Bayou Moon (50 page)

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Authors: Ilona Andrews

BOOK: Bayou Moon
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They were staring at him as if he’d grown a second head.
“You don’t do revenge halfway, do you, William?” Murid said.
“No. Ruh. Origin: Northern Province. Height: six feet, two inches. Approximate weight: one hundred and sixtyfive pounds ...”
Richard grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and started taking notes.
 
POSAD’S dark eyes didn’t catch the light of the setting sun. They sat on his face like twin pools of carbon, solid black and sparkless. Spider stared into them until Posad blinked. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes. I finish packing and destroy the garden. Then I wait for the home team to clear the base and leave with them. I’ve done this before.”
“You do not go upstairs.”
Several bees landed on Posad’s deformed shoulder and pushed past the scale of dried skin sheltering the hive opening. “I do not go upstairs.”
Spider nodded and walked away, to where Veisan waited with his saddled horse. The muzzle of her mare glistened with ointment, and Spider grimaced at the strong stench of mint emanating from it. No horse would bear Veisan unless her scent was masked.
He mounted, casting one last look at the mansion. Somewhere within it his prized alteration specialist was taking the first steps on the path to his death.
“A waste,” he murmured. It couldn’t be helped. The hunger in John’s eyes was too strong and the information within the journal too volatile to allow the pair to come into contact. He would miss John, miss his expertise. Yet no expense could be spared for the sake of the realm.
FROM the shadowed depths of his bedroom, John watched Spider ride away. He forced himself to read for another hour and set out for the fusion room. He started slowly, on quiet feet, pretending nonchalance, but the mansion lay empty around him, and spurred by anticipation, he walked faster and faster until in the end he was running.
In his haste, he almost burst into the room, but caught himself at the last moment and halted, with his hand on the door.
A fused being had no will of its own. It was both susceptible to instruction and unable to refuse an order. But the fused being retained traces of its personality. It couldn’t disobey directly, but it could take advantage of a poorly phrased command. This was especially true if the human subject had been strong-willed, and Genevieve Mar had one of the most powerful spirits he had encountered.
John caught his breath and swung the door open. The ugliness of fusion had ceased to affect him long ago, and as he stepped into the room, he watched only the creature’s weapons: the three long, flexible appendages, studded with thorns. The plant equivalent of a whip. The whips operated on hydraulic power, flexing when their vascular bundles flooded with fluid. The supply of liquid was finite, and the whips were capable of a single devastating strike. That reserve spent, they would have to rebuild before striking again. From experience, he knew the time between strikes ranged from fifteen minutes to half an hour. Fifteen minutes. A smart man could accomplish a lot in fifteen minutes.
The journal lay on the desk behind the fusion. Spider’s bait.
John stared at the fusion. First things first. He had to exhaust its hydraulic reservoir. He cracked his knuckles. “Obey. Use your whip to pick up the journal and gently place it on the floor at my feet.”
WILLIAM stared at a black hair left on the handle of the door leading to his room. The old wine packed a hell of a punch. His head swam. He pulled the hair off and stepped inside.
Gaston jumped off the chair.
“Do me a favor.” William tried to sit on the bed. At the last possible moment, the treacherous piece of furniture made a panicked attempt to jerk out from under him. He landed on the covers, pinning the bed in place with his weight. That was some wine. “Don’t leave your hair on the door handles. Or across bag handles. Or wrapped around letters.”
“I wanted you to know that I was in the room.”
William pulled one boot off. “For one, you opened the window, and there was a draft under the door. For another, the door handle was still warm. And then—”
The other boot landed next to its twin.
“And then?” Gaston asked.
“I heard you. And smelled you.” William leveled his gaze on the kid. “You are supposed to be asleep, because of your grandmother’s magic. Why are you up?”
Gaston locked his teeth. “I want to come with you tomorrow.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You’re a kid. Tomorrow is a fight to the death. It won’t be pretty like in the books and movies. It will be hell. People will hurt and die, and you won’t be one of them.”
“I’m strong! I’m fast, I can climb, I can hit really hard, and I’m good with a knife ...”
William shook his head.
“He cut off my mother’s leg!”
William hopped off the bed. “I’m drunk. I’m wasted on that damn wine and I’m seeing double. So come on. Give it your best shot.”
Gaston hesitated.
William rocked a little on the balls of his feet, trying to keep his balance. “Pussy.”
The kid’s face went red. He bounced off the wall, leaping, hands outstretched. William grabbed his arm, channeling his momentum, and jerked him out of the air, flipping him. Gaston crashed to the floor and slid into the wall. William tilted his head, looking him over.
The kid shook himself and rolled to his feet. Not a quitter.
