“Better work on your conversational skills, friend,” Christophe advised. “You probably bored her to death.”
Sean glared at Christophe then met Fiona’s gaze in the mirror. “So, do you really like this guy? Do I have to be nice to him?”
“Play nice, boys. Please. Sean, do you have my bag?”
He handed the leather tote back to her, and she pulled out a handful of chunky costume jewelry, her makeup kit, and a short black wig. She quickly donned the bracelets, rings, and necklaces, and then examined herself in the rearview mirror, considering. She added a pair of giant hoop earrings she’d never normally be caught dead wearing. Then she brushed on a thick layer of dark makeup. Smoky eyes, dark red lipstick, and bronzer. The final touch was the wig. She fit it around her head, pinning her hair underneath it. When she was satisfied that not a single strand of blond showed, she leaned back in her seat and turned to Christophe.
“What do you think? Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction, right?”
“Who?”
“No movie theaters where you come from?”
“Sadly, no, but the prince’s brother Ven has TVs and DVD players in all of his safe houses, so we’ve watched a lot of films.”
“Of course. The prince’s brother. Anyway, watch that one. American classic.”
“I like the look. It’s kind of hot.”
She narrowed her eyes, and he raised his hands.
“Not as hot as you usually look,” he said, backtracking.
“Way to go, mate,” Sean said. “Smooth. Really smooth.”
“Yeah. It’s a gift,” Christophe muttered.
“This is not a nice part of town,” Sean said, turning down a road that was no bigger than an alley. “Are you sure about this, Lady Fiona?”
“Yes, I’m sure. We’re going to The Melting Moon, and we need—”
Sean’s yelp cut her off. “What the hell is that?”
He swerved the car and then slammed on the brakes.
A black vehicle—big, some kind of SUV—seemed to fill the windshield as it hurtled toward them at a very high rate of speed. Fiona cried out a warning or prayer or call for help; she wasn’t sure which.
Suddenly, the bright glow of blue-green energy filled the car. Christophe grabbed her and yanked her down to the seat, covering her with his body. But the expected crash never came; instead the loud screech of brakes sounded in front of the car and, seconds later, on each side of the car, too.
“We’ve got trouble,” Christophe said, unnecessarily. “Stay in the car.”
He kissed the top of her head, threw the door open, and leapt out of the car. She heard a loud hissing noise and immediately flashed back to a visceral, terrifying childhood memory, and her blood turned to ice in her veins.
Vampires.
Daddy.
“No. Not again. Sean, stay in the car and get down on the floor.” Calling to the shadows, she slipped out of the car behind Christophe, hiding from sight in the darkness and scanning the area. The dark forms advancing on them from the vehicle on this side of the car weren’t alone. More shadowy shapes climbed out of the vehicles in front and on the other side, and as she watched, a fourth pulled up behind them. They were barricaded in like sheep in a pen.
She had no intention of being a sheep.
Sean jumped out of the driver’s seat, a very serious-looking gun in his right hand and a wooden stake in the left. Hopkins must have been training him to do more than drive her around. She wanted to throw herself in front of him and protect him, as she had when she first met him, but she realized she’d do more harm than good. She was definitely firing that boy later, for his own good. For now, she flanked Christophe and ignored his stream of Atlantean cursing.
“Fiona, I can smell you,” he said softly. “If I can smell you, don’t you think they can? Or hear your heartbeat? Run, damn it.”
She’d forgotten. A childhood memory of fear had driven away common sense. She called to her Gift again and used wind and shadow to disperse any sound and scent. In seconds, no trace of her remained, and yet Christophe turned and stared right into her eyes.
“I will always be able to find you. Get out of here before you get hurt. Please.”
She knew what it had cost him to add that “please.” He was a man used to issuing commands and having them obeyed. She could tell that from the effortless way he’d taken over a leadership role in their quest for Vanquish. She wasn’t much for obeying, and she had a trick of her own—literally up her sleeve.
A ninja never left home unarmed.
“Nice night for an ambush,” Christophe called out to the vamps as he balanced energy spheres in each hand. “Didn’t have anything else to do? Polish your fangs, for instance?”
“You were heard inquiring about the Siren, human,” the lead vampire hissed. “We would suggest you drop your inquiry.”
“You need four carloads of goons to tell me that?”
“Bit melodramatic, wasn’t it?” Sean said, moving into place with his back to Christophe’s back. “I thought vamps could fly.”
“Some can. This lot are obviously the weaklings.”
“We plan to kill you,” the vampire said. “Unless you tell us, right now, who has Vanquish and where it is.”
“Interesting form of suggestion,” Christophe said. “Lots of vampires have planned to kill me before, bloodsucker.”
He hurled the energy spheres, twin gleaming arcs of death that exploded the heads of the speaker and another vampire on contact.
“Usually only once,” Christophe added.
The rest of the vampires, shrieking and hissing, leapt and crawled toward Christophe and Sean in a dark swarm of evil, bending and twisting in such inhuman ways that the mere sight of them almost made Fiona’s heart stutter in her chest again. But she mentally kicked her own arse to get moving.
She was the Scarlet Ninja, for Saint George’s sake. She was not a helpless ninny. She threw herself into a low somersault between the legs of two vampires leaping around the back of her car, and escaped the closing perimeter of attackers.
When she looked back at them, Christophe had daggers in each hand and was—unbelievably—grinning. It was the fierce, exultant joy of a warrior in action, and she instantly knew in her heart that everything he’d told her about Atlantis was nothing but the truth. She ran back a few steps, carefully checking the vampire’s vehicle to be sure no one was hiding in it, and pulled the slender vials out of the pouches inside her sleeves.
One of Hopkins’s inventions, the thick plastic vials hid in the draped fabric of her loose sleeves. They fit in the palms of her hands and she could rapidly uncap them with a thumb, which she did. Then she headed back into the fray to surprise a few vampires.
She dashed out from behind the SUV then stopped, frozen in shock by the battle being waged with tooth and dagger in front of her. Never once in her time as a thief had she encountered violence on an up-close-and-personal level, and it was nothing like in the films. This blood didn’t spray artistically through the air.
No, it stained the side of Sean’s head and ran down Christophe’s arm and the side of his chest. They were black stains, glistening wetness in the dark. The vampires didn’t bleed, though. They exploded into a greenish-black wave of slime, which she knew would be acidic to the touch. Christophe and Sean had already killed at least four of them, maybe more, but there were seven left and they were attacking in waves, too close for one of Christophe’s magic spears to be effective.
He sliced at one’s head with his dagger and it yanked its head back, laughing and hissing at him.
“Fool. Do you think we are all so easy to kill? I have—” It stopped talking and shrieked, looking down. Though Fiona couldn’t see its chest, it was easy enough to see what had happened.
There was a silvery tip poking out of the left side of its back.
Sean cried out as a vamp sank its teeth into the side of his neck, and the sight broke Fiona out of her shock. She heard a scream, the sound like that of a banshee’s death herald, but she was running before she realized that she was the one screaming. She hurtled full speed into the back of the vampire attacking Sean, and dashed the entire contents of the vial onto the side of its face.