Last Call at the Nightshade Lounge (16 page)

“Move!” Bailey shouted, shoving a wall of force at the tremens behind them. It wasn’t enough to freeze them in their tracks, but if her brain pushed hard, she could hold them back. “Bucket!”

“On it!” yelled Bucket. He threw out a wedge of fire, and the tremens scattered. The four bartenders rushed into the gap and darted up the side street to the stump of the severed
NO PARKING
sign.

“
Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy
—”

“Not helping, Zane!” Bailey snapped. She lashed her hand like a whip, psychically grabbing the leg of one tremens midstride, and yanked it to the side, sending it tripping into the one next to it. But the beasts slowed for only a moment. The rest of the pack had streamed up the street and was circling the Alechemists like border collies herding sheep.

“It’s no good!” Bucket said. “We’re surrounded!”

“What do we do?” said Zane. He sounded afraid and Bailey didn’t like it. Zane wasn’t supposed to get rattled. Zane was supposed to know what to do.

“We stop being surrounded,” said Mona, as if it were that easy. They couldn’t make it back to Roscoe Street, and they couldn’t head north either. The only open space was behind them.

“The alley!” Bailey yelled. The apartment buildings would act as shields if they could slide between them in time. Again she pushed with her brain force, which stalled the wall of tremens for
another precious few moments, and then she practically dived into the narrow darkness. Zane and Mona rushed after her, and Bucket followed last, blasting fire to keep the tremens at bay. As soon as he stepped past the Dumpster at the alley’s edge, Bailey mentally seized the huge trash bin. Even empty, it was far heavier than anything she’d tried to move, and she felt the psychic strain deep in her brain. Still, she managed to heave the makeshift barricade into the middle of the alley, sealing them off.

Bucket immediately leapt to the lip of the Dumpster and shot a steady stream of fire. His mohawk flopped to the side, succumbing to his own sweat and the heat of the flames.

“What do we do now?” Bailey said. “They’ll just try to get around us.”

“We would be surrounded again,” said Mona, “which would be bad.”

“They’re working together,” Zane said. “Which is fucked because it’s supposed to be impossible. We’re never going to make it back to Long & Strong on foot. And you two must be getting close to your one-hour limit.”

“Really digging the optimism, guys!” said Bucket, blasting another a fire bolt. The alley ended in a four-foot fence overlooking a vacant lot that smelled like ripe garbage; the corridor was so narrow that Bailey could either jab Mona in the ribs or stand clear of Bucket’s flame blasts. She chose to risk getting singed.

“We can’t stay here,” Bailey said. “As soon as we run out of juice, we’re sitting ducks.”

“Again, not encouraging!” Bucket swept hair out of his eyes.

Distracted by Zane and Mona, who were engaged in a hurried conference, Bailey ignored him.

“Black Cat Inn is closest,” Mona said. “Type a telephone message to Anna. Or Lucky Lounge. Or the Diversey Dive—”

“I can’t.” Zane held up a blank screen. “The tremens’ energy
must’ve fried the hardware or something. My phone’s toast.”

“Okay! Okay.” Bailey closed her eyes and willed her brain to work. “We need defense, but we also need to get out of here.”

“We need a miracle,” Bucket said.

“We need a howitzer,” Zane said.

“Not artillery, Zane,” Bailey said. “We need a tank!”

And that was when she realized they already had one.

Bailey patted the Dumpster they were leaning against, and its double lids flew open. “Everyone get in. I’ll use telekinesis to pull and steer. Bucket, you push us with your fire blasts and keep them off our tail. Zane, Mona, keep your heads down until we can get back to the bar. And hopefully—”

A shape surged over the low wall behind them.

“Tremens!”

Before Bailey could react, Zane threw himself toward the creature, which slammed his bony frame right into Bailey’s. They both hit the Dumpster with a loud
clunk
, and for a moment Bailey saw stars. As her vision slid into focus, she watched as the tremens reared up, its eyes glistening with greed. She reached out psychically, seized its tentacle, and jammed it straight into its eye.

The creature’s mouth tore open in a silent scream and the tremens fell back.

“Get off, Zane!”

But he was slack against her. When she rolled his body aside, blood trickled through his thick hair.

“Mona!” Bailey scrambled to her feet, but Mona was nowhere to be seen.

“Up here,” Mona called back. She had already vaulted into the Dumpster. “Get him in.”

Bailey hefted the unconscious Zane with her, stumbling despite the extra beef of her psychic muscle.

