The limo that is my destination is just a sprint away, but the three literal bitches have expertly placed themselves between me and the entrance door. Their lupine grins look sinister on their Dior-painted faces.
“I told you she’d come out eventually,” says Ashley—or Maddie—in a voice of a sixty-year-old smoker.
“It was my idea to follow the limo,” says the other—the one who’d helped Roxy chase me through Battery Park the other day, when it took Rose and Vlad to save me from a mauling. “Why do you always take credit for everything I do?”
“Kevin!” I shout as loudly as I can.
Kevin—who was standing outside the car, fiddling with his phone—looks our way.
“Maddie,” Roxy commands the smoker-sounding one. “Get the door.”
Maddie sprints for the door at the same time as Kevin launches for the building.
Maddie makes it there first, grabbing the door with both hands.
Kevin—who’s a big guy—looks at Maddie without much concern as he pulls the door toward him.
The door doesn’t budge.
He puts some effort into it.
Still no luck.
Is Maddie super strong, or is this the physics of the door?
The latter must be the case—the Mandate would prevent Maddie from displaying supernatural strength in front of someone without an aura, like Kevin.
“I didn’t realize your driver doubles as a bodyguard,” Roxy says, ignoring the struggle. “But looks like he can’t save you anyway.”
“She’s scared.” Ashley takes in an exaggerated breath. “I can smell it.”
“I’m not scared of you,” I say. “Whatever this is, I don’t have time for it. Can we do this later?”
“You’re not leaving.” Roxy puts her exquisitely manicured hands on her hips.
“Think about it.” I nod toward Kevin. “You might have a bigger advantage if he isn’t around.”
“We don’t need to shift to deal with you,” Ashley says, pitching her voice low. “There are three of us and one of you.”
Actually, it’s just two of them, unless Maddie lets go of the door and lets Kevin in, but two against one are still not good odds—especially since I’m more worried about getting delayed than getting into a fight.
“Enough of this,” I grit through my teeth and reach for my gun.
It’s empty, but I can still bluff my way out.
Roxy leaps at me, knocking the gun out of my hand before I can point it at her.
The weapon clatters on the floor.
“Grab that!” Roxy yells at Ashley. At me, she hisses, “You’re going to pay for what that senile witch did to me.”
My nostrils flare, and I glare at Roxy’s grinning face. “What did you just say?” I plant my legs wide—instinctively falling into the stance I’ve practiced so much.
“Your geriatric retard of a girlfriend took my powers for a week,” Roxy snarls, her perfect chin held high. “Now you’ll—”
“You mean Rose?”
“Who else?” she sneers. “How many other decrepit—”
My vision reddens, and I execute the punch Nero and Thalia had me drill.
My fist smashes into Roxy’s chin.
She seems to fly up, then crashes onto the granite floor.
I soccer-kick her in the ribs.
She gasps, struggling to get up while her minions gape at me in stunned fascination.
“Say something else about Rose now, bitch.” I kick her again. “I dare you.” I kick another time.
“Stop!” Ashley screams through the pounding in my ears.
I spare her a glance.
She has my gun aimed at my head.
I show her my teeth and kick Roxy in the head this time.
Ashley’s weapon clicks futilely.
Roxy covers her head just in time to take a kick into her forearms.
My boot scrapes her arm, resulting in a very satisfying smear of blood.
“Freeze!” Kevin orders.
I look back.
Kevin is now inside the lobby holding two guns—one pointed at Maddie, one at Ashley.
Maddie and Ashley have their hands raised, and my/Ashley’s gun is on the floor.
Through the haze of rage, I realize that Kevin must’ve resorted to this once he saw my gun come into play.
I wish he’d done it sooner. I have somewhere to be.
To my shock, Kevin doesn’t lower his weapons.
If anything, he looks like he’s about to shoot.
Roxy notices this new danger and rolls onto her back with a pained grunt.
Worried she’s about to try something, I raise my boot, ready to stomp her face with my heel.
“Don’t,” she says through a split lip. “I submit.” Her Mandate aura dims, then gets back to normal intensity.
Maddie and Ashley look at her with eyes the size of gourmet pizzas.
I feel strange—as though someone’s dripped some caffeine directly into my brain.
The feeling dissipates quickly, though. Maybe it’s just the shock of seeing some of the damage I’ve done to Roxy?
