Seduced by Crimson (13 page)

He felt her pulse leap beneath his touch, but more he noticed the steady bumps of scar tissue. In the light, he could see that each scar was circled by a tattooed line—a "tear." But she was right; anyone who understood the pattern's meaning would know what she was.

She shrugged and released his hand. "Everyone knows who I am anyway. Might as well make my scars pretty. At least, that's what the monks thought."

Though she had released his hand, he did not release her. He traced the lines on her wrist until he was stopped by her blouse. "So they know who you are. They know your blood will close the gate."

She shook her head. "One person cannot do it. I am not enough." She straightened. "It is more important that I live and…" She swallowed.

"And?"

"And have lots of babies. I am the last living Phoenix Tear. If I die, there is no hope to ever close the gate."

The theme from
Jaws
echoed loudly in the stairwell. Xiao Fei jumped. Patrick cursed and scrambled for his cell phone to cut off the finger, then cursed again when he read the caller ID. One glance at Xiao Fei and he knew she was about to bolt. He grabbed her arm and held her close. "Stay here. Let me get a situation report."

She frowned and looked up at him, her entire body going abruptly still. "A situation report? That sounds very military," she said in a low voice.

He shook his head. "Don't get your hopes up. I'm not B-Ops or anything. I just associate with people who like to pretend."

She sighed and leaned against the wall. "American toy soldiers."

"Worse," he admitted. "This guy's a balding academic who plays paintball and reads military suspense."

She shook her head. "No wonder you think sex will cure the Earth. Paintball and girls. What else is there?"

Patrick understood her frustration. Coming from someone like that, he wouldn't believe it either. But Peter the Pompous Prick still had to be dealt with. "Yes?" he said into the phone.

"Report!" snapped L.A.'s head druid.

"You first," Patrick snapped back. "What the hell's going on out there?"

"World War Three," Peter said. "Can't you hear?"

"That's not specific enough—"

"No, goddamnit. You're the Draig-Uisge. What are you doing to fix this disaster?"

"Everything I can. Now, what's happening out there?"

"Demons are everywhere. Killing people. Blowing things up. We were caught with our pants down, and—"

"That much I already know. Details, Peter."

"Don't use my name!" the head druid squeaked. "This isn't a secure line."

Patrick would have said something scathing just then, but he truly didn't want to spare the breath. "Look, Be-ach." He used Peter's druidic name, hoping to focus the man. "I'm trying to do my job here. Do yours, all right? Give me the details." He couldn't help but fix on the appropriateness of Peter's druidic name. Be-ach was a bee, for God's sake. A fat little insect. Wasn't that Peter to a T?

"We haven't got any details, damn it!" the older man said. "That's what I'm trying to tell you—"

The line went dead. After trying to reestablish the connection, Patrick switched the phone to vibrate. The last thing he wanted was another
Jaws
interlude at a lousy time.

When Xiao Fei raised her eyebrows in question, he simply shrugged. "I was cut off. Reports are confused and disorganized," he explained.

"I'm shocked," she replied.

"Look, he'll get it together," he countered, stunned that he was defending Peter. "That's what academics do."

"But never in a useful time frame," she retorted.

Patrick grimaced. "Maybe he'll surprise us."

Xiao Fei didn't answer; she'd already moved on to the stairwell door. She and Patrick were on the lobby level, but not in the main area; the door opened up on a side alcove. Sliding out into the tiny area, they peered around and saw exactly the chaos Patrick expected. People milled about the lobby in various states of dress and a variety of levels of hysteria. The lobby television was on loud, broadcasting news reports of explosions, screaming people, and general devastation, all to dramatic theme music. In big letters across the bottom of the screen he read:
Los Angeles Under Attack
. Then it switched to hospital shots and a caption that read:
Crimson City Bleeds Again
.

Patrick sighed. Xiao Fei just shook her head and stared at a shot of confused, milling people. She didn't have to say a word for him to know what she was thinking; Didn't Americans know anything about war? Rushing aimlessly about the streets did nothing but add to the confusion. Which, of course, would be exactly what the enemy wanted.

Fortunately, she didn't say a word. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and whispered, "At least we'll blend in. What're two more frightened people in a mass of hysteria?"

She answered in Cambodian. When he raised an eyebrow in question, she gave a rough translation: "More cannon fodder." Then she laughed.

He stared at her a moment, then abruptly grinned. Was this battlefield humor? If so, he liked it. She abruptly grabbed his hand and they were moving again, out through the side doors and into the chaos of Crimson City.

