Chapter 20
RAYCH HID UNDER GELSON’S COT while a cacophony of shouts and echoing booms assaulted her ears. She had no idea who was there or what was happening, and she prayed to the Sixth Prophet to deliver her from whatever terror had befallen her.
“Raych!” she heard from outside the door. A voice she knew better than any other.
“Verci!” she called back, scrambling out from under the cot.
The door rattled, and she could hear him muttering on the other side. “Hold on,” he called.
“I got it,” she said, releasing the bolt and opening the door.
There he was, looking like he had been through nine kinds of horror, his beautiful face scratched and smudged with soot. His shoulder was bleeding, seeping through his torn shirt.
She grabbed him and kissed him like she had been walking through the desert and he was water.
“Raych, Raych,” he tried to say before she let him extract himself from her lips. “We have to go.”
“What’s happening?” she asked.
“Everything bad,” he said. “Come on.”
He twisted something on the gauntlet he had on one arm, and took her hand and led her through the darkened corridor to the back door. Upstairs, she could hear fighting and chaos.
“All right,” he said. “There’s the back courtyard here, and on the other side is an alley that comes out on Heel. When we get outside, we’re going to run like every sinner is behind us. Just keep running until you get to Heel, and then we keep on running until we get to your sister’s.”
“My sister’s?”
“I told Lian to stay upstairs with the baby until Hal came for her, and then go home and lock themselves in. At this hour they’ve already gotten there.”
So Verci had taken care of Corsi. Good. “But why are you telling me?”
“In case we get separated.”
She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight. “We are not getting separated, Verci. No chance.”
“All right,” he said. “Ready?”
“No,” she said. A horrific crunching sound came from above. “But that doesn’t matter.”
“Run!” he shouted, and they both tore out the door, across the courtyard, and down the alley. As soon as they were out in the street, Raych stopped short, startled by the appearance of two great horses in front of her, and the Ch’omik woman she nearly crashed into.
“Heya, what?” the woman shouted.
Raych reacted, throwing the first true punch she had ever thrown in her life. She hit the woman right in the chest, sending her reeling back.
And possibly smashed her own hand in the process.
The Ch’omik woman recovered, and moved back at Raych while pulling out a terrifying blade.
“Whoa, whoa!” Verci shouted, getting between them. “It’s all right, it’s all right!”
“What the blazes?” the Ch’omik woman snarled.
“She’s my wife,” Verci said.
“I know who she is, why did she hit me?”
“How do you know me?” Raych asked.
“I was up there while you were sleeping,” the woman said. “What is going on?”
“We’re compromised,” Verci said. “Jhoqull, I need you to get Raych out of here.”
The woman looked up toward Doctor Gelson’s office. “But who is there?”
“Fenmere’s heavies and mages,” Verci said. Raych gasped at the sound of that. “Just get her out of here. Her sister lives on Colt Road, right by the creek—”
“And where will you—” Jhoqull started.
Raych already knew the answer. “No, Verci, you are not going back in there.”
“But Asti—” he said.
“Will also run if he has any sense. So will everyone else. I’m not letting you leave me.”
“Over there!” someone shouted from down the alley.
“Your wife is very correct,” Jhoqull said. “We will need to ride.”
“Ride?” Raych asked. She could hear several footsteps running toward her.
Jhoqull grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up onto one of the horses. “You can ride, Verci?”
“Yes—”
“Then do so,” she said. She jumped up onto the other horse and kicked it. Verci scrambled up in front of Raych on her horse just as three men were coming up the alley. Verci pointed his gauntlet at them and let it shoot. The alley was filled with yellow smoke, and those men coughed and dropped to their knees. Verci grabbed the reins and kicked the horse to a gallop, catching up with the Ch’omik woman.
“Who is she?” Raych asked over the thunder of hoof beats.
“Kennith’s paramour,” he said.
“And where’s Kennith?” she asked.
She saw his face as he looked back. “Let’s just get you safe.”
She wrapped her arms tighter around his waist, never wanting to let go again. The cost of that, she’d worry about later.
Let me.
