Hunt the Moon
Page 49

“I don’t believe this!” I said, as we dragged them over the top of the wall and through somebody’s patio set.
“These guys really want you dead,” Fred said, staring in the rearview mirror.
I didn’t answer, because one of those lightning-bolt spells sheared off the passenger-side mirror, rocking the car violently. It didn’t look like the rooftops were providing enough in the way of distraction. If we wanted to lose these guys, we were going to have to get a little more extreme.
I nudged the steering wheel slightly to the right.
Within seconds, smoke billowed up in front of us, like a dark curtain held against the sky. It felt like we’d been in the car half an hour, but it couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes. Although I heard sirens in the distance, no emergency vehicles were yet parked around the crash site.
“Is the diner still burning?” Fred asked, frowning.
“Not exactly,” I said, as we plunged for the middle of the fiery billboard.
The motorcycle must have had a full gas tank, because the entire huge surface of the sign was now covered in flames. The paper had already burnt away, leaving an old wooden frame and heavy support beams to feed the blaze. And they seemed to be feeding it pretty well, judging by the heat that smacked me in the face, even this far away.
In seconds, the conflagration had filled the whole length of the missing windshield, the smoke-laden air whipping my hair around my face and making my eyes water. I glanced behind us, and it looked like the mages had seen it, too. They were staring through the lattice of the fence, watching the approaching inferno in disbelief.
And not watching the deadly war mage above them.
Pritkin lashed out with a heavy boot, snapping one man’s head back and then kicking him viciously in the chest. He went flying, his head lolling at a very unhealthy angle, and Pritkin turned on his companion. But he wouldn’t get a fight there. The last mage just let go of the fence, falling on purpose into the surrounding smoke.
“I guess he doesn’t like fire as well as concrete,” I said in satisfaction, before noticing that Pritkin hadn’t budged. “What the hell is he doing?” I asked Fred, who was looking at me apprehensively.
“What fire?”
“He’s just holding on.” I climbed over the seats to stare out the back, but even a full field of vision didn’t help much. Pritkin’s shields could definitely cushion a fall from this height, but he wasn’t jumping—or climbing or doing anything but staring, and not at the billboard.
“What fire?” Fred asked, a little more forcefully.
I flicked my eyes in the direction Pritkin was looking, but didn’t see anything, aside from a lot of smoke. Part of which seemed to have taken on a very weird form. I blinked, but it was still there a second later, the hazy outline of an impossible shape set against the brilliant skyline.
And headed straight for us.
“Oh, shit. Fire!” Fred screamed, and we crashed into the middle of the sign.
Chapter Twenty-five
Luckily, the smaller support struts were already half charcoal, and they exploded harmlessly in a sizzle of black ash. But something a hell of a lot bigger hit the pylons underneath, sending smoking posts the size of tree trunks spinning into the night. We managed to dodge most of those, since they shot out below us, but we weren’t so lucky with the spell that burned through the air a second later.
It had come from below, where I guessed one of the mages had survived the fall. Red lightning crackled over the dash, raised goose bumps on my arms and caused Fred’s wispy comb-over to wave around madly. It didn’t hurt, at least not us. But the SUV did a sudden, vomit-inducing one-eighty in midair—and stalled out.
I screamed, Fred screamed and we hit the roof, which wasn’t so bad.
And then we tumbled through the missing windshield, which was.
I felt myself start to fall, arms outstretched but nothing to grab. And this time, there was no parachute above me, no strong arms to catch me, no anything but wind and air and a long, long way to fall. Which I did—for about a second, before being jerked around in a parabola that had the city lights streaming in a dizzying dance of color that confused my already confused brain even more.
Until I realized that my scream had turned into a duet with Fred’s, who was clutching me against his chest. He had one arm under mine, holding me face out like a sack of potatoes. And the fingers of the other wedged, white knuckled, between the lattice of the fence.
The one we were now hanging off of.
For a moment, I just hung there, panting and staring at the sight of hotels, casinos and LCD montages. And then I looked up at Fred, his completely freaked-out face backlit by the distant neon. “Thanks,” I squeaked.
He didn’t say anything. He also didn’t move, breathe or even blink. I was grateful for the assist, but it was less than reassuring to find myself gripped by a Fred statue who was apparently having the vampire version of a panic attack.
