Midnight's Daughter
Page 53

I didn’t hear the rest—I was halfway back across the kitchen and flying for the entrance. I avoided the mine-field of a pantry and took the hall instead. It was longer, but would probably be faster. And it would have been except for the claw that snatched me off my feet and lifted me through a hole in the wall.
There was a brief moment of being airborne, giving me time enough to wish that I’d asked Claire to kill all the damn things, and then I was dropped onto the red-tiled roof. I hit with a thud, but didn’t roll off despite a steep slant, which was good because a mage somewhere below began firing spells either at me or at Big Bird. I assumed it was me, since the creature was suddenly nowhere in sight. A spell burst against the window over the entranceway and sent a cascade of glass into whatever was happening there.
The tiles were still wet and slippery from the rain, but I managed to scramble for cover behind a chimney. I had to get into the entry. The ward the mage had put on Louis-Cesare was hopefully down, but I had no idea if that would be enough or not. He’d lost a lot of blood and God knew what had been done to him after I left. And Radu had too much to handle already to be much help.
The chimney looked like it connected to the living room fireplace, but there was no way I was doing a Santa impression. A cat couldn’t have fit down there. I was eyeing the broken window above the entry, wondering if my posterior could squeeze through; then a beaky head peered over the peak of the roof. I stared at its chartreuse, oddly human eyes, and cursed myself for a moron. I should have remembered—in the fight at the pen, the leader had waited until the others exhausted themselves before it waded in. Like it had done now.
As soon as the one lidless eye on that side of its head got a good look at me, it let out an ear-piercing shriek and took off half the chimney with a swipe from its claw. I scrambled down the tiles backward, that wicked beak slashing down all around me, cracking any tiles it hit clean in two.
The creature’s tail snapped and skidded across the tiles, sending a cascade sliding toward the roof edge with me along for the ride. Grabbing for something, anything, to break my fall, my hand encountered the rain gutter. Already overstrained from the flood, it ripped away from the roof, leaving me dangling over the courtyard right above the mage.
It was good to see that my luck was holding true.
A stream of dirty water flowed out of the pipe directly onto the mage, temporarily blinding him. I let go of the pipe and hit the ground, close enough to the man to get my arms around his waist. A dark shadow fell over the courtyard as the leader spread huge, leathery wings; then it was on top of us, its weight and momentum sending us crashing to the ground. I waited until I heard the mage’s scream when the talons latched on to him, then scrambled out from underneath and bolted for the entryway.
Chapter Twenty-two
The heavy wooden front door was hanging off its hinges, letting in a flood of light, but there was no one to see. Bodies had fallen everywhere, but a quick survey told me that none were Louis-Cesare or Radu. The sounds of a sword fight echoed distantly.
My foot slipped in something, in someone, but I kept my balance and followed the sounds of metal on metal. The long, polished oak table in the dining room bore muddy boot prints, but it, too, was empty. Behind me, I heard the scuffle of claws on tile and glanced back in time to see the leader’s head stick in through the door. I didn’t think its body would make it through the narrow arch, but I didn’t intend to wait around and find out.
Beyond the dining room lay a library, with tall windows on one wall and a floor-to-ceiling collection of books on the others. Weirdly, it looked almost untouched, the only damage a vase of flowers that had been knocked off a small table. I skirted the mess and went through to the next room, which I did recognize: the small antechamber leading down to the wine cellars.
Shit.
I peered down the stairwell. It gaped up at me like a maw. I really hate dark staircases, and this one had no light at all. I remembered that we’d dined by lantern light; maybe Radu had never had electricity run down there. Great, just freaking wonderful.
A crash behind me made me turn in time to see a huge, birdlike body topple over the library table and crush the fallen vase to splinters. Okay, there were things I hated more than the dark—like the things that prowl in it. I practically leapt down the stairs, slamming the door shut behind me.
The stone was cool beneath my bruised feet, and almost total darkness closed around me, sinking into my bones. I couldn’t see anything while my eyes adjusted, but the stairs were evenly spaced and they went only one place—to the small wine-tasting room where we’d dined. Here, a few oil lamps burned, illuminating the room’s only occupants: the hundreds of bottles that lay on their sides, many broken, leaking Radu’s label all over the stones until I couldn’t tell by sight what was wine and what was blood. I jumped up on the tabletop to get to the other side of the room without lacerating my feet. Behind me, the door at the top of the stairs burst open with the crack of splintering wood. I rapidly pushed on toward the sound of the fight, loud enough now that I knew I had to be close.
