Crossed (38 page)

I let him drop to his hands and knees, then followed up with a kick aimed at his head. He caught my leg. Which was fine with me, because who wants a one-sided fight? I wasn’t even particularly mad at him. I was frustrated and tired of the talking and I wanted to beat on somebody. He’d drawn the lucky number.

“It’s been a century or more since I fought in human form.” Tall Hairy Guy shoved me backward. His position gave him superior leverage, and I didn’t even fight it. I saw a smile vanish from Deacon’s face as Tall Hairy Guy began to fight back. So Deacon didn’t like
la Bête du Gévaudan
? If he wasn’t happy, then maybe I was attacking the wrong person.

“Shall we make things interesting, vampire?”
la Bête
asked.

“In what way?”

He stood, ducking to the side to avoid a jab I’d launched at his face, and followed with a punch of his own. I felt like a guy in one of those disaster movies where they know the asteroid is going to hit Earth and it’s too late to do anything but take it on the chin and hope you make it. In human form, he wasn’t as strong as I expected, but a good solid shot to the cheek, just under the eye, is never fun, and in boxing, it’s kind of the sweet spot.

Blood sprayed out of my mouth, but the pain was brief. From a pure endurance standpoint, vampires have the edge in hand-to-hand combat. Even so, I saw spots before my eyes.

“No claws. No fangs. No powers. No shifting. Hand-to-hand.”

“Speed?” I put the question out there and let it hang.

“I said no powers.”

“Yeah.” I caught myself talking with my hands. “But I don’t always have a good handle on controlling mine.”

“If you can get it to work this far away from your
memento mori
?” He gestured, too, weighing the options in his hands as if they were physical things. “Sure.”

“I’m in.”

Around us, stunned immortals looked on. Beatrice knelt by Tabitha, and I smiled when one of the immortal crowd responded to her unspoken request for help moving my day-struck bride. They carried her to a set of chairs I hadn’t seen and laid her across them. While I was watching that,
la Bête du Gévaudan
hit me with a combo of rabbit punches followed by an uppercut that lifted me into the air like a cartoon boxer and sent me sprawling toward the pedestal.

A human throat shouted, “You idiots!” My back struck the pedestal and I felt the thing begin to topple. Time slowed, and the common inrush of breath sounded low and slow to my time-dilated perceptions. It was the sound of immortals getting ready to act. My heart sprang to life, and Scrythax spoke in my head.

“Interesting.” If he’d been a cat, I’d have accused him of purring. “You’ve learned to draw on the Stone to assist you in the absence of your
memento mori
.”

“Yeah.” I grabbed the head as it fell from the podium. “I’m all clever and shit.” I think I meant to set it back on the pedestal and tell the immortals to chill out. Instead, my lips drew into a hard tight smile as I shifted my grip from a horn to the base of the skull, and I threw the Head of Scrythax at
la Bête du Gévaudan.

    37    

ERIC:

TIME OUT FOR BAD BEHAVIOR

Time stopped again, and in midspin the Head of Scrythax decelerated into a languid roll. He smiled at me, the rows of teeth clicking shut in a disconcerting lack of unison. “Better?”

“Dude.” I tossed up my hands. “I’m just trying to fight a fucking hairy-ass immortal werewolf here. I threw you at him. Why can’t you just hit him like a normal decapitated head?”

“Very well.”

Time sped up again and Scrythax slapped against Megawolf’s chest, one horn digging into his flesh. Did that count as a weapon? Fuck!

“Wait. Shit.” I made a
T
with my hands, signaling a timeout. “Decapitated demon heads count as a weapon. My bad.” I held my arms out to either side of me. “You get a free shot with the Head of Scrythax.”

“He certainly does not,” Oddvar (I think Oddvar was the big fat one) shouted. “This has gone far enough!”

Megawolf burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter, rapid bark-like bursts, punctuated by huge inhalations of air. “Fine.” He wiped his eyes, still laughing, struggling to speak between
chortles. “Take him and”—he withdrew the head, shaking with laughter, close to dropping it—“put him back on the pedestal. Protect the demon god, Oddvar. By all means.”

“Maybe we should take this outside?” I suggested as Oddvar stormed across the room and took the head away from Megawolf. The immortal brushed past me and set Scrythax reverently back in his spot atop the pedestal.

“No.”
La Bête
grabbed Deacon’s shoulder. “No, I think we’d best leave things as they are. I must resolve my business and be on my way. Apologize to the vampire,” he commanded the werewolf.

What?

“I apologize.” Deacon choked on the words.

“For what do you apologize?”
la Bête
prompted as I opened my mouth to ask the same sort of thing.

“I apologize for invading your territory.” He looked at
la Bête
as if he might challenge him, but thought better of it and shifted his gaze to the floor again. “On two separate occasions, my disciples and I disregarded the truce between you and William, the governing Alpha. We did so without rightfully challenging him to claim the territory. We did so like lone wolves, like packless rogues, without the proper authority or direction of the holy and righteous Lycan Diocese.” He and the other Apostles knelt as one, became human, and offered their necks. “Our lives are yours, Eric Courtney.”

“Fuck off.”

La Bête
nodded at my words and the Apostles jerked to their feet, changing forms as one. “You do not accept?” Deacon shouted now that he was all wolfed-out and tough again. “You mock me?”

I’ve never met a big guy with such a clear-cut case of short man’s syndrome before. But that was Deacon through and through.

