They hit the second floor landing right as a door slammed open below, and the air went cold.
August must have felt the difference, too, because he grabbed her hand, and they burst out onto the second floor, sprinting for the other set of stairs.
Down, down, steps echoing through the concrete chamber as they passed the first floor and kept going. A door thrown open overhead. They hit the basement level just as a shape dropped like a stone over the stairs and landed before them in an elegant crouch.
The fall should have shattered the creature’s body, but the Malchai rose fluidly, red eyes little more than violent cuts in her skull. A gash ran down her cheek, obscuring the H once branded into her skin.
“Foolish little Harker,” she said, her mouth twisting into a rictus grin, “doesn’t know when to die.” The Malchai’s red eyes cut to August, and she let out a wet hiss. “Sunai.”
August started to put himself in front of Kate, but someone was stomping down the stairs. He appeared, a human rippling with muscles, a metal baton clutched in one meaty hand. Just like the Malchai, the man’s face bore her father’s brand, and just like the Malchai, it had been clawed off. Angry red welts ran down his cheek.
The sight of him made Kate’s head spin. A human? The dissenters were gathering steam. And men. But that made no sense; Olivier’s whole point had been—
The man’s baton slashed toward her, and August pulled her out of the way and got his arm up in time to block the blow. When the metal cracked against his forearm, electricity arced and crackled over his skin. August gasped but didn’t buckle.
Kate felt a shudder of movement at her back and spun, slashing at the Malchai with the iron spike, but the creature ducked and dodged, her motions terrifyingly fast and impossibly fluid. Beside Kate, August’s fist connected with the man’s face, and his head cracked sideways, but he didn’t fall. He struck again with the baton, and this time August caught it in one hand, the energy arcing over him and filling the stairwell with static. For an instant, his gray eyes burned blue with the power, and then he tore the weapon from the man’s grip.
Kate stepped too close to the Malchai, trying to get under her guard, but the monster’s skeletal fingers caught her by the jaw and shoved her back into the wall. Light burst across her vision from the force of the blow, and the Malchai’s mouth yawned into a smile.
Kate smiled, too, then drove the metal spike down into the Malchai’s sinewy forearm. The monster hissed and slammed Kate back again, but this time Kate hit the door instead of the wall and went stumbling backward into the basement garage, landing hard on the concrete. Pain seared through her injured shoulder and across her stomach, and she could feel fresh blood welling against the bandages as the Malchai appeared, pulling the spike free and casting it aside.
Another crash, and August and the man came tumbling into the garage, a tangle of limbs. The baton went skidding away, and Kate was halfway to her feet when the Malchai sent her sprawling backward to the concrete with a vicious kick. She felt stitches tear, and stifled a cry, eyes blurring. Before she could force herself up, the monster was on her, slight but dense, unyielding.
Kate strained to reach her back.
“Oh dear,” said the Malchai, pinning her to the cold ground, her razor teeth shining in the artificial light. “It seems you’ve lost your toy.”
Kate’s fingers closed over the metal against her spine. “That’s why I keep two,” she said, driving the second spike up into the Malchai’s chest.
The monster gasped as Kate forced the spike home, greasy black blood spilling over her fingers as the Malchai collapsed onto her, more bones than body. She freed herself from the dead weight, recovered the two spikes, and staggered to her feet in time to see August force the baton up below the human’s chin. There was an electric crackle, a spasm of blue, and the man went down with all the grace of a cinder block.
August looked shaken, eyes wide and strangely bright, but he was already moving again. He plunged back into the stairwell and reemerged a moment later clutching his violin case. Kate didn’t waste time. She turned and started moving briskly, deliberately, between the rows of vehicles.
“What are you looking for?” he asked. A car alarm was going off in the distance, and he cringed as if the sound were deafening.
“A ride,” she answered. Some of the cars were too new, others too old. She finally stopped in front of a black sedan, nice enough, but not one of the models with fancy security and keyless entry.