Hayyel smiled, and I swear if I hadn’t been covered in blood and gore, exhausted, and beating on a rock I’d have melted into a puddle. The man—the being—was gorgeous, even in the aftermath of a battle. “No, Dalonige’i Digadoli. You have saved three hundred eighty-nine thousand, six hundred twenty-seven humans and Mithrans and many more of Yahweh’s assorted creatures.”
Shock shut me up. Beast took over, pressing down on my brain. I continued to tap, but she spoke, her English halting. “The I/we of Beast. Is better hunter than Jane or big-cat alone. Our broken soul, it is healed. You offered us strength and power. I/we ate it. I/we became all that is Beast. We are more than Jane or big-cat. You made us so.” Tap, tap, tap, tap . . . Tap, tap, tap, tap . . . Tap, tap, tap, tap . . .
Hayyel’s smile widened. “Yes. Much more. But there has been a price. Death seeks you outside of time. There has been pain, temporary bondage, loss of love. Injury. Wounds so deep they have scarred your soul. Your faith has waned and all but disappeared.”
That last part was for me. I wanted to argue about the statement. I still had faith. Didn’t I? Tap, tap, tap, tap . . . Tap, tap, tap, tap . . . Tap, tap, tap, tap . . .
“Has it been worth the price?” the angel asked me.
I answered, “My family and my friends are still alive. So yes.”
“The drinkers of blood, predators in human form from across the seas, bring more pain. More suffering. You will have to sacrifice much to keep those you love alive and safe.”
“Nothing new there.”
“No. Nothing new beneath the hand of God.” Hayyel pointed to the middle of my/our chest. “The new configuration of energies is yet another strength.”
“Ducky.”
The angel shook his head, either amused or exasperated. “It too comes with a price and with limits and with temptation. Use it with discretion. With wisdom. And, Jane Yellowrock, love wisely.”
“Right. Totally, dude.”
Hayyel laughed. It was a musical sound, like bells and harps and gypsy violins. “I have healed your soul home. You are welcome.” Before I could reply, the angel Hayyel disappeared in a trail of golden sparks.
I stopped drumming. The sound of the tapping, deeper than I remembered, hung on the air, multiple echoes all out of sequence. I set down the stake. Pulled a small throwing knife and pricked my finger. I replaced the small blade and stuck the bleeding hand in my pocket, wrapped my fist around the Glob. Drew it out. Centered myself with a single deep breath. And slammed it down on the trap of the arcenciels.
Which really was a bomb.
As if my eyes were faster than the no-time of the Gray Between, I saw my fist hit it. The geode cracked. Shattered. Power blasted out, a shock wave, a deadly concussive force. The Glob went hot, a scalding might. And it sucked all the power back into itself.
My fist busted through, smashed the geode into a bazillion pieces. Everything within shattered. Every single quartz crystal inside the rough exterior split and crushed and fell into a sparkling ruin. And the Glob pulled it in, absorbing it all.
As I watched the destruction, I realized that the specific vibration of the tapping, inside and outside of time, had weakened the geode’s skin and prepared it for destruction.
The silvered cage tremored. Cracks began to run down the bars. Spreading like the veins in a bolt of lightning. Slow, but in neither real time nor Gray Between time. Something outside of both. Something created by the power of the rhythm.
I leaped to my feet and raced to the hallway. I grabbed Eli and yanked him into the Gray Between with me. I tossed him over my shoulder, raced out the garage door. He shouted something, but I ignored it. Sprinting through the sleet, my claws gripping the asphalt for stability. I leaped over the fence. Landed on the roof of a car parked in the street. Slid off. Hit the ground hard, knees buckling, paws sliding. Eli lost all breath. I skidded across the road’s ice-hardened surface, caught my balance. Set Eli down and raced back inside. Leaving him alive. Back in time.
In the Gray Between, I sprinted to the bricked room. Sabina was draining a woman on one of the beds, one of the long-chained. I remembered Eli’s comment about wasted protein. Beside her stood Gee DiMercy, the Mercy Blade of the NOLA vamps. There was a knife in his hand, the misericord, the blade of mercy. It was blooded. On the upper bunk was the body of a dead man, his head removed and hanging from the fingers of Gee’s other hand. When Sabina was healed, Gee would kill all the scions who had not recovered from the devoveo. It was his job. It was his nature. I gathered the silver chains and left them to it.
In the hallway, I chained Louis le Jeune. He had drunk enough ancient blood that his wounds were almost healed, all but the silver head wound administered by Eli’s guns. That might take a while. I stuck a silver stake into the head wound to impede the healing and made sure the silver chains were too tight to break, even if he had an immunity to the poison. Now that Louis was stable and out of commission, I needed to take him to the SUV, but first things first.
I looked down at my chest. The star of energies was a slow-moving pattern of red and silver. Controlled by or controlling my half-form. The lowest angles of the star bracketed my abdomen, passing through my hips and to my feet. I had a feeling that the magics were currently protecting me from blood loss and nausea. Woo-woo stuff.
In the main room, I positioned an arm around Grégoire’s neck. I jerked back, bringing him into no-time with me. He gasped and kicked, struggling. Into his ear, I said, “We’re gonna bargain, you and me. Do you want to kill your sire?” His struggles stopped. I eased off on the throat pressure. “Yes or no?”
“Yes. What bargain do we strike?”
“You will tell not one single person what I can do. Not in spoken language, not in written language, not in paintings, not in music, not in pantomime, not in sign language. Not when you share blood with any other creature. If you can’t promise me that, I’ll let Le Batard go and hope to kill him some other time.”
“That monster raped me for forty-two years.” Grégoire stopped and just breathed for three tortured breaths, human breaths he no longer needed, except for the pain he had endured, the memories he carried. Softer, he continued. “Then he sold me to his friends. I would cut off my arms and give them to you for the chance you offer.”
I didn’t tell him that it would be hard to kill Le Batard without arms. Instead, because I knew vamps and how they thought, I said, “And?”
Grégoire laughed softly as if he had read my mind. “I offer my word and a boon.”
“Done.” I set the small man on his feet. “Hold my hand.”
Grégoire placed one hand in mine. With his other, he drew his sword. We moved back into to the hallway, where Grégoire saw his tormentor, his sire. Grégoire vamped out so fast, if I’d blinked I would have missed it. In the small warrior such a fast transition wasn’t a sign of loss of control, however. It was deliberate. Focused. A controlled speed.