Cold Reign

  Le Bâtard’s necklace had been strung with a key. I spun back into the hallway and lifted the necklace off over the vamp’s head without touching him. Carried it back to the bricked room and opened the old lock. “Et voilà!” I said. And stopped. I didn’t speak French, but I understood a lot more than I had once upon a time. I’d even picked up a few phrases, it seemed.

  It took effort to peel the chains off Sabina, and they moved with a hollow, dull clanking noise, the sound waves slowed and deep. I dropped them and they hung in midair. I put the necklace from her tormenter in her lap. Maybe she could make good use of the other trinkets on it.

  I went back into the main room and got a feel for where everyone was, all the combatants, even Gee, whom I had ignored while outside of real time. He looked as he always did, except his magics were more pronounced, his glamour less effective. I could see feathers on his arms, which was freaky.

  I got into position, drew two vamp-killers, and dropped time.

  Clamor and screams battered my ears. Blood spurted across the walls and into the main room. Gunshots sounded from the hallway—Eli shooting the vamps. Grégoire stumbled through the doorway. A steel foil swinging in the air behind him. The silver-plated point of the sword was buried in Blondie’s back. No one was holding it. But at least he hadn’t stuck himself with the switchblade.

  He whipped his head back, saw whatever was happening in the hallway, and tripped. Caught his fall. Pushed off the floor with one hand, took three steps and reached back. He ripped the sword out of his body. Blood flew. Grégoire saw me and vamped out, a snarl on his mouth. “Putain t’étais où, bordel!”

  That one I hadn’t heard before. Pretty sure it was cussing in some form. Before I could reply, lightning hit the building.

  The flash was massive. So bright I went blind. Was thrown across the room, my skin burning as if it were being flayed off me. Time bubbled, bubbled, bubbled. Lightning shocked through me in a colossal thrust of energy.

  And then it was gone. I landed hard. Skidded. Rolled. The pain vanished. My sight returned. I heaved breaths. Heat burned through my pocket. The pocket where I’d stashed the weapon made from my flesh. The Glob had protected me from lightning and magic. The weapon was branding my skin and burning my pelt, but I’d take that over a lightning strike.

  Grégoire, however, was down, as was Gee, both blinded by the light. I raced to the hallway to see two vamps with partially severed heads, evidence of multiple gunshots, and my partner blinking against the booming brilliance. Lightning blind and probably temporarily deaf. “You okay, my brother?” I shouted in New Orleans’ lingo.

  Blinking hard, he turned in my general direction and shouted back. “Yeah. Are they down?”

  “Yes. Excellent work!”

  I spun back to the room. Gee was getting up off the floor, half his glamour gone, iridescent feathers visible, in shades of sapphire and scarlet, the stink of singed feathers hot and acrid on the air. He looked punch-drunk, blinking against the too-bright light.

  Grégoire crawled upright in one of those not-human movements the fangheads do when they’re hurt or not aping human, elbows and hips high, body low, hands splayed on the concrete, a sword in one, a switchblade in the other.

  I heard a hum from the side. From the cage. Where the lightning had been drawn by the rod. Right. Red motes of power were buzzing around the geode. The magic looked wrong, out of sequence, just zapping here and there, like sparklers in the hands of a three-year-old child. Adan was out cold on the floor by the geode. His hands were scorched to the bone.

  Soul walked in through the open garage door. Behind her was a woman in blue. Or a blue woman wearing blue. Both were staring at the geode in the cage. “All arcenciels are in your debt,” Soul said. “You are accumulating a large repository of boons and debt favors that gift you with much power.”

  “Whatever. This is not a good time,” I said, sheathing vamp-killers and pulling weapons of more modern heritage, working both slides as I did. “Grégoire.” I pointed both barrels at him. “Stop. I’ll fill you with silver if you don’t.”

  “Putain de merde, t’étais où, bordel?” he snarled at me. “On attendaient que tu arrives, pendant qu’ils nous torturaient!”

  I wasn’t sure what I had done, but it sounded awful. The blue woman spun to him, insubstantial gauzy skirts billowing out. “No! Not her!” She pointed to me. “The message you received was not from this one! It was a ruse.”

