Witch.
She and Xia had done rock-paper-scissors for assignments back at Central, and he’d won, rock smashes scissors, so he got the kill order. They’d given the other kill order to Mitsuru, because it would be her first Witch, and it was about time the girl was officially baptized as an Auditor. That meant that Alice had to bring her date back home with her tonight.
She dropped the flare behind her, and then raised the gun and fired three times, aiming for the head, wishing again that she had a shotgun loaded with solid slugs. She didn’t know if the guards were human or Weir or what, so she had to assume the worst. The H amp;K fired. 45 caliber rounds, and she’d loaded it with these horrible explosive Tungsten bullets called ‘Fang-Face’, designed to tear big fucking holes in flesh. If they were Weir, she’d need them, too.
His head exploded like a jack-o’-lantern with an M-80 inside, so she shelved any further worries about his species. She squeezed off a couple more rounds in the direction of the two remaining guards, by the window, more to keep them ducking and moving than anything else. They all went wide, but Alice was set by then, having dropped down to one knee and taken careful aim at the one who’d been smart enough to draw his gun. Alice fired twice and then dove forward, through her own dancing shadow. She stepped out of the shadow of a broken lamp on the other side of the room, in time to see the place where she’d just stood obliterated by some kind of blue fire working that the Witch threw. Alice used the moment to pick off the guard she’d been shooting at, the. 45 making a nasty mess of his head.
The last guard had scrambled behind some file cabinets and drawn his gun, and he came embarrassingly close to getting the drop on Alice. She dove through her own shadow again, a moment before he sprayed the spot with bullets from his Ingram. She emerged from the shadow of the file cabinet next to him, her knee slamming into the meat of his thigh and her gun butt colliding solidly with the side of his face, her other hand grabbing for his gun. He reeled backwards, but kept a hold on the Ingram. The guard spun and twisted to avoid the shots she fired, assuming she was aiming for him, moving with an inhuman grace that gave the game away. He was a Weir.
As he raised the Ingram, Alice stepped forward and kicked him in the chest. As she he had hoped, he rolled with it. Her bullets had left spider web cracks in the safety glass behind him. There was a look of utter surprise on his face right before he fell silently to the street below, too dignified or shocked to cry out. Alice assumed that the Witch would have something aimed for her back, so she followed him out the window, a perfect swan dive into the faint shadow cast by the lip of the ledge. It was a complicated apport, because she had rely on her memory of the room to pick a destination, and factor in momentum.
She felt a momentary dislocation, a physiological static as she passed through the Witch’s barrier, or rather, the ghost of its presence in the Ether. Then Alice hit her, shoulder first, barking her shin and elbow on the desk as she took both of them to the ground. She ignored it, focusing on grabbing for the Witch’s hands. They wrestled for a moment, and Alice had to give the Witch credit; she was a strong and capable fighter, particularly considering she had just been attacked from behind. She scratched and clawed, catching Alice on the forearm and drawing blood. Alice managed to get a lock on one of her hands; she twisted it and stepped forward, shifting her weight to the right and turning her wrist in the opposite direction that it would normally turn. It snapped and she left it at a grotesque angle. The Witch grabbed her arm and howled in pain. Alice took the opportunity to drive her gun barrel up underneath her chin.
The file was right. She was cute. Alice fumbled for a moment with the top drawer in the desk, then managed to get it to slide open without removing her gun from underneath the Witch’s jaw.
“You want to live, put your hand in there,” Alice said, nodding at the drawer.
The Witch shook her blond head, batted her enchanting blue eyes, and said, “What?”
Alice pushed up on the gun, hard, so that her head bent backwards.
“No talking,” Alice said, grinning evilly. “Put your hand in the drawer. Now.”
The Witch reached down fearfully, and before she had a chance to recoil, Alice kicked the drawer closed on her hand. She leaned into it, putting all her weight on the boot until she was certain the Witch’s fingers were broken. The Witch cried and thrashed around helplessly, torn between pain from her fractured hand and fear of the gun in her face.
“Oh, come on,” Alice scolded. “What did you think I was going to do?”
Alice let up on the pressure, and the Witch snatched her mangled hand away, holding both arms out in front of her as if she didn’t know what to do with them, one dangling at the wrist, the other with smashed fingers. Alice took the gun away, then whipped it backwards into the Witches jaw with as much force as she could put behind it, breaking her jaw and laying her out.
“Okay, Gaul,” Alice said, breathing heavily. “We got a live one.”
13
“We would be honored, if you would join us,” Anastasia deadpanned, as Alex walked into the dining room, Emily hovering nervously behind him with a guilty expression on her face.
“This doesn’t really seem like the time for pop culture references,” Alex murmured, surveying the people at the table. He’d been expecting official representatives from the Hegemony, or something similar. He had not been expecting Anastasia Martynova and Therese Muir to be sitting at the table opposite each other, Therese gripping an enormous glass of white wine and looking extremely unhappy. Anastasia was flanked by the pleasantly smiling Timor, and Alex couldn’t help but wonder where Renton was.
“I think I deserve some credit for trying,” Anastasia complained. “I thought all boys loved Star Wars. Don’t tell me you prefer Star Trek?”
“What?” Alex asked, shaking his head as Emily gently urged him over to his seat, right next to her. “No way. Star Wars has light sabers. Star Trek is for nerds and fags.”
“Hey,” Timor objected, his grip tightening on the stem of his wine glass. “I like the old series. What’s wrong with that?”
“William Shatner,” Alex said, sitting down. “You are seriously going to say that William Shatner running around in a unitard with an electric shaver for a gun is cooler than the Death Star? It blows up fucking planets, man.”
“Wait a minute. Did you not see the last three movies? Anakin? Jar-Jar?”
“Hey, c’mon. You don’t have to be mean. Besides, the second trilogy doesn’t count.”
“It doesn’t? What about when they rereleased the original movies with all those new effects like dinosaurs everywhere and Greedo shooting first? Do those count?”
“As much as Deep Space Nine does,” Alex countered.
“Excuse me,” Emily said, shaking her head while she headed to the kitchen. “But would you boys stop now, please?”
“Sorry,” Timor said, looking chastised.
“Sorry,” Alex echoed.
“Nice to see you again, Alex,” Therese prompted, glaring at him over the rim of her wine glass.
“You too, Therese,” Alex said, doing his best to sound pleased. “How have you been?”
“I’ve had better company for dinner.”
Therese paused to give Anastasia a significant look before shrugging at Alex and returning to her drink. Anastasia ignored her politely. The ensuing silence seemed to be a contest as to whether the strain would get to Timor or Therese first. Anastasia seemed unmoved, while Alex was more concerned with the fact that his sweater and slacks made him the only person here who wasn’t well dressed. At least Therese, he noted with relief, had not bothered with niceties of hair and makeup. Anastasia, on the other hand, had apparently taken the opportunity to dress up even more than she normally did; as far as Alex could tell, she had opted for a sort of gothic- Little House on the Prairie — look, wearing a deep purple velvet dress, complete with corset and matching lipstick and eye shadow.
Then Emily arrived with the food, to everyone’s relief. There was a salad, layered with radish slices and white, crumbly goat cheese; bread toasted with butter and herbs; small plates of mozzarella and purple-pink tomato, covered in balsamic vinegar. Alex had forgotten how good Emily’s cooking was, and he devoured everything
