I nocked an arrow and sighted down the shaft.
Time to make them remember why shadows had teeth.
Drew.
Released.
The arrow punched through stained glass that shattered into rainbow shards, and buried itself in a man's hand just as he reached for his pistol. He screamed. The gun clattered to marble.
I was already moving. Already dropping through the window in a shower of glass and rain, cloak flaring. I hit the ground in a roll, came up with another arrow nocked.
Three shots. Three men down with shafts through shoulders and thighs.
But tonight was different.
Tonight I was angry.
“Evening, gentlemen,” I called out, voice echoing through the ruined cathedral. “Hope I'm not interrupting.”
Someone fired. The bullet sang past my ear, close enough to feel the displacement. I grinned behind the hood.
“That's rude.”
I dropped low as more gunfire erupted, using a stone pillar for cover. Counted the shooters by muzzle flash. Five. No, six. All concentrated on where I'd been, not where I was going.
Amateurs.
I vaulted over a pew, fired mid-air. The arrow caught a shooter in the throat. He went down gurgling, weapon clattering away.
A man charged from my left. Big bastard, easily six-four, built like he ate iron for breakfast. He had a machete, rust-stained and wicked-looking.
“You picked the wrong night,” he snarled.
I sidestepped his first swing, feeling the blade whisper past my ribs. “Did I? Because from where I'm standing, you're the ones trafficking weapons in a church.” I ducked under his backswing. “Seems pretty wrong to me.”
He roared and came at me again. This time I didn't dodge. I stepped inside his guard, drove my elbow into his throat, felt cartilage crack. He staggered back, choking, and I pulled my knife, opened his carotid artery in one smooth motion.
Blood sprayed across marble like communion wine.
“One,” I counted.
Two more came at me together. Coordinated. Trained. One high, one low.
I dropped my bow, caught the high man's knife hand, twisted until bones snapped. Used his body as a shield when the low man fired. Felt the impact punch through the corpse I was holding.
“Thanks for the assist,” I said, shoving the body at the shooter. He stumbled. I closed the distance, drove my knife up under his ribs. Angled it toward his heart. Felt it punch through. “Three.”
The others were regrouping. Spreading out. Getting smarter.
Good. I liked a challenge.
I grabbed my bow, nocked an arrow, and sprinted toward the altar. Boots splashing through puddles of rainwater and blood. Someone fired. The bullet sparked off stone inches from my head.
I spun, fired blind. Heard a scream. Didn't stop to confirm the kill.
A man stepped from behind a pillar, shotgun raised. Too close for arrows. I dropped and rolled as he fired, buckshot tearing through my cloak. Came up inside his guard and drove my fist into his solar plexus. He doubled over. I grabbed his head and slammed my knee into his face. Once. Twice. Felt his nose turn to pulp.
He dropped, and I took his shotgun. Racked it. Fired into the group trying to flank me from the right.
