Irregulars - lanyon Josh - Страница 38

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 Archer’s knees trembled. He had nothing to offer in this battle. He had done his share and now there was nothing to do but stay still and not distract Rake.

It wasn’t easy. Archer had to fight the natural inclination to move from the center of that force. He could feel Rake’s fingers digging into the muscles of his arm, and he found a strange comfort in this reminder of Rake’s…not humanity, because Rake was not human…But in his own way he was mortal too.

He could lose this battle. He could be destroyed. They might both die here in the marble halls of MoSSA. It would make a nice subject for a frieze.

He felt a surge of hysterical laughter. But that was better than thinking about death. It wasn’t even his own death that worried Archer, but thinking of Rake’s ephemerality filled him with a sorrow he was unprepared for. He rejected the thought at once, lest Rake read it and weaken.

Archer risked another look at Rake. Amazingly, he still retained his human form, but it rippled as though Archer were viewing him through deep water. Rake’s eyes were black red and his hands were beginning to resemble talons, the nails curving long and ebony.

From across the room Sergeant Orly suddenly cried out and staggered back.

Rake stepped forward, still holding Archer in that excruciating grip. The light emanating from him yellowed and then turned red.

The naga gave a sound that no creature, mortal or immortal, ever gave and lived. There was a horrendous wet ripping sound and chunks of flesh and scales exploded across the room.

Archer flinched, but the bloody shrapnel flew safely past him and Rake, encapsulated as they were behind the barrier of Rake’s power.

The air cleared.

Stilled.

It was over.

He felt the outpouring of Rake’s power slowing, slowing, ebbing…

For a second or two they stood swaying, still linked, in the wreckage of the room. Somewhere out in the hallway, a woman was sobbing. Voices murmured in comfort. Sirens screamed in the distance. Archer heard only Rake’s harsh, heavy breaths.

Abruptly, Rake released him. Archer staggered back, half falling onto a broken display case now tilted on its side. The leather thong holding the syrinx pipes together unraveled and the canes clattered to the marble.

Black-clad Irregular forces poured into the room, weapons raking floor and ceiling, searching for any living remnant of the naga.

“Are you all right?”

Rake’s voice was harsh, not quite human. Archer opened his eyes. He watched Rake struggle for control: eyes still black, and the glimmer of fangs behind his tight lips.

He nodded.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” Rake snarled.

“What the hell did it look like I was doing?”

 “Feeding a snake.”

Archer’s anger spiked and then dipped. He laughed. The sound reverberated lightly through the room and a few of the Irregulars automatically laughed behind their dark helmets.

Rake’s expression darkened. His form wavered—then suddenly steadied into human guise as Sergeant Orly reached them.

She and Rake spoke briefly before she turned to Archer. “That was a brave thing,” she told him. “Foolhardy. But brave.” With an expression of distaste, she brushed bits of blasted snake from her uniform. “And unexpectedly civic minded. I don’t know many civilians who would have done what you tried to do. Certainly not among the faeries.”

Archer glared at her, though that was perfectly true. “Had you lot done your jobs properly, I wouldn’t have had to risk the public image of the faerie by displaying any courage whatsoever.”

“That wasn’t meant as an insult.” Her pale eyes narrowed. “And just what are you insinuating?”

“Insinuating? I thought that was plainspoken.”

Rake understood him easily enough. “Bullshit. What you’re suggesting isn’t possible.”

“Says the demon commander employed by the Irregulars.”

Orly sucked in a breath. Rake was still, stiller than the herons of Romney Marsh watching the murky waters for shining fish.

“Hold your tongue,” Orly hissed.

“Not common knowledge, I take it?” Archer asked. He was a little ashamed of himself for letting temper get the better of his discretion, but he refused to let that show.

Rake moved his head in quick negation and Orly cut off whatever else she intended to say.

Barry bustled up. “It’s only fair to inform you, Commander Rake, that I intend to file a complaint at the highest level. Sending a partially exorcised demonic artifact to this institution is an act of criminal negligence. The fact that we had only one fatality today is a miracle.”

Rake’s eyes turned briefly red again. But he said politely, “I assure you, we’re as surprised and unhappy about today’s events as you are, Mr. Littlechurch.”

“Surprised? Unhappy? That doesn’t begin to cover…” Barry didn’t pause for breath during the next ninety seconds. Rake and Orly waited in grim-faced silence for him to finish.

When the eye of the storm at last appeared, Rake nodded to Orly, who pinned a tight smile to her face and said graciously from between her teeth, “I promise you, Mr. Littlechurch, the Irregulars will be conducting our own in-house investigation into this matter.”

“In-house!” A less civilized man would have spat on the marble floors. “How do we know that won’t merely result in another departmental cover-up?”

“You must realize we’re every bit as invested in finding out what happened here today as anyone at MoSSA.”

“Hardly. It was not your staff in danger of being eaten alive.”

Orly’s exasperation bubbled over. “Our staff faces the danger of being eaten alive or torn limb from limb or worse every single day!”

Rake spoke, his voice unexpectedly calm. “Your museum visitors today were retired Irregulars, Mr. Littlechurch. We take any threat against our own seriously.”

Barry harrumphed but after a few more minutes permitted himself to be guided by Orly from the hall and all its grim reminders.

The gruesome job of cleanup began. Archer glanced at Rake and found himself under bleak observation. A human would be waiting for thanks, but demons had the same aversion as the faerie to thank-yous.

“Yes?”

Rake opened his mouth, then shook his head. “It will wait.”

Archer remembered the circumstances under which they’d last parted and his face grew warm. Hard to imagine now that he had ever lain in Rake’s arms, that Rake had taken him in the ancient way, and that afterward Rake had whispered soft endearments to him. Lovely words. Secret words.

Give them me, give them me.

Archer was uncertain as to the etiquette of bedding a demon, but safe to say he had not behaved in a gentlemanly fashion toward Rake. To fuck and run was not good manners in any realm.

He started to speak, though he had no idea what he would say.

Rake’s thoughts were clearly running on a different track. “The museum will have to be cleansed before it can reopen.”

Rake was not speaking of sponging the walls and mopping the floors, though that had to be done as well. “Of course.”

“My team will handle the first phase. After that you’ll need to get a private eidolon eraser in.”

“Yes. I’ll see to it immediately.”

Perhaps he hoped that by being cooperative now he could show Rake he was sorry for behaving like a sneak thief in the night. If so, Rake wasn’t having any of it. He nodded in curt dismissal and there was nothing for Archer to do but return to his duties—such as they were, given the events of the afternoon.

He made sure everyone had left the museum. Spoke to the media and reassured them that the minor gas leak responsible for the small explosion within the museum had done minimal damage to the paperwork stored there.

He’d have liked to speak to Barry, but his door was still shut, Barry apparently still in private conference with Sergeant Orly.

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