Nightlife (23 page)

"I'd advise you to leave Promise out of this, much in the way you did
not
leave Georgina out of it." Niko regarded me impassively. "What we did to your friends we could easily do to you. I don't believe Cal would hold a thorough beating against us, considering the situation."

"My furry flunkies." I mimed wiping away a tear. "My walking throw rugs are no more. Ah, well, I couldn't afford their dental anyway. At least tell me they managed to gnaw on Georgie some. Give me that. Did they chomp on a nose? An ear? Hell, a pinkie? I'll take that."

That didn't settle well with either of them. The only giveaway as to what Niko felt was his face becoming more and more set, until it resembled a carved stone statue. Goodfellow was somewhat more demonstrative, his hand tightening on his sword and his jaw white with tension. "She's but a girl, Darkling," the puck said with acid disgust. "A child."

"A human child," I replied with a curl of my lip. "And the best part about them is they're so much easier to kill." Turning my head, I scanned the area for Boggle. There was no sign of him. If that cowardly shit had run off, he was going to be one sorry son of a bitch. Looking back at Robin, I held up my hands thumb to thumb and framed him. The blood, the torn flesh, the destroyed clothing, all courtesy of my MIA mud pie. "Who's your tailor, Goodfellow? I'm loving your new look. Damned spiffy."

That was nearly the straw that broke the camel's back. Niko had to use more force this time to keep Robin from sheathing his sword in my neck. "I said no," he rapped firmly. "I'm not abandoning my brother so quickly. He's in there and he's fighting. He's fought to survive all his life; he wouldn't give up now. It's not in him."

"No?" Robin commented softly. "Well, I do know one thing that's in him, and I don't think it has any intention of coming out. The sooner you come to grips with that, Niko, the better off you'll be." He went on, unrelenting. "And the better off Cal will be."

It was fascinating watching him push Niko to the edge, and a very dangerous edge at that. He was the ultimate pragmatist, my brother, but there was one thing he could not look at directly. Not now. Cal was a blind spot, the only chink in Niko's armor. Goodfellow could talk until he was blue in the face, and it wouldn't do him a damn bit of good. There was only one person who could convince Nik at this point that I wasn't salvageable. That person was Cal; that person was me. One in the same, even if no one realized it yet. One in the same, now and always.

"Any decisions about my brother will be made by me, Goodfellow." The warning wrapped Niko's words in razor wire and broken glass. "No one else."

Robin bowed his head slightly, brow creased. Exhaling harshly, he twisted his lips in resignation. "No matter how good the intentions, I take it."

"No matter." The message was unbending, but the ice behind it had thawed somewhat. Niko knew that Robin was trying to help, could see that he was on his side. It was a big step for someone who'd been nursed on suspicion all his life. Quite the bonding moment for the two of them. How sweet. I was all puppies and kittens from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet, the same feet I jackknifed into Goodfellow's knees.

Strike two.

The blow knocked him on his ass and that, I thought with righteous condescension, was what happened to those who got soft. The puck had obviously forgotten, but there were humans and then there was us. You forget what side you're on, you try to cross that line, and there was a price to pay. And it wasn't going to be paid in Monopoly money either.

I'd hoped that Robin careening into him would stagger Niko, at least for a second. No such luck. As he fell, Goodfellow had the presence of mind to twist away, taking down no one but himself. That left my brother still open for business and that was less than a desirable outcome, to say the least. Consequently, when Boggle breached the ground like a killer whale through the waves, I promptly decided he was my new best friend. Apparently, I'd overestimated his cowardice and underestimated his hatred of Niko. Shedding dirt like water, he snatched up my brother by his coat, lifted him high in the air, and shook him violently. The blond head snapped back with visibly painful force as Boggle gave a gutturally triumphant bellow. It was a beautiful sight to see, right up until the moment when Niko sliced off Boggle's right hand.

His reaction was as spectacular as you'd expect it to be. Black blood, viscous and foul, poured lava-thick from the stump. For a short moment, barely a second, Boggle stared stupefied at the pumping blood. It was only a second, but it was much longer than Niko needed to embed his sword in one round pumpkin orange eye. Boggle's scream shattered the air as Niko fell from his remaining hand. It was looking bleak for the home team, but once again I didn't give Bog enough credit. Still howling, he swung an arm, slamming it into Niko and throwing him nearly fifteen feet. Trusting that the two of them would keep busy, I turned my attention to Goodfellow.

