The Demon's Librarian

CHAPTER 16

"Get down!"

The scream came from his right, but he was too goddamn busy to worry about it. Paul moved with the speed trained into Malik by constant practice, smashing her out of the way, and Ryan hit the Inkani dog hard, felt bones snap under the force of his blow. The knife tore up, the curse glowing along its blade, ripping through skin gone hard and leathery with armor-plating. He only had a few critical seconds while the dogsbody finished changing to get in the final blow. If he let it go much further he'd have to spend some serious effort kicking its ass.

Etheric force crackled, a Drakul's fighting-aura, almost visible in the wet air. Paul yelled, a shapeless sound. The dog's neck cracked as Ryan backhanded it with just the right amount of force, the sound like a dry branch snapped in half. The body crumpled, he shook foul black blood off his knife and half-turned on his heel, scanning for more of them.

Christ.

The street was dark, all the lamps either busted or refusing to work. Chess lay on her side, her hair ripped free of its usual sleek braid and her eyes wide, dark, and uncomprehending just before they closed. His chest hurt, a swift slicing pain—she's alive, thank you God, alive, I owe you one— and Paul was on one knee, crouched in front of her, his left hand reaching down, fingers tented, to touch the wet pavement. His right hand was up, the gun trained on the irikornac, which hunkered down growling, its red eyes infernos and its forked tail lashing. Just great. A leaper.

The irikornic looked like a humanoid flea with red eyes and high pointed ears, its skin smooth and gray. It crouched, tail lashing, muscles bunching in its massive legs. You didn't often see leapers. They were unable to camouflage their essential weirdness and, as such, were often kept as bodyguards or personal pets by the High Ones, much as human druglords kept pit bulls and mastiffs.

Don't tell me there's a High One in this city. Please God, don't let there be one here so soon.

"Ryan?” Paul didn't sound panicked, but the leaping iron taste of adrenaline filled the air. Chess groaned, a shapeless sound.

"Got it.” Ryan reached for another knife, spinning the hilt of the one in his right hand until the blade lay flat against his forearm. “Be mellow, Grasshopper. I'm on it.” Irikornic tracked with their aural receptors. Ryan deliberately scuffed his feet, attracting its attention. “Come on over here, you stupid little bitch. Come on."

It leapt, blurring with demonic speed. Ryan dropped, a sullen-red flash sparking as he shoved etheric force into his knife and smashed upward, ripping. The thing screeched, an unholy sound, and he heard the sound that was every Drakul's nightmare: the thin, high, silver chill of an ultrasonic hunting-cry, far too close for comfort. His head met concrete with stunning force. He shook off the blow and ended up flat on his back.

Steaming meat collapsed, rancid black blood boiling on his skin and scalp, slicking his hair to his head. He'd hit the soft spot just under its ribs and nicked a blood-channel. Lucky shot, luckier than he deserved. His foot socked into its solar plexus and he shifted, ready to push it off to the side.

"Ryan? Orion!"

He shoved the limp, rotting body away, made it to his feet. “What?"

Chess's knife spun between Paul's fingers, its light scoring into Ryan's eyes. Paul lowered the knife. “They're close. Really close."

"Where's the key?” He made it to them in record time, almost skidding to a stop and going down on one knee. “Is she—"

"Just stunned, I think. Her pulse is good, respiration sound.” Paul held up the broad, flat motorcycle key. “I'll get her bike. Can you handle her?"

We shouldn't split up, but on that motorcycle you can outrun anything short of a High One. “I can handle her. She's lighter than you."

"A little bitty thing."

"But sharp.” But his eyes were on Chess even as Paul fished in her purse, yanking her coat up. For a moment, the idea of another man touching her—even a Malik—made red rage rise under his breastbone. She lay on her side, her eyelids fluttering and her skin waxen-pale. He reached down to take her shoulders and gather her up. How hard did he hit her? It's a damn good thing he got her out of the way, the spider was almost on her. He touched her cheek, a rill of pleasure spreading down his arm. She looked just like she was sleeping, instead of knocked unconscious by a Malik pounding her with both physical and sorcerous force to get her out of the way. But she wasn't bleeding.

Paul got the knife back in its sheath, shoved her purse back where it belonged, and yanked her jacket down with one quick, efficient jerk, the Fang safely stowed. “Come on."

It took a moment, but he had Chess over his shoulder and carried her to the empty parking lot, where the motorcycle crouched sleek and gleaming under a cedar tree. I'm not even going to ask you where you found that thing, sweetheart. The attendant was gone, his cubicle dark and forlorn, and that didn't seem quite right. He discarded the thought as immaterial. They wouldn't be here long. He could hear her heartbeat; it was, as Paul had said, reassuringly strong. She was breathing too, beginning to stir.

