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.”
She smiles and blows the lock off with her pistol. Kicks the door open, throws herself forward, and rolls upright, her gun out. It’s nice when those reflexes kick back in. Not that they’re going to do us much good. The door to the hall is open. I close it and kick a rug against the crack at the bottom so the smoke from the workroom doesn’t set off the hall fire alarm.
Rose is long gone. My guess is he won’t be coming back. Keeping wild animals and bloody cyborgs in a room charred like a bad night in Dresden might violate the terms of his lease.
Candy is back to human again.
“You all right?” she says.
“Fine. You?”
“Coolio.”
“Brigitte. How are you doing?”
“Lovely,” she says. “I haven’t had this much fun in months.”
Her necklace is broken, dripping pearls onto the floor. Her face and arms are scratched and bleeding, covered in soot. But she smiles like it’s New Year’s Eve.
“Thank you for bringing me along, Jimmy.”
“Thank you for saving my ass back there.”
“That was fun,” says Candy. “Do we get to trash this place too?”
“No. The workshop won’t do us any good, so look around here for anything like customer records or names or phone numbers. Any papers that look important.”
After half an hour no one comes up with a single useful thing. Brigitte steals a mechanical parakeet in the bedroom and names it Szamanka. Candy thumbs through a big leather-bound book.
“I think this is the book Atticus was talking about,” she says. “It has all kinds of drawings of the 8 Ball.”
She hands it to me.
I was expecting a moldy, crumbling relic. But the book doesn’t look more than a few years old. I put it under my arm and say, “Let’s get out of here. I’ll take
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.”
She smiles and blows the lock off with her pistol. Kicks the door open, throws herself forward, and rolls upright, her gun out. It’s nice when those reflexes kick back in. Not that they’re going to do us much good. The door to the hall is open. I close it and kick a rug against the crack at the bottom so the smoke from the workroom doesn’t set off the hall fire alarm.
Rose is long gone. My guess is he won’t be coming back. Keeping wild animals and bloody cyborgs in a room charred like a bad night in Dresden might violate the terms of his lease.
Candy is back to human again.
“You all right?” she says.
“Fine. You?”
“Coolio.”
“Brigitte. How are you doing?”
“Lovely,” she says. “I haven’t had this much fun in months.”
Her necklace is broken, dripping pearls onto the floor. Her face and arms are scratched and bleeding, covered in soot. But she smiles like it’s New Year’s Eve.
“Thank you for bringing me along, Jimmy.”
“Thank you for saving my ass back there.”
“That was fun,” says Candy. “Do we get to trash this place too?”
“No. The workshop won’t do us any good, so look around here for anything like customer records or names or phone numbers. Any papers that look important.”
After half an hour no one comes up with a single useful thing. Brigitte steals a mechanical parakeet in the bedroom and names it Szamanka. Candy thumbs through a big leather-bound book.
“I think this is the book Atticus was talking about,” she says. “It has all kinds of drawings of the 8 Ball.”
She hands it to me.
I was expecting a moldy, crumbling relic. But the book doesn’t look more than a few years old. I put it under my arm and say, “Let’s get out of here. I’ll take
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