From a Drood to a Kill - Simon R. Green Page 0,162

shouting I don’t believe in you! at it . . . Nothing happened. It’s hard to really concentrate when you’re feeling that angry.

Which was almost certainly the point.

It was actually a relief when someone opened fire on us from hiding. Out of the corner of one eye I caught a brief glimpse of movement, and armoured up immediately. Bullets slammed into my chest in a steady tattoo, and my armour absorbed them as fast as they arrived. Molly ducked behind me in a moment and used me as cover to return fire. Whoever our attackers were, they were really well hidden. I couldn’t even see the muzzle flashes, let alone movement. And with my mask in place I should have been able to see . . . something.

“We can’t stay here, Eddie!” said Molly, shouting to be heard over the staccato bursts of gunfire. “We’re too exposed!”

“Where are they shooting from?” I said.

“Can’t you see?”

“No!”

“Then how do you expect me to be able to?”

“They’re very good,” I said. “Professionals.”

“We need to move, Eddie! Now!”

“All right!” I peered quickly around. “Do you see that alcove to my left, with the really ugly statue of Bacchus in it? I’m going there. Right now. Try to keep up.”

I sprinted for the alcove, though still careful to keep my armoured body between Molly and the gunfire. Bullets followed me all the way, and every single one hit me somewhere, tracking back and forth and up and down as though searching for a weak spot. I didn’t feel any of it, of course, but it was starting to get on my nerves. I reached the alcove, grabbed Bacchus and threw him out, and then Molly and I squeezed into the narrow space, pressed close together. More bullets slammed into the walls on either side of us, chewing up the wood panelling . . . But they couldn’t reach us, and that would do, for the moment.

We couldn’t stay in the alcove. All the enemy had to do was change position, and he’d have a clear shot. I had hoped he would reveal himself, doing just that, but I still couldn’t see anything. I needed to take the fight to the enemy, but I couldn’t just run off and abandon Molly. She was almost defenceless without her magics. Without me. I had to protect her, even though I knew she’d deny needing it. There was a sudden pause, a worrying hush.

“Must be reloading,” said Molly. “Quick, where can we go next? We need more room to move, and better protection. And preferably someplace where we can launch our own attack.”

I peered down the hallway, and spotted an ironwood table. “There. That’s our best bet.”

Molly looked. “That’s a table!”

“Ironwood. Trust me.”

“You’d better be right about this, Eddie.”

I charged out of the alcove and sprinted down the hallway to the table, with Molly pounding along and crowding my heels all the way. The gunfire started up again, a deafening fusillade of bullets. It was like running into horizontal steel rain. I got to the table, overturned it, and then grabbed Molly and pulled her down so we could both shelter behind the heavy wood. Massed firepower slammed into the table, and the ironwood absorbed it all, quite complacently. It didn’t even budge under the repeated impacts. Molly grinned at me.

“Some table! I love this table! Where did you get it?”

“From the future,” I said. “A present from the Deathstalker.”

Molly shook her head. “You and your family.”

As though annoyed they couldn’t blast their way through the ironwood, the heavy stream of bullets turned its attention to the portraits of my ancestors on the walls. Old photographs and older paintings were chewed up and shredded, centuries of family history destroyed in moments. Scraps of old canvas floated on the air. I knew they weren’t real, weren’t the real thing, but I was still mad as hell. This was a cold act of contempt, against my family. Molly put a hand on my golden arm.

“You stay put, Eddie. They’re doing this deliberately, to get to you. To upset you enough that you’ll break cover, so they can get a clear shot at you.”

“Let them,” I said. “I have my armour.”

“And they must know that,” said Molly, doggedly patient. “Which suggests they have even nastier weapons, held in reserve. Something they think can get to you.”

And while I was considering that, a large, chunky grenade came rolling down the floor towards us, from out of nowhere. I saw it coming, grabbed Molly,