To Dance With the Devil (Page 49)

There were screams behind us. Not all the creatures were affected by the holy items, but enough were to slow the horde to a stop, enough to buy us those few instants we needed to make it through the gap in the wall of sandbags to safety.

Bubba helped me strip the water tank from my back even as he half dragged me away from the gap in the sandbags. We were in the shade. It felt glorious, heavenly. As the burning of my skin eased, I was able to take in what my friend was saying: “… expected anything to happen until dark. They’re using the power of the full moon. We figured it would happen after moonrise.”

It seemed logical. I’d assumed the same, and I should’ve known it wasn’t necessary. It didn’t really matter all that much that the moon was on the far side of the planet. It was still full. The power was still there. Oh, it was marginally more difficult to control—but that problem had been more than offset by the element of surprise that they’d gained. Damn it.

“Now what?” Chris asked. “I’m assuming you have a plan, that you didn’t just drag me down here so that you could die beside your buddy here.”

I glared at him and bludgeoned my weary brain. We needed to tip the balance in our favor. There had to be a way.

And then I had an idea, an absolutely wonderful, workable idea. I started smiling. “Bubba, where’s my rifle?”

32

“Talia has it. She’s the better shot.”

“And where’s Talia?”

“Right here.” Her voice came from behind me. She was smiling, miraculously uninjured after her stint atop the sandbag wall. She wore the rifle slung across her shoulder with an ease that spoke of plenty of experience.

“Set the weapon up on top of the wall, aim it toward the circle,” I ordered. “I have a target for you.”

“Right.”

She clambered up onto the nearest truck, lying on her belly on the roof. I watched, shivering from a sudden chill that probably had more to do with nerves than the fact that the sun was rapidly sinking in the West. The enemy had given up a cautious approach in favor of an all-out charge. The gunfire was almost constant.

When the grenade dropped in front of me, I didn’t have time to think. Acting on instinct, I grabbed it, turned, and flung it over the wall as hard and fast as I could. Judging from the screams, it exploded behind enemy lines.

A familiar figure strode up. I’d worked with Roger Thomas in Mexico. He was a handsome man, well built, with prematurely gray hair and penetrating blue eyes. Even at the end of what had to have been a really rough day, his trousers had a crisp crease and his posture was perfect. His entire attitude spoke of command.

“Graves, you really know how to make an entrance.” He greeted me with a tired smile. Something about the expression bothered me, setting off alarm bells in the back of my head. The whole time we’d been in Mexico I’d never once seen him smile. Then again, there hadn’t been a lot to smile about. There wasn’t now either. I shivered again but kept my voice pleasant and neutral and watched him very closely.

“Hey, Thomas, where’s Chuck? I need to brief him.”

His features darkened, but it was odd, as if the muscles of his face were fighting against the expression, making what should have been a smooth, automatic change of expression look stilted and uncoordinated. “Chuck’s down. Flanders is in charge. He sent me here to pull you and your people to cover the breach.”

“Thomas, I hate to ask, but I need to check you out. They’ve got spawn on their side, and you came from the direction of the breach.” I reached into my jacket to pull out one of my little squirt guns of holy water.

Thomas scowled at me but didn’t move. I hadn’t expected him to like it. But if it was really him, he was professional enough to respect the necessity. If it wasn’t, well, I’d know in a minute.

I stepped forward, intending to spray a drop or two onto his palm. When I did, he lunged at me. “Damn you, Graves.” Connor Finn’s voice came from Roger Thomas’s lips as he drew his Ruger. Fuck, Connor Finn was dead, all right, and now he was a ghost. Had to be. And he’d taken over the nearest channeler. He didn’t have time to aim as I closed the distance between us and chopped down on his right forearm with my left hand as I fired holy water into his eyes with my right. The gun fired as his forearm broke; the bullet went wild.

He screamed in pain and rage, his right arm now practically useless. The water hadn’t burned him, but he’d pulled back reflexively anyway, giving me the opening I needed. I dropped the little water pistol and slugged him hard in the jaw, sending him staggering backward.

Chris drew his gun. Bubba moved behind Thomas, putting him in a classic choke hold, cutting off his oxygen. Thomas’s face turned red, then purple, as he struggled to loosen the muscular arms that held him, bucking and struggling, trying to get air. I knew he’d lose consciousness any second. I was glad. I didn’t want him dead. Thomas wasn’t the problem; Finn was. I was about to explain that to them when Talia screamed and I felt warm blood splatter down on me like rain.

