For Heaven's Eyes Only (11 page)

“Okay, ten out of ten for weird. What the hell are they?”

“Husques,” Molly said succinctly. “Experienced sorcerers can shed them, like a snake sheds its skin. Really experienced sorcerers can throw off ten or twenty husques at a time, and send them out to do their bidding. A physical extension of the sorcerer’s will. Better than zombies, because the sorcerer can experience what his husque experiences, but more dangerous, because what happens to the husque can affect the sorcerer who throws it. They’re inhumanly strong, and there do seem to be rather a lot of them.”

“So, if we damage enough of these husques, we can hurt, maybe even kill the sorcerers?” I said.

“Got it in one,” said Molly. “You want me and Iz to fry them for you?”

“No,” I said. “I have some serious anger issues to work off, and I feel the need to vent.”

So I strode down the steps and waded right into the husques. They swarmed forward like rabid dogs, eager for the kill, and I was ready for them. I punched the first one to reach me right in the face. My golden fist smashed through and out the other side. The husque was only an inch or so thick. The husque flapped about on the end of my arm, its hands flailing uselessly against my armour. I tore it apart with hardly an effort, and it shredded like paper. I made my way steadily down the stairs, beating the husques down and tearing them apart. They were all over me, clawing at me with inhuman strength and perseverance, even as I destroyed them, but they couldn’t touch me through my armour. I ripped them to pieces, smashing them down and trampling them underfoot, and it felt good, so good. I thought of Satanist sorcerers screaming and dying; and I smiled inside my golden mask. It wasn’t a good smile. It took me three flights of stairs before I finally came to a halt, because I’d run out of husques. Molly and Isabella came tripping down the stairs to join me. The air was full of something very like confetti.

“Feeling better now?” said Molly.

“Much,” I said. “It’s easier fighting monsters. They’re just what they are. But people shouldn’t make themselves into monsters.”

“Boy Scout,” said Isabella, not unkindly.

“Something else is coming up the stairs,” said Molly. “And it sounds . . . really nasty.”

“I have had enough of this,” I said. “They’re sending things against us to wear us down, so that when we finally have to face the big shots, down in the lobby, we won’t have anything left to hit them with. My armour is endlessly strong, but I’m not. And you’re using up your magics. You can bet they’ve got something really special waiting for us on the ground floor, and we need to be in shape to face it. So we can’t keep fighting these things.”

“I’m not ready to give up yet,” said Isabella, bristling.

“Neither is he,” said Molly. “Eddie’s pointing out that even our powers aren’t infinite. And if we use them all up fighting proxies, he isn’t sure he can defend us from what the Satanists will have waiting down in the lobby.”

“I’d die trying,” I said.

“Of course you would,” said Molly.

“All right, all right, I’m convinced,” said Isabella. “This one’s a keeper, Molly. Now tell me you have a better idea, Drood.”

“Well,” I said, “I don’t know about better, but it’s definitely an idea.” I looked down the stairwell. “It’s only seventeen floors or so. I think we should jump.”

“What?”
said Molly. “That’s your great alternative? I take it all back. You’re crazy, Eddie, and dangerous with it.”

“I thought that was what you liked about me,” I said.

“I am not jumping seventeen floors! I can’t fly! And I do not want to hear any sentence from you that includes the word
broomstick
.”

“To make it completely clear,” said Isabella, “I don’t fly either.”

“You don’t have to,” I said, in that patient, manly tone that drives women absolutely insane. “It’s really very simple. I take you in my arms and jump. You cling tight to the armour, and the sheer proximity should protect you, too.”

“There’s that word
should
again,” Molly said dangerously.

“Things aren’t that desperate,” said Isabella.

“Something really nasty is coming up the stairs,” I said. “And there’s undoubtedly worse to follow.”

“All right, things are that desperate,” said Isabella. “I’m still not going to do it.”

“I think we have to, Iz,” said Molly.

“No!” said Isabella.

“Why not?” I said.

“I hate heights!”

“Oh, come on,” I said. “The fall will probably kill you.”

