Part 27 (1/2)

With everyone's attention on the fight between Sebastian and Parrish, Rosa easily maneuvered us through the crowd toward the exit. My mind raced as I tried to think of what I could do. I couldn't risk kicking her or trying to twist out of her grasp; the gun was far too close. Lilith wasn't an option with all these people around, unless I wanted to kill them all. I kept hoping to catch someone's attention, but with the way Rosa held me, the threat wasn't obvious. To anyone looking, we probably seemed like lovers. It wouldn't have mattered. Rosa could have been carrying an antiaircraft missile while wearing a flying nun outfit for all that anyone cared. Everyone was focused on the vampire smack-down. Even the bouncer had abandoned his post.

Which was my first break. The front door area was jammed with people intent on a closer look. Rosa and I were fighting against the tide, which meant our progress slowed dramatically-at least until Rosa got the clever idea of moving us along the wall.

Which was my big break. Beyond the coat check, illuminated faintly in the darkness, was a fire alarm.

The letters Pull Handle in Case of Emergency were printed in glow-in-the-dark yellow paint on the hand-sized switch. I decided my imminent demise definitely qualified. With Rosa concentrating on getting us to the door, I grabbed the bar and pulled with all my might.

When the Klaxon blared, I felt the pressure against my back lighten slightly. It was enough.

I twisted to one side but moved in tighter. My intention was to crowd in past the business end of the gun.

Since I saw mostly elbow and the startled expression in Rosa's eyes, I figure I'd done it. I stomped on the bridge of her foot as hard as I could, hoping to shatter bone. Her scream of pain was lost in all the chaos. Just then, the bodies we'd been fighting against surged back toward the exit. I crouched and pressed myself flat against the wall. I watched as the fleeing crowd swallowed Rosa whole.

I wedged myself into a pocket between the desk surrounding the coat check and the wall. Even though I curled myself into as small a ball as possible, I still managed to receive my share of kicks and shoves.

Someone had turned off the music and was using the loud speakers to advise everyone to make an orderly exit. The voice also reminded us to stay calm and to remember that the closest exit might be behind us. I pulled myself up and looked around as best I could. There did seem to be an alternate exit on the opposite side of the bar. The question was, could I get there?

I didn't want to have gone to all the trouble to lose Rosa, only to end up on the same sidewalk after the evacuation. More importantly, Parrish had probably stashed his motorcycle-and thus the grimoire-in the alley. It would also be the most likely place for a rendezvous with either Parrish, Sebastian, or both.

After weighing my various options, I decided the safest and most direct route was to crawl over the top of the bar. I felt a little foolish clambering up onto it from a stool, but no one was watching me. I slippedand stumbled over various hastily abandoned drinks. Yet, somehow, I made it to the other side of the room without being molested. When I slid off the bar, I easily followed the flow of people streaming out the back.

Most people cl.u.s.tered just outside the doorway under the awning. A halogen security lamp brightly illuminated a narrow, cobblestone alleyway clogged with Goths and cigarette smoke. Everyone seemed to be on a cell phone or chattering anxiously with one another. Some had managed to smuggle out their drinks and were making a party of it all.

The alley ran perpendicular to State Street. I could see the neon lights of the shops and bars down one end. The majority of the crowd congregated in that direction. Still, I didn't feel safe from the Vatican agent yet. She could be lurking anywhere.

I headed in the opposite direction. A small parking lot occupied the s.p.a.ce between the club and another establishment. Twenty or so vehicles vied for room along with a number of Dumpsters, recycling bins, and a stack of wooden pallets. About half of them were motorcycles, and most of the motorcycles were Harleys. I made my way over to them, hoping I'd recognize Parrish's saddlebags despite the darkness and all the people milling around.

The first bike I approached clearly belonged to someone named Butch, as the vanity plate spelled out.

Butch, a heavily muscular woman wearing a leather vest and sporting tattoos that might have either been dragonflies or faeries, didn't appreciate my scrutiny of her saddlebags. I apologized profusely and scurried off toward the next likely candidate.

