Bayou Moon (49 page)
Authors: Ilona Andrews
William put his hand over her lips.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“The birds stopped singing.”
VUR shifted from foot to foot. How long did it take to fuck? Was the wolf freak romancing her in there with wine and poetry? Vur focused on the flutter of oak branches by the barn and launched himself into the sky. His skin wings snapped open, and Vur flew, gliding on the currents to perch on the oak.
WILLIAM slid to the side, rising silently. Cerise rolled to her feet, thrust her hand into the hay, and pulled her sword out.
William bared his teeth.
That’s my girl.
That’s my girl.
She moved to the wall. “Oh, baby! Yes! Yes! Give it to me! Yes!”
The roof creaked under the weight of someone’s body. William padded along the floor, tracking the creaking.
“Harder, baby! Harder!”
The roof burst. A feathered body fell through the hole, talons spread for the kill. William lunged at the attacker’s back, locking his forearm on the slick throat. The creature choked, gurgling. Cerise thrust, impossibly fast, and stepped back.
The creature fell to his knees. William scanned his memory for Hand agents with feathers. Vur. “The claws are poisonous.”
Cerise’s face gained a harsh edge. She looked like a wolf threatened in her own den. “Let him go, please.”
William released the lock. Vur crashed to the floor, gasping. Blood spread through his feathers.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Cerise took a step closer.
“Yesss,” the Hand’s agent gurgled.
“It will take you a long time to die, and it will hurt more and more as you slip away. The Hand took my father. Tell me where he is and I will end it now.”
Vur’s blue eyes blinked.
“Take your time,” William told him.
He circled the body and sat in the hay. Cerise sat next to him. Moments dripped by, slow like cold molasses. Vur’s moans turned into sharp cries. They waited.
A minute leaked away.
Another.
“Kasis!” he cried out. “He’s in Kasis.”
Cerise rose, her face grim. Flash sparked, sword sliced, and Vur’s trembling body finally became still.
TWENTY-FIVE
JOHN watched the door swing as Spider emerged from the bowels of the laboratory into the sunlight-flooded hallway. The lean man blinked against the light and raised his hand to shield his eyes. A thick leather binder lay in the crook of his right arm. It commanded John’s attention, and he couldn’t keep from staring at it.
“The smell is truly abominable,” Spider said.
“Sorry. It can’t be helped.”
Spider nodded. “Walk with me a bit.”
They strode side by side along the hallway, the binder swaying gently with Spider’s smooth pace.
John watched the floor before his feet. The binder was full of translated notes, the thoughts of a genius mind. The things he could do, armed with that binder. The very idea of what it might be hiding made John light-headed. He braided the fingers of his hands together to keep from reaching for it. He could almost feel the slick leather against the pads of his fingers.
Working for Spider was difficult. He was reasonable, but only when circumstances permitted; understanding of difficulties, yet completely unaffected by them. And he expected impossible things in an impossible timeframe.
John had done the impossible. A fusion, and a relatively stable one at that, in less than a month. He had done well, and Spider appeared content. Yet the fruit of his labors, the prize, lay locked in the binder in the crook of Spider’s arm, and John knew better than to trust Spider’s seeming felicity.
“We’ve identified three possible sites,” Spider was saying. “It will take us a day or so to examine them and perhaps another day to extract the unit. I’ll be gone, oh, for about a week.”
Gone. The word rang like a chime in John’s head. He will be
gone
.
gone
.
“Why three sites, m’lord?”
“The journal notes aren’t clear as to the landmarks. A local might be able to pinpoint the exact location, but I decided against compromising the document by the presence of an outsider. I’ll be taking almost everybody. We have a lot of ground to cover.”
A dim light broke through the foggy melancholy in John’s head. He was being told this on purpose.
“I’m leaving two slayers and a guardian to protect the house. It’s a formality at this point anyway. There is nothing valuable here save for you and Posad, of course, and besides, the traps will do most of the protecting on their own.”
“Once the unit is located and the extraction is complete, I’ll send a retrieval team for you. I’m sure you’d rather rest here than slog through the mud with the rest of us. I hope your forced isolation won’t be a problem?”
John smiled. “No, m’lord. I’m badly in need of sleep.”
“Ahhh.” Spider nodded, gray eyes neutral under the blond eyebrows. “I’ll leave you to the comfort of the sheets and down, then.”
They exited onto the second-floor balcony. The wind brought dampness from the flooded plain below. John shivered. “Ghastly place.”
“Mildly put.” Spider ran his left hand along the balcony’s carved rail and smiled, showing even, sharp teeth. The smile shot a bolt of alarm through John’s neck all the way to his fingertips. He yawned, trying to mask his discomfort.
“John, you’re exhausted.” Spider patted his shoulder. “To bed with you.”
“By your leave, m’lord.”
“Go, go.” Spider waved at him. “That yawn of yours is infectious.”
John bowed and strode to his quarters. Spider had the translation, but he had left the journal back in the fusion room. He expected him to make a play for it. A man less ambitious and more cowardly would walk away. He should walk away. But the journal called to him. The knowledge it contained . . . A secret to life, perhaps even to everlasting life. Armed with it, he could seek asylum in any realm. He would enjoy the accolades of a genius, protected and admired for the rest of his life, given an opportunity to take his work in the direction he desired, instead of being steered by a thug. For Spider was a thug, an intelligent, urbane, royally licensed one, but still a thug. The difference between him and a common street boss was the degree of devastation he could unleash.
