"Any decisions about my brother will be made by me, Goodfellow." The warning wrapped Niko's words in razor wire and broken glass. "No one else."
Robin bowed his head slightly, brow creased. Exhaling harshly, he twisted his lips in resignation. "No matter how good the intentions, I take it."
"No matter." The message was unbending, but the ice behind it had thawed somewhat. Niko knew that Robin was trying to help, could see that he was on his side. It was a big step for someone who'd been nursed on suspicion all his life. Quite the bonding moment for the two of them. How sweet. I was all puppies and kittens from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet, the same feet I jackknifed into Goodfellow's knees.
Strike two.
The blow knocked him on his ass and that, I thought with righteous condescension, was what happened to those who got soft. The puck had obviously forgotten, but there were humans and then there was us. You forget what side you're on, you try to cross that line, and there was a price to pay. And it wasn't going to be paid in Monopoly money either.
I'd hoped that Robin careening into him would stagger Niko, at least for a second. No such luck. As he fell, Goodfellow had the presence of mind to twist away, taking down no one but himself. That left my brother still open for business and that was less than a desirable outcome, to say the least. Consequently, when Boggle breached the ground like a killer whale through the waves, I promptly decided he was my new best friend. Apparently, I'd overestimated his cowardice and underestimated his hatred of Niko. Shedding dirt like water, he snatched up my brother by his coat, lifted him high in the air, and shook him violently. The blond head snapped back with visibly painful force as Boggle gave a gutturally triumphant bellow. It was a beautiful sight to see, right up until the moment when Niko sliced off Boggle's right hand.
His reaction was as spectacular as you'd expect it to be. Black blood, viscous and foul, poured lava-thick from the stump. For a short moment, barely a second, Boggle stared stupefied at the pumping blood. It was only a second, but it was much longer than Niko needed to embed his sword in one round pumpkin orange eye. Boggle's scream shattered the air as Niko fell from his remaining hand. It was looking bleak for the home team, but once again I didn't give Bog enough credit. Still howling, he swung an arm, slamming it into Niko and throwing him nearly fifteen feet. Trusting that the two of them would keep busy, I turned my attention to Goodfellow.
The proverbial thorn in my side was pushing his way back up to a sitting position, his face grim and etched with pain. I might not have dislocated his kneecaps, but I'd definitely given him something to think about… for the short time he had left to him. He'd barely gotten halfway up when I hit him hard, my knee hitting him viciously in the gut. The sword that had fallen from his hand I scooped up and applied with surgical precision to his throat. Blood welled sluggishly over the bright metal as I gave him an even brighter smile. "Having second thoughts about your new friends, Goodfellow?"
The green eyes of a treed fox blinked as dark eyebrows quirked upward with studied boredom. "Having second thoughts about being such a homicidal dick, Darkling?"
"Goodfellow." I shook my head and used my free hand to comb taming fingers through his wild brown curls before patting his cheek with a stinging blow. "Robin. How did you come to this? Look at you. Bloody, dirty. Your expensive clothes are ruined, and all for the sake of humans. It's a sad state of affairs and I feel for you, I do. It almost makes me want to kill you painlessly." I put more pressure on the blade. "Almost." I wished I had time to make it slow as well as painful, but Boggle wouldn't be able to hold Niko forever. I'd have to limit myself to one quick slash and let Goodfellow drown in his own blood. Then I would take care of my brother.
Unfortunately for me, my brother took care of me first. My arm was tensing for the coup de grace when a sharp pain hit me in the back of my upper thigh. Snatching a look over my shoulder, I saw a tufted dart protruding from my jeans. Niko stood ten feet away by the motionless and muddy form of Boggle. He held a blunt-nosed pistol in his hand. A gun, the son of a bitch was aiming a gun at me. In his entire life the man had never used a gun, had never even held a gun. And now he had used one on me. In its way I think that made me nearly as disconnected as the drug I could feel racing through my system. He had surprised me and out-thought me, not once, but twice since we'd entered the park. Outmaneuvered me.
That, boys and girls, is when I lost my sense of humor.
I was also losing consciousness and losing it fast. I was going and there was nothing I could do to stop it. That didn't mean, however, that I had to go alone. My grip was already numb and clumsy. My vision had shrunk to a pinpoint of light in a field of smothering black. It didn't matter. What did was bleeding Goodfellow like a slaughterhouse pig. The blade was already at his throat. All that was needed was a little weight, a little pressure, and the puck would fall into that darkness with me. I was guessing my descent wouldn't be permanent, but if I had my way, his would be. The drug was too strong, though, too quick. My fingers went nerveless and Robin ripped the sword away, disarming me, or so he thought. He was wrong. Skinning back lips from my teeth, I hissed deep in my throat and then lunged at his. I'd been around long before the Bronze Age and man-made weapons. Teeth and claws had worked then. They'd work just as well now.
The warmth of his skin radiated against my lips and I could taste the salt of his sweat on my tongue. It was a pale shadow of the blood I'd soon be swimming in. Any second now. I felt a hand at the collar of my jacket and then I was flying through the air dreamily as time slowed to a lazy crawl. My back hit the ground, but the sensation was nothing more than a distant echo. My brother's face was a bare outline across my faded and foggy sight. "We have you, Cal. We have you, little brother." His voice was unwavering in its determination and absolute in its certainty. "And we'll get you back. I promise."
Strike three.
I was out.
Chapter Eighteen
"Best hurry, Nik. I think it's waking up."
It. Honestly, Goodfellow, was that nice? Mitotic shithead.
"I'm finished," my brother's calm voice came next. With his words I felt something jerk snugly at my wrist, and a warm grip on my forearm that squeezed lightly before disappearing. Niko, I gloated. Just keep opening that door, and I won't have to destroy you. You'll do it to yourself. I drifted back and forth on the tides of semi-consciousness, mulling over the situation. I'd been so goddamn stupid, so careless, playing with them when I could've finished them off. I'd let my ego get the better of me. But while I was down, I wasn't out. I still had a few tricks up my sleeve.
"Maybe we should've had Promise stay," Goodfellow said wearily.
"She's where she needs to be now, protecting Georgina. We can't be certain Darkling doesn't have other assassins out there."
Good thought, I mused dreamily. I wished I'd hired a few more. Hundreds more. Ripping Promise and George to the tiniest shreds of flesh. I continued to float aimlessly with that happy image, in no real hurry to completely wake. That is, until someone stuck something extremely unpleasant beneath my nose. I sneezed violently and pulled back while blinking watering eyes. Clearing my vision, I saw a stone-faced Niko capping a small vial of ammonia.