The motorcycle roused itself, its kickstand popped up and its seat swiped free of water. Paul grinned. “She's got great taste."

She obviously loves it. The way Chess had touched the motorcycle before leaving it here this morning had told him that much. Even if he had almost missed her speeding out of the parking garage on it. “Take care of that thing, or I'll sic her sister on you. Godspeed."

"You too. See you soon.” And Paul eased it out of the parking spot and turned right on Vox Street. Then he gunned it, and Ryan sighed.

Another high, crystalline hunting-cry shook the air. Ryan didn't hesitate, cutting diagonally across the lot and gaining the safety of a dark alley. He muscled up a metal ladder bolted to the side of a brick building, handling her slight weight carefully. He reached the roof just as she stirred again and made a low moaning noise.

Hang in there, sweetheart. He reached the roof just as the heavens opened. Cold rain began slashing down, the storm front he'd been smelling for hours while watching the library dumping yet another load of water on the weary earth below—and not so incidentally, blurring his trail.

The hunting-cry came again, like a crystal glass stroked just right, chilling his skin and calling up a tide of instinct from the darkest basement of his mind. Hunting. And she's the prey. More speed, breath tearing in his lungs. She was awake and starting to struggle.

He found a handy, defensible corner behind a billboard tacked to the top of a three-story concrete building that, from the smell, housed a dry cleaners, and eased her off his shoulder. The billboard cut the force of the wind, and he found himself holding Chess's slim shoulders and restraining the urge to shake her. “Calm down, sweetheart. It's only me.” I hope you're glad to see me.

"Ryan?” She sounded dazed. Her eyes were dark, her hair sticking in damp tendrils to her forehead. But her pupils were even, her breathing slightly fast but nothing to be worried about, and she wasn't bleeding. “What the… Ryan?"

Sorry, sweetheart. He leaned down, kissed her forehead, slid his fingers under her hair and checked her skull. She hadn't hit her head. He checked her ribs, too, sensitive fingertips trying to sense even hairline fractures. “Christ,” he whispered against her forehead. I never want to do that again. Trying to track you across a city while keeping a Malik with me is not a good time. And if there's a High One in town…?

"Ryan?” She tried to twist away from him, and his fingers clamped down on her nape, stilling her.

"Just stay still. What the hell were you thinking, woman?” He scanned the rooftop, heard the hunt-cry rise again. Was it farther away? Chess shuddered, and the small movement brought her closer to him. He filled his lungs with her smell, under the thin copper of adrenaline: warm gold, female, the summa of every good thing in the world now. “Christ. Thank God you're safe."

"What are you doing here?” It was a fierce, shrill whisper, but at least she held still. “Did you follow me?"

He was about to answer, but glancing out over the rooftop again made him uneasy. The instinct was unerring, born of wars in dark places, protecting a Malik and keeping back the tide of demons so normal people could go about their oblivious lives. He clapped his free hand over her mouth, gently, the touch of her lips sending another hot flare of sensation through him. “Be quiet. Can you be quiet?"

Her eyes were huge. It wasn't his imagination, the gold in them was much more pronounced. I think that was the worst fucking moment of my life, wondering if I was going to get there in time. Thank God for Paul.

She nodded deliberately. Swallowed, the movement visible even in the darkness. The wind shifted, rain smacking the other side of the billboard, and he heard the slight shifting sound that meant something had arrived on the rooftop. Chess's eyes flicked past him. Whatever color she had left in her face drained away and her right hand patted her side, desperately searching for her knife, safe in her purse.

"Don't worry.” She probably couldn't hear him over the rain and the sudden inaudible sound of bloodlust curling over the roof, but he told her anyway. “Everything's all right.” Here, with possible avenues of escape and only Chess to worry about protecting instead of both her and the Malik, things were much more palatable.

He let go of her and half-turned, his eyes moving over the rooftop. Not bad, he thought. Three leapers and a spider. That tears it. Of course a High One's in town. The question is, where is he? Not like a pretty piece of high demonflesh to come out in the rain. So this is a tracking party, probably under the control of the spider there or another spider on the ground. The knife appeared in his hand, and the rain began to steam before it hit his skin. He was radiating again. Of course. Here with her to protect, he wasn't disposed to play very nicely with his new friends.

Ryan moved out from the shelter of the billboard just as the first irikornic sprang. He heard Chess's short terrified inhale and felt a nasty flare of happiness that she was, at least, worried about him before the red rage of combat took over.