John entered his room and locked the door. He had to wait until Spider left tomorrow and then he would have to be careful. Very careful.
THE scent laced William’s nostrils just as he approached the house, the sharp musk of a wolf having freshly marked his territory. He tensed.
A large older man stood before the door within a swarm of giddy dogs. Large, wide at the shoulder, he wore jeans and a leather vest. His hair was long and gray, and it fell over his back.
“Easy,” Cerise murmured next to him. “Easy. It’s just Uncle Hugh.”
The man turned and looked at him. A pale glow rolled over his eyes. A wolf.
A low rumble rolled in his throat. “He’s—”
Cerise slipped her arm into the crook of his elbow. “Like you. I only found out a few days ago. He’s a very kind man, Will.”
Hugh watched them approach. His face showed nothing.
William halted a few feet away. When two changelings met outside of the Red Legion, it never worked out well. He didn’t want a confrontation now. Not after he had finally mated.
“Uncle Hugh!” Cerise walked over and hugged him.
“Ceri.” He hugged her awkwardly and let go. “I came to help.”
“Thank you!”
“Who is this?”
“This is my William.”
Hugh looked at her, then at William. “
Your
William?”
Your
William?”
She nodded. “With all of his fur, claws, and teeth.”
Hugh startled as if shocked with a live wire. Cerise petted his forearm. His gaze shifted to William. “Adrianglian?”
William nodded.
“They turn you into killers there.”
“We were born killers.”
Hugh’s eyes turned pale yellow. “If you mistreat her, I’ll rip your throat out.”
William let a touch of growl slip into his voice. “Old man, I’ll drop you where you stand.”
“That’s nice,” Cerise said. “Why don’t all of us go inside and have some tea and pie?”
Hugh didn’t move.
“Hugh,” Murid called from the porch.
He glanced at her.
“Leave the boy alone,” she said.
Hugh shrugged his shoulders and petted Cerise’s hand. “If he ever—”
“He won’t hurt me.” Cerise put her other hand on William’s forearm. “He loves me, Uncle. Come on.”
William growled a bit and let her lead him to the stairs.
The door banged, releasing Kaldar onto the porch.
William sighed and heard Hugh do the exact same thing. They scowled at each other over Cerise’s head.
Kaldar rolled his eyes. “Oh, that’s just lovely. We’ve turned the house inside out looking for you, and here you are. Did you have fun, lovebirds?”
“None of your business,” Cerise told him.
“To the library with you. We’re holding the war council there.”
William let himself be ushered into the crowded library, where he was asked to sit in a chair in front of the table containing half a dozen dusty bottles of green wine. The library was full of Mars. No children were present, only the older adolescents and adults. The war party for tomorrow.
Erian passed around cups made of some hollowed-out plant. “Swamp gourd,” he said. “Tradition.”
“You didn’t do this before fighting with the Sheeriles.” William took his cup.
“That was different,” Erian said.
“The Sheeriles were Edgers, like us,” Mikita boomed to the left.
“The Hand and its agents are invaders,” Murid added.
Richard looked at Cerise. She pulled out her sword and handed it to him. “I think you should do it.”
Richard took the sword. A hush fell on the room.
He held the blade out above the bottles. His face took on an expression of intense concentration.
A second passed. Another.
That was why Cerise was in charge, William decided. In battle, Richard would be dead by now.
Magic flashed from Richard, an intense electric blue. It danced along his blade. He struck and beheaded the six bottles with one strike.
A ragged cheer rolled through the library.
Richard passed the sword back to Cerise. Bottles were grabbed. Ignata splashed some wine into William’s cup.
“Today we drink the fifty-year-old wine,” Cerise announced, holding her cup up. “To living the next day well.”
They drank. William gulped from his cup. The wine rolled down his throat, fire and joy blended into one. For the first time since leaving the Legion, he felt a part of something bigger than himself.
“We were hoping that Lord William would tell us what we’re facing,” Richard said.
“We want to know about the Hand.” Ignata poured more wine into his cup.
William took another sip. All right. He could do that. “As long as we’re clear: Spider is mine.”
Heads nodded in agreement.
“Spider’s standard unit usually consists of twenty-four agents in an advanced state of magic alteration.”
“Why twenty-four?” Kaldar asked.
“It’s an easy number to divide: two groups of twelve, three groups of eight, four groups of six, and so on. We killed three.”
“I thought you only killed two,” Kaldar said.
“Three,” Cerise told him. “Are you going to let the man talk or will you interrupt some more?”
William tapped his memory. “Spider’s close circle, his elite. Karmash Aule. Origin: unknown. Height: seven feet, two inches. Approximate weight: three hundred and sixty pounds. White hair, red eyes. Enhancements: reinforced spine, transplanted glands, resulting in above-average reaction time and increased strength. Position: second in command. Prefers blunt weapons. Likely to rely on and overestimate his own strength. Easily enraged. Moderate pain tolerance. Possible weakness or target areas: joints, glandular implant in the left side directly under the ribcage.
“Veisan. Origin: unknown. Height: five feet, six inches. Approximate weight: one hundred and forty pounds. Bloodred skin, braided blue hair, blue eyes. Enhancements: glandular apothecary, resulting in superior reaction time, extreme speed, enhanced hand-to-eye coordination. Position: slayer. Prefers bladed weapons. Unstable. Once she begins to kill, she will not stop until the catalysts from her apothecary are exhausted. While engaged, unable to distinguish between civilians and military personnel. Possible weaknesses: none.”
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