will cure the Earth. Paintball and girls. What else is there?"
Patrick understood her frustration. Coming from someone like that, he wouldn't believe it either. But Peter the Pompous Prick still had to be dealt with. "Yes?" he said into the phone.
"Report!" snapped L.A.'s head druid.
"You first," Patrick snapped back. "What the hell's going on out there?"
"World War Three," Peter said. "Can't you hear?"
"That's not specific enough—"
"No, goddamnit. You're the Draig-Uisge. What are you doing to fix this disaster?"
"Everything I can. Now, what's happening out there?"
"Demons are everywhere. Killing people. Blowing things up. We were caught with our pants down, and—"
"That much I already know. Details, Peter."
"Don't use my name!" the head druid squeaked. "This isn't a secure line."
Patrick would have said something scathing just then, but he truly didn't want to spare the breath. "Look, Be-ach." He used Peter's druidic name, hoping to focus the man. "I'm trying to do my job here. Do yours, all right? Give me the details." He couldn't help but fix on the appropriateness of Peter's druidic name. Be-ach was a bee, for God's sake. A fat little insect. Wasn't that Peter to a T?
"We haven't got any details, damn it!" the older man said. "That's what I'm trying to tell you—"
The line went dead. After trying to reestablish the connection, Patrick switched the phone to vibrate. The last thing he wanted was another
Jaws
interlude at a lousy time.
When Xiao Fei raised her eyebrows in question, he simply shrugged. "I was cut off. Reports are confused and disorganized," he explained.
"I'm shocked," she replied.
"Look, he'll get it together," he countered, stunned that he was defending Peter. "That's what academics do."
"But never in a useful time frame," she retorted.
Patrick grimaced. "Maybe he'll surprise us."
Xiao Fei didn't answer; she'd already moved on to the stairwell door. She and Patrick were on the lobby level, but not in the main area; the door opened up on a side alcove. Sliding out into the tiny area, they peered around and saw exactly the chaos Patrick expected. People milled about the lobby in various states of dress and a variety of levels of hysteria. The lobby television was on loud, broadcasting news reports of explosions, screaming people, and general devastation, all to dramatic theme music. In big letters across the bottom of the screen he read:
Los Angeles Under Attack
. Then it switched to hospital shots and a caption that read:
Crimson City Bleeds Again
.
Patrick sighed. Xiao Fei just shook her head and stared at a shot of confused, milling people. She didn't have to say a word for him to know what she was thinking; Didn't Americans know anything about war? Rushing aimlessly about the streets did nothing but add to the confusion. Which, of course, would be exactly what the enemy wanted.
Fortunately, she didn't say a word. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and whispered, "At least we'll blend in. What're two more frightened people in a mass of hysteria?"
She answered in Cambodian. When he raised an eyebrow in question, she gave a rough translation: "More cannon fodder." Then she laughed.
He stared at her a moment, then abruptly grinned. Was this battlefield humor? If so, he liked it. She abruptly grabbed his hand and they were moving again, out through the side doors and into the chaos of Crimson City.
Downtown was aflame. The streets had a ghoulish red glow from the fire, and people were everywhere—many with camcorders.
Xiao Fei cut sideways, weaving easily between people and buildings. Patrick struggled to keep up with his larger, less agile body. Fortunately, he knew where she was heading—back toward Chinatown, which fortunately wasn't too far. In fact, that had been the whole point in booking the room here.
The chaos grew as they left downtown. The more residential the area, the more people and cars choked the streets. But Xiao Fei always found a way through, and they were
Patrick understood her frustration. Coming from someone like that, he wouldn't believe it either. But Peter the Pompous Prick still had to be dealt with. "Yes?" he said into the phone.
"Report!" snapped L.A.'s head druid.
"You first," Patrick snapped back. "What the hell's going on out there?"
"World War Three," Peter said. "Can't you hear?"
"That's not specific enough—"
"No, goddamnit. You're the Draig-Uisge. What are you doing to fix this disaster?"
"Everything I can. Now, what's happening out there?"
"Demons are everywhere. Killing people. Blowing things up. We were caught with our pants down, and—"
"That much I already know. Details, Peter."
"Don't use my name!" the head druid squeaked. "This isn't a secure line."
Patrick would have said something scathing just then, but he truly didn't want to spare the breath. "Look, Be-ach." He used Peter's druidic name, hoping to focus the man. "I'm trying to do my job here. Do yours, all right? Give me the details." He couldn't help but fix on the appropriateness of Peter's druidic name. Be-ach was a bee, for God's sake. A fat little insect. Wasn't that Peter to a T?
"We haven't got any details, damn it!" the older man said. "That's what I'm trying to tell you—"
The line went dead. After trying to reestablish the connection, Patrick switched the phone to vibrate. The last thing he wanted was another
Jaws
interlude at a lousy time.
When Xiao Fei raised her eyebrows in question, he simply shrugged. "I was cut off. Reports are confused and disorganized," he explained.
"I'm shocked," she replied.
"Look, he'll get it together," he countered, stunned that he was defending Peter. "That's what academics do."
"But never in a useful time frame," she retorted.
Patrick grimaced. "Maybe he'll surprise us."
Xiao Fei didn't answer; she'd already moved on to the stairwell door. She and Patrick were on the lobby level, but not in the main area; the door opened up on a side alcove. Sliding out into the tiny area, they peered around and saw exactly the chaos Patrick expected. People milled about the lobby in various states of dress and a variety of levels of hysteria. The lobby television was on loud, broadcasting news reports of explosions, screaming people, and general devastation, all to dramatic theme music. In big letters across the bottom of the screen he read:
Los Angeles Under Attack
. Then it switched to hospital shots and a caption that read:
Crimson City Bleeds Again
.
Patrick sighed. Xiao Fei just shook her head and stared at a shot of confused, milling people. She didn't have to say a word for him to know what she was thinking; Didn't Americans know anything about war? Rushing aimlessly about the streets did nothing but add to the confusion. Which, of course, would be exactly what the enemy wanted.
Fortunately, she didn't say a word. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and whispered, "At least we'll blend in. What're two more frightened people in a mass of hysteria?"
She answered in Cambodian. When he raised an eyebrow in question, she gave a rough translation: "More cannon fodder." Then she laughed.
He stared at her a moment, then abruptly grinned. Was this battlefield humor? If so, he liked it. She abruptly grabbed his hand and they were moving again, out through the side doors and into the chaos of Crimson City.
Downtown was aflame. The streets had a ghoulish red glow from the fire, and people were everywhere—many with camcorders.
Xiao Fei cut sideways, weaving easily between people and buildings. Patrick struggled to keep up with his larger, less agile body. Fortunately, he knew where she was heading—back toward Chinatown, which fortunately wasn't too far. In fact, that had been the whole point in booking the room here.
The chaos grew as they left downtown. The more residential the area, the more people and cars choked the streets. But Xiao Fei always found a way through, and they were
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