“Where is this place, anyway? What’s up with all the trees? Are we even in the city?”
Anastasia shook her head, trying to ignore Alex’s complaints, trying to match Mitsuru’s relentless pace through the brush and hilly ground. She held the edges of her skirt primly, determined to avoid snagging it on the bushes, sprinklers and debris that littered their path. She was sympathetic to the boy’s point, at least to an extent. Her dress, after all, was an expensive, one-of-a-kind piece, custom-made at a little shop in the Shibuya neighborhood of Tokyo that specialized in such things, and therefore delicate and irreplaceable. Certainly, Mitsuru had said nothing about traipsing through the woods on their way back to Central.
But the endless stream of questions and complaints that he had produced over the last hour were beginning to strain Anastasia’s composure, something for which Alex seemed to have a particular gift.
“This is the Presidio. It used to be an army base, I think, years ago. Now it’s a park," Margot said, from somewhere behind her. She didn’t sound thrilled at the situation, either, but then again, Margot never did. “Now would you please shut up?”
“I don’t think so,” Alex responded, a touch out of breath. “I want someone to tell me what the hell is going on! I’m tired of going along with whatever I’m told without knowing why. This is all a bunch of crap, as far as I’m concerned.”
Anastasia ignored the commotion behind her. Margot had seemed more than usually edgy with Alex all day, and from the sounds, had resorted to violence to get him to shut up. Not that Anastasia had any problem with the vampire slapping Alex around a bit. Still, Anastasia was surprised to see Margot so worked up, and couldn’t help but wonder how much Eerie’s obvious fascination with the boy played into it.
She stepped gingerly over a half-rotten log, and then threaded her way carefully through a series of muddy puddles, wincing when one of her patent leather shoes sunk into the marshy soil. Anastasia was so distraught by her ruined shoe that she didn’t notice Renton behind her, not until he had swept her up in one effortless gesture, one arm hooked underneath her bunched skirts, the other behind her shoulders.
“Renton!” she hissed, trying to keep her voice down. “What are you doing?”
Renton smiled and shook his head, plodding through the mud indifferently.
“Your dress will get ruined,” he said lightly. “I would not have the Mistress of the Black Sun embarrassed or discomfited by such a small thing.”
He smiled at her, in a way that was both indiscrete and completely inappropriate.
“Particularly when she is so easy to carry.”
Anastasia grimaced, but relaxed in his arms. She knew from experience that there was no point in arguing — he would agree, of course, and do whatever she told him to, but she would have to make a scene in order to make that happen. And he was right — appearances were part of her responsibility, after all, even if Renton’s motivations were a bit less than proper.
“At least make sure they don’t see us,” Anastasia grumbled.
Renton had done this for her often, growing up, but that was when she was a child. He hadn’t changed much at all, she thought, her head leaning against his chest, overcome by a wave of memories going back almost as far as she could remember.
Joseph Martynova, her father, had called her into his office, the first time she’d ever been there without her mother, or a nanny, to look after her. It was a vast, book-lined room with deep red carpet, an imposing walnut desk placed in front of a giant bay window facing east, oriented so that the sun rose directly behind it much of the year. Her father was a man who appreciated the value of symbolism, something that was not lost on his daughter.
He’d barely looked at her, speaking in his low voice while writing something with a beautiful antique pen, sounding tired and distracted. He’d explained to the four-year old that she lived in a dangerous world, and even though she was not the heir to the Black Sun, she was expected to hold a position of prominence one day. This would, he explained indifferently, make her the target of all sorts of potential violence, blackmail, intimidation, and kidnapping attempts, something her father could attest to, since he was an expert at using those very same techniques to subdue rivals. Anastasia hadn’t fully known what to make of it, at the time, but she was already smart enough to know when not to speak.
