Total Eclipse (30 page)

Even the best fantasies have to end, and mine didn’t last long. I went up into Oversight and got the lay of the land. It was unnaturally still, locked down on all fronts. I could see the restless fury of the land and the air, but the Wardens were keeping tight controls on everything, for now. With the amount of energy building, though, it was going to be impossible to hold it off forever.

I checked the rearview and found that Cassiel and Luis Rocha were still behind us, keeping a steady, patient distance. I supposed they’d also received their orders to join up with the other Wardens, or else they had business of their own, though what could possibly be more important than the end of humanity was impossible for me to guess. I supposed it was a matter of perspective.

Suddenly, the Mustang gave a surprised little cough and sputter, and the engine . . . died. We had just crested a hill and gotten a view of the incredible display of Vegas lights shimmering below, like some opium dream about living jewels.

“Please tell me that we threw a rod or something,” I said as the Djinn glided the car off to the side. I heard the harsh blatting of Cassiel’s motorcycle catching up to us, and then it, too, cut off without warning. She coasted the bike to a halt behind us and set the kickstand, and she and Rocha jumped off and got ready for trouble.

The Djinn behind the wheel said, in Whitney’s voice, “Oh,
hell
, I should have known this wouldn’t go so easy.” She sounded deeply annoyed. “Everybody out of the car, right now. Get whatever you want to keep.”

I bailed out, and David followed me; we each grabbed a bag full of supplies, and I unzipped one bag and found the shotgun and pistol that I’d liberated from the motel where we’d lost Kevin. I loaded the shotgun with shells and tossed it to David without looking; he caught it the same way. “What are we shooting?” he asked, quite reasonably.

I loaded up my pockets with ammunition for the shotgun and the pistol, checked the clip, and shook my head. “No idea,” I said. “But I hate to be underdressed in the event of an attack—”

I didn’t have time to finish, because a silent missile dropped down out of the dark sky and sliced razor-sharp claws at my face. I’d been extending my Oversight
out
, not
up
, and the only warning I had of the huge bird’s approach was the sudden cool breeze on my face as it backwinged to slow itself. It shrieked as I fell backward, and I rolled, trying to avoid its next dive.

David turned on a lantern, and I saw the biggest damn bird I’d ever seen gliding low over our heads, angling for another strike. It was a freaking
bald eagle
, and it was utterly magnificent. I’d have been transported with its beauty if it hadn’t just taken a swipe at my eyes. The wingspan was enormous, probably at least six feet, and it was an expert hunter.

Cassiel suddenly stepped into the circle of light, lifted her arm, and made a sharp, whistling sound.

The eagle glided in, and for a second it looked as if it was going to land tamely on her leather-clad arm—not that the leather would be any kind of defense against those incredible claws. They’d punch through even the toughest hide like it was rice paper. Cassiel’s pale green eyes were watchful, totally focused on the bird as it made its approach.

She barely had time to dodge out of the way as it spilled air from its wings at the last second, altering its trajectory, and let out an ear-piercing shriek as it thrust its claws forward. It raked her leather jacket from neck to waist, shredding it, and with mighty flaps of its wings, it gained altitude again and disappeared into the sky.

“I can’t hold it,” Cassiel said. “And there are others coming. Many others.”

“Birds?”

“Large birds,” she confirmed. “Owls, eagles, hawks. And on land, other things. Bears, wolves, mountain lions. They will catch us. We have to run.”

I lifted the gun. She smiled a little.

“Do you think you have enough bullets for the world?” she asked. “Don’t be a fool. You can’t make a stand here.”

Cassiel was right, but we were still far out from the relative safety of the lights of Vegas. Out here, there wasn’t much—but down the hill about two miles there was some kind of hotel, clearly shut down, all lights off. “Down there!” I said, and grabbed up the bag I’d dropped. “Come on, let’s move!”

“Wait,” said Whitney’s voice from the car radio. “I can’t start this thing, but I can push it. Get in. Might as well ride.”

Cassiel shook her head. “I will take my motorcycle. I can coast it down the hill after you.”

“Not a great plan, Cass; that bird isn’t going to give you a pass just because you used to be a Djinn.”

