The Descent Series, Books 1-3: Death's Hand, The Darkest Gate, and Dark Union (The Descent Series, Volume 1) (79 page)

“I’ve got everything under control.”

“Good.”

Ramelan stopped walking. Elise and McIntyre returned to Silver Wells together.

They reached town before the sun got too high, but she was still drenched in sweat by the end of their walk. He followed her to the motel.

She stopped him in the stairwell.

“I’m only going to say this once,” Elise said. “I believe what you and Leticia did was necessary. I would have stood with you against anything in defense of that. But you fucked me over. You fucked my boyfriend over. Next time you need help with something? Call a different number in your black book.”

She pounded up the stairs, leaving McIntyre alone at the bottom.

XIV

E
lise watched from
a nearby ridge as the Union prepared to leave. They did it slowly, one or two vehicles at a time—a large convoy would have been too conspicuous, especially passing through a city like Las Vegas. She absorbed as much information about their movements and possessions as she could. A lot of equipment was exposed as they tore down their tents, and even though she didn’t know what any of it was used for, she tried to memorize the shapes for later research.

It wouldn’t be the last time she saw them. She was certain of it. But next time they showed up, she would be ready.

They were gone before the sun broke over the horizon, leaving nothing behind but flattened dirt. She got up from the hill, dusted off her pants, and realized that she wasn’t alone.

Elise turned around slowly. There was a dark form silhouetted against the flaming orange sunrise. His feet were spread wide to distribute his weight, his hands were in a neutral position, and his center of balance was dropped low. Like he was about to explode into a flurry of motion.

Ramelan nodded with a look of admiration. It wasn’t sexual—it was purely professional. He had asked who was greatest. She promised they would fight. He was asking her to let him find out.

She nodded as she lifted her fists. Her hand was still broken, but it would have to be good enough.

They approached each other. He moved like a wildcat, with smooth motions that made every one of his well-cut muscles ripple. Ramelan was in his prime, and Elise could see the potential energy in every little movement.

She threw a punch, and he blocked it.

Both of them froze.

Did she let him block it, or was he faster than her? Would she have really hit him like that?

He kicked. She stepped out of the way.

Another strike, another dodge.

Gradually, they increased the pace of their blows. Dust kicked up beneath their feet. He swung, she ducked; he blocked her kick.

As they sped, the rhythm of flesh on flesh increased. They danced across the dry earth. Ramelan was fast—much faster than she was. And he had the advantage of weight, too. But she was smaller, and harder to reach, and she made sure to never stand where his blows landed.

He had obviously studied martial arts. Elise recognized the language of the forms. Some of those attacks were ones her father had used. He was probably a better fighter than she was.

But she had avoided dojos and black belts. Her skills were earned from years of killing—and Elise fought dirty.

She scuffed dirt in his face. He cried out.

By the time his vision cleared, she had darted around him and mounted his back.

Elise hooked her arm around his throat. He tried to duck his chin to keep her off of him, but it was too late. She tightened her muscles and held firm as he struggled to breathe.

He tried to unbalance her. Shake her off. It didn’t work; her hold was too good.

She rode him to the dirt without letting go. Ramelan choked and sputtered, weakening rapidly as she applied pressure to the major veins in his neck.

It took a long time, but he finally tapped her arm.

Elise released him.

She stood back as he gasped for air. Her clothes were covered in dust, her hand was aching, and she thought he might have cracked a rib. Ramelan had hit her much more than she had hit him. But she was the one standing, and he was the one on the ground.

Ramelan gave a choking laugh. “You did that to the last one, too. I read the book. I should have been ready for it.”

“My fight against the last greatest kopis is in a book?”

“In detail. It’s a matter of public record—anyone in Dis can read about it.” He sat up and dusted off his slacks. He seemed perfectly comfortable on the ground.

“What else do they say about me?”

“Very little.” He grinned. There was no anger or jealousy in him. “So you are the greatest. Still. After all these years.”

Of course she was. Elise didn’t think there was a kopis on the planet who could beat her. But it wasn’t a fair fight—she was Godslayer, she was legend, and the other kopides were only men. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want the title back. I have enough titles.” He laughed and reached up a hand. She helped him to his feet. “You’re good, Ramelan. You deserve to be the greatest, and everything that comes with that.”

