all night anyway, whenever I moved just right, like a gunslinger in the Old West with a .45 under his arm. But I was past caring.
Screw diplomacy; my party was going home with all their limbs attached, and if Hassani or anybody else had something to say about it, they could—
The waiter dropped his tray of drinks and screamed as the delayed reaction hit, then fled. Several people glanced outside, with the bored disinterest of beings who had seen everything and didn’t think much of it. There wasn’t even a break in the subtle ebb and flow of conversation.
“Sorry,” I told Ray, taking the handkerchief he proffered to wipe the spilled champagne off my hand. “I’ve just been a little on edge late—”
“Shit!” he yelled, and tackled me.
I heard it a split second after he did: a high-pitched whistle, unmistakable to anyone who’d ever been at war. A missile, incoming. And then here, a split second after Ray threw us behind one of the massive old benches, which I guess were as sturdy as they looked. Because the explosion tore around and over us, but not through us.
Not through us.
I was on my feet and tussling with Ray, who despite appearances was a vampire and a master at that, while debris was still in the air, while heat was still radiating outward in waves, and while the wind of the explosion was still blowing my hair around. I didn’t care. I threw him off and ran, into a once nice ballroom that was currently falling to pieces.
Damn it, I knew it!
“Louis-Cesare!”
I didn’t see him. I did see a jagged edged hole in the sky outside the windows, or more accurately, in what I guessed was a shield surrounding the ballroom and terrace. The pretty view was still being projected onto the inside of what was left of it, while everywhere else . . .
Was destruction. A heavy ceiling tile crashed to the floor at my feet, sending sharp edged shards to pepper my legs and the arm I threw over my eyes. Blackened furniture, much of it still on fire, lay scattered around; destroyed columns were in chunks on the floor, one of them crushing a servant; smoke filled the air, chokingly thick; and the charred bodies of vamps and glassware crunched underfoot.
But there were signs of survival, too.
There was movement amongst the fire, with the power levels of those in attendance on clear display. The weakest were burnt corpses, mere shells of gray ash that puffed away into nothingness as I passed. Those with more years and more power under their belts were stirring, some weakly calling out for help in a dozen languages, the stronger struggling to get up or staggering back to their feet. But the masters . . .
Were furious.
A woman jumped up beside me with a snarl, her finery burnt away except for a few scraps clinging to her blackened, naked body. Much of her henna dyed updo was also missing, and the rest was down around her shoulders, one of which was smoldering like an ember. She clawed it out, grabbing a chunk of her own damaged flesh and tearing it off before it took the rest of her along with it, then ran to the other side of the room. Others were congregating there as well; rallying around Hassani, who was suddenly surrounded by an army of his creatures, blackened and bloody, but still deadly.
And they needed to be. Because the missile had only been the first volley. It had somehow broken through the shield surrounding the court, like a medieval trebuchet making a breech in a wall, and now the army was pouring in.
Only an army of what, I wasn’t sure.
They were human in shape but swathed in black, including their heads, so I couldn’t tell much about them. Most were on the short side and thin but fast, even by vampire standards, being mere blurs across my vision unless they paused for half a second. And they were strong—insanely so.
One lunged for me and I ducked, came back up and got my knife in his neck. But that gave another a change to grab me from behind, and for a second, I couldn’t break his hold. Because I’d been treating him like a human, which judging by the rapid heartbeat against my back, he was. But that wasn’t human strength. So, I switched tactics, shucked my shoes, ran up a cracked support column and flipped over his head.