Bitter Night (24 page)

Thor nodded. In a minuscule movement, he let the nose of his gun dip. It looked like an invitation. To murder? Or something else? Alexander took the chance. He whipped up his .45 and shot Thor in the chest twice, then dropped as Cleo whirled and kicked a roundhouse at him. He avoided it, and she swung past, staggering as she struggled to balance. Her useless arm threw her off. He dove at her, slamming into her stomach. He picked her up and plowed her against the side of the van. Glass shattered and steel crumpled. He dropped her and spun to face Mercury. The other man was scrabbling for his gun, pulling himself along on his elbows. Alexander leaped for him and rammed the butt of his gun against the back of the other man’s head, dropping him in a heap.

Alexander turned slowly, examining his handiwork. Both Cleo and Mercury were out cold. Thor lay on his back, his gun resting on his stomach, the hammer cocked, his finger on the trigger. He could have shot Alexander at any time. Blood soaked his T-shirt and flecked his square jaw. He held out the gun and Alexander took it

“You should hurry,” he rasped. “You don’t have much time before they wake up. Better tie us up good or we’ll have to warn Selange you’re coming.”

“Why? Why are you helping me?”

It was Thor’s turn to smile. “Not the first time. Wasn’t you I was shooting at the other night.”

Alexander stared. “I thought you said you had your orders.”

“I didn’t think much of’em. I owed you more than that.”

“Thanks.” Alexander did not know what else to say. He had misjudged the other man and that hurt, even as discovering Thor’s loyalty was a balm. Having his Shadowblades turn on him so easily had hurt more than he could let himself acknowledge.

“Best get a move on. These wounds will keep Selange from thinking anyone helped you. But I’m healing fast, and when I do, I’ll have to try to stop you.”

Alexander nodded and snatched up the duct tape he’d dropped. Efficiently he wrapped the ankles and arms of his three captives, leaving Thor for last. When he was through, he sat back on his heels.

“Not enough,” Thor said.

“You used most of the cable ties on me and Max,” Alexander said.

“Max? That’s your Prime?”

“Yes.”

“Not much of a name, is it?”

“Her witch seems less interested in theatrics than Selange,” Alexander said drily, wasting time, putting off the inevitable.

Thor sobered. “Do it. Pain is just pain and you need to buy time. Bonus is we won’t be hunting children tonight, maybe not tomorrow if you do it good enough. That’s worth a lot.”

Alexander put his hand over Thor’s, gripping it tight. “I owe you.”

“Don’t do that, son. I don’t want your debt. I owed you for shielding us from the worst of Selange for so long, and for keeping our skins intact. Call us even.”

“Not the same thing, my friend. That was my job. This is more. I owe you,” Alexander repeated, echoing the words Max had said to the angel. The irony was not lost on him. He had never offered his debt before’he had always been too leery of the cost. But her example was inspiring, demanding the best of him. He wanted to give it.

He said nothing more, rolling Thor onto his stomach. Alexander pulled his knife from its sheath, and without letting himself think, he cut deeply into Thor’s lower back, severing his spinal cord. He stood and did the same to Cleo and Mercury. It was the sort of wound that would take a day or more for their bodies to repair. Their other wounds would only slow their healing. He lifted each of them into the van, digging through their pockets for their cell phones. He smashed them, then popped the hood of the van and yanked out the spark-plug wires and snapped them in half. He cut the stems off the two front tires. Air hissed out into the night.

Returning to the rear of the van, he pulled down the blackout door separating the back from the front seats. He latched it and did the same with the metal roll-up shutters on each of the windows. If no one found them before dawn, they would not burn to ash. He looked the three of them over once more. Cleo and Mercury were still unconscious. Thor lay unmoving, watching Alexander.

“I meant what I said,” Alexander said. “I owe you.”

With that, he hit the locks and closed the rear doors. From their arrival to now had taken less than ten minutes. Alexander ran across the parking lot to a row of cars. He found an older Toyota Celica. He broke the window, yanking out the ignition assembly with his fingers and hot-wiring it in a matter of minutes. His right arm was functioning again, though it was a bit clumsy. Blood still leaked from his wounds, but the holes had begun to close.

