“What’s up?” Bruno asked. He didn’t seem to know what was bothering them any more than I did, but he was alert, and I could feel him gathering his power.
Rizzoli sighed. “Special Agent Matumbo’s mother was human, a witch. Her father was a demon.”
She was a spawn, with
“She is a trusted field agent”—he glared at each of us in turn—“and has the ability to shape-shift convincingly and produce powerful shields. Her magic is primarily defensive. She will be going in with Celia in the guise of Jean- Baptiste. You”—he pointed to Bruno—“and I are going to be his hired thugs. That will get us in the front door so we can find and disable the source of the shield.”
Bruno nodded. “It has to be an artifact. A shield as powerful as you say is hard to maintain for any length of time. It takes constant attention for things as stupid as mice and bats—the outdoor kind that eat bugs. They really mess up a building shield. A single person would spend all their time sensing problems in the shield and correcting them, so it only makes sense to give the task over to an object that handles the dirty work. If it’s an artifact, I can find it. It’s what I do for a living.”
Creede started to protest that he should go in with us, too, but Rizzoli silenced him with a gesture. “The rest of you will be waiting outside the perimeter. We have to have a second mage in case the first wave is killed. Once we’re in, we might not have communication. It’ll be Celia and Matumbo’s job to keep Glinda distracted. You”—he pointed to Bruno—“have one job. Get that barrier down. Don’t worry about me or Celia. This witch can’t be allowed to keep that collar. What the demons and the rift couldn’t accomplish in destroying the city, she just might.”
“What will you be doing?” Matumbo asked.
“I’m the floater. My gift will put me in the right place to do whatever needs doing.” He was very matter-of- fact about it. I had a feeling he had reason to be. “Creede, you’re a registered telepath, Celia, you’re a siren, so I’m assuming you can do the telepathy thing as well.”
“Um…” I hated to disagree, but now was not the time to have lofty expectations. “I’m not very good at it. I can speak with other telepaths, but generally they initiate the conversation and drag words out of me. I can’t guarantee I’ll be any help.”
Rizzoli shrugged. “My gut says you’ll do fine. It’ll help with communications between the group inside and our reinforcements. But because the rest of us mere mortals can’t do any head talking at all, we’re all going to be wearing some very high-end technology. Stuff that doesn’t appear on the radar with anyone, so nobody can track it or spot it. But I don’t have enough for everyone, so Celia, do your damnedest.” He passed out the tiny headsets, not much bigger than a swollen-up tick, which attached to the inside of the ear about the same way. Press a button and tiny jaws clamped down right on the skin, making everyone flinch. It looked a little like a mole. But definitely not like a microphone. He tapped on his ear and Bruno jumped. Even I could hear the sound. “Try to stay silent, people. We don’t know what kind of magic and tech she has going on and we don’t want to give anything away.”
Made sense to me. The part I really didn’t like was agreeing to meet her on her own turf. But she’d insisted on it when she called back Jean-Baptiste’s phone. Rizzoli had made some convincing grunts and growls when the phone rang earlier, before Bruno and crew had arrived, and she’d bought he was the deceased doctor.
But we were going in early, hoping to throw her off-balance. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was the best we could do. We needed to act fast. Children were dying.
“We leave in a half hour. Be ready and at the front door. Landingham, come with me. There’s something we need to go over with you.” Rizzoli rolled up the blueprints and left, with Matumbo and Kevin right behind him.
I grabbed the duffel, pulled out one of my daggers, and checked the edge. It really could use some sharpening. I’d been taking them to the gun range to practice throwing them. They weren’t really intended to be throwing daggers. But the last few times I’d used them, throwing was what ended up happening.
Bruno was watching me work with the daggers, but his brow furrowed when I took out the second dagger, the black one. “What the hell? What happened to that knife, Celie?”
I flinched. I didn’t have any reason to feel guilty. But I did. “I threw it through Lilith’s heart. The ancient vampire who attacked Matty? Might have been a spawn that got turned, or worse. It’s been black ever since. It still works, though.” He reached for it and I handed it to him. His hand began to glow when he passed it over the flat blade.
John looked interested. “Can I see the other one?”
I looked at Bruno. He shrugged, so I handed it over.
John let out a low whistle as he handled, flipped, and glided fingers over the blade. “Man! Sweet piece of work, DeLuca. What was the production time?”
“Five years.”
I thought John was going to spit up blood again the way he was coughing. “Five
Bruno dipped his head with pride and fire in his eyes. “Actual working. I did it to keep Celia alive. She wouldn’t be standing here today if not for these. That’s what Vicki Cooper predicted back in college and it was worth every cut, every drop of blood, every
Awww— I smiled at him and he smiled back. John took a serious look at the interaction and suddenly wasn’t so sure of himself, and his effect on me. There was a bond between Bruno and me that even the pain of his actions lately couldn’t completely erase.
John handed the knife back, hilt first, and I slid it into the sheath. Bruno did the same. The forearm sheaths were nearly part of me. There were even permanent dents in my skin where the leather braces crossed, like a dent in a finger where a ring has remained for years without removal.
“I hope you all brought me some fresh clothes.” I stank. Seriously. I’d been tazed, fought, and had slept in these clothes. “And a toothbrush.”
“Toothbrush, yes. Change of clothes, no,” Creede answered. “You’re supposed to have been Jean-Baptiste’s captive. But I did bring beef broth.” He handed me a still-warm Styrofoam container.
I accepted the meal gratefully, but it sucked about no change of clothes. I could pull down my sleeves over the sheaths, but the outfit I was in really didn’t have anywhere for me to hide much in the way of spell disks or other weaponry. Definitely sucked. Big pond scum–covered rocks.
“You always look good to me,” Bruno said.
Creede rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. Whatever. Go brush your teeth and get ready for the party.”
25
We strode boldly up to the building. Well, Matumbo/Jean-Baptiste and the “guards” strode up. I was supposed to be a captive and injured, so they were pretty much dragging me. It was harder than it should have been for me to remain passive. My vampire nature was rising as the sun lowered, and adrenaline was pounding through my system. I managed it by reminding my inner beastie that we would get a chance to fight; we were just waiting for the right target.
Despite the fact that we’d arrived at sunset rather than midnight, the barrier I’d felt burning against my skin for almost a mile lowered when we approached.
The door swung open of its own accord—not like automatic doors at the grocery, but the slow, ponderous grating of squealing metal as the two-story delivery doors opened inward. It was meant to be creepy, and succeeded admirably. Even creepier, the witch was using magic to create invisible walls forming a hallway leading to the very center of the room. Those walls were all that shielded us from dozens of M. Necrose victims who shambled and scraped across the floor toward the living, moving beings they could sense but not see.
If I’d thought Principal Sanchez and the guy in the hospital were the worst things I’d ever seen, I simply had nothing to compare them to. Now I did, and the principal and her security guard were positively red-carpet material by comparison to the creatures pressing in against the magic. Skin hung in shards from nearly liquified muscles and bones that glowed with an eerie green-white. The sounds they made as they shuffled and scraped were … wet and made me want to claw away from Matumbo and run out in panic.
Where was aggression when I really needed it?
Glinda’s voice came from above and to our left. “You came early. How rude! I haven’t even had the chance to finish my preparations.” She was standing on the second-floor balcony, staring down at us like a Roman empress
