The man was tall and thin, and something long glinted in his hand. The woman was shorter, with a terrible burn marring the left side of her face. Her hands were full with something Nico could not make out, and he hit her first.
Surprise was on his side. They’d been watching the struggle in front of and inside the café, not expecting an attack from behind, and he felt a grim satisfaction when the woman opened her eyes wide, his shoulder striking her chin and shoving her backward across a slew of tables and chairs. Bottles smashed, and the woman cried out as she skidded across a carpet of broken glass.
Nico was already ducking. He’d never been a fighter, but perhaps Volpe was steering him subtly now, for he heard the swish of something passing just above his head. When he looked up, the tall man was already swinging the knife back, repeating its arc, except lower this time, its vicious blade held flat, ready to slash across Nico’s eyes.
Nico lashed out with his right hand and closed it around the man’s unprotected genitals. As he twisted and pulled, he had a flash memory of a sweat-sheened naked woman slicing through a man’s erection somewhere so long ago, and inside he felt Volpe laugh.
The man screamed and dropped the knife. Nico rose quickly and brought an elbow up beneath his chin, then pushed him aside and went for the doorway.
Volpe quickly came to the fore and stilled him, and for a second Nico railed against this intrusion. His blood was up, his rage burning bright, as he saw Geena thrashing and struggling in the grip of an old, old man. He wanted to go to her, help those others who were already trying to help, but then he realized why Volpe had stopped him in his tracks. The old man was Pietro Aretino, one of the three Doges, and on his face was the calm certainty of success.
Time seemed to slow. Aretino turned to look at Nico, grinning a grotesque smile as he twisted Geena’s hair harder in his clenched fist. All around them, the struggling continued at full speed, but these two men simply stared at each other. Nico was aware of Domenic standing in the open doorway, trying to reach past Geena toward Aretino, while a black man bashed at the side of Domenic’s head with a closed fist. Behind Domenic, in the chaos of the café, Nico thought he saw Ramus fighting with a blond woman, fists flailing, sharper things whispering at the heavy air.
“Volpe,” the old man said in a heavy, guttural voice, and then Nico was flung back into the flow of things. He darted toward Aretino, his eyes on Geena. His arm, he thought. I’ll go for his arm. It looks old enough to snap at the first breath of wind and—
Something struck him across the stomach. He bent forward and exhaled, pivoting over the extended leg even as it bent back and kicked in again. He was ready the second time—Volpe was there, quickening his reactions with a touch of something that felt sickeningly unnatural—and he caught his attacker’s foot and twisted.
The man had a neat goatee and slicked-back hair, and resembled a lawyer more than a killer. He might have come from any one of a hundred countries. But his skills were refined, his eyes cold and calm, and as Nico twisted, the man jumped and span with the twist. As he spun, his other leg caught Nico across the back of the head, and he went sprawling.
“Volpe, for fuck’s sake,” Nico whispered, rolling just as a foot skimmed across the cobbles toward his face. It struck his shoulder instead and he turned away and became entangled in other legs, feeling bodies falling around and onto him and searching all the time for Geena, hearing her strangled gasps as that old bastard twisted her hair even more. He was about to call out to her when he felt his body starting to burn.
Nico was on his feet instantly, and Volpe raised his hands. He muttered a few words, clawed his right hand in the air a couple of feet in front of the bearded man’s face, then clenched his fist.
The man grabbed the sides of his head and screeched as he went to his knees.
Domenic and the black man were fighting in the doorway, but both seemed to have paused at the sound of goatee-man’s screams. Domenic was wide-eyed and disbelieving, the man he was fighting bleeding from a gash above his right eye. Never thought Dom had it in him. But when Domenic looked at him there was no trace of goodwill in his glance, and he looked quickly away to where the old man had started dragging Geena away.
Through the shattered door Nico caught sight of the confusion in the café: chairs and tables overturned, patrons backing away, waiters and waitresses retreating behind the small bar, one of them talking frantically on the phone. And Ramus on his knees before the blond woman, hands raised to ward off the blows raining down on him.
Then Nico’s attention was torn away as Volpe went after Geena.
“Leave her, old man,” Volpe said, and if there was a hex in his words they did not affect Aretino at all. The white-haired man only laughed as he pulled Geena harder. He was walking backward, dragging her by her hair. She’d raised both hands to clasp at his wrists, lessening the strain, but still it must have been agony. She saw Nico at last, but in her eyes he saw the reflection of Volpe.
“I won’t be as easy as Caravello,” Aretino said. “He always was a dandy, too concerned with his appearance to—”
Volpe grabbed at the air, hauling himself forward. Nico heard a thud, like the sound barrier being broken somewhere close by, and everyone around the café grunted. He muttered three words and coughed, pressing his hands toward Aretino, and Nico thought, Watch out for Geena.
“I’ll do my best,” Volpe said, “But the city only needs one of you.”
Aretino frowned slightly and took a stumbled step back. Then he laughed.
“Time has lessened you, Volpe, buried away like a dead rat.” He turned to leave, casually calling his people to him.
“Nico!” Domenic shouted.
Nico felt Volpe’s temporary exhaustion after his magical efforts. He turned slightly and looked at Domenic, wanting to tell him everything that was happening. Domenic was standing before the café with both hands raised, gripping a man who was no longer there. The black man followed Volpe now, as did the man and woman Nico had tackled moments before. The goateed man rocked back and forth on his knees, holding the sides of his head. Blood trickled from his ears.
“Domenic,” Nico began, and then he saw the blond woman emerging from the café. “Look out!”
Domenic turned and leaned back, just avoiding the knife that slashed at his throat.
The woman grinned as she walked on. Her knife dripped blood. Nico looked for Domenic’s wound, but then he remembered the woman raining blows down on Ramus, and—
Volpe took him again, roaring in rage. In this fight, I cannot be fighting you! He took in several huge breaths. Nico felt the potential building in his body, and then Volpe shouted, “Aretino!”
Windows shattered in the café’s frontage, and Aretino turned. The black man stood beside him, and the blond woman paused a few steps away. In their eyes Nico saw a restrained fear the likes of which he had never seen before. They’re slaves in his thrall, he thought, and he sensed Volpe’s agreement.
“So, the mouse roars,” Aretino said. Geena squirmed beneath his hand, kneeling now that he’d come to a standstill. She was crying silently. Nico tried to send calming thoughts, but Volpe was at the fore now, allowing him to see but denying him any influence.
“You’ll fail,” Volpe said. “Caravello died badly.”
“And you’re looking good for plague survivors,” Aretino said.
“All these years, you think you’ve been getting stronger,” Volpe countered, and Nico could feel him stalling for time, building his magical potential again for one last, momentous attack. Mind Geena, he thought, but he wasn’t sure that Volpe was even listening. “But you’ve simply been fading away. Whatever evil you’ve bled out of Akylis’ lingering power can’t change that. Existence isn’t living, Aretino. The day I banished you from the city you died, and your stink has been worsening ever since. You’ve been waiting for so long, and for what?”