That probably would have puzzled him more if he wasn’t preoccupied by the wall at the end of the alley.
It was a dead-end.
Hill turned on cornered instinct to bolt back out of the trap. It was too late. The Hounds were already there, broad shoulders and sharp teeth blocking his exit.
“Not bad,” the one with the sharp, bony muzzle growled out. “You got…pretty far, dead rabbit.”
The other one, hairier and bulkier, curled black lips back in a strained-looking smile. “Not far enough.”
They both laughed at that. It looked like Davy had been right about one thing at least; they weren’t bright.
Big, though, he thought as they stalked toward him. The bulky one pulled what looked like a bridle made of wire and bone out of his jacket. It rattled as it dangled from his hand.
Hill clenched his fists and tried to remember all the self-defense classes that Fraser had sent him to over the years.
Exceptthatwasn’t going to do much good, was it? Hill had never been great at taking the lessons from class to…well…most of the time back to class. And that had been against other children. He didn’t fancy his chances against whatever the Company had made into their Hounds.
He backed up, feet scuffing over cracked concrete and gravel, as he tried togiveup.
Why was it sohard? Hill’s mouth twisted around the old, sour reminder as it bubbled up. It was in his DNA to throw in the towel. Why fight that now?
Self-pity wasn’t despair either, it turned out.
Hill took one more step back, and his shoulders hit the wall. He stopped with a little grunt of surprise as if…as if the world might have reshaped itself to suit him. Just this once more. It looked like he only got one of those in a lifetime, though.
He took a deep, unnecessary breath and squeezed his eyes closed. If Davy got to keep his body—he thought, generously under the circumstances—he hoped he did something spectac—
The sharp, sliding whistle cut through what Hill had expected to be his last thoughts. He snapped his eyes open and flinched back from the bridle hung in front of his face. Hard enough that the back of his head hit the wall.
The bit was made of teeth.
Both Hounds had flattened their ears at the sound. They turned and stared at Davy. The confused, in-unison head cock as they tried to make sense of him was so canine it read as cute despite…everything else.
Hill stifled a choked laugh against his fist. His arm brushed the bridle as he raised his hand, and the strung bones clattered against themselves. Amusement faded quickly as he noticed something.
The bit, Hill corrected his earlier thought grimly,was made ofsharpteeth.
The thought made his stomach turn unhappily.
While he absorbed that, Davy grinned at the Hounds and uncurled his tentacles from behind his back. Twelve of them. One of them made what was somehow a clearly rude gesture at the Hounds, while the others lashed out to the sides.
“You fuckers spoil dogs,” Davy said.
He pressed his tentacles against the wall, the tips picking at the mortar and at the texture of the bricks as they crawled upward until they lashed around the rusty bottom step of a fire escape.
Oh.
Hill glanced over at the other wall and saw two tentacles latched onto the struts that propped up the bowed wall of the butcher’s.
Oh!Thatwas the plan.
Davy braced himself and pulled. The long ropes of his tentacles tensed into wiry bands of sinew and muscle, the soft, dappled skin pulled taut. Metal creaked, and brick made a raw,surprisingly organic sound as the nails ripped out of the walls. The fire escape came down first in a rattle and clash of metal, and then the struts gave way with a wet spray of splinters.
Hill dropped to the ground and covered his head with his arms.
Dust and bits of metal stung the back of his neck and exposed arms. The bone-and-tooth bridle hit the ground in front of him, two of the teeth breaking as a brick landed on it.
Without thinking about it, Hill reached and grabbed the strap that would have gone over his head. He meant to throw it away. That was the reason for grabbing it that occurred to him once the warm, wet leather was gripped in his hand, anyhow. He never got around to it, though.
