an invisible gale-force wind that stole her very breath.
Instinctively, she stopped. Elvis went immediately from a ball of fluff to a sleek little predator, all four eyes showing. He growled softly in her ear. She looked around frantically. This was the same feeling she'd experienced this afternoon just before the Oscillator 600 had nearly flattened her. But there were no vehicles in sight, and she heard no engine.
She searched first one end of the street and then the other, turning on her heel. Nothing moved in the gray mist.
Elvis muttered again, more urgently this time. She realized that all four of his eyes were focused behind her.
She swung around and finally saw him: a dark, shadowy figure moving out of a doorway. He came purposefully toward her. Elvis growled again and whipped around to stare at another doorway on the opposite side of the street. A second man moved out of another vestibule and glided toward her car.
They were close enough now that she could make out the black leather jackets, leather chaps, and the black motorcycle helmets worn by both men. The visors of the helmets were pulled down, obscuring their features.
Night Riders. There had been a flurry of reports about the gang in the mainstream press lately. The police had started special patrols in certain neighborhoods, but not this one. There had been no trouble here.
Obviously, the situation had changed.
She weighed her options. She would never make it to the safety of her car. Retreating back to her apartment building was equally impossible. That left only one alternative.
'Hang on,' she said to Elvis.
Clutching her purse, she ran for the door of the Green Gate Tavern. Her high-heeled pumps skittered treacherously on the pavement, but she made it to the sidewalk.
The Riders had not anticipated her choice of destination, but they changed course quickly. Both of them broke into a run. The ominous thuds of their boots echoed in the fog.
Elvis clung fiercely to her shoulder, teeth bared. She sensed that if they were cornered, he would try to attack the Riders. That was the last thing she wanted. He would be no match for the two men or the mag-rez guns they were no doubt carrying. Theoretically, it was illegal for anyone but a duly authorized member of a law enforcement agency to carry a mag-rez, but that had done little to keep them out of the hands of criminals.
One of the men partially raised his helmet.
'Get her,' he shouted to his companion.
The other one needed no urging. They moved in on her from two directions. She vaguely realized that no shots had been fired. That was probably a good sign. Evidently they didn't intend to shoot her dead in the street.
But what did they want? According to what she had read, purse snatching wasn't the gang's style. They were into more sophisticated businesses: extortion and drugs.
She was only a few feet away from the front door of the Green Gate when the heel of her left shoe snapped, throwing her violently to the side. She went down hard on the wet pavement. Her coat protected her from a bad case of road rash, but she knew she would have bruises in the morning. Elvis leaped from her shoulder.
She stared at the door of the Green Gate, willing it to open.
'Help.' What she had intended as a full-throated shout for assistance came out as a weak yelp.
Adrenaline got her back on her feet in an instant. Miraculously, her glasses were still on her nose. She staggered on the broken heel and almost went down a second time.
The nearest Rider closed in fast. His associate was not far behind.
'Damn bitch,' the first Rider growled. He reached for her with a black-gloved hand. 'I'm gonna show you what happens to women who give me trouble.'
She was aware of a flash of movement at the corner of her eye. Then she saw Elvis. He dashed up the Rider's leather-clad pant leg, white cape flying. She realized that he was heading for the only portion of the Rider's body that was not encased in leather: the small, vulnerable area at his throat.
An instant later the Rider screamed in pain and astonishment. He shoved up his visor and scrambled back, batting wildly at his neck.
'Something bit me,' he yelped. 'Get it off me. Shit, I'm
The other Rider paused. 'What in green hell?'
Sierra half staggered, half ran for the Green Gate. '
He was already on his way back down the Rider's pant leg. He reached the pavement, deftly avoiding a kick from a heavy black leather boot, and scampered toward her.
'I just got bit by a rat,' the injured Rider yelled. 'I'm gonna need shots.'
The other man ignored him. He charged after Sierra.
She shoved open the tavern door and stumbled inside.
Three khaki-and-leather-clad men lounged on stools at the bar. Simon Lugg, the proprietor, looked at her.
'Sierra?' he said 'What's wrong?'
'Night Riders,' she got out, whirling to slam the door shut. 'Call the cops. Hurry.'
It was too late to get the door closed, let alone lock it.
One of the Riders shoved it open with such force that Sierra was thrown back against the nearest booth.
The Riders surged into the room. One had a hand clamped to the side of his neck. Both raised their visors higher in order to see in the eternal gloom that was the Green Gate.
'Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt,' the first Rider barked. 'We just want the woman.'
'Sorry, I've got a real strict dress code here at the Green Gate,' Simon said. 'No tie, no service.'
'Shut up, old man,' the second Rider snarled. He reached into the pocket of his black jacket.
'Man, I really hate being called old,' Simon said.
'Look out,' Sierra shouted. 'I think he's got a gun.'
'Who doesn't?' Simon asked, producing a mag-rez from under the bar.
There was a moment of profound stillness as both sides contemplated the standoff. The three patrons swiveled on their stools. They studied the newcomers with keen interest.
'Well, well, well,' Mitch Crozier said. 'What have we got here? Couple of biker wannabes, you think?'
'Nah.' Jeff Duvall shook his head. 'Looks more like they just came off a movie set.'
'Whoever the hell they are,' Andy Bunt announced with a toothy grin, 'they wandered into the wrong neighborhood.'
Mitch chuckled with anticipation. The tiny chunk of crystal set into his front tooth gleamed. 'That they did.'
The Riders finally began to comprehend that they had blundered badly.
'We don't want any trouble with you guys,' the first one said. 'Like I told you, we're after the woman.'
'Can't have her,' Simon announced. 'She's a friend. Don't know how it is with you Riders, but hunters look after their friends.'
The atmosphere in the gloom-filled bar suddenly shivered with energy. Four wildly flaring balls of green fire materialized directly in front of the two Riders and began drifting toward them.
'Ghost light,' the injured Rider said, backing quickly toward the door. He seemed genuinely awed. 'Shit.'
'Yeah, who would have thought a bunch of washed-up hunters could still pull a lot of green heat aboveground?' Simon said with menacing good cheer.
Even the most powerful hunters could not maneuver a flaring ball of dissonance energy quickly. At best a ghost could only be driven at about the speed of a fast walk. But the erratic, acid-colored psi fire was scary stuff, especially in a confined space. Sierra knew that even the slightest brush with one of the UDEMs would be enough to knock the Riders unconscious.
The intruders understood that, too. Swearing furiously, they nearly trampled each other on their way out of