The proverbial thorn in my side was pushing his way back up to a sitting position, his face grim and etched with pain. I might not have dislocated his kneecaps, but I'd definitely given him something to think about… for the short time he had left to him. He'd barely gotten halfway up when I hit him hard, my knee hitting him viciously in the gut. The sword that had fallen from his hand I scooped up and applied with surgical precision to his throat. Blood welled sluggishly over the bright metal as I gave him an even brighter smile. "Having second thoughts about your new friends, Goodfellow?"

The green eyes of a treed fox blinked as dark eyebrows quirked upward with studied boredom. "Having second thoughts about being such a homicidal dick, Darkling?"

"Goodfellow." I shook my head and used my free hand to comb taming fingers through his wild brown curls before patting his cheek with a stinging blow. "Robin. How did you come to this? Look at you. Bloody, dirty. Your expensive clothes are ruined, and all for the sake of humans. It's a sad state of affairs and I feel for you, I do. It almost makes me want to kill you painlessly." I put more pressure on the blade. "Almost." I wished I had time to make it slow as well as painful, but Boggle wouldn't be able to hold Niko forever. I'd have to limit myself to one quick slash and let Goodfellow drown in his own blood. Then I would take care of my brother.

Unfortunately for me, my brother took care of me first. My arm was tensing for the coup de grace when a sharp pain hit me in the back of my upper thigh. Snatching a look over my shoulder, I saw a tufted dart protruding from my jeans. Niko stood ten feet away by the motionless and muddy form of Boggle. He held a blunt-nosed pistol in his hand. A gun, the son of a bitch was aiming a gun at me. In his entire life the man had never used a gun, had never even
held
a gun. And now he had used one on me. In its way I think that made me nearly as disconnected as the drug I could feel racing through my system. He had surprised me and out-thought me, not once, but twice since we'd entered the park. Outmaneuvered
me
.

That, boys and girls, is when I lost my sense of humor.

I was also losing consciousness and losing it fast. I was going and there was nothing I could do to stop it. That didn't mean, however, that I had to go alone. My grip was already numb and clumsy. My vision had shrunk to a pinpoint of light in a field of smothering black. It didn't matter. What did was bleeding Goodfellow like a slaughterhouse pig. The blade was already at his throat. All that was needed was a little weight, a little pressure, and the puck would fall into that darkness with me. I was guessing my descent wouldn't be permanent, but if I had my way, his would be. The drug was too strong, though, too quick. My fingers went nerveless and Robin ripped the sword away, disarming me, or so he thought. He was wrong. Skinning back lips from my teeth, I hissed deep in my throat and then lunged at his. I'd been around long before the Bronze Age and man-made weapons. Teeth and claws had worked then. They'd work just as well now.

The warmth of his skin radiated against my lips and I could taste the salt of his sweat on my tongue. It was a pale shadow of the blood I'd soon be swimming in. Any second now. I felt a hand at the collar of my jacket and then I was flying through the air dreamily as time slowed to a lazy crawl. My back hit the ground, but the sensation was nothing more than a distant echo. My brother's face was a bare outline across my faded and foggy sight. "We have you, Cal. We have you, little brother." His voice was unwavering in its determination and absolute in its certainty. "And we'll get you back. I promise."

Strike three.

I was out.

"Best hurry, Nik. I think it's waking up."

It
. Honestly, Goodfellow, was that nice? Mitotic shithead.

"I'm finished," my brother's calm voice came next. With his words I felt something jerk snugly at my wrist, and a warm grip on my forearm that squeezed lightly before disappearing.
Niko
, I gloated.
Just keep opening that door, and I won't have to destroy you. You'll do it to yourself
. I drifted back and forth on the tides of semi-consciousness, mulling over the situation. I'd been so goddamn stupid, so careless, playing with them when I could've finished them off. I'd let my ego get the better of me. But while I was down, I wasn't out. I still had a few tricks up my sleeve.

"Maybe we should've had Promise stay," Goodfellow said wearily.

"She's where she needs to be now, protecting Georgina. We can't be certain Darkling doesn't have other assassins out there."

