Rob Thurman - Nightlife

Just gone.

Hundreds, thousands , of gray filaments hit him, cocooned him, and pulled him into Abbagor's body in less time than it took me to blink. Then there was nothing left of my brother but a sword half swallowed by the swamp under our feet. My throat was scorched by rising bile as I felt everything around me fade away to insignificance, everything but the monster before me. "Nik?" It wasn't my voice. It couldn't have been. That strained shadow, harsh and desperate? No.

How I made my way to my feet I didn't remember. One moment I was crouched on one knee; the next I was shoving Robin out of my way. His hand was on my shoulder trying to push me back and he was shouting something. "He's gone," I think it was. I wasn't exactly hearing straight, but yeah, I'm pretty sure it was "He's gone." No shit, Sherlock. No fucking shit.

I snarled silently and decided that it was time Robin stepped up and took one for the team. Without another thought I took a fistful of his shirt and gave him a hard push directly at Abbagor. He still had his sword. It was possible he could hold out for a second or two, and that was all I needed. The troll was reaching out for Good-fellow with a long arm, lethal claws slicing the air, when I ran past him, the air burning in my lungs. When I came up behind Abbagor I leaped. No fancy somersaults for me. I simply vaulted onto his back and using the tentacles as handholds, I climbed to his neck. Over his shoulder I could see Robin trying to fend him off with a blade that was now broken to half its length. Still alive. He'd proved already that he was tougher than he looked. But that was just a background musing, white noise, Muzak. I had only one thought, one goal. The cool metal in my hand was going to take me one step closer to it.

Pressing the muzzle of the semiautomatic SIG Sauer P226 against the back of Abbagor's head, I rasped, "I'm not quite as old-school as my brother, Abby." Then I emptied the clip into his mammoth skull.

He exploded. Not literally, but it felt that way. As he convulsed wildly I was thrown off. Hitting the ground, I rolled and was back on my feet before the troll even fell. And fall he did, shaking the cavern like an earthquake. By the time Handed on his chest I'd jammed another clip into the gun. Nothing like progress, is there, Abbagor? I thought savagely. Ramming the gun under his chin, I held the trigger down until there was a smoking silence. And with that silence, Abbagor stopped moving. God bless Charlton Heston and the NRA.

Shoving the gun into the waistband of my sweats, I used both hands to tear at the now limp tendrils. Within seconds I found a familiar black coat and purple-stained head of blond hair. Sucking a painful breath into lungs that refused to work, I yanked with all my strength. Joined by Robin, I pulled Niko free. His face was transparently pale; his eyes were closed. The breath that had never been accepted by my lungs exhaled harshly on his name. "Nik?" My hand clenched of its own volition in his black shirt. "Niko?"

Slowly his eyes opened, bloodshot and more than a little irritated. "What… took… you so long?"

I dropped my forehead onto his shoulder. "You son of a bitch," I laughed shakily. At least I tried for a laugh. I wasn't at all sure I pulled it off. "You goddamn son of a bitch."

His ragged breaths hit my ear as he regained his wind. "Where's the troll?"

I straightened and eased hands under his arms to help sit him up. "You're lying on him."

Niko frowned as he looked down on the limp pile Abbagor had become. "He's dead?"

Robin spoke up, tone as brittle and cutting as glass. "Hardly. I would advise we get our well-shaped asses out of here while we have the chance."

"Not dead?" I snorted. "You've got to be—" Kidding? Nope, he wasn't. Abbagor chose that moment to twitch beneath us. "Okay," I said hastily. "The exit's in the rear. How about we use it?" Keeping a hand on Niko's arm, I jumped down and hit the ground running. I didn't have to support my brother for more than a few seconds before he steadied and kept up without difficulty. Goodfellow was hard on our heels before passing us without a backward glance. I didn't take it personally. In the scheme of things it wasn't nearly as amoral a consideration as that I'd shown him. For all Niko's denial that I was Grendel, Robin had just discovered I was more Auphe than Niko liked to let on.

Behind us I could hear a now familiar slithering and a voice choked with blood and brain matter. "Aupheling… little goat. Come baaaaaaack."

Needless to say, we didn't.

Standing on my shoulders Niko managed to clamber out of our reeking pit. Then tossing down a rope, he reeled Robin and me out. Where'd he get the rope? His coat, the same place he got his multiple blades, stakes, and the occasional throwing star. That coat had more concealed weaponry than the entire state of Texas.

And then we were on the streets, free and alive. Of course, I was shirtless, Niko was liberally coated with purple blood, and Robin was five steps below a street person in the category of personal hygiene. In addition, we all looked as if we'd been on the losing end of a mud-wrestling match. But none of that mattered. We were free.

Wincing at the movement, Niko straightened his coat as best as he could and shook his head. "Well, we didn't learn much, but the effort is appreciated, Goodfellow." Brown hair plastered to his skull, green eyes as opaque as stone, Robin ignored him and kept walking, pulling away from us. Niko's blond brows drew into a puzzled V. He turned a curious look on me.

"Let him go, Nik," I said quietly. Because, really, wasn't that the best thing for the puck? It wasn't every day you survived a troll and a Grendel. Best to consider yourself lucky and hit the road before anything else tried to kill you. The devil you knew and the devil you didn't—both were dangerous in this world. Robin was old enough to know that. And if he'd forgotten, I had just succeeded in reminding him damn thoroughly. Yeah, I was a regular humanitarian.

Considering I wasn't even human.

It was just a normal night at home. A Bud, an evening snack, lounging around in sweats and relaxing—it didn't get any better than that. The first aid, okay, that was a slight hiccup, but it wasn't the first time that had happened. Not for either of us. And one way or the other, it probably wouldn't be the last. Unfortunately, that was a positive thing. Considering our lifestyles, if there were no more injuries, it could mean only one thing: We were dead. I guess life was all about taking the bad with the good. This time Niko had taken the fall; next time it might be me. Hell, it probably would be me. To give myself credit where credit was due, I could kick ass with the best of them. But Niko, his reflexes were sharper, more honed, and his cool… well, at least he had a cool to keep. I thought cool was something to keep your beer frosty.

I took a swallow of said ice-cold beer as Niko, with one towel wrapped around his hips and another in his hands, finished gingerly drying off from his shower. The red areas on his shoulder, neck, and back were raw and looked painful as hell. The small welts on my arm stung viciously and they were nothing compared with what marred Niko's skin. "Did you get all the blood off?" I asked as I went to the sink and scrubbed my hands with an antiseptic soap.

He nodded, folded the towel, and placed it on one of the kitchen chairs. "Yes, I'm clean."

"You sure?" I persisted. "That stuff's like acid." The top of the tube of burn cream untwisted easily. I then flipped open a packet of sterile gloves, squirted the ointment onto the inner surface of the packaging paper, and pulled on the gloves, coating the fingers in the ointment in the process. Nice time-saver.