Then he’d called Renton into his office. Renton walked in and stood nervously in front of her, obviously uncomfortable in his formal attire, his posture stiff, and his bow deep and clumsy. Renton Vidor, her father explained, would be her bodyguard for the next few years. The second-eldest son of one of the minor cartels in the Black Sun’s orbit, he had been pledged into their service as a sign of his cartel’s loyalty, and therefore Anastasia’s father was obligated to find a function for him. If she was satisfied with his performance, he said, she could elect to continue his employment in this capacity when she left for the Academy. Then her father had motioned for them to leave, and Renton had offered her his hand, his smiling face then exactly the same as the one that she saw now.
It was like that, sometimes, after activation. The nanites affected the aging process in inconsistent and unpredictable ways — some Operators appeared to age normally, while others aged only until a certain point, and then simply stopped, seemingly not aging a day until they died. Some Operators had lived for more than a hundred years, according to the Black Sun’s archives, while others had died in their teens of what appeared to be old age. Renton had been a young-looking twenty when he had been assigned to guard her, and only his hairstyle had changed since then.
The subject worried Anastasia more than she would have cared to admit. As far as she could tell, she hadn’t grown at all since she was thirteen, more than three years ago. She knew that happened to girls, sometimes, and that it didn’t necessarily mean anything — she could have been a late bloomer, after all. But Anastasia didn’t find the thought of going through life appearing to be a flat-chested teenager to be an attractive one. It was a horrible thought, actually, the only one that ever kept her up at night. And though nothing was certain yet, she knew that it was a very real possibility. Alice Gallow appeared to be in her late twenties, after all, but the archives said that she was much, much older. Maybe even the oldest Operator on record, having first come to the Black Sun’s notice during the Spanish Civil War.
Then again, there was a big difference, Anastasia thought grimly, between being young forever, and being in puberty forever.
“Ana, what’s our next move?”
Renton looked worried, but his question broke the cycle of her own worries. He was good for that, at least. He might have been insolent and disrespectful, perverted and low minded, but Renton knew her better than anybody else did, and he when it mattered, he always seemed to do the right thing, without even thinking about it.
It was that quality, above all others, even loyalty, that had made Renton rise in rank, to become her lieutenant. It was his effectiveness, however, that kept him there.
“Wait and see,” Anastasia said, leaning back to look at the starless sky. “I have some ideas, but the picture as a whole is still unclear. Something about this situation is very wrong, and I will not make any dramatic moves, not until I know for certain who is responsible.”
“Are you sure? We have resources in this area. I can call O’Brien at the Marin compound, and arrange an exit. For all of us, if necessary. Even Alex.”
“Not yet. Not until the trap is sprung.”
Renton ploughed through the rest of the marshy area in a straight line, making no attempt to avoid the puddles, his feet squelching and sinking into the mud with every step. It did not appear to bother him, though it was hell on the suit she’d had tailored.
“You think this was all a setup?”
“Yes. Only gross incompetence or deliberate planning could have put us in this mess, and I am not inclined to think that Central is incompetent.”
Anastasia frowned.
“At least, not this incompetent.”
“Then, who do you think…”
Anastasia cut him off with a look.
“Shush, Renton,” she scolded. “This isn’t the time or the place.”
She looked around them significantly.
“And you can put me down, now. It is much drier, here.”
Renton grinned, and set her down delicately on her feet. The ground was indeed much drier, and the brush had started to open up to pine trees surrounded by patches of brown grass.
“There is going to be a fight,” she said moodily, walking beside Renton. “Central would not bring us this whole way, so Mitsuru could sneak us out the back door. The Weir will find us first.”
Renton looked over at her, his eyes sharp and worried.
“Who is their target? All of us? You? The new kid?”
“I’m not sure,” Anastasia said, shrugging. “But, I think we will find out soon. Don’t worry so much, Renton — that is my job. You focus on getting us back to Central, safely.”
“Milady,” he said, nodding.
“And try not to be so forward in the future. Even when we are alone.”
“As you say.”
His face was absolutely, utterly somber. She was genuinely tempted to smack him.
