Now, it was time to take out Dart. If their fight made any noise, One-eye would assume that Dart and Baldy were winning the tussle, and that Shan would soon be dead.
Interesting, she thought suddenly, that One-eye wanted to take out Ian personally, but had no problem if his lackeys shot her in the back. Things just hadn't changed over the years, had they? Her ancestors had formed the Order of the Jade Circle so that women could learn the ancient martial arts of her people, because they weren't allowed to study at the Shaolin temple, or with any of the martial monks. And now, even after the Jade Circle had proven itself formidable, One-eye dismissed her as unworthy of his personal attention. Amazing.
When Shan stepped back into the hallway, she heard laughter from downstairs. The charade had begun. Charles Fortier, whom she had yet to see, would put on a great show of welcoming Ian and Buckley into his house, all the time worrying about his family, dead or alive, hidden upstairs. And Ian and Buckley had games to play, too. Shan had it easy. Kicking ass was a lot less stressful than word games, in her opinion.
Speaking of thrashings, Ponytail-Dart was certainly due.
Shan strode down the hallway this time, not caring if she made noise. When she got to the door, she knocked lightly on it three times and wrapped her hand around the knob.
Dart moved inside the room. "Who's there?" she whispered from the other side of the door.
Shan didn't answer. Instead, she twisted the doorknob and smashed the door inward, into Dart's face. Dart staggered backward. The woman clutched at her blood-streaked nose with one hand and held a long, curved knife in the other. Shan slipped into the room and maneuvered herself between Dart and the two figures tied to chairs in the middle of the room.
While Dart was still trying to regain her composure, Shan struck with her double snakebites, aiming for Dart's neck. Dart twisted and leaped to the side, already slashing with her evil-looking knife.
Shan whipped her hands out of the way. Not surprisingly, Dart held the weapon like an expert, the hilt gripped tightly in her hand and the blade back, waiting close to her forearm. Dart used the knife like it was an extension of her own fist, and that made her very, very dangerous.
There wasn't much room to fight. A frilly yellow twin bed was pushed up against the far wall, with a matching yellow bookshelf and vanity squeezed against the left wall. With the mother and daughter tied up in the middle of the room, Shan and Dart had very little space to operate. Luckily, thought Shan, Dart seemed to be under orders to keep quiet, too, since she hadn't given the alarm, or even cried out when the door had smashed into her face. Shan glanced at the hostages. Both were still alive, and clearly breathing hard behind their gags. The girl was a tiny thing in a floral nightgown, maybe five years old. The mother, her brown hair hanging disheveled around her face, bled from a long gash along her cheekbone. Dart had clearly gotten bored.
Shan held back, waiting for Dart to make the first move. She eased backward, closing the door as she went. The girl's thick terrycloth robe hung on a hook behind the door. Shan grabbed the robe's wide belt and whipped it away from the robe in one swift motion.
"Interesting," said Dart through clenched teeth, and punched at Shan's face with the knife. Shan stepped to the side and deflected the strike with the belt held taught between her two hands. Dart came back for another slash. Shan sidestepped again, pushed the knife away with her belt, then wrapped one end of the belt around Dart's wrist, trapping it.
Dart still held the knife, but with both of Shan's hands controlling her wrist, she couldn't use it. Shan pulled back hard on the belt and kicked. Dart came stumbling into Shan's foot and took it hard in the stomach.
"Let go of the knife," Shan growled. "I don't want to kill you."
"That's not a choice you get to make," spat Dart.
"I think it is." Shan punctuated her sentence with another kick to Dart's gut. The woman doubled over with a grunt, but kept her grip on the knife. Both of Shan's hands were occupied with the belt, so she had no choice but to continue kicking. This time, she jumped and kicked Dart in the face with her left foot. Dart started to fall backward toward the hostages. Shan yanked on the belt, and Dart jerked forward.
As she was stumbling toward Shan, Dart slid to the ground and scissored her legs around Shan's torso and the back of her knees. Shan tumbled to the ground, her back smashing into the wall. Still, she maintained her grip on the belt. The skin of Dart's wrist was already red and bleeding. From the ground, Dart twisted and smashed the tip of her boot into Shan's ribs. Shan rolled to her feet.
