bulldozed, paved over, gone. Everything on the property, in fact, was paved. Very smart. No better way to keep out the Earth Guardians, especially when your home base was so close to the Break they were commissioned to protect.
Over the stench of tar came another, equally rank odor. The air shifted. I pivoted, dropped to one knee, and plucked a knife from my right ankle sheath. I thrust up, right into the throat of an attacking goblin male. The point came out the back of its neck. Fuchsia blood oozed and gurgled from its mouth. I stood up and yanked the blade back. The dead creature slumped to the ground, having never uttered a single sound.
“Think he raised the alarm?” I asked quietly.
The buildings remained silent, the night air otherwise undisturbed. “Hard to tell,” Wyatt said. “But at least we know for sure that they have perimeter guards.”
“And that goblins are here.”
“Best guess is they’re in the Visitors’ Center. Let’s see if we can get closer.”
Wyatt crept down the perimeter line. I hung back and gave myself permission to crush my heel into the dead goblin’s crotch. There wasn’t much of a target, though. Like dogs, a goblin’s penis only protrudes when aroused. Otherwise, only the barbed head remains exposed. My stomp was satisfying, but not quite so much had it still been alive and aroused to feel the excruciating pain.
I caught up with Wyatt a few yards down. He stood behind a thick tree, shaking his head.
“What?” I whispered.
“Some spies we are, Evy. We didn’t even bring binoculars.”
I would have smacked my own forehead, if I weren’t afraid of the loud clack it might make. Any sort of actual surveillance equipment would have been useful, if we’d had access. Being out in the metaphorical cold certainly had its unique set of disadvantages.
Bright lights flashed across the trees. I ducked behind Wyatt and pressed up against his back, out of sight. Damn me for not hearing the engine. A car drove erratically across the ocean of pavement, toward the front of the Center. It was too far away to see in the window. It pulled past the Center and parked beneath the darkness of the pavilion—I couldn’t help wondering how many other vehicles were hidden there.
Three shapes emerged. Two were hunched over, short, with moonlight glinting off their black hair. Goblin males. Between them walked a female, her black hair flowing down to her waist and red eyes uncovered by contact lenses. She wasn’t trying to pass, but even without the decoration, I recognized her.
Kelsa.
My heart almost stopped. Anger and terror clenched my stomach, at once icy cold and fiery hot. I hadn’t seen her since she left me for dead. Rage bubbled above the terror. My nostrils flared.
Wyatt grunted. I let go of my grip on his shoulder, forcing myself to relax. Flying to pieces would get us both into trouble. As long as Kelsa was here, I had a shot at killing her with my own two hands—if I could keep Isleen away from her.
“That’s her,” I said.
His entire body stiffened. “The goblin who tortured you?”
“Yes.”
I caught his elbow before he could reach for and retrieve one of his holstered guns. His head turned; fury danced in his eyes. His jaw was set, and I could practically hear his teeth grinding.
“One shot will bring them down on us. It will wait,” I said. Besides, killing Kelsa like that was way too impersonal. And quick. When I killed her, I wanted her to know who was doing it and for it to last. Return the favor in a big way.
One of the males scampered ahead and pulled open the Center’s front door. Kelsa swept inside, her bodyguards right behind. The Center itself stood in the middle of an ocean of pavement, with absolutely no cover. No way of sneaking in closer to have a peek inside.
We moved farther down the perimeter. No more guards jumped at us. No one sounded any alarms. I wondered several times if Tovin had concocted any magical security measures that we couldn’t detect. While possible, it seemed likely we would have been apprehended by now if he had. Unless they were busy preparing our cages.
The treetops rustled, singing their familiar tune—only louder and faster than before, as if a strong wind was building. I looked up, waiting for the answer to present itself. Instead of sight, it came through sound—a gentle pattering.
“Do you hear that?” I asked.
Wyatt tilted his head to the sky. “Is it rain?”
“I don’t think so. Sounds like a—”
He grabbed my arm and yanked me to my knees in the damp leaves. Overhead, the patter became a whir, and then a constant stutter. Twin helicopters hovered over the parking lot. No police markings; they were private. Had we been discovered? Was this an emergency escape plan?
Doors on both sides of the helicopters slid open as the machines dropped to twenty feet from the ground. The air whipped around us, swirling spring leaves and stinging my face with dirt particles. I waited for rappelling lines. None came. Twenty-one black-clad figures, dressed to the nines with armor and weapons and protective face gear, jumped gracefully out of the sides of the helicopters.
The figures landed on the hard blacktop with the ease of a step off a staircase, split into three groups, and surged toward the Center. One group left, one group right, the third directly up the center. Guns drawn and ready.
“Bloods,” I said. “Goddamn Isleen.”
“Guess she got tired of waiting,” Wyatt said.
Chapter 27
2:10
Twenty feet from the Center, the three groups of Blood forces engaged a force field that knocked four of them backward onto their well-armed asses. The field shimmered briefly—a flicker of blue light. Someone called out an order, and they retreated en masse to the porch of the museum.
The Center remained quiet. No lights came on; no alarms blared. The Bloods didn’t open fire, but simply formed a protective circle, weapons still trained on the other building.
A slim, black-clad figure stepped from their ranks and into the open. It was impossible to tell if the Blood was male or female. My best guess, based on the walk, was male. He hefted something in his left hand, wound up, and hurled it at the Center. The object shattered against the barrier, which fritzed and snapped like water on an electric fence. Blue light sparkled. The stink of ozone filled the air. In seconds, the blue field dissolved and blinked out of existence. The Bloods surged forward again.
This time, an upstairs window opened and gun-fire rained down on the advancing Bloods. Several faltered and jerked. Blood splattered the pavement, but they pressed onward. Had to be regular bullets if the Bloods weren’t staying down. Two stopped in mid-advance, dropped to one knee, and concentrated return fire on the window. Wood and glass shattered. The onslaught stopped.
Isleen’s people were well trained, I had to give them that.
They had advanced within twenty feet of the Center’s front door when they faltered again. Many bent, hands clutching their ears, screeching in pain. Something tickled the very edge of my hearing. The back of my neck prickled.
“Dog whistle,” Wyatt said.
With the Bloods distracted, the opposition enacted a rear attack. The front door of the museum building opened. Halfies poured out, armed with knives and hatchets and their teeth. They moved too fast for recognition, surging toward the Bloods, thirty or more with one goal in mind.
I shouted for them to look out, but my voice was lost in the Halfies’ echoing battle cry. The crash of bodies was thunderous. The Bloods reacted immediately, overcoming the squeal of the dog whistle—if it was still being blasted, which I doubted, because it should have affected the Halfies, too—and turned weapons on their