There was only one door in the room besides the one I’d just come through. I took it and found a stone corridor lined with barrels. It led, presumably, to the winery next door. The only light came from a far door at the end, which was standing wide open, and the faint glow behind me. Halfway down the rows, Caedmon, still wearing Mircea’s face, battled Drac.
I started forward, so relieved I was almost sick, and fell over something. Or, more accurately, someone. Vivid turquoise eyes met mine, and I breathed in the faint scent of salt and ozone. “Radu.”
“Dorina . . .”
A rustle of wings reminded me of what was behind me. I grabbed Radu and rolled to the side, putting a large barrel between us and the door. I was pretty sure the leader couldn’t break through solid stone walls, but it might be able to squeeze through the opening.
“A weapon,” I hissed, searching Radu’s body. The only thing I encountered was blood, and the seeping warmth told me that at least some of it was his. “Don’t you have anything?” I demanded, peering over the barrel. The half-breed appeared to be caught in the doorway, but I wasn’t buying it. The one at the top of the stairs was no wider, and it had made it through that. And there had been more than enough intelligence in those yellow green eyes to think up a way to lure me out from behind the protection of the barrel.
A knife was slipped into my hand. It was a lot shorter than I would have liked, but better than nothing. “Stay here,” I said. “I may be a few minutes.”
The leader screeched as I reemerged, loud enough to reverberate off the stone in an eardrum-rupturing echo. I ignored the theatrics and darted out into the hall. It was clear; Drac and Caedmon must have taken the fight into the winery.
As soon as I was in the open, the creature tore loose from the door and came at me in a whirl of claws and wings. I felt a line of fire splash across my arm from that wicked beak; then the tail caught me in the gut and knocked me back against the stone wall, rattling every bone in my body. Before I could move, the creature was on me, a low, ugly sound of fierce delight echoing around us. I lashed out with the knife, almost blindly, and by sheer luck the blow connected. A dark rain splattered my face, blood-warm and slick as engine oil, and I twisted away.
As the impossibly graceful shape flowed upward to the ceiling, I realized that the damn Fey wine hadn’t worn off completely. In a moment of sickening disorientation, I felt the touch of an alien hunger. I could hear it in my mind, half-human thoughts through a haze of fury. Rend, pierce, kill. Hot blood spraying, teeth closing on something weak and soft . . . tearing the underbelly, where the slickest, thickest taste resides . . . violet looping entrails and wet sacks of meat, so sweet . . .
I pushed the alien thoughts aside, panting, and realized I’d lost sight of the damn thing. Lightless black, the creature’s color blended in well with the shadows, and the muffled sound of its claws on the stone ceiling seemed to echo from all directions at once. I couldn’t see anything, but the hairs on the back of my neck started prickling. I learned a long time ago: never argue with instinct. I made a sudden leap behind a barrel at almost the same moment that the creature dropped out of the darkness. It crashed into the barrel but missed me. Burgundy flooded the floor, glimmering faintly in the poor light and sending the pungent odor of wine everywhere. For a second, the creature was caught, its beak buried deep in the wood, its great claws scrabbling for purchase. Then the barrel snapped in two and I vaulted behind the next one in line.
I kept my eyes on the creature until they watered, afraid to blink in case it moved. It sank to the floor, doubling over on itself with the bonelessness of a cat. It sidled a flowing step forward as I worked to get leverage under the massive barrel shielding me. The huge dark outline came closer, blocking out what light there was. I knew I’d only get one chance at this—it was too smart to fall for it twice—so I took my time. I braced my back against the wall and put my feet on the barrel, ignoring the way the muscles in my thighs protested the deep crouch. When I could no longer see anything but blackness in front of me, I pushed with everything I had.
The barrel flew off its holder, crashed into the creature and forced it into the unyielding stone wall opposite. I heard the crunch of bone, then silence, but didn’t trust it. Circling carefully, I reentered the tasting room and grabbed the biggest of the lamps. Taking it back with me, I set it on the top of the barrel, trying to see the thing’s head. I intended to put the knife through at least one of those disturbing eyes.
Then time seemed to stand still as I caught a glimpse of the bloody blade, shining bright with reflected lamplight. It was the knife from my dream, with the family crest half-obscured by blood. Fitting, I thought, my head spinning. But before I could reason it out, Radu screamed my name. I scrambled back to where he lay in the middle of a puddle of his best stock. I felt a grip, hard as steel, on my wrist. “Jonathan has him,” he gasped. His voice sounded funny. “The damn mage hit me with something. . . . I think he believes me dead.”