“I’m coming, ’Du. Just…sit tight. I’m coming.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Since I had exactly one gun to my name and was almost out of ammo for that, my first stop was the car and the battered toolbox on the floor in the back. It contained emergency supplies, including a couple nice ten-inch knives that I pocketed and an even nicer .44 Magnum that I didn’t. Because I was hemorrhaging weapons lately, and had had to press it into service just in time for Slava’s guys to take it away.
I took the box of .44 ammo anyway, just in case I ran across a usable weapon. But even assuming I did, I wasn’t going to make it to ’Du with that alone. I needed more weapons, a lot more ammo and some dirty tricks.
Fortunately, I was in the right place for all three.
“’Du. Do you know where the nearest weapons cache is?” I asked, picking up my once expensive leather jacket, which now resembled a target at a shooting gallery. But I didn’t have a choice; thanks to Marlowe’s idea of evening wear, I had nothing else to hold all the—
I suddenly realized that Radu hadn’t responded.
“’Du?”
Nothing.
I felt a cold hand clench in my chest when he didn’t answer, when I didn’t even get a sense of him in my head. But that didn’t have to mean anything. My mental abilities weren’t exactly reliable. I was like a radio that could usually only receive, and that didn’t even work half the time.
So ’Du might be fine. No, he was fine, I told myself fiercely. He was a damned second-level master and a Basarab. He’d spent five hundred years outfighting, outsmarting and just plain outlasting the hell out of everybody. He would hold out.
Now I just had to get to him.
Considering the Senate’s level of paranoia, there were probably multiple weapons caches tucked around, though they’d neglected to share their location with me. But when I’d shown up to join the posse tonight, I’d seen a couple of Marlowe’s boys coming out of a hall by the main reception desk, still buckling on holsters. It didn’t necessarily mean anything, but it was the only clue I had. So I headed for the lobby, hoping I was right and that the guys on duty hadn’t emptied it already.
And…they hadn’t, I thought, coming to a halt just outside the door.
Or if they had, it hadn’t done them any good.
The tasteful gray marble columns, impressive onyx desk, and cheerful old-world scenes that usually greeted visitors weren’t looking so cheerful anymore. Not covered in vast slashes and strokes and dribbles like a modernist painting. Blood sprayed the walls, where weapons’ fire had already marred the soft blue paint, beaded on the surface of an antique table and spattered the petals of an ornamental arrangement.
It wasn’t so much a problem on the floor, however.
Since most of it was missing.
I approached the blackened, jagged hole of what had once been an inlaid marble star with caution, since the sides were still smoking. And looked down into the next floor. And the next. And the one after that. Something had just carved a Volkswagen-sized hole through four stories and was working on a fifth.
And there was no need to wonder what that something was: the sickly neon green puddle at the bottom was sending up fumes that caused me to jerk my head back abruptly, eyes watering and throat seizing up. Somebody just used a weapons-grade potion and you stick your head in the fumes? Great, Dory. Freaking great.
I backed off fast, my eyes flicking around, in case somebody was planning to capitalize on my stupidity. But I didn’t see anyone. Just a blackened chandelier overhead, crystals chiming softly in the air-conditioning, scattered papers underfoot and someone’s spilled tea.
And a guy nailed to the wall by four huge daggers.
I’d rounded the reception desk and almost come nose to nose with him before I shied back, gun up and heart missing a beat. He was behind a short wall separating the desk from the rest of the room, and was facing the main doors. Like some macabre sort of greeter.
I stared at him for a second, unsure if my blurry eyes and the crazy lights were playing tricks. And they were, sort of. Because the lower body wasn’t in shadow as I’d first thought. It wasn’t there at all, unless you counted the snakelike spine glistening palely against the darker wall.
And curling up and down like its owner was still alive.
After a moment, I swallowed and started to edge around, only to have a spear of light fall over the face. And I got a second shock. Because he looked horribly familiar.
The head was down, with the chin resting on the breast, so I couldn’t see the face. But the hair was dark and about the right length. And so were the weight and the height, as far as I could estimate, considering the damage, and—
And suddenly I couldn’t breathe because I thought it was ’Du.
I took another few steps forward, and I still did. Even when I gently cupped one cheek, to avoid the dark blood that had dripped down covering the chin. And pulled the face up, into the light. And felt my spine turn to water.
Because it wasn’t him.