Ride the Storm (Cassandra Palmer 8)

And the baby.

I actually rubbed my eyes, I was so convinced I was seeing things. He was dead; he had to be. Even if she’d somehow missed the heart—and she hadn’t missed the heart—there was still the stake she’d driven straight through his neck.

And damn it, I hadn’t imagined it! I could see it: a dark red gash that had threatened to take off his head. Like the bloody stab wound in his chest, which had flooded the entire front of his light blue dress shirt with a dark purplish red.

But despite all that, he looked fine—no, better than fine. Better than he had a few minutes ago, when he was stumbling around the bleachers with the coordination of a two-year-old. Because it had to be five a.m. by now, and five a.m. was far too late for baby vampires.

But you’d never know it.

Suddenly, he had the grace of a master or a ballet star. Suddenly, he was freaking Baryshnikov in his prime, ducking and whirling and dancing out of the way of a blistering attack, liquid in motion and blinding in savagery, from the woman. I just stared, having never seen anything like it, and not seeing all that much of it now, because it was so fast.

But I was seeing enough.

I was seeing her jump up, maybe twelve feet in the air, and grab one of the hanging chandeliers, sending it crashing down onto th

e vamp’s head. I was seeing him throw it off, a huge cast-iron piece, and start it rolling down the length of the room, shedding sparks and candles everywhere and causing vamps to jump backward out of the way. I was seeing the two of them race up and down the bleachers, the sword sounds coming from sections of the metal supports for the same, which they had ripped off and repurposed.

Until the baby grabbed hers out of her hand and turned it against her, suddenly ending up with two “swords,” which he would have used to break her legs except she jumped over them and back-flipped. And didn’t miss a beat. The woman, who was apparently Teflon coated, landed in the fire, grabbed a piece of flaming wood, and slashed it at his head.

It was a good move—it was a damn good move—using the instinctive fear of fire to make him drop his guard and rear back, then searing his retinas. And that sort of thing doesn’t heal so easily. It’s yet another reason vamps hate fire: burns are a bitch to repair. That move would have left most, even most masters, blind for at least a few beats.

And as fast as she was, blind equaled dead.

Only not this time.

But not because she missed. A rash of blisters appeared across the baby’s face, a swath running from ear to ear, cutting him right across the eyes. Ugly, red, and excruciating-looking, they bubbled up and then broke, leaving me biting my lip in sympathy.

For a second. Because the next time I blinked, the burns were gone. Not better, not improved, not scarred over. Gone, wiped clean as he healed virtually instantaneously.

And suddenly, the room was silent.

Suddenly, the only sounds were my labored breathing and the crackling of the flames.

Suddenly, even the senate, which had been cursing and throwing young vampires off themselves, froze, a few with the offending vamps still in hand, in order to stare.

At the impossible.

Because the baby was walking through the flames now, dual-wielding his makeshift swords, forcing the woman back. Until she repurposed my trick. Finding a still-intact bottle and throwing it at his feet, where it exploded against the hard concrete and splashed everywhere, wetting his trousers. Causing fire to run up his legs and spike toward his torso, and the crowd to gasp in horror.

But not the baby. Another involuntary jerk, and he was back in control. A wave of his hand, a murmured word, and the flames died down and went out. And this time, even the woman stared.

I didn’t know what she might have pulled out of her bag of tricks next, other than the knife that was already in her hand. And I never got the chance to find out. Because a shadow had taken advantage of the distraction to slip up behind her, one whose arm went around her throat, and whose murmured words in her ear seemed to do what steel bars couldn’t.

And caused her to drop the knife.

And suddenly, the vampires went crazy.

If I’d thought they were loud before, it was nothing compared to this. You’d have thought their team had just won the Super Bowl, it was so deafening. And this from creatures who usually prided themselves on how silent and reserved they could be.

But not this time. The baby found himself abruptly jerked up and paraded around the room, like a pop star crowd-surfing a mass of loyal fans. The yells and cheers were like the roar of the ocean; even the senate was suddenly talking excitedly—and smiling.

And then Jules pulled me out from under the table, soda can in hand. “Are you all right?” he yelled, to be heard over the din.

I nodded. I thought so. Honestly, I had no idea.

Like I had no idea what had just happened.

“What’s going on?” I yelled back.