Chaos Unbound (The Metis Files Book 2) Page 24

  Other than the road I was standing on, dodging motorcycles and scooters, I couldn’t see a single obvious route to take. My head pounded, and my vision kept blurring, but I wandered up the street trying to formulate a plan of action, quickly weaving among pedestrians along the road. Up ahead, a group of frazzled and perturbed people stared, pointing at rooftops. Several people within the crowd were helping others up from the ground, while a few picked up things off the streets. One man in front of a four-story structure cursed and yelled as he stooped to pick up the scattered contents of a box. The half-demon bastard had to have gone through here and up onto the roofs.

  The building’s roofline was the lowest one in the area, but it was still out of my vertical-leaping range. Luckily, I saw a makeshift balcony that was little more than wooden framework that someone had somehow levered out through a large opening in the third-floor façade. I could reach it—I only hoped it didn’t collapse when I grabbed on to it. Making the superhuman jump would draw attention, but I didn’t have time to worry about the audience.

  Running as fast as I could, I leaped and grabbed the balcony, ripping it partly loose from its supports and sending a homemade grill made from an old oil drum cascading to the street below, along with all its ashes. My ungainly gymnastics gave the passersby even more to squawk at as they scrambled to avoid the falling debris. The metal cooking grate barely missed the old man picking up his items, but he got a full shower of ash.

  “Sorry!” I screamed as I pulled myself onto the rickety wooden deck. The last thing I wanted to do was accidentally kill someone while I was trying to save them from the balloon knot.

  I ducked inside the opening and into a dark room, searching for a door and a way up. Frantic, high-pitched screams met me as I walked through the dank, hot room. Some were directed at me, and some came from outside and farther above, giving me hope I wasn’t far behind the Hanner Brid. I found my way through an open door to an even darker passageway lined with garbage, debris, and numerous other doorways—some covered with sheets rather than actual doors. Overhead, a huge bundle of hundreds of wires and cables, many spliced together haphazardly, ran along the ceiling. Everything and anything from belts to string held the dangerous collection in place, and some of the cables crackled and buzzed with electricity.

  The hallway, for lack of a better term, was lit by only a few random dim bulbs hanging from the wires overhead. The place reeked of an odd combination of human waste, rotting garbage, sweat, pungent cooking smells, and other scents that I couldn’t identify.

  If I followed the overhead bundle, I might eventually find a way out or up. Arbitrarily, I chose to head to the right. I kept pushing through the building as fast as I could, narrowly avoiding collisions with residents and several small children playing, eliciting random angry shouts as I dodged around them.

  After several more turns, I finally came to a hole in a wall that opened onto a courtyard of sorts, letting in light from above and allowing people to dump dirty water and trash onto the space below. Screams and angry shouts echoed from the other side of the courtyard. The overhead bundle of wires joined an even larger mass of lines spreading across the vertical space, forming a web of wires and cables that would have made a spider jealous. Old, dried-out paper and trash was draped over them, garbage that hadn’t made the full drop.

  I had time to contemplate neither hygiene nor the safety of using wires of questionable integrity as a support, so I jumped up, grabbed the heaviest wires, pulled myself through them to the next level, then jumped to grab the edge of the lowest roof above. Cables parted as I pushed off, sending sparks everywhere. I managed to avoid getting shocked, although I could feel my hair stand on end.

  I pulled myself up on the roof and quickly spun around, hoping for a glimpse of something—anything. Almost immediately, a figure jumped down to a lower level a hundred yards to my right. I would never catch him in a foot race, especially not across questionable corrugated metal and suspect wooden roofs. Scanning the adjacent roofs, I saw that my circuitous path through the building behind me had actually paralleled the street below.

  I ran back across the building toward the edge overlooking the street and watched the Hanner Brid jump back up to a roof even with mine then continue running at a breakneck pace less than two hundred yards in front of me. For some reason, he was also following the road below.

