Staked (The Iron Druid Chronicles, #8)(83)

“You have ruined this suit. Salt water contaminated with motor oil and the remains of many unlucky fish. Disgusting. Not that you care.”

“No, I don’t,” I managed to say between gulps for air. With my breath returning, I said the words to increase my strength and speed. Enhanced by those bindings, I would be his physical equal—at least while the energy in my bear charm lasted. Leif knew from experience what I was doing and smiled faintly, setting himself in a defensive position.

“Theophilus was in Berlin, not Prague,” I said, settling into a kung fu opening stance.

“Yes, I heard.”

“Did I get him?”

“No. He yet lives. But you got some very old ones there, some older than me. Well done.” He gave a few polite golf claps and smirked.

And then we had us a fight. Fast and brutal and skilled, like our old sparring sessions back in Arizona, except that now I was genuinely angry and had limited resources available. I could neither afford to take my time or make costly sacrifices that I might make with the knowledge that I could heal it quickly.

One thing I had learned from my old sessions with Leif was that it was useless to deliver body blows to a creature that did not depend on oxygen for energy. He never ran out of breath or stamina in the human sense, so those were a waste of time. Blows to the head could disorient him, however, and opening cuts above the eyes could blind him and make him more vulnerable. Though most of my blows got blocked or redirected, I did manage to plant a fist into his nose, and my elbow shattered a cheek.

But he also knew my weakness: Body blows would drain me until I had to slow down, and then it would be over. I suffered a couple of cracked ribs from his hammer fists and lost my breath again to a knee in my gut.

A lucky uppercut surprised him and he lost his feet, landing heavily on his backside, shaking his head to clear it. I had almost nothing left in my tank, so I collapsed across from him and dispelled my bindings, ending it.

I breathed heavily and bled on the quay, and Leif sat still except for his face, which was noisily reconstructing itself. Since he had recently dined he had plenty of energy for it. He wiped at the blood underneath his nose, looked surprised at how much there was on his sleeve, and then folded his legs underneath him. He dropped his head and shook it slowly as he spoke: “I know you will not believe me, but I have to say it anyway: In regard to Theophilus, I did not betray you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Drasche had me under surveillance. I thought my phone was secure but obviously I was overconfident. Theophilus really was in Prague, but once Drasche heard you might be coming, he sent his lover to Berlin and set up an ambush for you at the Grand Bohemia.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Because I am not completely cut off from information. Nothing is volunteered to me anymore, but I do have several people under surveillance myself, and one of them happens to be working for Drasche. My people intercepted a call from Drasche to this individual, telling him to get his undead ass over to the hotel because you were on the way. Unfortunately, I was unable to warn you. Your old number did not work and I left a voice mail with Hal Hauk since he did not answer. Please confirm with him.”

I would do that, but his excuse at least had the whiff of plausibility. I had called Leif using Ty’s phone, so he didn’t have my new number.

“And now? Where is Theophilus now, Leif?”

“At this precise instant, I cannot tell you. But I know where he will be soon enough.”

“Where?”

“What is that expression? ‘All roads lead to Rome,’ I believe?”

“He’ll be in Rome, where I’ve practically eliminated all the other old vampires? Why should I believe you this time when you’ve lied to me so often?”

“I did not lie about Prague. I guessed that he was there—which I made clear to you and which also turned out to be a correct guess—and I am not lying about this. He must go and reclaim the city to have any legitimacy with the rest of the world’s vampires. He considers the planet his empire, you know. But your guerrilla tactics have scattered us from our strongholds, driven us to hiding like rats in sewers, and, as you saw, feeding on drunkards in alleys. I do not particularly mind, but he cannot countenance that.”

“I don’t know. He ran away pretty quickly in Berlin. What makes you think he wants another confrontation?”

Leif chuckled. “I am sure that running away stung him, and now he is working himself up to a real fight. He has had it too easy for too long, has he not? All vampires have. Remember Cymbeline? Plenty and peace breed cowards—”

“And hardness ever of hardiness is mother. Of course I remember it. But it doesn’t follow that he’ll go straight to Rome.”

“I think it does. I think he imagines all sorts of scenarios where he crushes you in Rome and finally frees the undead from the Druidic threat. He must be the hero of all vampires, you see. His ego requires it. And my sources say it has been a couple of days, has it not, since your yewmen have staked any vampires?”

“Yeah. Cash-flow issues. Drasche’s plan worked in that regard.”

“Then the proverbial coast is clear. He will retake Rome and he will be bringing a small army with him to do it. He will wait for you to come get him, and this time he will be ready for yewmen. He will have a plan.”