American Quest (44 page)

But strangely, as he loomed over Bruce, a trickle of blood slid from Hedon’s nose. Hedon blinked as he realized he was bleeding and took a step backward.

“We can stop them!” Bruce said. “Draw on everything you have. Remember why you’re here. Remember who you are.”

A guard drew out a hunting knife and thundered at Emily. She stiffened, and Bruce gripped her hand. She squeezed her eyes shut. The guard took on a look of acid delight. He held the knife, drawing a slow trail in the air over Emily’s neck.

“Just keep concentrating. He can’t hurt you, Em!”

Bruce willed the power of his own soul at the guard.

The guard’s hand jerked back. He seemed stunned for a moment, but recovered quickly and feinted at Emily, sneering.

Bruce saw the fear in Emily’s eyes and he thought of the little girl tending to children in the park, tending to him in the hospital.

Bruce thundered, focusing the power in his mind and in his heart. His love for Emily, and Jamie and Forte and Shannon, for Bedelia and her sacrifice. His love for Gloria. Gloria was so close to him now, somewhere in this very building.

He released it on the guard.

Enervata slipped his fingers around the satin bow that bound the dress at Gloria’s shoulder. Gently, softly, slowly she swung her head and her hair moved to the side, over the shoulder that was already bare. He tugged, and the smooth green knot released, the bow pulling apart. A drift of satin and chiffon whispered down her back.

He ran his hand along the curve of her waist, feeling the tantalizing warmth through the fabric, and he found the zipper that lay hidden beneath the folds at her underarm. He pulled that free, too, and the dress opened to reveal her.

The surge of energy exploded from Bruce.

For just a moment, the guard’s sneer remained on his face. Then both he and his knife combusted in a putrid cloud of dust.

Hedon looked from left to right and took another step backward.

The guard with the Edward G. Robinson mouth lumbered sideways. He stopped and regained himself, then leered at Shannon.

“Focus, everybody!” Bruce shouted. “We’ll kill them all this way! Every last goat-smelling one of them!”

“Get this one here!” Forte shouted, glaring at the demon who was hovering over Shannon.

And five minds began bending with concentration. Edward G.’s hard-angled mouth clenched, and he writhed. The five watched him.

Hedon shrieked, “Stop this ninny hopscotching and spill these mortals’ blood!”

The other guards looked at one another. Edward G. began to tremble and perspire. The Pravus’s eyes rolled in his head.

“Keep at it!” Bruce shouted.

The guard shrieked. And then shimmered into a volcano of dust.

Hedon’s jaw went slack and his head tilted backward slowly as he watched. “Bloody fucking hell.”

And then the five turned their minds, trained now and more efficient in their ability to execute, upon the other guards. One by one,
they shattered into dust, the lobby a rolling mogul field of Pravus dander, until none was left standing except for Hedon.

Who turned and ran.

“Hey, look!” Forte said.

Bruce turned toward where Forte pointed and saw a familiar pattern. One of Jamie’s symbols. It sat inscribed in a post that stood just above the level of the marble wainscot in the corner, long and fluted with a capital at the top. A small stone figure crouched from above, something like a cherub. Upon closer inspection, Bruce saw that it had a long nose and ears, and a wrinkled grimace, like a miniature gargoyle.

Bruce hadn’t before noticed the symbol etched into the grooves of the flute, but now the fine layer of gray dust from the guards’ residue filled the indentations so that the unusual shape emerged.

Forte strode up to it and tugged until it tore away from the wall, the gargoyle tumbling and smashing onto the floor below.

“There’s more!” Emily darted to one of the corners and tore another post from the wall, much like the one Forte had grabbed.

And then Shannon and Jamie were at the other two corners, tearing away until they freed the posts and the gargoyles lay fractured.

His gaze traveled the length of her skin, along the satin plane that lay exposed from her head to her waist. Her full breasts sloped and curved upward to end in points of dark coins. A thin blousing of green fabric rested at her hips.

Ah, to take one’s time like this. To savor, as he did fine wine and the torture of rivals. He’d never known it was possible to enjoy a woman in this way.

He put his hands to her middle and slid them down the warm curve of hourglass between her rib and hipbone.

She stiffened at his touch.

But that was to be expected. She wasn’t a brazen harlot. He paused.

She took a step backward.

A rejection? He removed his hands with a small start.

But no, she put her own hands where his hands had been, settling them at the curve of her waist. She slipped her fingers into the band that secured her tap pant. And in a movement as graceful and tempered as a breeze caressing a stem of high aster, she bent, sliding the last bit of fabric down the stretch of her legs and casting it beyond her feet.

“Let me see one of those posts,” Bruce said.

Forte handed him his. Bruce was surprised at the density of it, not wooden like he’d guessed but made of some kind of stone, like marble only not quite so heavy or brittle. It had the kind of shape you’d expect from a corner post, quarter-round on the facing side, with the other two planes flat and long. At the bottom, horizontal lines rimmed the facing side, almost like a musical stave, finishing in oddly shaped gouges at the ends where it had been attached to the molding. And at the top, a sharply pointed finial.

“We’re gonna whomp some serious Macul ass with those!” Forte said.

Bruce smiled at him, but shook his head. “I think I have to do this part alone.”

“He’s right,” Jamie said. “I think we’ve done everything we can. Now he needs to face Enervata by himself.”

Forte blinked and shook his head. “Oh, man. That’s heavy.”

Bruce took a deep breath and scanned their faces. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am to have met you, all of you, and that you took on this journey.”

Bruce lifted Forte’s post. “I’m gonna borrow this, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah, of course!” Forte said. “Here, wait. Em? Emmie! You got your Sharpie on you?”

Emily dug into her pocket and produced a thick black marker. Forte took it and drew a curling treble clef on the post.

“For good luck,” Forte said, handing it back to Bruce. “It’s always worked for me.”

“Here, take mine, too!” Emily said. Before giving it to Bruce, she
drew a chain of stick figures with linked hands along hers. “It’s me with the kids in the park.”

She handed the Sharpie to Jamie, who drew a heart on her own post, kissed it, and handed it to Bruce.

Shannon drew a smiley face on hers. “Sorry,” she said, handing over the post. “I can’t draw.”

When he held all four of them in his hands, the images the others had drawn took on a silvered hue. As did the symbols that had served them since that night in the Maine woods. It made Bruce recall the interlude with the canteshrike on a rocky coastline, and how the waves had carved hidden pictures in a colonnade of pillars.

Bruce looked over at Jamie and saw tears in her eyes. He put his arm around her. “This is going to work, Tink. It’s almost over.”

She nodded, hugging him tight, then knuckled a tear and pressed the elevator button. Shannon, Emily, and Forte stepped in to hug him, too. He’d never felt stronger.

The elevator door opened and he stepped inside.

“You are exquisite. A perfect human form.”

Gloria inclined her head. “Human form?”

She put her hand to her head and removed the ornaments from her hair, setting them on the vanity next to her glass of wine, shaking loose her hair as she did so. The black waves curled down her back and chest, bending as if to pattern the curve of her breasts.