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Rose can’t take it anymore. There’s too many of us. We’re too loud. I might kill him with my creepy hand and Candy and Brigitte might fuck up his life’s work. He turns away. I think for a second that he might be crying. But he’s not. When he turns back he’s fished a small box, like a cable remote, from his pocket. He punches in a code with his thumb. A second later Candy slams into one of the worktables as someone blurs by her, heading for me. I step aside at the last second and let Kid Flash fly by. When he turns, color me surprised.
It’s Trevor Moseley. Upright, clean, and completely uncrushed by a number 2 bus.
Moseley comes at me like a flat-footed tornado. All fury and power but not really knowing what to do with it. I slip his first couple of punches, then give him a quick pop in the kidneys. The asshole doesn’t even react. He was doped when we danced our first waltz and I guess he still is.
I go down low, giving him a good target. Moseley takes the bait, and when he throws a kick at my head, I grab his leg and plant a boot into his balls.
I don’t know what Moseley is on, but I want some of it. I’ve still got hold of his leg when he springs off the other and slams me on the side of the head with his foot. The world spins and I flop down flat on my ass. Moseley grabs something bright and sharp from a worktable and comes at me. I pull the na’at from under my coat, swing it like a whip so it wraps around his arm. Flick the grip so the na’at goes rigid, then twist it to break his arm. It works. A little too well. His arm snaps clean off, spewing blood, hydraulic fluid, gears, and cams all over the floor.
I retract the na’at and whip it again, this time at his head. Half of his face comes off, revealing polished wood and carved bone underneath. The fucker is one of Rose’s automatons.
There’s a soft explosion behind me, like a giant snake coughing. I turn and there’s another Moseley on the floor with a big hole in his chest. He’s oozing goo and machine parts. Across the room Brigitte has her gun out and in ready position. I nod a quick thanks for covering my back.
The other Moseley grabs me from behind. I spin and plant an elbow full force on the side of his head. And the head comes off, rolling like the world’s most surprised bowling ball, coming to a rest at Rose’s feet. At least I know why Moseley wasn’t afraid to step in front of the bus. With all the spare Moseleys around to take his place, why not?
“You’re a talented prick,” I say to Rose. “Why hire help when you can build your own? Is the real Moseley still around or did you kill him after you copied him?”
A smile creeps across Rose’s face like a tarantula.
“Oh, he’s alive, but you’re so dumb I doubt you’ll live long enough to meet him.”
“Did you tell him to shoot me at Donut Universe?”
“I don’t ask clients what they do with my creations after I deliver them.”
“I forget. What was the client’s name?” says Candy.
“I forget too,” says Rose, thumbing another code into the remote. “Of course, I have confidentiality agreements with all my clients, but now that you know this secret part of my work, none of you can leave.”
He presses a button on the remote. Closes and locks the apartment door.
Machines kick into life around us. Saws. Drills. Lathes. Growls, hisses, and birdcalls float on top of the machine rumble. Rose has activated all of the equipment and every one of his mechanical familiars.
Candy is the first of us to attack. She goes full Jade—nails curved into claws, a mouthful of white shark teeth, and eyes like red slits in black ice—and leaps on top of a jaguar. Digs her teeth into the nape of its neck. Rakes her claws down its side. It makes a grinding, ripping sound.
Brigitte blows apart a cobra as it leaps for her and an eagle as it dives, talons out and aimed at her eyes.
Something slams me down on the first Moseley’s busted carcass. Then it roars in my face like a drunken 747.
A fucking grizzly bear. It rears back, but before it can drop down and crush me, I roll out of the way, pulling the Colt .45 from under my coat.
On its hind legs, the bear is ten feet tall and half a ton. I wait until it comes down for me. When it opens its big wet mouth, I aim inside and put two slugs through its upper palate. The top of its head pops off like a toaster full of clock parts and it falls.
I look around for Candy and Brigitte, but a flock of birds—crows, starlings, and buzzards—flies around the room at jet speed, screeching and pecking at everything, including us. The air is a gray blur. I’m blind and deaf in the noise and I can’t see what might be creeping up on me.
I yell, “Hit the deck,” as loud as I can and bark some Hellion hoodoo.
The ceiling sizzles with flames. The fire licks down the wall like liquid. I get down on my knees and spin the na’at in circles over my head. It won’t stop the fire, but it gives me something to concentrate on as I try to control the flames so they burn the familiars but don’t get low enough to cook us.
It gets hard to breathe. The flames are burning off all the oxygen in the room. I bark more hoodoo and the fire dwindles to glowing ghost wisps.
“It’s okay,” I say.
Candy and Brigitte get up from the floor. I was expecting the hotel sprinklers to go off until I see that they’re melted and fused to the ceiling.
Except for us, the room is a charred pile of splinters and crispy critters. I look at Brigitte and nod at the apartment door.
“You wanted to kick a door in.”
