Ink and Shadows (38 page)

“Keep the pressure steady.” Carefully avoiding the spilled blood, Ari moved until he stood on a patch of unblemished floor. “I’d say pray, but the bastards responsible for all that crap are standing in front of us with our blood on their hands.”

“Why’d you bring this to our door, Faith?” Death asked, his calm voice carrying over the darkfae’s heavy breathing.

“We just need the boy, Death. Give him to us, and we’ll walk away. You don’t need to be involved in this.” Faith stepped forward. Stopped by Beckett’s hand on her wrist, the immortal comforted the magus with a murmur. “Let me do this. We can end this without any more trouble.”

“Your human did this to the boy, then?” Death slanted a look at Kismet, the young man’s shivering body pressed up against the wall. Faith’s glance at the magus confirmed his suspicions. “He has to be the one who crossed the boy over. Any immortal smart enough to do it wouldn’t have.”

“So we kill the human first?” Ari grinned, a lupine smile that pushed the darkfae back another step. “Save Charity and his bitch sister for later?”

“You can’t kill a human,” Faith reminded them. “Not unless he raises a hand to you. He changed a
human
with his potions. Not an immortal. You cannot touch Beckett, Death. Not for
anything
.”

“Nice of him to bring someone who knows the rules,” Ari muttered under his breath to Death. “Fucking whores betrayed us, Shi.”

“We didn’t do anything to you that you couldn’t have avoided, War,” Charity slurred, working his jaw back into place. Ari’s hit broke his cheekbone, shifting the bone in and shattering his orbit. The swell against his eye bothered him, his vision blurry and unpredictable. It would take a few hours before he’d be able to see clearly. “All you needed to do was mind your own business for a change.”

“Do you have any idea what he’s done, Faith? This threatens us. Threatens our existence,” Death said. “You weren’t around for the days when we lived in blood, fighting off wraiths coming through a broken Veil. Doing this, helping this man bring that about, will take mankind back centuries. They’ll lose everything they’ve accomplished, and for what?”

“Maybe it’s what mankind needs right now, Death,” she responded, conscious of the shifting darkfae around her and the men standing next to her. They were getting impatient and, in the presence of the Horsemen, were quickly losing their nerve.

“You’re supposed to be helping them, whore.” Ari paced out a step before returning to Death’s side. “Trust me. They don’t need wraiths chewing on their asses.”

“What would you care?” Charity sneered. “You only exist to torment mankind. You’ll be in your glory if what Death says is true. And if not, then it’s just more of the Four manipulating things to keep the rest of us in line.”

“Kick his teeth in for me, Ari,” Mal growled. Kismet’s blood was cooling on his hands, and his fingers were going numb. The young man’s skin was slowly knitting, not quick enough for Mal’s liking, but it was moving together. The feel of the tear undulating to join back together made his stomach twist, and he looked away, glaring up at the immortals behind their wall of darkfae. “He talks too much.”

“I agree with the brat, Death.” Ari winked at his partner, his confident arrogance filling his face. Canting his shoulder down, War affectionately bumped Death’s hip. “Too much talking. Not enough killing.”

“Keep your head down and protect Kismet. See if you can keep him behind you, Mal,” Death said, his voice low. “If not, then at least keep him down.”

The fight exploded before Mal blinked. One moment the air bristled with violence, and then it spilled over them, a wave of bodies and grunting shouts.

Hot liquid splashed from the severing blow of Death’s katana across the attacking Veiled’s forearm, a wave of foul acidic blood cresting into his open mouth. War’s shirt was already nearly black with blood, his hands sticky with offal and shreds of intestines, a malevolent grin breaking through the gore across his mouth. Death’s mouth slid into a half smile at the look of childish glee on his oldest friend’s face.

A motion caught Death’s attention, pulling him back into the fray, the katana arcing bright with a trail of silver threading through a darkfae’s throat. They would have to provide protection for the boy until Mal could remove him from the foyer. After that, he and War could move into the middle of the fight, depending on their youngest to take care of their charge.

Sputtering, Kismet coughed, hidden by the relative safety of Mal’s body, trying to clear the taste of his own blood from his tongue. Kismet’s trembling limbs seized under his body’s demands, his nervous system contracting him into a fetal ball. Panting hard, Kismet opened his eyes and bolted nearly upright. Mal pushed him back down, keeping him clear of the fight.

