little iron bugs and ignited the others. They tumbled, still burning, out of a hole in his belly.
I grabbed Lino’s flabby biceps and hauled him to his feet. “Let’s save your life.” I dragged him from the room.
Summer was still standing by the back door with Ty beside her. Fidel was standing in the doorway with Bud right behind him, almost ready to push his way into the room. Only Fidel was looking at me; he gaped at the bullet holes in my shirt.
“Shit, Ray,” Fidel said. “Are you bulletproof?” I could see the hunger in his eyes.
His expression made me furious. I threw a punch at him, but he retreated toward the front door and vanished. My fist slammed into the doorjamb, and I cursed at the pain. I’d split my knuckles wide open.
Stupid. I moved toward the hall. I couldn’t see Fidel or Bud; they had to be between me and the front door at the end of the hall. There were stairs on the right, and I shoved Lino toward them. We stumbled up.
The knowledge that Fidel or Summer could be inches away from me with a knife made me so shaky that I could barely lift my legs. Lino pounded up the steps, and I did my best to follow him.
“Front room,” I said, but he was already headed there.
I entered after him and slammed the door. At least we’d know when one of the invisibles tried to come in.
Lino ran to the bedside table and yanked open a drawer. He pulled out an old revolver with a carved pearl handle. I grabbed it and twisted it out of his hand. “No.”
“How can you say no?” His voice was high with stress. “These criminals broke into my home! If I can’t shoot the hell out of them, please explain why not!”
The bedroom we were standing in was carefully arranged and covered with a thin layer of dust, like a museum exhibit. I went to the window and looked out. The greenery was heavy, but we were pretty high up. I could see the Dodge Sprinter parked across the street. There was also a sloping roof just outside the window, with a low gutter at the edge.
“Because nothing they’re doing here is worth you losing your life.” I snatched a baseball off the bureau. It felt small in my hand—it had been many years since I played ball, but in my freaked-out adrenaline high, the long throw felt entirely natural. The ball punched a hole in the window, soared out through the tree branches, and struck the side of Annalise’s van.
“That was Mr. Francois’s Mickey Mantle!”
“Well, why don’t you go get it, then?” I opened the window. There was glass on the shingles, but he was wearing shoes. Lino hesitated. Just as I was about to point out the tree he should climb down, the bedroom door burst open.
I tore the curtain rod off the wall, then spun and threw it toward the door. The curtain fell on an invisible form there, and I charged at it, knowing I couldn’t use my ghost knife or Lino’s gun. I drew back my bloody right hand, hoping that the punch I was about to throw wouldn’t hurt too much.
“I have a gun!” It was Bud’s voice. I stopped where I was. The curtains bounced to the floor, and I heard him move away from me. Damn. I stepped toward the sound, but Bud shouted, “Don’t!”
“Show me the gun.”
He obliged by becoming visible. I had no idea why he did what I told him, but he definitely had a gun, which looked so ungainly because of the silencer. He was pale and trembling, so scared I thought he might crap himself. I knew how he felt.
But he didn’t squeeze the trigger. Wally had been completely casual when he told them to murder me, but Bud wasn’t a killer. He was a tough thief and a little mean, but killing someone in cold blood was deeper waters than he liked. I could see that he was trying to work himself up to it.
“Happy now?” he asked. “I’m bringing this loser back downstairs. Him, we want alive.”
“Bud, you have to let me go downstairs to meet my boss. She’s on her way into the building”—in fact, she should have arrived already. Where was she?—“and she’s coming for Wally. I need to tell her to lay off you guys.”
Bud scratched at the side of his neck. The pale skin there looked red. “They have guns.”
I pulled at the holes in the front of my shirt. “So what?”
“You ain’t bulletproof,” Bud said, as if trying to convince himself. “Not with that face.”
“Bud, you have it all wrong. We need to get you—all of you—back to the place where you got this creature.” There was something at the back of my mind, something I was missing, but now wasn’t the time to think it out. “We—”
“Shut up, Ray,” he said through clenched teeth. “You think I’m going to listen to you?
He was working himself up to pull the trigger, and he was very, very close.
Lino stepped up from the side, almost from behind Bud, and slammed a golf club down on his forearm.
The gun didn’t go off. I rushed Bud and slammed my right elbow into his mouth while I groped for the gun. I clamped my left hand onto his right, but it was empty. He’d dropped the gun and I hadn’t even heard it hit the floor.
I spun him around and pushed him against the wall. The fight had gone out of him, and when I grabbed his forearm, he hissed sharply in pain. Lino must have broken a bone.
“Sorry, Bud,” I said, although I was suddenly unsure how much that apology was supposed to cover. I looked down to pick up the gun, but it was missing.
So was Lino. Had he gone out the window? Somehow I didn’t think he was spry enough to get out and down so quickly. The bedroom door was standing open.
