I could.
The clang of metal against metal was audible long before I walked down the hall. Niko and I practiced most often with wood. He didn’t want to accidentally cut off something essential I might plan on using later. But this wasn’t practice; this was something else entirely. I wasn’t worried. If Niko needed help against Kalakos, he’d let me know, but as that was unlikely, I decided I was hungry. A good sign. I laid my gun on the countertop, grabbed some cold, petrified pizza out of the fridge, hoisted a hip up on the counter, and watched the show. “What’s going on?” I took another bite. “I thought we were leaving. Why doesn’t Niko just take his head, shout, ‘There can be only one,’ and get this over with?”
“They are trying to prove something first. Who is the best? Niko will let him live only because he made you whole again, but your brother requires working out a good deal of frustration regardless.” She tapped a light lavender nail to her softly rounded chin. “Hundreds of years and the male psyche still escapes me.”
I lifted my head and caught the scent of musk and forest. “Wonderful. Chester the Molester is here,” I announced glumly.
The door opened and no one had heard Goodfellow pick the lock. Kalakos didn’t know who he was competing with when it came to breaking and entering, and that was a fact. Goodfellow did have a key, but he felt that was boring. Tricksters needed to keep up their skills. He picked pockets too. The used-car-salesman cover was a self-explanatory con of pure evil. “Lazarus has arisen!” he announced at the sight of me. “Not to mention the rest of you appears much improved as well. And I heard your highly inflammatory statement.” He put his lock picks away and leaned a wet umbrella against the wall. Had to protect that expensive suit. “You were dying. You’re my friend. How can you accuse me of taking advantage?” He sat on the couch beside Promise. “Besides, I can’t find a picture of a small enough Santa hat to Photoshop on it for my yearly winter solstice cards. Christmas, to you heathens.”
I began to wing what was left of the rock-hard pizza at his head when he folded his arms, leaned back against the armrest, and stretched out, while propping his legs across Promise’s lap. “Never mind. I’ll torture you later.” He glanced at the peek of Promise’s fangs over her lower lip. “Greetings, Elvira. Is that an overbite or are you just happy to see me?” He didn’t wait for an answer or for her to break his neck, the second being more likely. “Now, this is exceedingly more engaging. Hot, sweaty men in battle. Thank Zeus that Ishiah doesn’t mind my looking.”
Promise gave his legs the same regard she would have if a giant gelatinous snail had flopped across her lap, but inhaled deeply and turned her attention back to the fight. For once in their lives she and Robin agreed on something. “The only way one such as you could not look is if your eyes were plucked from their sockets.” She tapped a painted nail against his chest, but he was beyond threats, his brain completely shut down. I could smell the waves of whatever was the puck equivalent of testosterone rising. He was practically one of those deodorizers they hang around car rearview mirrors.
Scent: horny.
Shape: I wasn’t going there.
I went back to watching the fight myself. They were on the workout mats in the gym area. Barefoot, shirtless, and soaked with sweat, both were matched in number of scars, although they were differently shaped and located. Both were also impeccably good with swords—Niko with his katana and Kalakos with what I thought was a Polish saber. The blade was long and curved, more so than a katana, the grip centuries-old wood. A karabela. It meant “dark curse.” When I was a kid, Niko hadn’t been able to get me to remember the periodic table for love or money, but weapons…those I didn’t often forget.
It had a few inches reach on the katana, but I had faith in my heart for my brother. You know what beat faith? A Desert Eagle in the hand that I wasn’t using to eat pizza. If Niko stumbled…I didn’t think he would—not my brother. No. But if he did, we’d have to pay the cleaning lady fifty extra bucks to scrub Kalakos’s brain off the wall.
Money well spent.
I finished the pizza as Kalakos spoke, barely breathing hard from the exertion. “I did desert you. I did know Sophia was…as she was. But I hunt clan criminals and return them for punishment, or deliver that punishment if the crime is grave enough.”
Niko didn’t bother to reply. The fight went on. I hadn’t seen any human in my life who came close to my brother. Blades, bare-handed, the occasional gun he had little respect for—no one was as good. Neither was Kalakos, but was near enough that I didn’t like it. You can be the best in the world, but everyone stumbles; everyone makes that one mistake…humans and non. I had, more than once. The fact that Kalakos was good enough to take advantage of that if Niko did…
No, I didn’t fucking care for it at all.
“You’re one of the best I’ve fought,” Niko said. “It’s a shame.”
He blocked another of Kalakos’s blows before the Polish saber whipped under the katana and slammed the Japanese blade upward toward Niko’s face; then metal circled metal as the karabela’s point plunged toward Nik’s neck. That was when Niko kicked his father in the stomach, staggering the older man back a few feet.
He then blocked the hand gripping the saber, slamming fist against fist, started to sweep his leg, then abruptly swept the other, taking Kalakos off guard and throwing him down to the mat. “Elegant move. Rare. I’ve seen it used only once before at that short distance.” Yeah, when he practiced it on me. The karabela didn’t bother to come up to block the katana that sliced toward the man’s throat.
Black met stony gray. “Not only did I hunt Rom, but I hunt the unclean, as you do when they threaten the clans. A child could not survive that life.”
“A child survived worse. A hundred times worse. Your failure has nothing to do with me.” Niko lifted his katana and walked away. But before he did, he said, “If you had learned in the beginning to fight for family instead of money, you would be even a better fighter and less of a dishonorable bastard than you are now.” He was right. Kalakos wouldn’t chase criminals and monsters for free. We didn’t either…if the client could afford us. If they couldn’t, Niko may as well have been Sonny and Cher’s lesser-known child, Pro Bono. At least fifty percent of our work didn’t earn us a dime, which was fine. Protecting others was a reward worth more than money. I was lucky that Niko had taught me that.
Killing is the true payment. Killing is the best part.
I gave an internal shrug. It didn’t matter what the darkest part of me thought. When the goals were the same, it…no, not it…I could think whatever I wanted. I was who I was. I didn’t need to change that control or the improved me with the acid erosion of denial.
Know thyself…and then know that your brother knows better than you.
At a stack of neatly folded towels on a shelf near the paper targets hung on the wall, Nik propped up his katana for cleaning when he was done with himself. Wiping the sweat from his chest, arms, and back, he added remotely, “You healed Cal. That allows you and only you a week to recover Janus. Then he becomes someone else’s problem and not ours. The Vayash will have to send others to do what you could not.”
He stood, no better off than Niko, but not much worse either. He might have sweated a little more, breathed a little harder, but the difference was small. I liked that less and less. Niko was younger and more motivated, but Kalakos would have picked up tricks along the longer years to stay alive doing what he did. The dirtiest of tricks. My kind of tricks, but I wouldn’t turn them against my brother. Would he?
Kalakos started toward Niko, refusing to give up. It was a good thing for him that he left his saber behind. “There is no one else who can—”