Last Call at the Nightshade Lounge (26 page)

The double doors to the street were bolted shut, but Bailey was ready. Fists up, she sent another snap of lightning barreling outward, shattering the glass.

She hurled another bolt and struck a heavy industrial light. Even with adrenaline and electricity coursing through every limb, she knew a successful escape meant stalling their pursuers. The light wobbled and smashed into bits that skittered across the floor, a minefield for anyone trying to catch them. All they had to do was get to the doors and—

“Boss!”

A burly barback threw a hook straight for Vincent’s face. Vincent jerked out of the way, giving Bailey just enough time to grab the man’s fuzzy forearm. With a sharp blast, she expelled all her energy. The barback lit up with blue electricity before crumpling unconscious to the ground, the smell of singed hair filling the air.

“Door!” Bailey shouted. Without thinking, Vincent ducked and rolled through the opening and out into the night.

The sky was the deep purple of fresh nightfall and Greektown was starting to bustle. Valets were taking car keys in front of the squat, wide restaurant buildings that sat below boxy high-rises. To the east loomed the Sears Tower, its black facade dotted with yellow windows and its twin antennas glowing like burning magnesium.

Bailey grabbed Vincent and ran toward the parking lot, secluded
on one side by trees and on the others by tall boxy buildings. If shit was going down, they needed to keep a low profile. Plus, there was no way to slip out of sight if they stayed in the open.

“Gavin’s waiting with the car at the park on Adams!” Vincent yelled. “Northwest corner!”

“How did you—”

“You’re not the only one who’s paranoid, kiddo.” He darted between parked cars, Poppy’s leash in one hand and Bailey’s hand in the other. “He’ll get us to the Loop, and I’ll arm up with some booze—”

They were halfway across the lot and no one had come after them yet. It didn’t feel right. Bailey looked over her shoulder just in time. “Boss, duck!”

Ever the unquestioning soldier, Vincent stooped just as a jet of orange flame blasted over their heads. Bailey smelled her own singed hair. Another of Kozlovsky’s staffers was on their tail, and more were pouring out onto the street, no doubt having been served hastily prepared drinks. She couldn’t believe they’d managed to mix them so quickly. “We’re outnumbered,” she said. “They’ll catch us.”

“Like hell!” he said. “Shoot!”

Bailey squeezed her eyes shut as another burst of lightning cracked from her fingertips. The weedy Russian in pursuit threw himself out of its path, but not for long; he soon sped up as he drew more fire around his hands.

“Let her go, Vincent!” someone yelled behind them. Bailey didn’t need to turn around. She recognized the voice and felt a sinking in her gut. It was Zane, and that meant they weren’t just fighting off random strangers; they were up against the Alechemists.

Vincent skidded to a stop.

“Here. Go.” He released Bailey, slipped Poppy’s leash into her hand, and turned to run blindly toward their pursuers.

“
What the fuck are you doing?
” Bailey’s voice burned in her throat
even as she realized she knew the answer: buying her time.

Poppy didn’t hesitate. Yanking on the leash, she dragged Bailey toward the bus stop. When Bailey didn’t follow, Poppy turned, barked, and yanked again more insistently. Still Bailey wouldn’t go.

When she was twelve, Bailey had stumbled upon her dad’s collection of movies about a blind samurai who wandered into a town that needed him to fend off a small army. She’d loved them, but Zane never bought it. “That was great and all,” he’d told her, “but no way could a blind guy kick that much butt.” When she tried to argue that his hearing was enhanced because of the absence of his sight, Zane waved it off. “No one can hear
that
well,” he’d said.

But Vincent could.

He moved like a tiger: forceful, precise. Kozlovsky’s flame-throwing bartender jumped out from behind a parked delivery truck, but Vincent dodged the projectile and then slammed a palm into the guy’s chest, knocking him over with nothing but sheer might. With a
crack
, the bartender bent at the ankle, caught in a storm drain, and Vincent surged toward the Alechemists.

Bailey hurled another lightning bolt, aiming for the ground at the Alechemists’ feet. Bucket was ready, and with the stomp of his boot he summoned a purple bubble-shaped shield of light that absorbed Bailey’s attack amid a crash of sparks. Then, as quickly as it had come, the purple bubble evaporated, and Mona and Zane vaulted forward.

Mona darted in first, moving astonishingly fast.