"Hold still.” She bit her lip fetchingly, and dabbed at the scrape with the cotton ball. Her hair, tangled and dark, fell in her eyes. She found her apartment comforting, her pulse rate dropped as soon as she was inside. Paul hissed out between his teeth, Ryan's eyes were locked to Chess's profile. She was pale, extraordinarily pale. Her sodden sweatshirt jacket was tossed in the laundry hamper and her jeans were damp to the knee. But her hands were steady, and she cleaned the long, vicious claw-swipe on Paul's forehead before dipping her finger in the mint and wormwood ointment and applying a thick streak of it. “There. Does it sting?"

"Yes."

"Good. How long have you two been following me?” She slanted a dark glance at Ryan, who stood by her window, occasionally looking out and down into the alley. His T-shirt was in rags, his coat wasn't much better, and his jeans were just starting to dry. For all that, he felt the slight trembling in his bones, weariness over a deep well of fury. He was wound far too tightly, accepted it, and kept breathing, not seeking to calm himself down.

He'd fought them free of the leapers, and she'd put up with being carried by a running Drakul. Manhandled was the word she'd used, and she wasn't too happy about being followed. It was probably the damn library, it would take a fool not to figure out what she'd been doing inside that building with its soaring, beautiful lines. Paul had canvassed the place from top to bottom during the day and hadn't found her, but Ryan's instincts had shouted with crystal clarity that she was in there, and hours after she'd gone in, she'd walked right out again. So either there was a library inside the library, or it was a way to shake pursuit… but that was ridiculous. With the amount of demonic activity on the streets, she'd have been picked up if she surfaced anywhere else. She'd spent the whole time inside the library, in some corner that for some reason a Malik couldn't find.

"You didn't seriously think we'd let you wander out on the streets alone?” Paul didn't sound conciliatory in the least. “We saw hunting teams last night, out looking for you. You're in danger, girl."

She shook her head, as if he was too dense for words. Dug in her purse for her knife, jammed it back into her demon-hunting bag. Ryan hoped she wasn't planning on going out again tonight. Spending the night on a rooftop with a complaining Malik was never fun. He had no desire to crouch outside in the rain again, even if it was to protect his Golden.

"You followed me. For how long? To Charlie's? All night?” Chess's tone could have broken glass.

"We spent all night on a goddamn roof, and we've spent all day in alleys, freezing our asses off and waiting for you. And when you come out, you prance right up to an Inkani dog—"

"That's enough, Paul.” The flat tone of finality in his own voice startled Ryan. It startled Chess, too. She gave him another, longer glance before capping the ointment jar and setting it with a precise click back on the table. Was that gratefulness in her eyes? If it was, he'd bottle Paul's mouth physically, if he had to. “Leave her alone."

"I told you guys to wait here,” she muttered darkly, swiping her tangled hair back out of her eyes. “I distinctly remember telling you to wait here!"

"Would you have preferred to face the Inkani on your own?” He had the small nasty satisfaction of seeing her shudder, her cheeks white as paper. “The nice thing to do would be to thank me.” I am, after all, fucking covered in blood. Not to mention with half my clothes shredded. But that's okay. I don't mind fighting, if you're safe.

Her hands curled into fists. “You know, I was actually feeling charitable toward you when I left the library."

Well, that's something. “Thank you.” If I sounded any more sarcastic I'd probably choke on my own words.

She stared at him as if she couldn't decide whether to scream or throw something, and finally settled for stalking toward her bedroom. “Get cleaned up, get bandaged up. Then we're going to have a little talk about what stay here means."

His mouth threatened to curl into a smile. “I sit and heel like a good boy. But I don't play dead very well.” Oh, Christ. Did I just say that?

Chess stopped so quickly she almost overbalanced, staring at her bedroom door. Her tangled dark hair fell down on either side of her face. Her eyes glittered, and her hands were clenched so tightly he was almost afraid she would hurt herself.

She was so goddamn beautiful his heart threatened to stop.

"I don't want to do this anymore."

He doubted Paul heard her. She merely whispered, as if she thought she was speaking but couldn't get together the air to do so. Ryan's mouth had gone dry. She smelled of paper and dust, and the night outside drenched with rain. She smelled of the adrenaline of recent danger and of the clean gold that was her, the same woman who sat at her kitchen table and sobbed into her hands, quiet and alone.

The woman he had fallen in love with.

And over that smell, the sharp spike of fear and anger, taunting his control. He was vulnerable to her fear. Be gentle, Drakul. Be as gentle as you can, she's not used to this. She should never have had to see any of this.

