No love lost. Good for me, bad for Hugh. “Where is Hugh now?”
Naeemah’s smile turned predatory. “I don’t know. I’m not his keeper.”
I tried a different plan of attack. “What are the precise terms of your arrangement with Hugh?”
Naeemah chuckled again. “He ordered me to watch you and keep you safe from those who are a danger to you. I wasn’t to interfere or reveal myself unless your life was in grave peril.”
Curiouser and curiouser. “For how long?”
“He didn’t specify.”
I had a hunch I’d just found a loophole big enough to drive a cart through. “Is Hugh excluded from those who are a danger to me?”
Naeemah’s smile grew wider. “He didn’t specify.”
“Hugh isn’t as clever as he thinks he is.”
“That is a truth.”
“What if I told you that Hugh is the second biggest threat to me, second only to Erra?”
“I would say I already know this.”
“How?”
Naeemah leaned forward. The gaze of her black eyes fastened on me. “You shouldn’t have conversations by the window, when the wall of your house is easy to climb.”
She’d heard me and Andrea talking about Hugh. Probably every word.
“What will you do if Hugh attacks me?”
“I will protect you. My debt must be repaid.”
Score. “And how long will you continue to guard me?”
“That would depend on you.”
She had me there.
Naeemah drew herself straight. “I’ve protected people of power and people of wealth. Many, many people. I’ve judged you worthy. Don’t disappoint me.”
That was all I needed. Apparently, the Universe had decided that my life would be that much richer with a judgmental crocodile bodyguard in it. “I’ll keep it in mind. I’m going to fight Erra tonight. If you attempt to ‘rescue’ me again, I will kill you.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
I rose and Naeemah stood up with me. I had to do something with her and I had a feeling that getting her to work with the rest of the guards wouldn’t go over so well. She’d need her own space. “Come with me, please. We need to get you a room.”
She followed me out. The blond shapeshifter gaped at her, as if Naeemah were a cobra with her hood spread. Naeemah ignored her.
I headed back to Curran’s quarters, my two babysitters in tow.
Jim would just love this. If I wasn’t careful, I’d give him an aneurysm before my first month here was up.
CHAPTER 26
SUNSET BLED ON THE SKY, SMOLDERING IN ITS final death throes. The encroaching twilight tinted the buildings black, turning the blanket of snow indigo.
I sat on top of the building, watching bonfires illuminate the rim of the Mole Hole through binoculars. Curran sat next to me. He wore his warrior form: a seven-and-a-half-feet-tall gray creature stuck on the crossroads between man and beast.
After Curran’s guard suffered a collective apoplexy over Naeemah, I’d managed to install her into her own set of rooms and went to cook our dinner. The Beast Lord joined me a few minutes later. We made venison steak, french fries smothered in cheese, and a quick pumpkin pie. We ate, then we made love and slept, curled up together in his ridiculous bed, and then Curran changed into his warrior form and I spent two hours drawing the poem of Erra on Curran’s skin with a little tube of henna. When I got tired, I made him call Dali and she took over. Her handwriting was better anyway. I had no idea if it would offer him any protection, but at this point I would try anything.
Behind us, female shapeshifters waited, positioned in individual squads along the street leading to the Casino. The wolves were right behind us, the boudas lay in wait across the street, then the rats and Clan Heavy, jackals, cats, and finally almost three blocks out, Clan Nimble. The squad from Clan Nimble consisted of an older Japanese woman, who was apparently the alpha, and four slender women who looked like they were fifteen tops. Curran told me they were foxes. They held themselves with stern elegance and I bit my tongue and hoped they knew what they were doing.
Somewhere in the darkness Naeemah hid. She picked her own spot and I didn’t argue. Her scent made the shapeshifters uneasy.
I looked back to the Mole Hole. A bonfire burned in the center of the crater, flanked by clusters of metal drums. To the left a row of Biohazard vans waited. People crowded the lip of the crater, medtechs, PAD, bowmen. Most were male. Despite my reports, Ted chose to put men at the crater, probably because he couldn’t raise enough female fighters in time. I’d cursed when I first saw them. Curran shrugged and said, “Bullet meat.”
Beyond the bonfires, a crowd had gathered in the remnants of office buildings. They sat on the makeshift wooden scaffolds, in the darkness of broken windows, on the roofs, on the mountains of rubble. Damn near half of Atlanta must’ve seen the flag and turned out to watch the Order slug it out with the Plaguebringer. Every single one of them could die tonight and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
My binoculars found Ted standing next to a large, fit woman with short red hair. Hard pale eyes. Black pants, black leather jacket, a sheath at her waist with a blade in it. A boar’s head on the pommel of her sword—Sounder’s Armory. They made falchions, single-edged swords of medium length shaped like the bastard children of a longsword and a scimitar. Great-quality swords, but expensive as hell. Judging by the sword and the getup, I was looking at Tamara Wilson.
Ted had imported Order knights from out of the city. He’d planned this—it would’ve taken him at least two days to pull personnel from North Carolina. Whether I walked off or not, this wouldn’t have been my petition anyway.
The magic rolled over us in an invisible wave. Showtime.
Tamara started down a staircase cut into the side of the Mole Hole. She crossed the floor of the crater to the center, where a huge bonfire burned on the glass. Positioning herself before the bonfire, she held up a long pole with the Order’s standard—a lance and a sword crossed over a shield. The light of the bonfire clutched at her black armor. She pulled a watch cap onto her head, hiding her hair.
A lean creature climbed over the roof. Long, hunched over, covered with clumps of gray fur, it moved with fluid quickness. Its feet and hands were disproportionately large, and short black claws tipped its fingers. A conical muzzle flowed into an almost humanoid face, framed by round pink ears.
A wererat. Stealthy, fast, deadly. They didn’t make good warriors but they made excellent scouts. And assassins.
She scuttled over to us and sat on her haunches, her arms folded to her chest. Her muzzle opened, displaying oversized incisors.
“The barrels are filled with napalm.” Her misshapen mouth slurred the words, but they came out clear enough. “They have archers hidden along the edge, some with incendiary arrows.”
Made sense: Erra walks into the Mole Hole, heads for the standard, because it’s a challenge. The archers hit the barrels with incendiary arrows. Erra drowns in a sea of fiery napalm. Tamara magically escapes. Good plan. Except for the part that it won’t work.
“Everybody is going to die,” I said.
The wererat’s dark eyes fixed on me for a second and flickered to Curran. “Also, the People have got themselves a bloodsucker party. They’re camped about two miles behind us.”
“Good,” Curran said.
