Bitter Night (35 page)

“What about the voodoo artillery?”

Alexander frowned. Voodoo artillery? Practitioners of the craft did not often consort with witches.

“It isn’t real voodoo. It’s what she calls magic weapons.”

He looked down in surprise at Akemi. The small Asian woman was as dirty and bloodstained as everyone else. She met his surprised glance and looked back at Max.

“She trusts you,” she said softly. “She wouldn’t let you walk behind her if she didn’t. Don’t even think about screwing her over or I’ll stick a knife in your ear.”

Akemi stepped away and Alexander did not doubt the threat was real.

“Down!” someone shouted. In one swift movement, they dove beneath the level of the shield. Alexander was slower, and Niko swept his legs from beneath him, dropping him hard.

The two angels had tired of circling and had closed on one another. Xaphan erupted with a burst of fire, more potent than the flames of a jet engine. It blasted like a laser at Tutresiel, who smashed the column with his sword. When he did, the magic exploded like a nuclear bomb. Azure light coruscated away in every direction. It burned like acid, and Alexander’s skin was suddenly covered with blisters and weeping sores. A powerful wind scoured the ruined mountainside, scraping his ulcerated skin and filling the air with ash. It was bitter and cold and smelled of sulfur and ozone. Alexander clutched at the ground to keep from being blown away.

The earth trembled and lurched and a high-pitched screech rose from deep inside the mountain. It knifed through Alexander’s skull and he slammed his palms to his ears. His companions did the same.

It let up after twenty seconds, and the ground settled with a series of quivering shudders. Alexander stood as the others did, too. His skin was rough and red, the wounds healing quickly. Alexander’s stomach clenched. All that power and the bastards were not even trying to hurt Horngate or its defenders.

“Shield’s gone,” someone said.

There was no way to tell if it had shattered or contracted below the level of the ground.

“We have to stop them now,” Max said. “Or there won’t be anything left of Horngate.”

“Brilliant idea,” mocked Lise, a shotgun propped on her shoulder. “Wish we’d thought of it earlier.” She yawned exaggeratedly, the black threads beneath her skin thickening even as Alexander watched. Pain was etched in grooves around her mouth and eyes. “If you’ve got a plan, let’s hear it. It’s past time for my nap.”

“I need to talk to them.”

Dead silence followed, and a rapid exchange of incredulous looks. Alexander sympathized. It sounded like a joke.

Tyler spoke first. “Are we supposed to laugh?”

Max just shook her head. “We’re going to divide into two groups and hit them simultaneously.” She looked at Alexander. “Can you swipe the sword with that Jedi mind trick of yours?” She accompanied the question with a wiggle of her fingers near her eyes.

Slowly he nodded. “I have to be close’within four feet. And it would help if he was distracted and I was not.”

She looked at Oz, who stood with his arms crossed, his jaw jutting. “You’re serious. You want to try to talk to them.” His voice was even, but a dangerous thread of contempt twined the words. His eyes were hot and hard as he stared at her, and Alexander felt a sudden thrust of jealousy.

“I think I might be able to convince them to stop. And we can’t beat them by force.”

“You think you might be able to convince them? You don’t inspire a lot of faith. It sounds like a suicide mission.”

“It might be,” Max agreed. “But it might work, too. Unless you have another idea that has a snowball’s chance in hell of working? Because standing around here with our thumbs up our asses looks like it might get us killed, too.”

Oz’s expression tightened, his eyes narrowing to slits. The muscles in his shoulders bunched as if he was working hard to restrain himself. Alexander could sympathize. Finally Oz gave a slight shake of his head. “No.”

“All right, then let’s go before you Sunspears drop dead,” she said.

Despite her cold words, there was concern in the look she turned on him. He made a wry face of understanding. Something moved between them. It was the silent, charged communication of long familiarity. Alexander resisted a nearly overwhelming urge to step between them. That would not win him any points with Max.

She divided them up, and Alexander found himself on a team with Niko, Akemi, Lise, and Oz. They were joined by five more Shadowblades and three other Sunspears. The rest were to go with Max.

“Do any of our weapons slow them down at all?” she asked Oz.