“I also submit,” Ashley says ceremonially, then plops on the floor and stretches out to match Roxy’s posture. This time, it’s her aura that flickers, and I again feel that same rush of strange energy.
This must be some kind of werewolf ritual.
In fact, didn’t Kit talk about “submission” in the context of Roxy?
“I submit too.” Maddie gets on the floor, and her aura does the flickering deal as well. I receive another boost of energy—or whatever this is.
Shaking my head, I decide to figure out all this werewolf weirdness later. “We have to get to Midtown,” I tell Kevin. “I need to be there as soon as physically possible.”
“You exit first,” he says, keeping his guns aimed at the teens on the floor.
I pick up my gun and sprint for the limo, taking a seat in the front so I can be more aware of the road.
Kevin gets in a few moments later, starts the car, and looks at me expectantly.
“West 57th Street and 12th Avenue. The modern-artsy building there. 14N. Hurry.”
The car’s tires screech as we launch into motion.
“Do you have any bullets for this kind of gun?” I wave my weapon. I don’t want to distract him, given our speed, but I need to be armed.
“Glovebox,” he says without looking at me. “Box with the golden lettering.”
I locate the bullets and reload my gun.
When I look up, I cringe at the density of the West Side Highway traffic.
Taking out my phone, I call Nero again.
I get his voicemail, so I blurt out everything that has happened today—only editing out the supernatural bits so that the Mandate doesn’t punish me for Kevin overhearing.
Next, I try Vlad’s phone. He doesn’t pick up, so I leave a voicemail to call me—then text him the same message.
No reply.
Maybe he doesn’t want to get his phone bloody, or is in general too busy torturing Baba Yaga’s goons.
A spot opens up in the left lane, and Kevin swerves there, just barely missing a yellow cab. That only buys us a few feet, though, and I get more and more worried that we won’t make it in time.
The traffic picks up from a crawl, and Kevin resumes his kamikaze maneuvers as I bounce up and down in my seat. Lucretia is about to fight for her life, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Stupid traffic.
Stupid Roxy.
Thinking of the teen werewolf, I feel a slight pang of remorse. I kicked her so hard that my foot is now aching. Unless werewolves heal faster than normal, which is feasible, she must be in pain.
Not that she deserves my pity. The stuff she said about Rose—
I stop that line of thought, not wanting to fall apart. I need to focus on Lucretia now.
My mind refuses to obey logic. Rose is dead. Rose is dead. The insidious whisper brings with it a crushing pressure to my chest and tear ducts, but the tears refuse to come out, no matter how much I crave the relief of a good cry.
We come to a screeching halt on the corner of 57th and 12th, and Kevin unbuckles his seatbelt.
“Where are you going?” I ask him.
“With you, to deal with the dangerous Russian thug,” he says—repeating the euphemism that I used for Koschei when I left Nero the voicemail.
“No, don’t. It will be very dangerous.” I unbuckle my own seatbelt and open the door.
“That’s my job.” Kevin exits the car. “Whatever happens in 14N is nothing compared to what the boss will do to me if I let you get hurt.”
There’s no time to argue and no way I can describe the unique nature of this danger without the Mandate making me bleed from all orifices. So I let him tag along.
“This is my husband.” I nod at Kevin when we get to the security guard. “He and I are here for marriage counseling. Our therapist’s name is Lucretia Rossi. 14N.”
“Husband?” Kevin gives me a look when the elevator doors close.
I shrug. “I’m usually much better at lying.”
He nods and pulls out his gun.
I do the same.
The elevator stops, and Kevin takes the lead.
I sprint after him.
We find 14N’s door broken in.
Kevin does a TV cop imitation as he carefully rushes in with his gun raised. I do my best to mimic his actions and follow.
There are signs of struggle all over, but Koschei is missing.
“I’ll check the perimeter,” Kevin whispers into my ear. “You see if you can help her.”
He nods at the couch blocking my view and hurries into another room.
Heart sinking, I walk around the couch, already knowing what I’ll see.
Lucretia is lying sprawled on the floor, her knife wounds identical to Rose’s and her Mandate aura missing.
As if controlling my body remotely from some bunker, I dazedly step over the bloody rapier and kneel next to her to check what is already obvious.
No pulse.
No breathing.
No Mandate aura.
Numb, I collapse over Lucretia, embracing her dead body in a hug.