The two of them charged out the back side of the building, past the man with a knife in his head. Behind them shouts rose in the mist, and a few of the ambushers trying to get into the building took wild shots.
The woman ran well despite being in a gown. Yes, she’d ripped off the bottom half, but she still seemed to run too easily, without seeming to break a sweat or breathe deeply.
Blue lines. Ahead.
Wax grabbed Milan by the arm, yanking her to the side into an alleyway as a group of four men burst out of a cross street, leveling guns.
“Rusts!” Wax said, peeking around the corner. This short alleyway ended at a wall. The thugs had him surrounded.
“How many men does Bleeder have?” Wax muttered with another curse, under his breath.
“These can’t be Bleeder’s men,” Milan said. “How would she have recruited such an army? In the past she’s always worked on her own.”
Wax looked at her sharply. How much did she know about all this?
“We’re going to have to fight,” Milan said as shouts sounded from behind them. She reached to her chest, where her gown exposed considerable cleavage.
Waxillium had seen some odd things in his life. He’d visited koloss camps in the Roughs, even been invited to join their numbers. He’d met and spoken with God himself and had received a personal gift from Death. That did not prepare him for the sight of a pretty young woman’s chest turning nearly transparent, one of the breasts splitting and offering up the hilt of a small handgun.
She grabbed it and pulled it out. “So convenient,” she noted. “You can store all sorts of things in those.”
“Who are you?”
“MeLaan,” she said, rising and holding her gun in two hands. The pronunciation was slightly different this time when she said her name. “The Father promised you help. I’m it.”
A Faceless Immortal. As soon as she stopped speaking, he heard a rustling in his mind. You can trust this one. Harmony’s voice, accompanied by a sense of endlessness, a vision like he’d seen before. It was as good a confirmation as he could get that this wasn’t Bleeder.
Wax narrowed his eyes at the woman anyway. “Wait. I think I know you.”
She grinned. “We’ve met once before tonight. I’m charmed you remember. You want the ones in the back or the front?”
At least a dozen chasing them. Four ahead. He had to trust someone, sometime. “I’ll take the ones behind.”
“Such a gentleman,” she said. “By the way, technically I’m not supposed to kill people. I … uh … think I already broke that rule tonight. If we happen to survive, please don’t tell TenSoon that I murdered a bunch of people again. It upsets him.”
“Sure. I can do that.”
She grinned—whoever she was, this side of her was completely different from what she’d displayed previously. “Say when to go.”
Wax peeked around the corner. Dark figures moved in the mist behind them, coming up on their position. If she was right, and this wasn’t Bleeder, then who …
Aluminum bullets. Snipers to watch for his escape.
It was his uncle. Somehow Wax had been played. Oh, Harmony … If Bleeder and the Set were working together …
He tossed a bullet casing to the side, against the wall to his right, and held it in place with a light Allomantic push. He flexed his wounded arm, then raised both guns. “Go.”
Wax didn’t wait to see what MeLaan did. He Pushed against the casing, throwing himself out into the street, churning the mist. Men fired, and Wax increased his weight, then Pushed with a sweeping blast of Allomantic power. Some weapons were thrown backward, and some bullets stopped in the air. Men grunted as his Push sent them away.
Two men’s weapons weren’t affected by the Push. Wax shot them first. They fell, and he didn’t give the other men time to go for the aluminum guns. He decreased his weight greatly and Pushed against the men behind him, hoping that the shove helped MeLaan.
His Push sent him into the middle of the men he was fighting. He landed, kicking one of the aluminum guns away into the mists, then lowered Vindication and drilled a thug in the head, just at the ear. The cracks of his gunfire rang in the night.
Wax kept firing, dropping the men around him as he spun through the mists. Some came at him with dueling canes while others fell back with bows. No Allomancers that he’d spotted. In the night, he could finally prove the worth of the mistcoat. As he dodged between the thugs—kicking the other aluminum gun away—the tassels on his coat spun in the air, seeming to meld with the mists. Men attacked where he had been, the tassels confusing them as they churned the fog.
He twisted between two of the thugs and raised a gun to either side and fired, sending them to the ground. Then he turned and leveled both weapons at the man who had been sneaking up on him.
Both out, I believe. He pulled the triggers anyway. The weapons clicked.
The terrified man stumbled back, then paused. “He’s out! Move! He’s defenseless!” The man charged forward.
Wax dropped the guns.