I looked up as she rolled off the roof into the truck bed, screaming obscenities. Her right shoulder was a red ruin. As Bubba used his belt to tie Thomas up, Chris climbed onto the truck bed and began giving Talia emergency medical attention. I scrambled up behind him, heading for Talia’s previous position.

To the left, where the wall had been breached, I heard screams and heavy fire. The enemy had arrived.

There was no time to wait for Bubba or anyone else. It would have to be me. I took Talia’s place behind the rifle. Ignoring the noise and chaos boiling around me, I set my eye to the lens of the scope.

What I saw was astonishing, awe-inspiring, an image that I would take to my grave. The destructive power of the enemy mages had grown, and they were using it to create a force of pure devastation that would wipe out anything and everything in its path, our small resistance band and their own troops as well. It looked like a tornado made of fire. Flames flickered up from the base, forming a long, narrow rope of orange and red that threaded up the center of a whirlwind of gray and black smoke and fury. Through the lens I could see individual flickering flames. I said a quick prayer as, taking a deep breath, I adjusted my aim downward, looking for that small pinpoint of light beneath the flames and whirling smoke. There it was, their vosta, a ruby as big as my two closed fists. I focused on the faceted red stone. With a small, silent prayer that my instincts were right, that this was the best true target, I tightened my finger on the trigger.

The rifle kicked painfully into my shoulder.

I looked into the distance, ignoring the chaos that boiled around me.

There was the briefest of pauses—perhaps the space of a heartbeat—then an explosion. The stone, unable to withstand the impact of the bullet after being weakened by the titanic magics forced into it, shattered, sending a shock wave outward. The fiery tornado was blown out like a giant birthday candle. The ground lurched sickeningly beneath me, as the power behind me expanded without resistance, flowing over me in a burning wave. I closed my eyes against both pain and nausea, bracing myself as my body reacted to the conflicting magical powers. Pure energy swept outward from the enemy encampment, flattening everything outside our walls, squashing the enemy army like so many roaches before burning their bodies to dust in an instant. The power hit the sandbags with hurricane force, the ground itself rocking from an earthquake that probably scored high on the Richter scale. The truck I lay in bucked enough to drop me into the bed.

When the powers met in the air above me, there was a sound like the chime of a huge bell. I opened my eyes, turning to see the pure blue-white light change to a vivid neon purple that shone more brightly than the noonday sun. People dropped to the ground, burying their faces in their hands, turning away from the light. I tried to use my forearm to shield my eyes, but I cared too much about the people in that circle to turn away. My four mages were tiny black specks against the painful brightness. As I watched, three of them fell to their knees. The hood of the standing figure’s cloak was thrown back by eldritch winds, revealing Isabella’s face as she shrieked the final words of the spell. Power poured into and back out through her, rebuilding the Needle’s defenses, renewing them, making them more powerful than they’d ever been. The pain of the magic ripped across my skin and I screamed, writhing in agony, for an endless instant until the world went dark.

* * *

I forced my eyes open to find Bubba kneeling next to me. He looked a little worse for wear; one arm was strapped to his body and he was covered with dirt and scratches, but he was alive. There was something weird about his eyes. They were blue—really, really blue, like lasers or the light sabers in that old sci-fi movie. His eyes hadn’t been that color before. Had they?

“Graves, you’re back.”

“Jeez,” I wheezed, “can’t a girl even take a nap without everyone getting spooked?”

It was a weak joke, but he gave a snort of laughter anyway, settling himself cross-legged onto the ground beside me as I sat up. Chris dropped a blanket over me and handed me a bottle of water. The blanket was rough wool and army green. Looking around I saw a lot more people milling about than had been there when I’d passed out. Most of them were in uniform.

“Drink this. Stay warm. I’ve got other people with worse injuries to tend to, but shock is tricky. Bubba, keep an eye on her.”

Bubba nodded his assent. When Chris walked off to his next patient, Bubba turned to me. “Before you ask, they’re National Guard. The governor sent in a unit at the archbishop’s request. There’s a group of militant priests here, too, working to banish the thing in the middle of the battlefield. The guard’s pretty much taken things over. Bruno’s fine. So’re John and Matty. Mrs. DeLuca is alive, but every hair on her body is white, even her eyelashes. And she’s blind. Chris bandaged her eyes, but I’m pretty sure it’s permanent.”