Downtown was aflame. The streets had a ghoulish red glow from the fire, and people were everywhere—many with camcorders.

Xiao Fei cut sideways, weaving easily between people and buildings. Patrick struggled to keep up with his larger, less agile body. Fortunately, he knew where she was heading—back toward Chinatown, which fortunately wasn't too far. In fact, that had been the whole point in booking the room here.

The chaos grew as they left downtown. The more residential the area, the more people and cars choked the streets. But Xiao Fei always found a way through, and they were soon moving at a good clip following the edge of Highway 101. When the sound of gunfire buffeted their ears, Xiao Fei slowed down, and Patrick watched her chew her bottom lip in consternation.

"Isn't there a subway near here?" he asked. This might be her city, but he hadn't come unprepared. He'd memorized as much of an L.A. map as he could manage, including most subway access points.

She shook her head. "That's wolf territory."

He frowned. "So? Wolves aren't demons."

She glared at him. "They're werewolves," she repeated more firmly. From the tone of her voice, she obviously considered all nonhumans in the same category.

"This way," she said, abruptly tugging on his arm. "A safe place in Chinatown." Slipping between a warehouse and the freeway, she skirted another fence… only to land them smack-dab on the edge of a firefight.

She dropped to the ground. He landed beside her. A hasty glance told him she wasn't hurt, so he occupied himself with peering around the dubious shelter of a large personal storage shed. That was when he saw them.

Demons.

From a note card stuffed in the journal of Patrick Lewis.

COME SEE THE GREATEST DRUID OF OUR TIME

JASON, LORD OF BLACK MAGIC, descended from

GENERATIONS OF DRUIDS

HIS SKILLS WILL AMAZE AND DELIGHT YOU

NECROMANCY, AURA CLEANSING, HYPNOTISM, HEALING, AND MOST

ESPECIALLY FUTURE CASTINGS

YES, HE CAN CREATE THE FUTURE YOU WANT!

COME SEE IT! BELIEVE IT!

Call for appointment. Special group rates. Available for parties.

If it hadn't been for the adrenaline rush from the gunfire, Patrick would likely have felt them long before now. He saw the demons clearly huddled beneath an overpass. Even if there hadn't been loads of streetlights, the police had spots trained on the small band of five.

A wash of hate temporarily suffocated him. They looked and felt just like the ones who had killed his parents: muscular men with naked torsos and strange breeches over equally strange shoes. They bristled with a variety of knives, but what occupied Patrick's thoughts most was what they were attaching to the freeway supports. He imagined that the gray substance wasn't benign.

Below his stomach where he lay, the ground rumbled as the subway rolled past. They were at a junction then. Freeway above, subway below. An attack here would seriously compromise transportation in and out of the city.

Which obviously was the point. Just as clearly, the demons had been caught. Patrick heard a police officer—or perhaps it was a B-Ops-officer—bellowing through a megaphone: "You're surrounded. There's no hope. We won't hurt you if you…" The voice went on, but Patrick tuned it out, especially as the demons hauled out guns and began firing.

Or at least they tried. Obviously, the demons weren't all that skilled with firearms. He'd seen children with better aim. Of course, in a situation like this, accuracy didn't really matter. No human—even an armored one—was going to storm a position with bullets flying.

Ping
. Patrick hunched his shoulders and slid backward an inch. Xiao Fei did too, her face pale. To reassure her, he squeezed her arm.

"Good news for us. Demons are really bad shots," he pointed out.

"Bad news for us. Explosives don't require much accuracy."

So, she'd seen it too. All the demons were doing was buying time to carry out their plan. Which apparently was almost set, as all but one of the demons began bellowing back at the officers. Patrick couldn't understand their language, but then again, he didn't need to. The words were a war cry, the final whoop before the attack.

"They're about to detonate!" he shouted, lifting Xiao Fei and hauling her back. If that gray stuff they were using really was C5, it was going to be one hell of a boom.

Apparently, the officers saw the danger too. They attacked. A sudden barrage of gunfire permanently silenced two of the demons who had stepped out from cover. The other three were still protected by the overhang—but not from the sudden descent of two vampires. Like the demons, Patrick had been blinded by the spotlights. He hadn't seen the dark figures descend until they were on top of the demons.

Three against two in hand-to-hand. If either side were human, the result would be clear. Vamps and demons both had superhuman strength, so mortals would be toast. But demon against vamp? Patrick wasn't sure who would come out on top. Apparently, neither were the officers.