The Paradise Prophecy

woman-but there was nothing in her playbook that could have prepared her for something like this.

“I think I’m about to be sick,” she gasped.

And as the beast let out a long, low growl, Batty said, “I’ve only got one word of advice for you.”

“Which is?”

“Run.”

Callahan didn’t need to be told twice.

Without a word, she wheeled around and took off through the tunnel like a triathlete at the starting gun.

Running barefoot on stone with your purse tucked under one arm and your dress hitched up around your waist probably wasn’t the most graceful way to make an escape, but she figured she’d save the performance evaluation for later and concentrate on staying alive.

LaLaurie was right beside her, breathing hard, and she could hear that thing-whatever the fuck it was-only feet behind them, skittering across the tunnel floor like something from a Kafkaesque nightmare, hissing as it ran.

The tunnel curved ahead, and Callahan leaned forward, picking up speed. But as she moved into the curve, the hissing got louder and more sustained. She heard a flurry of movement behind her, then the thing screeched and LaLaurie grunted and went down hard.

Stopping in her tracks, Callahan spun around and saw him thrashing on the ground, the thing pinning him down like a cat with a hamster, its lips drawn back, exposing sharp, spiky teeth. Then it went directly for his throat.

Sweet holy Jesus.

LaLaurie grunted again, trying to block it, only to get a forearm full of teeth for his trouble. To his credit, he didn’t scream, but Callahan knew she couldn’t stand here and watch this fucking thing rip him to shreds. Yanking the hairspray canister from her purse, she leapt forward, spraying what was left of the stuff directly in the thing’s face.

It screeched and fell back, but it didn’t go down. Not even close. In fact, the assault only seemed to piss it off even more and now it was looking at Callahan, growling and hissing at her, getting ready to pounce.

But she didn’t give it the chance. She knew she could hurt it, so the trick was to strike fast and keep it off balance.

Hitching up her gown again, she turned sideways and kicked, nailing it in the side of the head, wishing she still had her heels on, maybe drive a five-inch spike right into one of those baleful green eyes. The thing screeched a second time and went flying, slamming into the tunnel wall. Maybe it had the advantage of nails and teeth and agility, but despite its immunity to her magic hairspray, it didn’t seem any stronger than your average everyday tea slinger.

And that made Callahan feel very confident, indeed.

Stepping forward now, she promptly got to work.

Batty clamped his arm, trying to stem the bleeding as he scrambled out of the way and watched Callahan in motion, a blur of kicks and spins and punches, and it was obvious she knew exactly what she was doing. It was, he thought, quite an amazing thing to see, and he knew that somewhere deep inside that rodent brain, little Ajda was wondering who the hell this crazy bitch was.

Callahan was relentless. Didn’t pause, didn’t slow down, didn’t even seem to take a breath as she continued her assault, driving the beast down, every attempt at an attack countered by a solid, bone-jangling blow.

Then the beast was lying on the floor, hunkered up in the fetal position, bleeding, whimpering softly, as Callahan stood over it with her fists clenched, trying to catch her breath.

“Holy shit,” she muttered, staring down at the thing as if seeing it for the first time.

But Batty knew what was happening. Still clutching his arm, feeling blood pool up in the sleeve of his tuxedo jacket, he climbed to his feet and stood next to Callahan, watching as the thing on the floor shifted again, morphing from beast to human before their eyes.

Then Ajda looked up at them, her face battered, her mouth twisted in fear and pain, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Please,” she begged. “Please kill me.”

Batty crouched beside her. “Nobody’s killing anyone. Who’s your significant?”

“… Please . . .”

He leaned in close. “Who turned you? Who’s your significant?”

“I just want to die,” she moaned. “I just want to . . .”

The sharp smell of sulfur filled Batty’s nostrils, and he knew what was coming. The girl moaned and he grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to look at him.

“Who’s your fucking significant? ”

But it was too late. Jumping to his feet, he grabbed Callahan by the shoulders and pulled her away as Ajda began to spasm uncontrollably, crying out in agony.

Callahan’s eyes went wide. “What the hell is wrong with her?”

“Just stay back. There’s nothing we can do.”

The spasms were so bad now, it looked as if Ajda might come apart. Instead, a dagger appeared in her hand, and she reached high in the air before plunging it into her breast. She sighed, and then burst into flames, releasing a long, high, animal wail as her entire body was consumed by fire. Then she imploded into a ball of black dust that disintegrated before their eyes, leaving nothing behind.

No flesh. No bones. No sign that Ajda had ever been there at all. Not even a scorch mark.

“Jesus,” Callahan muttered.

Batty turned to her. “I guess that pretty much clears up any doubts you may have had.”

28

What are we doing here?” Callahan said. “Don’t you think you should get that arm checked out?”

She looked a bit shell-shocked, but seemed to have recovered from their adventure in the tunnels. Maybe beating the crap out of a raging sycophant had been therapeutic-although Batty didn’t think a lifetime of therapy would get the image of Ajda out of his head.

He had taken his jacket off and wrapped his forearm with it. The wounds were throbbing, but it didn’t seem to be bleeding much now.

They stood in an alley adjacent to the tea shop, where Batty had found a door he assumed led to the kitchen. Across the street, a fire truck and several polis cars were parked in front of the auction house, the crowd of attendees still standing out front in their formal wear. He and Callahan had emerged from the tunnels in another alley, three blocks away, but Batty had insisted they double back.

He rattled the doorknob. “Can you pick this lock?”

“Look,” Callahan said. “Do me a favor.”

“What?”

“When I ask you a direct question, can you show me the courtesy of giving me a direct answer?”

He gestured to the door. “What about my question?”

“I’ll make you a deal,” she said. “You answer mine, I’ll answer yours. See how that works? As it is, you’re about a half-dozen behind, and I’d really appreciate it if you’d get straight to the point for once.”

Maybe she hadn’t recovered, after all. She seemed a little touchier than usual.

“All right,” he said, “fair enough. You want to know why we’re here?” She nodded, and he gestured toward the auction house. “Like I told you, that thing you beat the hell out of back there-and I mean that literally, not figuratively-was a waitress at this shop. And when she waited on me this afternoon, I knew there was something off about her.”

“Gee, you think?”

“She was what they call a sycophant,” Batty said. “A human who’s been turned.”