Flora's Fury: How a Girl of Spirit and a Red Dog Confound Their Friends, Astound Their Enemies, and Learn the Impo (28 page)

Jack tried to disentangle me from his coat; I twisted my grip and got a good lock on his queue. His hat fell off. We tussled; he was stronger than me, of course, but I was frantic and that gave me an advantage. I heard the elevator door hiss open, and as Jack tried to thrust me off, I clung to him even harder. Flynn danced around us, yipping happily. He thought we were playing.

“You ... must ... let ... me ... go, Flora!” he wheezed. I let myself fall into a dead weight, dragging him off balance. “You are the last one—if you die now, the Haðraaða family dies with you. Get off!”

He gave me one last push and I felt him slip through my grasp, felt my knees give way. He turned to face the open door. From the floor, I could see between Jack’s planted legs. A cluster of feet were framed in the elevator doorway: a pair of purple court-shoes, a pair of rubber boots, a pair of brown open-toed sandals, and two white knobby feet with green toenails.

Flynn slunk up against me, and I put my hand on his head. The umbrella now within reach, I grabbed it, clutching it with sweaty, cold hands.

“Well,” Jack said jovially. “Lookee here!

I heard the Birdie’s voice. “Let the woman go.”

“Naw, I do not think so, chickadee. She’s mine!”

“This woman belongs to the Lord of the Smoked Mirror. You have no right to impede me.”

“This is not Birdieland,” Jack said. “This is Barbacoa. Who cares here what your glassy god wants? This woman is mine. We had a deal and she broke it. She owes me and I intend that she shall repay me. When I am done with her, you can have her then, if you should still want her.”

“It is not wise to get on the wrong side of the Lord of the Smoked Mirror,” the Birdie answered.

Jack was not impressed with the Lord of the Smoked Mirror and he said so, in a most uncomplimentary fashion. The people standing to either side of the Birdie began to slide backward, sideways, away. I didn’t blame them one bit.

“Come with me, madama,” the Birdie ordered, bypassing Jack altogether.

“Fike you!” I said, less afraid now that Jack’s bulk was between us. “Your fiking powder wore off, and you can tell your Lord of the Smoked Mirror he can stuff it!”

Jack said, “She’s mine and I’m not giving her up.”

“You are a fool,” the Birdie said.

“I’ve been called worse,” Jack said. “But at least no one has ever called me
Birdie
!”

The elevator doors started to shut. The Birdie stuck a long hand between the closing panels. Jack brought the flat of his dagger down hard, and with a yelping swear, the Birdie yanked his arm back. Flynn barked, twisting in my grip. The elevator doors snapped shut.

“What floor are you on?” Jack asked, turning back to me.

“Four. Flynn! Shut up, get down—Jack, please—”

“Don’t worry, Flora. We can handle ourselves. We’ll be fine, really. You should see our flick o’ the foot. Come on, Flynnie, shut it.”

“Udo?” I squinted up hopefully. Jack looked exactly like Udo, so the only way to tell them apart was by expression and words. The glint in Jack’s eye was no longer a cold, calculating stealie-boy glint. Now it was a crazy heroic glint. An Udo-glint.

Udo said, “I’m sorry I was such a snapperhead earlier, Flora, really, I am. You should have told me what was going on. I promise, we’ll take care of this Birdie fellow.”

“Udo, you can’t. The guy is a nahual. He’s a wer-jaguar. He’ll eat you up—”

The elevator jolted to a halt. Udo said soothingly, “We are professionals. Don’t worry.”

“You
are not a professional, Udo!”

The elevator doors opened.

“Jack is. Hardhands is. Oh, look, howdy, Pig.”

I peered around Udo and saw Pig sitting serenely in the hallway. He looked jaunty and ready to go. Udo pulled me into an embrace and I flung my arms around his neck. The kiss was brief, but much improved from our last one. Then Udo pushed me and Flynn out of the elevator. I turned around, lunging back, but the elevator doors were already closing. Octohands had jetted out and scooped up Pig, and taken him back to Udo. Udo waved to me jauntily, Pig cradled in his arms.

“Udo! Wait!” I cried.

The doors closed and then reopened. My boot came flying out and almost hit me in the head.

“I’ll want more of those kisses later, duckie!” Jack cried jovially, and then the doors closed again. I hammered on the call button to no avail. Fike! Those monumental moronic snapperheads! They were going to get Udo killed! I took a fast moment to put my boot back on and lace both up, then ran toward the stairs.