“You’re very kind, Elise.”

“And you’re the only one who thinks that.”

They walked back to Silver Wells together, enjoying the cool air of early morning in companionable silence. Elise realized about halfway back that they weren’t alone—they were shadowed by a figure on a distant hill, so far away that she was nothing but a black speck against brown. Ramelan would never truly be alone. Not with his nightmare bodyguard.

“Veronika will take me back to Dis after this,” he said, noticing the same thing Elise did. “The greatest kopis has responsibilities, and I’m beginning to think you were smart for avoiding them. I doubt we’ll see each other again.”

She chewed questions over in her mind, and settled on asking, “How are my parents? What have they been doing?”

“A lot. Isaac is a prominent and well-regarded figure throughout the city. Your mother handles humans in the great palace, and ensures visitors are comfortable and safe. It’s no small feat in Hell. You should be proud of them. They do God’s work in a godless land.”

“What will you tell them about me?”

He paused mid-step. Folded his arms. Considered the question.

“Nothing,” Ramelan said. “I didn’t see you here. Did I?”

She held out her left hand, and they shook.

“Thank you.”

They parted ways with no goodbyes.

XV

A
nthony waited in
the hotel room for Elise to return. When someone knocked at the door not long after sunrise, he was surprised to see McIntyre on the other side—mostly naked. “Can I borrow clothes?” the kopis asked. He had the decency to look embarrassed.

“What are you doing here? Elise said she got rid of you.”

“I don’t have any way to get home.”

Reluctantly, Anthony let him inside. “Let me grab my spare jeans. I just finished packing.”

He was thinner than McIntyre, so the clothes didn’t fit well, but it was better than letting him wander around in his boxers. Anthony let him use his electric razor, too. After a short shower, he almost looked human again.

“I want you guys to come to the hospital with me,” McIntyre said, helping Anthony repack his toiletries.

“Why?”

“Leticia will want to see you.”

“Yeah, but do you think Elise is going to want to see her?” Anthony asked.

“Not a fucking chance. She’ll be pissed I’m even here with you right now. But she’ll get over it.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Well, I
hope
she’ll get over it. Otherwise, I won’t have a ride back to Vegas.”

Anthony frowned. “You’ve known Elise for a while. Right?”

“A few years, yeah.”

“What’s her problem?”

McIntyre snorted. “You want that alphabetized?”

Before Anthony could respond, the door opened. Elise’s clothes were dusty and scuffed. She scowled at McIntyre, but didn’t seem surprised to see him with Anthony. “Let’s go,” she said. “I’m sick of this town.”

It was a quiet, uncomfortable drive back to Vegas.

Leticia was no longer in labor and delivery when they arrived at the hospital. It took Anthony almost fifteen minutes to talk Elise into going inside.

The nurse at the front desk checked McIntyre’s identification when he asked where his wife had gone, and then smiled. “They’re in the recovery room.”

McIntyre’s fists clenched on top of the counter. “Is she okay?”

“She’s just fine. They both are.”

The nurse gave them the room number, and they went upstairs to find Leticia.

Anthony had only been in hospitals for something bad before. His last visit had been to say goodbye to Betty’s body, and even though North Vista Hospital was nothing like St. Mary’s in Reno, going up the elevator brought a new swell of grief crashing over him.

He drew in a shuddering breath. Elise shot a look at him. Her expression was blank, as always, but he was certain she was judging him.

The elevator chimed. The doors opened.

Leticia was in the room at the end of the hall. McIntyre made sure they all sanitized their hands before going inside.

The curtains were closed to block out the brutal Las Vegas sun. Leticia’s face was puffy and red in the fluorescent lights. Her faded pink hair stuck to her greasy forehead. Dark bags shadowed her eyes. She didn’t look like a killer—she looked like she was half-dead. But she smiled to see McIntyre, and when he sank to the bed at her side, his look said that he thought she was beautiful. His attention was fleeting—once he saw the bundle of blankets in his wife’s arms, he only had eyes for the baby.

