Defiance

I yelled, too, put my head down, and drove for the doors. Terror is good for fueling the aspect. I felt it, like warm oil sliding down my skin, the world suddenly closed under a layer of clear plastic goop. I thought it was the world that slowed down until Christophe explained that no, it was just me going too fast. After I “bloomed” I’d be able to switch it on at will.

I couldn’t wait. But for right now—

The padlock snapped. I hit the doors like a bomb, each step splintering as my Doc Martens slammed down. A flash of red pain, my yell cut off in midstride, and Christophe saying something in my ear but I couldn’t hear it, the words were stretched out like taffy.

Not only that, but the shock of busting the doors open jolted the earpiece off. It went skittering away, and I leapt, boots hitting the pavement as the metal doors clanged down on either side. I’d just jumped up out from under the sidewalk like a human-sized jack-in-the-box, and the screaming started.

Now move that ass, Dru-girl! Dad’s don’t worry about the ammo, worry about running tone, like that time we were outside Baton Rouge and the zombies had shown up.

Oh, but it hurt to think about Dad. And zombies. And everything.

The crowd would provide some cover, but not enough. Neon ran against glass, streaking oddly because I was moving so fast, scarf fluttering and snapping in my back draft, pulled tight against my throat. This part of the city was alive and thumping, other nightclubs spilling out onto the street and people everywhere. There’s a skill to running through a crowd, but you don’t have to use it when you’re streaking along like djamphir do. Instead, you just have to avoid hitting anyone.

You could really hurt someone or throw them out into traffic. But there’s another reason you try to avoid hitting someone—because it’ll slow you down. And you can’t have that when a bunch of vampires are chasing you. The gum in my mouth had turned into a hard piece of flavorless glue. My teeth tingled as the aspect rose, slicking over me and spurring me on. My mother’s locket bounced, cool metal kissing my breastbone.

At least in a skirt I could really move it. Jeans sometimes get a little tight. But I was booking so hard I was glad of every inch of movement the dress could give me. I jagged around the corner, hit the crosswalk, and leapt. A silver BMW hit the brakes, they had the green light, my boots thudded into the hood, and I used it like a springboard, crumpling the sheet metal. I heard the high screeching cry behind me. It drove glass spikes through my brain and tried to dig in, twisting and tearing, but I didn’t slow down.

Training’s good for that. When a situation occurs, Dad always said, you don’t rise to the occasion. You sink to the level of your training.

I did snap my head aside and spit the gum free, wished I hadn’t because my saliva immediately dried up and the taste of wax citrus was worse than ever.

Head for the Park, you can lose them in the Park. And that’ll get you closer to the Schola, plus the other djamphir can night-hunt around you. That’s a great plan, really wunderbar, now let’s see if it’ll work. The world stuttered and slid around me, like I was on a greased glass plate. Another hunting cry lifted, whistulating at the end like a kettle with a busted flap. The two groups inside the club had to be hunters, and there were others on the prowl tonight. They were calling in reinforcements. Two djamphir combat units and a logistical team weren’t going to be able to handle this, and now that the nosferat knew they were after a svetocha, they wouldn’t stop.

Which made getting the hell out of Dodge the best idea around. But it also meant heading for Chelsea Park was a bad idea, not enough cover, I had to think fast but there wasn’t anywhere else to go except vaguely north and hope for the best.

Running. The air was made of diesel scorch, a stitch hovering just outside my ribs, ready to grab me as soon as the clear goop over the world snapped aside and I was left with just human speed.

That’s not good, not good not good—

But I kept going. I had no choice.

The world rang like a wet wineglass stroked just right, and I heard an owl’s soft passionless who? Who? A streak of white coalesced overhead, feathers shading themselves in like a fast-forward of a charcoal artist at work. The owl’s yellow eyes took fire, and it wheeled in a tight circle overhead. Then it shot away like a rocket, and I held off the inevitable snap of the world taking back its usual slow speed with a tearing mental effort.

It was like being with werwulfen on one of their daylight runs that starts in the green blur of Central Park. Flashes smearing by, an openmouthed old lady, a group of college kids on the corner, a Chinese restaurant with a pirate ship on its sign, each just a compressed bullet of smeared information. The owl—Gran’s owl, though it was my aspect taking animal form—nipped smartly to the right and disappeared into the open maw of a subway entrance.

Bad idea, Dru.

But I’d never doubted Gran’s owl before. I flashed over the pavement, each step making a weird smacking sound, and saw why the owl was leading me there.

Because there were paper-cutout black shadows of nosferat leaping upstreet as well as down, and I’d be caught between them and the ones behind me like a rat in a cage if I didn’t figure something out right quick.

I put my head down and streaked for the subway entrance. Just before I hit the top of the stairs, another howl lifted into the night. This one was pure and cold, digging through layers of humanity and tickling the furry thing on four legs that lurks under the thin veneer of civilization in you, me, everyone.

The wulfen were out, and they’d heard the nosferat making a ruckus. Thank God.

It didn’t mean I’d survive this, but my chances just went up.

My purse bounced against my side and my fists pumped. The scarf slipped, seed pearls scratching at my windpipe. I clattered down the stairs, my feet only touching every fifth or sixth one. There was a half-turn, I almost hit the wall, leapt the iron railing in the middle, cleared the turnstile where you were supposed to swipe your card, and landed on the platform with a jolt. Almost overbalanced, scrambled, and I’m pretty sure I was giving the whole three people on the platform a good shot of my undies because the skirt was flipping and flapping like a flag in a high wind.

The train had just pulled in, a streak of butter-yellow light and screaming filthy silver. I nipped smartly through the doors as they closed and found myself in an empty, urine-smelling subway car. Orange plastic seats stood in neat, tired rows, and graffiti scarred the walls.

The claws of a side stitch tangled in my ribs, sweat standing out in great clear drops on my skin. At least my hair was still mostly up. Curls fell in my face, streaked with gold as the aspect blurred over my skin with warm, loving hands. My ribs flickered with hummingbird breaths, while my heart felt like it was going to kick out of my chest and do a cancan right there.

The train heaved away just as I caught flickers of shadowy movement near the turnstile. A flash of ivory teeth and wide black gelatin-gleaming eyes as the nosferat snarled, then the train plunged into the tunnel and the only thing I could see was my own reflection on the window. I looked scared to death, high hectic color blooming on my cheeks and the eyeliner Nathalie had talked me into giving me raccoon eyes. My mother’s locket gleamed sharply, a chip of ice against my sweating skin. The stitch in my side retreated a little, but I couldn’t stop gasping.

I tried to look everywhere at once. Reached up, touched my ear. Nothing but the sharp edges of a diamond stud met my fingertips. Dammit. I remembered the earpiece skittering away now.

I pulled my skirt down, tried to control my breathing. Pulled at the scarf to loosen it a little. I wasn’t an idiot enough to think I was out of the woods yet. If they wanted me bad enough, they could certainly chase a train. I let out a high nervous laugh, grabbing a pole as the train flung itself into a long downhill curve.

Plan C wasn’t turning out so bad. I was still breathing.

A thump from the car behind me brought my head up. Was it just subway noise, or . . .

I considered spitting again, the taste of danger candy was so thick. Definitely not out of the woods yet.

Were my chances better staying put or moving? Well, duh, moving. I headed for the front of the car, my legs