The beast kept growling at him as Asti’s attention was split between Amalie’s magic and the Poasian’s blade. All he could do was parry and dodge, and in the process pull them farther away from the safehouse. Their fight was halfway down the street now.
“Talented,” the Poasian said as Asti blocked a slash with both of his knives. The Poasian kept moving in close, not giving Asti the distance he needed to switch to the offensive. And Amalie was all offensive, keeping far enough away as she hurled blasts of magic at him. He could probably take her down with a well-thrown knife, but the Poasian assured that he never had the opportunity.
“Isn’t he?” Liora’s specter strolled around the fight like a drill inspector from Intelligence. “I mean, darling, that’s a Poasian Thurgir. Like a King’s Marshal and an Intelligence Assassin all in one man.”
Asti had to agree. The man’s skill was on par with a Spathian master. Asti was barely holding his ground, and dodging Amalie’s blasts didn’t help.
Let me.
The beast wanted to take him, wanted the chain to be dropped. Asti was more than tempted. But he didn’t dare. He had to stay in this fight, in his head, so he would be ready for whatever came next. From the corner of his eye, he saw Corman and his goons coming out of the safehouse.
And not alone. One of his goons was dragging Kennith, and Ecrain held Helene by the back of the neck.
He didn’t have time to waste.
He dodged and parried the next series of blows, taking two steps closer to Amalie in the process. It left him open, and the Thurgir took full advantage. Instead of dodging this next thrust, Asti reached out and grabbed Amalie, pulling her toward him. She screamed as the Poasian sword went through her side—all the way through, slicing Asti as well. But that didn’t matter.
He pushed her onto the Poasian as he pulled away. If he moved quickly, he could dash back to the safehouse, tear his way through those goons, and get Helene and Kennith free. Then he could—
“Run, Julie, run!” Helene shouted.
Asti’s gaze went to where she was looking. Julien was in the mouth of an alley across the street, and for a moment he looked unsure of what to do. Then he bolted down the street.
“Get him!” Corman shouted.
Let me.
A group of goons—three of them—gave chase to Julien. Asti dashed after them all as Julien ran down the street and around the corner. Asti had no idea where he was running, but the goons were running faster. It took all Asti had to close the distance, but he rounded the corner just as those goons were on top of Julien. The three of them had managed to pull him to the ground.
Asti didn’t waste a moment, leaping in with both knives. Going straight for hearts and throats, tearing them up.
Let me.
Julien looked terrified, collapsed on the road. “You all right?” Asti asked.
“I don’t—Hel—”
“We’ll—” was all Asti could say before a scuff of boot warned him of an attack from behind. He slid to the side and turned around, earning a shallow slice across his belly. At least that was better than being run through.
The Thurgir was there, and all his attention was on Asti.
“Enough of this,” he said.
“I agree,” Asti returned. Now he didn’t have to also dodge a mage, he gave the Thurgir everything he had. Slices and swipes like lightning, too fast for the eye. But each of those swipes was met with an expert riposte, every attack parried.
“Even now, you hold back,” Liora said. “When everything is on the line. Fascinating.”
The Thurgir danced around Asti, his sword going for Julien’s throat.
LET ME!
Asti didn’t hesitate any longer. Even as he moved in to block the attack, he let the chain holding the beast at bay free.
And everything went red.
Mila watched everything unfold from the safety of an alley half a block away, unsure of what she could do, how she could help. Now it seemed too late—Asti was gone from sight, Helene and Kennith were captured, and there were far too many of them for her to fight. She had no idea what she was going to do, how she could do anything.
But she had to do something. She slowly started to move closer. Do what Asti would do: gauge the enemy. Figure a plan.
The suit who worked for Fenmere was there—Corman. Seven other goons. Two of the mages—the fancy woman and the one with the eyepatch. Larian and Ecrain, she remembered from the records. Pria was the man—where was he?
He dropped down out of the sky, flaming wings on his back, carrying Almer.
“I’m assuming they’re alive for a reason,” Pria said as he landed.
“Only a little bit of the product in there,” Corman said. “We have to determine where the rest of it is.”
