Irregulars - lanyon Josh - Страница 66
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The woman eyed the two of them suspiciously. They started walking again.
“I have to help her,” August said quietly.
“We will. Killing Night Axe will free her.”
“You don’t know that. What if killing Night Axe kills all his sacrifices?” August clenched his jaw. “We have to find out how many there are. Are we talking six people? Six hundred? We need to monitor them when we confront Night Axe.” Suddenly August changed direction, following the thick branch of his artery east.
Deven hurried to follow. “What about checking in at the safe house?”
“That can wait. Come on!”
They spent the rest of the afternoon following trail after trail of blood vessels, connecting one sacrifice to the next. Sometimes it was difficult; the arteries traversed direct routes, which often led through structures. They had to circle buildings until they found the exit point and could continue their hunt. Other times they couldn’t tell one branch of the circulatory system from another. Sometimes it thickened, wide as a football and branching off half a dozen times; some were thin ribbons of rubbery cord, linked to sickly bodies. The vessels stretched for miles, claiming victims all over the massive city.
There didn’t seem to be any pattern to the sacrifices. They saw several young men; then they’d turn a corner to find an artery terminate in the soft side of an infant. Some victims were out of sight, as the vessel led into locked apartment complexes or behind closed office doors. But it was unavoidably apparent that Carlos and Beatriz had not been Night Axe’s first or last victims.
“Why do you think Night Axe had Carlos and Beatriz killed?” Deven asked. They’d stopped for lunch and to rest their legs, having walked all over the city. August had his glasses perched up on his head, held in place by his thick black hair.
August attacked his eggs ferociously. As he ate, the color of the blood in his artery seemed to enrich, as if Night Axe was sucking the nutrients straight from his body. Deven didn’t relay this to August.
“I think once Carlos realized they both shared the same strange mark, he decided to investigate,” August said. “Unlike the rest of these citizens, Carlos had the tools to research it, and Bea knew the vision serpent spell.”
“So Night Axe must have realized they were getting too close and sent his tzimimi after them.”
August nodded. Despite eating, he remained pale. Deven didn’t think it was a good idea for him to continue wandering the city on foot.
“You should return to the safe house and rest,” he told August. “As long as we give the local agents the jade disk they can use a projector to follow Night Axe’s circulatory network, yes?”
“But it isn’t their investigation. It’s mine.”
“And you look ready to fall over.” Deven feared he’d have to argue further, but to his relief August nodded, slumping against the back of his seat, his eyes heavy.
“Yeah, I’m beat.” August wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “If we could just rest for an hour or so—”
“Not me.”
“What?”
“I need to return to El Angel Hotel.”
“Bad idea. Remember the watchbirds? You’d be a fool to go back. Besides, all our stuff’s already moved to the safe house.”
“There’s someone there I need to speak with,” Deven said.
“Who?”
“An Aztaw soldier standing guard at the entrance.”
“What?”
“I think I know who it is and he may help us find a way to beat Night Axe. Even if he doesn’t know himself, he’s still well-connected in Aztaw.”
“And why do you think he’s going to help you?”
Deven grinned. “Because if he doesn’t, I’m going to kill him.”
“This is a stupid idea, Deven.”
“You have a better one?”
August ground his teeth. “The safe house is for both of us. Don’t forget it’s your little pen the bastard is after, not just my blood.”
“I won’t stick around long enough for Night Axe to discover me. I need to talk to the soldier.”
August’s expression remained dark.
“Look, I’m being paid to help you, right?” Deven laid his fingers on August’s hand. August’s skin was colder than Deven’s, but it still felt marvelous, just that little human contact, so much more comforting than the ossified touch of an Aztaw. “I can’t help you tucked up in the safe house. But I can use my connections and get some answers.”
“Your ‘connections’ want you dead.” August stared out the restaurant’s open window. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I can take care of myself.” Deven smiled. “Besides, if it really is the soldier I’m expecting, he’s more afraid of me than I am of him.”
August turned his hand over, so Deven’s fingers rested in his palm. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
“Because I killed all four of his sons.”
August shook his head. “I told you. Assassins are the worst.” But his fingers closed on Deven’s, holding his hand.
He didn’t let go, even when the check arrived.
Chapter Twelve
Outside El Angel Hotel, Deven paid his taxi driver with the cash August had shoved in his pocket before they had parted ways at the safe house. As the taxi pulled away, Deven glanced around. Few watchbirds remained, and those on the street were scattered apart, scratching at a trail that had gone cold.
Deven scanned the environment for any signs of Night Axe’s presence, but the glasses revealed nothing that wasn’t visible in the natural world. The flickering Aztaw he’d seen beside the revolving door had apparently gone.
Deven leaned against the opposite wall. He wished he could twirl a knife through his fingers, something to occupy his hands, but that would make him look even more conspicuous. Luckily, a large group of American tourists exited the building, standing on the sidewalk as they debated dinner options. Deven maneuvered himself into their midst.
Moments later, the Aztaw soldier appeared from thin air. He stood by the entrance of the hotel and spun around, taking in his surroundings. He wasn’t dressed in formal combat garb and he’d removed his large traditional headdress in lieu of a mismatch of human clothing. He wore an oversized dark blue sweatshirt with the hood pulled tightly over his paper-thin flesh, hiding his glowing skull. From the depths of the hoodie, however, his eyeballs rolled fiercely and his hands ended in skeletal joints. He gripped a knife in each hand.
His trousers were odd, a faded brown corduroy that belonged in another century. The color was atrocious in the harsh sunlight of the city.
None of the pedestrians seemed to notice the soldier’s sudden appearance, ugly attire, or skeletal form. Deven removed his glasses, but he could still see the soldier, which meant the other people could if they bothered to look.
But those around him avoided looking at that corner entirely, and Deven realized the Aztaw must be wearing an icon enchanted with an anonymity spell, something used by soldiers that didn’t make them invisible, only unremarkable. Nothing about the soldier’s appearance attracted attention—rather his presence was completely unremarkable, something the human eye instinctively glanced over and disregarded.
And before anyone could remark on the soldier, he was gone, vanishing once more into thin air.
Deven threaded through the tourists to stand closer, smiling to himself. He’d recognize the movements of his greatest adversaries anywhere, regardless of their chosen disguise.
He pulled the pen from behind his ear and hunched over in the crowd to scribble on his open palm. The calendars closest to this point were interesting; the soldier was in one of the fastest cycles he’d ever seen. Clearly the calendar had been chosen for location, not for convenience, because days flew by there, realigning every thirty seconds for a period of five seconds before moving to the next day. Deven had only a few more seconds before the realms would once again align and the soldier would breach through.
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