Fury's Kiss

Page 47

“Only part of the time,” I said, because for some reason, talking to myself didn’t seem all that strange right now.
There was a sudden silence. And then the floodgates broke. “Dory? Dorina? Oh God, oh my God, is that you?”
“Yes, and I’m kind of busy—”
“Don’t give me that! You come get me, do you hear me? Youcomegetmerightnow—”
“Radu?” I cocked my head, because that particular brand of shrill entitlement belonged to only one guy.
“OF COURSE IT’S ME! Who else has been screaming for help for the last twenty minutes? Where the hell have you been?”
“Twenty minutes?” I repeated, in disbelief. Because whatever else could be said about the Senate, it reacted smartly in a crisis. “Who did you call?”
“Anybody! Everybody! What, do you think I’m going to be picky when I’m facing THAT?”
And suddenly I was getting not just sounds in my head but visuals, too. There was a stomach-churning second of disorientation as my head stayed completely still and yet also whipped around, and then I was staring at a glass wall in what looked like a lab. And on the other side—
“What the hell are those?” I demanded, staring through Radu’s eyes at a bunch of…well, they were vampires. I knew this because I’d seen them less than two hours ago, frozen on top of a building. Which was why it was a little odd to find them currently up and mobile and scratching at the glass, including one still half encased in ice—
“WHAT DO THEY LOOK LIKE?”
I knew what they looked like, but that wasn’t possible, that was just crazy, because vampires didn’t—
Something dropped onto my back and I screamed and wrenched my jacket off, throwing it as far as I could and blasting the shit out of it at the same time. I stood there, panting, my eyes flicking around the room for the next target, and decided that maybe I could cut Radu a little slack. Because vampires didn’t form themselves into fleshy grenades and fly around, eith—
I stopped, having caught sight of the bag I’d dropped when the arm of doom grabbed me. It had somehow remained intact, maybe because most of the parts with the muscle were in the other one. But the face was still pressed against the plastic, and the staring blue eye was now…
Staring at me.
Son of a bitch.
“Hello? Hello? What’s happening? Why aren’t you talking? Are you coming to get me OUT?”
“Give me a sec,” I said, trying to line up a shot through a cracked windshield. It would have been easy—except that the air in front of me was suddenly full of flying flesh. It looked like a hurricane had hit a butcher shop, which freaked me out less than the fact that it knew.
“I DON’T HAVE A SEC!”
“Where are you?” I asked, waiting for an opening while a hail of bloody rain pitted the car.
“Where else? The morgue in the basement.”
“And that is how far from the carriage house?”
“I don’t know! I never come in that way!”
“Then look it up,” I gritted out, as something sizzled against the wall behind me.
“My computer is outside. Just ask one of your crew!”
I didn’t say anything.
“You…you do have a crew…don’t you?”
“Not exactly.”
“Not exactly? NOT EXACTLY? What do you mean, not—”
The rest of his diatribe was lost in the sound of a .45 obliterating an eyeball. And as soon as it did, all the little things fell to the ground, twitching aimlessly. And then finally went still.
Okay, I thought. All right. It looked like all those video games had had the goods, after all.
So, yeah. Easy.
I swallowed. “Radu. Tell me what level you’re on.”
“I don’t…It’s…it’s the next to lowest. I think…Yes, it should be fourteen on the elevator.” An ominous crack echoed through whatever crazy connection he’d been able to make. “Dory.” His voice had suddenly gotten very small. “Hurry.”
“I’m coming, ’Du. Just…sit tight. I’m coming.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Since I had exactly one gun to my name and was almost out of ammo for that, my first stop was the car and the battered toolbox on the floor in the back. It contained emergency supplies, including a couple nice ten-inch knives that I pocketed and an even nicer .44 Magnum that I didn’t. Because I was hemorrhaging weapons lately, and had had to press it into service just in time for Slava’s guys to take it away.
I took the box of .44 ammo anyway, just in case I ran across a usable weapon. But even assuming I did, I wasn’t going to make it to ’Du with that alone. I needed more weapons, a lot more ammo and some dirty tricks.
Fortunately, I was in the right place for all three.
“’Du. Do you know where the nearest weapons cache is?” I asked, picking up my once expensive leather jacket, which now resembled a target at a shooting gallery. But I didn’t have a choice; thanks to Marlowe’s idea of evening wear, I had nothing else to hold all the—
I suddenly realized that Radu hadn’t responded.
“’Du?”
Nothing.