“Keep his head up,” she said, her voice cracking. “He’s bleeding.

Bucket!”

“These are new boots,” said Bucket, grimacing, but he vaulted over the edge and into the trash. Bailey was right behind him. With eyes closed, she tensed her brow and willed the wheels to spin; despite its immense weight, the Dumpster pivoted.

“Okay, Bucket,” she said. “Mush!”

Spin. Spin
. Still concentrating on the wheels, Bailey opened her eyes just enough to see Bucket spit another fiery explosion from his palm.

She was ready. At that instant, she directed a spike of telekinetic energy at Bucket’s back, which propped him upright against his own recoil. With nowhere else to go, the energy burst out behind them and sent the Dumpster rocketing into the street, a single wheel rattling like an old grocery cart.

At once Bailey refocused, turning the Dumpster’s front wheels while holding the back ones steady. Catching on, Bucket called up another explosion. Once again she braced him at detonation, and just like that they were zipping along the asphalt toward Roscoe Street, the loping pack of tremens farther and farther behind.

“Bailey, this shit is crazy!” Bucket whooped over the rushing wind. “Also, you’re so my new favorite person!”

“Just keep them away!” Bailey shouted back. She spared a glance down at Zane. He was half buried in trash, his suit and shirt covered in stains. Mona held him with surprising tenderness, shielding him from the bumps and impacts.

“Fire in the hole!” Bucket yelled. And again Bailey’s mind shoved him, causing another burst of speed and ungodly amounts of noise. In less than an hour the street would be crawling with cops, and they had to be safely out of sight by then. There’d be no explaining the situation to normal authorities or, worse, her parents. But telekinesis was draining her fast, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion.

She glanced down again at Zane. His phone was still loosely in his grasp, its screen completely scrambled by the ambient magic in the air. Her phone would be the same way. They couldn’t call for help. Instead, they were going to lure a bunch of hungry tremens straight to a bar full of customers ripe for harvest.

We can’t escape
, Bailey thought.
Not if it means putting people in danger
.

“Mona!” she yelled. “Only magic can hurt tremens, right?”

“Yes,” said Mona.

“And if I’m using my mental powers on this Dumpster—”

Mona seemed to understand. Despite their dire situation, her faint smile returned. “Then yes, for the moment, this is a magic Dumpster.”

Bailey glanced back. The tremens had fallen into a loose formation, flowing over Roscoe Street like a skinless, scuttling flood. And because the Dumpster’s momentum was flagging, the demons were gaining on them. Bailey did a quick calculation, then gave up and hoped her guesstimate was close enough. “Bucket, get over here!”

He did a double take. “What?” he said. “Why would I—”

“We’re making artillery,” she said. “Going nuclear.”

Bucket understood and grinned madly. “Okay, seriously, my new favorite person.” He scrambled into position next to her. She could feel the temperature rising as he superheated the pocket of air surrounding his palm.

“Make it count,” Bailey said. “We need to be faster than they are.” Even as she spoke, she could feel him drawing in more heat. A small orb of fire was suspended a few inches from his hand, white hot like a tiny star.

“Now?” Bucket said.

Bailey turned. The pack of tremens was less than twenty yards away and closing fast. “Now!”

Her word was lost in the
snap-crack
of the explosion, and she
had to squeeze her eyes shut against the searing heat. Though she threw all her psychic weight behind Bucket’s slight frame, the force was enough to send them both nearly toppling. They all lurched as the Dumpster pushed through its own inertia and shot back at the beasts like a giant, smelly bullet.

Two demons at the rear peeled off, but the other five weren’t so lucky. The improvised tank cut a swath through them, wreathing the area in smoke and scattering bodies with wet
thuds
and a stench acrid enough to make the Dumpster smell pine fresh by comparison. Bailey felt the wheels waver on the asphalt, which was now slick with the black ooze that dead tremens left behind.

“Awesome,” Bucket said, exhaling. “Look, they’re fleeing! Flee, you pitiful demon things!”

“No,” Bailey said. She’d already turned a Dumpster into a tank-slash-bulldozer in the pursuit of public safety; she wasn’t about to leave behind any loose ends. “We can’t let them get away.”

She nudged Bucket, and as he hurled a fire bolt at one of the creatures, Bailey scanned the trash for a worthy projectile to hurl at the other. Nothing was small or hard or sharp enough; all of it was old and squishy and vaguely resembled food.
Think, Bailey, think
. What else could she—

Her hand fell on the lump inside her pants pocket: keys. The ones Vincent had insisted she take.

