"That's one good thing you can say about them." I inched fingers farther down my leg and kept my eyes unwavering on his. I couldn't deceive like a puck—no one could—but I wasn't an open book either. If I could fool him long enough…
But of course I couldn't.
"As much as I enjoy playing this tedious game with you"—his gaze flicked to my ankle and back—"I have things to do." He cocked his head, gauging the sounds around us. Flay in some other part of the building. Screaming and howling out front, meaning Niko had yet to make it through the door. "Psychics to drain. Blood sacrifices to make. Freaks to kill." His foot slammed down on the gun at my ankle, pressing the flesh and bone beneath it to the breaking point. Before I could make a suicidal lunge at him an identical voice stopped us both.
"Hobgoblin."
It came from above and then from next to us as Goodfellow plunged down through flimsy ceiling tile. He landed neatly, doing what had to be everything in his power to conceal his weakened leg. His own blade, not as elegant as the poniard, but as deadly, came to rest along the neck of his carbon copy. "Long time no see," he finished silkily. "I thought you dead. Justly dead."
My attacker's head turned easily and the smile came back, that god-awful, ghastly grin. "I go by 'the Hob' now, a title for my inferiors."
"Which would be everyone, yes?" Robin's face was a mask, the skin stretched inhumanly tight.
"No one would know that better than you, Goodfellow." His foot ground harder and I felt my ankle-bone creak under his heel.
I didn't wait for Goodfellow to give him a warning. I yanked my leg free and rolled to one side only to discover Robin hadn't given one at all. Instead he'd done his best to decapitate Hob—be damned if I'd call him the Hob. I looked up in time to see the end of the backswing and the whole of the follow-through. It was a beautiful blow, if anything so inherently violent and fatal can be called beautiful. Economy of motion, grace, and a stunning speed… yeah, it was beautiful. It was also an utter failure.
Hob was as agile as Goodfellow, if not more so, and he was unwounded. One moment he stood at Robin's side; the next he was gone. Robin's sword cut nothing but air. He almost stumbled on his injured leg, caught himself, and then turned just in time to catch the poniard blade on the hilt of his sword. I didn't stand on ceremony. Grabbing the small .38 at my ankle, I fired. I thought I hit Hob, but I couldn't be sure. As my shot rang out, he threw off Goodfellow's attack, crouched, and then propelled himself upward, disappearing through the same opening Robin had appeared through. A flat-footed jump of nearly ten feet and he performed it with ridiculous ease. "Son of a bitch." I aimed upward and sent five more shots after him. "You can't do that, can you?"
"No." Lips a bloodless line, Goodfellow shook his head. "He's older than I. He's grown stronger, faster."
I measured the jump again with my eyes as my hand impotently squeezed the butt of the .38. Ancient or not, he still had one helluva leap. "How much goddamn older?"
"The oldest. Perhaps even the first. The original Mad Hatter," he said darkly, "without the sense of humor. He's insane, Cal. Utterly. He wants what he wants and no price is too high, no consequence worth considering. He's been the power behind a hundred thrones. Alexander himself bowed to him."
"Yeah, that's all very fascinating." I reloaded, then shoved the gun in the back of my pants. "Boost me. Then go find the others and tell them what's going on."
"He'll kill you," Goodfellow said instantly. "I'll go."
Now, that was a total lack of faith if ever I'd heard one, but I didn't have the time or the luxury to be offended. "Fine. Get your ass in gear. I found Slay, but not George. If your evil twin gets away, we're screwed." I cupped my hands and sent him flying up.
There was the grunt of effort as he caught the edge of the hole and heaved himself in. "Without the crown he won't go far."
"How about we don't let him go a fucking inch. Now go already." But I was talking to myself. He was already gone. But that didn't mean that I was alone.
I heard a scuttle and scrape before four revenants flowed into view, climbing over one another in the fashion of hungry rats competing for the same meal. I hadn't liked the revenant I'd butted heads with in Cerberus's organization, and I wasn't looking to like these any better. What little light there was gleamed off the moist flesh and curdled in milky eyes. Curved incisors were bared with appetite, not anger. No, these were happy little pseudocorpses—right up until I put a bullet in each squirming brain. Sometimes the movies are right. They went down, tumbling and twitching. It slowed their five friends waiting in the wings not in the slightest.
I had two bullets left and no time to reload. Firing twice, I dropped the .38 and scrambled to find the Glock Hob had kicked from my hand. It had gone to the right; I'd heard it skitter and slide as it hit the floor, but I didn't see any sign of it. One of the revenants was faster than the others and made its leap. Strangely jointed arms reached out for me with grasping hands, hooked fingers, and talons like fishhooks. I ducked beneath the charge, but the revenant wasn't as easily avoided as that. It twisted in midair with the agility of a cat and snared my shirt in its claws. I dived to the floor and rolled, dislodging it with the ripping of cloth. I still had my knife and I used the blade to slice it along the length of its torso when it threw itself on me again. The warm blood soaked me, and I kicked the revenant off as its teeth snapped at my neck. It hit one of the others, knocking it flat, but two more were still coming and coming fast.
Scrambling to my feet, I grabbed a chair from one of the tables and swung with enough force to put one over the fence. The flimsy bundle of plastic and metal disintegrated in my hands and didn't do a damn thing to my attacker. Swearing viciously, I hooked an arm around its neck as it landed on me. Swiveling, I threw it down to the floor and planted my knife in its chest. The effort allowed the last one the opportunity it needed. It landed on my back and rode me down. I landed hard on the wounded revenant beneath me as the one on my back buried teeth in the meat of my shoulder. The one below me wasn't about to sit this one out either, knife in chest or no. It snarled soundlessly, brown blood frothing from its mouth, and wrapped moist, spidery fingers around my throat.
Growling, I twisted the knife in the revenant's chest, eliciting a bubbling scream, then threw myself backward. I was trying to simultaneously break the hold on my throat and throw off the one on my back. I was only partially successful. The fingers fell from my neck, but the son of a bitch on my back was hanging on for all it was worth. Its teeth ground in my flesh and its arm snaked around my chest to clamp me closer to it. It was strong as hell. They might look like skinny corpses fresh from the grave, but they had a. grip like steel and bundles of muscles as strong as metal wire. As I tried for a grip behind its head to flip it over my shoulder, its legs wound around mine, anchoring itself to me. Jesus, if I let myself get taken out by a fucking revenant, it would be better to be dead. Niko would ride my ass until the end of time.
The fangs in my shoulder began to withdraw and I knew the next target would be my throat. If it took out my carotid artery, I would be unconscious in minutes and bleed to death in five. I needed a move, no matter how desperate, and I needed it now. However, when it was made, it wasn't mine. There were two consecutive twangs and the revenant jerked on my back… once, twice, then fell. The other revenant I'd knocked from its feet was starting to rise only to be bowled over with a quarrel through an eye. Staggering with the loss of weight from my back, I regained my balance and then bent over to rest hands on my legs until my breathing evened out. "Thanks," I said hoarsely, and in the same breath, "Don't tell anyone."