Something else, too. I could not name it, but I felt a burn on my tongue when I looked at her, as though tasting something bad in the air. And not just the parasite.
The Black Cat leaned on her elbow, fingers digging through her brown hair, and pursed her lips into a cold, assessing smile. There was nothing kind in her eyes, no amusement. Just business. Dangerous fucking business.
“You,” she said, looking at Jean. “It’s you I’ve felt all these months, creeping around my city. I knew you were close. I could smell you and the bastard Kings in the air. But you,” she added, fixing her gaze on me. “You don’t belong. And there’s only one thing I can think of that would have the power to bring you here.”
She looked pointedly at my gloved right hand. I did not want to guess how she knew about the armor, though I had some idea. It had been worn before by one of my predecessors. No doubt she had also skipped through time.
But all I said was, “You know how this is going to end.”
“No,” she said, smiling coldly. “But you do. Or else you wouldn’t be here. Must be bad, I think. Bad for you.”
Jean lunged. Men moved to intercept her, but I was right behind, grabbing the first thing within reach—a teacup—hurling it like a baseball at the nearest head. Glass shattered against a pale brow. I snatched apples, glasses of iced tea, throwing them with all my strength. It slowed down the men a little. I was surprised that none of them were using their guns—unless the Black Cat was worried about her host. Bullets ricocheting off our bodies.
The woman threw out her hand just before Jean reached her. “If you kill me, the children will never be free.”
Jean hesitated. One of the men slammed into her, both going down in a heap. I was there in two steps, grabbing his ears and hauling backward with all my strength. He screamed, and then shouted in Russian. Large bodies loomed behind me.
“Stop,” said the Black Cat suddenly, her voice so quiet I was certain the men would not hear her. But they did, and quit all movement—standing so perfectly still I wondered if they were human. Only their chests moved—faintly, quickly, in shallow breaths that made their nostrils flare.
I finished hauling the man off Jean. He fell on his knees, clutching at his ears. She hardly seemed to notice—staring only at the Black Cat. “What the hell do you mean they won’t be free?”
“So naïve, little Hunter.” The zombie smiled as she looked from Jean to me. “But that one…she’ll understand.”
“Cut the crap,” I said. Or tried to. Because just at that moment, I saw a flash in the zombie’s eyes, and it was not emotion, but actual light. Inhuman, golden light.
Jean gasped. I took a step closer, a cold hard knot forming in my gut. The Black Cat’s smile widened, and the golden light in her eyes flared brighter, hotter. She seemed to swell in size, and gazed down upon my grandmother with a patronizing smile. “There were Gods once, little Hunter. Just so you know. They fought my kind and put us inside the prison. But not all. Those who were free left their spore in human flesh. Passed down and down and down. Until we have this.” She trailed her hand across her tattooed hip. “Her name was Antonina before I found her. Known for being…odd in the head. Premonitions, dreams. Not afraid of spilling a little blood. She saw my true form, and welcomed me into her skin. Her extraordinarily powerful skin. She had no idea what she could do with her gifts until I stepped in.”
“And the tattoos?” I asked.
“Charms,” she replied, her aura thunderous, dancing with bolts of crimson light. “And irony. Because I care for you so.”
I ignored that. “You use those marks to bind people to you. How?”
“How does a parasite feed on pain?” countered the Black Cat, gazing lovingly upon her tattooed arm. “How did those gods of old, our dear enemies, manipulate the flesh of humankind with nothing but a thought? How, dear Hunters, did they make you?”
She smiled. “A mystery, yes? But, truth. Here, truth. The tattoos are merely an anchor that I use to bind their spirits to mine.” The Black Cat raked her nails across a petal etched into her stomach. One of the Russians standing behind me cried out in pain, clawing at his eyes. The Black Cat closed her eyes, shivering. Tasting his pain, no doubt. Like having straws stuck into her body, I thought. Every time the parasite hungered, it needed only to…poke herself.
“If you kill this body,” she said breathlessly, digging her nails deeper into the petal, speaking over the Russian’s cries as he dropped to his knees, “everyone I have marked will die, as well. Here, inside, in their hearts. Those children you care so much about will never live full lives. The world will be gray to them.”
“Unless,” she added, “they die first. But then, I don’t suppose it would matter, anyhow.”
“All we have to do is get rid of you,” Jean said, though she sounded shaken.
The Black Cat gave her a disdainful look. “Forever? You’ll never keep me away from this host. And you can’t kill me.”
Jean snarled, staggering to her feet. This time, the guards used their guns.
Chapter 9
The boys raged in their dreams, surging over my skin to cover my face. Split second, less than a heartbeat. I glimpsed movement against Jean’s cheeks, a shadow bursting—and then she was protected, as well. Both of us, wearing our demon masks.
None too soon. A bullet bounced off my forehead, the impact making me stagger. I heard other pings, and then a meaty thud, a low cry. One of the shooters bent over, clutching his stomach.
Hands grabbed my throat from behind, trying to choke me. I felt nothing, and slammed my elbow backward, sending it deep into a hard gut. Fingers loosened. I turned and drove my fist into the man’s sternum. Heard a crack. He fell backward, screaming.
I looked for Jean, and found her already at the bed. Her torn blouse was gaping down the front. Somewhere she had found a knife—perhaps from the fallen men at her feet.
One of the few Russians left standing barreled toward her. I reached him first, taking us both into a heavy pile of camera equipment. Glass shattered. I found myself pinned by two hundred pounds of red-faced man. He grabbed my hair with fists the size of hams, trying to pound my skull into the floor. All I felt was a tickle. I let him work out his frustration, and was just about to use my demon-hardened nails to puncture his femoral artery when small arms reached around his neck, and hauled backward.
Or tried to. I spied a thatch of dark hair and determined eyes. Ernie.
The Russian let go of my head, reaching back. I surged upward, slamming my forehead into his jaw. I felt all the bone in the lower half of his face implode, and when I leaned away, the dent I left behind made his face resemble a crushed soda can. He swayed, staring dumbly at me, and then toppled sideways. Ernie did not let go quickly enough, and fell with him.
I reached for the kid. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he cried out when I tried to pry his arms loose. I whispered his name, trying to calm him, but when he looked at me, a shudder raced through him that was so violent I almost wished he had kept his eyes closed.