“Pisses them off mostly. They don’t seem to have an aversion to iron, salt, rowan’pretty much anything we have to throw at them. Mistletoe worked a little on Xaphan’s fire, but we used it all. None of the voodoo artillery worked worth a damn. We hit them with RPGs and it knocked them ass over teakettle, but they came flying back like nothing happened.”

“Do you have any RPGs left?”

“A few.”

“Then use them on Tutresiel. Get him on the ground and Alexander close enough to get the sword out of his hand.” She swiveled her head to look at Alexander. “I don’t suppose you have any idea how to kill an angel?”

He shook his head. “They all have an Achilles’ heel somewhere, but each one is different, and as far as I know, all the lore says that only angels can kill angels. Undoubtedly the Guardians can as well, but they are not exactly on our side tonight.”

“All right. Then we do what we can. Get his sword away from him and try to tangle him up for a few minutes.”

“And Xaphan? How will you get at him?” Alexander asked suspiciously.

Oz gave him a sharp look, then turned expectantly to Max.

She shrugged. “I’m going to get his attention. I think he’ll talk to me. After all, I owe him a debt.”

“You what?” Oz demanded. “Are you out of your fucking mind? There is no way I’m letting you near him. He’ll make a puppet out of you.”

“No, he won’t,” Max said in a cold, metallic voice. It brooked no argument. “You’ve got sixty seconds to get ready and then we move out.”

The gathered Shadowblades and Sunspears jumped as if whipped. They scattered and returned with their weapons. Oz went with them. When he returned, he handed Max a .45 and a belt full of clips. Someone nudged Alexander, and he turned. Akemi held out a Redhawk revolver and a box of shells.

“Thanks,” he said as he took it, shoveling the shells into his front pockets.

“I want it back,” she said. Then: “Can you really get the sword away from him with your mind?”

“I will do whatever it takes to buy Max the time she needs with Xaphan.”

“Would you die for her? For us?”

He glanced down at her. Her suspicion made her belligerent. His lip curled, his eyes narrowing. She flinched from the malevolence that rolled off him. “Wouldn’t you?” he asked softly, then he fell in behind Oz as they started down toward the angels’ battlefield. As Max and her team split off, he wished for a moment to say something, though if he had been given the moment, he was not sure what it would have been.

“Mondays suck,” Niko muttered, and someone laughed.

“Look on the bright side,” Lise said. “This might be our last. Never have to deal with another Monday or Mercury in retrograde or someone leaving the cap off the toothpaste.”

“Not to mention no more getting Magpie mad and eating charred food for three days straight,” Tyler said.

“And no more of Max’s workouts,” someone else groaned. “She broke my ribs in twelve places last time.”

“Don’t forget Montana winters. No more endless fucking winters,” another voice chimed in.

“I wouldn’t miss Britney Spears. Or American Idol. Or road construction.”

“What about Microsoft Windows?”

“Or the IRS?”

And so it went as they marched into battle against creatures they had no hope of beating. No one mentioned what they would miss. Or whom. But Alexander could not help but think that he had a lot more to lose today than he had a week ago. He was not going to let it go easily.

The two angels were circling each other again. They were eerily silent except for the metallic clash of Tutresiel’s wings. Flames fell in droplets from Xaphan’s wings, and once again the mountain caught fire. Tutresiel’s sword wove through the smoky air as he prepared to strike.

Oz stopped and they clustered together. “We have to get him on the ground. We’ll hit him with everything at once. If he drifts low enough, try to pull him down. Watch his wings. They’ll chop you to bits. Get into position. I’ll signal you to fire.” He paused, looking around at each one. “It’s been a pleasure knowng you.” There were nods and murmurs. “Let’s get on with it.”

They scattered in a ragged semicircle. Oz and Akemi flanked Alexander on his left and right. The Sunspear Prime wasted no time. When all were in place, he pumped his fist in the air.

The angel was no more than fifty feet in the air. Six RPGs struck and exploded nearly simultaneously. The air shook with the concussion, and heat flashed outward. Tutresiel went careening. Alexander followed at a run. Akemi and Oz clung to his flanks like burrs. She had a crossbow and was firing iron-tipped rowan bolts as fast as she could. Every bolt struck and bounced uselessly away. Now came the rapid popping of gunfire and more explosions.