“I know,” she said, not bothered at all. “But I’m not leaving the motorcycle. I like the motorcycle.”

“Well,
I’m
taking the car. Have fun,” Rocha said, and got in with me and David. Cassiel shrugged and straddled the bike, kicking up the stand, and pushed off. She must have had damn good balance, because the heavy machine hardly wavered at all.

Whitney’s push- method for the car worked just as well; it started slow, but picked up speed on the downhill grade, and we ate up the distance fast enough.

As we got closer I saw
why
the hotel was closed. Some kind of fire; the six-story pink stucco exterior was blackened around the windows and doors, and its plastic exterior wall-mounted sign was half melted. There were one or two cars, but they looked like derelicts and had signs of fire damage. The giant parking lot was deserted except for tumbleweeds and trash.

The road grade was evening out, and the car was slowing down. I made a command decision and said, “Whitney, how far can you push us?”

“All the way to where you want to go,” she said. “If you insist.”

“Get us to the Vegas strip. This doesn’t look like a very safe—”

Our tires blew out—at least two, from the separate bangs I heard, and the lurch of the frame first right, then left. Oh
perfect.
Somebody really didn’t want us getting to the other Wardens.

“I amend my earlier statement,” Whitney said.

“Can you fix the tires?”

“Sure,” Whitney said, “if I was
there
, sugar. I’m not.”

“I can,” David said quietly. “But it’s going to take some power. Are you up to it?”

I nodded, not sure I was, but willing to give it a shot. David closed his eyes and concentrated, and I felt the car lurch again as the tires melded themselves back together and reinflated.

They immediately blew out again. David flinched in surprise. “There’s something working against me,” he said. “Feel it?” I did. It was big, and inimical, and I didn’t like it at all. Whitney stopped the car. “Whitney, keep moving. We can run on rims.” No response. “Whitney?”

The radio stayed dead. The avatar just sat, staring blankly ahead, like a doll whose batteries had run down.

Suddenly, David looked sharply to his right, into the dark, and said, “We have to get out of here. Now.”

“We were doing that,” I said.

Luis Rocha didn’t waste time arguing; he popped open the door. “I’ll push,” he said. “Better than hanging around with a big target around our necks.”

The avatar wasn’t steering, though; he was just sitting, inactive, and David finally dragged him out from the wheel and shoved him into the backseat, then installed me as the driver. Ah, that felt strangely good, even with busted wheels. Rocha and David got behind the car and pushed. I thought it was odd that David didn’t do it himself, and odder still that they were working so hard at it. . . .

And then David stumbled and went to one knee. Rocha let loose of the car bumper and stopped to help him, and I instinctively hit the brakes in alarm.

That was our undoing.

The wheels sank into asphalt that suddenly felt like mud—thick, clinging mud. The front tipped down, and I realized that someone, something was softening the road underneath me. Miring the car in a modern-day tar pit.

“Out!” It was a white shadow at the window—Cassiel—and she didn’t wait for my agreement, just reached through the open window and dragged me unceremoniously through. She was sinking into the road, too, and slung me through the air to the side. She was stuck, but she pulled herself free with a wrenching effort and jumped for the safety of the gravel at the freeway’s shoulder. Luis Rocha, already there, caught her as she landed.

David was off the road, but down, and I scrambled to get to him. He was panting, eyes wide and blind, pupils very large.

“What is it?” I asked, and ran frantic hands over him looking for injuries. “David, what’s wrong? What’s happening?” Because I couldn’t see it in Oversight. I couldn’t see anything. . . .

It was as if the aetheric had gone completely dark.

The breath went out of me, and I felt utterly, completely alone in a way that I hadn’t since I’d been stripped of my powers. I still had them—I could feel them inside me—but I was blind, in a magical sense. I heard a surprised sound from Cassiel, and a curse from Luis. It wasn’t just me, then. We were all stricken with this supernatural blindness.

And something was very, very wrong with David.

He managed to focus on my face, and said, very faintly, “Kill him.”

I looked over at Luis Rocha, who held up his hands in defense. “Not me, man. I’m not doing it!”