“Shit,” Kismet gasped, a shuddering roll starting in his blood. “I need a hit.”

Ari growled, “Think it was mingled in with drugs?”

“Easiest way to get it into him,” Death agreed, blocking a blade coming at his ribs. The darkfae were coming slower, more wary now that blood had been spilled. After a few jabs, the creatures pulled back, trying to circle in and test the Horsemen’s abilities. “Mal, try to keep Kismet calm.”

“That’s going to be a bit hard,” Mal sighed. Kismet was fighting him as he regained consciousness in spurts, his body painfully knitting together. “I can’t keep myself calm.”

“Do your best, Mal,” Death replied.

“Just knock him over the head,” Ari suggested with a sneer. “Hell, do us all a favor and knock yourself out too.”

“Watch your side, War.” Death nudged his friend. “They’re coming back in.”

Rising from his knees, Mal ducked around War’s upswing, trying to keep out of the older Horseman’s way. He felt the Veil ripple again, a call flowing from Death along the shadows straining to close in on the foyer. Death was reaching out for the other in their Four. A resonance built up in the darkness, spilling out with an echoing need. Min would be certain to feel the call, Mal was sure of it. If he hadn’t already been there, he knew he would have been pulled to the fight.

“Beckett!” Faith’s head jerked up, her eyes wild as she clutched at Beckett’s arm.

The magus turned, his mouth wide as he watched the walls convulse, disgorging the petite Min, armed with a long blade and a fierce temper.

“Famine’s here! We won’t be able to fight off all of them. We should leave now!”

Swinging wildly, Min fought viciously, dropping down under the taller creatures’ arms, stabbing up into their rib cages. The meat and bone in the darkfae’s torso halted some of her thrusts, but as she found her rhythm, Min angled her attack better, feeling for the ripe softness of an organ giving way. She stopped short, in shock, at the sight of Faith and Charity standing by the attacking force.

“Faith! Charity!” Min moved quickly, trying to slash her way to the immortals. “I’ll get to you!”

“Don’t go in, Min,” Death warned her. The steel in the eldest’s voice pinned Min to the ground.

“They brought the darkfae….”

“What?” The woman dove to the side, bending her torso back to avoid a blow. “Why?”

“Why later,” Ari argued back. “Kill now. Whys and hows are for later.”

“Damn it, he’s trying to get the door open.” Beckett spotted Mal working at the door latch, the heavy body of a fallen darkfae blocking his way. “We shouldn’t have let go of the boy.”

“I’ll see if I can get to him. Mal’s not a threat,” Charity said. “Keep Faith safe.”

“We’ll never reach him.” Faith gasped when Beckett grabbed her arm, yanking the immortal around. “There’s no way to him! Charity, just leave him.”

“There’s no way we’ll ever get this chance again.” Beckett drew a short-barrel gun from the holster at his waist. “Let’s even the odds.”

Aiming for Death, the magus lifted the muzzle of the gun and pulled the trigger. The gunshot boomed, rebounding and bouncing back in waves of sound through the crowded foyer.

Min’s heart raced, then stopped dead, her eyes finding the dark-haired Horseman at the head of the darkfae pack. Ari jerked around, his mouth peeled back into a growl, viciously stabbing at the creature closest to him to clear the way to his friend.

Death stood firm, pulling the scant Veil tight around him. The shock of a projectile weapon passed through him. He was taking a chance, gambling on the age of his body and how long he’d been immersed in the shadows. The bullet shimmered through his flesh, then flew into the wood behind him. A sunburst of gunpowder bloomed on his shirt, minute fragments caught around the hole punctured by the bullet.

“You said this would work!” Beckett brandished the gun under Charity’s nose, the heat from the muzzle leaving a blister near his lip. “Why the hell didn’t it work?”

“Maybe he’s too old,” Faith shouted, panic filling her heart. “He has too much of the Veil in him. That’s got to be it.”

“Damn it.” Charity gritted his teeth. He needed to draw the Horsemen away from the boy. The darkfae were going to be slaughtered, and more importantly, they would lose any chance of securing the human from the Horsemen. He spotted Mal trying to work the door open, the younger immortal nearly sprawling over a fallen body.

Mal dug his fingers into the broken metal pieces of the door latch. He wished he had more curses in his arsenal, swearing ineffectually when a screw tore at his finger. The darkfae’s blows had made a tangled mess of the mechanism, and he strained to work the whole plate loose.