“Renton!”
“Up here,” Mitsuru’s voice rang out in the dark, from somewhere in the clearing up ahead. “This is where we’ll do it.”
Anastasia was fretting over the damaged hem of her dress, her skirt spread out across her legs in front of her, when Alex sat down heavily beside her. She was a bit surprised, as he had lapsed into sullen silence after Margot had smacked him around earlier, and hadn’t said a word during the hour or so of preparations that followed their arrival.
“Uh, Anastasia?”
He spoke quietly, leaning forward and trying to catch her eye.
“Can I ask you something?”
Anastasia carefully threaded a needle with black silk, not bothering to look over at him. She wasn’t too good at this sort of thing, but not because she wasn’t interested. Having too many servants and lacking in basic domestic skills was a kind of occupational hazard.
“Ask away,” she said, a touch crossly.
“Okay,” Alex said, sounding a bit puzzled. “What exactly are we doing here?”
Anastasia made a first few clumsy stitches, then held the hem of the skirt up to examine the torn fringe critically.
“We are going home, Alex, back to Central.” Anastasia glared at the offending lace. “Mitsuru brought a beacon with her, a piece of stone from Central, so that they can lock on to us. Once she activates it, Central can start opening a way between here and there, through the Ether. It takes a little while, though, and the minute that beacon activates, every Witch and Weir within a hundred miles is going to know where we are, and what we are doing.”
“And you think that they’ll get here in time to try and stop us? It seems like we are kinda out of the way, here.”
Anastasia resumed her repairs, trying to reaffix the fringe to the hem of her skirt.
“I’m certain at least some of them will be nearby,” she said firmly, still engrossed her work. “They have a sort of precognition, as well. They must have anticipated this.”
Anastasia felt a sharp pain in her index finger, and dropped the needle and thread, immediately losing them in the grass beneath her in the dark. She stuck her wounded finger in her mouth, fuming.
“So… couldn’t we go somewhere further away? I mean, we could rent a car or something, and drive out to the middle of nowhere, right? Then they couldn’t possibly get to us, not in time to stop us from going home.”
Anastasia looked moodily at Alex. She was mainly annoyed about the dress, but she still had to curb the urge to bite his head off. Even when he was trying, and he was clearly trying right now, the boy aggravated her to no end.
“Alex, the protocol Mitsuru used to hide our Etheric signatures will dissipate in a few hours,” she explained, sighing. “That aside, it is only a matter of time until they track us down. We don’t have any resources here, any allies, or a real chance of defending ourselves against a determined attack. And if we were to try and run, don’t you think their precognitives might anticipate that as well? We would step out of the car, and walk straight into a Weir’s mouth. Understand?”
Alex nodded slowly.
“I guess so,” he said, his brow furrowed. “But, why here?”
He gestured at their surroundings: a low place in between two small hills, surrounded by brush and blackberry bushes and a handful of eucalyptus trees, a half-fallen chain link fence, and a crumbling concrete building frame. It was little more than a bare concrete pad and three walls, perforated where there had once been windows and doors, wrapped in a blanket of multicolored, indecipherable graffiti.
“Because I’ve been setting this place up all day. I have mines and shaped charges strung along the only approach. We’ll have some options, here,” Mitsuru said, sitting down next to him them, and taking a long drink from a bottle of mineral water. She looked tired, and Anastasia was a little surprised that she would show, and wondered exactly how exhausted she was. In all probability, Mitsuru had been working another assignment when she had been called here. Anastasia could only hope that she had enough left in her to bring them all home.
Well, she amended, she could hope, and make contingency plans.
“Once the beacon is activated, Central will need about thirty minutes to lock on to us and prepare the transfer. I’m not certain how long it will take before the Witches find us — the precognitive pool says that most of their forces are arrayed in the urban core, or along the periphery, to keep us from leaving the city,” Mitsuru paused to drink again, and then frowned. “Assuming they know what they’re talking about, then they shouldn’t have time to come down heavy on us before we’re out of here.”
