Armageddon Rules (16 page)

From under my bed I pulled out my spare gun, then changed clothes and headed to the Agency. Queen Mihail had gone after me. She’d gotten to Grimm and nearly killed Ari. She had a team of princes on their way to take out Liam, and Kingdom only knew what she had done to the Agency.

*   *   *

THE AGENCY BUILDING looked like a bomb went off, people gathered around on the sidewalk, the usual “extreme biohazard” and “chemical disaster area” warnings posted on the doors. On second thought, the last time a bomb went off there, it didn’t look as bad. We shared the building with twenty, maybe thirty other companies. They had to wonder at times why their building had the most number of days without power, the most incidents of elevator outages, or wack-job terrorist attacks. I went in through the cargo entrance, where I confirmed that we were in full lockdown mode.

“Bill? Big Billy, it’s Marissa,” I called into the empty cargo bay. Sure enough, a slot opened in one of the steel walls, and a rifle poked out. We got overrun once by some hired uglies, and ever since then, I’d drilled every last one of the staff on plans in case it happened again.

“Ms. Locks? Hold yer hands up where I can see them.” I recognized Big Bill’s voice. Our union negotiator and professional cargo driver, Bill was cold under fire and willing to do anything to anyone if it paid a living wage.

I held my hands up, knowing he was looking for the handmaiden’s mark. While there were lots of things that could shift to look like me, there wasn’t anything crazy enough to mimic that. In Kingdom, it was regarded like a swastika, upside-down cross, pentagram, and IRS logo all in one.

Bill opened up the door and our cargo crew emerged. Grimm moved a lot of goods into and out of Kingdom, specializing in interfacing between the races that couldn’t or shouldn’t leave Kingdom, and the rest of the world. “All our trucks are accounted for. I’m holding deliveries that were out away from the Agency. No contact with the office since the incident, but we don’t think anyone’s fighting now, on account of the other businesses ain’t called the cops.”

Keeping our cargo drivers parked in various places rather than letting them come back here made sense. Calling the cops could save us, or expose a bunch of policemen to things they were in no way ready to handle, like, say, a rogue donut baker. The cops were convenient, but not an option. “I’m going up. Come with me.”

I headed for the stairs. I chose the stairs for a couple of reasons. First off, when the elevator opens, you’re looking down a long hallway with nowhere to hide. I’d rather not have the elevator bell tell them when it was okay to start firing. If it were me, I’d have them shoot anything that happened to stop on our floor.

The other reason is that most mercenaries were lazy. They didn’t get paid to carry heavy guns or spell books up stairs, so it was unlikely I’d meet something unpleasant in the stairwell. So I climbed four flights of stairs, finally reached our floor, and got ready to kick some ass.

From the stairwell, I peered down the hallway all the way to the Agency entrance. Two bodies dressed in black lay in the hallway, but there were no other signs of an ambush. “I want you to wait at the front door,” I told Bill, “but don’t enter until I give the signal.” Then I slipped out of the stairwell and tiptoed down the hall as quietly as I could. I passed the service entrance to the Agency, counting steps as I went.

A few years ago, a troll punched a hole in the back corner of the building and took Liam. When we had it repaired I sprang for some magic, and had a safety door installed. From the outside it looked like a nonfunctioning water fountain. In other words, like every other water fountain in the building. I put my hand in the right place, and it clicked, recognizing my print. Then I walked forward, right through the wall.

Two seconds before, it would have been remarkably solid sheet rock. Three seconds later and it would slice me in half as it resolidified. I only needed two seconds until I was safely through, standing in a dark office-supply closet. The door on this room had no knob, and I’d had that done on purpose so it wouldn’t make any noise when I opened it. I slid it open a sliver and looked out into the main conference room. Blood covered everything.

From just past the table came a low moan and the sound of labored breathing. I swung the door open and stepped out, ready to shoot anything that moved. Nothing did. Then I discovered where the blood came from. Mikey lay pinned to the wall, shot through with silver crossbow bolts in more places than I could count. He was half wolf, which is to say that he was really, really hairy, and his eyes had changed to those black pits that all wolves have, but I think he recognized me as I approached.