Fiking Udo, trying to play the hero. No doubt the Jack Boots could take care of themselves, but they didn’t have Udo’s best interest at heart. Udo could be killed, but the Jack Boots would live on. They’d find another host and resume their life of criminality. But Udo would be dead. True, they had Pig, which tipped the scales in their favor, but Pig was no guarantee of Udo’s safety. People get killed in the crossfire all the time. Octohands’s bite hadn’t even killed Madama Valdosta; I doubted it would have any impact upon a nahual at all.

As I careened down the twisty staircase, Flynn bouncing along behind me, I let all my fear of the Birdie, my irritation at Udo, and my anger at Buck twist and roil and grow, until I felt the Gramatica begin to bubble and turn inside of me, my blood heating, my face flushing. Sieur Birdie was going to be in for a very hot moment when I caught up with him.

As I came to the third-floor landing, I began to hear—above the noise of the rain and wind the clang of steel—shouting, cursing, random screams of fear and excitement. A man came around the corner below me. He was running up the stairs as fast as he could, which wasn’t very fast, as he was rather portly and the tails of his frock coat were long and draggy.

“...down there...” He puffed. “Fight ... jaguar ... pig ... Jack—”

He pushed by and disappeared around the next turn of the stairwell. I held on to the railing and tried to pick up my pace.

On the second-floor landing, the noise of the ruckus was joined by the high-pitched yowling of a very large cat. Three risers down, I heard a loud bellow of pain, followed by a string of cutthroat curses that almost took the paint off the walls.

Flynn reached the fire door and jumped at it, barking hysterically. I was two steps away when I heard a metallic grinding noise, louder than the storm’s howl. The walls seemed to ripple and twist. I lost my footing and fell down the last two stairs, landing at the bottom with a bright wrench of pain, my left leg twisted beneath me. Flynn let out a horrible wail. I staggered to my feet, ignoring the pain in my ankle, and hobbled to the fire door, then flung it open.

The lobby was a mess of busted furniture, busted walls, and shouting, crying hotel guests. The front doors were gone, smashed into glittering glass shards. A cold wind gusted through the gaping hole, driving rain into the lobby, soaking the carpet. Pink coldfire dripped from the ceiling.

In the middle of the wreckage, a figure lay facedown amid the splinters of a velvet sofa. I ran to him across the squelching carpet, kicking aside the dented spittoons, broken glass crunching beneath my feet. Udo’s hair was sopped with blood, sticky with sweat, and when I pulled on his shoulders, his head flopped back in a sickeningly dead way Distantly I heard someone screaming Udo’s name and distantly realized it was me.

One of Cutaway’s minions pulled me off of him; she was saying something, but I couldn’t hear her through my screaming. She shook my shoulders and shouted, “He’s not dead, you stupid git!”

I went slack in her hands, and she pulled me to my feet, drew me away Two more minions gently pulled Udo out of the wreckage and hoisted him between them. As they carried him away, his hair left a slick trail of blood on the ground. His hand dangled; there was something caught in his fingers—a scrap of pink plush.

All that was left of Pig.

T
HE MINION IGNORED
my wails and frog-marched me out of the lobby, down a flight of stairs, and into a room where a voice said, “No, not there, she’ll get blood on my good white sofa.”

I was pushed into a chair, and there I huddled, crying bitterly, until a hankie appeared before my face. “Here, take this and blow your nose.”

I took the hankie that Cutaway dangled before me. My fingers left red splotches on the fine white fabric. I blew my nose.

“Quit wailing,” Cutaway said. “Your friend is not dead.”

“He might be soon,” I gasped.

“We all might be dead soon,” Cutaway said. “But right now we are still alive. That’s the important thing.”

“If he dies, it will be my fault.”

“If he dies, he’ll be dead. It hardly matters then whose fault it is. Either way, he’ll be a hero. Springheel Jack versus the Nahual. Of such stuff are legends made. I think that boy will enjoy being a hero.”

I sniveled, “He’s not really Springheel Jack. He’s just Udo Landaðon. He stole the Jack Boots from the real Springheel Jack.”

“As did the Springheel Jack before him. And the one before him, as well. It’s how they all get started on their lives of crime, each Springheel Jack. Stealing the Jack Boots.”

“Udo isn’t a criminal,” I protested.

