It didn't make them any less dangerous. It just made me see that I had a chance of standing up to them.
No flash and thunder, then. I had no energy to spare for them. No wasted time, either. I rose and stole through the ferns toward where I thought the next-nearest Denarian had come down, up a steep hillside that was murder to move over silently. The Denarian who had landed hadn't stayed immobile, though. I found the spread talon prints in the earth where it had touched down, like those of a turkey, but larger.
I froze as water splashed off to my right. From the corner of my eye I saw a Denarian haul herself out of the water of the dolphin pool-Mantis Girl, Tessa. She pulled herself over the pedestrian guardrail, moving fast and warily. I saw a flash of silver in the talons of one hand. She'd recovered the coin of the Denarian I'd shoved into the beam. She knew they weren't alone. I didn't have much in the way of cover between her and me, but I didn't move, and I didn't think she spotted me.
Mantis Girl landed on the concrete and vanished down the path and out of my sight. Something let out a chittering, monkeylike sound from somewhere in the vast room, but other than that everything remained silent.
I ghosted forward again, straining to hear. Where was the drama? Where were the explosions, the howling screams, the deafening sound track? This was just one big, eerie game of hide-and-seek.
Which, I suddenly realized, must have been the Archive's counterstrategy. The energy output of the enormous symbol was too high to maintain for long. If she could simply remain hidden from her enemies until the symbol could no longer be maintained, she could depart at will. There would then be no need for her to burn through her precious little available energy in a last-ditch, desperate effort to defend herself-provided she could stay calm and focused enough to maintain a veil under these circumstances, of course. It would force the Denarians to hunt Ivy-expending their efforts on trying to pierce her veil, while Kincaid concentrated on isolating them and killing them while they were distracted. It was a deucedly clever countertactic.
On the far side of the room one of the Denarians started screaming, a wail of agony. My eyes snapped up to Kincaid's position. He was gone. A rope now dangled down over the foliage below where he'd hung, but he'd abandoned the exposed shooting position after taking down one more enemy, it would seem.
I found myself grinning. Fine. If that was the game, I could play too. Ready or not, here I come.
I pressed on through the ferns, angling over toward the amphitheater seats, and dropped into a sudden crouch as the low mutter of voices came to me.
"Where is she?" demanded a heavy, thick-sounding man's voice.
I couldn't see the source of the voices from amidst the fake wilderness until I glanced up. Light and shadow played together in the room and conspired to create a reflective surface for me upon one of the panels of glass on the ceiling. Three of the Denarians had gathered on the bleacher seats. The one who spoke looked like nothing so much as a big, leathery gorilla, except for the goat's horns and heavy claws.
"Shut up, Magog," snarled Mantis Girl. "I can't think with you running your stupid mouth."
"We're nearly out of time," Magog growled.
"She knows that," snapped a third Denarian. I recognized this one, which looked like a woman, except for the reverse-jointed legs ending in panther claws, the bright red skin, and the mass of metallic, ten-foot-long, independently moving blades in place of hair. Deirdre, Nicodemus's darling daughter. She turned back to Tessa. "But Magog has a point, Mother. Scent tracking has been useless." She held up a small pink sock. "Bits of clothing with her scent on them have been scattered everywhere."
"That's the Hellhound's work," Magog spat, bright green eyes glowing brightly over dull, animalistic brown ones. "He's fought us before."
"He hunts us," Deirdre said, "while she forces us to focus on piercing a veil. They work too well together. He's killed two of us. Three if you count Urumviel."
Tessa bounced the silver coin in her palm. "Urumviel's vessel may have been killed by his own idiocy," she said. Her insectoid eyes seemed to narrow. "Or perhaps the wizard managed to return before the Sign was raised."
"You think that pathetic sot bested Father?" Deirdre said with scorn.
I bristled.
"He wouldn't need to best him, you moron," Tessa said. "Only to run faster. And it would explain why Thorned Namshiel hasn't appeared as well."
Yeah. If Spinyboy ever woke up, it would be with one hell of a Dresden hangover. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Deedee.
"The wizard is nothing," Magog growled. "If the girl is not found, and swiftly, none of this will matter to us."
Tessa snapped her fingers and once again did that disgusting little trick where the mouth of the mantis form opened and the head of a pretty young girl emerged, smiling. "Of course," she said, looking at Deirdre. "I should have thought of it sooner."
Deirdre tilted her head. Blades whispered murderously against one another at the gesture. "Of what?"
"The entire strength of this plan is predicated upon attacking the child, not the Archive," Tessa said, her smile turning vicious. "Ignore the girl. Bring me the Hellhound."
Chapter Thirty-two
I t took me about a second to see what Mantis Bitch had in mind, and half that long to hate her for it.
Ivy didn't have a family. Until I'd given one to her, she hadn't even had a name. She'd just been "the Archive." What she had was a world of power and responsibility and knowledge and danger-and Kincaid. While the Archive would know that the proper decision would be to allow Kincaid to die in order to protect the sanctity of the Archive, Ivy wouldn't be making the decision with the same detached calm. Kincaid was the closest thing she had to family. She wouldn't let them hurt him. She couldn't.
Damn them, to take a little girl's loneliness and use it against her like that.
Grand schemes and sweeping plans to bring doom and darkness are all fine and scary, but they at least have the advantage of being impersonal. This was simple, calculated, cruel malice deliberately aimed at a child-a child-and it pissed me off.
Deirdre was closest. Fine.
I stepped out of the ferns, swept my staff in a broad backhanded swing, and unleashed some of the power I'd been painfully holding back, snarling, "Ventas servitas!"
A burst of wind gathered underneath Deirdre, lifting her out of the amphitheater seats and throwing her out over the pool like a dart shot from a child's air gun. I'd thrown her at the nearest section of the pentagram's beam, but the instant she'd gone airborne those snakelike strips of her hair had fanned out like a tattered parachute and begun thrashing at the air, slowing her and changing her course.