They were probably setting a trap, waiting for me to walk right up to it. I might still be considered green when it came to guardian skills, but I wasn't stupid.
That anticipatory feeling was coming from directly ahead, which was where the house was. So therefore I went left, through the trees, avoiding the paths and the occasional infrared sensor. Once around the back of the house, I stopped. All the windows were closed, and I was betting the doors were locked.
I studied the walls and eaves, looking for cameras and infrareds. There were several, and I had no doubt they were active. The roof had more than a couple of loose tiles and presented a definite opportunity if I could get up there unseen. My gaze went to the trees, and I smiled. Several had long branches that overhung the roof, and I could get to them without being spotted by the cameras. Lovely.
I backed into the forest and walked back to my chosen tree. I scrambled up the trunk and then out onto the limb. It was only a short drop to the tiled roof. After that, I padded quickly and quietly to the nearest batch of loose tiles. It was easy enough to slide them aside and slip quietly into the roof cavity. From there, it was simply a matter of crawling over the ducting and wiring until I found a manhole.
What I dropped down into was a workshop that looked bigger than my whole damned apartment. There were all sorts of machines and tools here - some I could name, many I couldn't. The smell of metal and oil and stale, sweaty man was thick in the air, and my nose twitched in distaste. Obviously, whoever worked in here didn't believe in deodorant.
I padded forward, following the wall until I found a door. Pressing my ear against it revealed little. I blinked and switched to infrared. No telltale signs of body heat, either. I gripped the handle and slowly opened the door.
A wide corridor filled with shadows lay before me.
The long layout of the building suggested this corridor was probably a main one. The house itself was deathly quiet. No surprise given it housed a trophy room filled with stuffed nonhumans. I just had to hope no ghosts haunted the corridor. I mightn't be able to converse with "older" spirits, but I could see them and I could feel them. And I didn't need to deal with their fury on top of everything else.
I moved forward quickly, my feet making little sound on the wood flooring. I glanced at the rooms that I passed, but found nothing resembling a trophy room.
I was almost at the top end of the house - and surely near the trophy room - when I heard the footsteps. The scent of man sharpened abruptly. They were coming my way fast.
I broke into a run, moving quickly through the shadows, scanning the rooms as they flashed by. Nothing. Down the far end of the hall, a red light winked. They had sensors in this end of the house.
Damn.
The body heat of six men suddenly leapt in focus through the walls, all of them bearing weapons. I wrapped the shadows around me, but kept on running. I had to find that room before they found me.
Two men rounded the corner. I raised my stolen rifle and fired without sighting. The men scattered and the shot ripped through a window, sending glass flying.
More men appeared, low and fast. I fired another shot, heard an answering retort. Felt a sting of pain as the bullet burned across my forearm and pinged away. Then, finally, I found the trophy room.
I dove for doorway, hitting the floor chest-first and slid several feet forward on the smooth flooring, crashing headfirst into an armchair. Behind me, the door slammed shut, and the sour scent of man spun around me.
I'd dived right into the middle of a trap.
I gripped the rifle and spun around. Yohan was standing at the door, a rifle aimed at my head in his left hand and a little silver box clenched in his right hand.
Well, fuck.
"I wouldn't attempt to fire that weapon," he said softly, his thumb poised over the button, "because I'd hate to kill either of you before it was absolutely necessary."
"If you had any sense," I replied, wishing I sounded less winded and a whole lot more threatening, "you'd kill me anyway. A guardian is not someone you want to be playing with. We tend to get nasty."
He smiled. It was a rather amused little smile - one that suggested little understanding and an overwhelming sense of superiority.
"My brother has felt some of your nastiness. You should be glad you didn't kill him, or else your partner would now be smeared against the walls of his cell."
Part of me wanted to snarl right back, to bare my teeth against the threats and go after him, regardless of the consequences to me. Rhoan's safety was what held me back. I wouldn't risk his life, no matter how confident I was of beating the cocky bastard in front of me.
"I didn't kill him because I intend to drag his sorry ass back to the mainland. Yours, too."
"Oh, you can try, little girl," he said, as his finger moved away from the button. "You can try."
"Okay, then." The words had barely left my lips when I raised the rifle, pressed the trigger, then flung myself forward.
My bullet hit him, smashing into his arm, flinging it backward and spraying blood and bone everywhere. The control went flying and a shot fired out, the bullet burning past my left side.
I caught the control one-handed mid-dive, hit the floor hard and rolled to my feet. Another shot echoed. I threw myself sideways, sliding behind a large leather sofa. It offered little protection, leather and stuffing flying as the bullet blazed through and barely missed my belly.
Yet I stayed behind the sofa, all senses straining for any hint of movement, and looked at the control.