“Trust them to protect your back, Mal,” he muttered to himself. “The Four will never let you down.”

A few more fumblings of the latch, and the whole piece tumbled to the floor, a clattering sound that sang sweet music in Mal’s ears. Hooking his fingers into the empty space, Mal pulled hard on the door, astonished when it refused to open more than an inch. Yanking harder, he felt a softness give under his struggles, then looked down at his feet, the heavy, broad body of a darkfae keeping the door shut.

“Shit.” Mal crouched, shoving at the corpse. “Didn’t I move you enough?”

“If Death’s too old, then one of the others. One of the younger ones.” Beckett tried to get a good sighting on Min, but the slender woman was nearly lost behind the darkfae’s thick bodies. Pestilence would have to be his target, hoping Death and War would be drawn off by seeing their youngest’s brains splattered on the wall.

Shouting for the others to give him a clear shot, Beckett strained to get a good angle on the youngest Horseman. Mal ducked down under the fight, working to remove the darkfae blocking the door. War moved to the right, swearing loudly at the slipperiness underfoot. The foyer’s slick floor wasn’t the best for a fight, something he would mention to Death once they were done.

Kismet jerked when Mal touched him, his chest heaving with the strain keeping his body under control. Something strange crawled in his blood, licking at his nerves until they ran raw and hot. Craning to get around the Horsemen’s influence, he could see wraithlings drifting along the walls, an inky tide dashing up against the darkfae’s backs. Shivering, Kismet turned over, trying to squeeze the cold out of his bones, his limbs nearly frozen and locked.

“I can get up,” Kismet reassured Mal, unsteadily trying to get to his knees. “It’s healed up enough. I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not okay. Stay down,” Mal begged. “Please, Kiz, just stay down.”

“Can you get the door open?” War shouted at the youngest, kicking at Mal’s thigh with a bloodied foot. “See if you can get the kid inside!”

“I got the lock part out,” Mal yelled back, panic rising in his chest. “There’s a dead body in the way.”

Kismet was shutting down beside him, the young man closing up against the addiction tearing his body apart. The denser mass of the dead darkfae were difficult to move, stumps slimy from leaking wounds. Mal heaved the last meaty piece he could manage, then grabbed at Kismet’s waist, hoisting the human to his feet. Grabbing at the edge of the door, Mal pulled at the handle, swinging the portal open just enough to slide through.

Beckett took aim and shot, grim and determined to hit at least one of the Horsemen. The spout of blood splattering War’s face sent a wicked grin over the magus’s face, the man thinking he’d hit the blond.

Turning, Ari shouted something Beckett couldn’t hear over the rush of the dying screams of the darkfae. His victory turned to horror when Faith grabbed at his arm, the immortal’s horrified words a piercing scream in his ear.

“You shot the boy!” Faith clutched the stained folds of her dress. “You’ve killed him!”

Kismet screamed when the bullet struck him, intense pain dancing black stars over his eyes.

Struggling to stay alert, he stumbled and caught at Mal’s arm, sobbing from the torment working into his flesh. His muscles shook with a rolling spasm, unable to respond to the simple command to move forward, the dubious safety of the partially open door nearly in reach. Kismet’s knee struck the wooden floor as he fell, his kneecap cracking hard under his weight.

Min hacked at a nearby head, splitting open the creature’s temple with a sharp blow. As the darkfae stumbled, she planted her foot in the center of his shoulder blades and vaulted to get closer to the other Horsemen. Spotting the woman, Death slid around to War’s right, covering Ari’s side as the blond ducked to avoid a blow. With no slack in his stride, Death grabbed one of Ari’s shorter blades, then jabbed upward into the underside of a darkfae’s jaw, cracking open the creature’s chin.

“Kismet!” Mal held the young man’s body up from the floor, not wanting the ocean of darkfae blood to enter the wound. Mal felt War at his side, the older Horseman’s steady hand on the youngest’s shoulder. “Ari, I can’t tell how badly he’s hurt.”

The fabric of Kismet’s torn shirt was too sodden to absorb any more blood. His wound dripped, a trickling flow forming near the still healing gash on his chest. The edges of the gunshot were frayed from the bullet’s impact. Coughing, Kismet gasped, unable to process the pain in his side. Clearing the gore with spit and his fingers, Mal found the wound along the boy’s upper rib cage, now barely seeping. The hole had already begun closing, the bruised skin around the entrance wound a violent purple.