But who did that leave? Not Cassiel, not me . . .

I looked over my shoulder at the car, which was still sinking—it was up to the door level now, embedded in the road’s soft surface. It was as if the road was
eating
it. Digesting its metal and rubber, plastic and glass. There was a constant crackling sound, and a fizzing, that was faintly sickening, especially considering how much I
loved
that car.

But the avatar wasn’t inside it anymore.

“It’s the Djinn,” I said to Luis and Cassiel. “Watch out. He’s not channeling Whitney anymore.”

“Who
is
he channeling? Satan?” Rocha asked. “ ’Cause this doesn’t feel so great, and I can’t see a thing on the aetheric. Cass?”

“No,” she said tersely. “I hear the bird. It may be coming in for us again.”

If she could hear the whisper of feathers in the wind, I couldn’t. But she was right, because a second later I saw the blur of feathers, and the bald eagle dive- bombed Luis. He wasn’t fast enough, and the claws ripped bloody furrows in his upraised right arm. I felt the force of the wind from the eagle’s furious wing beats as it hovered, snapping its hooked beak at his face.

Cassiel was faster. She reached out and grabbed the eagle’s body below the widespread wings, and as the bird shrieked in alarm and battered at her, she summoned up power, and I felt myself sway with weariness.

The bird went quiet. Not dead, just stunned and sleeping. “Hush, child of the sky, I won’t hurt you,” she told it, and I saw a kind of tenderness in her that was . . . unexpected. She’d always struck me as pretty damn pragmatic, but maybe that was only when dealing with humans. She took off her jacket and wrapped the bird securely, with its head sticking out. It made an effective straitjacket. “We need shelter. There were more on the way.”

She’d also said something about bears, and wolves, and mountain lions. I didn’t want to deal with that out in the open, either, especially since the normal Earth Warden defenses weren’t working.

Cassiel’s motorcycle, which had been parked on the side of the road, suddenly tipped over and began sinking into the black tar. She let out a curse that I was pretty sure she’d learned from Rocha and ran to muscle it away from the asphalt and onto the sand—not that that was going to help, I wanted to tell her. There was no safe ground, not really.

But I’d feel better with a roof over our heads and something like walls giving us some defensive shelter.

“Right, the hotel,” I said. “David, can you get up?”

He nodded, but his face had gone pale under its metallic luster, and I didn’t know how much he could do on his own. Rocha and I each took a side and helped David stumble across the long parking lot, heading for the doors. They were blocked off with DO NOT ENTER yellow tape and plywood across what had once been a glass entry. I burned the padlock into slag and unlocked the hasp, left David leaning on Rocha, and stepped inside the ruined casino and hotel with the battery-powered lantern upraised.

The light couldn’t reach far, but it looked like a typical Vegas sort of lobby—ornate carpet (stained by black smoke and loads of footprints), marble counters that still looked intact, some kind of fancy ceiling overhead but probably not as nice as one of the name-brand casinos, like the Bellagio or the Venetian. This was where your grandmother’s bingo club, not the high rollers, stayed when they went to Vegas. Whatever guest rooms still remained were probably no better than an anonymous chain hotel on the cheap.

The fire had consumed most of the casino, it looked like; the damage got worse, and the smell of burnt wood and plastic was chokingly strong, still, even though there was no hint of embers around. This place was a total loss. I imagined they were waiting on insurance before demolition, but in the current dire circumstances every insurance company in the world was probably out of business already, no matter how well funded. This place had just seen the Reaper early, that was all.

But it was still standing, and it would do.

“Right,” I said. “Looks like this part of the building is the least damaged. Follow me.”

It was horror-movie spooky as we moved in our own little island of light through the silent, dark, cavernous lobby. Carpeting squished in places under my feet—still not completely dried from the hundreds of gallons of water that had been dumped in here to finish off the fire, I presumed. The smell of mold overtook the stench of smoke as we went farther in, and I saw black swathes of the stuff on baseboards and in corners. Yeah, this place was finished, even in less apocalyptic circumstances. In Las Vegas it was always considered easier to demo and rebuild than renovate.