As Lie The Dead (38 page)

“No, she didn’t,” Wyatt said. “I had a choice to make that night, and if I had to make it again, I’d do the same thing.”

“Choose a human over a so-called Dreg?”

Wyatt bristled. “No, I’d choose a friend over a stranger.”

The answer did nothing to placate Snow. In fact, it seemed to do the opposite. He wasn’t a large man, but his lineage hinted at the ferocity lurking beneath his sandy hair and fair skin.

“So now that Tovin’s dead and the Tainted aren’t coming?” I asked. “What’s the grand plan? Challenge the Triads without backup and hope you win?”

“Hardly,” Cole said. “Snow is far more suspicious than I am, especially of humans. After your supposed murder at Phineas’s hands, Snow had the foresight to take a picture of you before he tossed you in that Dumpster.”

Damn. If Snow had been that close to me without realizing I wasn’t actually dead, I’d been injured far worse than I first thought.

“After Snow showed me the photo, I recognized you, and I realized Phineas couldn’t be trusted. He
was too smart to be fooled by you, so you had to be working together. Although his murdering you was an unexpected twist at the time, and your appearance here even more so.”

“I hate being predictable.”

The bastard actually smiled. “I could no longer rely on Phineas’s intel and realized we had no hope of a successful surprise attack large or coordinated enough to fully destroy the strength of the Triads. You never congregate en masse in one place. I’ve had time to reassess my priorities in these matters.”

“And?”

Cole circled me widely, taking an odd point position halfway between me and Wyatt. The gun stayed on me—smart man—while he addressed Wyatt. “I’ve seen firsthand how far you’re willing to go for something in which you truly believe,” he said. “And for someone you love. I no longer wish to kill you.”

I wanted to celebrate those words; instinct kept me quiet. As did his tone, which clearly said someone else still wanted Wyatt dead. Someone else standing an arm’s reach away, with bloodlust in his eyes.

“Unfortunately for you,” Snow said, “I still do, so my friend has been kind enough to grant me the kill.”

“Over my dead body,” I snapped.

“I’m sure we can work your dead body into the arrangement as well.”

I spread my arms out at my sides, an open invitation. “Go for it, fox boy.”

Snow started for me but was stayed by Cole’s terse “Stop!” He glared at Snow. “Our bargain was for Wyatt. Besides, I think Evangeline will be more entertained by the goings-on at Parker’s Palace.”

Ding-ding! “Parker’s Palace”—the magic words. He had said the curtain would go up in twenty minutes, and the clock hadn’t stopped ticking. I was running out of time. “You’re going to attack the fund-raiser,” I said.

Cole nodded grimly. “It seems a fair trade in lives, don’t you think? Ours for theirs? We balance the scales tonight, and it keeps such a thing from happening again.”

“Or humans retaliate, and this time it’s a thousand lives lost.”

“That’s the risk we take, Evangeline, when it’s an eye for an eye.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Yes, it does.” And he believed it. He was convinced of this course of action, and no amount of arguing would change his mind. Still, the Triads knew what was happening and hopefully would act fast enough to prevent any significant loss of lives. Hopefully.

“Cole,” Snow said, “I want to enjoy this and then still be there to watch the performance. Can we get on with it?”

My stomach clenched. “No fucking way.”

Snow laughed—a genuinely scary sound. “He’ll get a sporting chance, sweetheart. Killing him is no fun if he doesn’t try to fight back.”

Wyatt was two days out of back surgery. In peak condition, I wouldn’t worry as much, but now? No way would he last more than a minute in a physical fight with Snow. “Killing him won’t be much fun, since he’s in no condition to fight back,” I said. “Fight me.”

“Evy!” Wyatt said.

“Fight
me
,” I said again, ignoring him. “You kill me, you still get to kill Wyatt.”

Snow looked ready to deny my request, then faltered. And seemed to consider it.

“Just think of the mental anguish,” I continued, “if he has to watch me die again.” He was still hesitating. “Don’t think you can take me? Or don’t you hit girls?”

“I have no quarrel with you,” Snow said.

It wasn’t working. I fisted my hands to stop them from trembling. I would not lose Wyatt this way, not when we’d worked so hard. We were trying our best to battle our past demons and create a future. It wasn’t all for nothing.