I grabbed them both, took a firm hold and jumped. We plummeted down the stairwell, the two witches clinging desperately to me with both hands. They chanted something more or less in unison, and I could feel subtle magics wrapping around us, bonding them to my armour. Good idea. Might even work. The stairways whipped past us faster and faster, Molly’s and Isabella’s voices Dopplering away above us. Various unpleasant things stared blankly at us as we dropped past them, and I was quite happy to give them a miss. I’d had enough of fighting the Satanists’ attack things. I wanted to slap the big guys down and then get the hell out, so I could pass on the information to my family. That was what mattered.

The last few floors swept past in a blur, and then the ground floor slammed up against my feet like a hammer blow. My armoured legs flexed, absorbing the impact, and the armour protected me from the shock. I hardly felt a thing. Molly and Isabella slumped bonelessly in my arms, but their magics seemed to have done the trick. I straightened up, holding the two witches to me until they could get their breath back and their legs under them. They finally straightened up and pushed me away, almost angrily. They made a point of standing unsupported on their own, and then giggled suddenly, and high-fived each other. A thought struck me.

“All this time I’ve been running back and forth, putting myself between you and all danger, but you’re both witches. You keep your hearts somewhere separate and safe. Have you really been in any danger, so far?”

“Don’t be silly, Eddie,” said Molly. “We can still be hurt, still die, if we’re hurt badly enough. You saw what happened to me when the Drood mob attacked me. I was ages getting over that.”

“Right,” said Isabella. “Keeping your heart separate is another ace up the sleeve. I’m a witch, not a goddess.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Molly. “What a ride! Let’s go back up and do it again!”

“Maybe later,” I said. “I think there are some people here who want to talk to us.”

We’d finally reached the lobby of Lightbringer House. It was packed with people. On most occasions, the lobby was probably a wide-open space, light and airy, big enough to impress without being actually intimidating. Just the place to put new arrivals in the right frame of mind. But now it was packed from wall to wall with businessmen and -women in smart power suits, loaded down with all kinds of really heavy-duty weapons, some so big it took two of them to aim the things.

There were security forces, in generic black uniforms, with guns. They all looked very professional. Scattered through the crowd were men and women with magical weapons, everything from pointing bones to glowing blades to Hands of Glory. Hundreds of people, all with weapons trained on Molly and Isabella and me. They had us outnumbered and outgunned, and they knew it. They were smiling: really nasty, unpleasant smiles. They didn’t want to kill us unless they had to. Not right away. They were looking forward to taking us somewhere private and doing awful things to us until we died of them. Maybe even sacrifice us to their lord and master. And then make use of our bodies afterwards. I looked around the lobby, and then laughed right in their faces.

“You know,” I said loudly, “the good thing about killing Satanists is that you never have to feel bad about it afterwards. There’s no such thing as too many dead Satanists.”

I struck a pose and held up an armoured fist. Sharp spikes extruded from the golden knuckles, gleaming brightly. There were a few shocked gasps from the watching crowd. Encouraged, I continued, concentrating on refining my armour, shaping it into a more aggressive form through sheer willpower. I couldn’t hold the changes for long; but they didn’t know that. Rows of thick, solid spikes rose up from my arms and shoulders, and heavy golden spikes jutted from my elbows. I turned slowly, so everyone could get a good look at how nasty Drood armour could be.

Not to be outdone, Molly struck an equally impressing pose beside me. Lightning flashed on the air, slamming down around her again and again, filling the lobby with its sharp actinic glare. Lightning danced around Molly Metcalf and never touched her once. And then it stopped as suddenly as it started, leaving harsh blue-white energies roiling around Molly’s hands, spitting and crackling on the still air.

Isabella stamped one foot down hard on the lobby floor. The heavy marble cracked and shattered under the impact, and a series of ripples spread out from her, distorting the marble floor, rising up in sharp ridges under the Satanists’ feet.

The three of us moved leisurely to stand back-to-back, so between us we could cover the whole lobby. To my right, the lobby ended in massive glass windows, but they were opaque now, to make sure no one outside could see in. I was pretty sure they’d be soundproofed, too. Whatever happened in the lobby stayed in the lobby.

