Reckoning

Don’t ever do that again!” She eased up enough to hold me at arm’s length and shake me, three times, precisely, then grabbed me again and hugged me so hard the air whoofed out of me. “Moron! Dumbass! Jesus, Dru!”

“Skyrunner.” Christophe sounded grimly amused. “A little quieter, if you please.”

More familiar faces. Shanks slid by Christophe, his lean face set and his legs looking longer than ever. He pushed at the emo-boy swoop of dark hair over his forehead and glanced at me, then at the window, where Ash still crouched. “Sheeeee-yit,” he drawled.

“Is that Graves?” Blond, anxious Dibs crowded past him. “Is he hurt? I’ve got the restraints. What happened?”

“He’s Broken.” Christophe swept the door mostly closed. “Get him prepped for travel and be cautious. Milady Dru won’t leave here without him.”

Damn right I won’t. “Oh my God—” I almost got another mouthful of Nat’s hair. She was holding on for dear life. “Jesus, guys, it’s good to see you.”

“Hey, Dru.” Dibs shuffled past, carefully not looking at me. Clashing, jangling silver dripped from his hands, but I was too busy hugging Nat to really see what he carried. “We were worried. Bobby almost had a heart attack.”

“Not me.” Shanks hopped up on the bed I’d been sleeping in, folding down into an easy crouch. “Benjamin, though, he looked about ready to have kittens. You went right out the damn window and vanished, Dru. Congrats on never being boring.”

Which was as close as he’d ever get to telling me he was happy to see me.

Nat sniffed and let up on me, patting at her cheeks. “Crap. Now my eyeliner’s probably ruined. We were worried, Dru. Don’t ever pull a boner stunt like that again, you hear me?”

So she wasn’t mad. Thank God. The terrible knot inside my chest eased slightly. “I’m so sorry—”

“Can we move it along here?” Christophe’s tone could have sliced solid granite. “This is an emergency.”

Dibs crouched next to Graves. The silver turned out to be thread-thin glittering restraints, and I swallowed a sick feeling as he quickly, efficiently had Goth Boy trussed up like a Christmas goose. “These work on wulfen.” Dibs ducked his head, talking to the floor. “Should work on him, too. Unless he convinces someone to take them off.”

“Which is why Nat and me’re here.” Shanks cocked his head. “Dru, what the hell happened?”

“He saved my life.” It was suddenly important to get that out first. “Came back with a gun while I was fighting off S-S-Serg—” I couldn’t finish the name. “Him. While I was fighting him off.”

“Come, children, let’s move.” Christophe had the shotgun, the two malaika hilts poking up over his shoulders. Nat was already buckling me into my own malaika- harness, and I caught sight of a familiar shoulder holster peeping out from under her blue linen jacket. Shanks scooped up the two duffel bags of gear and clothes, Nat’s quick efficient fingers gave a yank at the strap of my messenger bag to make it lay right, and she gave me a little shove toward the door.

“Dibs’ll handle the loup-garou,” she said. “Come on, you go right after Reynard. Hey, you know, he’s cute.”

“What?”

“Graves.” She fell into step behind me. “He’s cute. You didn’t mention that.”

“For Christ’s sake, Nat, he’s unconscious.” Something bitter crawled up into my throat. Was it . . . yeah, maybe a little. It was jealousy. I mean, Nat was so pretty.

Jeez. So not the time to be worrying about this, Dru.

Christophe checked the hall. “Stay close, milna.”

“No worries about that.” I wished for a gun, but if we ran across vampires the malaika were the better bet. Plus the fact that I was toxic now. That would help.

But Sergej had gotten close enough to Anna to get his fangs in. She was svetocha too. He got close enough to my mother to kill her, despite her toxicity to suckers. Still, I’d tangoed with the king of the vampires a couple of times now and came out ahead.

That doesn’t mean your chances are good next time. Don’t get cocky.

The hall was eerily silent, directionless lighting and a leggy expensive table with a flower arrangement down at the end. I wondered if anyone in the rooms around us had called down to the front desk because of the ruckus.

I glanced back over my shoulder. Shanks hefted the duffels easily, and blond little Dibs had Graves’s lanky form over his shoulder. Wulfen are way stronger than human beings, but it was still thought-provoking to see slim Dibs carrying Goth Boy like it was no big deal. Just a bulky package. Ash followed, padding silently in Dibs’s wake, his eyes still fixed on Graves.

Christophe headed away from the elevators, toward the service stairs. His shoulders were set, and the aspect flickered over him in deep swells like ocean waves.

“Christophe?” I whispered.

He tilted his head slightly, letting me know he was listening.

“Shouldn’t we wait for August?”

“He’ll be around. Quiet, kochana, let me work.”

Well, all right. Just because I wouldn’t see Augie didn’t mean he wasn’t around. Got it. Felt like an idiot. Great.

The stairs were like every other set of industrial stairs all over—concrete, layers of chipped yellow paint on the handrails, every sound magnified. The touch shifted uneasily inside my head, but whether it was everyone’s uneasiness, or the nervous adrenaline rabbiting under my heartbeat, or actual danger, I couldn’t tell. There was too much static. It was as if all the filters that had been on the touch before had been stripped away, and I couldn’t get a clear signal.

Was that why I hadn’t sensed the vampires before? I wished Gran was alive to tell me. Except she’d probably be pissed as hell about her house burning down, and . . .

My mother’s locket cooled, metal suddenly icy against my chest. I stopped dead on the stairs, head cocked. What was that?

A faint scratching, claws against concrete. But stealthy; they didn’t want to be heard.

Christophe had halted, too. His head was tilted, probably at the same angle mine was.

“Did you hear that?” Nat, whispering. There was a sound—she’d drawn her Sig Sauer.

Christophe muttered something, but so softly even I couldn’t hear him. Then, “Up. Go up. Robert?”

“Shit,” Shanks breathed. “You’re kidding.” But he turned sharply, pushed against Dibs. “You okay, Dibsie?” Ash hopped back two steps, staring.

“He’s too thin.” Dibs was careful not to bang Graves’s hanging head on the yellow-painted handrail; Ash somehow slid aside so he was behind Dibs. “I could carry him all day.”

“Don’t say that,” Nat chided, around a half-swallowed laugh. “Come on, boys. Less talk, more move.”

“Ash?” I whispered.

“Bad,” Ash whispered back.

Christophe almost ran into me. “Dru.” A fierce hot whisper in my ear. I was trying to focus past the sound of their movements. There was another sound—skitterings, and feather-brushings, and tiny little tapping. “We must move. Now.”

“I hear it,” I whispered back. “What—”

“Maharaj, most likely.” He pushed against me; the contact made my legs work again. He was always herding me around. “Don’t worry. I won’t let them near you.”

Gee, that’s comforting. I opened my mouth to whisper something, God alone knows what, because just then the lights died. The blackness was a wet towel against my eyes, and the scraping little slithers crested like a wave, a few floors down.

“Move!” Christophe whisper-yelled, and I grabbed for the railing. Judged where Nat was by the soundless warmth in front of me, matched her step for step. Christophe managed to be right behind me without tripping me, and when his hand touched my back, I didn’t jump. Flat-palmed, his fingertips just