The elevator doors blew inward, just missing me as I stepped back into the dark. It took a few long seconds to interpret what I was seeing/hearing/smelling. Leo stood in the shaft, wreathed in shadows, stinking of combat and explosive residue and his own blood. His swords were circling in La Destreza. To his right Katie fought, her swords whirling, her clothing catching the light, pulling it all to her, her grace and brilliance seeming to make the shadows darker. The two stepped toward the dungeon, toward me, feet lifting lightly, as if in a dance. But they had been injured with both swords and gunfire, numerous times, and crimson stained their clothes.
Peregrinus followed, lunging, lunging, lunging, his swords flashing. Humans took cover behind him, their guns firing at the dancing vamps. From the room where Bruiser and the others waited, shots were returned, steady, targeted shots, not random cover fire. Two of Peregrinus’ humans fell. The street gang raced behind the walls, out of sight. Their guns fell silent.
The gunfire assured me that whatever Bruiser and his boys had planned, it wasn’t to let Peregrinus win, which meant that Bethany was still on Leo’s side. That was good to know.
Katie moved out from Leo’s side as the fighting spread past my hiding place, into the room. That put her in line with Peregrinus. In my line of fire.
Peregrinus was dressed in plate metal from head to foot, looking like Iron Man, if Iron Man had worn blue armor splashed with bloody trim like macabre lace. He also wore the quartz crystal necklace, with the smoky inclusion of a dragon.
And Katie was still in my way. If I missed.
Peregrinus lunged again and again, moving farther into the room. Faster than even Beast could follow. At his back another form appeared, landing in a crouch as if dropped from the floor above.
Holy crap. The Devil.
She was still alive.
Peregrinus had fed her quickly enough to save her. Impossible. Unless he himself had already fed from the Son of Darkness. Yeah. Sure. He had done that the first thing when he got here. Drink. Get stronger. Drink down his humans, Naturaleza-style, the ones he’d left in a drained pile. Then start whatever ceremony he had been planning on. Which, if priestesses weren’t necessary for the change, could mean that the Devil was an Onorio . . . Holy crap.
The Devil raced through the fighters, avoiding everything, every sword, every gun, her own swords spinning with the grace of angels’ wings, steel wings of death. Her fighting method was different from other vamps’. Not just lunge-lunge-lunge, but rather step-step-lunge, step-lunge, step-step-lunge, like a dance. Add in a lunging pirouette with a lunging sword sweep, like a bird’s wing with death on the flight feathers, and it was beautiful and deadly and mesmerizing. Around her, three human fighters fell, their cries and blood and the stench of bowels released in death adding to the chaos. And with the rhythm of the Devil’s steps, her dance of death, I had a clear shot.
Now, I whispered to Beast. Together we stepped into the Gray Between. Time stuttered and shuddered and slowed. Stopped. Or nearly so. Though the Devil’s swords still moved, ever so slowly.
I slid between her blades, easing between the cutting edges. The swords slid an inch. Two more. Three. Careful. Careful, I thought. If Beast lost control, I would be in several pieces before my eyes could blink. I wasn’t sure I could heal if I was in pieces. I had never died that way before. A shaft of light thrust through the path of the Devil’s blades, illuminating Bruiser, leaping high, toward her. His mouth was open in a scream, his face full of wrath and lethal purpose. His blades were out to the sides, like a raptor in flight. But he wasn’t going to survive the leap. Faster than he was falling through the air, the Devil’s blades turned toward him. Only an inch at a time, but I could see the trajectory of the swords and the bloody death to come. My heart clenched, a painful contraction. No . . .
I stepped close and placed the working end of the Judge against the side of the Devil’s neck, into the freshly healed scars left by vamp fangs. Making sure her swords were still out of cutting range, and Bruiser out of range of any through-and-through .410 pellets, I squeezed the trigger. It took a lot more muscle than I expected. And it took a lot longer. I squeezed and squeezed, muscles trembling, the trigger moving slowly. Finally, the gun clicked. Shook.
The explosion was a visual thing as much as a tactile experience, the barrel shoving back in my hands, leaving a small space between the barrel and the Devil’s neck. A puff of hot gray smoke appeared, burning her skin, a low roar that grew in volume. Pellets emerged in a tight, narrow pattern.
My hands fought the kick, which was slow and heavy, trying to shove my arms up. The pellets and something plastic-like began to depress the skin of her neck, pierce the flesh. Disappear inside her. Spread out, the pattern widening. Her cervical spine snapped. I held my position as the barrel emptied.
As soon as the barrel of the gun was empty, I ducked and backed away. And my belly began to cramp. It started faster this time, and harder. Deeper. I grunted with pain and doubled over. I stumbled and dropped to one knee, gripping my belly with one hand, while the other still held the Judge. I managed a partial breath and tilted my head to see my handiwork.