Raccoon flew past me to crash into the wall. He slumped down. Out cold.
EJ
Delta Mode unfolded, his body sliding into the hyperaware, hypercreative state. Two-handed, he drew three throwing stars. With the last breath in his lungs, knowing if he inhaled they were all dead, he threw, singing, “Bruciare!”
The silver-plated stars hit. Two bounced off her armoredclothing. One embedded in her throat. Instantly glowed red-hot. Fire blossomed. Her skin and hairwhooshedinto flame.
Unable to scream, she stumbled into her apartment.
EJ followed. Took the next steps. Moving fast. Seeing everything. Raccoon behind him, unconscious. Concussion? His sister not breathing.Less than four minutes to end this. End enemy. Figure out theparalyticworking. Reverse it. Get them breathing.
He seized the moonstone where Raccoon had dropped it. It had settled on its flat side.
EJ pulled a wooden disk, pressed, and dropped it. The amulet released a complex minor chord in his magical awareness. Awindworking to empower hiswyrdworking. The air flow increased, whistling to the vent he had tapped on the way up. The temperature fell as the pressure dropped and the stairway’s curse-tainted air was sucked away. He still hadn’t taken a breath.
He lunged the final three steps. Drawing his favorite flute. Lungs burning.
At the top of the stairs, EJ sucked in a single breath. He didn’t drop, so he took several more. Smoke, burned vampire flesh, and the stench of scorched hair whipped past, pulled from outside the apartment by the powerful pressure. A window popped, cracking.
No one had known Gertrude was a vampire. And fangheads on fire were doubly dangerous.
He stopped, protected and hidden by the wall. He put the flute to his lips—a simple open-hole flute with four holes. Blew a soft, pure note, directing his stored working toward the moonstone.
The sphere began to glow as he overlaid his version of awyrdworking into theilluminationworking it contained. He bent.Rolled it into the apartment and ducked back out. It thumped as momentum propelled it crookedly across the lair floor. EJ tapped his ear-patch onto auto. He felt the moonstone crack. Crack again. It exploded with light. A stone version of a flash-bang, but with rock shrapnel. He waited an agonizing two seconds until the light vanished and the debris landed. Rushed inside.
Triggered something. Dove and dropped. A shotgun went off where his chest had been.
He rolled across the floor. Beneath a table. His ear-patch protected his hearing from the concussion.
He could hear. Whistledhedge.
Pulled three explosive amulets.
Took in his surroundings. Seeing everything. Every detail. All at once. Delta informed:Apartment unchanged. Luggage. Bed unmade. Guns on kitchen counter. Female present.
Armor.
In his low-light ocular, Gertrude was a green glow, tiny fangs out, eyes black as hell. Hair scorched on the right side. Bleeding. Throat bright. Still burning. Her face changed as if melting. A glamour falling away to reveal something else. Someone else.
He knew this face. He’d fought her once, in the Witch War.
Her name then had been Gisselle. Gisselle got away.
Her history and her present blurred together. Vamp hunter turned vamp.
Bounty on her head from the war.
As he took all this in, he was pulling a silver-edged throwing knife.
Her lips formed two words. “Everhart. Die.” Awyrd. But her throat was damaged. The working failed.
She dove for her weapons. Vamp-fast.
He dropped thehedge, flicked the throwing knife at her back, raised thehedge.
She whirled. Fired. Splat rounds hit hishedge. It wavered. The working was like acid, eating through his magics. The notes were cracked bells and howls of grief.Death magic.Illegal.
She pulled a small automatic weapon. A wartime Uzi. Fired. Full burst, his ear-patch dampening. The gun wasn’t meant for prolonged use. It would jam. Eventually.