  I glanced up and down the street, searching for some sort of vehicle. If he was paralleling the road along the rooftops, then maybe I could chase him from down there on something that was faster than I was. Below, someone was riding an ancient racing dirt bike that had seen better days while a young kid duck-walked one of those mopeds that had to be pedaled before it would start. Tough choice.

  I jumped down into a bundle of wires that connected to what probably served as one of the original poles strung by the local power company eons ago. Thousands of wires from every floor of the surrounding buildings met at the pole, and when I hit them, a small jolt of electricity passed through me as some of the smaller wires ripped free, sending sparks flying. Thankfully, dangling like that, I wasn’t grounded, so other than shocks and singed arm hair, I wasn’t at risk for electrocution. That was what I kept telling myself until the motorcyclist came up the street.

  The kid approached faster than I’d expected, but right as I was about to drop the last fifteen feet to the street, a loud buzzing began above me. Then a massive electrical shock surged through my arms when a large number of the wires I clung to ripped free from the pole. I let go before hitting the ground with a thud then stumbled into a flop onto my keister.

  I was alert enough to roll into the middle of the street to avoid the falling wires—most of which were so enmeshed with others at the pole that they never made it to the ground. Sparks rained down, arcing everywhere like a blinding fireworks display. I covered my head, got to my feet, and ran at the guy approaching on the motorbike. My hands and arms alternated between feeling tingly and burning.

  The motorcyclist skidded to a halt, and once again, I found myself feeling bad about throwing some poor guy off his bike. Shoving the kid off without much resistance, I hopped on then popped the clutch and shot off down the street as fast as the old dirt bike could go. If it helped me catch the Hanner Brid, I would buy the kid an expensive motorcycle to replace it.

  I whipped down the crowded street, weaving around people, bicycles, and other motorcycles, keeping my eye on the roofline, hoping to catch sight of the Hanner Brid. I nearly crashed into a pile of garbage and a derelict car left haphazardly in the street, but I kept pushing the old bike until thick, oily black smoke started pouring out from between my legs and the engine began sputtering. I hit the brakes, dumped the bike, and started running, trying to find the quickest way back up to the roof.

  When I spied a two-story building among the taller structures, I jumped. Landing hard in a sloppy crouch on all fours on its roof, I thought the wobbly roof might actually collapse, but rather than wait to find out, I charged for another roofline one story higher right in front of me. I executed the jump better and used an opening in the wall to vault myself up to the next floor. Pulling myself up onto my stomach, I swung my leg up. Pushing to my feet, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Hanner Brid come to an abrupt halt as he watched me emerge less than fifty feet in front of him. A second later, he changed directions and angled to his left.

  I pulled the Glock off my hip and jumped the space between the buildings through which I had just climbed. I was no more than twenty yards behind him, but he was still much faster than I was, and I was already weary. With no other options, I kept charging ahead when he jumped down to a lower level. I made it to the edge of the building as he untucked from his landing roll—then I saw my chance.

  “Freeze!” I screamed between deep, ragged breaths. “I swear, if you make me chase you any longer, I’m gonna dump honey all over your head and jam it into the
biggest ant pile I can find after I’m through with you.”

  He actually stopped less than fifty feet away and slowly raised his hands. “You really think you can catch me?” he shouted over his shoulder. I could even hear his mirthless laugh.

  “You bet, Hopalong,” I replied. “Take one more step, and we’ll see what your brain thinks of all this sunshine.”

  I reluctantly took my eyes off him for half a second to see what the easiest way down might be. It was a gravity special—straight down about fifteen feet onto a corrugated metal roof. Quick but far from ideal. The moment I focused on him again, his body tensed up ever so slightly, telling me he was about to bolt again. I aimed at his head and fired. Twice. He toppled forward in a heap, and I jumped down, paying closer attention to him than where I was going to land.

  I crashed right through the corrugated roof, hit the floor below, and smashed through that one, as well, before eventually stopping with a bone-jarring thud an untold number of floors below.

