“How do you keep the alcohol in?” I asked, and he patted me on the head.
I think I lost some time, because there were suddenly red and blue lights flashing in my face, lighting up the rubble. Even for me, getting the cops called twice in one night was . . . okay, not a record. But not exactly every day, either.
I wondered what I’d been up to.
Then I saw Louis-Cesare, lying on a stretcher between two of Marlowe’s men. And the next thing I knew, I was stumbling ov
er there, and nobody tried to stop me this time, probably because Marlowe was getting into a dustup with the cops. There was some yelling and the usual “gas leak” explanation, which it didn’t sound like anybody was buying, and then somebody spied Radu and started to freak out—
“Oh, for goodness’ sake!”
That was Crown Royal.
Who I guessed spelled the cops, because nobody got shot.
I didn’t know. I was too busy pawing at Louis-Cesare to turn around and find out. And then hitting him, because he wasn’t responding, he wasn’t doing anything.
Until strong hands grasped my wrists, and a blue eye cracked open. The other one was closed, caked with blood and swollen about three times its usual size. It matched the jaw, which was heading for Popeye territory; and the neck, which looked like somebody had tried to burn his head off; and the chest, which had great gashes in it.
I started to cry, great blubbery snot-filled sobs, and Louis-Cesare began to laugh. “You do love me, you do love me—”
“Shut up!” I told him hysterically, and would have hit him again, but couldn’t find anywhere that wasn’t already hurt, which made me cry harder and oh, my God, this was embarrassing.
I was almost relieved when Horatiu tottered over and put me out again.
* * *
* * *
All the strength and finesse in the world does you no good if you can’t reach your target. And I couldn’t. Neither could the powerful one, who had reappeared, eyes wild and chest panting, despite the fact that he didn’t need to breathe.
I understood: it was that kind of fight.
There were only three of us left: the dark-haired master, the powerful one, and me. The rest were dead or fled or were trying to, the injured grabbing the bodies of the unconscious and jumping through missing windows. The three of us were attempting to distract the mages while the rest got away, by sending massive pieces of debris crashing into those perfect shields. But there were too many of them and too few of us.
This wasn’t going to work.
But I knew something that would.
Get out! I sent mentally to the other two, and saw their heads jerk around in shock.
My twin couldn’t do that, or give them a mental push forceful enough to stagger the dark-haired one when they just stood there. And I doubted I could do it again, under the circumstances. Fortunately, the dark-haired master recovered quickly, grabbed a fallen vampire, and jumped for the nearest window.
I picked up the silver ball the strange-haired girl had dropped when she fell. It was warm and thrumming with power it shouldn’t have had. Like the mages themselves, full of stolen magic.
Not for long.
The powerful one was a bloody mess, and fighting alone now. But the room was clear, the last of our people slipping away while he ducked and dodged and drew heavy fire, and I yelled: “Go! Now!”
I couldn’t tell if he obeyed or even heard. Spell fire obscured my vision, the mages turned on me, and I was out of time. But so were they.
We’d been fighting on the fringes, trying to protect the weaker ones while they scrambled to get away. And thus the mages had ended up largely in the middle of the room, around the plastic containers they were trying to retrieve. Most of those had been taken already, but one was still in place.
And if it contained what I suspected, one was enough.
I threw the silver ball on the fly, while running for the nearest window. I didn’t hear the explosion; didn’t hear anything; couldn’t see. Light was suddenly everywhere, like being in the heart of the sun. All I knew was the feel of a mage’s body slamming into mine, and the floor falling out from under me, and falling—
* * *