“I’ll think of something.”
“It better be fucking poetic.”
He and Ruby left their separate ways. Ruby disappeared up the stairs, while Tan moved to a spot at the bar next to one of the most hulking men Roman had ever seen. He was nearly Caleb sized.
Roman watched as Tan struck up a conversation with the giant. The big man’s expression swiftly changed from annoyance to anger, then to rage.
No doubt about it, Tan had a way with words.
The giant swung a punch. Tan nimbly stepped aside and the blow connected with the punter behind him, who was thrown off his stool and onto the nearest table, scattering cards and dice. The players shouted curses, rising from their seats.
The thing about bar fights is, Roman mused, once the punches start, no cares who they’re swinging at. In a moment a dozen bystanders had joined in, swearing and lunging at anyone within reach. Tan spun through them, fists flailing, igniting the frenzy further. His manic grin never left his face.
The band stopped mid-song, and no one cared — more interesting entertainment was now being provided. The entire room stood, preparing to either join the fight or quickly leave. Roman pushed his way through the distracted crowd, his hand reaching into his jacket, fingers curling around the cold touch of metal.
His seven-shot revolver was a relic of the Ancients. Its metal was worn and dented, its rubber grip long since peeled off. Still, it was a treasure. A working gun was worth a small fortune, and ammunition wasn’t much cheaper. Roman thought there was an ironic beauty to a gun: the Ancients were outlasted by the very weapons they had built to defend themselves.
Burrstone was moving towards the staircase. Roman stepped behind and firmly grabbed him by the shoulder. His other hand jabbed the barrel of the revolver into Burrstone’s lower back.
“Hello asshole,” Roman said.
Burrstone’s head snapped around, jaw dropping in surprise. His eyes flicked predictably to the those around them. But the fight had escalated to include a quarter of the bar by now — even a band member had laid his guitar aside and joined in — and no one paid Burrstone any attention.
“To the door. No stopping,” Roman ordered.
Burrstone snarled.
Roman gave him another jab with his pistol. Burrstone began to walk. They blended in with the dozens of others also rushing to leave. No one looked down to see Roman’s gun. Or, if they did, they were wise enough to keep their mouths shut.
Roman glanced at the balcony above. Ruby watched him from over the railing, her eyes narrowed. No doubt she had her bow drawn, out of sight.
The exit drew closer. Ten steps. Nine. Eight.
Roman let out a slow breath.
Seven steps.
The lights flickered, then died, and the hall plunged into darkness.
02
Roman paused, just for a second. Should he shoot?
Wasn’t much of a choice, really.
He fired.
The crack of gunfire rang through the hall, quickly followed by panicked screams. Someone crashed into Roman from behind, throwing him off-balance. Cursing, he regained his footing and reached for where Burrstone had been a moment before. But he was too late. Burrstone was gone.
Roman cursed himself for hesitating. His mistake might have cost everyone here their lives.
He moved to the left, nearly tripping over something or someone. A blind stampede would be on its way as everyone rushed for the door, and he had to get out of its path, fast. Pushing his way through the mass of bodies, he tried to keep some sense of direction. But there was no way he could find Burrstone in the dark.
Focus. Think this out. Where would Burrstone have gone? Romans first assumption was outside. That would be the easiest escape. But no. A human would have wanted to escape, but Burrstone was an Adrenalite. He hadn’t been heading for the door when Roman had got to him; he had been rushing upstairs. He must have an adrenaline needle in his room and was planning to activate himself.
Roman calculated his options. His plan was ruined, element of surprise gone, target loose and most likely on his way to inject himself with adrenaline. The logical move would be to get the hell out of here. But that meant leaving everyone here to the mercy of an Adrenalite. Which, in Roman’s experience, was no mercy at all.
He spun towards the general direction of the stairs and redoubled his efforts to shove through the crowd. The hall was alive with shouts and screams, but Roman’s voice cut above the clamour.
“Tan, the stairs!”
He stubbed his toe on the first stair, then raced up them four at a time. His right hand held his revolver, the other reached for the needles hiding within his coat; one was filled with adrenaline, to activate, the other with defoxican, to deactivate.
A set of footsteps approached, and Roman collided into their owner. A tangle of wavy hair brushed against him.
“Ruby!”
“Roman? What is going on down there? Where’s the target?”
“Gone.”
“Fuck.”
More footsteps approached from behind. “Right here, Boss.”
Roman breathed a sigh of relief when he recognized Tan’s rough accent. With Tan, they might stand a chance against Burrstone. If they found Caleb, the odds might be evened, but that meant Sparks would be there too. And Roman didn’t want to activate Sparks unless there was absolutely no other option.
“Tan, do you know where Burrstone’s room is?” he asked.
“Sixth floor. But it’s gonna be a bitch to find in the dark.”
As if on cue, the lights burst into life. As Roman’s eyes adjusted, the hall below swam into focus. Overturned tables. Smashed bottles. Bodies strewn across the floor. The space in front of the door was a tangle of struggling forms, no one was able to dislodge themselves from the chaos enough to actually leave.
No sign of Burrstone, Sparks or Caleb.
That didn’t leave any easy choices. Ruby’s skills weren’t going to be useful in the tight corridors upstairs. Nor were Sparks and Caleb helpful in the chaos below, but Roman didn’t have time to wait for them. “Ruby, find Sparks and Caleb, they’ll be inside by now. Tell them to meet us upstairs,” Roman ordered. “Tan, follow me.”
Tan grinned. “Always.”
Somewhere below Tan had picked up a near-empty bottle of whiskey. As they sprinted up the next flight of stairs he downed the last of it with a single swig, then smashed its base against the wall, leaving him with a jagged glass shiv.
Tan might have been a little too eccentric sometimes — darn near insane, some might say — but he was willing to follow Roman to a fight with an Adrenalite, and there were precious few people in Legacy who would do that. It was the kind of insane that Roman appreciated in his friends.
They reached the fifth flight of stairs when Burrstone appeared at the top of the steps.
Roman’s heart sunk. They were too late.
Burrstone had stripped down to his tattered sackcloth trousers. The centre of his exposed chest glowed with a dark blue, pulsing brilliance. His second heart. Thin blue lines extended like roots from the light, growing fainter as they left the core.
Roman raised his pistol, aimed directly into the blue glow, and fired twice.
With inhuman speed, Burrstone threw himself to the side. Fast, but not fast enough. The second shot skimmed his left shoulder, spraying blood. He didn’t even flinch.
Roman lined up a third shot, but Burrstone leapt backwards and out of sight. Roman chased, bounding up the steps. Ahead, Burrstone disappeared into an empty door frame further down the hallway.