The worst part wasn’t going down the stairs with the charms tied in my hair. It wasn’t even opening the door and stepping out into the vast daytime cavern of the Monde, tiny golden shafts of sunlight struggling through the dust and thickening. It also wasn’t the sight of Riverson flung backward over the bar, his mouth slack in an upside-down scream and his hand still dripping blood. His filmed eyes were closed forever, and the terror frozen on his dead face was enough to give any reasonable person nightmares.
I barely glanced, storing it away for later, because the worst thing was the ripple that went through the assembled hellbreed packed into the Monde’s throat. They filled the dance floor, brushing against the bar and its bloody cargo. The Traders at the door were grotesque slabs of muscle with submachine guns and slack mouths. There were no other Traders; it was strictly a ’breed affair.
Hellbreed lips parted, the female mouths candyglossed and the males’ merely sculpted, and they smiled at me like a collection of dotty old aunts beaming at a favored family baby.
“There she is.” Perry stood on the stage, his hands in his pockets. It spoiled the lines of his suit, but he didn’t look like he cared. Since he was grinning ear to ear. “Our lovely one, our own Kiss.”
Oh, great. Every inch of silver on me ran with blue light, and the gem on my wrist muttered softly, buzzing in my bones. The hellbreed smiles didn’t cease, and under their hard, flexible skins little ripples churned. Their eyes burned, glowing with excitement.
I swept the door closed. The sound of it catching shut was loud in the sudden murmuring stillness. The crowd was utterly still. Here during the day. Perry must have called a meeting. Why? So he can impress me?
Only one of them didn’t look happy. He was a tall stocky ’breed with glare-yellow eyes, his skin dappled with inky stains. Frayed designer jeans, sharp bony claws, and the handsome face of a pimp who can afford to slide the knife in once a wrinkle or two shows up on a working girl’s face. He stared at me, his lip lifting, but before he could open his mouth there was a low, rumbling growl.
The dogsbody lumbered out of the darkness behind the bar, slinking along. It had matured, and its close blond pelt was wiry and glossy. Its eyes were crystalline, flicking over the assembled ’breed as it placed its paws just so. There was something wrong with those eyes, but I couldn’t think of just what.
The gun drew itself free, my finger on the trigger and my pulse dropping into the steady rhythm of impending action. It would be just like Perry to have a dog attack me in full view of his little throng.
But there was a whisper next to me, and Perry’s fevered fingers on my wrist. “Hush, darling one. Wait.”
I could still feel the thing’s throat against my whip as I choked it, my coat was still flapping from its claws, and he wanted me to wait?
The dogsbody padded forward, its claws snicking softly on the floor. Perry’s hand tightened. It was too close, if it bunched its hindquarters and sprang…
It was terrible, the way you could still see the shadow of human hands under its paws, and a weird roll to its humpbacked gait showed you it had been bipedal once. Its head dropped, snaking at the end of its adapted neck, and it slowed. It was close enough to spring, and I didn’t want to die here in the Monde. It would mean breaking Perry’s arm, or worse, but—
The dogsbody gave a sigh, settling down on its haunches. It lowered its front end, and it crawled belly-down on the floor, whining, until it reached my feet. Its tongue was black, too, and it lapped at my boots, still stained with hellhound ichor. The slimy trails it left behind glistened, and revulsion jolted up my legs to engulf the rest of me.
A huge retch filled my stomach, crawled up my throat. I swallowed so hard the effort left me blinking. A sigh went through the hellbreed, and a mutter of Helletöng like faraway thunder in the middle of a flint-cold night.
“See?” Perry, slowly releasing me, one finger at a time. “We’re all at your feet, my darling.” More loudly now, playing to the audience. “Do any of you worms doubt me? She’s hunter, she’s human, and she’s mine, here of her own will. With her to wield it—”
“It’s a long way from owning one of the monkeys to coaxing it to wield that,” the piebald hellbreed piped up. “And she stinks of the Other Side. What are you playing at, Hyperion?”
Perry turned, and there was a general drawing away. The ’breed were packed in here like sardines in a can, but they managed to find the space to leave the piebald standing alone.
Dominance, I realized. This kid’s looking to take a bite out of Perry. Interesting.
What was even more interesting was that he was a ’breed I hadn’t seen before. I knew all the players—or at least, I had a couple months ago.
“Oh, the Other Side.” Sarcasm dripped from Perry’s words, and the floor groaned sharply. “When have they ever taken an interest? Fear of them restrains us, is that it? I am no longer content to be restrained.”
“Your lord father—” Piebald hesitated, because the Monde had gone still, and hot air breathed along every surface.
Father? Oh, my God, you mean someone actually gave birth to that? Hellbreed reproduction is not my area of expertise—I just kill the motherfuckers—but I supposed it was possible. And the thought made my stomach turn over again, harder this time.
“Oh, yes, my dear Halis. Let’s mention him. Really, you’re a bad guest.” Perry’s smile was wide and utterly chilling. He bore down on the piebald, hands still in his pockets, his shoulders square. The dogsbody had finished licking my boots and whined, deep in its throat. The sound was a glassy squeal, diamond claws on a mirror.
The Other Side. Wield it. Betcha ten bucks he means la Lanza, according to Melendez, and I have to find out where he’s keeping it. I couldn’t look everywhere at once, and I didn’t want to. I watched Perry’s linen-clad back, and when the dogsbody hunched itself up to crouch against my leg I almost retched again.
The piebald ’breed seemed to shrink, hunching his shoulders as sallowness rose on his pale parts. Even his hair was patchwork. “Don’t be hasty.” He swallowed, visibly. “I know where it is, I’m the one who can get it for you—”
“Oh, but I think we’ll do quite well without you.” Perry’s sheer goodwill was terrifying. I still had the gun in my hand, loosely pointed at the floor. “I know where the Lance was, too, and even now I know where it is. Because it happens to be in my keeping, along with my darling Kiss.”
Stop him. Judas to a hellbreed. The caretaker’s eyes, bright blue now, and the dogsbody’s teeth at my throat. He’d been stroking the thing’s head, scratching behind its ears. Its eyes had been blue, Jughead Vanner’s eyes with hellfire dripping through them, but now they were colorless crystals.
Just like the gem in my wrist.
“Really, Halis. Did you think to challenge me? Here? Now?” Perry made a little clicking sound, tongue against teeth, and stepped mincingly past the piebald ’breed. “Kiss?”
It took two tries before my voice would work, because I knew what was coming. “What?” At least the word came out right, bored and flat.
But whatever it was Perry wanted, Halis decided it was better off unsaid. He was deadly silent about it too, blinking through space with the stuttering speed of a hellbreed who means business. I was already tracking him with my right-hand gun, whip loosened and chiming as it flicked forward, one hip cocked and ready to swing back.