"Don't want to do what anymore? Hunt demons?” His voice sounded strange even to himself. Paul glanced up from the table and just as quickly looked down, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment Ryan could smell, as well as the persistent tang of fear. I could have lost you. “That's a profound relief to me, really. Because you're going to get yourself killed, Chess."

She all but vibrated with tension, and it teased at his control. The demon in his head stirred, tested the air, and subsided, secure in its strength. Soothed by her presence, even though she was strung tighter than a tripwire. But if she became much more upset, the demon would wake. This time, he wouldn't be able to put it to sleep without her body, without the oldest tranquilizer known to man.

If she pushed him too far over the edge he wouldn't be able to stop when she said no. And there was only one word for that, not a pretty word either.

"I don't mind the demons.” She swallowed, her throat moving. Stared at her bedroom door. “It's the dead bodies I can't handle. You killed people, Ryan. People are dead. I don't want to do this anymore."

Paul spoke up. “Then come with us. We've got to get you out of town. It's too dangerous. In a week or so, when the Malik have arrived in force, we can—"

"No.” She shook her head.

Goddammit, Paul, rabbit-talking again. We're staying here where it's safe. “Chess—"

"No."

Ryan was fast losing the battle with himself. “Goddammit, Chess—"

"No!” She all but screamed, rounding on him, her eyes burning with gold and a faint golden glimmer crackling in the air around her. Ryan's jaw threatened to drop. A mantle. She's producing a mantle.

Holy Christ. He'd been told about mantles, the etheric force of the Golden taking on the shape of a full Phoenicis, golden wings and golden proportions, the beauty of a bird made of sunfire. But he had never dreamed he'd ever see it. The wings trembled, furled close to her body, not yet ready to spread. Few demons could stand even a weak mantle. And not even a High One could stand a full-grown Phoenicis with a full mantle. That's why they killed potentials. If he could just keep her alive long enough to train her, she still would be fragile—but not nearly as easy to kill. She would have a chance.

For a few moments it glimmered, and a hot wind seemed to slide through the room, touching every surface with a golden flush. The smell was unutterably sweet, as if Chess had been distilled down to her bare essence and tinted with amber. He took a deep breath, even as the golden light threatened to spear through his eyes and strike pain into the cold darkness of his demon-bred bones.

He took another deep breath. Held her eyes, squinting to see through the shield of golden light that drained away, swirling as it dissipated. We'll be lucky if nobody notices that, she's pulling on all the etheric strings around here, making a big disturbance. Christ. “Chess.” His voice was flat, level. “I'm on your side, remember? Nobody's side but yours. You're upset. You've had to deal with something no rational person should have been forced into dealing with. Just relax a little."

"Relax? Relax? People are dead. Grady's dead. They're dead!"

Who the hell is Grady? “If you're talking about the Inkani spiders, they were dead the second they signed their souls over to the demons. If you're talking about the civilians… yeah, they're dead.” No reason to sugarcoat the truth. “My job is to make sure you don't join them. And, if I can, to keep any more people from dying. I didn't kill them. The Inkani did.” Come on, sweetheart. See reason. Help me out here. Use that fantastic wonderful brain of yours and figure this out.

Her fingers loosened, her shoulders slumped under the now-dry T-shirt. Had he gotten through to her?

"Get cleaned up.” Her voice was toneless. “Then get out of my goddamn house."

I don't think so, sweetheart. Nobody in this apartment is going anywhere until I decide it's safe. “I am not going to let the Inkani kill you.” Just as toneless. “You're not getting rid of me. That's final."

"It's my house."

That doesn't mean shit to a demon, sweetheart. “And I'm your Drakul. Have the sense to listen to me. Go change. Paul will cook you dinner."

"I could call the cops. I could call Charlie. I can have you evicted. You can't—"

He met her glare with one of his own, peeling his shoulders away from the wall and drawing himself up to his full height. “Try me.” He heard the growl rattling in his chest. “Just try me, sweetheart. Give me an excuse.” If you don't stop this I'm going to drag you into your bedroom and undress you. After we get a few things straight about who's in charge when there's a city full of Inkani and no goddamn help in sight.

She whirled away, stamped toward her bedroom, and slammed the door. The bathroom light came on, and the shower started. It was no use. He could still hear the sound of her sobbing.

"Good one,” Paul muttered.

"Shut up.” Ryan unfolded his arms. If you weren't a Malik I'd kick your ass for pissing her off. “Don't you start too. I'm going to go up to the roof, take a look around. If she leaves this apartment I'm going to be very upset."

"Hurry up, then.” Paul's tawny head bent over the tabletop, but his shoulders were shaking. Whether it was from tension or repressed mirth, Ryan didn't want to know.