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Two vamps were bad, but there were almost certainly even more around the house. Making Olga’s portal my best bet, assuming it was still there. But just because there were guards on the place didn’t mean that Marlowe hadn’t shut it down. Or that the fire hadn’t destroyed it. Or that the shield we’d just installed at the house wasn’t up on the other side, leaving me a very flat dhampir if I—
Damn.
The light had turned green and I hadn’t noticed. And now one of the shadows had peeled away from the building and was coming this way, resolving into a dark-suited guy with slicked-back blond hair. He wasn’t running—not yet—but he would be in a minute as soon as he ID’d fugitive number one. And with vampire sight, that would only take—
Until about right now.
He turned into a blur, with his buddy right behind him, and I threw the car into reverse, burning rubber flying backward and forcing them to scatter. I’d have liked to turn around, but there wasn’t time since I’d only hit one and that had been a glancing blow that had merely provided incentive. I also couldn’t take time to get out of the car and make for the door, because if they caught me in my current shape, that would be it.
So I just floored it and kept on going—right into Singh’s grocery. And luckily, the fire Scarface and the boys had set had been a good one. The wall disintegrated into a fall of dirty glass and scarred bricks, and a bunch of half-burnt beams fell out of the ceiling, sending a black cloud into the air and obscuring what little view there had been.
I had to aim for the right spot by memory, with zero seconds to get it wrong and—damn. I’d forgotten about the hall. Which was in no better shape than the front of the store, and wasn’t quite wide enough for the SUV. Resulting in my plowing through the walls on both sides like a speedboat on the high seas, sending a wave of fake wood paneling bursting against the back windshield and slowing me down.
But not as much as the hand I couldn’t see that had just grabbed the front bumper.
Suddenly, everything stopped.
Until I threw the SUV into four-wheel drive and skidded back hard enough to wrench off the bumper, to burst into the salon still wearing the remains of the wall, and to sling around and hit my head on the door as I slammed on the brakes, planning to head straight for—
Nothing. Because the hand that had been on the bumper was now on my shoulder. And it wasn’t kidding around.
But neither was I, so I floored it again. And that, plus a vicious elbow to the head of the vamp hanging out the driver’s-side window, broke his hold long enough for the SUV to dive through the portal. And out the other side. And I was moving before it stopped, jumping out the door, lurching for the wall and slamming my hand down on—
Ha, ha—yes! The shield slammed shut, slicing through the SUV like a knife through butter. Its crumpled back end remained in the ruined grocery-slash-beauty-shop, while the rest—
Well, damn, I thought, my euphoria fading as the bisected front section peeled away from the wall and crashed to the floor.
The sound was deafening—metal scraping, glass shattering and the radio still blaring Rammstein’s greatest hits. For a moment, until the engine gave one last gasp and died from the lack of a fuel tank that was now several blocks away. The headlights winked out a second later, plunging the basement into darkness. And the music faded off with one last, strangled cry.
And, finally, all was quiet.
But not for long, I thought grimly.
It was after eleven, which meant I’d been away more than twenty-four hours without a phone call. I’d expected to catch it from Claire tomorrow, but at least by then I would have been clean, dressed and somewhat prepared. Instead of covered in grass and sweat and reeking of cow shit, in a sheet, and without a clue.
I sighed.
And had it echoed by a small, higher note from somewhere nearby.
My heart leapt to my throat, since it had been pretty close anyway, until I identified the sound: one of Stinky’s strange trills. I sighed again, this time in relief, and sagged back against the railing. But only for a second. Claire was probably belting her robe on right now, and while I couldn’t save myself, I could rescue a certain midnight miscreant.
I started up the stairs.
Duergars were mostly nocturnal, although that wasn’t why Stinky was often found prowling around the house in the middle of the night. That had more to do with his conviction that pretty much everything belonged in his fuzzy little belly, including my beer. Which was less of a concern than some of the potions I kept around that he could easily mistake for a new type of beverage. His Duergar blood made him resistant to poisons, but resistant didn’t mean immune, and he was going to learn to stay in bed, damn it.
One of these years.
“Give it up, boyo,” I told him, throwing open the door. “You know what Claire will say if—”
I froze, my hand still on the knob.
“I do not think your friend will say anything,” a polite voice commented.
It was familiar, although I hardly needed it. The light wasn’t on in the living room, but starlight streamed through a gap in the curtains, casting an ironic halo around a certain silver-blond head. Narrowed gray eyes met mine, hard as steel, and a faint smile turned up a corner of a sculpted mouth.
Æsubrand.
The stairway was open behind me, since I hadn’t even reached the top step. I could slam the door closed, leap down the stairs, hit the shield and dive through the portal. And even in my condition, there was a decent chance I might make it.
