Bitten in Two

demonic seal. The thought of which made me so crazy that I actual y slammed my body against it five or six times before the pain of my fruitless attempts brought me back to myself. I imagined I could hear the steady metal ic beat of Kyphas’s chisel spel ing out Cole’s doom.

What’s happening? screamed Teen Me as she clutched at her hair and ran circles around Granny May.

Shut up and concentrate! Gran replied. Kyphas is turning Cole into a demon. Now think of a way to get us inside quick. Because he would have the shortest name ever.

Even if I’d imagined the chiseling, I wasn’t making up the screams I now heard shooting down from the roof. She was close. Goddammit, I wasn’t going to make it!

I could’ve dropped into the room the way Kyphas had, but she’d have expected that. Which meant something trappish would’ve been waiting for me. Think bungee sticks that I wouldn’t have seen until I’d impaled myself. That left the windows. None of which had glass or even bars. In a place like this, why bother? So there was no obstacle to slow me down when I ran into the adjoining room and jumped on the sash of the window that looked out onto the tannery just like Kyphas’s did. Straight drop and a sure hip- dislocation to the stones below. Nothing above but more cavernous holes signifying other glassless windows. Oh, and a single decorative element. A rectangular bar running the length of the building set about six feet above the window. It wasn’t in terrific shape. I could see where parts of the top edge had begun to crumble away. But I had no choice.

So I shucked my boots and turned to face the building.

Spreading my feet wide for balance, I gauged the distance and jumped.

I smashed my fingers into the bar on the way up, barking them so badly that I was afraid blood would gush, making handholds so slippery that grip would become impossible. But if I’d cut myself, it wasn’t bad enough to make me fal . I caught the bar just like I had when I was a kid on the playground in elementary school. And again in col ege when I discovered rock climbing. And yet again when the CIA realized I could be trained to kil kil ers.

I dug my toes into the outer wal of the building, finding smal caves in a surface that looked smooth as glass from the ground. And moved, quickly, quietly, to my left. I’d pul ed myself up to the edge of Kyphas’s window when Bergman blew her door off its hinges. The concussion slammed into me, ripping one hand from its anchor and punching me back into the wal of the building.

It’s funny what you recal about people. Granny May always used to say, “You never know what moments are going to stick, so you’d better try to make them al worth the glue.” Yeah, I never quite got her either.

I’d lived with Miles al three years that he’d gone to grad school. And what I remembered most about that time was the day he came back to the apartment, soaked to the skin after walking twelve blocks in one of those monsoons you occasional y get in the Midwest in late April. I’d said,

“Damn, Bergman, you look miserable.”

And he’d replied, “I am. But it’s amazing how clearly you think when nothing can get any worse. I know what I want to do with the rest of my life now.”

“Does it have anything to do with inventing umbrel as that flip out of your backpack at the first hint of rain?” I’d asked.

“Nope,” he’d said. And he hadn’t explained, but he’d had the most satisfied look on his face. Not pipe-and-slippers contented. No, this was more I-have-found-the-Grail happy. I hadn’t seen that expression on him again.

Until now.

I gave myself a second to be grateful I could see at al considering the fact that my eyes stil weren’t sure they belonged in their sockets, my head felt like it had been laboratory tested by Impact-Wrenches-United, and I’d only now managed to regain enough of a grip to pul myself up Kyphas’s window high enough to lock my arms around its edge.

Exhaustion forced me to take a short break before I did the rest of the climb. During which time I noted that Kyphas sat on a prayer mat she’d obviously stolen from a heathen, since she wasn’t developing boils by having contact with it.

She was stil holding the Rocenz, but she’d taken a break from her work to gape at Bergman, who stood in the doorway with Astral at his side. Kittybot’s butt was stil smoking, which meant instead of convalescing, Miles had been inventing some sort of anti-spawn missile especial y tuned to her launching capabilities. Which meant he’d been planning this for a while. Had he programmed that smug expression on Astral’s face too, or should I just assume it was a cat thing?

I cursed myself for not ordering her to force Bergman to stay in his room and recover. Because he looked so thin and ethereal standing there that he could’ve passed for his own shadow. Except for the silver tools flashing in both of his hands. At least, that’s what my mind told me they were.

It was Bergman after al . Lord of the miniature screwdriver.

Why would I assume he’d be carrying a pair of Eldhayr daggers?

Except that I’d seen him take Raoul aside before my Spirit Guide had left for missions unknown. I’d registered the I-have-serious-business look on Bergman’s face. I just hadn’t gotten nosy about it because Miles was Mr.

Secretive. Why ask when you know your pal is never gonna tel ?

Now it al came together in the amount of time it took for Bergman to raise those finely crafted knives as if he was about to carve the Thanksgiving turkey. He’d gone to Raoul to demand weapons that could injure a demon. And before that, his contemptuous look at Kyphas should’ve been my clue. He’d been planning this then, deciding, for al of our sakes, that he had to be the one to kil her.

I pul ed myself into the room and ran toward them.

“KYPHAS!” I screamed before she could break him in two like she’d tried to do in Australia. She jerked around, her eyes widening as she saw me lunging toward her, pul ing my double-edged blade from its sheath