Bone Palace, The - Amanda Downum Page 0,52

He moved faster than she could follow, sliding under her guard and shoving her against a wall. Only dumb luck kept her from striking her head again. He cracked her hand against the stones—once, twice, and on the third blow her kukri fell from useless fingers, its light fading as it clattered to the floor. Her ring still glowed, bathing half his face in eerie blue. She heard shouts and struggles around them, but only had eyes for the demon in front of her.

“Was it you?” he hissed, fangs shining. The light lined a knife-edged nose and hollow cheeks, reflected in the depths of eyes pale and crystalline as ice and agates. Grey skin glittered dully, like flecks in unpolished stone. He smelled of snakes and earth and sweet poison. Isyllt squirmed in his grasp and kicked him in the groin, but he only snorted angrily and shook her.

“Was it you?” he demanded again, dragging her up by her collar. “Did you kill her?” Her toes scraped the floor and she could barely breathe, let alone think. His eyes distracted her, flecks of yellow floating in striated irises—her own confusion, or a predator’s enchantment?

“Kill who?” she gasped.

“Forsythia!”

She clawed at his hand and annoyance cut through her fear. “Of course not. I’m trying to find her killer.”

His fangs snapped inches from her face. “Liar. Liars and schemers all of you. She was the warmest thing I ever knew, and you slit her throat and wasted it!”

“I did not!” The conversation was making her headache worse, and lack of air wasn’t helping. “I’m a Crown Investigator—I find the people who slit women’s throats in alleys. And I find idiot tomb-robbing vrykoloi too.” She clenched her throbbing right hand, letting the different pain and the press of her ring ground her.

The vampire’s grip loosened, and the balls of her feet met the floor. “If you didn’t kill her, who did?”

She kicked him again out of pique, beyond caring if she antagonized him. “That is what I’m trying to find out. Why did you rob a royal tomb?”

Confusion narrowed his strange depthless eyes. “Because—”

A sound like thunder shattered the air, pierced her ears like hot steel, and Isyllt yelped. The vampire flinched, letting her fall as he clapped his hands over the sides of his head. She felt the second gunshot, but was already deafened.

Through a haze of tears she saw Spider seize the other vampire by the neck and drag him away. She read Spider’s name on his lips. Then a bone-white blur, and cold black blood sprayed across her face.

The vampire toppled, clutching at his ruined throat. The wound didn’t pump as a human’s would, but leaked viscous dark fluid. His lips moved, but in the flickering light Isyllt couldn’t read the shape of the words. The look on his face was clear enough, though: shock and betrayal, a confused and childish hurt.

Her own confusion was enough that she didn’t realize what Spider was doing until he moved again. Her throat ached; she was shouting at him to stop, but she couldn’t hear her own words. The kukri flashed in his hand as it arced down and metal sparked on stone. The vampire’s head rolled free, tangling his long black hair. His lips continued shaping soundless accusations while the last of his unlife oozed onto the ground.

“He was going to tell me why,” Isyllt whispered, staring at the twitching body. Speaking made her cough, which made her throat ache all the more.

As she watched, the edges of the wound blackened and curled—the burn of spelled silver. Vertebrae glistened like pearls amid bloodless grey-pink meat. The corpse began to blanch even more as flesh shrank against bone; color drained away till his skin was white as ashes. Even his hair faded, paling from root to tip. When it was over he lay still, legs curled toward his chest, one arm stretching toward his missing head.

Trembling, Isyllt crawled on hands and knees to reach the corpse. The hand that had held her throat had been cold and undead, but still moving flesh. What she touched now was rough and unyielding as stone.

Spider took her arm and helped her up. Blood smeared her skin, already tacky. The lantern had gone out—the only light was the pulse of her ring. “Why?” she asked.

“I’m sorry.” Again, despite the roar in her ears, she could hear him. His tone and insouciant stance were anything but sorry. “I thought he was about to eat you.” He wiped the knife