  At first, all I could do was breathe—painfully—but finally, I willed my fingers and toes into action then checked my arms and legs. All of my limbs were functional, though I hurt everywhere—including my eyelashes. Once I’d opened my eyes, it took me a few seconds to realize I wasn’t staring up at a dark ceiling, but gazing at the night sky.

  “Sonofabitch,” I moaned, trying to pull myself into a seated position.

  Something warm trickled down my forehead, and I reached up to find a tender area that stung when I touched it. My hand came back covered in blood. Nice.

  Tinny voices were screaming from every direction, muted by the metal sheeting that had formed a bit of a cocoon around me as I’d fallen. With the realization that I was okay, my concern shifted to the people who lived in the building. Were they shouting because of what happened or because the collapse had trapped or injured people?

  Examining the destruction I’d created, I was only slightly surprised to see it had spread farther than expected. The first hole up on the roof level was much larger than the second and the third, but the collapsed roofing and floor joists from above all but clogged everything around me. Debris and home furnishings teetered at the edge of the ruined floors above, forming a kind of enclosed pit with me at the bottom. The only way out was straight up, and I couldn’t have made that jump even on my best day.

  I tried to think of a creative way to escape before human rescuers or gang enforcers showed up to save me and ask questions I really didn’t want to answer or maybe simply tried to shoot me. In my slight stupor, I grasped the fact that my gun was still in my hand, then my mind flashed to the Hanner Brid. What a clusterfuck that would be if people found his body with two bullet holes in his head back up on the roof. I should be so lucky.

  I lay back, exhausted. A featureless face in the darkness above was peering down at me from the edge of the hole in the roof. I blinked hard several times, assuming I had a concussion that was causing me to hallucinate. People began pounding on the metal roofing surrounding me, shouting in Portuguese. I had no idea if it was help or an angry mob. I glanced back up and found the featureless head still staring down at me. I couldn’t fathom who it was. Duma? Rescuers? Nightmare above all nightmares—the Hanner Brid himself?

  “Do you require some assistance?” asked a clear, crisp, and familiar male voice.

  “Elegast?” I asked, straining hard trying to identify features on the face glaring at me from the darkness three stories up.

  “At your service.” He saluted. “Shall I lower a rope? Perhaps a harness? Or do you feel capable of making the distance in a jump? Whatever your choice, I suggest you make it with haste.”

  “Rope,” I said, my voice cracking. Perfect. Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

  A rope dropped down next to me. I grabbed the bitter end, formed a simple loop using a sheepshank, put it around me so it wrapped under my arms, then tugged on it to indicate my readiness. My head pounded for the effort, and I felt like a marlin being boated. The feeling sucked.

  Though I expected to see Belphoebe and a host of Dreaich guards on the roof, I was too tired to care. To my complete surprise, the Elf was alone, hoisting me easily. Once I was near the roof, he reached out his hand to me with a wide, easy smile on his perfect face—entirely devoid of any injuries at all. It was dark, but given what I’d done to him at Poveglia, I’d expected him to at least have a bruise somewhere. It’s not fair how fast fae heal.

  “You, uh, look pretty good,” I said as he pulled me out of the hole.

  He was dressed in a khaki safari outfit, minus the pith helmet, and resembled Stewart Granger in one of those old movies about Africa, down to his perfectly coifed blond hair. He had a knife on his belt and a sword strapped to his back.

  “How kind,” he replied. “I wish I could return the compliment, but you look, well, rather like dung. And frankly, we should go.” He glanced down into the crater. “Between the myriad of people heading our way and the acres of metal up here, my comfort level is quite low. Shall we?” He bowed slightly and ushered me with a flourish of his hand.

  “Where’s the body?” I asked, trying to locate the Hanner Brid. “Did you already dispose of it?”

  “What body?”

