Part 16 (1/2)

”Back off,” I warned Jin. He purred at me, and I swear he smiled around his awful teeth, a long blood-red tongue snaking out to wash his jaws and chin with spittle.

”Fine,” I gritted. ”Be that way.” I tossed the alcohol, splas.h.i.+ng Jin square in the face, then I grabbed the Bunsen burner sitting on the lab table and spun the valve all the way open.

A jet of flame leapt the s.p.a.ce between Jin and me and set him ablaze, his skin puckering like a sausage under a broiler. He screamed and staggered backward into another table, sliding down to the floor as he bucked and convulsed underneath the sheet of fire.

I just stood and watched, and as I did Jin began to ash, his limbs blackening and sloughing away. He made feeble sounds of pain.

I just held my injured arm against my stomach and closed my nostrils against the scent of smoke and overcooked meat that filled the lab. Jin stopped moving, slowly but surely the ashy rot creeping up his body until he was nothing but a skeleton, and then not even that.

It wasn't until I got outside to Kronen and the fleet of police and fire vehicles that I realized Bertrand Lautrec had gotten away.

CHAPTER 12.

Bryson shoved his way through a knot of emergency personnel and spread his hands in disbelief. ”What the Hex happened?”

”Hold still!” the EMT bandaging my arm ordered as I swung to face David.

”We've got a major problem.”

Bryson craned to look into the morgue. ”Like what?”

”Bertrand Lautrec,” I said. The EMT jabbed me with a hypo of painkillers and released me with a glare.

”Christ, check out those two on the stretchers . . . they look chewed.” Bryson turned back to me as Orris and his commander were wheeled by. ”Lautrec's dead.”

”Yeah . . . not so much,” I murmured. Bryson shut his eyes and pressed his hands over his face.

”Tell me the painkillers are making you loopy, Wilder. Please. Please.”

”He got up, along with the three other vics, and they did all of this,” I said. ”Except Lautrec. He took off.”

”a.s.suming that a gunshot victim has any sort of brains left,” Bryson said, yanking on his tie in a defeated fas.h.i.+on, ”where would he go?”

I turned and walked away from the cordon, just to be going somewhere. Then an iron fist wrapped my gut, and I stopped. ”Laurel.”

Bryson paled. ”Oh, Hex me.”

I beat him to his Taurus, even with the sling and the painkillers slowing me down. Bryson slapped the flasher on his dashboard and violated a dozen traffic laws to make it to Laurel's apartment.

”What's the move?” he asked as we crossed the lobby. ”Shoot 'im in the head? Holy water?”

”Guns don't do c.r.a.p from what I've seen,” I said. If a bone saw didn't dent Priscilla, I didn't think bullets would have any luck. ”Fire's the only way.”

”Great. Let me pull out my handy napalm tank,” Bryson muttered. We rode the elevator, feeling the air vibrate around us. ”What the h.e.l.l is taking backup so long?” he said.

”Most of them are still cleaning up after the quake,” I said. ”Tac-3's been on forty-eight straight hours of calls.” I was chattering to fill the silence, so my thoughts wouldn't run to YouWhre willingly going to confront a guy who already died once and was no prize in life. YouWhre willingly going to confront a guy who already died once and was no prize in life.

The elevator stopped, and I indicated that Bryson should get out first. I held my pistol one-handed and slid along the wall, covering him as we approached Laurel's door. My heart began to thud as I caught that cold metal stench.

”He's here,” I hissed at Bryson. He didn't respond, just swallowed and tightened his grip on his Sig Sauer. I could hear Bryson's heartbeat, too fast, and smell his sweat-pure fear. I gotta say, he hid it like a trooper.

”Laurel?” I called as Bryson kicked open her door. The latch was broken, and it creaked feebly as the door hit the wall.

Something hissed from within the dark apartment. Bryson raised his sidearm, then yelped as Laurel's cat shot past us and disappeared down the hall.

”Jesus,” Bryson said, leaning against the wall. I tried the light, and a floor lamp responded, tilted on its side. It sent up a red glow from the blood pool it was lying in. Bryson said, leaning against the wall. I tried the light, and a floor lamp responded, tilted on its side. It sent up a red glow from the blood pool it was lying in.

Laurel Hicks was on her back, her eyes open and her face bloodless. She wasn't marked except for a row of punctures across her cheeks, as if someone had held her head in place. Tried to make her look at them, understand what was happening. The blood from her body was across her sitting room, like someone had spilled it out of a jug. Her heart, I could only a.s.sume, was with Lautrec.

”We're too late,” I said softly. Bryson slumped, holstering his weapon.

”No-” I started and then Lautrec sprang from out of the darkness. He hit Bryson in the chest and knocked him back, the stocky detective denting the thin wall of Laurel's apartment.

Lautrec landed on the linoleum and hissed at me, sc.r.a.ping his claws together in a h.e.l.lish screech.

I darted around him, slapping at the k.n.o.bs on Laurel's old stove. The hiss and stench were welcome, considering the night I was having.

”Feed . . . me . . . ,” Lautrec groaned, scrabbling at his own stomach as he bared his fangs and snapped at me. I grabbed a box of kitchen matches and dropped under his swipe, sliding on my b.u.t.t across the linoleum, as far from the stove as I could get.

”Bryson, cover!” I yelled, and I struck a handful of matches.

The explosion wasn't big, as far as explosions go, but it took out all the windows in the apartment and fried Lautrec where he stood. He screamed and disintegrated, still trying to claw at me.

Bryson helped me up, grunting when I bled on him from my freshly opened arm. ”c.r.a.p. I hate this s.h.i.+t, Wilder. I loathe it.” His tie and cuffs were singed-and a little bit melted-but he looked none the worse for wear. Even his hair was still in place.

While Bryson wielded a fire extinguisher over the blackened kitchen, I bent down and closed Laurel's eyes with my good hand. Her skin was ice to my touch, like she'd been dead for days. ”I hope it was fast,” I whispered.

In the hallway, backup units had started to arrive and uniforms crowded in the doorway. I pushed through them and kept walking until a wall cropped up, and then I leaned my forehead against it. The world spun slowly beneath my feet.

A charm against evil. If what I'd seen tonight wasn't evil, then my perception of the world was hopeless. And I'd stolen it, because I didn't believe real evil could be fended off . . .

”Hey, Wilder?” Bryson said as the elevator opened to reveal a CSU team.

I swiped at my eyes with my thumb before I looked at him. ”Yeah, David?”

He was holding Laurel's cat, and she growled at me. ”Shh,” Bryson told her, and sneezed. ”Look, I'm sorry about what I said before.”

”Oh?” I muttered.

”Yeah. You are far far from the biggest freak in this city.” from the biggest freak in this city.”

I looked back at the sad, dim little apartment that had contained Laurel's life, and now her ghost. ”This was my fault.”

”What?” Bryson started shaking his head. ”That's crazy, Wilder. Your blood loss is talkin' for you.”