I remembered the rest of the evening’s responsibilities and hoped Carlos and I would be able to leave soon. I needed to talk to him before anyone else made any moves and let him know we were far from done tonight. And I hoped that away from the bloody rage of vampires, I might be able to think without so much noise in my head for just a few minutes.
Once Carlos was back on his feet, the patrons of the After Dark seemed to know the show was over and drifted back to their tables and conversations, speculating, no doubt, on what Cameron would do first as Prince of the City. Only the asetem acted disinterested. Gwen and Sarah had retired back to one end of the table, bent toward each other like parentheses. I frowned as I glanced at Cameron, but he was busy with a sudden press of admirers and sycophants.
I looked for Carlos—no one would think it odd that I did, since I was there as a neutral party and I could talk to whomever I pleased—and spotted him near the door. Just one more scene to play. . . . I twisted my way through the moving kaleidoscope of bright colors and cold bodies to catch up to him before he went outside. Once out of the club, there was nothing to stop the asetem from closing in.
I met him at the entrance. He gave me a chilly glance with one lifted eyebrow. We hadn’t discussed this bit of business, but he was even more the experienced performer than I was and I was sure he’d pick up my cue and play along. I made only a small twitch of my head toward the door before I spoke, but I knew he caught it.
“I wouldn’t have expected that of you,” I said, not modulating my voice down. I wanted to be heard, after all.
“Obeisance?”
“Betrayal.”
He narrowed his eyes but made no other reply.
“Everyone knows you hate Edward and you took Cameron only because you couldn’t refuse—”
“A situation you engineered.”
“For Cameron’s sake. Not Edward’s. But he’s been a loyal student. He’s been your friend—if that’s possible. And you were going to kill his sister and bind him to you so you could . . . what, watch him twist in the wind while you abandoned him? That’s not any better than what Edward—”
He clamped his hand onto my bicep and jerked me close. “Enough, Greywalker!”
“No,” I protested, “it’s not enough.”
He growled and pulled me into the cold of the foyer, letting the black doors slam shut behind us. Sounds came down from the street in ice-blue trickles and leaked thinly from under the door like water. The area was built like a well, all white marble with a curving, iron-railed staircase going up the circular shaft to a gate on the street. It wasn’t an ideal place to talk, but it would do for a moment.
Carlos let go of me at once and kept his voice low. “An unpleasant evening’s work.”
“Yes, but now the little kingdom is secure and you’re Cameron’s sworn right-hand man.”
“So much mumbo jumbo. None of those would know the difference. There is no binding. Only my word.”
“Which is as good as, I recall.”
“Yes.”
“You won’t betray him, not after what Edward did to you.”
He nodded, his mouth pulling down in distaste.
“What about the magic? What about Sarah?”
“Special effects.” He spread his fingers and I could see white cuts and lines in his flesh between the index and middle fingers of his right hand, knitting up as I watched. “One learns a lot of tricks in such a long lifetime. She’s in no danger. I took care to feed well on waking.”
“I hope it’ll last: We’re not done.”
The interrogative eyebrow rose again.
“The labyrinth portals expire tonight and after that, there’s no back door.”
“We don’t need it. Only the right knife and you. The Lâmina I have with me. And you . . .” He peered at me in the darkness that was bright as Broadway to me. He pulled his head back and frowned. “Already?”
“If I were any more in touch with the grid, I’d disappear into it.”
“Exactly.”
“Do you think he knows?”
Carlos snorted. “No doubt he’s known for hours. We shall have to let them take us.”
I disliked the sound of that, but it was the same conclusion I’d come to myself since I didn’t know where Wygan would do his dirty work.
“Are you ready?”
I shook my head. “I . . . need to make a phone call first.”
He laughed at that, but he let me walk a few feet away and do it. I noticed the earlier missed call was from the phone in Edward’s bunker. It must have been Quinton and that pleased me at the same time it made me sad. I’d only have time to tell him the bare bones of the situation before I’d have to go, and my chances of coming back weren’t good. I called anyway.
Quinton answered at once. “Harper?”
“Yeah.”
I could hear his sigh through the phone, and it slid over me, soft and warm. “I was with the police and the FBI all day—”
A finger of concern touched me. “The feds didn’t suss you—?” I started.
“No, no,” he reassured me. “But things didn’t move as fast as we’d hoped. I was worried. . . .”
“It’s almost over. We’ve settled some things and now . . . it’s just up to the bad guy to come get us.”
The door opened from the club and the two asetem stepped out. They stared at us with baleful, glowing eyes.
“Ah, the escort is here,” I said.
“Is it Goodall?”
“No,” I answered. “Why?”
The asetem were walking toward us, trying to herd us up the stairs without actually touching us and causing a scene. Carlos glowered at them but let himself be moved, though he kept them away from me so I could finish my phone call. It was what we wanted after all, but we couldn’t make it look too easy.
“Goodall is bad news. Ex-military, ex–black ops. The Feds wouldn’t even say which group, but they got quiet and worried when we showed them the recording.”
“But we knew he was that sort of trouble. He won’t hurt us. He’s on Wygan’s leash.”
The asetem hissed at me, and one of them darted in my direction, forcing me toward the stairs a few steps. I could see the shape of someone at the top. . . .
“Stay away from Goodall! He doesn’t want to capture you; he wants to kill you! And I mean in a not-getting-back-up-this-time way. The bullet hole in the Danzigers’ doorway was at head height. Head height, do you understand? He had all the time in the world to take the shot; it’s not a mistake. If he’d just wanted to knock you down and drag you to Wygan, he’d have chosen to shoot you anywhere else, but he was aiming to blow your head off. That’s what took out your father. That would kill you, too. He is not playing by Wygan’s rules: He means to take you out permanently!”
The light was odd, but it illuminated the waiting figure better as we rounded the first few steps.
“Ah,” I said and closed the phone, slipping it back into my pocket.
That was Goodall at the top of the stairs.
THIRTY-ONE
Run like hell. That’s what my brain said. Even in the strange, broken light through the gate with the glare of the Grey welling up, I could see the dark, squared-off shape of a pistol in Goodall’s hand. Parkerized black. He had no reason to harm Carlos—and a gun certainly wouldn’t do it—so that was for me.
One of the asetem grew impatient and pushed on my shoulders, urging me up. I let the motion take me forward at the waist and kicked back hard with one foot. Even as strong and fast as the asetem were, a boot to the chest will knock almost anyone down those slippery marble stairs.
Goodall cursed as I grabbed on and swung over the stair rail, rolling and dropping to the floor. The impact jarred through my body and I heard the crack of a shot. I ducked and ran back under the staircase, cutting for the door into the club. There was a scrambling and banging on the stairs behind me but I didn’t turn around to see what it was. The stair and its shaftlike opening blocked a good shot at me as I bolted, but that didn’t stop Goodall from taking some. Shards of marble ricocheted around the dark space as I plunged through the door.