“He mocks you because it is his right,” Megawolf snarled. “Just as it became my right to rule on this when you lost your head and chased a wronged party into
my
territory. I do not like vampires—I never have—but your discourteous lack of gratitude astounds me, Deacon. This vampire spared your lives when I delivered them to him as payment for the rules you knowingly broke, and you have the gall to object to the words he used when doing so?

“I would almost offer you up again if I were not certain you would shame me with a further demonstration of your disrespect.”

“Forgive me.” Deacon dropped to the ground and rolled onto his back, arching his neck up toward
la Bête
.

“Return to him what has been stolen.”

Deacon reached into his pants pocket and withdrew a small leather bag, then stood and walked to me, dropping the bag into my hand. “The bullets of
El Alma Perdida
.”

“I took the liberty of releasing the spirits of the werewolves encased within,” said
la Bête
.

“Whatever.” I emptied the contents of the bag into my hand. Each bullet felt lighter in my hand, a tiny difference, yet a noticeable one.
Wasn’t it supposed to be glowing or something? Recharging?
I dropped the bullets into my pocket, wishing I’d brought Magbidion with me so he could give them a onceover. “That was JPC’s deal anyway. Not mine. So? Now what?”

“I grant you three nights’ time in my territory.”

“Well, fuck you, too.”

“Explain.”

“Fucking?”

“No.”
La Bête
’s eyes narrowed. “You’re rude and uncouth, but you usually have a reason. Why do you disdain my generosity?”

“Because I’m here on my honeymoon and you just basically said that as soon as my wife is done with the stupid three-day
ritual these assholes”—I indicated the immortals—“insist she completes, she has to leave without getting to spend any time in Paris at all.”

“Oddvar, can this ritual be waived without difficulty?”

“The moment she agreed to it in front of the Head of Scrythax, the ritual began.” He shook his head. “If she leaves early—”

“Then she disqualifies herself,”
la Bête
interrupted. “You and your rules. I cannot deny they’ve kept the vampires largely in check.”

“If you were to agree to swear the Oath—”

La Bête
’s form exploded, chunks of flesh and gore spattering the room as his wolf form erupted from the human one. “I will not swear any oath by a demon!” Megawolf’s massive paw caught the fat immortal in the stomach, knocking him flat. The wolf’s teeth drooled blood onto Oddvar’s cheek as he growled. Flecks of cast-off skin dotted Megawolf’s black fur and he howled, even as his telepathic words filled our minds.

“Five nights then,” Megawolf decreed. “As the ritual will still be kept, you shall be welcome here for five nights, during which time you and your bride may hunt and kill three humans each. I decline to allow you into the Treaty of Secrets. This should save you the trouble of refusing to swear on the demon head yourself. On the basis of my own authority, I decree that you shall have free rein to destroy the vampires of Europe as you see fit.”

“That is not acceptable,” Aarika began.

Luc joined his voice to hers. “Be reasonable,
la—
” He caught himself again. “You know the Council of Immortals cannot condone this.”

“You broke your word to me.” Megawolf swelled up and howled again.
This,
I thought,
must be what it’s like to argue with me when I’m angry.
“I said no more Emperor vampires! And you let
one in. Shall I take that act as dissolution of our agreement? Shall I interpret it as an act of war? Because I am ready. Are you?” His snout jutted toward Luc: “Are you?” At Aarika: “Are you?” And on and on to each of the immortals until every immortal in the room had turned away, unwilling to fight.

“You didn’t ask me.” I couldn’t resist baiting him.

“You’d say yes.” A hint of amusement accompanied his telepathic utterance. “Besides, I’m being magnanimous. You’ve been wronged and I’m making it up to you. Now, shut up.

“I decree,” Megawolf repeated, “that Eric Courtney and his bride shall have free rein to destroy the vampires of Europe as they see fit. And the vampires of Europe shall have free rein, if individually attacked, to respond in kind, but only upon the Courtney who attacked them. As Eric is not an Oath-sworn citizen of Europe, the responsibility for keeping the mortals unaware of his and his wife’s presence shall fall upon the immortal community, which is to grant them both all courtesy as the Courtneys are their guests . . . and mine.”

“What happens if I’m still here on the sixth day?” I asked.

“Then we shall meet again on less friendly terms, Mr. Courtney.”
La Bête
’s breath washed over me, still smelling of mint and hot as a sauna.

“I shall . . . deposit . . . Christian in the countryside in approximately six to eight hours’ time,”
la Bête
thought at the others, “and then I shall return to Lozère. Good day to you.”

He left the room and the Apostles followed him. Once they were gone, I smiled at the immortals.

“So.” I clapped my hands together. “Do I get conjugal visits with Tabitha during the stupid ritual thing?”

“The sire must not have any undo—” Aarika began.

“That’s fine,” I cut her off. “In which case, I’m leaving Beatrice here to feed and look after Tabitha and I’m going sightseeing. Which means I’ll need a guide, someone to watch over
me and make sure I don’t get seen, and . . . seeing as how I can only kill three humans, I’ll need a lucky volunteer to play the role of snack food. Any takers?”

Luc scowled. “I will go. It is my—”

“I don’t bite guys, Dumbass.”

One by one, the men turned to Aarika.

“I vill kill all of you vun day,” she said resignedly, her irritation bringing out a little more of her accent than I’d heard before, “und I vill enjoy it.” She offered me her arm, the very model of stoicism. “Shall we go?”

Of course, if I’d known any number of things about what was going on back home, or would go on, or even that Rachel had come to Paris to mess with me, I’d have jerked Tabitha out of her whole “make me my own vampire” testing and flown straight home. But I didn’t know any of that, so Aarika and I walked arm in arm out of the castle and into the sun . . . where I caught fire, because I’m good at it.