Cold Fire (Spiritwalker 2)
I hauled open the door, slipped through, and slammed it shut. Men were cursing, trying to make light. With a sweep of my cane, I cleared every mug on the long counter, sending them crashing to the floor as I jumped over.
“Wardens!” I shrieked. “Run!?”
They were not stupid men in the Speckled Iguana. Not many panicked, but enough did to stir the big room and make it hard for them to get order. That made it easy for me to wrap shadows around myself and weave my way unremarked through the clamor and out the doors.
He had paused across the street, hidden by the night. Of course he saw me, although others did not. I raced across the street.
“We have to go!” I whispered hoarsely, trying to grab his arm but missing entirely.
He began walking so quickly I had to trot to keep up, me wrapped in shadow and him hugging the darkness until I wondered if he was using illusion to mask himself, for none of the men loitering nearby took the least notice of us.
I said, “Just think! We could sneak around all over the place and no one would ever see us.”
Men looked around, gazes questing like those of scenting dogs.
“Did yee hear that?”
“I see no one.”
Vai took hold of my hand and we ran until I was breathless and laughing as we slowed to a walk in the deserted market.
o;This one can’t be saved, for I give you my oath his spirit is already one step out of his flesh,” Drake said.
The Taino man said, “Take him, then. How many can you save with him?”
“One, for certain.” He indicated a man whimpering with the bleats of a person trying to be stoic in the face of unrelenting pain. What appeared at first glance as a kerchief was a leaking mat of blood and, beneath it, the white flag of exposed skull. Drake spread fingers over the wound.
Heat swamped the room, sticky and sumptuous, like sweet pudding that coats the lips until you must lick them clean for the sake of your craving. A kernel of desire swirled in my gut. I opened my mouth, but all that came out was a sighing exhalation.
The woman glanced at me, then at Drake. Blessed Tanit! A skin of glowing fire, not flames but a gleam like coals, washed down the body of the man with the belly wound. His chest arched up, although his mouth made no sound. Drake’s hand, on the other man’s bloody scalp, turned white-hot, and then I blinked, for it was too strong a light. Had I only imagined it? The first man now lay as if dead, life burned out of him.
Drake removed his hand. “He will live.”
I groped behind me for the latch, for I wanted nothing more than to get out of this room with its ashy stench of death and hope. But Drake was as fast and determined as a shark. One moment he stood halfway across the room with his gaze turned to me, as if to decide whether I was worthy prey, and the next he had crossed the space between us and taken hold of my hand. The candles flared. The other two looked up, but none of the wounded men did, and I thought: Maybe they’ve been drugged so they can’t know some men are being killed to save others.
“So here you are. I have been looking for you for weeks now, Cat.”
I twisted my hand out of his. “I haven’t been looking for you!”
“Why, Cat, I think you are drunk.”
“I don’t like you, Drake. I just came here to say that.”
Was that twitch amusement or anger? “That’s not what you said before.”
“I was drunk before.”
A curling warmth crept up my arm as he smiled. “Where are you staying?”
“Why do you think I mean to tell you?”
“You had better tell me after all the trouble I’ve gone to for you!”
All the burning wicks snapped out. Just like that.
“Ah,” whispered Drake, and he smiled.
Out in the common room, the buzzing conversation ceased as if it, too, had been doused.