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He started sobbing then, while his hands continued what they’d been doing, which was to uselessly stroke the boss’s arm. I guessed it made him feel better. I staggered off down the stairs.
A vampire lunged for me and I threw something at him. Wasn’t sure what, ‘cause my head felt weird and everything was swimmy, to the point that I was faintly surprised to have found a weapon in my hand. But that’d do it, I thought, as a tiny golden tiger went glimmering along its arc, vivid against the gloom. And turned into an eight-hundred-pound fluffball with fangs and claws before it hit down.
It jumped one of Hassani’s masters, making the man’s eyes go big.
“Did the same thing to me, when I first met him,” I slurred, as the two rolled back down the stairs in a ball of orange fury. “He grows on you.”
The vamp didn’t answer, unless you counted screaming.
So, what was I—oh yeah. Louis-Cesare. I had this weird idea that he was here, although I didn’t see—
And then I did. Leaping out from behind one of the huge pillars, a rapier in one hand and a flaming torch in another: my hubby. My old man. My ball and chain.
I stopped two thirds of the way down the stairs to leer at him affectionately. He didn’t notice, maybe because he was facing off with what had to be twenty guys. Or maybe ten; my eyes kept trying to cross. A lot of guys.
Make that a lot of masters, I thought, as four or five rushed him, all at once.
Not fair, I thought, and threw some more stuff.
There was a glittering rain of gold, and then there was a variety of things that should not have been sitting in an ancient throne room. Some of it, I admit, was not technically relevant. Like the easy chair and dorm style fridge—so nice for stake outs—that popped into being in the middle of the air and fell onto a vamp’s head. Or the case of disguises, which deposited a blonde wig on one vamp, and a fake beard and glasses on another. Or the bright red motorcycle that suddenly appeared and skidded into a pillar.
Or the inflatable life raft, which hit the floor as a tiny charm and bounced a couple of times, before sprawling out full sized in the midst of a vampire charge.
It didn’t do much damage; it was a raft. But the fact that it was there at all seemed to confuse them. It did not confuse Louis-Cesare, who stared around wildly until he saw me. And, for some reason, looked stunned, appalled, and furious by turns.
Hope the latter wasn’t directed at me, I thought, and waved.
“Hey!” I yelled.
“Dory! Go back where you were!”
“No. You’re in trouble. M’gonna help you.” I smiled at him sloppily.
Then I remembered that I was mad at him about . . . something. I pushed it away. Kill vamps now, figure out why I was mad later.
Having formed a plan, I weaved my way forward.
Louis-Cesare tried getting in between me and a group of vamps that had just peeled off the main bunch and headed my way, but they were sneaky. They jumped onto the pillars, high above his head, clinging to the surface by way of the tiny ridges left by the carvings. That was impressive enough, but then they started leaping on all fours from column to column, as easily as I’d walk down a street. They looked like . . . like . . . like those climbing things, I thought, my brain not cooperating.
Little brown fuzzy creatures with long tails. An ‘M’ word. Moose? Mice? Manatees?
No, that wasn’t right.
“Motherfucking lemurs!” I yelled triumphantly, causing some of the vamps to stop and stare.
But others kept coming, and they didn’t look happy. Of course,
they looked a lot less so a moment later, when they were tackled by the remaining elements of my arsenal. And these were relevant.
A pair of flying bolos wrapped around a couple of vamps’ necks, dragging them off the columns and into the air, feet kicking and eyes bulging. Three razor-edged disks knocked down half a dozen more and chased them across the room, slinging about like deadly Frisbees whenever they tried to double back. Meanwhile, Kitty—aka the tiger, aka the charm I’d borrowed from a friendly triad and failed to return—was going ham on the rest.
Well, most of the rest.
There was a pile of bodies on the floor a little way from Louis-Cesare that didn’t look dead. They were still moving, writhing and groaning and being dragged off by other vamps who were making a hash of it, because they were trying to keep on eye on him at the same time. I didn’t know why; he seemed pretty busy. He’d put his back to a pillar, had a vamp under one arm and his rapier in the other, which he was holding steady on a second vamp on the floor. A semi-circle of snarling masters surrounded them, but at a distance, as if they were afraid for the life of their friend if they came too close.
Which didn’t make sense. Judging by the furious, peppery smell coming off of floor vamp, he was a high-ranking master. One of those could heal a blow from a metal weapon in seconds, even to the heart.
Or maybe not, I thought, noticing something weird about the rapier.