Good thought, I mused dreamily. I wished I'd hired a few more. Hundreds more. Ripping Promise and George to the tiniest shreds of flesh. I continued to float aimlessly with that happy image, in no real hurry to completely wake. That is, until someone stuck something extremely unpleasant beneath my nose. I sneezed violently and pulled back while blinking watering eyes. Clearing my vision, I saw a stone-faced Niko capping a small vial of ammonia.

"Are you awake enough to understand me?" he asked neutrally.

I blinked again, then looked down to see I was sitting in a recliner in what I recognized as Goodfellow's office at the car lot. Padded metal cuffs were clamped down securely over my wrists and ankles. Ah, shit. The Auphe were going to kick my ass. I tugged at my restraints experimentally. There was no give despite the fact I was stronger than Cal had been before the merging. I lifted my gaze to Robin and raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Raid your toy box just for me, Goodfellow? I'm touched."

"Keep it up and you will be." Goodfellow clenched a white-knuckle fist and showed his teeth in a threatening mockery of a smile.

Niko ignored the exchange; that much at least hadn't changed. Leaning in close, he said softly, "Listen to me, Darkling, and listen carefully. I want to speak to my brother. The only words I want to hear are his. Do you understand?"

Unimpressed, I rolled my eyes and took in my surroundings. It was night. I'd lost nearly the whole day. The car lot was closed and blinds were pulled down over all the windows. Only the door in the outer display room showed a sliver of blackness beneath ill-fitting blinds. Turning my attention back to my captors, I looked them up and down. Niko stood unruffled and in control, ramrod straight with every hair ruthlessly scraped back from his face. But the military demeanor didn't hide the faint smudges under his eyes that told of sleepless nights and the lingering pain of cracked ribs. Goodfellow, on the other hand, hadn't fared quite so well. There was an ugly reddened slash across the front of his throat and I could make out the bulk of bandages under his sweater. It was new; the green one was history. He'd let his fist fall away and now stood impassively with arms folded. He might have thought his face was inscrutable as well, but both the muscle twitching spasmodically in his jaw and the fury banked in the far reaches of his eyes warmed my heart.

"Well, well," I drawled caustically. "The gang's all here. What's the occasion? Hope it's not an intervention. I'm a little short on shame and regret today."

Niko took a fistful of my shirt and shook me with harsh efficiency. The back of my head slammed against the recliner with only the padding keeping me from a vicious headache. "Perhaps I wasn't clear," he said implacably. "I want to speak to Cal, not a murderous hitchhiker." He shook me again. "Just Cal."

That annoyed me, this human, this flash in the pan five generations or so from a protozoan, delegating me to hitchhiker status. Treating me as if I were no more than a minor demon with a hard-on for the Catholic Church. It pissed me off enough that I decided to tell the truth. Hell, I wanted to anyway, had been dying to all this time. It wouldn't matter at this point; there'd be no immediate danger to me. Goodfellow would believe me instantly, but not Niko. Not my brother. His head might believe, but his heart would balk long enough for me to get the upper hand again. And I would, no doubt about it.

I tilted my head in a way that was utterly Caliban. "You just don't get it, do you, Cyrano? I'm disappointed in you. Here I am, running around, creating murder and mayhem. Doing things your pathetic, whiny brother would never have the guts to do. Shit, would never have the guts to even admit he wanted to do." I narrowed my eyes and pursed my lips. "And yet, I have every memory Cal ever made, including a few he refuses to acknowledge. It leads one to a certain conclusion."

Niko's grip tightened on my shirt. I think he suspected what was coming. For the first time since I'd changed, he let himself see the shadow sliding across the sun. "I want to speak to Cal, Darkling," he repeated, with an unyielding steel that couldn't ward off unpleasant reality. "Now."

I let my eyelids drop to half-mast and laid my head back against the chair, as lazy as a cat on a summer afternoon. "That's just it, big brother. There is no Caliban. There is no Darkling. We are one. One new creature. One new soul." My lips relaxed into a blithe curve. "One. And there's not a damn thing you can do about it." His expression didn't change at my words, didn't even flicker.

"You lost him, Nik," I continued remorselessly, watching his face… waiting for it. "Caliban died days ago. He died on your apartment floor. He died while you watched and you never even knew it."