  Soul held up a hand and Grégoire stopped. Blue Girl took Soul’s gauzy skirts in her hands and slipped close, wrapping the skirts around her legs, as if sliding under a wing. Her bright blue eyes were on me. Soul said, “Cerulean tells me that you are betrayed. By one you do not expect.”

  Grégoire stopped his crawl. Got to his feet. “Put away your weapons,” he said to me, as if they were toys not to be bothered with. To Soul he said, “Who has betrayed us?”

  Soul turned to me instead of answering him. “You have a problem that we might solve.”

  “Yeah?” I challenged.

  “That”—she pointed at the cage and the sparkling geode—“is a time trap. It calls to us. If it takes us in, broken as it is now, it becomes a weapon. If it detonates, the explosion will wipe out most of New Orleans. You can deactivate it while in a bubble of time.”

  “What?” I said. “How? It comes with an instruction manual?”

  Soul didn’t even smile. “It isn’t difficult. It is vibrational, a drumming magic.”

  Which I had never heard of. Drumming magic? “Why not you? Or him?” I pointed at Gee, who dropped to a knee at the side of Louis.

  “All other time-benders will be imprisoned,” she said. “Only you have the skills and the ability to move through time that is neither arcenciel time nor Anzu time. But you must hurry.”

  “Well, crap. Of course I have to deactivate a bomb that’s going to wipe out the city. Why not?” I leaned to her and snarled, “I don’t believe you. I think you just want me to destroy a trap that scares you silly.” Soul didn’t blink, but Little Girl Blue twitched. Gotcha.

  “Yeah. That’s what I thought,” I said. “There’s problems at HQ. I’ll deactivate your bomb. But in return, the arcenciels, all of you, will agree to support Leo and the city against the rest of the European vampires. You will make a fast parley, agree to terms within one hour of the onset of negotiations, to begin at dawn, and you will support him and us against them.”

  “Done,” Soul said. “Bomb first.”

  “Whatever.”

  Soul gave me instructions. I shoulda refused.

  CHAPTER 20

  Your Faith Has Waned and All but Disappeared

  First, I bubbled time, which was a lot easier than once before. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but I pulled in the Gray Between and folded it around me like a cloak. No nausea. Weird. But then, the Glob in my pocket seemed to warm even more, as if the lightning had activated it this time. Maybe a lot of the changes in my magic were the result of its power.

  I took a single, solid sterling silver stake and entered the silvered gate, stepping over the vamp. Sat on the floor near the sparkling geode, not touching it, not bringing it into the bubble of time with me. I crossed my legs like a yoga position. My feet were pawed, big as dinner plates with retractile claws, so it wasn’t graceful. I hadn’t even noticed that I’d been barefooted. Bare-pawed? Whatever. The puma pads were resistant to the cold and the rough surfaces. I began to tap on the geode’s coarse outside. Soul had said to tap on the stone with a specific beat, a rhythm that reminded me of one of Aggie’s drums. Soul had said, “This is a ceremony, outside of time, in the midst of battle. But it is a ceremony that has no rules, one that you must feel your way through, as you feel your way through a dance, each step the result of the previous.” What she meant was that I’d be flying by the seat of my pants. As always.

  I tapped, a s
low steady pace. The sound waves, initiated in the Gray Between, entered the geode in regular time, supposedly setting up a vibration. What would have been long minutes, outside the time bubble, passed. The sparklies inside the geode didn’t alter. More time passed. I settled into the rhythm: hard, soft, soft, soft. Hard, soft, soft, soft. A tribal drumming.

  I crossed my legs, relaxing into it. TAP, tap, tap, tap. TAP, tap, tap, tap. TAP, tap, tap, tap. My heart rate settled into the beat, old as tribe. Old as time. The beat slowed. TAP, tap, tap, tap. . . . TAP, tap, tap, tap. . . . TAP, tap, tap, tap. And slowed again.

  The magics gathered in the geode began to mutate. To form a single throb in counterpoint. To spark in time to the tapping, to quiver outside the pulsation. I softened the beat. Tap, tap, tap, tap . . . tap, tap, tap, tap . . . tap, tap, tap, tap . . . The magics in the crystals, a soft, glowing, golden light, dropped from the mouth of the cut stone, ragged and tempestuous, and climbed up to twist around my stake, like a snake made of glowing barbed wire. Up the stake. Around my fingers. My hand. Wrist. My arm. Prickling and faintly stabbing. Across my body with a spiteful, tingling sensation like electrified water and heated metal. And down to the Glob in my pocket. The Glob absorbed it. Absorbed it all.

