The heartbeat was coming from the room at the end of the hall. Four menacing, open doorways stood between him and it. Bones pulled two knives from his coat, one steel, one silver. He gripped one in each hand as he kept low and moved forward. Come out, come out, wherever you are…
Everything in him tensed as he crept up to the first door, his nerve endings anticipating a sudden slice of pain from a knife or other weapon. Bones sprang into the room, braced to counter an assault—but there was nothing. Just more furniture with dust covers over them and that noxious embalming odor that neutered his ability to track anything by scent.
One down, three to go.
Bones repeated the same routine with the next door. This time, he was hit in the face by a spiderweb, but nothing more threatening than that. The third room was empty, as was the fourth room, but the fourth room had blood in it. A lot of blood.
Bones knelt by one of the wide, pooling spots, giving it a deep sniff. Even above the chemical fumes in the room, he knew it was Becca’s blood. Which meant the pieces of bones tossed almost casually in the corner were hers as well.
He rose, the swell of killing anger in him making him calmer, not crazed. Bones approached the last room with the heartbeat just as slowly and cautiously as he had the others. If the LaLauries had thought the grisly display of their leftovers would have him dashing in with reckless abandon to save her, they were wrong.
This room was empty of furniture except for one long, dark coffin where the heartbeat came from. Bones waited before entering, his senses tuned for any nuance of noise or movement. Nothing. Then again, a ghoul didn’t breathe, and could hold as still as a statue if need be. Delphine and Louis could both be in there, waiting for him.
Bones dove into the room, rolling immediately to counter any frontal assault, the blades gripped in his hands seeking flesh to bury themselves into. Nothing. Not even a whisper, except for that steady heartbeat. The closet in the room had no doors, so no one was hiding in there, and unless Delphine or Louis had acquired Ralmiel’s dematerializing trick, they weren’t in this room.
He approached the coffin, taking in another deep breath. There was the scent of the embalming fluid, Becca’s blood, and something else. Metallic, though too faint to decipher over the stink of the chemicals. Muffled noises consisting of mmph, mmphh! interspersed with ragged breathing from inside the coffin. Someone was alive in there. Gagged, from the sounds of it.
Bones ran his hand along the coffin’s lid. This was too easy. Was Delphine in there with Becca, waiting to thrust silver in his heart as soon as Bones lifted the lid?
If she was, she’d soon find out the futility of that.
He cracked the lid, heard a faint click—and then flung himself away the instant before the blast. Silver fragments from the specialized bomb were embedded all over the back of him. So were the body parts of whichever unfortunate soul had been in that coffin. Only Bones’s Kevlar vest kept the ragged silver pieces from shredding his heart. For a stunned moment, he lay on the ground, mentally calculating his injuries. Then Delphine and Louis burst into the room, swinging away with silver knives.
Bones staggered to his feet, wincing at the pain in his legs where chunks of flesh had been torn off by the bomb. His head was both ringing and throbbing; some silver must have embedded in his skull. He whirled, making the stab Louis aimed for his heart slice into his shoulder instead. But it was a mistake, since the blade pieced deeply into his skin when it would have only bounced off the Kevlar on his chest. Bones shook his head to clear it, mentally lashing himself. Quit being stupid, or you won’t have long to regret it.
He’d lost the knives in his hands during the explosion. Bones received two more deep swipes before he could secure a blade and attack back. Louis LaLaurie was quick, dodging the blade and kicking Bones in the thigh, where a particularly large piece of silver was still lodged.
It cost him a step as he spun again to avoid Delphine’s attack from behind. Her knife cleaved into his upper arm instead of through his neck. It bit deep, though, almost severing the limb. Delphine was strong, and she wasn’t fighting like a novice. She slashed at him while Louis attacked from the front. All the silver in his flesh was using up his strength as his body automatically attempted to heal itself—and heal the new injuries that were being inflicted, one after the other.