The Judas Line

Cain gave her a once over. “Alan?”

Her face closed down. “He was on the League’s payroll. Tried to do me in.”

I cast my mind back to the Seeing, the second half of which I had paid scant attention to while searching for Mike, and gave Cain a nod.

Mike cut in before Cain could reply, sounding more than a little frustrated. “I don’t know what’s going on, but we have a psychopathic Russian to deal with. Anyone have a pair of handcuffs or three?”

“Sorry, man,” I said, not taking my eyes off of Boris. “You’re right.”

“Actually, a better idea springs new-formed to mind,” Cain mused. “Mr. Heart should pursue the perilous quest while Michael, Maggie and I provide our overlarge friend here with some much needed containment.” His shades moved my way. “Go. Find the Primal and set it free. Michael will be safe in our august company.”

“Mike, you mind, man?” I was half-afraid he’d fall over despite the Healings.

“If you trust these people, then it’s okay with me. Do what you must do. I’m pretty sure Julian is on the opposite side of the building, well past the elevators.”

“Thanks, man.” To Cain, “Be careful, Boris is the most dangerous non-magus I’ve ever met.” That earned me a smile at full power. I was about to run out, but an impulse that had nothing to do with danger seized me. Grabbing Maggie by the shoulders, I laid a big one on her moist lips.

For a moment I thought she’d clean my clock right there, but instead her arms encircled me and she returned the kiss with interest.

When we both finally came up for air, lights sparkled in her baby blues. “Let’s go, gorgeous.”

I shook my head. “Sorry, Blondie, but this is a Family thing. I have to fly solo.”

She scored quite a few points by nodding, instinctively understanding. “If we survive this, handsome, you’re taking me someplace nice.”

I kissed the end of her nose and she dimpled prettily. “You got it, Blondie.” And with that I ran out, looking for Julian. I had to put an end to all this before New York paid the price.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Mike

Morgan was dressed like an SAS commando, all in black, with a black knit cap and blackout makeup on his face. He bristled top to bottom with weapons. The other man, a lean, strong figure, towered over him. He gave the impression of solidity, so much so that you would imagine the Washington Monument crumbling before he did. He wore the kind of sunglasses favored by skiers, and when he spoke, the lilting style was a mixture of colonial and southern formal that made my ears want to pack it in for the evening.

The woman was dressed the same, but looked like she’d be more comfortable with a sword in hand, collecting the souls of the dead from the battlefield for transport to Valhalla. When Morgan kissed her, I saw a real spark there between the two, a glimmer of something … divine.

After Morgan ran off, the woman turned my way and gave me a once-over. “Get a good eyeful, tall, dark and priestly?” she asked sourly.

I rubbed my moustache. “Was it at first sight? Or while you were planning this little shindig?” It was a random shot, but by the look of her, it scored.

“How did you-?”

“I may be priest, but I’m not blind.”

The long, lean man broke in. “As illuminating as the new-found romantic nature of my apprentice may prove, I do believe that introductions are in order. The lovely lady whose resemblance to a Valkyrie is more than coincidental is Maggie. I, sir priest, am Cain.” At my startled look he nodded. “Yes, that Cain. Brother of Abel. And while I realize that a priest may be brimming with questions both practical and philosophical for a gentleman such as myself, we have other, more pressing, concerns.” He waved a pistol at the Russian, who had remained seated throughout.

Cain? Cain? A few weeks ago the revelation would have had greater impact. Considering everything that had happened, it now seemed par for the course.

“Okay … Cain. Let’s tie him up.” What I wanted was to fillet Boris into Russian cutlets, but I was still a man of God.

The tall man flashed a huge smile. “When I arrived upon the scene, young … Morgan was in the process of providing you several Healings. Would it be incorrect to assume that you have suffered most egregiously at the hands of the infamous Boris, the Mad Russian?”

“If you’re asking me if he beat the living daylights out of me, then yes.”

Maggie cut in. “He looks nasty.”

I snorted. “Nastiest piece of work I’ve ever come across.”

She aimed a Tec-9.

“Stop!” I shouted, appalled. “We don’t kill prisoners.”

Her look told me I was a few cans short of a six-pack, but I just stared her down until she lowered her weapon. “What do we do with the bastard, then?” she asked.

Before I could answer, Cain stepped forward, coming within three feet of Boris. “I have been informed that you are a force to be reckoned with, an extraordinary fighter of incalculable skill.”

It took Boris a moment to digest that, but when he did, he tipped a spare nod.

“Wonderful!” Cain replied. “In my time I have studied the manly arts of the squared circle and consider myself a pugilist of no mean ability. To this end I have but one question.” He stepped back, lowered his weapon and smiled like a shark sizing up its breakfast. “Do you want a shot at the champ?”

Boris stood, his smile matching Cain’s mean for mean. “Oh, yes.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Morgan

Down the hall, past the elevators, not slowing, not stopping, I had to go in straight and quick, no hesitation. I was twenty years younger than Julian, but I was certain he’d be no pushover. He’d be aware that we were in the building and therefore on guard.

I skidded to a stop in front of the door to the suite and, as loud as I could, summoned Force. The metal door burst from its hinges, flipping end over end into the room; I followed right after.

Crack! A hit to my right thigh and I went down, blood spraying.

Crack! Another shot to the thick meat of my left thigh.

Crack! My right arm sprouted gore and the pistol fell from nerveless fingers.

Crack! My left arm became an unfeeling lump of meat dangling from my shoulder. Blood trailed down my chin from where I’d bitten my lip and fire consumed my thrashing limbs.

“I have to say, I very much enjoyed that.” The voice, snide and gloating, came from behind.

Healing/cinnamon, Healing/cinnamon again and again. Bullets spat out of my body in rapid succession and the awful pain of torn flesh and shattered bone faded quickly, a sweet relief.

“Well, Oliver,” said Julian from somewhere out of sight. “Not very original, charging into the fray like that.”

“Oh, man … that smarts.” I slowly rose to my feet to see Annabeth at the broken doorway with twin 9s pointed at me, both barrels still smoking, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. The sight of her made me livid with rage and sick to my stomach. She must have seen my anger because she smiled even wider, with even more cruelty.

“Take off your Kevlar, Olivier,” Julian said. I turned to see him lounging on the stairs leading to the second story. He was dressed immaculately in a dark Saville Row suit, every stitch, every hair perfectly in place despite the earthquake. In fact, the whole suite looked untouched by violence, a haven of normalcy in a mad world.