Z walked over to one of the windows. Pushing the heavy velvet drape aside, he stared out across the terrace and the pool. The strain in his ruined face was obvious, his jaw clenched, his brows down low over his eyes. Strange... before it had always been Z who was on the edge of oblivion. Now Phury was standing on that thin, slippery lip, the worrier having become the cause for concern.
"I'll be okay," he lied, leaning to the side for his bag of red smoke and his rolling papers. He spun a thick one up fast, lit it, and the false calm came right away, like his body had been trained well. "Just had an off night."
Z laughed, though it was a curse more than anything jolly. "They were right."
"Who?"
"Payback is a bitch." Zsadist took a deep breath. "You get yourself killed out there and I'm - "
"I won't." He inhaled again, not willing to take the vow any further than that. "Now please tell me about Bella."
"She's going on bed rest."
"Oh, God."
"No, it's good." Z rubbed his skull trim. "I mean, she hasn't lost the young yet, and if she keeps quiet she might not."
"She in your room?"
"Yeah, I'm going to go get her something to eat. She's allowed to be up for an hour a day, but I don't want to give her excuses to be on her feet."
"I'm glad she - "
"Fuck, my brother. Is this what it was like for you?"
Phury frowned and tapped the blunt over his ashtray. "I'm sorry?"
"I'm f**ked in the head all the time. It's like whatever I'm doing moment to moment is only half-real because of all the crap I'm worried about."
"Bella's - "
"It's not just about her." Z's eyes, now back in yellow because he wasn't as pissed off, drifted across the room. "It's you."
Phury made elaborate work of bringing the blunt to his mouth and inhaling. As he let the smoke out, he searched his mind for words to comfort his twin.
He didn't come up with much.
"Wrath wants us to meet at nightfall," Z said, looking back out the window, as if he knew damn well there would be no meaningful reassurance. "All of us."
"Okay."
After Z left, Phury opened the firearms book and took out the drawing he'd done of Bella. He ran his thumb back and forth over his depiction of her cheek, staring at her with his one working eye. The quiet pressed in on him, constricting his chest.
All things considered, it was possible he'd already fallen off the ledge, possible that he was already sliding down the mountain of his destruction, bumping against boulders and trees, bouncing and breaking limbs, a mortal blow awaiting him.
He stabbed out the blunt. Falling into ruin was a bit like falling in love: Both descents stripped you bare and left you as you were at your core.
And in his limited experience, both endings were equally painful.
As John stared at the lesser who had appeared out of nowhere, he couldn't move. He'd never been in a car accident before, but he had a feeling that this was what they were like. You were going along and then suddenly everything you were thinking about before the intersection was put on hold, replaced by a collision that became your one and only priority.
Damn, they really did smell like baby powder.
And luckily this one was not pale haired, so he was a new recruit. Which might be the only reason he and his friends got out of this alive.
Qhuinn and Blay got in front of John, blocking the way. But then a second lesser came out of the shadows, a chess piece moved into position by an unseen hand. He was also dark haired.
God, they were big.
The first one looked at John. "Better run along, son. This is no place for you."
Holy shit, they didn't know he was a pretrans. They thought he was just a human.
"Yeah," Qhuinn said, shoving John's shoulder. "You got your dime bag. Now get out of here, punk."
Except he couldn't leave his -
"I said, get the f**k out of here." Qhuinn gave him a hard push, and John stumbled into a stack of tarpaper tolls big as couches.
Shit, if he ran, he was a coward. But if he stayed he was going to be worse than no help. Hating himself, he took off at a dead run, heading straight for ZeroSum. Like an idiot, he'd left his backpack at Blay's, so he couldn't call home. And it wasn't like he could waste time looking for one of the Brothers on the off chance they might be hunting nearby. There was only one person he could think of who would help them.
At the club's entrance he went right up to the bouncer at the head of the wait line.
Xhex. I need to see Xhex. Get me -
"What the hell are you doing, kid?" the bouncer said.
John mouthed the word Xhex over and over again while signing.
"Okay, you are pissing me off." The bouncer loomed over John. "Get the hell out of here or I'm calling your mommy and daddy."
Snickers from the wait line made John more frantic. Please! I need to see Xhex -
John heard a distant sound that was either a car peeling out or a scream, and as he wheeled around toward it, the dull weight of Blay's Glock bumped into his thigh.
No phone to text from. No way to communicate.
But he had a six-pack of lead in his back pocket.
John ran back to the lot, dodging around parallel-parked cars, breathing hard, legs flying as fast as they could. His head was hammering at him, the exertion making the pain so bad he went nauseous. He rounded the corner, skidding on loose gravel.
Fuck! Blay was on the ground with a lesser sitting on his chest, and the two were fighting for control of what looked like a switchblade. Qhuinn was holding his own against the other slayer, but the pair were too evenly matched for John's taste. Sooner or later one of them was -
Qhuinn took a right hook to the face and spun out, his head twirling on his spine like a top, carrying his body into a pirouette.
In that moment something came into John, came in through the back way, entered sure as if a ghost had stepped into his skin. Old knowledge, the kind that came with experience he hadn't yet had enough years to gain, carried his hand deep into his back pocket. He palmed the Glock, popped it free, and double-handed it.
One blink had him bringing the weapon level. A second had the muzzle trained on the lesser fighting with Blay over the blade. A third had John squeezing the trigger... and blowing a barn door in that lesser's head. A fourth had him swinging his stance around to the slayer standing over Qhuinn and rearranging the brass knuckles on his fist.
Pop!
John dropped that lesser with one shot to the temple, black blood spraying out in a fine cloud. The thing crumpled at the knees and fell face-first onto Qhuinn... who was too dazed to do anything other than push the body off him.
John glanced at Blay. The guy was staring up in shock. "Jesus Christ... John."
The lesser by Qhuinn let out a gurgling breath, like a coffeepot that had just finished brewing.
Metal, John thought. He needed something metal. The knife that Blay had been fighting over was nowhere in sight. Where could he find -
A torn-open box of roofing spikes was by the bucket loader.
John went over, picked one out of the bunch, and approached the lesser by Qhuinn. Lifting his hands high, John threw all of his weight and his anger into the slice downward, and in a flash reality shifted like sand: He was holding a dagger, not a length of steel... and he was big, bigger than Blay and Qhuinn... and he had done this many, many times.
The spike went into the lesser's chest, and the flare of light was brighter than John had expected, shooting into his eyes and running throughout his body in a burning wave. But his job was not done. He stepped over Qhuinn, moving across the asphalt without feeling the ground beneath his feet.
Blay watched, motionless, speechless, as John lifted the spike again. This time, as he brought it down, John opened his mouth and yelled without making a sound, a war cry no less powerful for the fact that it was not heard.
In the aftermath of the light burst he became dimly aware of sirens. No doubt some human had called the police when they heard the gunshots.
John let his arm ease to his side, the spike falling from his hand and clattering across the pavement.
I am not a coward. I am a warrior.
The seizure came on him fast and hard, taking him to the ground, pinning him with invisible arms, making him bounce around in his own skin until he blacked out, the roar of oblivion overtaking him.
Chapter Twenty-two
When Jane and V were back in the bedroom, she took a seat in what she was coming to think of as her chair, and V stretched out on the bed. Man, this was going to be a long night - er, day. She was tired and twitchy, not a good combination.