And ran right into Sebastian.

At first, I almost walked past him, since his back was to me as he rooted through the bags. Then I recognized the trench coat. And the fangs.

”Garnet,” he said. He sounded relieved to see me. An ugly slash decorated one of his cheeks, but otherwise he looked undamaged. ”The grimoire is here,” he said, showing me the tip of the leather-bound book before returning it to its hiding place. He swung his legs over the bike and started it up. ”Let's go.”

I almost said no. I didn't want to leave without knowing Parrish was all right, but Sebastian interrupted my thoughts.

”We don't have much time,” Sebastian said. ”The Hunger is consuming me. I need to perform the spell as soon as possible.”

”But it's flawed.”

”Maybe. Maybe not.” He shook his head. ”We have to try. I don't know that I can survive much longer.”

Just then I spotted Rosa-who was difficult to miss with her bandaged nose and two black eyes-making her way down the alley toward us. That decided things for me. I clambered onto the back. I held on tightly as Sebastian reversed the bike out of its parking s.p.a.ce and roared down the alley away from State Street and out into the night.

* * * * While we idled at a stoplight, I got up the nerve to ask, ”Where's Parrish? I mean, you have his keys.”

Okay. So, I didn't say I was quite up to asking the tough question, the one that went more like, ”So, did you kill him, or what?”

I couldn't imagine him handing over the keys to his beloved bike while he still had any say in the matter.

At the same time, however, I didn't see Parrish so easily defeated that Sebastian would only have a scratch on the cheek to show for it. Still, Sebastian was almost five times older than Parrish.

When Sebastian didn't answer, I tried a different approach. ”Why did you b.i.t.c.h-slap him, anyway?

What was that about?”

Against my cheek, I felt his chest rise and fall in a deep sigh. ”I don't like performance art.”

The light changed, and the speed of the wind rus.h.i.+ng past swallowed any chance of further conversation.

What did that mean? Was Sebastian offended because Parrish violated some kind of vampiric code of secrecy by doing his business onstage in front of everyone? That seemed somewhat unlikely, since Sebastian hardly ran in the same circles as most vampires. It wasn't like he was the local chair of the Secret-Keeper's Vampire Club.

He'd said ”performance art,” so something about the public nature of Parrish's show must have rankled him. But what? Could it be some kind of chivalry thing? Maybe he didn't approve of the situation the victim found herself in?

He must have known she was willing, though. That she was into it seemed pretty obvious to me.

When we sailed through the next set of lights, I found myself disappointed.

I hoped Parrish was all right.

I squeezed my arms tighter around Sebastian's slender waist.

When we next stopped, Sebastian surprised me by speaking first. ”Listen, I was jealous,” he said. ”It was far too easy to imagine him doing those despicable things to you.”

Oh, right. The whole ex- versus current-lover thing. I should have thought of that right away.

Parrish was so dead.

”You killed him, didn't you?”

”If I told you I made him regret ever touching you, would that make me sound s.e.xy or scary?”

”Both?” Especially since that made it sound as though I had a chance of seeing Parrish walking around again someday.

I felt Sebastian's shoulders relax somewhat.

With bar-close still a couple of hours away, the night pulsed with activity. Cars flashed by, carrying with them the throb of ba.s.s turned up to window-rattling levels. Though cooler, the air still held a touch of theday's warmth.

Cottonwood seeds floated in the headlights like snow. We approached the lakes. They smelled faintly fishy, but couples strolled around the sh.o.r.e boardwalks. Overhead, bats flashed dark wings as they s.n.a.t.c.hed insects from the sky.

”Where are we going?” I asked at the next stop.

”Do you know anyone at Circle Sanctuary?” Sebastian asked.

Circle Sanctuary was a covenstead in a small town outside of Madison. They owned acres of land, all of which they had dedicated to the Craft. ”No,” I said, although strictly speaking that was a lie. I was pa.s.singly familiar with their newsletter editor, since the store bought an advertis.e.m.e.nt every month.

”Why?”