Part 20 (2/2)
Lytham nodded. ”I will call our men. They will help.”
”And Helwych?”
Lytham shook his head. ”I am afraid that Helwych cares about nothing save Helwych.”
Alouzon, Wykla, and Manda ate, packed sandwiches, cleaned up, and left. But as Alouzon locked the front door behind her, she knew that this was a permanent departure. She would never come here again. Like her old life and her old ident.i.ty, this apartment and all the memories it contained had joined the collection of the discarded, the unneeded, the preterit.
Wykla and Manda were padding down the stairs to the street: her new life, calling her away from school, Kent State, Vietnam, everything. And beyond that was the Grail, and yet another life still.
For a moment, she stood in the warm night air, her hand on the k.n.o.b. Had she wanted this? She was not sure. She was not sure that the question could even be legitimately asked.
Her lip trembled. Then: ”Goodbye,” she said, and she turned away.
They did not go to MacArthur Park. Instead, they drove up to Bel Air and, in the darkness that was filled with the chirping of crickets and the flutter of moth wings about street lamps, they parked in front of the ruined house and made their way across the trampled gra.s.s.
Stillness hung in the air like a dense fog. Manda and Wykla, carrying swords while still in jeans and t-s.h.i.+rts, looked oddly anachronistic. Alouzon, herself, in cut-offs and a peasant top ten years out of date, felt a little ridiculous with a murderous weapon like the Dragons word in her hand.
The rubble was a black heap against the parched dichondra. The sense of unreality about it had increased with the coming of night, but Alouzon could see no trace of the flickering light that might signal the presence of an interdimensional pa.s.sage.
”You guys feel it?” she whispered.
”We do,” said Wykla. She bettered her grip on her sword. Though her face and form said California girl, her demeanor said killer. Half-crouched, she slipped cautiously along the perimeter of the ruins as she had once crept along the glowing peristyle of the Circle.
”Let's head around back,” said Alouzon. ”That's where Silbakor took Hel-” She caught herself. ”That's where Silbakor took off.”
The back of the house was dominated by the remains of the redwood deck that had been splintered beyond recognition. But here the oddness in the air increased, too, and now the main disturbance seemed to lie near the center of the ruins.
”I'm gonna take a closer look,” said Alouzon. She stepped carefully over the rope barrier left by the police investigators and picked her way into the rubble.
The unreality grew. Alouzon stopped, c.o.c.ked her head, strained her ears. Was she hearing something?
”Alouzon?”
”Shhh.” She leaned forward. A faint sound, like a distant high-pitched whine. And now she was seeing light-flickering light-seething just under the fallen lath and plaster, roiling as though held down by the lid of a pot. ”Yeah,” she said. ”There's something here, and-”
Something moved beneath the ruins. The light expanded, changed color-and suddenly the wood and concrete were thrown back as a pale head the size of an automobile reared up out of the remains of the house, its eyes glowing a no-color of violet-black, its mouth opened to reveal a cavern of blankness set about by teeth the size of butcher knives.
For a split second, Alouzon and the White Worm regarded one another in surprise. Then Alouzon noticed the figure seated astride the Worm's pale back.
”f.u.c.k you, a.s.shole,” she screamed, and the Dragonsword leaped and struck straight between the Worm's eyes. The blade was turned by the unnatural hide, but the Worm screamed and thrashed, and then a wing heaved out of the ruins, scattering beams, raising a powder of pulverized cement and tile.
Alouzon slashed again, and again the Worm screamed, but she knew that she was fighting a losing battle. The Worm's other wing flapped up from beneath the rubble. Beams and 2x4s went flying. Manda and Wykla were wading in, but Alouzon shook her head frantically. ”Run!” she shouted ”Back to the car!”
They retreated only a short distance, waiting to see that Alouzon was safe. As she turned to follow, though, she saw the Specter's grin. ”And where will you run, girl?” it said. ”I can find you. Who's going to stop me?”
And then Silbakor struck. Without warning, without a sound, without even a flash of unblinking eyes to betray its approach, it stooped out of the washed out sky like a hawk descending upon a partridge. Its huge wings tore the air with an audible ripping as its talons slashed the Worm's face, sheared nacreous sparks from its back, and threw the Specter to the ground.
”Run,” said the Dragon. ”Run quickly.”
Alouzon floundered out of the ruins, cutting her arms and legs on broken gla.s.s, nearly spraining her ankle on the uncertain footing. Behind her, the Worm and the Specter were struggling out of their surprise, but Silbakor had turned quickly and plunged back at them, eyes glowing, talons ready.
Manda and Wykla piled into the VW in a clatter of swords; Alouzon vaulted the hood to the driver's side. ”I thought you said Los Angeles was safe,” she shouted to the Dragon.
' 'I had not foreseen it,'' came the pa.s.sionless reply. ' 'I do not prophesy.''
Alouzon got in and pulled away from the curb with a screech of rubber. ”Run, sure,” she muttered. ”Dammit: run where?” Gunning the Beetle as much as its small engine would stand, Alouzon raced the length of Helen's street and picked up Beverly Glen, weaving through traffic and running red lights.
Horns honked. Drivers cursed as she cut them off.
”Sorry!” Alouzon shouted as she came within inches of a Cadillac's grille. But she could not keep up these flagrant violations for long, and in any case, what did it matter? The Specter and the Worm, in flight, were unaffected by such things as traffic, stop signs, streets, and turnings.
' 'We've got to get out of here,'' said Alouzon as she turned ''onto Sunset Boulevard. Quickly, she cut across the lanes and spun left onto Hilgard Avenue.
”Where?” said Manda. She was in the pa.s.senger seat again, and Wykla was in back. Both young women were white: an already frightening world had turned deadly.
”To Gryylth, I hope,” Alouzon replied. UCLA lay to the west. Forcing herself to slow down, she turned onto the campus and parked next to the faculty center. Just across d.i.c.kson Court was Kinsey Hall, the archaeology office, and-maybe-a way out.
”Everyone out,” she cried. ”Last stop before
Gryylth.” Casting a glance up at the sky as though
the Specter and the Worm might suddenly appear, she
grabbed the bag of sandwiches and fruit, seized her
sword, and ran for Kinsey Hall. Wykla and Manda
followed. *
They sprinted through the stands of eucalyptus trees that occupied d.i.c.kson Court, then crossed the street and climbed the long flight of steps up to the east door of the hall. Alouzon kept an eye out for security officers as she led Manda and Wykla along the main corridor to the north stairwell, but she saw no one, not even students.
They reached the second floor without incident. Manda grunted with recognition when she saw the door to the archaeology office. ”We were here this afternoon,” she said.
Alouzon approached the door. ”Yeah,” she said softly, laying her hand on the k.n.o.b. ”And I'm hoping that this gate is open now.”
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