“What’s the matter? Can’t you knock me off my feet? I can barely stand.”
Gaston bared his teeth and lunged from a crouch. The kid was fast, William reflected, as he slammed his elbow on the back of Gaston’s neck. The boy sprawled on the floor. William kicked him in the kidneys. Gaston gasped.
“What’s the lesson?” William asked.
“You’re better,” Gaston ground out and swiped at William’s ankle.
William kicked him again. Gaston curled into a ball, trying to draw some air into his lungs.
“Take your time. Try not to get knocked down. If you’re down, keep your stomach flexed, so a kick to the gut doesn’t take you out.”
The kid inhaled finally.
“What’s the lesson?”
Gaston coughed. “Not good enough.”
“Not good enough
yet
.
Yet
being the important part.” William grabbed the kid by the arm and pulled him up. “Going to fight Spider tomorrow is very noble. People like us don’t give a flying fuck about noble. We fight to win. We fight dirty and we use everything we’ve got, because the job is not to throw your life away. The job is to take the other fucker out. And a bastard like Spider takes skill to kill. Being strong and fast doesn’t make you good. It just means you have potential.”
Gaston wiped his nose.
“If you live long enough, I’ll teach you to be like me. Or you can run in there roaring tomorrow, like your father does, and let Spider turn you into a piece of bleeding meat.”
“What if he takes you out tomorrow?”
William sighed. “If he does, go to Sicktree. Find a guy called Zeke Wallace. He runs a leather shop there. Tell him what happened and tell him that you need to speak to Declan Camarine in Adrianglia. Zeke will get you to Declan, and he will take it from there. In a few years you can hunt Spider down and kill him in my memory. Or you can die tomorrow. Your choice.”
William opened the door. Gaston walked out and glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll beat you one day.”
“Maybe.”
William shut the door and fell on the bed. It was good that he never got hangovers, or he would be a sorry man in the morning.
He closed his eyes and heard the door swing open. Cerise slipped into his room and slid into the bed next to him.
“Am I dreaming?” he asked her.
“No.”
“Oh, good.”
TWENTY-SIX
GRAY predawn light snagged on the damp cypress needles. William leaned forward, gripping the cypress branch with his fingers to keep from falling. Above him Kaldar shifted in the tangle of maiden’s hair moss.
When he’d volunteered to scout ahead of the Mars, he didn’t think Cerise would saddle him with her cousin. Kaldar’s body moved quietly enough. His mouth was another matter.
William squinted. From his perch in the cypress he could see the hothouse and a chunk of back wall about four hundred yards away. A short dark figure moved within the hothouse. As they watched, the hunchback swung a short shovel. Glass rang. Shards flew to the ground.
“What is he doing?” Kaldar murmured.
“He’s breaking down the garden.”
William swung off the branch, leaped down to the lower one, and swung himself down, dropping to the ground.
“Where are you going?” Kaldar hissed.
“Inside. Spider and most of his people are gone. There are only a few agents guarding the place.”
“We’re supposed to wait for Cerise.”
William activated his crossbow and headed to the house. Behind him Kaldar swore under his breath and hopped onto the soft ground. William padded through the cypress grove to the edge of the clearing and halted. The ground smelled odd.
Kaldar caught up. “Trapped?”
“Yes.”
Kaldar picked up a rock and tossed it into the clearing. It landed between two wards. A green stem shot out of the ground, and a hail of needle-thin thorns peppered the soil, striking sparks off the rock.
“You got any money on you?”
“No.”
Kaldar grimaced. “What do you have?”
William made a mental inventory of some twenty-odd items he’d pulled out of the Mirror’s bag of tricks and hid in his clothes this morning. Not much he could part with. “A knife,” he said.
“Fine. I’ll bet my knife against your knife that I can walk through there unharmed.”
William glanced at the eighty-yard clearing separating them from the house. It would be suicide. “No.”
Kaldar rolled his eyes. “It’s not the same without a bet.”
Cerise would skin him alive if he got her cousin blown up. It would be very entertaining. Therapeutic even. But it would make her cry. “No.”
“William, I need a bet; otherwise, it won’t work. You have nothing to lose. Just bet me the damn knife.”
William took out his backup knife and thrust it into the ground at his feet. “Knock yourself out.”
Kaldar dropped his own blade to the ground and picked up the knife. His fingers ran along the blade, caressing the metal. He closed his eyes and walked into the field.
His foot hovered over a spot; he turned, his eyes still closed, and veered left, then right. The toe of his right boot almost touched a patch of suspicious ground, then Kaldar swayed and spun away. He kept moving forward, lurching like he was drunk, jumped with liquid grace, froze, poised on the ball of his left foot, and conquered the last ten feet at a straight run.
He spun around, hands raised, self-indulgent smile stretching his lips. “Ah?”
A shadow flickered behind him. William leapt to his feet and fired twice. The first shot caught the agent’s eye, punching him off his feet. The second bolt went wide as a smooth, spotted tangle of a body clutched Kaldar about his shoulders and pulled him up to the second-floor window.

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