“I still don’t see why they didn’t just send Alice Gallow to retrieve us all…”
Mitsuru glared at Anastasia bitterly.
“Think she might have something better to do?”
Anastasia shook her head.
“I doubt it very much.”
For a long moment, Mitsuru looked like she might lose her temper, and Anastasia wondered if her needling had been a little too effective. Then she shook her head, and the tension dissipated.
“It is what it is,” Mitsuru said levelly. “No other way for all of us to get home.”
Anastasia looked at her dress unhappily.
“Well, this is fucked,” she said quietly. Mitsuru and Alex both gave her looks, clearly uncertain whether she meant the plan or her dress. Anastasia decided to let them wonder.
“That place has a basement,” Mitsuru said, inclining her head in the direction of the ramshackle structure. “The noncombatants can stay inside there, up until the transfer is ready.”
Anastasia saw Alex stiffen, and then sit up straight, and she had to suppress a smile.
“Who, exactly, are you talking about?”
Alex faced Mitsuru as defiantly as he could manage. She met his stare with her impassive red eyes.
“Eerie and you,” Mitsuru said, with a hint of a shrug. “Anastasia can take care of herself, whatever she decides to do.”
Anastasia turned and smiled at Alex, who was staring at Mitsuru in shock at her totally understandable disregard.
“Maybe you could hide underneath Eerie’s skirt,” Anastasia suggested helpfully. “Kill two birds with one stone.”
Alex barely acknowledged Anastasia, or her jibe. He just lowered his head, balled his fists, and stood there, his eyes still locked on Mitsuru as if they were locked in epic combat.
“I am not hiding,” he said quietly, with a determined voice that made it very difficult for Anastasia not to laugh. “I’m going to stay up here and fight.”
“You don’t know how to fight, Alex. Renton, Margot, Edward and I are all combat veterans,” Mitsuru reminded, looking a bit annoyed. “If you want to help, then stay out of the way, and let us do our jobs.”
Alex shook his head slowly, glaring definitely at Mitsuru.
“I am not hiding in that hole,” he said firmly, pointing at the dilapidated ruins.
Mitsuru stood up, brushing the dead grass from her jeans, and then walked over to stand close to Alex. Though she had to look up at him, she wasn’t any less intimidating for it.
“It is my job to bring all of you home. All of you. And you and Eerie can’t even defend yourselves, Alex, much less help the rest of us. So the two of you are going in the basement,” she insisted, raising her voice slightly, “and that is final.”
Mitsuru stopped and then shook her head in disbelief when Eerie cleared her throat politely, from right behind her. She had been curled, asleep or pretending to be asleep, underneath a nearby tree since they had arrived in the valley. Anastasia couldn’t understand how she managed to cross the clearing and walk up behind Mitsuru without her noticing — frankly, she hadn’t even seen her get up from under the tree — and Anastasia felt a trace of annoyance over it.
Then she went back to being just a touch amused. It always made her feel upbeat, watching a plan come together, even if it didn’t all go exactly the way that she had expected.
“I am not going in the basement if Alex isn’t,” Eerie said shyly, her hands clenched in front of her, her eyes downcast.
Mitsuru turned around, looking more surprised than angry.
“You too, Eerie? Look, both of you, this isn’t up for debate. I’m not asking you to do it, understand? I’m telling you.”
Renton and Edward entered the valley from the south, moving briskly over the damp ground, looking unhappy. Renton ran over to Anastasia and whispered his report to her. Anastasia listened for a moment, then nodded and turned back to Mitsuru, who was moving quickly from impatient to infuriated.
“We may not have time for discussion, Miss Aoki,” Anastasia said brightly. “Renton says that he discovered a number of large, feral Etheric signatures nearby, approaching rapidly.”
Mitsuru turned from Eerie to Anastasia, and then threw up her hands, looking exasperated.
“How could they have found us so quickly? We haven’t activated the beacon, yet.”