I knelt and whispered, “Hold on, Mikey. I’m going to get you loose.” The bolts were obviously huntsman standard, anti-wolf bolts. Each ended in a tri-blade broad head, with hooks on both sides of the blade so that once they entered, you couldn’t pull them out. The silver, of course, kept Mikey from healing up the wound.

I took hold of one of the bolts, almost feeling bad for what came next. “You’re not going to like this.”

He nodded his head, letting it loll back over, his eyes closed in anticipation.

Then I broke the shaft of the bolt off. Kingdom knows it must have hurt, but all Mikey did was whine a little. If there were tears that ran from his muzzle, I’d never say so. With the shaft broken, I pulled his hand free.

We repeated that process five more times, when his arms dangled loose. Then I rolled him onto his stomach and stepped on his back, driving the one in his left lung out. Wolf blood covered my hands, sticky and red. Frankly, I was amazed that Mikey was still breathing. Not all wolves regenerate the same, so Mikey had serious mojo to keep generating blood like that.

I pulled the bolt on through and tried to cover the wound with my hands, but he pushed me away. “Break them,” he said, pointing to the bolts that stuck out of his legs. The bolts passed through the thick of his thighs, leaving me nothing to pull at.

I kicked each until they snapped. With each one he let out a muffled whimper, but nothing that would attract attention. When I had the last, he crawled away from the wall.

“Wolf,” he gasped. He needed to change to full wolf. He’d heal a lot faster that way. Grimm had a theory that being able to keep themselves human was a side effect of their healing.

“Okay. You wolf out, and I’m going to go see what else is waiting. Anyone else in the office?”

“Grimm—said no wolf.” Grimm knew how I felt about them.

“It’s okay. You go ahead. If Grimm says anything, I’ll handle it.”

He ran an inhuman tongue over his muzzle, wiping the froth clear. “The piper. In safe room with Rosa.”

I swore under my breath. Beth must have come for training and been in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Baddies?”

He nodded. “Outside Rosa’s safe room. Killed all but the huntsman.” He was talking a lot better. Even after that much silver. Huntsman bolts were covered in silver dust so that they poisoned the target. The fact that Mikey could heal through that was nothing short of amazing.

So I had a huntsman outside of Rosa’s safe room. Huntsmen were assassins that specialized in removing elves, dwarves, and almost anything that wasn’t human. The folks in Kingdom thought of them as pest control. The only nonhuman (if you ignored Rosa) had to be Mikey. Queen Mihail had sent a huntsman for him, and Mikey hadn’t even been around when I killed her son. I was definitely going to have some words with her when we finally got together.

I left Mikey in the conference room and headed for the lobby. Rosa’s safe room, he’d said. I had to laugh. Rosa detested any place in the Agency but the front counter. So her safe room was actually a bulletproof cage that locked down around her. From inside her private rectangle, Rosa could run the entire Agency, and with the cage over her, it was definitely a Mexican Standoff. Rosa, incidentally, came from Guatemala, and would win any standoff, Guatemalan, Mexican, or otherwise. I crept down the hallway to the front office and peeked through the window in the staff door. The man in our lobby was a huntsman, all right.

Six foot six, dressed in enough leather and fur to give every member of PETA a heart attack, and armed to the teeth with knives and a wicked crossbow. It was a crossbow only in name—the old string-driven ones were traded for cartridge-load bolts, meaning that he could fire them as fast as he could pull the trigger. Every clip held six, meaning that the son of a bitch had shot Mikey, pinned him in place, then reloaded and repeated. He wore the traditional gnome-skin hood like huntsmen always did. It was supposed to make him seem mysterious. I considered it cowardice.

In the corner, Rosa glowered at him from behind her bulletproof covering. I was pretty sure that the lump of black cloth and skin hiding behind her was Beth. Rosa held her shotgun, but couldn’t shoot the huntsman through the glass any more than he could shoot her.

