Redemption Alley

It took all my waning energy to keep the state of fierce relaxation so necessary for sorcery. Strand by strand, the rope parted. Nervous silence ticked on the other side of the wall, broken only by the sound of breathing and the occasional wet kiss or moan.

“What if they don’t show?” the male said, fretfully.

“They have to show,” Irene said, with utter mad certainty. “We’re holding all the cards, Fax. Just relax.”

I wondered, for a few seconds, how she’d gotten free of Galina. Either she’d tricked the Sanctuary—hard to do, but Galina had that core of blind decency that made her able to do what she did—or there had been violence. It was vanishingly possible that she might have overwhelmed Galina physically for long enough to escape, but treachery was more likely.

Inside a Sanctuary’s house, the owner’s will is law. It had to have been a trick. But if she’d hurt Galina, the Trader bitch was going to pay in blood.

That’s not the only thing she’s going to pay for, Jill. Get out of the rope.

My concentration slipped. Sweat trickled cold down the valley of my spine, a flabby fingertip tracing. I regained myself, felt more strands slip, fraying loose under the knife of my will.

“They’re late,” Fairfax whined.

If it hadn’t been so critical to keep quiet, I might have laughed. They’re expecting hellbreed they’ve double-crossed to be on time. Silly them.

“They usually are. Will you just relax?” Irene’s tone held less fondness and more command now. Movement in the light told me someone was pacing, sound of high heels clicking. No more kisses, and no more soft words.

The air pressure changed like a storm front moving over the city, pushing thunder in front of it. These two Trader idiots were about to get a huge surprise, either from their visitors—or from me. Copper coated my palate, adrenaline dumping into my bloodstream to sharpen me and deaden the edge of exhaustion. This is about to get real ugly real quick. Hurry, Jill.

A general rule of sorcery is that more haste equals less speed—but the rope fell loose, and I eased my shoulders out of its coils. My hands were numb and tingling, but they worked. I just couldn’t pull a trigger for a little while. Pins and needles raced up my legs, and I almost blacked out when I bent over to take care of the rope messily looped and pulled tight around my ankles.

Rule one of tying up a hunter: you’d better be damn sure she can’t wriggle out. Nylon’s useless. Hemp’s better, but it stretches too. Orichalc-tainted chains are the best, but even those are workable if the hunter’s left alone and conscious long enough.

I’ve only been chained up so bad I couldn’t get out once. That was enough for me.

They’d taken my guns. But my knives were still all present and accounted for, along with my whip and everything else, even all the ammo in my pockets.

Jesus. People this stupid shouldn’t be playing with hellbreed. The air sharpened, the swelling in my fingers going down too slowly, way too fucking slowly, and I heard them arrive.

The air was suddenly full of hissing like laughter, the subliminal reverberation of Helletöng rubbing painfully against my ears. I eased myself off the chair, quiet, quiet, stopping when my right thigh cramped viciously. I kept my breathing soft and even. Raised my hands over my head to help my fingers drain. I would need them soon.

My hands turned into fists. Rivers of sparkling pain ran down my arms. I eased them open, and made a fist again. It would help the edema drain. Come on. No time, Jill.

On the other side of the wall, there was a wet crunching sound. A sudden impact, like a side of beef dropped three stories onto simmering pavement.

Funtime’s over, kids. Everyone out of the pool.

Irene let out a shapeless, garbled yell.

In the ringing silence afterward, Shen An Dua spoke. “Oh, I am sorry. I was supposed to negotiate, wasn’t I.”

There was a slobbering wet noise, and another crunch. “Dear me.” Shen giggled, a little-girl sound. “So sorry. I just keep making mistakes.”

“You idiot.” Irene’s voice trembled. “Now you’ve killed the only person who has the formula!”

Another chill giggle, edged with broken, freezing glass. “Oh, I haven’t killed him. He’ll heal, with the proper care—care I can provide, as your liege. Besides, now I know what is possible, and it is easy enough to find more scientists.” The hellbreed’s tone darkened. “Where is the hunter?”

I dropped my hands. So glad I’m not tied up right now. My fingers curled around knifehilts, clumsy and aching. More copper adrenaline dumped into my blood, enough to sharpen me, not enough to blur. I’d pay for it later, when my body’s reserves finally gave out.

I let out the soft breath, took another, my lungs crying for oxygen I couldn’t take in. No use in gasping and advertising my position and status as awake and reasonably ready to kick ass.

“Fax?” Sounds of material moving, probably her long sequined dress. The hardness had left Irene’s voice. “Fax, hold on—Fax! Fairfax don’t you leave me!”

She sounded like a victim. Maybe like one of her own victims. I doubted she’d see the irony if someone else pointed it out, though.

“Oh, shut up.” Another impact, and the wall in front of me quivered imperceptibly as something human-sized was thrown up against it hard enough to crack bones. Shen let out a little satisfied sound. “Whining. Always whining.”

I tensed all over. The scar thrummed against my wrist, a high-voltage wire.

Shen suddenly turned all business. “Spread out. Search for the hunter. She’s close, I can smell the bitch’s shampoo.”

Lunatic laughter bubbled up in my throat. I swallowed it. What’s wrong with my goddamn shampoo?

“That’s the last order you’ll ever give,” Irene snarled, and I crouched reflexively as gunfire rang through the small space, echoes tearing and re-tearing at my sensitive eardrums.

Maybe I could stay right here and let them sort it out. But something hit the other side of the wall again, bone-crunchingly hard, and I was out of my little hole and in the light of a swinging, naked electric bulb before I even noticed moving. The flap of my abused coat followed me like the smell of burning, clinging to me in tatters.

Four of them, and all you’ve got is knives.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. My left hand had been smarter than me, curling around the whip handle and jerking it free. I guess Irene and Fax had thought I was tied up too tight to use a whip.

Fucking morons. They shouldn’t have been playing with hellbreed.

Confined space, a concrete cube, the smell of blood cooking on an incandescent bulb as it swayed crazily, making the shadows dance. A slight hiss of steam echoed the longer hiss of hellbreed.

Shen An Dua stood, incongruous in a pale-pink kimono patterned with plum blossoms, her narrow golden hands folded and her eyes ru

No, she’d brought four Traders, all male, and the whip smacked across flesh and dropped one, screaming, to the floor, clutching at his face and howling loud enough to shake the entire concrete cube.

Shen screeched, but the knife left my hand, flickering through the dance of shadow and blood-dappled light, and I had a second piece of good luck. It buried itself up to the hilt in her right eye as the whip crackled again, catching the next Trader at the top of his leap. I moved aside, spi