That was bad news. Primal was staggering upright. In a moment he might be raging and sending bloody missiles at us again. We had to move fast. I grabbed Goldie and forced him into a shambling walk. To our left, in the shadows along the walls, I could see Doc and Howard. They were also moving toward the head of the room.
Fire flared again to Primal’s right as Colleen unloaded a blazing crossbow bolt right at his head. The thing’s reflexes were good. He wrenched his head aside and the bolt caught his shoulder instead, carrying away a volleyball-size chunk of it. There was no blood, only a spew of blood-colored light.
We were maybe twenty-five feet from him when Primal reared back and unleashed a fresh storm of power. It rolled over us in a crushing wave, smearing itself on Goldie’s aura, darkening it. Goldie groaned and went to his knees; nausea hit me like a gut punch. Doubled over, I saw Doc and Howard buckle, saw Colleen duck and roll.
The flares above Primal pulled close, pulsing radiance, giving up their energy to him along the bright umbilicals- energy he was going to destroy us with. And I noticed for the first time that luminous cords also connected them to the walls-to the pulsing arteries in the walls.
A tether? A conduit? If so, which way did the power run?
I didn’t have time for conjecture. Primal raised his hands above his head, a ball of fire raging between them. The deadly star grew swiftly-it was the size of his head, then three times the size.
“Now,” he roared. “Now, you die.” He loosed the thing.
The sword, still gleaming with the residue of Goldie’s power, was the only defense I had. I stepped in front of Goldie and raised it, hoping it might deflect the deadly ball and recalling that an angel with a burning sword had driven Adam and Eve from Paradise.
A brilliant streak of aqua sizzled over our heads, slashing between Primal and us. It met his blast head on, engulfing it in a billow of pale fire. In the center of the billow Magritte blazed into being, electricity in every line of her body. She flung her hands defensively toward the enemy, and what rolled out of her grasp was a roaring piece of the sun. It hurled Primal’s missile right back in his face.
He recoiled, throwing up a shield of the clotted magic, then fought back through it, aiming all his powers at Magritte. She weakened swiftly-she was alone; Primal had a dozen flares in his rear guard.
Beside me Goldie let out a shriek of useless rage, trying to gather his resources. Amber light flashed around him, but it wasn’t enough to help Magritte.
Sword in hand, I rolled away from him, out from under Magritte’s protective cover. As I came upright, melody surged over me, cutting through the chaos in the room like a sonic knife. Around Goldie and Magritte, Primal’s furious onslaught melted, the murky colors of carnage muting to pastels.
I turned. Enid stood in the dark opening at the rear of the room, harmonica to his lips, blue notes-piercing and bittersweet-cascading from it. Over Primal’s head the flares pivoted toward the musician in eerie unison and began to drift toward him as if Primal had ceased to exist. The giant’s glory dimmed, blushing ruby.
I started toward the head of the room again, sword ready. Once the flares were gone, Primal would be at a disadvantage. I intended to be in a position to do something about it.
But I’d reckoned without Primal’s will to live. In a movement that belied his size, he reached out and literally snatched Magritte out of the air.
Straightening, he held her out before him and thundered, “Enid Blindman! I swear to you I’ll break this creature in two if you don’t stop now.”
Enid faltered, and the flares-who had almost reached him-hesitated, bobbing in place.
“No!” Magritte cried. Primal’s bright hand, wrapped around her neck, squeezed off any further protest.
“Stop,” Primal repeated.
Behind me Goldie made a choking sound.
Enid held the flares before him for a second more, then sagged against the door frame in defeat. They turned and began their journey back toward Primal. Magritte’s eyes, desperate, locked on them.
“No. This can’t happen.” Goldie pulled himself to his full height and staggered toward Primal, flames leaping from his hands. They spread wildly up his arms, over his head. He was turning himself into an incendiary device. In a matter of seconds his entire body was cloaked in arcane fire.
Magritte’s eyes were filled with it. Then she, too, seemed to burn brighter in Primal’s hands, her aura swelling into a blazing sphere. In seconds her nova was so intense I had to turn my head away and screw my eyes shut.
There was a flash of unbearable brilliance, a whoosh of sound, a burst of heat, and the room was plunged into chilly gloom.
I opened my eyes. Primal had faded from ruby to bronze and stood frozen, his empty hands extended before him. Magritte had crumpled to the floor in front of him, her halo dimmed nearly to nonexistence. Goldie was beside her in an instant, pulling her into his arms. She sagged against him, strength gone.
That was the opening I needed. I leapt into motion, sword swinging, while from the darkness to my right came a flash of real fire. Colleen’s third shot buried itself in Primal’s neck in the same moment I lashed out with my sword. The blade sang through the air in a radiant arc, catching Primal thigh high. Sparks exploded. The blow was bone jarring, as if I’d hacked into one of the oozing walls rather than a living thing. Bits of something hard flew in all directions. But the blade sliced through the leg, severing it. There was no blood.
Primal toppled, clutching at Colleen’s bolt. He fell backward in slow motion, into the spiderweb of light from the cracked window. The thick glass sagged, gaps widening, lengthening, and then the whole thing gave way, sending the monster and several hundred pounds of glass shard down seven floors onto the sidewalk. Ruddy sunlight poured through the yawning hole.
The world around us took a deep breath.
Then we converged on Goldie and Magritte, Enid hovering protectively, Doc immediately falling into the medic’s drilclass="underline" check eyes, check pulse, check respiration. She was spent but conscious.
“Damn!” Colleen stopped in front of me, shaking her head. “I thought that thing would never die. That was my last shot.”
“Tough cookie,” muttered Howard.
I looked down at Magritte. She glowed a bit brighter now, seemed to rest more lightly in Goldie’s arms. “Can we move her?”
Doc flashed me a glance, nodded.
“Oh, shit. That can’t be good.” Colleen said the words so softly I barely heard them. She was staring at a spot behind me and over my head.
I followed her gaze. The flares hung in limbo in the middle of the room, still bound to each other and to their prison with blazing manacles. There was still power here. The building around us pulsed with it. I felt its oily static on my skin.
“They’re still trapped,” I said. “But by what?”
Magritte’s eyes widened. “Didn’t get all of it,” she said. “Still something …” She shook her head. “Weird. Flare. A flare, but… but not.”
“Oh, son of a bitch,” said Colleen. “It’s Clay.” She flung her useless crossbow aside to clatter and skid across the floor. She paced after it, swearing.
I followed her. “What’s Clay? Colleen, what’s Clay?” “Our puppet master, that’s what. The power behind the fucking throne. Why didn’t I see it?”
I shook my head in confusion. “She said a flare.”
“But not. Shit, I didn’t even think to tell anybody-if you wipe off his dazzle paint, Clay glows like a damned lightning bug.”
“But he doesn’t fly; his eyes aren’t-”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s the not part. Oh, damn, why didn’t I see it?” She grabbed my arm so hard I gasped. “We’ve got to find him, Cal. Find him before he can-”