“No!” Bailey sprinted forward, with Poppy in tow, and shot a bolt in front of her. Not only did Mona dodge it, but her body stretched and distended itself out of harm’s way. She wasn’t moving like liquid; she
was
liquid. Vincent, who’d been relying on hearing a solid target, couldn’t pin her down. He swung but missed, the momentum throwing him completely off balance. Before he could correct himself, Zane landed a blow that sent Vincent flying.

A screwdriver
, Bailey thought. There was no other way Zane’s matchstick frame could put out that kind of power. Bailey was seeing something truly new in Zane. And it was ugly.

As Vincent jumped to his feet, Bailey felt a sharp pain below her ankle. Poppy had nipped her heel. The dog had one instinct—obey—and she strained every fiber of her leash in an effort to carry out Vincent’s order: get Bailey out of the parking-lot battleground.

But unlike the dog, Bailey refused to obey. “Poppy,” she said sharply, “go save Dad.”

The dog seemed to understand. She barely gave Bailey a look before barreling toward her master.

Vincent sprang back not a split second before Zane kicked his leg like an ax. His super strength cracked the concrete, but Vincent was unhurt.

“Playing for keeps, huh?” Vincent said, his head whipping toward the sound.

“You’re done!” Zane shouted. “You’re losing your mind!” He lunged for Vincent, but a growling Poppy jumped up and wrenched her jaws around his outstretched arm. The sudden addition of seventy pounds of dog was enough to throw Zane off course. He ceased his attack, trying to dislodge Poppy. “Ah! Fucking dog!”

“You leave her alone!”
Vincent yelled. “Poppy! Down!”

Obedient as ever, Poppy released Zane, and Bailey took her cue. She flung her fist forward, surging with electricity, but Bucket jumped into her path; instead of hitting Zane, her lightning slammed into the purple force field that erupted in its path. Mona bounded over the top of the shield bubble, her form rippling like a summertime mirage, and aimed her booted feet at Vincent’s chest. The kick sent him staggering backward.

“Three of us and one of you!” said Zane. “Give it up, old man!”

Vincent growled and rolled to his feet as Mona landed hard beside his head. She pulled back her fist, but instead of ramming
forward, her arm warped into an arc. Bailey understood: Mona couldn’t surpass Vincent’s hitting power, but she could use momentum and her liquid form to turn her arm into a whip.

“Boss! Duck!” Vincent tensed in surprise but bent down. As the whiplike punch swept over his head, he dived forward, grabbed Mona by the waist, and pivoted her body. “Go, kiddo!”

Mona’s elongated arm struck Bucket with a slosh. No sooner did Bailey see the splash than she fired a jolt of electricity straight into her rival. The blue-white energy trail shot through both Mona and Bucket, knocking them to the ground; for a single terrifying moment Bailey thought she’d killed them. But they were alive, just flattened and shivering from shock.

Bailey leveled a defiant glare at Zane. “He’s not alone.”

Vincent straightened, breathing hard as Poppy took her place beside Bailey, teeth bared. “You lose, Junior. Let us walk.”

Zane glowered past Vincent at Bailey. She’d never seen his face so full of contempt. “So that’s it, huh?” he shouted to her in a ragged voice. “You really believe all this crazy shit? You’re going to just ignore what the Court says is truth?”

“You don’t need to do the whole monologue thing,” Vincent said.

“Zane,” Bailey said, trying to steady her voice even as her body quaked with the effort to contain a lightning storm. “We’re going now, and you’re not going to stop us. Think about what I said. Or if you don’t want to think about me—I get it, you’re mad—think about Chicago. Think about keeping the city safe. And when you realize—”

“
I was your best friend!
”

“And I’m still yours!” Bailey could see Vincent’s hands tense, but she held him back. “Zane, you have to listen to me—”

“No monologuing for you either, kiddo,” Vincent said. “His ears ain’t open.”

Bailey lowered her arms, a zap traveling up her spine. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“What makes you think I’ll let you do that?” Zane said, stepping forward. Again Poppy bared her teeth.

“It’s us against you, Zane,” Bailey said. “Well, us and Poppy. And I know you won’t hurt a dog.”

“Call her off.” Zane said. “This is between you and me, Bailey.”

“Fat chance,” said Vincent. “The easiest fight to lose is a fair one. You might think you’re a hot-shit bartender, little Whelan, but I know what this girl can do. She’s saved your ass before. I guarantee she won’t hesitate to kick a dent in it this time, either. And she’ll have help.”