It was a private moment, and Anthony didn’t know them nearly well enough to be there. Of course, Elise did know them well enough, and she still had the frightened appearance of an animal who wanted to flee. She hadn’t even stepped through the doorway.

“Took you long enough to get here,” Leticia said, kissing McIntyre.

“Sorry. I got held up.” When his wife gave him a Look, he just shook his head. He couldn’t stop grinning at the baby. “I’ll tell you later.”

“We should get going,” Anthony said.

Leticia turned her exhausted stare on them. “Don’t you dare. Come meet the new family member.” Elise edged toward the door, but the witch wasn’t having any of it. “Now, ma’am. Move it.”

Anthony had a lot of cousins, and just as many nieces and nephews. Babies were nothing new to him. He thought that they were all the same at birth—like tiny, angry old men. The McIntyre baby was no different. It was much smaller than his cousins had been, and attached to an oxygen machine by a nasal cannula. The fist that stuck out of the blankets could have belonged to a doll. An ugly, wrinkly doll.

“Beautiful,” he said, because he learned that his actual opinion wasn’t welcome after Aunt Graciela gave birth to a creature resembling President Roosevelt. “What’s with the nose thing? Is she okay?”

“Just fine,” Leticia said. “A little early, but they said she can breathe on her own soon.”

“Where’s Dana?” Elise asked from six feet back.

“She’s been with grandma and grandpa all week. Come on, Debora’s not going to bite. Not you, anyway.”

Elise shuffled a little closer, just near enough that she could peer at the newborn over Anthony’s shoulder.

He waited for a reaction. She had never shown any indication of maternal instinct before—in fact, she referred to students of James’s preschool dance classes with flattering names like “snot face”—but women
always
melted over babies. It was a girl thing. There was no way she could resist.

Her brow pinched. “Nice,” she said emotionlessly.

Leticia gave McIntyre an exasperated glance, and he laughed. He sounded a little giddy. “Don’t look at
me
, Tish. I don’t know what you expected.”

“Here, Elise. Hold her,” Leticia said. “I need to use the bathroom.”

The shock on Elise’s face made the entire trip to Las Vegas and Silver Wells worth it. “No way. I’m not going to—”

But Leticia had already shoved the bundle of blankets into the kopis’s arms and struggled to her feet with her husband’s help. She hung onto her IV pole as she hobbled toward the bathroom with a groan. “Remind me why I did this?” she muttered.

“Masochism and a broken condom,” McIntyre said.

“Yeah, right. That.”

They both went in the bathroom and shut the door behind them. Elise held Debora away from her body, as though the baby was a grenade with the pin removed. The cannula wasn’t the only thing attached to the tiny infant. A feeding tube led into her mouth, too. It forced Elise to stand awkwardly beside the incubator.

“Take it,” Elise said. “Put it in the plastic cage thing.”

Anthony grinned. “Why? Scared of a preemie?”

“It feels like a marshmallow. I’m going to break it.”

“Aunt Graciela says babies are rubber, not glass,” he said. “Trust me, you can’t break her. Not even a preemie. I’ve dropped all of my cousins at least once and they’re still running around.” He angled himself behind her back so he could shift her arms into a more comfortable position. “Head in your elbow, arm under the butt—”

Elise grimaced at him. “She smells.”

“You can handle it. I have faith in you.” He circled his arms around her and made adjustments until it almost looked like she was comfortable holding the baby. It was like positioning a mannequin—she was completely rigid. He hugged Elise’s shoulders in one arm as he stroked a finger over the baby’s wrinkled fist. Debora’s face scrunched tighter in sleep. Her lips smacked.

He expected Elise to soften once they were cozy, but she remained stiff. How could she feel nothing toward such a helpless little creature? Why couldn’t she do anything normally?

“Okay. I held it. I’m done,” she said.

“Enjoy the moment.” Anthony’s voice had a slight edge. “You did a good thing. McIntyre is only here to see his daughter because of you. Don’t you feel proud?”

“The baby had nothing to do with it.”

“They seriously owe you for this. I know that if you were having a baby and I was arrested—”

“Anthony.”

“—it would mean a lot—”