Just to Wyatt’s left, I caught Phin’s eye. Blood stained his upper lip and chin, and his nose was at an odd angle, but he was alert. Something sparked in his eyes, which kept flicking to his right. Toward Wyatt. I inclined my head slightly, hoping I had interpreted his signal correctly. And that he got mine.

Phin slid around so he was on Wyatt’s right side and then punched him in the side of the head. Wyatt’s eyes rolled up and he dropped like a stone, unconscious. He’d be pissed when he woke up. Snow, for his part, was pissed right now. He snarled at me, the sound an open challenge.

“Guess your quarrel is with me after all,” I said.

“Well played,” Cole said. “Eleri, let’s leave them to it. Bring Phineas along for this. We have front-row seats, and we shouldn’t be late.”

Phin met my eyes again as he passed. With the concern, I thought I spotted a little bit of admiration.
Could have been wrong, though. I winked, giving him the appearance of more confidence than I felt. Cole deposited his orange crystal on a table close to the door, then the three of them left the greenhouse, and I was alone with Snow. At first, we just stared.

“I can’t decide,” Snow said after a protracted silence, “if you’re brave or just plain stupid.”

I snorted. “I can’t decide if you’ve never heard of a toothbrush or you just like yellow teeth. I mean, really?”

He snarled, flashing his nonpearly yellows. “Stupid, then. You know what that bastard has done, and yet you still protect him?”

“You betcha.”

“Why?”

“Because it amuses me.”

“Why?”

The little shit was persistent. I had a thousand reasons for protecting Wyatt. A thousand reasons why I’d volunteered to fight Snow in his place, and few of them had to do with my own scrapping skills. I couldn’t stand by while someone else hurt Wyatt—not when I could stop it. Maybe I was pissed for what he’d done to Cole and confused by my own tumultuous emotions surrounding Wyatt’s past and my own recent traumas, but I knew one thing for sure. One fact above all else.

“Because I love him,” I said. For better or worse—and with us, it always seemed for worse—I loved him.

Snow’s eyebrows arched. “Good. Then you should put up a worthy fight. I haven’t had a good one in quite a long while.” He cracked his knuckles.

“Are we setting any ground rules?”

“First one to die loses.”

“Works for me.”

Neither of us moved. “Ladies first?” he said.

“Be my guest.”

He cocked his head to the side, regarding me, then kicked Wyatt in the temple. I saw red and flew at him.

6:46
P.M.

I paid the price for that stupid decision and for underestimating Snow’s defensive capabilities. He waited until I took a swing at his chin, then he ducked the blow. He simultaneously grabbed my right wrist with both hands and pivoted one-eighty, until we faced the same direction. Bastard used my momentum—and a surprising amount of his own strength—to flip me over his head and onto my back on one of the various long wooden tables. My lungs seized and my back cried out.

He spun faster than I would have guessed and drove his fist at my head. I rolled to my left in time and felt the breeze created by his sudden connection with the wood. He howled and jumped back, clutching his hand. Using the distraction, I tucked my knees and came up on top of the table. I towered over him, my eyes searching for a weapon of some sort.

Snow flexed his fist, testing the bones.

“Shouldn’t hit tables,” I said. “They tend to win.”

He bared his teeth, then darted toward the door. I
watched him stupidly for a moment, until I realized he wasn’t intending to leave. He pulled a two-by-four out of the pile of scraps, its end studded with a couple of bent nails.

Shit
.

The greenhouse was as wide as it was long, but it was still smaller than half a tennis court. Save for the standing tables, Snow had the majority of the scrap lumber at his disposal. Several rotting boxes of clay pots and saucers had been dumped in the complete opposite corner from us. Potential shrapnel, if I could get to them. And that damned crystal was keeping me from teleporting over.

The nail-studded wood came slashing toward my knees—
damn, but he moved fast
—with a whistle of air. I pushed off the table, forward and over his head, tucked my knees, and spun. It was an acrobatic move I’d perfected in my old body—not so much the new one. Instead of landing on my feet behind him, I kicked him in the head with my left foot—an unexpected bonus—and crashed to the floor on my left side and cracked my left knee on the concrete floor.

I shrieked as heat and pain tore through my knee. Snow was already pivoting, growling his annoyance, nail-bat swinging. I swept my right leg out and connected with his ankles. He toppled flat on his back, air releasing from his lungs in a gasped rush. I thrust across him, reaching for the nail-bat, and he had sense enough to punch me in the kidney.

