Turn Coat (The Dresden Files 11)

Exhaustion hit me like a hammer, and stars swam in my vision. I had never thrown punches that hard before, and even with the assistance of Demonreach, the expenditure of energy needed to do so was literally staggering. I knew that if I pushed too hard, I'd collapse-but the skinwalker was still standing.

It stumbled to one side, its veil faltering for a second, its eyes wide with surprise. I could just see it going through the naagloshii's head: how in the world was I hitting him so accurately when it knew that its veil rendered it all but perfectly invisible?

For one quick fraction of a second, I saw fear in its eyes, and triumphant fury roared through my weary body.

The skinwalker recovered itself, changing again. With what looked like trivial effort, it reached down and ripped a section of rock shelf the size of a sidewalk paving stone from the rock. It flung the stone at me, three or four hundred pounds coming at me like a major-league fastball.

I dove to the side, slowed by exhaustion, but fast enough to get out of the way, and as I went, I gathered my will. This time the silver-white streamers of soulfire danced and glittered around my right hand. I lay on the ground, too tired to get back up, and ground my teeth in determination as it charged me for what would, one way or another, be the last time.

I didn't have the breath to scream, but I could snarl. "And this," I spat, "is for Kirby, you son of a bitch." I unleashed my will and screamed, "Laqueus!"

A cord of pure force, glittering and flashing with soulfire, leapt out at the skinwalker. It attempted to deflect it, but it clearly hadn't been expecting me to turbocharge the spell. The naagloshii's defenses barely slowed it, and the cord whipped three times around its throat and tightened savagely.

The skinwalker's charge faltered and it staggered to one side, its veil falling to shreds by degrees. It started shifting form wildly, struggling to get loose of the supernatural garrote-and failing. The edges of my vision were blurry and darkening, but I kept my will on him, drawing the noose tighter and tighter.

It kicked and struggled wildly-and then changed tactics. It rolled up to a desperate crouch, extended a single talon, and swept it around in a circle, carving a furrow into the rock. It touched the circle with its will, and I felt it when the simple magical construct sprang up and cut off the noose spell from its source of power: me. The silver cord shimmered and vanished.

I lay there on the ground, barely able to lift my head. I looked toward the cottage and the safety it represented, standing only forty feet away. It might as well have been forty miles.

The naagloshii ran its talons along the fur at its throat and made a satisfied, growling noise. Then its eyes moved to me. Its mouth spread into a carnivorous smile. Then it stepped out of the circle and began to stalk nearer.

One bloody and spectacular mess, coming up.

Chapter Forty-five

The naagloshii walked over to me and stood there, smiling, as its inhuman features shifted and contorted, from something bestial back toward something almost human. It probably made it easier to talk.

"That was hardly pathetic at all," it murmured. "Who gifted you with the life fire, little mortal?"

"Doubt you know him," I responded. It was an effort to speak, but I was used to meeting the rigorous demands of life as a reflexive smart-ass. "He'd have taken you out."

The skinwalker's smile widened. "I find it astonishing that you could call forth the very fires of creation-and yet have no faith with which to employ them."

"Hell's bells," I muttered. "I get sick of sadistic twits like you."

It tilted its head. It dragged its claws idly across the stone, sharpening them. "Oh?"

"You like seeing someone dangling on a hook," I said. "It gets you off. And once I'm dead, the fun's over. So you feel like you have to drag things out with a conversation."

"Are you so eager to leave life, mortal?" the naagloshii purred.

"If the alternative is hanging around here with you, I sure as hell am," I replied. "Get it over with or buzz off."

Its claws moved, pure, serpentine speed, and my face suddenly caught on fire. It hurt too much to scream. I doubled up, clutching my hands at the right side of my face, and felt my teeth grinding together.

"As you wish," the naagloshii said. It leaned closer. "But let me leave you with this thought, little spirit caller. You think you've won a victory by taking the phage from my hands. But he was hanging meat for me for more than a day, and I left nothing behind. You don't have words for the things I did to him." I could hear its smile widening. "It is starving. Mad with hunger. And I smell a young female caller inside the hogan," it purred. "I was considering throwing the phage inside with her before you so kindly saved me the bother. Meditate upon that on your way to eternity."

Even through the pain and the fear, my stomach twisted into frozen knots.

Oh, God.

Molly.

I couldn't see out of my right eye, and I couldn't feel anything but pain. I turned my head far to the right so that my left eye could focus on the naagloshii crouching over me, its long fingers, tipped with bloodied black claws, twitching in what was an almost sexual anticipation.

I didn't know if anyone had ever thrown a death curse backed by soulfire. I didn't know if using my own soul as fuel for a final conflagration would mean that it never went to wherever it is souls go once they're finished here. I just knew that no matter what happened, it wasn't going to hurt for much longer, and that I wanted to wipe that grin off the skinwalker's face before I went.

I wasn't sure how defiant you could look with a one-eyed stare, but I did my best, even as I prepared the blast that would burn the life from my body as I unleashed it.

Then there was a blur of light, and something darted past the naagloshii's back. It tensed and let out a snarl of surprise, whirling away from me to stare after the source of light. Its back, I saw, bore a long and shallow wound, straight across its hunched shoulders, as narrow and fine as if cut by a scalpel.

Or a box knife.

Toot-toot whirled about in midair, a bloodied utility knife clutched in one hand like a spear. He lifted a tiny trumpet to his lips and piped out a shrill challenge, the notes of a cavalry charge in high-pitched miniature. "Avaunt, villain!" he cried in a shrill, strident tone. Then he darted at the skinwalker again.

The naagloshii roared and swept out a claw, but Toot evaded the blow and laid a nine-inch-long slice up the skinwalker's arm.

It whirled on the tiny faerie in a sudden fury, its form shifting, becoming more feline, though it kept the long forelimbs. It pursued Toot, claws snatching-but my miniature captain of the guard was always a hairsbreadth ahead.