I took a deep breath, checked my clip and my safety, then kicked the door open and started shooting.

He rolled to the side, taking a couple of shots. Now, since I’d never shot a huntsman before, you can forgive me for not knowing those skins he was wearing were some sort of armor. Who knew badger fur could stop bullets? He fired a bolt at me, barely missing my head. So we weren’t going for warning shots.

I put one bullet through the front door, ignoring the fact that it looked like I’d missed. Then I counted. One, two, and as I exhaled on three I shot at the floor.

Not because he was under me. Because I wanted him looking my way. Big Bill kicked open the front door and let loose. Those skins might be armor, but Bill carried a shotgun loaded with slugs. The force slammed the huntsman into the front desk, sending his crossbow flying.

I added a few bullets of my own, just to feel like I’d contributed. I nearly missed the blur of silver when he rolled over, throwing a knife at me. If I’d tried a graceful roll or anything fancy, I might have found out what a silver lobotomy feels like. As it was, blood spurted from my temple where the knife grazed me.

“The hunt’s over.” The huntsman pulled another blade from his belt.

Big Bill fired again, then shrieked as a silver blade blossomed in his knee, followed by another in his elbow. The huntsman advanced on me, and I weighed my ability to get a head shot in. The movies always made them look easy. Anyone who actually tried it learned better. I tried to push my way back through the door, but it was stuck, so I shot the huntsman a few more times. I might as well have been throwing spit wads.

“I said, the hunt is over.” He pulled out a second blade. The trick I’d used on the Gray Man wouldn’t play here against a trained knife fighter.

As I prepared to rush him, the wall behind me exploded, throwing both the door and me forward.

Through the dust something roared and leaped over me. Something monstrous and black. I’d never actually seen Mikey change into a wolf. The wolf bloodlines had weakened since the old days, and lots of their descendants were stuck as either fully human or fully wolf. Most in their wolf-man form were the same height as a human. Mikey stood at least eight feet tall, and as wide as a compact car.

With one swipe, Mikey tore the first knife from the huntsman. Then Mikey grabbed him by the leather hood, holding him so his feet dangled. Time and again, the huntsman slashed into Mikey’s arms, but as fast as the blade pulled out, Mikey healed.

Then Mikey ripped the knife away, tearing the huntsman’s fingers off in the process. Mikey reached up and put a claw into the huntsman’s mouth, then stepped on his feet. I winced, knowing what would come, but couldn’t cover my ears in time to prevent hearing the wet tearing of flesh as Mikey tore the huntsman’s jaw off. Then he snarled, a growling roar that ended with the crunch of teeth on bone.

I can’t say what Beth and Rosa were doing. I know I was curled up in a ball, unwilling to look. Not because Mikey had killed the huntsman. The huntsman had definitely tried to kill me. Not because Mikey tore the man’s throat out. Wolves do that sometimes. It was because I finally recognized where I’d seen that pattern of fur before. The jagged white stripe of fur down Mikey’s back, it was a birthmark of sorts, among wolves.

Mikey began to shift back. Shrinking, becoming paler, less hairy. I understood now why he insisted on pants with elastic bands. When his mouth had changed enough to speak, he came over. “Marissa, are you okay?”

I kept it together enough to ask him. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t Grimm tell me?”

His forehead creased and his eyes narrowed. He sniffed the air, like he could read my mind from my scent. “Tell you what?”

“That you came here to kill me.”

Fourteen

AFTER A MOMENT of silence in the Agency lobby, Mikey shrugged. “Fairy Godfather said he’d handle explaining to you.”

Grimm had definitely left that part out. In fact, when I first found out that he’d hired an intern, and that said intern was a wolf, I think my words were “over my dead body” for good reason. Grimm knew how the wolves felt about me. I’d killed their leader. It was like assassinating the pope, the president, and the guy who runs the local pizza shop all at once. Worse yet, that white-stripe pattern said Mikey was related to Fenris, ex-leader of the wolves, current buffet for compost worms.