Anastasia shrugged half-heartedly. What could she have said? It wouldn’t have helped anything, to have answered Mitsuru’s question.
“Okay, no choice. Eerie, do you know how to activate a beacon?”
Eerie got all tongue-tied, but eventually she managed to nod at Mitsuru.
“Then do it, there’s one over there,” Mitsuru ordered, pointing to the pile of mostly empty bags leaning against one wall of the concrete building. “And keep your head down. Renton, you and Edward know what to do. Where is Margot?”
“She’s already in place,” Renton said, a little out of breath, “and waiting.”
Mitsuru nodded gravely, pulling the belt that held her guns from the bag at her feet. She clicked the buckle into place, one hand absently confirming the presence of the twin pistols, strapped to the small of her back.
“Alright, then you do the same,” she said, nodding at Renton and Edward, as she added a sheathed knife to her belt. “Let me know as soon as you know which way they are going to come, especially the big one.”
Alex grabbed Mitsuru’s arm, and everyone froze in shock, midway through their preparations, Renton holding a forgotten assault rifle only partially removed his bag, even Anastasia standing wide-eyed and staring.
“That’s the silver one, right? That Weir?”
Everyone was surprised. Mitsuru simply nodded, instead of exploding. After a moment, she brushed his hand distastefully off her arm. Anastasia was disappointed by her restraint.
“Yes, I would imagine so,” Mitsuru said grimly, turning away from Alex and walking toward the edge of the valley. “But, if this works, you won’t ever see him.”
“So, what do I do?”
Mitsuru shrugged and kept walking.
“I don’t know,” she said, without looking back. “What can you do?”
Alex wasn’t even totally sure how to operate the gun he’d been handed; the snub-nosed submachine gun was a deceptively heavy mass of black carbon fiber stock and tooled metal, and with the clip in, very difficult to aim, as the front end was too heavy for the grip, and tended to pull down. Renton had showed him how to fire short bursts from the thing, and that was pretty much the best he could manage, firing at the nearby brush when it moved suspiciously.
It had taken him an embarrassingly long time after the shooting had started to find and deactivate the safety. Alex wasn’t too sure that it made much difference — he was fairly certain that he hadn’t shot anything other than the surrounding flora.
From where he crouched, behind a chunk of discarded concrete from some ancient foundation, Alex could see Renton and Edward, further out towards the edge of the clearing, exchanging fire with targets that remain stubbornly invisible to Alex. Not for the first time, he wondered how many bullets he had, and how many he had fired already, and exactly what he was supposed to do when they were all gone. Run and hide, probably.
Alex already heartily wished that he had done just that. Eerie was crouched somewhere behind the remains of the concrete structure, with Anastasia keeping an eye on her. Mitsuru and Margot had disappeared as soon as the shooting started, and he hadn’t seen either since then, though during the occasional breaks in the gunfire, he could sometimes hear distant screams and howls. He was suspicious that Mitsuru or the vampire-girl might have something to do with that. Not for the first time, Alex wondered how long the fight had been going, and how long it would continue.
It never occurred to him that he could be killed here, not in a real sense, until a group of Weir came pouring out of the tree cover like a feral tide, all teeth and claws and knotted muscle under matted fur, with a sound that was something between a scream and a howl. Alex didn’t even bother to aim, he just pointed the gun in the direction of the Weir and held down the trigger until it bucked in his hand.
Alex noticed an odd thing, then, his mind operating with a strange clarity despite the sheer horror of his surroundings. As the mass of Weir advanced, moving as far as the withering fire from Renton and Edward would allow, they streamed past Renton’s position as if he wasn’t there.
Alex watched as Renton calmly lifted the rifle to his shoulder, and then fired a quick burst, three rounds hitting one of the Weir in the chest, the hollow point shells mushrooming when they impacted the skin, creating great bleeding craters. The remaining Weir turned and spun in place, trying to locate the sound, to pinpoint their attacker’s position, apparently oblivious to the fact that he stood among them. After a few moments of half-hearted searching, the Weir seemed to forget and lose interest, returning to their forward push, only to have another of their number picked off by Renton.