“He will be by the time the Jack Boots are done. Perhaps you could explain to me why Springheel Jack and the Duque de Espejo y Ahumado were fighting it out in my lobby, Lieutenant Fyrdraaca?”

Somehow I was not surprised that Cutaway knew who I was.

“Who is the Duque de Whatever?” I asked.

“Espejo y Ahumado,” Cutaway said impatiently “Don’t try to snow me, girlie. He is the high priest of Tezcatlipoca, the Lord of the Smoked Mirror.”

“I never saw him before today! He tried to kidnap me! Udo—Jack—was only trying to protect me!”

“Kidnap you? Why would the Duque do that?”

“I don’t know! He said he was going to offer me to his god, or something.”

“That seems unlikely,” Cutaway said. “The priests of the Smoked Mirror choose their offerings very carefully They groom them, and tend them, and love them. They cry as they cut out their hearts. They don’t have a habit of grabbing the first girl they see. What makes you so special?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hmmmm ... Perhaps.” I could tell she didn’t believe me. “Lucky for you, I am not very curious. A famous criminal, assisted by a protection egregore, and a flying octopus have a knock-down drag-out ruckus in my lobby over a girl hiding behind a false name, who has arrived at my hotel in the company of a Pacifica express agent. Most people would be very curious. But I am not nosy by nature. All I care about is who is going to pay for the damages. And who will that be, I wonder? Should I send a bill to your mother, General Fyrdraaca?”

I grimaced at the thought. “Send your bill to the Duque Whosit. He started everything!”

“I would be happy to do just that. But he’s gone. After your egregore exploded, Espejo, in his jaguar form, dashed out into the storm. I sent searchers after him; they report that he boarded a ship and sailed away on the wind. I suspect, in fact, that this storm is his doing. The Lord of the Smoked Mirror likes bad weather. So that just leaves you and my wrecked lobby, which is going to cost a fortune to renovate. What do you suggest I do?”

I had no suggestions. All I could think about was that Espejo was gone, gone after Tiny Doom. And he’d made sure that no one could immediately follow him.

As we were talking, Cutaway had sat down behind her desk. Now she reached for a cigarillo box, opened it, offered it to me. I took one and accepted her light. The tobacco smoke was smooth and tasted like cloves. It made me cough a bit, but it also steadied my nerves.

After taking a drag on her own cigarillo, Cutaway said, “Ah, now, another solution occurs to me. Like you, Sieur Wraathmyr is undercover, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

She smiled. “I think you do. You don’t come across wer-bears every day Right off the top of my head, I can think of two clients who would pay me well for him. One is always on the lookout for slaves to fight in his pits; the other supplies romance to open-minded people. I could easily get more than enough to pay for the damages to my hotel.”

“Barbacoa is supposed to be a free port, madama. I would think that people would think twice about doing their business here if they had to worry about being kidnapped and sold into slavery.”

“They only need worry if they don’t pay their bills, Lieutenant. And I want them to be worried about that.”

A knock at the door interrupted us. Cutaway called out an answer and a minion came in. They had a brief conversation in a language I did not know, and then the minion left. Cutaway turned back to me. “The surgeon is done. Your friend is all sewn up. He’ll have a few scars—so dashing—but he’ll live.”

For some reason, this news, good as it was, set me to crying again. Cutaway ignored my sobbing and said, “Lucky for you, I do not care for Birdies. I particularly do not care for Birdies who show up on my island and break all my rules, and then do a runner without paying their hotel bill. So I think I shall send my request for payment to Espejo after all. But as for you, Lieutenant, I want you off my island as soon as this storm clears, you and your wer-friend both.”

I blew my nose again on the soggy hankie. “I wasn’t planning on sticking around. I’m going after Espejo.”

“I would think that you would be pleased to see the last of him.”

“I owe him for Udo,” I said, and I did, too.

“Good luck with that. Happy travels, Lieutenant Fyrdraaca. Please do not come back to Barbacoa.”

Cutaway gestured to the minion, who hauled me from my chair. We were almost out the door when Cutaway said, “He’s got a good head start and once he hits the mainland, he can travel very fast on four legs. Nahuals are nocturnal. He can only change at night, but when he is in his jaguar form, he can move very quickly. I find it hard to believe that you will be able to outpace him.”

“I’m going to try.”

“Well. You might ask Sieur Wraathmyr for his help, then. If they need to, express agents can get around very quickly Even more quickly than a jaguar. Goodbye, Lieutenant. My regards to your charming mother.”