And suddenly, they were falling through the open door, and the roaring noise softened, the musty stench of malice eased. The fog lessened, and the black shadows skittered up and away.
The door had opened. They were on the steps outside.
Five
In Which Max Takes the Long Road Home
Being outside did not wholly protect them from the heavy black shadows and the swooping, swirling mass of fog, but it tempered the ferocity of the storm contained by the small building. Brim and Michalas must have been waiting nearby, for as soon as Victoria and the others spilled out of the door, they helped pull them to their feet.
Yet, out here, the shadowy creatures with claws and burning eyes had more room to dive, with gouging fangs and grasping talons. One grabbed Victoria by the shoulders, lifting her feet from the ground. She relinquished her hold on Wayren, groping for her sword.
She sliced up and through the demon, feeling that nauseating cold again, but also finding her mark. As she fell back to the trampled grass, she looked up and saw the moon glinting through the roiling fog.
If they got out of the graveyard, they’d be safe. Or at least safer.
She hoped.
Max alone was holding Wayren now, bent over her, presenting his back to the threat above as Brim and Victoria battled back the demons.
If they could fight their way toward the gate… would the walls of the cemetery confine the demonic fog?
Sebastian and Michalas had the presence of mind to close the door of the mausoleum, and together they battled it shut. The wind eased, and the spill of shadows stopped, though a faint tendril of blue smoke curled stubbornly through a crack. The fog ebbed and quieted a bit so that they could at least see one another. Blood streamed down Brim’s cheek, and Sebastian had a long red welt over the side of his face.
“This way,” Victoria shouted, pushing at the hair caught in her mouth, and started toward the gate before the door could burst open. It shuddered and trembled.
The wind whipped up again as they reached the gate, and a billow of black engulfed them. Victoria heard the shriek and scream of its fury, and she turned to Brim. “Holy water!” she shouted.
As he ran, Brim dug deep into his coat and pulled out a bottle, and a large silver cross. The wind buffeted and whipped, sending another tree branch crashing onto the ground. The missile, which was as thick around as a man, barely missed slamming into Brim and just grazed his shoulder. He offered her the bottle, but she turned to Max, who still huddled over Wayren.
Victoria’s hair thrashed around her face like a weapon, and the gust of blackness nearly sent her into the wall. Something wet trickled down her cheek, and warmed her neck. She had to get Wayren out of here, and there was only one way to ensure her escape. She grabbed Max’s face and lifted it to look into his eyes. “Take her. Take Brim. Go. We’ll distract.”
She shoved him toward a sprawling bush, and he slid under it with his burden, but not before she saw the look he gave her. Be safe.
Brim joined him, armed with holy water, and Victoria, Sebastian, and Michalas began to inch away from the bush and the gate, battling at the evil forces.
Victoria didn’t know what sort of perception the malevolence had, but the swooping shadows, at least, seemed to be able to tell where to dive and strike. If they could at least draw their attention away, perhaps Brim and Max could slip out of the gate safely with Wayren.
Max watched Victoria slip away, her face streaked with blood, dark hair plastered in the sticky mess. The back of her shirt was dark with more blood and torn to shreds.
He forced his attention to Wayren, who’d stirred more than once in his arms, and looked over at Brim, who crouched next to him and for once didn’t appear to be enjoying the battle.
Wayren had to be taken away from the demons that drained her of her strength and power before it was too late. It was possible yet to save her, for she was already showing signs of life now that she’d been removed from captivity.
If Victoria’s plan to distract the demons by battling them worked, they’d have only a few moments to make a dash for the waiting horses, on the other side of the bent gate.
Max’s lips flattened. He knew why she’d chosen him to take Wayren. He was the weakest of the group, no longer protected by the vis bulla .
Victoria would never have tried to protect him before.
And she’d chosen Brim… who could not only sense vampires, but demons as well.
What a warrior-and a leader-she’d become.
Something pinched deep inside him. Anger, frustration. Self-pity.
Then he realized it was time. With one last glance toward her, with her lethal blade and impractical mass of long, dark hair, Max slid out from under the bush, carrying Wayren against his chest. Ignoring the painful gouges in his back, he ran, hunching head and shoulders over his burden as the creatures swooped and dove.
Brim was behind him, and though Max didn’t dare glance over his shoulder as he stumbled toward the gate, he knew the big black man was slicing with sword and splashing holy water in their wake.
The iron gate shone under the moon and stars, clearer now as they were away from the foggy black smoke. He leapt and glided over it without pause, using the half-flying qinggong skills Kritanu had taught him.
Once over the broken gate, Max didn’t hesitate but lifted Wayren over his horse and untied the reins looped over a tree branch. A quick glance told him that Brim had made it to the gate, but just as Max leapt into the saddle, he saw with horror that Brim, who had put one foot onto the curved metal, was suddenly engulfed by the black shadows. They pelted down on him, talons shiny and red eyes bright, and the man crumpled to his knees, devoured by the shadows.
Christ . Max looked back, knowing he couldn’t return, knowing he had to get Wayren to safety. Every bit of his being needed to return, begged to go back and help… to save Brim… and Victoria. Victoria.
She would be next.
Yet he knew what had to be done; he’d lectured Victoria about it often enough.
You can no longer think only of yourself, of your needs and desires. You must recognize the far-reaching consequences of your actions.
And that was why he had to wheel the horse around and slam his heels into its flanks and ride pell-mell back to town, back to the house where Kritanu waited… back to where Wayren would be safe.
And it was also why he must leave London.
He shoved Wayren forward so she sagged, propped against the horse’s neck, then leapt off. He couldn’t do it, by God.
Twenty jarring, running steps took him back toward the cemetery gate, where the black shadows pitched, and dove against Brim. Sword in his hand, Max noticed how his arm screamed in pain and realized he was streaming blood. Ears ringing, he reached the damaged gate in time to see Brim’s arm rise from beneath the writhing black. The gleam of his sword sliced through the air as Max joined the fray, sending one of the attackers into swirls of dark fog.