And so it went for what seemed to Alex to be a very long time — the Weir pushed forward into the clearing, where they were exposed to fire from all angles, and were eventually driven back. Meanwhile, Renton continued to quietly pick off the beasts, secure in what Alex could only assume was some kind of telepathic protocol. Occasionally, Alex manage to get a few clean shots off, and he thought that one or two might actually have hit, which somehow made him sick and proud at the same time.
Then, without warning, the Weir pressed forward, and this time, the fire against them wavered. Edward was the closest, and therefore the first to go under. He kept firing even as the Weir pounced on him, with no perceptible effect. He tossed aside the assault rifle at the last moment, and Alex clearly felt the Etheric ripple that meant he had attempted to activate some sort of protocol, but whatever he had attempted, it was too late. Edward’s screaming was mercifully brief, his mauled body dragged back to disappear in brush and darkness.
Alex watching in numb horror, as a surging wave of beasts crossed the empty ground between them, his empty submachine gun hanging useless from one hand, paralyzed by a feeling that had not quite had time to coalesce into fear. The part of his mind that was still capable of thinking was consumed with the hope that he would not wet himself before he was devoured. For some reason, this seemed very important.
He assumed that he was dead when Renton grabbed him, pulling him forcibly back toward the ruined building by the collar of his shirt. It took a little while before his brain processed what he was seeing, before he stopped struggling against Renton and started running himself, away from the howling, away from the teeth and hot breath he imagined was on his heels.
Alex was thrown to the ground by the force of an explosion, and then there was a lost interval, dead time.
He opened his eyes, when he remembered how to do that, and his vision slowly returned to him, in the form of crudely defined silhouettes, then a semblance of the world he remembered before the concussive wave. If there were multiple explosions, as he had been led to believe there would be, then Alex could not tell — there was simply a terrific force that knocked him and everything around him to the ground, the trees nearby bending and cracking, and one huge noise, a sound for which he could find no comparison. It must have echoed, in the valley between those hills, but Alex couldn’t hear anything at that point. When he recovered enough to find his way to his feet, he did so, wondering if the nanites inside him would be able to repair his hearing, or whether he would stay deaf forever. The silent, smoky world that confronted him was so different from what he remembered that he was tempted to dismiss it as some sort of violently surreal dream. Then he saw Mitsuru.
Though he would have been too embarrassed to admit it, Alex had in fact had a few dreams about Mitsuru. But, they had never involved her bleeding so much, or fighting a great silver wolf-monster.
Something in Alex’s brain tripped, and finally started working again, and the scene came into focus. Mitsuru moved oddly, jumping out of the way as the Weir charged, firing the pistol she held at its back as it passed, and Alex wondered about the extent of her injuries. The Weir spun to face her again, apparently unhurt, while Mitsuru regarded it calmly, and bled. Alex felt his feet start moving before his brain became aware of the plan, which was probably for the best — had he been thinking clearly, he probably never would have done what needed to be done.
She had not dodged the Weir’s strike, Alex realized, not wholly, and the resulting wound on her chest was deep and ugly. He wondered how long she had been fighting the thing, and if it was going as badly as it looked. He could see other, more minor wounds on her left arm and the back of her head, and he realized that her left leg was stiff and the foot was dragging on the ground. She looked as collected as ever, her blazing red eyes fixed on the monster, a 9mm in one hand, a long knife in the other, but Alex saw something he didn’t like in her stance, and ran even harder toward them, tossing aside the useless submachine gun as he did so.
Anastasia’s arm smacked into his chest, bringing him to a stumbling halt ten meters away from Mitsuru and the Weir. She was covered in a layer of fine dust, and her dress was in shreds, but she looked otherwise unhurt. She looked over at Alex, and he was surprised to see pity in the look. She put one hand to the side of his head, and when she pulled it back, it was bloody. Alex reached up himself, and realized that he was bleeding from both ears.
