trashed, but they were all breathing, if not stirring; they'd hold. I untied them, prayed to God that they'd hold, and carried Cinnamon up out of Hell. At first I was relieved when I saw that the guards I'd incapacitated were gone, but then I realized that meant they were alive and conscious. I didn't wait to find out whether they were running or plotting: I just ran straight out into the street.
Knee and hands throbbing with pain, I hobbled out across North Avenue, leaving the Masquerade behind, alternately heedless of and wincing at the gravel and glass scattered across the pavement. I headed straight for City Hall East, for the police entrance, where cop cars left after refueling in the night. One black-and-white was pulling out of the gate just as I stumbled up, and I ran straight for it. They came to a screeching halt just as I ran out of gas, gasping, depositing Cinnamon on their hood.
'Holy Mary,' the driving officer said, only half stepping out of his car, holding a flashlight with one hand and with his other reaching for… his sidearm?
'Help, help, we've been attacked,' I said, bending involuntarily as my knee began throbbing like mad. 'I and my friends have just been attacked in the Masquerade. I need you to call for backup and ambulances-'
'What the hell you think this one's been on?' the second officer said, crawling out of the car. 'And look at the state of the other one-'
I realized how I must look-bruised, naked, with a flapping black coat, carrying a bloody young girl outfitted in the most realistic tiger costume they'd ever seen. They thought we were drugged-out prostitutes, and were tuning out everything I was saying, assuming I was babbling. Fuck them.
'My name is Dakota Frost,' I barked. 'I'm an expert witness working with Special Agent Philip Davidson of the DEI and Detective Andre Rand of Atlanta Homicide-'
The first officer was frozen, but the second was holding up her hands and saying, 'Now, far out, little lady-'
'I have just been attacked,' I said. 'I and my friends have been attacked. This girl is dying, and at least four other people are injured in the Masquerade. We need ambulances and backup in case Mirabilus had any other help-'
'Mirabilus?' the female officer said. 'Like the Mysterious Mirabilus-'
'What the fuck is wrong with you?' I said, glaring at her.
'Settle down, now,' the female officer said. 'I now you've been through a lot-'
Damnit, they were thinking that whatever I'd been through was over, but for all I knew the guards were coming back with shotguns to clean up the evidence. I needed help. We needed help. For a moment I thought of lunging for the car's radio and calling for help myself, but my dad was on the force: I knew I'd never make it. Something more subtle was required.
So I did the first thing that came to mind. It's lame, I know, but it works: I swayed.
'Oh God,' I said, tottering. Then I leaned heavily on the hood. 'Can-can I sit down for a minute?'
'Sure thing, little lady,' the female officer said. She stepped to the back passenger door and opened it, and I smiled weakly, leaning on the car with one hand as I walked around it-but as I passed the front passenger door I dove in and shot one long arm in to grab the car's mike.
'Black Mayday, Black Mayday, D-E-I assets down, Black Mayday, Black Mayday-'
'God damn you, you tricky bitch,' the female officer said, hauling me out, twisting my arm round and slamming my cheek to the hood of the car. I screamed and bucked at the pain in my hand, but she twisted harder and pushed me down. 'Jeez, she's strong,' she said, and I winced as a cuff went on one wrist. 'Help me-'
I bucked up and clocked the woman in the jaw with the back of my head, and then the other officer surged around the car and pinned me down in. 'You shouldn't have done that,' he said, grasping my other squirming wrist and cuffing it too. 'She's my partner-'
'Go easy,' I heard the female officer say. 'Look at what they've been through. Between the drugs and whatever their pimp did to them she's probably out of her mind-'
And then the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard swept over us, a rising, high-pitched purring like a mechanical cat-or a muffled leafblower, sweeping out of City Hall East and swooping over us in a sudden gust of wind. A bright light pinned us all, followed by an eruption of red and blue flashing lights as a DEI Shadowhawk decloaked above us.
'This is the Department of Extraordinary Investigations!' Philip's voice roared over the PA. 'Officers stand down! APD officers stand down!'
'Boy, that was quick,' I muttered under my breath.
The Shadowhawk set down in the middle of North Avenue, its whirling blades whipping over our heads as Philip leapt out, brandishing his badge and shouting, 'D-E-I agent! Officers stand down, stand down! DEI agent! Stand down, stand down!'
'Holy… cow,' the officer said, releasing me.
Philip ran up, holding his badge up like a shield, shades glowing red like night-vision goggles and carrying an enormous black combat shotgun carefully pointed away from the APD officers. 'Special Agent Philip Davidson, DEI! Miss Frost, Miss Frost, are you all right?'
'I'm not hurt,' I said, 'but the tattoo killer tortured Cinnamon to get to me.'
'Damnit!' Philip shouted, staring straight at me, then surveying Cinnamon, the officers, and the rest of the scene in one quick glance.
Then he threw the shotgun over his shoulder and scooped Cinnamon off the hood of the car. 'Pilot! I need an emergency evac-'
'If you disappear her, I will kill you,' I shouted after him.
Philip nodded, never looking back. 'Emory Hospital-special emergencies unit, stat!'
Philip deposited Cinnamon in the back of the Shadowhawk and stepped back, motioning to another officer, who was already grabbing a first aid kit as Philip closed the door and whirled his hand for the black helicopter to lift off. It left the ground in a rising whine, and Philip bore down on us in a whirlwind of debris and rage.
'Half of Little Five Points is bleeding out in the Masquerade,' I shouted. 'Alex, Jinx, Wulf, Buck-and would someone get these cuffs off me!'
'Do it,' Philip said. 'What are we facing in there?'
'The killer was Christopher Valentine-yes!-but he's dead,' I said, as the female officer freed my hands. 'He was controlling Wulf through a magic tattoo. And guess who was helping him-our favorite poseur vampire!'
'Transomnia,' Philip snarled. 'Are they still in there?'
'Transomnia skipped, and Wulf is dying and Mirabilus is dead,' I said, 'but they had a buttload of guards. I took them out when I arrived-'
'You took them out?' the first cop said. 'How?'
'Magic,' I responded. 'But all of the guards were gone when I came out. I don't know if they're gone or just regrouping-'
'Aw, hell,' Philip said, looking off sharply-sirens started blaring out of City Hall East, and I heard more approaching rapidly from the distance. 'And now we're about to get a swarm of badges descending on a sea of Edgeworlders. It can't ever be easy, can it?'
He stood there, just a moment; then he came to a decision.
'Ladies and gentlemen,' Philip said, loudly, as if he was speaking to far more than just the two officers. 'We have five victims, including one witch and one werewolf-yes!-at the mercy of the minions of a serial killer. I need you at my back, but be sharp! Don't plug anyone just because they look odd or furry! Let's move.'
They ran. I realized he hadn't asked me where to go, what else to look for. He just ran for the Masquerade, and the two officers followed him without a second thought. I tried to follow, but the pebbles and glass that I had sailed over before brought me to a standstill when I was halfway there. The sirens and the lights grew louder and louder, but I kept walking, walking towards the Masquerade. I was shaking when an officer stepped up beside me, covered my shoulders in a blanket, and sat me in the open door of his police cruiser.
And the rising whine of the Shadowhawk returned-one, then two, then more, backed by a deeper thrum. I and the new officer looked up to see three Shadowhawks decloak around the Masquerade, disgorging black-suited officers that rappelled down to join the fray. Above them, the long cigar shape of a zeppelin was dimly visible, its black metal hide illuminated by the backwash of a huge spotlight.
'Holy… cow,' the officer said, just like the first one had.
'You're telling me,' I said.
