heard Quinton—or someone who sounded very much like him—arguing with someone who wasn’t answering back. “You don’t understand this. I thought you did, but you just don’t get it, and you can’t have it both ways.”
Down the hall, light lay on the floor and crawled up the wall across from it. The voice had to be that way, and I assumed Purlis would be the person Quinton was talking to—if it was Quinton talking. I glanced at Carlos.
He nodded toward the light. “Inman is also beyond that doorway.”
I just nodded in reply and began moving forward again as quietly as possible. An ache in my chest and a cold feeling lying along my spine told me all was not well with Quinton. My anxiety was growing, pressing on my heart and lungs and sending cold thorns into my skin.
I looked at the floor and the wall opposite the open door, searching for shadows that might give me some idea what was happening inside the room, but nothing was revealed. I forced myself to breathe slowly and let myself drop toward the grid—it wasn’t ideal, but at least I’d have some idea how many animate things were in there, if not what they were.
The walls were stubbornly misty even deep into the Grey, as if someone had managed to obscure it from my particular brand of prying. I could make out three or four cylindrical skeins of colored energy—one of which seemed to exist, fade, and then surge slowly back toward existence again as I watched—but nothing more. There weren’t any temporaclines here that I could use to slide into the room as a fragment of history and step back out of, so I had no choice but to go through the doorway like a normal human. Carlos wasn’t able to discorporate, so far as I knew, so it looked like we’d just have to storm the door.
I eased to a more normal state, looking back at Carlos, but he wasn’t looking at me; he was squeezing his eyes shut as if in pain and murmuring under his breath. I put my free hand out toward him, not wanting to risk speaking to get his attention so close to the open doorway.
As my fingertips grazed his shoulder, Carlos snapped his eyes open and grasped my hand in a cold steel grip. Fury blazed in his expression and I winced under the onslaught of his glance and the pain he was inflicting on my hand. He clenched his teeth and glared at me for a moment, as if he could communicate his angry thoughts by will alone. I flinched and crumpled a little, trying not to collapse completely and swallowing my desire to scream.
The voice spoke again. “You’ve forgotten all sense of service. You’ve become a thoughtless, selfish little bastard.”
Carlos let go of my hand at the sound and I turned back toward the doorway, trying not to nurse my bruises as I crept forward again. It sounded much the same, but I knew that wasn’t Quinton’s voice.
“Thank you,” my love said. “I’d much rather be a bastard than be your son. I think it shows considerable good taste on my mother’s part, if it’s true. I only hope my sister’s a bastard, too, because having you for a grandfather—”
Something screeched and I heard a curse and a heavy thump. A large, dull-edged pain wrenched through my chest. I caught my breath and ignored it.
“Go,” I whispered and bolted through the door.
TWENTY-ONE
I cut through the doorway as low as I could and turned sharply, heading for where I’d seen the two stable energy shapes. They had to be Quinton and his father. Carlos flew past me, heading for the strangely surging energy I’d observed in the Grey—by his interest, I guessed that was Inman. I had no worries for Carlos.
Purlis was standing between a dentist’s chair and a sort of workbench with what looked like an old- fashioned ham radio sitting on it—lots of dials, lights, meters, and switches—the only thing missing was the microphone and speaker. He had his back to me so he could face the chair. Quinton was in the chair, held fast with an arrangement of straps that looked distinctly unsavory.
Purlis was already turning toward the sound of my running footsteps, reaching for a gun that lay on the workbench. Quinton looked startled and relieved to see me, but he didn’t say anything, biting his lip as a dozen clashing colors flashed through his aura and sent sparks into the Grey. I heard something humming, buzzing in my chest and ears, and I wasn’t sure if it was real, or Grey, or just the racket of my own pulse.
I wasn’t as close as I wanted to be, but I slid to a halt just before Purlis completed his turn and I squeezed the cocking lever on the HK so it made its distinctive clacking sound. “Drop the gun,” I said. I wasn’t sure if my voice was shaking or if it was just the shuddering of my blood in my ears.
Purlis stiffened, probably wondering if he was a faster, more accurate shot than I was. I adjusted my aim a little to the side and down and shot the big metal box of electronics. It made a howling sound as it collapsed in a smoking pile on the bench. Dark liquid ran out of the box and dribbled to the floor.
In the large concrete room, the concussion rang like a bell and my ears throbbed. I hoped I didn’t have to fire again—I would have hated to be more deaf than I was at that second—but I remained steady, returning my aim to the center of Purlis’s chest as he faced me. “Now,” I said.
He knew the shot would have temporarily messed up my ears, but he was in the same condition. Only Carlos and Inman could have ignored the shattering sound in this enclosed space. But I was already in position and Purlis wasn’t. I truly wanted to shoot him and from the look on his face, he knew it. He opened his hands and let the gun fall onto the workbench—I could barely hear the clatter. He was betting I wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man in cold blood, which was frustratingly true.
I was dimly aware that the howling from the box hadn’t ceased and I wondered where Carlos and Inman were, but I didn’t dare look around and give Purlis an opening to move on me. “Walk toward me,
He took a step, letting one hand fall a little and turning his head toward the other, attempting to misdirect my attention.
“Don’t be a jackass,” I warned him.
“A bigger jackass,” Quinton muttered.
Nettled, Purlis shot a glance over his shoulder at him. “J.J. . . .”
Quinton’s face lost all expression. “Shut. Up.”
A black blur sped across the room from my left and struck Purlis’s chest, knocking him sideways and into the wall on my right with a crunching sound. Purlis shouted as he disappeared from my field of view.
Carlos seemed to just appear a few feet from Quinton, glaring toward the place where Purlis had fallen. “Stop,” he said, his voice shivering with command.
The thing that had hit Purlis rose and stood still. I couldn’t say I recognized the face, since I hadn’t really seen him when he’d attacked me in Post Alley, but I assumed it was Inman. The demi-vampire was bone-thin, wearing only a pair of black sweatpants that barely stayed on his skeletal hips. His hair was an unnatural dull slate color. He quivered as he watched Purlis with hunger and fury in his eyes.
“Stand up, Mr. Purlis,” Carlos said.
For a moment, Purlis resisted, glaring defiantly at him, but either he was smarter than he seemed or Carlos was pushing him magically, and he got to his feet. Inman shook and made a chattering noise with his teeth, staring at Purlis. I figured the vampires had that situation in hand, so I dashed to the chair and set Quinton loose.
As he stood up, Quinton put his arms around my waist a bit unsteadily and kissed my left cheek. I appreciated his not obstructing my view—or line of fire—to his father. He whispered into my ear, “Thanks, sweetheart. I’d be pissed you came down here if I wasn’t so damned relieved to see you.”
“You can berate me later.”
I glanced around the room, hoping I hadn’t overlooked something I was going to regret soon, but aside from a lot of bizarre equipment, there wasn’t much to be seen but a few tables with tools and parts and one with a laptop computer sitting on it. There was a bundle of cables from the wall to the wrecked box and another set of cables from that to a gurney contraption in the middle of the room. I assumed that was where Inman had been until Carlos had freed him. It looked as if the table could be swapped for the chair Quinton had been in. I didn’t like