Harnessing her energy, her chi, Shan pulled on either end of the belt with all her strength. She kept her stance low, pulling in the earth's power as well as her own. Dart's shoulder popped out of its socket, and she dropped the knife. Finally.
Dart swallowed her screams. Shan saw the tears of pain well in her eyes. Dart shook them away, cradling her arm against her chest.
"You'll pay for that," Dart seethed.
"Oh, please," Shan said.
Dart's booted foot shot out toward Shan's chest. Shan leaped back, but not in time. A second kick, unbelievably fast, followed and connected with Shan's stomach.
All the air abandoned Shan's body. As she bent over, she saw the curved knife Dart had dropped. Shan knocked it under a dresser with her foot. She had no intention of spending the rest of her life in jail for manslaughter.
Shan's lungs still refused to admit air. She sucked in great mouthfuls as she blocked a flurry of Dart's kicks. All Shan could do was knock the attacks away, trying to dodge. Dart had speed, but she also had power to back it up. Those pointed boots of hers could easily break a rib, or even her skull. Maybe she needed the knife after all.
But soon, almost imperceptibly, Dart started to tire. Kicking took a lot more energy than punching, and the woman had been at it for quite some time. The blink-of-an-eye's difference in speed was all the opening Shan needed.
Dart's next roundhouse kick, intended to sneak around Shan's defenses, landed squarely in Shan's waiting arms. She trapped the kick and moved Dart's leg to the side, giving Shan the opening she wanted. Shan lashed out with her own foot and smashed Dart's dislocated arm against her body.
Dart barely managed to muffle her scream as she fell to the floor and curled her body around her wounded limb. Shan grabbed the discarded belt and quickly looped it around Dart's ankles. She pulled it into a tight knot and headed for the knife. As she bent over to retrieve it from under the dresser, a pain in her chest made her gasp. Shan's free hand pressed against her ribs reflexively. Probably a crack. Something to look at later.
Dart's eyes widened as Shan stood back up, the long knife in her hand.
"Not too scared to use that now that I'm tied up," Dart growled. "How brave."
Shan ignored her. She strode over to the two hostages, her other hand still pressed against her ribs, and cut the ropes binding them to the chairs. The woman pulled the gag out of her mouth and helped her daughter. Shan took the discarded rope and headed back to Dart.
"Roll over and make this easy," Shan said quietly.
"You wish," Dart said, her eyes glinting.
"Not really," said Shan, as she kicked Dart in the shoulder again.
Dart howled. Shan quickly covered Dart's mouth with her hand. When the noise subsided, Shan lifted her hand and spun Dart onto her belly. More carefully than the woman deserved, Shan pulled Dart's wrists behind her back, ignoring the whimpers, and tied them firmly together.
"Etienne? Where is my son?" said Mrs. Fortier from behind Shan.
"You speak English," said Shan, immediately irritated that she had chosen to state the obvious. "He's fine. He's in the attic."
The woman stood and handed Shan her gag. Shan took it and looped it over Dart's head and into her mouth. The five-year-old girl, her face streaked with dried tears, said nothing but stared coldly at Dart.
"And Charles?" the woman said. "My husband?"
"He's downstairs," said Shan. "I'm going for him next. I want you and your daughter safely in the attic first."
The wife nodded. "I don't know who you are, but thank you."
Shan nodded, her insides twisting. None of this would have happened if not for Shan. This family, who knew nothing of the animals or Shan's enemies, had been swept into the fray without their knowledge. Disposable and nameless.
"Let me check the hallway first," said Shan gruffly, grabbing the remaining rope from the girl's chair. She opened the door quietly, not sure what to expect in the hallway. Behind her, the mother comforted her daughter in low tones. Ahead of her, Shan heard a grunt from the bathroom.
"What next?" Shan muttered. She sprinted down the hallway and entered the bathroom. Baldy was just starting to stand, using the toilet to help himself up. Shan took two steps closer and once again struck him in both sides of his neck. Her aim was true. The man's head lolled to the side, and he once again collapsed. This time, however, Shan had rope and a gag.
The trap door to the attic opened just as Shan was leaving the bathroom. She saw Etienne's scrawny legs descending far too quickly.
"Stop," she whispered, wishing desperately that she had learned more French than "Please," "Thank you," and "The pencil of my aunt is blue."
