The third floor was one huge space, empty of workers, with gigantic wood pillars that held up the roof system and passed straight through the house, deep into the sand below. The room was vaulted with weathered gray-toned tongue-and-groove boards and big, slow-turning, copper fans, green with verdigris. There were hidden lights in the unpainted rafters and beams that cast quirky shadows. The walls were pale, maybe once painted white. The floor was cedar planks inlaid with darker wood in three places, each in the shape of La Destreza fighting rings. Not modern fighting rings, but octagonal fighting rings like I had seen in books. All the windows were open to the night air, and there were a lot of windows. For the first time I considered the kind of views that every window and the wraparound porch would have by day. Spectacular. I wondered how the house had survived hurricanes and floods. It was amazing.
“I love this room,” Mike said, turning in a circle, as if seeing all the views. She was balanced, rooted, her stance bringing Beast to the surface, turning my attention to the woman. Something about her movements. A dancer? Ice skater? “I could live here forever,” she said.
“I can see why,” Alex said, looking at me. “Dibs?”
I chuckled and shook my head. “No. You can’t claim this room.”
“I can imagine painting in this room,” Mike said, her voice almost dreamy. “Canvases there and there”—she pointed—“to take advantage of the light. It’s amazing by day. Soft and ethereal.”
Despite the claw hammer and oversized tape measure on her belt, Bambi was an artist at heart, and better educated than her rant at the construction workers had indicated. Sadly, the room she was admiring wasn’t for artists or canvases; it was for fighting.
“Could be used for an artist’s atelier,” she said. “Could be a sleeping loft. There are heavy-duty steel screws in rings in all the supports, for backdrop cloths or to hang hammocks.”
The breeze shifted. I caught the scent of lemons, coming through the windows. Three stories up.
CHAPTER 15
Jane Was Sick from Walking through Time
Beast moved.Fastfastfast.Grabbed Alex left-handed and spun-tossed him out of harm’s way. He was still in the air when an object flew through the window. I/we leaped. Beast and Jane in perfect concert. Caught it. Let it swing me around and in the same motion, threw it out a different window. Heard odd popping sounds. Identified the device only after it left my/our hand. Hand grenade. Just outside the window, it exploded. Debris peppered inside the room.
My hand went numb.Spelled?I thought. Alex landed, rolled down the stairs. Shouting. More popping. Gunfire. Bambi/Mike dropped to the floor for cover.
I/we rushed window the grenade came through. Soared out the opening, into the night. And saw Marco dropping toward the roof of the porch below.
Beast is fast. She took over. Twisted in the air, away from the light in the window.
Marco landed on the tin roof. Turned, fast as a blood-servant. A blur in the darkness. He raised a weapon. Fired at the window we’d just left.
Beast landed beside him. Fisted hand. Hit Marco on jaw. Uppercut. All weight and might behind single blow.
Marco snapped back. Fell from roof. To land on sand below.Beast is best hunter!
I/we whipped back. Caught edge of porch roofing. Metal and wood. Extended claws. Caught weight. Swung inside to porch, landing on railing. Man standing there squeaked. Everyone was down on floor. Taking cover.
Thanks,I thought to Beast as she gave me back my body.
I jumped the final distance to the sand and knelt beside the limp form of Marco. He was breathing. I grabbed his arm and rolled him over. Knee at his back. I tried to trap his arms, but my hand didn’t work.
I heard the individual, particular percussion of Eli’s feet on the steps, flat-out run, three stairs at a time. Smelled Eli. A nine-mil and handful of zip strips entered my field of vision.
“Can’t,” I breathed. Holding up my hand and arm.
Marco came back to consciousness and shook himself like a dog. Started fighting again, or trying to. Eli took over and strapped Marco’s wrists together. Not as easy to do as it sounded, with a screaming, punching, crazy blood-servant, one with broken legs from his fall, beneath him. One-handed, I banged his head on the ground, maybe harder than was necessary, to subdue him. Eli strapped his ankles together above his boots with heavy-duty zip strips.
When he was restrained, I removed Marco’s weapons. Everything. Down to the silver stake strapped to his calf.
I sat on Marco, breathing hard. Lip dripping. Blood all over my casual clothes, dang it. “How did he get free? How did he get up to the third floor?”
“My fault,” Derek said, stumbling out of the darkness, the stink of his blood on the air. “I thought we had him contained at the LZ. Son of a bitch got free. Pulled a move I haven’t seen since the military, and faster than shit. Hit me over the head. My guys are down too. Alive, but out.” He sat down hard on the sand, as if he was dizzy. Blood dripped from his nose and the back of his head,and curdled into his collar. With my good hand, I pulled him forward and inspected the wound. “Ow,” he said, jerking away, only to grab his head again, the stink of his nausea acrid on the air.
“Concussion,” I said. A human would have needed stitches and a dark room and concussion protocol. Derek had been drinking powerful vamp blood. He’d likely be fine.
He said, “There are fire escape ladders built in beneath some of the windows. He must have used those. I’ll make sure they come out first thing in the morning.” He cursed, held his head a moment, and lifted a hand to the house and the workers congregated on the porch. “We need lights in the LZ, now!”
In the distance, the sound of rotor blades cut the air. The helicopter was closing in on the unlit landing site. I felt more than saw people rushing out to the landing area. Lights came on. A generator roared, concealing the sound of the helo. Bright lights sliced the night, illuminating the landing site. LZ. Landing zone. Right.
“Alex. You okay?” Eli called.
