Seduced by Crimson (12 page)

Did you start with water? Can you really feel energy in other things? Or is this all just crap?

Oh well. Sit-time's over. Back to the water! Don't forget the crib notes.

Patrick, the greatest surfer in the galaxy

Boom!

Patrick shot to his feet, narrowly missing a head butt to Xiao Fei. Fortunately, she had fast reflexes.

Boom! Boom
! There came a rolling kind of thunder. The hotel was shuddering, but not really in the way of an earthquake; more like the building being shelled. But that made no sense.

Gripping Xiao Fei's hand, Patrick dashed out of the bathroom, only to pull up short. There came an orange glow from outside the window. Forcing himself to move, he crossed the room and hauled open the curtains as wide as possible.

LAX was on fire. He leaned forward and peered into the coiling smoke, trying to make sense of what he saw.

Boom! Ba-boom
! More explosions, but they were to the left this time. His window wasn't facing that way, so he couldn't see, but he knew in his gut what was happening. "The fighting's started." He pressed his hand to the glass. The building had stabilized. He doubted it had been truly hit, though it sure had felt that way at first. He'd have to go down to the lobby to make sure.

And yet it felt so surreal, as if he were watching a movie or something. Demon invaders in Crimson City. It couldn't be real.

He heard noise from behind him. He turned. Xiao Fei was pulling on her pants with quick, efficient movements. Her face was gray and her hands shook, but she was fully clothed in the time it took him to cross back to her.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Where are my shoes?" She was scanning the carpet.

Boom!

She dropped to her belly. Before the echo could fade, she was flat out on the floor. "Get down!" she screamed at him.

"It's off to the side," he said, struggling to remain rational. "LAX. And the docks, probably. Or the subway." That would make sense. Take out the means of travel—air, water, land. Create as much civilian chaos as possible. "We're probably okay right here for the moment." It was a lie. Nowhere in Crimson City was safe.

Xiao Fei wasn't talking. She'd found her sandals and was pulling them on with quick jerks.

"Xiao Fei…" He put a hand on her arm to calm her, but she threw it off. "We're safe here," he told her.

She stared at him for a moment; then her face screwed up in disgust. He thought she would spit at him. Instead, she said just one word. It came out a curse. "Americans!" He pulled back in shock, and she rolled her eyes. Then she began speaking in rapidly degenerating English. Her words were short and punctuated by gestures, but her meaning came across nonetheless. "The airport… boom! The docks… boom, boom! Subway, too! And you want to sit in hotel room? On the thirty-seventh floor?"

"Tenth, actually," he corrected. But she had a point.

"Aie!" She gripped his arms and shoved him to the side. Her eyes were wild, but her actions weren't. Those were focused and clear: she was getting out. "Money. Where money?"

Her purse was in the dresser, but he wasn't going to tell her that. He needed to delay her a moment. At least until he got his own clothes on.

Sirens cut through the air outside, and muted explosions followed brief flickers of light. It was hard keeping an eye on Xiao Fei, and what was happening outside, and dress all at the same time, but somehow he managed. Even though Xiao Fei was blowing through the room like a tornado.

She found his luggage and threw it open. She tossed him a pair of jeans, a leather belt, and a T-shirt. Then she found his knives.

The armband sheath for one of his wooden knives was too big on her, so she strapped it to her thigh. Then she pulled out the blade, tested its weight, and slammed it back into its holder.

"Careful!" Patrick said. "Those are specially made. That's really, really thin wood at the tip." He paused a moment and snapped closed his jeans. "And they're mine!"

She gave no indication she'd heard. She was trying to find a way to carry a silver stiletto. He was at her side before she grabbed the obsidian dagger. "This one is for me," he growled, taking it.

He parceled out the weapons after that—even helped her adjust a shoulder harness to hold one between her breasts. "This is a throwing knife," he said. "Do you even know how to use one?"

"I'm Cambodian. We know how to cut things," she replied.

Yeah, right. Because a cleaver and a stiletto worked the same way. "Just stay behind me. I'll protect you," he said.

"American John Wayne." Again she used that spitting, sarcastic tone. She stared hard at him. "Stay low. Hide. Stay alive."

She was about to duck out the room when he grabbed her. He was a good sixty pounds heavier, and a great deal stronger. She stayed in place despite her initial struggles. "Just where do you plan on hiding, Xiao Fei? Where are you going?"

She broke free of him. "Safe place." Then she glared. "Where is my purse?"

