I scanned the hotel. There was another being walking on the floor above, but I didn't know whether it was Taltos or human.
"All right, what do you want from me?" Rodrigo said. "You want money, what? You killed all my men, you did that? For what reason? You want this island, it doesn't belong to me, take it. I was leaving tonight anyway. I don't care what you do. Miravelle, get away from him!"
He was suddenly distracted by a roar and a particular sound which I knew and couldn't place until he named it:
"The copter! They're taking off without me!" He ran to the open balcony. "Stop them, damn them. " He want into a Spanish aria of denunciations and execrations.
I sent the scan. Two human beings. Male. What good was it to us or the future of this place to have them escape? I held tight to the iron railing of the balcony and I sent the Fire.
I didn't know if the power was viable over such a distance, but no one would know if I failed. My body was rigid with the attempt, the knot inside me burning with all the energy I could feed it, and suddenly the Fire hit the copter with a force that knocked it to one side. I gave every particle of consciousness in me to the heat. The Fire. The copter went up in flames. Then it exploded.
It was plenty far away from us, but everyone in the room cringed from the blast. It lit up the island.
Rodrigo was speechless.
I hung on to the rail, dizzy, sweating all over, and then I backed away, glaring at the spectacle of the huge machine coming down lopsided to the runway. It was slowly incinerated. I was sickened again, to think that I could do that, to think that I had done it. And the feeling of emptiness, of meaninglessness took hold of me. I believed in nothing. I was good for nothing. I ought to die. All that seemed fixed in my mind. I couldn't move or speak.
Quinn took over; I could hear his crisp voice right beside me.
"Well, old man," he said to Rodrigo, "it's no longer leaving without you. Any more favors you want from us? And now tell me: What did you do with the pair in the penthouse suite, the ones that Miravelle and Oberon call Mother and Father?"
Rodrigo turned slowly and looked at me, eyes narrow and vicious, and his mouth twisted with anger. He picked up his little cell phone again, and let loose a barrage of Spani
sh into it with only one recognizable word: Lorkyn.
Steps overhead.
"Hmmm. So she's alive too," said Oberon, from behind him.
A light singing voice came from Miravelle:
"Oh, please, please, if you're here to save us, let us go up to Mother and Father's room. Let us see them.
Rodrigo promised they are there, they are on ice, let us go! They are safe and sound on ice. Please, Oberon, please! Before Lorkyn comes. "
"You imbecile," said Rodrigo, his eyes fixed on me, then darting to Mona and Quinn, trying vainly to comprehend what we were, how to play this. He had no gun, but there was a knife in his boot, and he was desperate for the appearance of Lorkyn.
And Lorkyn satisfied everyone on that score immediately.
We could hear her striding down the steps from the floor above. We could hear her tread on the balcony, and then she appeared in the open doors to the suite.
I heard Oberon's deep despairing sigh before I made sense of what I saw, and Mona let out a bitter laugh.
The creature was the predictable six and a half feet tall, with the predictable baby flesh face and naked arms and legs, but her face was round, not oval, and she had almond-shaped green eyes, extraordinarily pretty, with lashes so thick you'd think they were fake but they weren't, and a kitten nose, and a sweet mouth, very pink, and a small firm chin. She had Mona's red hair, brushed back from her shining forehead and apparently clipped on the top of her head, because it appeared to be spilling down behind her.
She wore a leather sleeveless shirt, low-slung belt, miniskirt and high-heel boots, laced up the back.
The shocker? She was armed, not just with a gun in a holster over her shoulder, but with an AK-47 slung over her shoulder as well.
She sized up the situation in an instant. But for insurance Rodrigo let loose with another aria of Spanish in which he told her to kill us all, including Oberon, but to spare Miravelle.
"You move for that gun, precious," I said, "and I'll burn you to a cinder where you stand. "
Oberon was transformed with rage.
"You filthy trash!" Oberon declared. "You murderous little traitor to the Secret People!" He began to shake all over, the tears spilling from his eyes. "You're in with them and you let me rot in that room below! You treacherous beast!" He drew out his gun and aimed it right at her.
Mona snatched it out of his hand.