Bitten in Two

Miles eyed the junction box nearest our position. He took a breath so deep that for a second I could detect his ribs straining against the material of his shirt. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Sterling caught my eye. “Okay, Chil . Whenever you give the word.”

I checked on Vayl. No movement from him or the roofbound Were. “Cole, are you ready?”

“I’m set. Should I take out restaurant boy first?” I considered our options. “Yeah,” I decided. “Do it right before the lights go out. I figure Vayl wil move on him as soon as the funkiness begins, and I don’t want any friendly fire casualties tonight.”

“But…” Bergman lowered his voice. “Can Vayl handle him in his present condition? Especial y if he doesn’t know what we’re up to?”

“It doesn’t matter what year Vayl thinks it is,” I said.

“He’s stil the baddest fighter in this square. Probably on the whole damn continent. He’l be fine.”

Bergman shrugged. I looked from him to Sterling to Kyphas. “Ready?” Each of them nodded.

“Okay,” I said. “Cole downs the Weres. Remember they’l be wounded, not dead, so we may have to deal with a couple of them before we can move in and grab the mage. Sterling, you’re going to be able to immobilize Ahmed before he can put the whammy on us?”

“It’s what I do.”

“Kyphas, are you prepared?”

She pul ed the tahruyt off her head and slid it lovingly through her hands. “Oh, yes.”

I pul ed out my bolo, slipped it into Bergman’s belt, and covered it with his shirt. “Just in case,” I whispered as he pul ed up his sleeve. He glanced down. “Oh!” He went so pale I put out an arm to steady him. He jerked away. “I’m fine!”

I shoved my hand back in my pocket, contacting the poker chips I kept there, imagining that I’d piled them on a green felt table where I could hear the click clack as they slid through my shuffling fingers, constantly revising their positions but never losing their integrity.

I said, “Miles, you and Sterling begin as soon as the Were goes down. Cole?”

“Yes, dear?”

“When you’re ready.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Cole’s shot cracked across the square like the signal for a set of kickass fireworks. The pack leader fel back in his chair, his Luureken and the people at the surrounding tables staring dumbly as they tried to figure out what had happened.

At ground level, a few people looked for fire in the sky.

And they got it. Bergman released four of his missiles at the junction box. They didn’t want to go up, however. They were made to seek the warmth of bodies, and the street below was packed with them. Which was where Sterling’s wooden seedpod came into play.

He whirled it above his head, chanting, “Up draft. Up breeze. Up current. Fly!” The seedpods broke off the stem, formed a carpet of white that sped after the missiles, caught them, carried them high over the heads of the crowd, and slammed them straight into their target.

Sparks flew. Blue threads exploded from them, reached over the screaming crowd and slammed into two more junction boxes, throwing the square into darkness.

Panic, both in the restaurant, where they’d just figured out the man on the floor was bleeding from a massive head wound and his “kid” had been shot as wel , and on the ground, where a fire had started in one of the mobile food stal s when someone accidental y tipped over a pot ful of boiling oil.

I saw Vayl cast his eyes around at the rising chaos before separating himself from cart eleven and heading toward the downed Were. I wanted to fol ow him. But his memory stil rested back with Ahmed.

“Cole?” I asked. In my earpiece I heard another shot.

Then another. He didn’t speak until he’d taken six altogether.

“Three pairs down,” he said professional y. “I’ve got men moving on my position. I’m relocating. If I can, I’l do the rest after I lose these chasers.”

“Roger that,” I replied. We both knew he’d try like hel to even our odds, but time was not our friend.

I tossed Vayl’s cane to my left hand, jerked my right wrist, and felt my staff slide into my palm, its cool handle reminding me to take deeper breaths as it stretched to ful length. Fol owing my lead, Bergman pul ed my knife. He stared at it doubtful y, like he thought it might leap out of his hand and stab him while he wasn’t looking. In the end he took a tighter grip and checked his missiles. Four stil nestled in the sheath he’d created for them. Encouraged, he pul ed out the wal et-sized tracking unit that would al ow us to find Ahmed again.

Sterling watched Kyphas transform her scarf into the flyssa that would, hopeful y, stick to Weres this evening. But he didn’t prepare anything extra for our trip back to the mage. Just fol owed at his easy pace as Bergman led us back to the bil Cole had left with Ahmed earlier.

We shoved our way through the yel ing, panicked crowd toward one of the streets that led away from the square and final y found Ahmed trying to make his escape with his arms ful of half-hat boxes. He hadn’t waited long for an escort, but then maybe he’d realized they were indisposed.

We’d passed two of them on our way to intercept the mage.

One had been lying across a picnic table trying to hold its intestines inside its body cavity while its Luureken lay in a pool of blood at its feet. The other Were had toppled into a juice sel er’s cart, burying itself in mounds of ripe, orange fruit. Its rider had disappeared, leaving a blood trail we didn’t have time to fol ow.

didn’t have time to fol ow.