Perfect.

She pulled the chain out of her pocket and held it up for Bucket to see. “Got one more explosion in you?”

“That’s what she sai—er, yes,” Bucket said, seeing her scowl.

Bailey hurled the keys into the air, using her telekinesis to strengthen her arm. When its flight path started faltering, the keys righted themselves and zoomed after the retreating tremens. As they flew, Bucket superheated the thread of air behind them until at last a bubble rippled and exploded.

Bailey felt her brain lurch with the explosion’s force, but she kept her grip on the key chain. She didn’t know if being propelled by magical fire was enough to give it the mojo it needed, so she was leaving nothing to chance. She felt the rush of the keys zooming through the air like bullets and the sickening impact as their jagged edges buried themselves in the beast’s flank.

“Nice!” Bucket went in for a high-five, but Bailey didn’t take it. Not yet. The explosion cleared, but there was no smoke, no ooze. She’d hurt it but hadn’t managed a kill shot. She swore and braced herself against the edge of the Dumpster, ready to haul herself out and take the fight to the tremens even though she’d formed only half an idea what to do next.

But someone beat her to it.

Mona flitted past like a shadow, jumping from the speeding Dumpster and hitting the ground in a somersault. She came up in a crouch, then took off sprinting.

“Mona!” Bailey yelled, yanking herself out of the trash with the help of a psychic boost. She slowed her fall with a telekinetic cushion and hit the ground running. “Mona!”

But Mona was headed for the wounded tremens. Its leg gave out, and the wounds inflicted by the keys were starting to ooze. Bailey might not have killed it, but she’d robbed it of its speed.

Mona threw herself into a dropkick and planted her feet on the beast’s injured leg. It arched its back in pain but didn’t cry out. Yellow eyes brimmed with rage as it whipped a tendril at Mona. But she’d already sprung up and nimbly danced out of the way. She kept herself behind the beast, forcing it to pivot on its wounded side and presenting one big target to Bailey. Her psychic fingers dug into the tremens’s three wounds, and when she wrenched her hand, the keys were yanked into the air. The tremens shook violently, whipping at the air but hitting nothing. Without hesitating, Bailey drove the keys through the back of its head. A final cloud of sulfurous
smoke erupted, and then she and Mona stood on the street, reeking of trash and Hell itself.

“Well fought,” Mona said, wiping her hands on her pants.

Before Bailey could answer, Bucket hobbled up, carrying Zane. “We’re getting the fuck out of here. Now.”

It wasn’t until she heard Vincent’s voice through the bar door that Bailey felt safe.

“Quit fucking banging! Jesus. I gave you keys for a reason.” The door to Long & Strong creaked open and Bailey’s boss emerged. His nose wrinkled. “What the hell happened to your patrol? And that smell—”

“We’ll tell you inside,” Bailey said. “We’ve got Zane Whelan. He’s hurt.”

Vincent scowled but moved aside. As they shuffled in, Mona hung back. “I’m going on a coffee run,” she said and then disappeared.

Bailey couldn’t believe Mona could think of a caffeine fix at a time like this, but she was too exhausted to protest. Vincent settled into a booth at the back of the room, but by the time they bandaged Zane, rinsed off the tremens stink, and explained what had happened, he was up again, pacing the length of the bar. Poppy dutifully trotted alongside, but he didn’t need her guidance.

“This is bad,” Vincent said.

“With all due respect, boss,” said Bailey, “no shit.”

At some point Mona had reappeared, bearing a cardboard carrier balancing five coffees. She brought the first to Zane and helped lift it to his lips.

“Worse than you know,” said Vincent. “Group events are some
serious
shit.”

“Group events?” Bucket shook his head so hard his piercings rattled. “But the energy fields or whatever—”

“Horseshit,” Vincent said. “Those suckers will group if they’re strong enough. I’ve seen it happen. Meaning, that was so long ago I really could see.”

The Alechemists fell silent.

“The summer I was back from fighting in the jungle,” Vincent continued, “I got my first job as a bartender and signed up for a whole new fight. Just a little bit after I started, we got tremens popping up by the delirium—that’s what you call a group of them. At one point we topped out with a delirium nearly thirty strong wreaking havoc up and down Diversey. It took sixteen bartenders to beat them down, and then we worked overtime to make the citizens forget. Blamed it all on some antiwar protest or something.”