“Gone,” Almer said.
“You couldn’t have sold it that quickly,” Corman said.
“Not sold. Destroyed.”
“Really?” Ecrain asked, grabbing Helene by the hair. “You destroyed it?”
“I don’t believe that for a moment,” Corman said. “They only had a little, right? Olivette has the rest.”
“Who?” Helene asked.
“Don’t be stupid, we know all about him,” Corman said. He walked past Helene in a deliberate pace. A little away from the mages or his men. Vulnerable.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Helene said.
“You two gentlemen want to echo that sentiment?” Corman asked.
“I just drive,” Kennith said. “She’s just a sniper, and he’s a chemist. We don’t know the plan.”
“Ah, the chemist,” Corman said. “Now it makes sense. You had a little to analyze it. And Olivette has the rest.”
“No, I don’t know who Olivette is,” Almer said.
“You’re making a big mistake,” Helene said.
“You’re right about that. We should get off the street. Let’s go back to the house to work through this.”
He started walking, as if he expected the rest to follow him. That put him just a couple of paces from Mila. She pulled out her rope and dashed out onto him, wrapping it around his neck.
“All right!” she shouted, tightening the cord around his throat. “Here’s how it’s going to go. You’re letting those three go, or he dies!”
“You’re not serious, little girl,” Larian said, holding on to her bleeding side.
“She’s got brass, I’ll give her that,” Ecrain said.
Corman gasped and clawed at the rope as she pulled it tighter, and he dropped to his knees.
“He doesn’t have long,” Mila said.
“No,” Larian said. “Pria?”
“Aye?”
“Kill her hard.”
Before Mila could do anything else, Pria’s fiery wings burst from his back again, and he launched at her with terrifying speed. He grabbed her and flew up, up above the rooftops, above all of North Seleth, above the whole city. Higher than she ever imagined possible.
It was breathtaking.
She couldn’t breathe at all.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Pria said. “Enjoy the view, last you’ll ever get.”
He let go.
Mila tried to scream as she plummeted, but her voice failed her. Or she did scream, but the wind rushing past her ears made it impossible to hear anything. Impossible to see anything except the city, the buildings, the ground, all coming at her.
Faster.
And faster.
The ground kept rushing up to meet her. She should have just studied and gone to the University now she never will go to school or kiss anyone or anything else she’ll just be—
She was struck.
But not by the ground. Not crashing into the unforgiving cobblestone street, but struck, body to body, arms wrapped around her. She was suddenly cocooned in red cloth, as she careened sideways, not down.
Then she crashed, crashed into the body holding her as it crashed into something else.
She was alive.
Impossible but alive. Breathing, heart pounding, barely able to contain herself but feeling every muscle and bone alive.
She looked up, and saw how.
Veranix, still holding her, his strong arms clutching tight as a warm glow surrounded them both.
And then the glow sputtered and faded. He let her go, his embrace just falling open.
Mila got to her feet. They were in an alley, five blocks from the safehouse.
“Ver—” she said, then held her tongue. He was the Thorn, couldn’t use his name, not here. “Are you—”
He looked like he could barely breathe, lying on the ground.
“Are you”—he wheezed out— “You all right?”
She nodded. “But you?”
He was a mess. Cuts and singes all over his clothes, bruises and burns and scorches on his hands and face. He looked like he couldn’t even stand.
“Took—took—took more out of me—” he stammered out.
She grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. “We need to move.” No telling who was about. She wasn’t even sure where they were. She should get back, try to save Helene and the others still, but—
But he was in no state, and she couldn’t leave him.
“Where—” he asked.
“I don’t—” She stopped. There were three figures at the end of the alley. It was too dark to make them out. But if she had to fight all three right now to get away, so be it. “Clear off, you blighters!”
“Miss Bess?” one of the figures asked.
“That really you?”
“Who’s that?”
The figures moved closer . . . now she could see they weren’t gang boys, but kids. Her boys. Enick, Telly, and Nikey. Nikey was up and about.
“Boys,” she said. “Good to see you.”