Tears sparked in my eyes at the fiery pain that forced the breath from my lungs. I drove my aching left knee into his thigh—bad positioning for the groin shot I wanted. He yelped and snapped at my face. I
head-butted him, my forehead to just below his nose, still reaching. He swung; I blocked. My arm hit his bicep—too low. Should’ve gotten him at the elbow and prevented him from half swinging. The nails smashed into my lower back, barely above my left butt cheek.

I probably screamed. Fingers of agony clawed their way through my back, short-circuiting my brain with a dull roar not unlike the sound of an oncoming train. A second head butt from me propelled the back of his head into the concrete, and the hand holding the nail-bat went limp. I wrenched it from his grasp and out of my ass. Shaking fingers lost any grip I tried for on the wide slab of wood, and it skittered out of reach behind me. I lunged for it, twisting sideways across Snow’s lap. He drove another hard blow into my ribs. I rolled, not stopping until I’d cleared him, my knee aching and butt on fire. He kicked but couldn’t reach me.

Last time I’d ever underestimate the fighting ability of a Kitsune.

He was trying to sit up, groggy from repeated blows to the head. We both eyed the nail-bat. I slipped on my own smear of blood; he got to the weapon first with a cry of victory. I scrabbled sideways, out of swinging range, ignoring my pain as best I could. Not mortal wounds, just agonizing ones. And he had the upper hand again.

The heavy odor of mold and earth turned my already nauseated stomach. Combined with the new scents of blood and sweat, I was ready to heave all over the place. I just couldn’t take my eyes off Snow long enough to manage it. I needed a weapon before
he tried to take my head off with his makeshift mace. Anything to put us on more even ground. I was good with my hands; I just preferred cold steel in them during a fight.

That pile of clay pots and saucers was still my best chance. Only I had an obstacle course of old tables between me and it. Not enough room to quickly crawl beneath them. Easiest way through a labyrinth? Over the walls, of course.

I grabbed the edge of the nearest table and hauled my bloody, battered ass up. The table groaned beneath me; the stained and warped wood held. Snow charged, bat cocked and ready. I leapt onto the next nearest table. The hard landing jarred my knee and fueled the angry fire in my ass—
seriously, it needs to start healing!
—but I kept going. I had no choice.

As I jumped from table to table, several cracked loudly beneath my weight until I reached my destination. Listening to the stamping sounds of Snow’s shoes on the concrete floor, I bent and retrieved a handful of cracked and broken saucers, hoping to use them as shrapnel.

I wound up, ready to pitch one at my first moving target, and pivoted. Snow was out of sight. I held my breath, listening hard, hearing little over the pounding of my heart. Nothing moved. I squatted and peered beneath the tables, hoping for a pair of legs or even a crouching man-shape. Except for Wyatt’s shadowed figure on the ground several dozen feet away, I seemed very much alone. Only I knew better.

Something sharp scrabbled against wood. Too close for comfort. I shot upright as a blur of reddish orange fur flew at me. Sharp teeth closed around my
left shoulder, just below my neck. I shrieked. White-hot pain seared my chest and back. Claws dug into my chest and stomach as the furious fox tried to find purchase with his feet, growling deep in his throat as he ripped at my flesh and muscle.

Hadn’t expected that—fucking stupid! Again.

I smashed the clay saucer into the fox’s back. It broke into dozens of crumbling shards, too old to keep its form or be an effective weapon. Snow-fox snarled, mouth still full of me, and tore a deep slash across my ribs. Blood oozed hot and thick. He was smaller than me, but he had teeth and claws and animal instincts on his side. All I had was bulk.

So I dropped to my knees and fell forward, smashing him into the concrete floor. He let go with a gasping growl, small body twisting beneath me. Struggling to get out. I rolled off and scrambled sideways until I hit the leg of a table, gasping. In lots of pain. Blood painted my neck and chest, and I left a smear of it on the floor. Snow twisted onto his feet and shrank back, bloody teeth bared, panting. His emerald eyes seemed to glow with fury and bloodlust. My blood coated his fur.

I probably could have crushed the small animal beneath me and ended the fight; only I didn’t want to kill Snow, even though he had no qualms about killing me to get to Wyatt. I just needed him out of the fight.