“So,” I said. “Who’s first?”

“I think that would have to be me,” said a familiar voice.

A narrow aisle opened up amid the packed Satanists, and Alexandre Dusk came strolling forward to face me. He looked calm and assured, and perhaps even a little bored: a great man called away from important business to deal with some trivial, minor matter. He stopped a safe distance away from me and gave me his best professional smile.

“You must realise this is over, Drood. You can’t kill us all.”

“Want to bet?” I said cheerfully. “I’m certainly ready to give it a bloody good try.”

A certain ripple of unease ran through the crowd. They may not have encountered Drood armour before, but they’d certainly heard things about it. There was a lot of looking at one another, and a general willingness to let somebody else be the first to start something. Some of them were even trying to hide behind one another. To his credit, Dusk didn’t seem at all impressed. He stood his ground and gave me his best smile.

“We might or might not be able to kill you, Drood. But we can quite definitely kill your companions, the infamous Metcalf sisters.”

“Watch your language, Dusk,” said Molly. “We are not infamous; we are legendary.”

“Right,” said Isabella. “Especially legendary when it comes to taking out the trash. Hands in the air, people; who wants to die first in an interesting and possibly explosive way?”

“I’m bored with turning people into toads,” said Molly. “What’s ickier than toads?”

“How about worms?” said Isabella. “They make such a satisfyingly squishy sound when you tread on them.”

“Locusts are good,” said Molly. “They go crunch!”

“You talk a good fight,” said Dusk. “But we have the numbers. And the weapons, and the magics, and all the powers of darkness. Armour off, Drood, and let us take you prisoner. Or you can watch us pull your little friends down, and kill them by inches right in front of you.”

“You’d kill them anyway,” I said. “You’re Satanists, and so by definition your word is worthless. But you won’t kill them, Dusk.”

“Really? Why not?”

“You really want Louisa Metcalf mad at you?” I said.

Another ripple ran through the crowd. They’d all heard of Louisa Metcalf. A general feeling of unease was making itself apparent in the crowd. They’d thought this was going to be easy. I don’t think any of them had ever been in a real fight before. Some were backing away; some were lowering their weapons and looking around for the exits. The confidence was oozing out of them. I had to fight an impulse to shout,
Boo!
just to see how many would faint or wet themselves.

Dusk must have realised what was happening. His voice cracked like a whip. “A witch is just a witch, and a Drood is only as strong as his armour! We . . . are so much more. We are the blessed children of the dark.”

“A few of you, maybe,” I said. “Most of your people look like they’re up way past their bedtime.”

Dusk shrugged. “You simply can’t get good followers these days. But there’s enough of us here to get the job done. Surrender now, and we’ll hold you somewhere secure till we can contact your family and make a deal. I’m sure they’ve got something we’d like that we can swap you and the witches for. I don’t want to have to kill you, not when you’re worth so much more to us as bargaining chips.”

I considered him thoughtfully. “Droods don’t surrender. You must know that. You’re stalling; buying time to hit us with some big secret weapon. You really think you can take us?”

“Anything will break, if you hit it hard enough and often enough,” said Dusk.

“It’s going to get messy,” I said. “Loud and messy. You ready to draw that much attention from outside?”

“The building is very thoroughly shielded,” said Dusk, confirming my suspicions. “I could sacrifice a busload of blind orphans in here, and no one outside would see or hear a thing. Don’t think we can’t hurt you inside that armour, Drood. We know all there is to know about hurting people.”

I had to laugh. “Droods have been honing their fighting skills for centuries. You’re amateur night.”

Dusk looked me over thoughtfully. “So which Drood are you, exactly?”

“Any Drood is every Drood,” I said.

“You think we fear the Droods?”

“You do if you’ve got any sense.”

A wild-eyed young man ran suddenly forward out of the crowd, screaming at the top of his lungs and wielding a long glowing sword. He brought the blade swinging round in a vicious arc, moving almost too fast to see. It hit me on the side of the neck and shattered into a dozen pieces. The young Satanist stood there with only the hilt in his hand. I leaned forward a little, so he could see his own reflection in my featureless golden mask.