“You’ve been in a scrap,” Nikey said. “Who’s he?”
“A friend,” Mila said.
“He’s the one who right slapped Conor and the Scratches,” Telly said.
Nikey nodded. “So he is a friend.”
“And he needs help,” Mila said. “Something to eat, somewhere to rest.”
Enick and Telly came over and helped support Veranix, who looked like he couldn’t even stand on his own anymore. “We know just the place.”
Mila was dead. Stupid girl. Helene should have scared her off completely before. Helene wanted to cry, but she couldn’t, not in front of this crowd.
The winged mage landed again. “That was fun. Do we do another?”
The boss had gotten back up, untangling Mila’s rope from his neck with the help of one of his stooges. “No, let’s get back before there’s any more surprises.”
“A little insurance against that,” Ecrain said. Suddenly they were engulfed in darkness. Helene couldn’t see anything, could only feel Ecrain’s hot breath on her neck, her grubby hand squeezing her arm.
“Follow me,” she heard the dressy mage say, and she was dragged along through the darkness. After several stumbling steps, the dark melted away, and they were all in a well-appointed sitting room. Or at least, it had been well-appointed, but there had been a knock-down brawl here.
And that brawl had put Nange Lesk down, as he was lying on the carpet, moaning and bleeding.
“Help,” he said weakly.
“Blazes happened to him?” Almer asked. Almer seemed to not care one rutting bit about what was happening. Captured and abducted by mages, about to be killed or tortured? He looked like that was an average day to him.
“That Rynax fellow did,” the lady mage in the yellow dress said. She was in the process of peeling the dress off, as it was caked with blood. Someone had gotten a good piece of her, at least. “He is an associate of yours?”
“We’ve met,” Helene said cautiously.
“You’ve met,” the suit said, shaking his head. “I think it’s more than that. You work for Olivette—”
“Who is Olivette?” Helene asked, but then the memory kicked in. Pilsen was a bit out of sorts, not sure what he was supposed to do. And Asti told him, “You’re playing Olivette.” Somehow Pilsen’s performance had spiraled out of control to the thugs out here thinking he was a real guy, a player.
“I’ve never heard of him,” Kennith said.
“Me either,” Almer said. “Someone going to get him a doctor or something?”
“Aren’t you a doctor?” the guy with the flaming wings said.
“No, I’m a chemist. Don’t handle the same things at all.”
“Please, help,” Nange said.
“Saints,” Helene said, crouching in front of Nange. She didn’t like him, but there was no need to be cruel. “You want to be treated or just choke you out of misery?”
“Doctor, please.”
Ecrain grabbed Helene by the shoulder and pulled her up, and in the same moment there was a singe and spark of heat and energy that tore through her shoulder, down to the pit of her stomach.
“Don’t touch him,” she said.
“The woman has a point,” the suit said. “We should either kill him or treat him. Send for a doctor, if for no other reason than to use as a bargaining chip.”
“Shame you tore up the doctor’s office,” Almer said.
The suit’s fist flew out, cracking Almer in the jaw, sending him down to the ground in a heap.
“Hey!” Kennith shouted.
“Be glad you are all useful enough to keep alive!” the suit shouted. “I want my merchandise, and one way or another you will help me get it. And if you’re very lucky, you’ll still have your black skin at the end of it all.”
Kennith jumped at him, but the goons grabbed him and tore him back down to the ground with punches and kicks.
“Enough, enough,” the suit said. “No need to belabor this. You, miss? Are you smarter than your friends?”
“Not particularly,” Helene said. “No one ever accused me of being smart.”
“Smartest thing anyone’s said here tonight,” the suit said.
Two more goons came into the house. “Nothing, boss.”
The suit’s face fell. “Then get back out there. Find her! All of you!”
“And these folks?” one of the other goons asked. The suit looked to the mage in the yellow dress, who was now half out of the dress, far more interested in the wound on her side.
“In the basement,” she said dismissively. “Solid doors and stone walls.”
“And no screams will be heard,” Ecrain said. She grabbed Helene by the hair. “Which is good, because I want to play with this one.”