Irregulars - lanyon Josh - Страница 59

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A shuffling sound directed Deven’s attention to the tunnel entrance. Most of the Aztaw soldiers remained motionless on the ground, but several slowly rose to their feet. August looked shocked. “Shit!”

“Can I use these freeze balls now?” Deven asked.

“Yes, yes!”

Deven pulled one of the balls from his pocket. It fit nicely in his palm and was soft and slightly warm.

The soldiers moved toward them, cursing in Aztawi. One’s glowing tibia protruded through his skin. Another had lost the bottom half of his jawbone. Still they charged. Deven threw the ball. As it spun in the air it hissed and popped like fire on dry wood. It launched itself at the nearest soldier and slammed into his body. The Aztaw gasped, freezing solid, falling backward from the force of the impact.

The soldier beside him tossed his spear and barely missed Deven’s neck. He and August ran deeper into the tunnel. He threw the other two freeze balls in his pocket. Each hit their mark, but the three remaining soldiers were close. Deven tossed one of his knives, but it hit the soldier on his armored chest, causing no damage.

August fired his shard pistol. Thin, needle-like slivers of metal sprayed from the smoking barrel. Several of the thin slivers sliced through the soldier’s rib cage and stuck in his bones, but others shot through him and out the other side. The wounds were severe but not debilitating. The soldier’s knife was nearly long enough to be a sword and he raised it to cut August down.

Deven didn’t know if August had experience with hand-to-hand combat. He wasn’t about to find out the hard way. He threw himself between the soldier and August, blocking the blow clumsily with a knife. The blades clashed and his knife clattered to the ground. The soldier swung again. Deven ducked low and threw himself forward into the soldier, knocking him off balance.

He spun and pushed August out of the way as the other soldier swung his baton. The blow landed hard on Deven’s arm, sprawling him onto the tunnel floor. Pain radiated up his side. As the soldier raised his baton again, Deven pulled the last knife from his back pocket and hurled it at the soldier. The blade sank deep into the soldier’s eye and he screeched, dropping the baton as his hands fumbled blindly at his face.

Two remaining soldiers were nearly upon them, and Deven was out of weapons. Without another choice, he yanked the pen from his hair and frantically started scribing glyphs on the ground. Each symbol brightened, then dulled into deep black, sinking to the underworld. He wrote around himself in a circle, the pen growing colder in his hands. It was a dark, purplish red when full of his energy, but almost immediately the color began to drain from it as he wrote the spell, and Deven felt himself weaken as his energy drained out to fuel it. He could almost smell the stench of corn on Lord Jaguar’s breath as he held the weapon between his fingers.

He drew the symbol of a dog eating itself, the pyramid, the black reed. He drew crossbones and a quail feather. He drew the images of the lords who created the house power.

August stood in front of Deven, shard pistol aimed at the soldiers. “What are you doing!” he cried.

Deven finished the last glyph and jumped to his feet, grabbing August and yanking him into the circle as a wall of sparks shot from each glowing glyph and linked to form a fiery curtain around them. The sound of howling wind filled the circle, deafening in volume.

“Is it a shield?” August shouted, covering his ears.

“No! I took us out of time!”

“What?”

The soldiers charged through them into the black emptiness of the unfinished subway tunnel. August spun to watch, gun aimed.

“Don’t shoot!” Deven cried above the wind. “We’re in a time lock. It won’t do anything.”

“They passed right through us!” August shouted.

Deven felt sick with exhaustion. The benefit of being able to fuel his own magic without sacrifices was lessened by the fact that it sapped most of his strength. The sucking wind grew louder. They didn’t have much longer. “We have to get out.”

“They may double back when they reach the end of the tunnel.” August watched for them anxiously.

Stepping out of time was a tricky prospect and Deven watched the edges of the time lock sizzle, blacken, and fly away like charred embers. He gripped his pen and drew a symbol in the air, conjuring the image of the grinding wheels of calendars. They had mere seconds before the calendars moved again.

“We’ve got to go, now!” The roar was deafening. Deven’s pen was nearly white, its inky power drained from it. He shoved it back behind his ear and grasped August’s arm. He stuck out his foot and smudged one of the symbols.

The floor beneath them split and cracked away in a perfect circle.

“Jump!” Deven shoved August toward the natural world.

August landed on the tunnel floor and spun. He looked back and went sheet white. Deven glanced down and saw the movement of thousands of glowing bones, felt the furnace of heat of the Aztaw world—his world—rumbling below.

Dangling from earth, Aztaw looked like hell incarnate. The smell of burning maize overpowered Deven.

August gripped Deven’s arm and jerked him up. The circle of earth beneath Deven’s feet crumbled and collapsed into the dark underworld. Everything Deven knew and had cared about was down there in that heat.

No, no, I want down, Deven thought, but August’s hand was warm in his and held him tight. As the tunnel floor plummeted into darkness August hauled Deven back into the human world.

Chapter Eight

When they emerged from the construction tunnel, filthy and exhausted, Deven saw city lights twinkling in the darkness. The smell of sewage and lime permeated Deven’s senses, reminding him he was in Mexico once more. A sick, nervous grief tore at his throat and left him ragged. If he’d only dropped...

“It wasn’t even noon when we entered the warehouse!” August complained, scowling at the soil stains on his designer suit jacket.

“Time locks mess things up,” Deven said, too exhausted to explain. The Aztaw bodies littering the entrance had already started to desiccate from the dry summer heat. He felt drained and realized he hadn’t eaten anything since last night’s burger.

“Food. Now,” he mumbled. His tongue still smarted when he spoke.

August nodded. He pulled out his phone, frowning at a new crack across the screen. “Damn it!” He punched numbers angrily. When he got someone on the phone, he issued orders, mentioning the pile of Aztaw bodies at the tunnel entrance, the two that had gotten lost in the darkness, and something about how they could be tracked by glamour bomb residue. Deven heard August’s tone change, becoming apologetic as he asked for another cleanup team. August finished his call, gave Deven an irritated look, then led him to the nearest taqueria.

The place looked dirty, but the rotisserie near the entrance smelled wonderful and the restaurant had chairs, which was all that mattered at the moment.

They both collapsed into plastic seats. August ordered two beers.

“Maybe I don’t want a beer,” Deven complained.

“You need a drink as badly as I do,” August replied. He rubbed his hands over his face. “Why, you want a soda?”

Deven waved off the issue. He rested his head on his arms. “If you’re going to control everything, order me one of whatever you eat as well.” He yawned and closed his eyes.

August spoke to the waiter in broken Spanish, then switched back to English as he made several phone calls. At first Deven listened, but the warmth and delicious smells of the restaurant made him sleepy, and he found himself unable to do much more than long for his hotel bed.

A heaping platter of tacos al pastor arrived. August dove into the meal like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Deven took one of the small, soft corn tacos and fell in love with the first bite.

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