I threw Bergman off his game now Kyphas would seize the advantage and break every bone in his body.

Cirilai sent wave after wave of warmth up my arm, tel ing me that Vayl and Cole were on their way. The fact that neither they nor Sterling had said a word meant they thought Bergman had plugged into the Party Line too.

Sucked a little that we’d have to communicate using hand signals and instinct, but you took what you got. I could only hope that Sterling had been around us long enough to tune into our vibe.

Which left the robokitty, stil trotting at Bergman’s feet like she’d been trained to heel. Hard to tel how she could help, especial y if Bergman had already used one of her ass grenades to break down Kyphas’s door. Too bad we couldn’t fit a whole arsenal into that sleek little torso of hers.

Then we could back her up to the plane portal and have her lob them right into hel . I’d be wil ing to bet that just viewing the wreckage would make al of Kyphas’s working parts seize up like an oil-starved engine.

Which brought me back to Raoul, who liked engines, especial y when they were pul ing trains. I nearly cal ed him then. But he’d given Bergman the daggers to start with.

He’d known this moment had been brewing. Could probably see it al happening from his penthouse on-high.

So what if Cole crapped out in the process? An acceptable loss, maybe. Or maybe he just liked hearing me beg for my loved one’s lives.

I did nearly fal to my knees when that thunderous voice of his fil ed my head, blasting away al doubt as to who was the more powerful of us two, and therefore likely to kick my ass into oblivion.

YOU ARE POISED AT THE EDGE OF YOUR LIFE’S

PRECIPICE. YOU CAN CLIMB. OR FALL. BUT YOU

MUST MOVE!

Raoul’s undertone came clear to me as wel .
Stop
whining and do what you do best. Not everything is your
fault. Cole left the Trust, which made him vulnerable to
Kyphas and the Rocenz. Bergman’s fury at his
helplessness as a child led him to choose the time and
moment of his attack. Don’t let their actions, and your fear
of the consequences, paralyze you.

I took a deep breath, paused to reload Grief, and moved on.

I caught up to Bergman, Astral, and Kyphas at the edge of the alcove. Leaning against the corner of the building for the few seconds it took to wipe the sweat off my face, I tried to get my bearings. The vat glowed with a light so alien I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn the mother ship was buried just under the tannery’s surface. Sterling’s net had begun to sag under the weight of dust particles and smal rocks, which attached themselves to it like iron filings to a magnet. As soon as they touched, a bright blue flame leaped up and they hardened. Already I could see a new lid forming where the old one had been before.

As if he wanted her to witness the process up close, Bergman had dragged Kyphas right to the tank’s edge.

She was wailing now. Begging him not to throw her in.

Astral, perching on a pil ow-sized piece of rubble, seemed to be egging him on. The fire reflected eerily in her black eyes as she sang a tune by Bobby “Boris” Pickett, in such an authentic voice that I felt a smile stretch my lips. “They did the mash. They did the
monster
mash.” Somehow Astral’s song cleared the air just enough that I realized I could speak safely. “Bergman,” I said softly. “You can’t open the canal. Sterling’s net is there to keep Kyphas’s al ies from attacking us. No tel ing what you’l release if—”

He yel ed, “Yousef! Are we set?”

Behind us, my stalker cal ed back happily, “It is done, Mr. Miles! Come and see!” Bergman’s smile raised goose bumps on my arms. But nothing had happened to the net. It continued to cover the vat, sparkling like a spiderweb covered in dew. So what—

Miles told me, “I know better than to touch the canal. It’s not necessary anyway. I didn’t even know about it when I made this plan.”

My headache gained strength again, pounding against my temples as I said, “Oh?” Politely. Because he’d changed. When I wasn’t looking, he’d become fierce and unpredictable. I gave him my Southern bel e
do-tell
nod.