He yanked the knife out of his ankle sheath and went forward.
"I don't believe it," one of the attackers snarled. "The son of a bitch is back on his feet. Something went wrong. He was supposed to stay down."
"Shit, he's got a—"
Cruz reached the first man before he could finish the sentence. He drove the knife deep, aware even as he struck that his aim was off. The aftereffects of the psi drain were already hitting him, playing havoc with his coordination and strength.
There was, nevertheless, a satisfying grunt of pain and fear. He jerked the knife out. Blood flowed over his hands. The man collapsed.
The second man dropped Lyra and ran for the door, Vincent on his heels.
"Vincent, come back," Lyra shouted. "Let him go."
Cruz was vaguely aware of the sound of the front door slamming open. He heard heavy boots pounding down the stairs. The second intruder was gone.
He sank slowly to his knees, the bloody knife still gripped in his hand. The green-hued shadows of the loft started to turn gray.
"Cruz." Lyra crouched beside him. "Oh, my God, you're hurt. What happened? Did they shoot you? I didn't hear a gun. Cruz, stay with me, here. I'm calling an ambulance."
There was a familiar chittering sound in his ear. Vincent sounded anxious. Cruz forced himself to concentrate. There was one more thing he had to do, something important; the most important thing he had ever done in his life.
"No ambulance," he whispered. "Call Jeff."
"But Cruz, you're bleeding."
"Not my blood. The other guy's. Call Jeff. Tell him I shattered obsidian. Tell him to take you to Amber Island."
"I can't go to your family's compound."
"Yes," he said, "you can and you will. I need to know you're safe, and that's the only place I can be sure you will be. Get your phone."
He heard the soft, melodic clash of the charms on her bracelet as she hurried across the room. A moment later she was back. She gripped his hand.
"Got it," she said. "But let's get something clear here. I'm staying with you. If we go anywhere, we go together. Do you hear me, Cruz Sweetwater?"
He thought he felt a gentle surge of energy through her hand; her energy, not his own. For a few more precious seconds the darkness retreated. He was probably hallucinating again.
"Call Jeff," he repeated.
"I'm calling Jeff." With her free hand, she fumbled with the phone. "But whatever you do, don't let go. Do you hear me, Sweetwater?"
"I hear you." He closed his eyes. "Nag, nag, nag."
"I've got a talent for it."
The night engulfed him. The anxious chittering of a dust bunny and the sound of Lyra's charms followed him into the darkness.
Chapter 23
MOMENTS AFTER SHE MADE THE CALL TO JEFF, LYRA HAD a front-row seat from which to observe the dazzlingly efficient and astonishingly powerful machinery of the Sweetwater empire in action.
Jeff burst through the open front door of her apartment ten minutes after she called. He was not alone. He had a phalanx of Amber Inc. Security operatives with him.
"Hurry," Lyra said. She was still crouched beside Cruz, gripping his hand.
"Got another man down over here," someone said. "Still alive."
"That's one of the bad guys," Lyra said. "The other one got away. Cruz is the one who needs help."
Someone threw the lights. Lyra saw a lot of blood on the hardwood floor. She wondered, in a distant way, if it would be harder to remove than Vincent's paint.
A stoutly built woman with short, spiky blonde hair went down on one knee beside Cruz and took out a stethoscope. A stretcher appeared. Within seconds there were so many people in the small loft that Lyra was afraid Vincent would get squashed beneath an Amber Inc. Security boot. With her free hand she picked him up and plopped him on her shoulder. His red beret had evidently come off during the battle with the intruders. He clutched it tightly in one paw.
"How is the boss?" Jeff said. His face was grim. "Is he still alive?"
Lyra realized that he was speaking to the woman holding the stethoscope to Cruz's chest. Alarm zapped through her.
"Of course Cruz is alive," she said before the med tech could respond. "Why wouldn't he be? He's going through some kind of burn-and-crash syndrome just like ghost hunters do when they melt amber. He needs some time to recover, that's all."
"The boss didn't just melt amber," Jeff said, his voice unnaturally flat. "When you called me you told me that he had shattered obsidian."
"That's what he said to tell you, but I assumed that meant he had melted his obsidian amber."
"He told you that he uses black amber?" Jeff said, sounding startled.
"I'm a Dore. I know amber."
"Sure," Jeff said. "That figures. Thing is, black amber is so rare most people don't recognize it. When they see it, they assume it's some other gemstone."
"What's the problem here?" she asked tightly.
"Maybe you don't know as much about obsidian as you think," Jeff said. "You don't melt it when you over rez it. You shatter it."
"What do you mean?" She looked down at the black stone in Cruz's ring. "There are no fractures in the obsidian."
"Never mind; I'll explain later. We've got to get him to the clinic."
"You mean an emergency room," Lyra said.
The med tech looked up. "No, a regular ER won't know what to do with this kind of situation. The Arcane Society runs a private clinic. The doctors there are his best chance."
Lyra tightened her grip on Cruz's hand and pulsed a little more energy through her fingers.
"Okay, you're starting to scare me," she whispered. "The clinic sounds like a good idea. But I'll warn you, Cruz was adamant about both of us going to your family's compound on Amber Island, Jeff. When he wakes up and finds out that he's somewhere else, he's liable to be pissed."
"Hell." Jeff hesitated but only for a fraction of a second. "He must have been really worried about you."
"Yes, well, those two men were trying to kidnap me," she said quietly.
"In that case you are definitely going to Amber Island. We'll take the boss to the clinic."
"Sorry," Lyra indicated the hand she was using to hang on to Cruz. "Where he goes, I go. Take your pick, Amber Island or the clinic, but either way, we stick together, at least until he wakes up."
The med tech sat back on her heels. Lyra could see her name tag. Benson.
"I think that's a good idea," Benson said. "I'm not sure what's going on here, but Mr. Sweetwater appears to be stable. I vote we don't disrupt the situation. If you take them both to Amber Island, the clinic can send a team to meet you there."
"Right," Jeff said. "Amber Island it is."
The med tech who was crouched beside the fallen attacker spoke. "What do you want us to do with this guy? He's alive. I've got the bleeding stopped. He'll probably make it if he gets to an ER."
"He goes to the Guild clinic," Jeff decreed. "They can handle him without having to notify the cops."
He continued giving orders with a precision and speed that would have done credit to a professional Federal Bureau of Psi Investigation agent.
There was one more skirmish a short time later when Lyra got into the back of the unmarked ambulance with Vincent on her shoulder.
"Sorry, ma'am, I can't let any animals ride back here with the patient," one of the techs said.
"The bunny's with me, and I'm with Sweetwater," Lyra said.
The tech opened his mouth to argue, but Benson shook her head.
"It's okay," Benson said.
"Yes, ma'am." The tech stood back.
Benson got in and went to work slapping monitors on Cruz.