Tutresiel tumbled, the sword slashing wildly through the air. Alexander narrowed his attention on the angel’s hands and the hilt of the incandescent sword. Witchlight shouldn’t have bothered his eyes, but looking at it made his eyes hurt and splotches marred his vision. He knew that before long his retinas would burn out and he would not be able to see. Tutresiel floundered, rolling through the air, heading for the ground. At the last moment he seemed to find his bearings, but he couldn’t stop his momentum. He slammed into the ground and tumbled head over heels, his wings chopping gouges out of the rock.

A moment later, Tutresiel rolled lightly to his feet. Alexander was right behind him. He rushed forward, ducking under the half-furled wing and slamming against the angel’s legs with every ounce of muscle he had. It would have shattered the bones of an ordinary human. Caught unawares, the angel sprawled forward. His wings raked Alexander as he rolled clear, and he felt his flesh part over his shoulders and ribs. Where the feathers sliced deeper, bone split as if cut by a laser. The pain was fierce, and blood ran down Alexander’s back in a stream. He leaped to his feet. His left arm was heavy and lacked strength. He jumped onto Tutresiel’s back between the roots of his wings and ground his knee into the angel’s neck.

Tutresiel’s hands were invisible inside the brilliant light of the sword. Already he was rearing up to throw off Alexander. Now others swarmed the angel. Alexander felt his fellow warriors as they flung themselves headlong onto Tutresiel. Oz slammed the angel’s head with the butt of his gun.

Alexander took advantage of the moment. He reached out with mental hands and yanked Tutresiel’s fingers away from the hilt of the sword. The angel clamped down tightly, defying Alexander’s telekinesis. The Shadowblade responded by pressing his palms to the sides of his head and letting go of everything else. He poured all of himself into unlocking Tutresiel’s hands.

He did not think he would be able to do it. The angel’s strength was greater than he had imagined. He concentrated on the bones of Tutresiel’s hands. They were made of some stuff much harder than ordinary bone. Alexander settled on the knuckles and crushed them one by one. He was quick. This sort of thing he had practiced. A moment later the hands had weakened enough that Alexander could tear them away. He used the last of his strength to send the sword skidding a few feet.

Alexander’s head reeled and his vision was a gray fog. He thought it was Akemi who leapfrogged over him and ran to get the sword. He wanted to warn her not to touch it. But his voice was nothing better than a croak. She bent to grab it. Blue-white light flared like an exploding sun, blinding Alexander completely. A shrill scream rent the night and cut off suddenly.

He was bucked off the angel. He landed hard on his back, agony chewing at his wounds, and his breath left him in a gust. He lay still, gasping, unable to see. The fighting continued around him. There were screams and grunts, the thud of fists on flesh, the clash of Tutresiel’s wings, gunfire and more explosions. Someone stepped on Alexander’s thigh and someone else tripped over his stomach. He turned on his side, curling up to make himself smaller.

It was a minute or two before his eyes started to clear. It felt like years. He was helpless to do anything. His returning vision was blurry. He saw moving splotches of color in vague shapes. He shook his head. Every moment sharpened the world around him. He pushed himself to his feet, reeling from side to side. He had lost a lot of blood. His healing spells were trying to close the wounds in his back, but he could feel a wrongness there’an infection of prickling, festering magic from Tutresiel’s wings. His healing spells were fighting hard, but Alexander did not know if they could win.

He staggered in a circle, assessing the situation. The angel had regained his feet, but not his sword. He crouched on the ground, his wings spread wide. Lumps scattered around him indicated where the Horngate defenders had fallen. Five still stood on their feet, but Alexander could not make out who. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. Pain rippled down his back and dug thorny fingers through his ribs. But now he was beginning to see details.

The sword lay beyond the ragged wall made by the five remaining defenders. Oz was one of them, and Niko. They were bloody. Oz could barely stand on his half-severed leg. His skin was heavily laced with the black tracery of night poisoning. He did not have much longer to live. Tutresiel was not entirely unscathed. Silverywhite blood trickled from several wounds on his head and chest, and his fingers were crooked from where Alexander had broken them. But even as he watched, they were straightening.

“You fight bravely,” the angel said. “But you cannot truly harm me or Xaphan.”

Before Oz could retort, Alexander spoke. “We know that.”

Tutresiel slowly turned. His crimson eyes narrowed. “You spend yourselves freely on a war you know you will not win.”