Bailey’s first instinct was to protest, but she stopped. Vincent was right. She was ready. She’d worked hard. And she would kick ass, even though it terrified her to think that she could take down her best friend. She steeled herself for the worst.

Zane’s narrow shoulders slumped and Bailey’s heart soared. He’d listen—and they’d stop Garrett and fight off the tremens. Together.

“All right,” Zane said. “I—”

Suddenly a wet
crack
split the air, followed by an inhuman yelp. Poppy collapsed, dead at Vincent’s feet.

Bailey’s hands flew to her mouth. She screamed, but only for a moment. Zane yelped and darted back, his fury instantly replaced by horror.

Vincent roared. “Poppy?
Poppy! You son of a—
” But his hands slapped to his sides, as if he had suddenly turned into a marionette. His boot heels forcibly clicked together. And then he stood tall at attention. His square jaw trembled as it tried to resist the force clamping his mouth shut.

Garrett Whelan stepped into view, one hand outstretched. “I believe this matter has been sufficiently argued in a public forum.” He gestured, and two shot glasses levitated into view, each full of
a glowing purple liquid. “You’ve become an agent of destruction too great for the Court to allow. It will take all night to properly modify the recollections of every civilian your antics have entertained.”

“Uncle Garrett,” Zane said, breathless, “you killed that dog. She—”

“Was being held at your throat like the tip of a rapier,” Garrett said calmly. “You’re my family, Zane. I would do it again, every time.” He stalked forward deliberately, preceded by the floating shot glass. As he swept his arm upward, Vincent’s chin jerkily copied the movement. When Garrett spread his fingers, Vincent’s mouth opened. The oblivinum drifted closer until it hovered just above his lips.

And then, to Bailey’s surprise, Garrett’s demeanor softened. “My deepest apologies that it ever came to this,” he said quietly. “You were a paragon, Vincent. Even in your deepest doldrums, you perched at a height few could reach—even me. But I fear that with a higher height comes a greater fall.
Bibo ergo sum
, old friend.”

The glass tipped its contents into Vincent’s mouth. Bailey saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. Then he pitched forward onto the concrete, lying prone next to the body of his canine best friend.

The flame-throwing bartender and his coworker lumbered up, and between them they were able to lift Vincent’s huge form and drag him back to Kozlovsky’s bar. Garrett watched for a moment before turning his attention to Bailey. “And then there’s the matter of you, Ms. Chen.”

The second shot glass floated forward, but long fingers intercepted it.

“Let me do this,” Zane said. “She’s my friend.” He looked at her with dead eyes. “
Was
.”

“No.” Garrett nodded sharply. “Absolutely n—”

“Uncle Garrett,” Zane said, “you were right. I need to learn to
obey authority.”

Garrett considered his nephew. “And I can entrust that your sense of duty won’t be outweighed by other … obligations?”

Zane nodded.

“Then I deem the matter yours to resolve. You know what you must do.” He turned and trailed after the two bartenders dragging Vincent.

Bailey felt the hold on her release as Garrett walked away, and she almost collapsed. Her breaths came shallow and hard, as if she’d just swum across Lake Michigan. She had to remind herself that Vincent wasn’t dead. Not really. But he’d been fed oblivinum, so he might as well be. The next time he heard her voice, she’d be a stranger to him.

And Zane—the man who’d been her best friend—had let it happen.

Zane set down the shot glass, tore off his coat, and laid it over Poppy’s body. Then he knelt to check on Mona and Bucket. “You’ve gone off the deep fucking end now, Bailey.”

“Did you know?” she said. “Did you know what Garrett was up to?”

“Did I know that my uncle was building a bar and a distillery?” he said, his voice rising. “Yeah. You bet your ass I did. Who do you think he hired to manage it? In fact, you just tasered Apex’s entire senior staff, so good on you. You want a punch card for that?”

“I was trying to help,” Bailey said. “We were trying to save everyone.”

Zane jabbed a finger at the bodies of the other Alechemists. “
Does this look like helping me?
”

Bailey flinched, terrified of Zane for the first time ever. He had a freshly made screwdriver in his system, and her planter’s punch would be good for only another ten minutes. She could never outrun him, and besides, her will to fight was gone.

“Don’t hurt me,” she whispered. “Please.”

Zane pulled back. Bailey wanted to think that he couldn’t believe what he’d done, threatening her like that. But the truth was she didn’t know what to believe. She didn’t know what Zane would or wouldn’t do anymore.