There were leaves in the blood, courtesy of the fake trees stored nearby. A bright and artificial green, they floated serenely on the golden surface. It was a bizarrely peaceful and strangely beautiful scene, and I hovered warily on the edge of it. "Robin?" The serpent was still alive…dying, yeah, but there was life in it yet. And it only took an ounce of life to make a ton of murderous purpose capable of impossible vengeance. No one likes to go out alone, not even snakes. "Goodfellow?" He was there somewhere. Had to be. What could possibly kill that smug, vain, irritating son of a bitch? "Robin, where the fuck are—"
"Here."
He slipped out of the night forest of fake trees to my right. Like Niko, he was covered in blood that wasn't his own. It stained his expensive clothes, slicked the equally expensive haircut, and coated the blade he carried. He'd lost the one, but he had others—which was why he'd lived so long and why he was still here right now. "Christ." I scowled instantly, shoving the relief down. "I thought your worthless ass was a footnote. Ancient history."
"From a sirrush?" He sluiced a handful of yellow fluid from his face and slung it to the floor. If that hand shook, he would claim it was from exertion. Considering how many slashes had been needed to take down the lizard, it might even be the truth. "Do you mock me? On my best day, I could take on an entire nest of them and barely work up a sweat. I might even have time to squeeze in a margarita and massage, happy ending of course."
He was still talking, but I'd stopped listening. It wasn't only monster blood after all. There was red mixed in with the gold. Puck red. "Robin?"
Stopping in midsentence, he met my gaze and followed it to the red staining his shirt and pants. "Ah. Yes." His sword dropped from his hand as he swayed slightly. "Not exactly as gentle as a cat with her kitten, was it?"
It had carried him away, either in a clawed grip or in its massive mouth. Definitely not gentle. I didn't carry the first aid supplies Niko did, and I wasn't as good with them either. I took Goodfellow's arm to keep him upright and turned my head to call for my brother. I didn't get the opportunity.
Impossible vengeance, and here it came.
Goodfellow had called it a sirrush. That sounded like something that could fly. This one didn't have wings, so in reality it couldn't. But it soared through the air regardless. With the same grace and power as a spring-propelled cougar, it catapulted toward us. I only had the time to get the impression of a kaleidoscope of teeth, claws, and scales before it was on us. The wounded can be dangerous—the dying can be almost invincible. There was no time for a blade. No time for a gun. There was time for only one thing.
I built the gateway. In the past, I'd created them several feet away…made for walking through. This one I built around us. I'd never done that before. I'd barely built a handful of gates in my life, and trying something new wasn't the brightest thing to do. It was the boldest, though, and bold was all that could save us now. Gray light outlined us, a tarnished and tainted silver glimmer. I felt the turn in my stomach, the burn at the base of my skull, the twist of reality, and then we were one room back. Behind Niko. And ahead of him came the sound of the sirrush slamming into the wall where we had been standing a fraction of a second ago.
"Skata," Robin gurgled at my side before he hit the floor. I would've held him up, if I could've stayed up myself. As the gateway popped out of existence, I went down as well. While Goodfellow fell flat, I managed to stop my descent at my knees. My head was a tight ball of agony and my face felt warm and wet. I swiped at it and came away with a blood-coated hand. I'd learned some control over the traveling several months ago when facing down George's and Niko's kidnapper, but I hadn't made a gate since. It didn't come as easily as I remembered…not that it had been easy before, but it hadn't hurt. It had nauseated and terrified but it hadn't hurt. It hurt now.
I felt the warmth at my ears too. From nose and ears, I was apparently a faucet and that couldn't be good. "Cal." I looked up from my dripping hand to see Niko's face before mine. It was a little blurry— not quite double vision, but almost. The sirrush was blurry as well…blurry, enraged, and coming toward us. A little more slowly now, but still coming.
Niko heard it before I had a chance to open my mouth to warn him. Flashing a hand under my jacket, he pulled my gun, whirled, and fired. Two shots careened off the skull, but seven more went through the remaining eye with exquisite precision. Niko wasn't particularly fond of guns—he felt they lacked grace and technique—but that didn't mean he wasn't good with one. If it could kill, Niko knew how to use it and use it well. The sirrush went down when the bullets hit, and this time it stayed down.
My weapon was reholstered smoothly, and Niko continued calmly. "You're a mess."
There was no arguing with that. "Yeah," I verified, and wiped at my face again, this time using my sleeve. Leather wasn't good at sopping up blood and I could feel it smear things to a much worse degree. "Robin's worse." A sick groan from the floor confirmed it.
"Don't do that again." The puck curled on his side and gave a nasty dry heave. Apparently, it was less his wounds and more a profound case of motion sickness. "Don't ever, ever do that again."
"Right. Being eaten would've been better. What was I thinking?" My knees decided enough was enough and I sat hard on my ass. Dropping my head in my hands, I clenched my fingers at my temples and aimed a muffled query at Niko. "Tylenol? Aspirin? Morphine?"
"Head?" I felt his fingers below my ears, checking the flow of blood. I didn't nod. I couldn't begin to imagine what that would feel like, but it wouldn't be pleasant. Luckily, Niko didn't need the confirmation. While one hand rested lightly on the back of my neck, he used the other to pull out his cell phone. Within seconds he was informing Sangrida Odinsdóttir that she had a dead sirrush in her basement as well as two wounded warriors and he would appreciate whatever help she could offer that fell short of a trip to Valhalla.
A half hour later we were back at Niko's and my apartment courtesy of Sangrida's private car. By that time, Goodfellow could walk, more or less, and I'd stopped bleeding. The headache hadn't eased any, though, and I let Niko lead me along as I covered my eyes with my hand. The thin glow of the hallway light was suddenly a hundred times worse than staring directly at the sun, and it felt like molten lava pouring directly into my eyes to fry my brain with laser thoroughness.
Inside our place, Niko steered me to the couch, pulled the blinds, and turned off the lights. "I'll dress Robin's wounds in my bedroom. Rest."
As a sign of how truly miserable he felt, Goodfellow didn't have a word, rapaciously sexual or otherwise, to say about being in Niko's bedroom. Fifteen minutes later Nik was back to settle onto the couch beside me. I'd slid and slouched down enough that my head rested against the back of the sofa and my legs sprawled wide. "Robin?" I asked, turning my head cautiously to look at him.
"It wasn't as bad as it appeared at first glance. Several penetrating claw wounds to his arms and legs, but they're fairly clean. No ripping. I believe traveling with you through your gateway affected him more. Pucks don't take well to it is my guess." He handed me a wet washcloth for my face. I'd cleaned it up as best I could in the car using the front of my shirt…just enough to get me into our building without people stopping to donate money to the axe-maniac survivor fund.
"Probably no one does." I scrubbed at my face, careful not to jostle my head too much. If it weren't for my Auphe half, the nausea I felt when opening and traveling through the gate would be a helluva lot more debilitating. "No one normal."