  The weapon lay hot against my blistered leg. It contained so much energy that it glowed through the cloth of my pants. And still I tapped, though the rhythm was so slow, so soft, that my wrist barely felt the drop and bounce of the silver stake. The geode glowed palely, the energies sliding elsewhere. Or maybe elsewhen. The crystals grew darker, vacant.

  In the corner of the parking area, I saw motes of power dancing, the motes moving in time with my own rhythm. Then growing closer together. In the halted sleet, a pale glow began to coalesce. Brightening. Tap, tap, tap, tap . . . tap, tap, tap, tap . . . tap, tap, tap, tap . . .

  A man stepped out of the glow. A man with wings. I knew him. Hayyel. Angie Baby’s angel. I had seen him before, for an instant that was seared into my brain. He had changed everything and everyone around him in that instant of time . . .

  But no. Time wasn’t a factor or a boundary for whatever this being might choose to do. I wasn’t sure if he had any boundaries. Did any angel, beyond the will of God?

  Hayyel ducked under the partially open garage door, and I smiled at the thought of him having to duck beneath anything merely matter, merely physical. This was the first time I had seen Hayyel in person for more than just an eye blink of time. He was beautiful, his skin darker than Eli’s, and glowing from within. Wings he folded as he moved, all in teal and charcoal and iridescent black. And who knew angels wore jeans and T-shirts?

  Hayyel wove his way through the room, pausing a moment to look into the faces of Soul and Blue Girl—Cerulean. Then down to me, where I sat on the floor of the cage, tapping. He said, “You have disturbed the direction of time. The texture of time. The intent of time.”

  “How does time have intent?” I asked. “Does that mean it has free will? Or that it’s bound to the will of another?” Tap, tap, tap, tap . . . Tap, tap, tap, tap . . . Tap, tap, tap, tap . . .

  Hayyel didn’t reply. “You have saved lives,” he said, as if finishing a monologue.

  “Yeah? How many?” I looked around the room. “Counting the humans outside and the vamps inside, maybe twenty? That many are dead at my hands in the last few days.”

  Hayyel smiled, and I swear if I hadn’t been covered in blood and gore, exhausted, and beating on a rock I’d have melted into a puddle. The man—the being—was gorgeous, even in the aftermath of a battle. “No, Dalonige’i Digadoli. You have saved three hundred eighty-nine thousand, six hundred twenty-seven humans and Mithrans and many more of Yahweh’s assorted creatures.”

  Shock shut me up. Beast took over, pressing down on my brain. I continued to tap, but she spoke, her English halting. “The I/we of Beast. Is better hunter than Jane or big-cat alone. Our broken soul, it is healed. You offered us strength and power. I/we ate it. I/we became all that is Beast. We are more than Jane or big-cat. You made us so.” Tap, tap, tap, tap . . . Tap, tap, tap, tap . . . Tap, tap, tap, tap . . .

  Hayyel’s smile widened. “Yes. Much more. But there has been a price. Death seeks you outside of time. There has been pain, temporary bondage, loss of love. Injury. Wounds so deep they have scarred your soul. Your faith has waned and all but disappeared.”

  That last part was for me. I wanted to argue about the statement. I still had faith. Didn’t I? Tap, tap, tap, tap . . . Tap, tap, tap, tap . . . Tap, tap, tap, tap . . .

  “Has it been worth the price?” the angel asked me.

  I answered, “My family and my friends are still alive. So yes.”

  “The drinkers of blood, predators in human form from across the seas, bring more pain. More suffering. You will have to sacrifice much to keep those you love alive and safe.”

  “Nothing new there.”

  “No. Nothing new beneath the hand of God.” Hayyel pointed to the middle of my/our chest. “The new configuration of energies is yet another strength.”

  “Ducky.”

  The angel shook his head, either amused or exasperated. “It too comes with a price and with limits and with temptation. Use it with discretion. With wisdom. And, Jane Yellowrock, love wisely.”

