Staked (The Iron Druid Chronicles, #8)(75)

I really wished I knew how to tell the older vampires from the younger ones. Cosmetically, they were all frozen at the age they were when they died, and their clothing didn’t give any clues either: They all wore bespoke Italian suits and expensive shoes. I would not be surprised if each vampire’s ensemble was worth a year’s salary to the average worker. And “younger” was a relative term. I thought of it as “younger than Theophilus and myself,” but I had no doubt that every one of those vampires was a few hundred years old. Age equaled prestige in the vampire world, and truly young vampires would not be allowed to accompany Theophilus.

They spoke Italian too—a good clue that this crew had spent at least some time near the vampire power center of Rome, from which the campaign against the Druids had originated millennia ago. So when one vampire seated against the wall and facing the door lifted his nose and said, “Sentite l’odore di quel sangue? E veramente strano,” that was my cue to get the slaughter started, because they had smelled me.

I mentally targeted that vampire and surged forward, coming up behind the seated vamp and plunging the stake down over the back of the chair and into his right shoulder, puncturing the suit and his flesh. He made a short gurgling noise before his body liquefied and squirted in five directions—out his pant legs, his shirtsleeves, and his collar. I repeated the exercise with the vampire next to him and then completed the verbal unbinding on the third, taking out three vampires in a little more than three seconds.

And then, while the rest of the room was figuring out that, hey, maybe something ugly was going on, I staked another two and unbound three more verbally, using a macro-binding and simply changing the target. It was six or seven seconds, therefore, before the back of the room figured out that something was taking them apart and the champion lounging session was over. They all sprang to their feet, in some cases knocking over tables and chairs, and in one specific case throwing a chair in my general direction. It moved fast and I wasn’t expecting it and it took me down, though it did no real damage apart from giving them more time to set themselves in defense. I gave zero f*cks about that: Vampires had no true defense against Druidry, and I was going to thunderdome every single one of them.

I kept re-targeting and unbinding the vampires closest to me. The nearest two lunged in my direction, came apart, and showered me in blood. My camouflage was then useless, because I was silhouetted in red, so I dispelled it and kept unbinding as I climbed to my feet. I’d ended ten vampires in fifteen seconds; perhaps I could get the rest in under a minute.

A whole furniture set sailed through the air at my head, the vampires figuring that if it had worked once, perhaps it would work again. And it did, because dodging that many chairs and tables is impossible.

I crumpled underneath them, making sure to hold on to the stake, and the twenty remaining vampires charged for the exit. Most of them flowed around me, but a pair landed on top of the chairs, pinning me to the floor and allowing the others time to escape. Or at least that was their plan. I targeted each one in turn and unbound them; the weight lifted off me, and their entrails glopped onto the floor. I threw off the chairs just in time to see that there were only five or so vampires remaining in the room: The rest had scarpered off, but one landed on me with his knee in my gut, one hand around my throat and the other pinning down my stake hand. He was strong and would crush my larynx if I let him get comfortable; his nails were already drawing blood. I triggered the unbinding charm on my necklace, imperfect as it was, and let it do its thing: It affected the vampire like a punch to the solar plexus and he wheezed, the strength temporarily gone from his limbs. I wrenched the stake hand free and slammed it into his side beneath the ribs as his buddies scrambled past. He turned into something like melted raspberry gelato right on top of me, and I was so glad that I’d left my jacket with Oberon.

I gasped and coughed to get my breath back, then scrambled to my feet, even though without oxygen my muscles felt like Jell-O. The time I’d spent on the ground had let the vampires crash through the front floor-to-ceiling windows—they didn’t bother with the revolving door—meaning that almost half of them were getting away.

A faintly heard “Shei?e” from behind the bar was my only clue that the human server had survived.

<Atticus? You all right?> Oberon’s voice asked in my head.

Yep! I’ll be back. Take your nap.

Jumping through the jagged portal of glass, I saw that the vampires had split into two groups. One had gone left at a diagonal angle toward the S-Bahn station at Hackescher Markt, and another had gone right toward Monbijou Park and the Spree River.

Considering my low reserves of energy, I hauled off after the group to the right, since chasing them through the park would allow me to reconnect with Gaia and replenish. There was a flower bed, now sad and brown for the winter, surrounding a pedestal with a bust of somebody on top staring with blank bronze eyes at me. The straggling vampire in the back was approaching it as I unbound him. He exploded and covered the statue in gore.

It said CHAMISSO underneath the bust, and I recognized it as I passed. “Hey! Adelbert von Chamisso! ’Sup, Bert?” I’d helped him back in the day to “discover” and classify some flower species. He was a good guy; I didn’t realize he’d been so well thought of in Berlin, and it’s not every botanist who gets a statue made of him. “Sorry about the vampire guts, big guy.”