The legs not only stopped descending, but they scrambled back into the attic. Shan hurried over and caught the door just as Etienne was closing it. She met his frightened gaze and smiled.
"Shh," she said, holding a finger to her lips. She pulled the trap door back open slowly, and the boy let her. Mrs. Fortier and the daughter had been waiting at the end of the hallway. They crept forward and joined Shan.
"Etienne!" the little girl said. Mrs. Fortier quickly covered her daughter's mouth with her hand, but she was smiling, too. Etienne, ever the little gentlemen, extended his hand and helped his mother and sister climb into the attic.
"Stay quiet," Shan told them. "Someone will come for you when it's safe." To Etienne, she said simply, "Protect them." She knew he would understand her meaning, even if the words made no sense. That little boy was full of surprises.
Much like Ian, it turned out.
Shan slunk down the staircase to the sounds of full-blown laughter coming from the front room.
"You can't be serious, Ian!" Shan heard a voice say. Charles Fortier, judging from the accent. "I thought most cuneiform tablets were trade related, just 'I'll give you two sheep if you give me ten barrels of oats.'"
"It's true," said Ian, laughing. "That's what made this find so astonishing. You should have seen Dr. Simmons's face when he had to ask me to confirm his translation of the word 'breast.'"
Buckley guffawed. Charles laughed, too, but even from a distance, Shan could sense it was forced, nervous. Who could blame him? Shan found a darkened nook and put her ear against the wall to listen better. Before she found One-eye, she wanted to see what kind of man Charles Fortier had become, living with the dragon for so long.
"But seriously, Ian," Charles began, "you flew across an ocean to get here, with not so much as an email to let me know. What's going on with these animals? Have you found the other three?"
Shan breathed calmly, keeping her heart rate normal, her blood flowing smoothly and evenly through her body. Come on, Ian, she thought.
"Would you believe I'm doing it all for a woman?" laughed Ian.
"I thought Buckley here was that sort--"
"Oh, I am!" Buckley interrupted.
"--but you've always seemed more sensible," Charles continued.
"Makes perfect sense to me," Buckley added.
There was a brief silence, and Shan imagined the look Mr. Fortier must have been leveling at Buckley. "It must be the animals," Fortier said, a hint of desperation in his voice. "Tell me, where did you find the others?"
"I haven't found the others," said Ian. She heard him walk across the room, heard glass clinking on glass. "At least not yet. Though I do have a good idea where the tiger is..."
"Ah!" said Fortier, too quickly. "Where?"
Shan shook her head. Fortier was trying to play One-eye's game. He thought he could save his family by betraying his friends. People never realize that men and women like One-eye lie as often as they breathe. It would make no sense for One-eye to leave the Fortiers alive when this charade was over.
But, at the same time, what wouldn't Shan have done to save her mother? It's a rare judgment that doesn't also reflect the judge, her mother used to say. Why couldn't she have been wrong once in a while?
As Ian started to describe how he had tracked down the jade tiger, Shan slid along the wall, hunting for One-eye. It was time to end this, to let Charles Fortier know that his family was safe.
Ian's story was certainly inventive. Shan could never have woven Tibetan monks and a Mexican fortune-teller into the same tale. Hopefully, it didn't sound too farfetched to her prey. Shan needed to catch him by surprise. If he had recovered from his wounding at the university, he would be dangerous when she fought him. Capable of killing Fortier or Ian or Buckley, if she wasn't fast enough.
Shan sighed. Everything was so much easier when she worked by herself.
Ian's story grew to involve the black market in Cairo. Buckley was interrupting at odd moments, asking for clarifications about the dialect spoken by the monk, or the weather in Cairo over Christmas, or if the fortune-teller's tarot cards were written in English or Spanish.
Shan circled the room. The three men were in what appeared to be a front study or living room just off the foyer containing the stairs up. Shan slunk away from the front door, following the path she'd seen One-eye take earlier. A dark hallway led around the back of the room. At the far end, Shan saw a refrigerator and a sink. On the left, just before the kitchen, was another door, presumably to a dining room. She guessed that One-eye was camped out in there.
"So you have the tiger?" she heard Fortier ask from the study. "Do you have it with you?"