Swiftly he shoved in the clutch and put the car in gear. It would take him nearly half an hour to get back to Aulne Rouge. If Selange had not changed the wards since the Conclave, he could get inside easily enough’he had built several escape routes in the case of attack. But the real problem was going to be getting Max out of the cage. He was dearly hoping that once he released her bindings, she could manage the rest. After all, she had driven through the Conclave veil without the aid of a witch. If she could do that, maybe she could get through the containment spells on her cell. If not’

If not, Alexander was going to have to make Selange open it. He did not want to bet on his odds of coercing a powerful witch into doing anything she did not want to do. But he would try, because he owed Max. Not for saving him, though he owed her for that, too, but for giving him back his faith and his integrity. It was a debt he doubted he could ever pay.

AULNE ROUGE WAS LOCATED EAST OF SAN DIEGO JUST past Granite Hills off Interstate 8. It was carved into the top of a hill, as much aboveground as below. It was surrounded by a narrow band of scrub oak and brush. Beyond that were houses and a couple of small towns. It was close enough to people to fuel Selange’s magic, and secluded enough to allow her some privacy. The witches of the coven lived within a ten-mile radius’easy to summon at a moment’s notice and far enough away to keep from annoying Selange.

Alexander parked on a dirt road at the rear of the covenstead. He pulled the Celica up beneath the spreading limbs of a gnarled black walnut, hoping the car would go unnoticed. He sat a moment, collecting himself. His wounds still seeped, though they were nearly closed. They burned fiercely. Blood loss made him a little woozy. He needed food and rest, but knew he wasn’t going to get them anytime soon.

A wrought-iron and brick wall marched the border of the covenstead. Inside, the grounds were artistically wild and lush. Selange had lured a spring to the surface and used its water to create a green wonderland of verdant trees and twining vines.

He walked along the wall until he found a small gate. Trespassers attempting to use it would be trapped in a painful net of magic until collected by Selange at her leisure. Jumping over was not an option. Those wards did not care who was trying to get in; they would fry him like a bug zapper. Alexander flexed his fingers. He doubted’he hoped’that Selange had not bothered to change the wards after he had failed to beat Max at the Conclave. She had more urgent matters to consider and had surely expected him to be in Giselle’s cell. But there was only one way to be sure.

He reached out and grasped the latch. Magic crawled over his hand and up his arm. It was gelid and sticky as it spiderwebbed over his skin. In less than three heartbeats he was enveloped in the spell lattice and unable to move.

He waited.

Magic wormed beneath his skin and wriggled along his bones. Alexander had no idea what it was looking for; he never had. If it sought his bond with Selange, then he had lost his gamble. But more beings than just the members of the covenstead used this gate. And that was what he was banking on.

The seconds ticked past. He held his breath. Then suddenly the magic withdrew, leaving behind a faint itching. Alexander sagged, then collected himself and pulled open the gate. Quickly he slid through, letting it close behind him. Leaving would be easier. Selange did not waste the coven’s power on wards to keep anyone inside.

The wild garden provided ample cover. More than once he stopped, feeling as if someone was watching. The feeling rubbed up against him like the hot electricity of an approaching storm. Each time he waited and the feeling passed. He had no idea who the hunter was. All of Selange’s Shadowblades were in San Diego.

He kept off the paths as much as possible, pushing through the thick undergrowth. He went slowly, making hardly a sound. The night birds were oblivious, chattering at one another like gossipy old women. Insects buzzed, riding the humid air. The scent of gardenia and orange blossoms mixed with smoke was enough to cover the scent of his blood and sweat. Whoever was hunting him would have to come very close to smell him.

At last he arrived at the entrance to the main compound. A sheer wall of rock thrust out of the ground, sculpted by magic. Set into it was a brown metal door. Anyone else would have seen only rock. Alexander had had Selange cast an illusion on the door. It was a quick escape route in case of attack. On the other side was a hallway that led directly to Alexander’s quarters, which lay below Selange’s apartments with a perpendicular shaft connecting them. The prison cells were a scant hundred feet away from his rooms on the same level. That way Selange had quick access to her prisoners, and Alexander was close enough to be summoned quickly should the need arise.

