Lilith Saintcrow - Working for the Devil

Where are the rest of them ? I thought, and heard another one of Gabe's short sharp cries. Engaged over there , I thought, turning on my heel, my tapline into the city's dark heart pulsing with Power. I kept the shields steady, juggling them as I bolted back for Gabe and Eddie. Jace could handle himself.

The Skinlin was growling as he fought with another Shaman, this one a wizened old nut-brown man with streaks and dapples of red paint on his face. Gabe, swearing and spitting, her face contorted into a mask of rage, was dueling a tall mercenary—he wasn't a Nuevo Rio, too pale, sandy blond hair, but he wore an assassin's rig and used a short thrusting sword. Plasbolts whined. One splashed against the edge of my torn shimmer-shield, and the resultant Power-flare nearly knocked me to my knees. I staggered, my forward momentum pushing me, just like riding a slicboard—and I threw myself on the two Nuevo Rios edging for Gabe's back.

One of them clipped me on the shoulder with a thrown knife before I cut him down, pain blooming along my nerves like spiked oil, the other engaged me—he was a huge hulking mass of weightlifting muscle and black-market augmentations; I smelled salt-sweat-sweet Chill on him before I made my cut and a bright jet of arterial blood splashed out of his neck. He was still trying to come for me when I took off his right hand with the plasgun still clasped in it. I finished by whirling and opening his belly with two cuts, my own battle-yell stinging my throat and dyeing the air red. Chillfreaks, I hate Chillfreaks. I thought Nuevo Rios were more into hash anyway .

Then it was over. I stood, panting, watching the blood gurgle, hearing the last choking gasps as the Chillfreak died, his eyes dimming, the spark exiting his chemical-abused body. " Anubis et'her ka ." I breathed. That was for Lewis, you sack of Chill shit . The thought slid across my mind and was gone as soon as it came.

The plasbolts had stopped. Eddie's growling still sounded from behind me, and I heard Gabe taking in harsh tearing gulps of air. Clatter of steel. Running feet. A long, low howl of abused breath, snarling, a flare of familiar Power. Jace.

I stared blankly down at the body in front of me. The street was now deserted, but eyes glittered in the shadows. If we left the bodies, they would be stripped and harvested in minutes.

Chillfreaks , I thought, and shuddered. I hate the motherfucking Chillfreaks .

Three things I hated: the Mob, Chillfreaks, Santino. Each one of them had stolen something from me—Santino stole Doreen, the Mob had helped steal Doreen, and Chill and the Mob had stolen Lewis and fucked up too many bounties to count.

Japhrimel's hand closed around my wounded shoulder. I flinched—I hadn't even sensed him behind me. That was starting to weird me out. "You're hurt," he said quietly, and his hand bit down, a hot snarling mass of Power forcing its way into the wound. I gritted my teeth, feeling muscle knit itself together—I'd been so pumped on adrenaline I'd barely noticed the strike. "My apologies."

"Why? You had enough to deal with." I looked down at the body on the pavement. True death had occurred, but the nerves were still glowing with false life—what Necromances called foxfire. The soul was gone. "I hate Chillfreaks," I muttered.

Lewis, his beaky face splashed with blood, leered up in my memory. I'd been collared, on a rare excursion with my social worker, when a Chillfreak had killed him; I'd only been a kid. Unable to protect him—he'd told me to ran, and I had. The cops had arrived too late.

Lewis had taught me to read, left me his books and his love of the classics. I had been lucky to have such a gentle social worker, one who was so genuinely interested in me, even if I'd been unable to tell him the truth about Rigger Hall because of the collar. When he died I'd been given a social worker who could have cared less that I was in hell and helpless; she was too busy collecting her checks and getting strung out on synth hash to pay any attention to the kid she was supposed to be looking out for. When Rigger Hall had closed down and the news of what Mirovitch had done to the kids became common knowledge, I never even got an apology from the stupid bitch. After that I refused to see any social workers at all.

I returned to the present with a jolt as Japhrimel sighed.

"I am to protect you," he said, slowly, as if I was a stupid third-grader.

"Up until I face Santino," I told him, "I'm capable of taking care of myself." I looked up.

Eddie held Gabe, kissing her forehead. "You okay?" he said, his blood-dotted face thunderous with worry. She nodded her assent.

I looked hurriedly away. I didn't want to think about why it hurt me to see them together sometimes.

"Danny?" Jace sounded breathless. " Danny !"

"I'm fine," I said, my sword whipping through the air, blood splashing from its shimmer. Power smoked along the blade, a habitual cleaning of the bright steel. I slid it back into the sheath. "Dammit, Jace. You took the Shaman. He was mine."

"Sorry," he said, in a tone that suggested he wasn't sorry at all. "Let's move, kids. My instinct tells me that was only the first wave. Leave the bodies for harvest."

"You mind not giving orders on my hunt?" I snapped, and looked up at the demon. His face was set, his eyes sparking with radioactive green. "Thanks, Japhrimel."

He nodded. "Where now?"

"Back to Jace's house. This kind of changes the situation a little."

"They were serious," Gabe said. She'd finally stopped clinching with Eddie. "Five million credits. Holy fuck, Danny, what'd you do?"

"I didn't do anything; I've been forced into this," I snapped, and set off down the pavement after scanning the bodies. We should have stopped to search them, but I was too shaken to pause. I wanted a drink. "Come on."

I poured a full glass of brandy, handed it to the demon, and took a long pull off the bottle. It was good stuff, silken-smooth, igniting like a thunderball in my belly.

Jace slugged a hit of vodka. Eddie cursed as Gabe swabbed at his arm with peroxin. I waited a few moments, exhaled, took another pull from the bottle, my other hand white-knuckled on my sword. My bloody sleeve flopped.

"Careful with that, Danny," Jace said. "I need you sober."

"Fuck you," I said. "Why does the Corvin Family want me, Jace? What aren't you telling me?" You swore you were free and clear of the Mob when you met me, and I believed you. Silly me .

He shrugged. "Don't worry about the Corvins, sweetheart. I'll take them down if they so much as touch you."

"You still work for them, don't you, Jace? That's why you didn't want to talk about it. Once Mob, always Mob. You can't take them down."

Jace's face was bloodless under a mask of sweat, grime, and a spatter of blood high on his left cheek. "I bought myself free of the Corvins, Danny. They don't own me." He took another slug of vodka, smacked the shotglass down on the counter. The sharp sound crackled in tense air.

I took another hit off the bottle, turned to look at the demon. "Jaf?"

He shrugged, too. Goddamn shrugging men.

He's not a man, he's a demon . The thought struck me with almost physical force. I stopped, staring at him. When had I started thinking about him as if he was human? That didn't bode well. I tipped the bottle up to my lips again, but Japhrimel set his untouched glass down on the bar and took the bottle from me, his fingers hot against mine. "No, Dante," he said softly. "Please. I will not allow you to be harmed."

Well, that's comforting , I thought. And oddly enough, it was. "Okay," I answered, letting go of the bottle. The brandy settled into a warm glow behind my breastbone. "So the Corvins want me alive. What the fuck for? And—" A horrible thought struck me just as I finished turning to face Japhrimel.