Slickwalker shrugs like a long-boned cat. ‘I wish I knew. We’d be as delighted as you to see young Quickfish returned.’
Slickwalker runs a hand through the sleeping woman’s hair. ‘You could at least give her a new name you know? I admit it’s closing the stable door after the horse, but these things have power.’ He glances towards Declan, runs his gaze over the man’s flat, narrow eyes. ‘It’d give her something, at least.’
Fallon’s fist hits from the right, and Slickwalker feels his cheekbone shatter even as he falls to the floor. The boot that comes after would catch him, but he’s up and moving, flowing into the shadows of the room as easy as breathing.
He watches Declan spin and search, running a hand over the bones of his face even as he feels them start to wriggle and knit together. ‘God, old man. Youarefast. And brutal. No one’s hit me in years.’
Scanning the shadows, Declan snarls, ‘Maybe if they’d started a damn sight earlier, we wouldn’t be in this situation.’
Slickwalker smiles and reforms as easy as an exhalation. ‘Maybe, maybe. But we are where we are. And I amnothere to fight.’ He raises a hand in warning, fingers splayed, dropping them one by one. ‘If I was, you’d be gone. Your wife, your son, gone. Your city, gone. No one wants that.’
Declan laughs. ‘Kisser’s already on the way. You think I don’t know that? I’ve been fighting wars like this longer than you’ve been alive.’
For a second, Slickwalker seems genuinely irritated. He spins, arms wide. ‘You think we want this? Do you? Do you think we enjoy blood? Enjoy killing? Do you know what theVolantesounded like when it went down?’
He sinks a weary head into his hands. ‘The world changed, Fallon, and you forgot to move with it. Don’t hate us for that. We’re the same people we were before.’
Declan takes a step towards Slickwalker, a cold smile on his face. ‘If only I’d known. I would have killed you sooner.’
He spreads his arms mockingly, mirroring Slickwalker’s loose-limbed style.
‘Still, seeing as that’s apparently not on the cards, how do I get you out of my fucking house?’
Slickwalker raises his head and considers him levelly. For a moment, Declan feels like nothing more than the shadow of a mouse before a very big, very old cat.
‘Hand them over,’ Slickwalker says, his voice numb and empty. ‘Hand them over. If they’re not here already, they’ll be coming to you soon, and if you let them in, all the gods they could ever build will not be enough to save this city.’
Slickwalker stretches out shadowed arms pleadingly.
‘Two people. Two people against a whole city. Against yourfamily.’
Declan studies the face in front of him. The first beginnings of crow’s feet, the shadows of sleepless nights. More familiar than he’d like to admit. He glances down at the bed and feels the name of his wife slip off his tongue, oily and flat.
It takes a while for him to get the words out. ‘Family is important.’
He stretches a hand tentatively out to Slickwalker, who clasps it firmly. The relief on the younger man’s face is palpable.
‘Family is so important,’ Declan repeats, and he watches Slickwalker nod slowly in response.
‘The only problem,’ he continues, ‘is that you godkilling fucks have no idea what the word even means.’
He watches Slickwalker’s eyes widen even as he pulls tight on his clasped hand, bringing the man’s startled face down and in to meet his rising left palm.
Slickwalker’s face breaks with a comforting, wet sound, only matched by his hiss of pain as Declan flattens out his right hand and chops into his throat. The tall man staggers back gasping, and Declan sees the shadows reach out for him, pulling him to safety. A heartbeat quicker, his shoulder hits Slickwalker square in the chest and throws them both against the wall. Ribs break like commemorative gunshots.
Fallon throws in a headbutt out of sheer pleasure, his teeth wide and bloody with delight. Wrapping a thick hand around Slickwalker’s struggling neck, he whispers fiercely into his ear, flecking him with spit and rage.
‘You were right, Slick, I am fast. Always have been. And maybe, maybe the only good thing about having your life ripped out from under you is that it gives you plenty of time to practice getting faster.’
Slickwalker’s eyes widen, and laughter lurches up out of his broken throat, bubbling and wet. Fallon’s fingers tighten as the laughter slides down and down, into a damp, shuddering rhythm that flows through Slickwalker’s twitching body. He squeezes harder, his thumbs closing around the last scraps of air, close enough that he can watch Slickwalker’s wide pupils suddenly split and sunder, sending tendrils of black spidering through the whites of his eyes.
Then there’s nothing beneath his fingers except a few drifting wisps of darkness.
When Slickwalker speaks, his voice slides from every shadow, doubled and repeated, looped and layered, andangry. ‘Not fast enough, Declan. Never fast enough.’
Declan thinks about turning even as he feels the barrel of the gun kiss his neck. His skin smoulders.
Slickwalker’s voice is a low curl of heat in the still room. ‘I wasn’t lying, you know. I don’t know where your son is …’ The pause stretches, lengthens, fills the room with indrawn breath. ‘… but I can find out. Think about it, Declan. Two of them. Just the two of them. Against a family. Against a city.’ His voice lowers. ‘Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Please.’