And there it was. Niko had never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but I could read him. I'd always been able to. The reserve, that imperturbable spirit that was as much a part of him as his genetic code, had faded away. Now in its place was a void, an emptiness so profound that it colored the very air around him. It was a vacuum swallowing everything that made Nik who he was… stubborn hope, unshakable faith, boundless determination. It was gone. All gone. And, for the most part, so was Nik.

Suck on that, you bastard, I thought with a feral satisfaction.

Goodfellow, for once, said exactly the right thing. Nothing. He simply put a hand on Niko's shoulder and steered him away toward the office door. As I watched through the glass, he closed the door behind them and left to return minutes later to hand my brother a mug of coffee. If I knew Robin, there was probably something extra in it besides Juan Valdez, but Niko drank it without hesitation. I listened with interest as Goodfellow finally spoke. "I'm sorry, Nik, but I think it's telling the truth." The words were muffled but audible, the glass conducting the sound readily.

"You said that male banshees had never possessed people, only objects," Niko stated dispassionately, his fingers blanched white on the ceramic mug. "You've not seen this before, then. How can you know for sure?"

Ah, Cyrano, he knows in the same way you know, I mused with a certain black affection. I tested the cuffs again. There was still no give in the metal, but it did result in a thought.

"I guess there is no way I can be absolutely positive." Robin ran a weary hand across his face. "But I have seen possessions in my day, Niko, though they're much more rare than television would have you believe. What I have seen doesn't match up to this. And Darkling is powerful. Malevolent and petty as a child, but very powerful. What that would do to someone, having that inside, I don't know. It very well could be irreversible." His eyes slanted through the glass to take me in. "He enjoyed telling us, telling
you
. He enjoyed it so much I think that it had to be the truth."

Niko bowed his head and stared silently into the contents of his mug. He was intent enough that it could have been a Magic 8 Ball with the solution to all his woes. Kill my brother or don't kill my brother? Yes, no, or try back next time? Hard choice, but then again life is all about choices. And it was just like Nik to disregard the one in front of him and sidetrack to an entirely different one. The big picture, it was precisely what I didn't want them to see.

"True or not, there's something else." Unlike Goodfellow, Nik didn't look at me. I don't believe that right then I was anything he particularly wanted to see. "Why did this thing take Cal? The Auphe are behind it; that much is clear. But why? All our lives have been spent running from this moment. I owe it to… I need to know the reason why." Now his eyes met mine. Bleak, hard, and unforgiving. "And that monstrosity knows the answer."

That was a cue the party was over if ever I'd heard it. I didn't know how far Niko would go… how far he could stomach to go, but where he left off, Goodfellow would be all too willing to take over. That, naturally, made me less than eager to stick around. So I decided to leave. It was just that simple. The decision was, anyway. The execution, however, was trickier. The cuffs were unbreakable, even with my strength, but the chair itself was a different story. I ripped away one armrest and then the other with a massive jerk. With my wrists seeping blood and still encased in the cuffs, I freed my ankles. I was stronger, but that didn't mean this body was any more durable than it had been. But this wasn't the time to bitch about the deficiencies of it. This was the time to take advantage of what it
could
do. As in run—run like hell. Those who fight and run away live to butcher another day, right?

Niko and Robin were surging through the door as I picked up Goodfellow's desk and tossed it through the plate glass of the office wall. Somersaulting over the sill after it, I hit the ground running. I could hear the sound of glass crunching beneath their shoes behind me as I threw myself into one of the display models. It was a cherry red Porsche with the keys considerately dangling from the ignition for a test rev, but I was interested in more than just hearing the engine purr. I was taking that baby for a drive. As I rammed it into gear, somebody hit the back of the car hard enough to jar it. I didn't bother to look to see who it was. Either Goodfellow or Nik—bad news or worse news, it didn't much matter which. Reflecting on the joys of all the plate glass so cherished by car dealerships, I slammed my foot on the gas and rocketed toward the street. The wall-sized window disintegrated before the car like brittle ice and we hit the pavement with a screech of tires—not to mention the satisfying thump of a body falling away. I took one last look in the rearview mirror to see a figure on all fours in the street. Its blond hair was a pale glow under the streetlights, and I put an arm out of the window to give my brother one last wave. One final, happy
adiós
. Then it was time to get back to business. No more goddamn games.