This door was not warded. Instead it was locked in a fashion that only Alexander could open. He splayed his hands against it and pushed his senses inside the door, where eight titanium bars radiated out into the stone. There was no door handle or exterior mechanism to open it. Only the coven witches with their magic and Alexander with his telekinesis could retract the bars.

But he was drained. The damage the rats had done to him and the bullet wounds in the escape after the Conclave had taken a heavy toll on his healing spells. The wasting dry heat of Selange’s prison cell had only stressed him more. Now he was wounded again. His jaw clenched. Max had been injured far worse than he had, and she had suffered longer in her cell. He needed to get her out.

He pressed hard against the door, letting his forehead rest against the metal. His muscles knotted, as if physical force could help. He squeezed his eyes shut, hardening his focus. The back of his neck prickled as he felt that same watchful hunter creeping near. Instinct told him to find cover. He ignored it. Instead he concentrated on the locking mechanism inside. It was a four-inch wheel fixed in place by a tiny lever. Once he flipped that lever, he merely had to turn the wheel until the hydraulic system caught.

The hunter was drawing closer. Adrenaline exploded in Alexander’s body. He held himself tightly in check. Max. He pushed up on the internal lever. It refused to move. Drawing a harsh breath, he pushed again. This time it flicked up sharply. Now he shoved against the wheel. It quivered. He threw himself harder against it and it rotated. He felt the hydraulics catch. He slumped with relief. His head throbbed. Inside the door he felt a vibration then a hum as the bars retracted. They snicked into place and the door popped open a crack. Alexander swung it open and slipped inside.

He did not dare lock it again. He had hardly had the strength to open it, and he still had to release Max. He pushed it closed. A hidden switch farther up the hallway would trip the lock manually, but he and Max might not have the time it took to unlock the door when they made their escape if they were pursued. He would have to chance the outside hunter getting inside.

He strode quickly up the hallway and into his apartment. He snatched a powerbar from the dish of them he kept near the door and ate it in two bites. He took another, cracking open the main door to look out.

He peered out into the hallway. It was deserted. That was not unexpected. All of Selange’s Blades were out hunting children. His mouth twisted with disgust. She was doing an evil thing and he could do nothing to stop her.

But he could steal Max away from her.

Alexander ran silently down the hallway. At the corner he paused to glance down the cross-corridor. Far away he heard the sound of voices and the strains of music. Quickly he crossed and kept going. A minute later he stood outside the dungeon. Selange was probably preparing herself to sacrifice the children. She had little reason to be watching Max right now. At least he hoped so. He would find out soon enough if not.

He pushed inside. The room was much cooler now. Alexander went to Max’s cell, relief sweeping through him. She was still on her feet. He had not let himself worry about her losing so much strength that she hanged herself. She stared stonily at him as he entered. Her gaze dropped to the blood soaking his shirt and then to his leg, then back up. He did not waste time explaining or making excuses for what he had done. Words would not make her trust him; he was not sure what would. Right now, he had to get her loose of her bonds.

“I can get the rope off and get you out of the cable ties, but I cannot open the cell,” he said.

If she was surprised he was there to help, she did not show it. “Hurry the fuck up,” she rasped.

Alexander reached for a chair and sat. He pulled his focus in, concentrating on the rope tied above her. His head still ached and his mind felt foggy. He raised his hands and pressed his palms against his temples. Slowly he forced out every other thought but the green-and-white rope. Then he began to unknot it.

13

MAX HAD SPENT THE LAST HOURS FIGHTING TO keep her balance while berating herself for trusting Alexander. Not that she’d have done anything differently. She would still have gone after the Hag and she’d still have been caught, and she could only blame herself for that. Alexander had only stopped her from fighting a suicidal battle. But it still burned like a tall drink of acid. It was one thing to be taken in by a clever con, another to let herself be sweet-talked like a moron. But even that wasn’t true. He’d hardly said a word. I want to stay with you. Max had believed him. She wanted to believe that his word mattered to him as much as her word mattered to her. Or maybe she’d just been blinded by lust.