Ilona Andrews - Bayou Moon

Urow grabbed the bolt lodged in his shoulder and wrenched it free with a snarl. A piece of his bloody flesh still quivered on the barbs of the bolt’s hooked head, and he rammed it into the sodden wood. Bleeding but free, he pulled himself onto the log and crouched on it.

A small river barge crowded with people headed for his boat, drawn by three rolpies. Cerise had her sword out, and the blueblood was reloading a crossbow. So that was where the bolts had come from. He’d have to thank the guy later. Right now he had work to do.

To the far left, a second boat struggled, its towing pulley spinning wildly, the way it did when the line had snapped. Four people manned it, as its driver tried to guide their rolpie into a tight turn.

Hello, fellas. Shoot me, will you? Time to go over and say hello, in a friendly Mire way.

An ugly snarl rippled from Urow’s mouth, and he dived into the river, heading for the smaller cutter and its crew. They had no idea how fast the son of a thoas could swim.

WILLIAM reloaded. Thirty yards away a large boat sped toward them. He counted the shadowy figures on the deck. Ten. They weren’t kidding.

Magic pricked his skin with a hot needle. “The Hand.”

Cerise didn’t answer. He glanced at her face and saw rage. She kicked aside a coil of docking line and stood in the center of the deck, leaning lightly forward, her sword pointing downward. A white glow rolled over her eyes.

So she could flash.

Twenty yards. Six men, three women. One undetermined in a long cloak.

They should’ve been shot at by now.

“No bows,” William said. “They want you alive.”

“Bad for them,” Cerise whispered. “Good for me.”

William raised his bow, sighted, and fired. A woman screamed and one of the figures stumbled back. The rest ducked, trying to take cover, all except the guy in the cloak, as expected. William reloaded and fired again at the man in the cloak. The bolt sprouted from his target’s neck.

The man shuddered. The cloak fell from his shoulders, revealing a naked hairless body. The man gripped the shaft of the bolt and ripped it out of his throat. An odd clicking, like the sound of nut shells crunching under someone’s foot, issued from his mouth.

One of the Hand’s freaks. William bared his teeth. He’d met this kind before. He didn’t even need the Mirror’s intel to identify it. This type was called a hunter. They specialized in tracking and apprehending. Spider really wanted Cerise.

The Hand’s agent snapped the bolt in two, tossed it overboard, and licked his fingers.

“Stay back this time,” Cerise said. “It’s my fight.”

“There are nine of them. Don’t be stupid.”

“Stay the fuck back, William.”

“Fine.” He took a step back and raised his crossbow. If that’s the way she wanted it, he could always rescue her later. “Let’s see what you got.”

The larger boat slammed into them, sending a quake through the hull. Two men jumped onto the deck.

Cerise struck and paused, blood running down her blade.

The first two fighters died without a scream. One moment they stood on deck, and the next the top halves of their bodies slid down into the river.

William closed his mouth with a click.

The attackers drew back.

The edge of Cerise’s sword shone once, as if a glowing silver hair were stretched along the blade. She leaped onto the larger boat.

They swarmed her. She whirled, cutting through them, slicing limbs in half, severing muscle and bone. Blood sprayed, she paused again, and the fighters around her fell without a single moan.

Four seconds and the deck was empty. Nothing moved.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He would have to fight her before this was over, just to find out if he could beat her.

A rapid staccato of clicks came from the back of the larger boat. The hunter was still alive.

“I see I missed a spot,” Cerise said.

The hunter stared at her, his eyes solid black in the moonlight. His hand jerked up …

William jumped, shoving her out of the way.

Pale liquid sprayed the deck in the spot where she had just stood and hissed, hardening into a corrosive paste.

The hunter creaked like he was crushing a load of beetles in his throat. “Give girl.”

William snarled. “Come and take her.”

The second stream of spray hit the spot where he’d just stood. Now both of the hunter’s hands were empty. No more web.

The hunter charged him, clawed hands ripping the air in a wide swing. William dropped under the thick arms and swept at the agent’s legs from a crouch. The hunter jumped, avoiding the kick, and struck, claws poised like daggers.

William dodged and laughed. The Louisianan thought that having claws made him a hotshot. It’s not the same, pal, unless you’re born with them.

The hunter whirled, slashing. William sidestepped and hammered a kick to the agent’s kneecap. Cartilage crunched. The leg folded and the hunter dropped to his knees. William grabbed the man’s bald head, locked the vertebra, and twisted. The neck snapped with a light popcorn pop.

Frothy yellow spit boiled from the hunter’s mouth. His eyes rolled back. William let go and the agent toppled like a log, facedown.

It felt good. William chuckled and stepped over the body. “Weak knees and elbows. All that magic makes them easy to break.”

He glanced at Cerise. She didn’t look happy. She should’ve been happy. They won.

Her gaze slid over him. She was sizing him up.

William shrugged, popping his neck. You want to dance, hobo queen, I’m ready. What do I get when I win?

She thought about it. He saw it in her eyes. She wasn’t sure if she could take him, but she was willing to try.

A scream ripped through the night. They both turned. Far to the left a smaller boat drifted off.

“Urow needs help,” Cerise said.

“We should help, then.”

She nodded.

He hid his disappointment and helped her fish the rolpie reins out of the water

CERISE brought Urow’s boat alongside the Hand’s second boat. A mangled corpse sprawled on the boat’s deck, his chest a bloody mess of claw marks. A trail of slick bloody smudges led away from the cadaver to a small cabin.

Oh no, Urow. No.

Cerise jumped across the water, slid a little on the wet deck, and righted herself. William landed next to her, light on his feet like a cat. The salty metallic stench of fresh blood flooded her nostrils and coated the inside of her mouth, and for a few moments, she could smell and taste nothing else.

She rushed to the cabin. The door hung crooked on its hinges. Cerise peered inside. Empty except for a corpse slumped against the cabin door.

“Here,” William called.

She circled the cabin. A woman’s body lay crumpled on the deck by a pulley. Next to her Urow sagged, curled into a ball.

Stupid man. Stupid, stupid man. She ran to him, grasped the shoulders, and heaved, flipping him on his back. A thick purple swelling marked his shoulder.

Copper. Someone had poisoned Urow with copper. Heat washed over her. Only the family would know to do that: only Mars knew that Urow was meeting her. Someone had talked to the Hand. Cerise clenched her teeth. Why? Why would anyone do that?

She probed the swollen mass of tissue with her fingers. She couldn’t even find the wound.

“That’s not normal,” William said.

“There must’ve been copper shavings in the head of the bolt. It’s poison to thoas. He’s dying.”

“What can we do?”

Nothing. “We must get him to his wife.”

She gripped his legs. William picked up Urow under his arms, grunted with effort, and lifted the body. They dragged him to the cutter.