  “Right. Totally, dude.”

  Hayyel laughed. It was a musical sound, like bells and harps and gypsy violins. “I have healed your soul home. You are welcome.” Before I could reply, the angel Hayyel disappeared in a trail of golden sparks.

  I stopped drumming. The sound of the tapping, deeper than I remembered, hung on the air, multiple echoes all out of sequence. I set down the stake. Pulled a small throwing knife and pricked my finger. I replaced the small blade and stuck the bleeding hand in my pocket, wrapped my fist around the Glob. Drew it out. Centered myself with a single deep breath. And slammed it down on the trap of the arcenciels.

  Which really was a bomb.

  As if my eyes were faster than the no-time of the Gray Between, I saw my fist hit it. The geode cracked. Shattered. Power blasted out, a shock wave, a deadly concussive force. The Glob went hot, a scalding might. And it sucked all the power back into itself.

  My fist busted through, smashed the geode into a bazillion pieces. Everything within shattered. Every single quartz crystal inside the rough exterior split and crushed and fell into a sparkling ruin. And the Glob pulled it in, absorbing it all.

  As I watched the destruction, I realized that the specific vibration of the tapping, inside and outside of time, had weakened the geode’s skin and prepared it for destruction.

  The silvered cage tremored. Cracks began to run down the bars. Spreading like the veins in a bolt of lightning. Slow, but in neither real time nor Gray Between time. Something outside of both. Something created by the power of the rhythm.

  I leaped to my feet and raced to the hallway. I grabbed Eli and yanked him into the Gray Between with me. I tossed him over my shoulder, raced out the garage door. He shouted something, but I ignored it. Sprinting through the sleet, my claws gripping the asphalt for stability. I leaped over the fence. Landed on the roof of a car parked in the street. Slid off. Hit the ground hard, knees buckling, paws sliding. Eli lost all breath. I skidded across the road’s ice-hardened surface, caught my balance. Set Eli down and raced back inside. Leaving him alive. Back in time.

  In the Gray Between, I sprinted to the bricked room. Sabina was draining a woman on one of the beds, one of the long-chained. I remembered Eli’s comment about wasted protein. Beside her stood Gee DiMercy, the Mercy Blade of the NOLA vamps. There was a knife in his hand, the misericord, the blade of mercy. It was blooded. On the upper bunk was the body of a dead man, his head removed and hanging from the fingers of Gee’s other hand. When Sabina was healed, Gee would kill all the scions who had not recovered from the devoveo. It was his job. It was his nature. I gathered the silver chains and left them to it.
>
  In the hallway, I chained Louis le Jeune. He had drunk enough ancient blood that his wounds were almost healed, all but the silver head wound administered by Eli’s guns. That might take a while. I stuck a silver stake into the head wound to impede the healing and made sure the silver chains were too tight to break, even if he had an immunity to the poison. Now that Louis was stable and out of commission, I needed to take him to the SUV, but first things first.

  I looked down at my chest. The star of energies was a slow-moving pattern of red and silver. Controlled by or controlling my half-form. The lowest angles of the star bracketed my abdomen, passing through my hips and to my feet. I had a feeling that the magics were currently protecting me from blood loss and nausea. Woo-woo stuff.

  In the main room, I positioned an arm around Grégoire’s neck. I jerked back, bringing him into no-time with me. He gasped and kicked, struggling. Into his ear, I said, “We’re gonna bargain, you and me. Do you want to kill your sire?” His struggles stopped. I eased off on the throat pressure. “Yes or no?”

  “Yes. What bargain do we strike?”

  “You will tell not one single person what I can do. Not in spoken language, not in written language, not in paintings, not in music, not in pantomime, not in sign language. Not when you share blood with any other creature. If you can’t promise me that, I’ll let Le Bâtard go and hope to kill him some other time.”

  “That monster raped me for forty-two years.” Grégoire stopped and just breathed for three tortured breaths, human breaths he no longer needed, except for the pain he had endured, the memories he carried. Softer, he continued. “Then he sold me to his friends. I would cut off my arms and give them to you for the chance you offer.”

  I didn’t tell him that it would be hard to kill Le Bâtard without arms. Instead, because I knew vamps and how they thought, I said, “And?”