  Chapter 29

  I bent over the area where I swore I’d shot the Hanner Brid. Twice. In the head. There was absolutely no blood anywhere. I absently rubbed at my forehead, which brought tears to my eyes, and I cringed at the pounding pain in my head.

  “Dammit! He was right here,” I said, gritting my teeth. “I shot him twice. I might have missed once, but I got him at least once in the head, for sure. I was only right there.” I gestured up at the rooftop behind us, no more than fifty feet away. “There’s no way I missed.”

  “I assure you there was no body here when I arrived a short time ago. I really must insist that we leave. Now,” Elegast said.

  I followed Elegast for the better part of an hour in a fog, vacillating between notions of making a run for it and contemplating what had happened on the roof. Since I couldn’t wrap my head around the latter issue, I focused on the former. I decided not to run only because everything hurt way too much and Elegast just didn’t seem to be capturing me. After all, he let me follow rather than prodding me along like a prisoner.

  Our long, circuitous path led us across rooftops, along streets, and through buildings to end up eventually back in the parking lot where I’d come through the Ways. I was tired, and my head hurt. Actually, everything hurt, but the pain in my head stood out. I didn’t know if it was from an injury or the incomprehension. I shot the sonofabitch at least once in the head. I didn’t even find blood, let alone his cold, dead body. Hell, I would have been thrilled with tepid and partly alive. With this guy, I wasn’t going to be picky. Something else bothered me, too.

  “How did you find me?” I asked.

  “You were the last one through that portal, and it led me here,” Elegast replied like it was common knowledge that the Ways worked like that. “Then I simply followed the sounds of catastrophe, which led me to you.”

  “Right. Hey, I know you gotta take me back and all, but that fucker is still out there,” I said, rubbing gingerly at my head and picking the dried blood out of my hair. “The Hanner Brid, you know… the assassin we talked about.”

  Elegast smiled at me with a grin so wide that his annoyingly perfect teeth showed. “We should go,” he said, opening a path through the Ways with a vertical slash of his hand.

  I followed him back into the field near Ŝalinac. Going from hot and humid to cold in a matter of a few steps was a shock, and the sudden climate change didn’t help my head or my mood at all. I saw a dozen Dreaich standing in the field, with two more kneeling at Belphoebe’s side, tending to her as she sat on the ground. I had mixed feelings about her being okay. The guardsmen all watched us, and me in particular, but none
of them really reacted. I felt like a mouse walking through a room full of cats. Half expecting the Dreaich to jump me at any moment, I raised my hands in submission. To my surprise, they ignored me and simply watched their brethren help Belphoebe, leaving me standing there like an idiot with my hands up. I lowered my hands. Did I miss something?

  “It’s okay,” Elegast said with a smirk and a slap on the shoulder. “We aren’t here to take you back to Poveglia.” His chuck on the shoulder was an overdone imitation of human sentiment that mostly served to jar me and make me wince. “Get this man some first aid for his head. He saved your mistress from certain death,” Elegast told the nearest of the guard then continued over to check on Belphoebe.

  For a few moments, I stood dumbfounded, my hands on my hips. Although I could feel my eyes shift around, I didn’t actually see anything while it all sank in. It took me a moment longer to realize I could walk. I took a single step and decided it would probably be best if I sat down. I saw neither hide nor hair of Duma in the clearing, which knowing him, meant he was alive somewhere and probably avoiding this crowd like the plague.

  One of the Dreaich came over and grabbed my head roughly. I jerked away, and he mumbled something in a mellifluous language I didn’t understand. He could have called me an asshole for all I knew, but it sounded nice. When I determined he was actually tending my wounds, I let him examine my head despite the fact he treated it as if it was a bowling ball.

  While the guardsman tended my injuries, Belphoebe got to her feet, walked over, and sat down heavily next to me. Even in the darkness of the wee hours of the night, I could see she was weary—a first in my experience. I always imagined she would be dead for a year before she even appeared sickly.