I felt a cold hand clench in my chest when he didn’t answer, when I didn’t even get a sense of him in my head. But that didn’t have to mean anything. My mental abilities weren’t exactly reliable. I was like a radio that could usually only receive, and that didn’t even work half the time.
So ’Du might be fine. No, he was fine, I told myself fiercely. He was a damned second-level master and a Basarab. He’d spent five hundred years outfighting, outsmarting and just plain outlasting the hell out of everybody. He would hold out.
Now I just had to get to him.
Considering the Senate’s level of paranoia, there were probably multiple weapons caches tucked around, though they’d neglected to share their location with me. But when I’d shown up to join the posse tonight, I’d seen a couple of Marlowe’s boys coming out of a hall by the main reception desk, still buckling on holsters. It didn’t necessarily mean anything, but it was the only clue I had. So I headed for the lobby, hoping I was right and that the guys on duty hadn’t emptied it already.
And…they hadn’t, I thought, coming to a halt just outside the door.
Or if they had, it hadn’t done them any good.
The tasteful gray marble columns, impressive onyx desk, and cheerful old-world scenes that usually greeted visitors weren’t looking so cheerful anymore. Not covered in vast slashes and strokes and dribbles like a modernist painting. Blood sprayed the walls, where weapons’ fire had already marred the soft blue paint, beaded on the surface of an antique table and spattered the petals of an ornamental arrangement.
It wasn’t so much a problem on the floor, however.
Since most of it was missing.
I approached the blackened, jagged hole of what had once been an inlaid marble star with caution, since the sides were still smoking. And looked down into the next floor. And the next. And the one after that. Something had just carved a Volkswagen-sized hole through four stories and was working on a fifth.
And there was no need to wonder what that something was: the sickly neon green puddle at the bottom was sending up fumes that caused me to jerk my head back abruptly, eyes watering and throat seizing up. Somebody just used a weapons-grade potion and you stick your head in the fumes? Great, Dory. Freaking great.
I backed off fast, my eyes flicking around, in case somebody was planning to capitalize on my stupidity. But I didn’t see anyone. Just a blackened chandelier overhead, crystals chiming softly in the air-conditioning, scattered papers underfoot and someone’s spilled tea.
And a guy nailed to the wall by four huge daggers.
I’d rounded the reception desk and almost come nose to nose with him before I shied back, gun up and heart missing a beat. He was behind a short wall separating the desk from the rest of the room, and was facing the main doors. Like some macabre sort of greeter.
I stared at him for a second, unsure if my blurry eyes and the crazy lights were playing tricks. And they were, sort of. Because the lower body wasn’t in shadow as I’d first thought. It wasn’t there at all, unless you counted the snakelike spine glistening palely against the darker wall.
And curling up and down like its owner was still alive.
After a moment, I swallowed and started to edge around, only to have a spear of light fall over the face. And I got a second shock. Because he looked horribly familiar.
The head was down, with the chin resting on the breast, so I couldn’t see the face. But the hair was dark and about the right length. And so were the weight and the height, as far as I could estimate, considering the damage, and—
And suddenly I couldn’t breathe because I thought it was ’Du.
I took another few steps forward, and I still did. Even when I gently cupped one cheek, to avoid the dark blood that had dripped down covering the chin. And pulled the face up, into the light. And felt my spine turn to water.
Because it wasn’t him.
The features were handsome, but lacked ’Du’s hint of the exotic. And the hair was faintly curly instead of his shining waterfall. And the clothes, now that I saw them up close, were wrong: a dark suit, well made but not up to the family’s exacting standards. I licked my lips, feeling my heart rate back off the danger zone.
Until the head suddenly moved in my hand.
And the eyes—cold and dark and dead—fixed on me.
I froze, because there was no life in them, no spark, much less the glow of a vampire in distress. But there was cold, calculating intelligence, nonetheless. Not in them so much as behind them. Like someone was using the dead man’s face for a mask.
And there was only one creature I knew who could do that.
Necromancer, I thought, staring at him through his proxy’s eyes. Which made sense, given what Radu was facing downstairs. But it still seemed impossible.
Technically, a dead body was a dead body. And necromancers could exert control over any that wasn’t already in control of itself—like a vampire—and sometimes even then. That was why they’d once been killed on sight, and why any with serious power often still were, despite the Senate’s claims to the contrary. Lower-level vamps could be taken over by a powerful necromancer and used as spies against their own kind. It had happened often enough in the bad old days, if rumor was to be believed.