Anastasia tried to say something to him, but all Alex could hear was a painfully insistent ringing sound. She looked frustrated, and then tried yelling, with no more effect. Alex shrugged helplessly, distracted by the blood leaking from the side of his head. Anastasia stomped her foot, then grabbed Alex by the back of his head, and yelled directly in his ear. Alex couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard the phrase ‘Black Protocol’. For a moment, this made no sense to him, then he looked over at the fight, and realized what Anastasia had in mind.
Mitsuru was slowing down, there was no doubt about it now. The Weir leapt at her, crossing the distance between them in an instant, arms spread wide, savage talons stained red. Mitsuru rolled clumsily to the side, barely avoiding being torn to pieces by the monster’s claws. She didn’t even bother to try and counterattack this time, either because she lacked the energy or the opportunity, Alex couldn’t tell. He was already busy, tearing frantically at the Black Door in the recesses of his mind.
For a panicked moment, he scrabbled against the dark, frosty wood of the door helplessly, the surface cold and unyielding. Then he remembered the protocol, and the instructions Rebecca had left for invoking it. Alex exhaled, not even aware that he had dropped to his knees, or that Anastasia was crouched beside him, holding him up. With a tremendous effort, Alex activated the Absolute Protocol.
At first there were no obvious changes. Then Alex went stiff, his limbs and back rigid, his eyes rolled back in his head, and his body temperature began to drop dramatically. As Anastasia watched, his lips and eyelids started to turn blue, and she had to hold a hand up to confirm that he was still breathing. Then she felt the Ether seethe and roil, and she knew that a Black Protocol had been activated.
The Weir didn’t appear any the worse for wear, not at first, but when he charged Mitsuru again, he was not nearly as fast, and even in her debilitated state, she managed to dodge the attack by dropping beneath it, almost crumpling. The Weir landed in a heap, striking the ground with surprising force and then whining. Mitsuru wobbled her way back to her feet, and looked at the huddled Weir curiously.
“You…”
The Weir snarled through a jumbled mass of teeth and tongue, holding its frost covered paws out accusatorially.
“What is this? What is it that you’ve done?”
Mitsuru said nothing, standing on the balls of her feet, waiting and ready.
The Weir lumbered forward, moving much slower than it had earlier. As it moved, the sheen of frost that extended across the majority of its arms and torso cracked and bits of ice fell to the ground around it. One paw clutched at its chest while it attempted a sort of shambling run in Mitsuru’s direction, howling in outrage and pain.
Mitsuru stepped to the side almost casually, her wounded leg dragging behind her. She tucked and rolled, then came up firing, emptying her pistol into the side of the Weir as it passed. In some places, the bullets impacted normally, but in other places, the flesh seemed to shatter on impact, leaving behind great cavities that sparkled with pinkish-red ice crystals.
The Weir dropped to its knees, clutching at its wounded side and moaning, its other arm still clutching at its chest.
“Trickery,” it hissed at the advancing Mitsuru, even the slobber at the edges of its jowls frozen and sparkling, “this fight was mine, whore.”
“Was,” Mitsuru said lightly, limping toward the Weir, “maybe. Sure isn’t now.”
The Weir fell forward, catching itself with one paw, and coughing slushy, partially frozen blood onto the ground in front of it. It blinked and tried to look up at Mitsuru as she stood over it, its eyes blinded by a rime of frost that stretched across the tissue, one of the eyelids sticking to the surface of the retina. It hissed something, perhaps it tried to speak, but all it managed to do was expel more of the thick reddish slush from inside its mouth. Mitsuru stood above the Weir, its silver pelt now thoroughly covered with a thick coating of frost.
Anastasia watched as Mitsuru brought down the knife, Alex already fast asleep on the lap of her ruined dress.