"Perhaps you can. However, this is not the time to do it. Cal, you take the front. Ms. Nottinger and I will take the back." His hand firmly on Promise's arm, Niko ushered her to the end of the alley, where they both disappeared into a darkness as physical as a wall. I chose my own pool of shadows to submerge myself in and waited patiently, the bricks rough and suspiciously wet against my back. There'd been no rain, and I didn't even want to hazard a guess as to what was soaking through the material of my coat. That is, until I remembered it was Niko's jacket, and then I gleefully thought of a hundred noxious, disgusting fluids it could be.
My patience wasn't all it could be when it came to the day-to-day shit, but when it came to matters of survival, it was as still and cold as that of any cat waiting for an unlucky low-flying bird. And it wasn't too long before our feathered friend fluttered in. Sharp beak, darting black eyes—he really was rather birdlike with a black trench coat that even vaguely mimicked wings. He was a smaller man, a few inches shorter than me, with a slight build, but there was a glassy sheen in his eyes that gave as much pause as a muscle-bound body would have. He wasn't talking to himself or carrying any handmade signs proclaiming the apocalypse was nigh, my brothers, but he had the same stark, white-eyed stare many of the street people had. Chaotic and intense as a laser beam without a guidance system.
He moved into the alley cautiously with quick short steps, askew gaze flitting back and forth. There was something in his hand, but it was hidden by the folds of his long coat. It had to be a weapon. Gun or knife, Taser maybe. And from his white-knuckle grip, it didn't look like he had any intentions of giving it up without a fight. I curved my lips in a silent, humorless grin. That was all right by me. I wasn't one to turn down pounding a deserving head against the asphalt. Good stress relief. I watched as he passed my position without detecting me in the deep gloom. The twinkling Christmas lights gleamed off his high forehead and pale fawn hair like an eerie halo. It was a jaggedly bizarre contrast with his jittering eyes and ferocious intensity—a soulless and psychotic angel in desperate need of a Prozac-lithium cocktail. He was also an angel who was about to get his wings clipped.
I stepped away from the wall and moved in silently behind him. His bony shoulders were scarecrow thin and so tense it looked as if he'd shatter with one touch. Always being the curious sort, I gave it a try. Pulling a knife, I tapped him politely with the blade. "I think you took a wrong turn off the yellow brick road, pal. A seriously wrong turn."
They were words he took to heart, demonstrated by his next turn. He swiveled around with a slippery speed, his coat fanning out behind him and his hand thrusting with avalanche force toward my face. It happened with such speed and fury that it was like an act of God, inescapable. Not to mention uninsurable. I backpedaled, blocked the blow with my forearm, and aimed my knife for his abdomen. The metal cutting the air, I was just about to open him up like a pi?ata when I was able to make out what was flying toward my face. Not a knife, not a gun, not even a goddamn slingshot. It was a cross. It was a hugely ornate one, gleaming with a softly metallic sheen in the weak light. Still, as big as it was, it wasn't enough of a threat to justify slicing and dicing the guy. Not yet anyway. Hope springs eternal, though, right?
I pulled my blade up, and landed a hard elbow in his gut instead. He dropped like a rock, gasping for air, but stubbornly clinging to the cross. Squatting on my heels, I patted him down as he curled in a fetal position, on the pavement. Out of his pockets I fished another smaller cross and a vial of colorless liquid. I opened it and was sniffing it cautiously when Niko appeared, empty-handed and apparently weaponless except for the wickedly amused twitch of his lips. "Embracing that old-time religion, are we?"
Grunting, I replaced the lid. It was just water. "Embracing it with my face, you mean. He nearly put a dent in my skull. Thanks for the help, by the way."
"If you couldn't handle one unarmed fanatic, Cal, then you are too frail for this world. Best to shuffle off that mortal coil before someone places you in a bubble for your own good." He reached down and took the small container from my hand. He didn't open it, merely held it up in the dim light and said simply, "Ah." Looking down at our mysterious lunatic, he tossed the vial from hand to hand. "Now, isn't this interesting?"
Annoyed, I puffed out air and grumbled, "Care to share with the class, Sherlock? Your leaps of logic tend to leave me motion sick."
An eyebrow rose. "Cal, it's obvious. A cross, what appears to be holy water. Our nutritionally challenged friend is after a…"
"Vampire," the man wheezed, his empty hand scrambling weakly at the alley floor. "She's a vampire." He coughed, sucked in a whistling breath. "A monster… a fiend from hell."
Well, how about that? Promise was a sister. "Is that a fact?" I commented neutrally, rising smoothly and planting a heavy foot in the small of the scarecrow's back to keep him down. "Did she happen to mention that when she hired you, Niko? That whole bloodsucking thing ever come up?"
"Mistress of the devil. Satan's scarlet whore," the voice rasped on from beneath my foot.
"Yeah, yeah, buddy," I said impatiently. "We got it. Zip it already."