Her English was coming back. He took that as a good sign. So he tried to reason with her again. "I don't think this building's hit. We should be fine up here."

She cursed him in Cambodian. "Vampires fly up here." She stabbed a finger at his chest. "You can't."

"Vamps aren't—"

"Demons, too." Her voice was low, barely above a whisper, but he heard her nonetheless.

"What?" The ones that had attacked his parents hadn't been flying. "But… they don't have wings."

"Some demons can fly, too," she insisted. "Like vamps. Levitation. It's safer for us underground." Her eyes were haunted, and she turned to stare out the window. "Safer in Canada."

He couldn't disagree, but he still had a job to do. His mother had charged him to end the demon threat. With her dying breath, she had ordered that. He couldn't just run away. He had to try. "We have to close the gate," he said.

Again, Xiao Fei gave a string of Cambodian curses.

Patrick turned toward her, pointing to the closet. "There's a small satchel in the safe." He reeled off the combination and she punched it in. He grabbed socks and shoes and hauled them on. She dug into the safe and tossed him his bag, then pocketed the five hundred dollars cash.

"Your purse is in the dresser," he said. Let her keep the money if it made her feel safer; he figured he owed her at least that much. Besides, he had no intention of leaving her side until his task was done or one of them was dead. Either way, money wasn't going to be the issue.

"We go. Now," she ordered.

He smiled. He couldn't help it. She was so cute, all small and serious, with that knife between her breasts and threat in her voice. She was going to take charge? But she was out of the room before he could laugh, moving with a stealth that stunned him. His smile faded. Perhaps she did know what she was doing.

She avoided the elevator bank and slid into the stairwell. He had to run to keep up. He nearly crashed into her as she crouched just beyond the doorway. "Xiao Fei—"

"Shhhh!" she hissed.

"I told you. There's no reason to expect an attack here. We can probably even take the elevator."

"Always expect an attack!" she snapped. Then she glared hard at him. "Didn't they teach you how to survive in druid school?"

He blinked. "There isn't a druid sch—"

She
tsked
in Cambodian. He didn't know how, but it sounded completely Asian. "You're the keepers of your people's ancient knowledge, right?"

"Well, I suppose. We mostly work with plants and earth—"

"Shhh!" She grabbed his hand and started moving quickly down the stairs, all the while speaking in an undertone. "You druids hold the knowledge of how to close the gate to Orcus, right?" She glanced once over her shoulder. "Or at least you think you do."

He nodded. "Yes. My mother was—"

She waved him to silence. "You have ancient scrolls. Texts. That book…" She gestured to his satchel where he'd put his Book of Chants.

He nodded. It was rare for the ancient druids to write anything down, but some texts had survived, and he carried one of the rarest. He also carried the amulet.

He stumbled as a light went on in his brain. He hadn't been touching the amulet when he… when he'd worked with Xiao Fei. He had felt its presence like a brand from the moment he'd ripped it from Jason's hand, but maybe he needed to hold it to close the gate. Maybe he needed to—

"Hurry up!" Xiao Fei hissed from ahead. She'd rounded a corner and frozen on the fifth-floor landing, obviously listening hard. There was a lot of noise on this level—people milling about, anxious cries, and police and ambulance sirens coming through the walls, muffled but identifiable.

She hurried on, moving even faster. "Demons will search for those with ancient knowledge. They will kill those people first."

"Like the monks who raised you?"

She didn't answer, but he knew it was true. He could read it in the tension between her shoulder blades.

"So, you think they have specific targets," he said. "That I'll be one right away?" He fought hard not to shudder. She obviously thought it was true, and of the two of them, she was the one with real experience.

Then she shot him a look that chilled his blood. It was cold and angry and filled with an empty despair.

"You do not have a tattoo running up your arm," she said.

Then he understood what she was saying. He knew the truth and damned himself for being self-involved. The demons knew about
her
. They could feel her. Hell, he could feel her, and he was merely an adept. She was the one in the legend, the female warrior whose blood could heal the Earth. And just to make sure everyone knew who she was, the monks had tattooed the truth all over her body.

"Geez, why the hell would they do that to you? Could they be more obvious—"

She cut him off with a quick slash of her hand. "The demons can feel my difference, and we Phoenix Tears are obvious even without the ink." She paused on the last landing before the main lobby. Pulling up the cuff of her blouse, she grabbed hold of his hand. Extending his finger, she allowed Patrick to rub the inside of her wrist.