“Fred?”
Nothing.
I licked my lips, trying not to give in to the real desire to join him and just zone out for a moment. Because I didn’t think we had one. I didn’t see the creature, which was, presumably, ahead of us somewhere. But a glance up showed that the back bumper of the SUV was now hanging half off the vehicle.
Which was a problem, since that’s what the fence had managed to tangle itself around.
It obviously wasn’t designed to take this kind of abuse and didn’t look like it was going to be doing it for much longer. I looked down at Pritkin, who, instead of climbing, was slinging spells at something I couldn’t see off in the smoke. I didn’t know what he was doing or why, but he wouldn’t be doing it in a minute if we didn’t move. Now.
“Okay, Fred? Fred, listen,” I said, trying to make eye contact. That would have been easier if his hadn’t looked kind of dead—set and glassy and not really focused on anything. “We need to climb back up, Fred.”
Nothing.
“And when we need to do that is now.”
Nada.
“Our weight is dragging the fence off the car,” I told him tightly, forcing my voice to stay composed, because screaming at an already panicked person didn’t help. And because if I started, I might not stop. “If we don’t get off, you and me and Pritkin are going to be in free fall in about a minute. Maybe less.”
That got a slight eye twitch, but nothing more.
“And while I’m pretty sure that Pritkin can save himself if that happens, I think you and me are fucked, Fred.”
“And we’re not now?” he asked hoarsely.
“Not if you do exactly what I tell you.”
He shook his head and then froze again, as a gust of wind caused the fence to shimmy like a showgirl. “I can’t.”
“Yes. Yes, you can.”
He looked down for the first time, and his face paled. Which was impressive, as it had been pretty pasty already. “Oh, God.”
“Fred,” I said, sharply enough to snap his wide gray eyes back to me. “Fred, listen. You’re going to get us out of this.”
“And if I can’t?”
“You can. I know you can.”
“But I’m not . . . I’m just an accountant. I don’t—”
“You’re not ‘just’ anything,” I said harshly. “You’re a master vampire, and we both know what that means.”
“Yeah, well, in my case, it doesn’t mean as much as you might—”
“And you’re my bodyguard. You’re the Pythia’s bodyguard. Which means you must be pretty damn badass.”
He licked his lips. “I’m . . . badass?”
“You wouldn’t have been assigned to me otherwise, would you?”
“Well, actually, they said they needed my room for the—”
“Fred!”
He nodded, swallowing. “I’m badass,” he whispered, looking up.
And then his arm tightened around my waist, his body tensed and he jumped. I don’t know what he used for leverage, because the only thing available was the fence, and that probably would have ripped it the rest of the way off the car. But we nonetheless shot up at least a half story, all the way back to the rear door of the SUV.
Which would have worked better if it had been open.
My head hit the door hard enough to stun me, so I didn’t see how we got back inside. But judging from the fact that the next time I looked, the SUV didn’t have a back door, I thought it might have had something to do with vampire strength and extreme motivation. Either way, a moment later we were sprawled on the dented inside of the roof, our butts in the air and our stomachs—at least mine—roiling.
I clutched a dangling seat belt for a moment and concentrated on trying not to lose my dinner. And people wondered why I lived on antacids. The pizza and beer and milk shake were doing some really unpleasant alchemy in my stomach, which was even truer when I saw what glided up alongside the window.
My first thought was that it was beautiful, all sleek, powerful lines that blended almost seamlessly with the night. A river of ebony scales flowed down a heavily muscled form, from a huge head to a vast rib cage to great, talon-edged claws to a long, barbed tail. They were hard and dagger edged, like shards of obsidian, and shared its color, too. Deepest midnight, they seemed to pull all light into them, reflecting nothing of the fire or the moonlight or the far-off, flickering neon. Only the eyes glowed, like living jewels, gold shading to green to pale chartreuse around catlike, elongated pupils.
I got a good look at them when the great head slowly turned my way.
I stared back at it, knowing what I was seeing. But my mind simply refused to name it. A few minutes ago, I’d been standing on a cracked sidewalk outside a greasy diner, arguing with the usual suspects. It was a little hard to make the transition to being pursued through the air above Vegas by something out of a fairy tale.
Something that was now dropping to come underneath us.
“Fred?” I said calmly.
“What?”