Redemption Song (Daniel Faust #2)(91)

“Change your form!” he cried. “You can’t defeat me in that human disguise, girl. I want Faust to see what you really look like. I want you to see the horror in his eyes, the rejection, just like I saw in my wife’s eyes before she died. You’re too weak to defeat me, you were always too weak, but in your true shape you might have a fighting chance. Change your form!”

Caitlin dropped her trench coat to the dust. Underneath she wore an ivory silk blouse, black slacks, and a leather waist-corset lined with silver knives. She plucked two of the blades from their sheaths, holding them overhand, and dropped into a knife-fighter’s stance.

“I decline,” she said. And then the fight was on.





Forty-Four

Sullivan charged at Caitlin, bellowing, but she wasn’t there anymore. She kicked up into the air, cartwheeling, and drove her daggers into Sullivan’s shoulders like a bullfighter. My heart soared—I was sure she had this—and that was when he whipped around, impossibly fast, and grabbed her by the legs. The crowd parted just in time as he hurled her through the air. Caitlin slammed into the wall of the ranch house hard enough to rattle the bricks, a blow that would have snapped a human’s spine, and crumpled to the ground.

My cards leaped from my pocket and riffled into my hand, answering my subconscious call, but I squeezed them tightly and watched. I’d made a promise.

Caitlin rubbed the back of her head, wincing, and Sullivan roared with triumph. He charged her, racing across the hard-packed dirt, but she rolled to the side a split second before impact. He rammed into the wall headfirst and blasted a chunk of brickwork to powder. She stood, swung out, and drove another dagger into his hip. He yanked his head free, still bellowing, and made a wild lunge that carved the air over her head.

Caitlin ran. She dashed away from the buildings, out to the open ground littered with construction supplies and sleeping machines. Sullivan bared his tusks in a bestial grin. The crowd followed cautiously as he raced after her.

“She’s not running away,” I murmured to Emma. “She wants him on open ground. She’s got a plan.”

That was when I realized Emma was gone. I shrugged and jogged along with the rest of the crowd, getting as close to the action as we dared.

Caitlin turned and drew another two blades, mirroring her stance at the start of the fight. Sullivan grunted and chortled, beckoning her over with hungry, grasping claws. She ran and launched into another spinning jump. He saw it coming. Sullivan grabbed her by the legs, spun around, and hurled her away. This time, instead of a wall, she landed on hard-packed earth. I heard the bones in her leg snap.

Caitlin lay helplessly on the ground, clutching her broken leg, tears streaming down her cheeks. She tried to get up, pushing herself on one trembling hand, only to fall down again. Sullivan licked his lips.

He charged, coming at her like a razor-studded freight train. She wouldn’t be able to get out of the way this time. I broke my promise without thinking twice, plucking a card from my deck, getting ready to send it flying.

Then Sullivan disappeared as the ground slid away from under his feet.

He plummeted down into the earth, and the trap he’d charged over—a green oilcloth tarp covered in dirt and rocks, went down with him. The hole was at least eight feet across, and I realized Caitlin had telegraphed her final move on purpose. She’d tricked Sullivan into throwing her clear across the pit, out of harm’s way. It hadn’t been a fight at all. She’d been in control of every move, hers and his.

I ran to the edge. At the bottom of the hole, sharpened spears of metal rebar jutted up from the stony ground. Four of them impaled Sullivan’s twisted flesh. His wounds drooled with black ichor. He groaned, struggling to pull himself free.

Melanie helped Caitlin to her feet. She leaned against the teenager for support, and looked down at Sullivan.

“You see,” she said, “maybe you are stronger than me. But it doesn’t matter, and I’ll tell you why: because I’ve always been smarter than you.”

She raised one weary hand, and the earthmover roared to life. White-hot headlights blazed like the judgment of God as it rolled close with its scoop raised high in the air. I could barely make out the figure of Emma behind the wheel.

Sullivan figured it out a split second before Emma pulled the lever to drop the scoop. He had just enough time to scream. Quarried rock thundered down into the pit, filling it to the brim. When the dust settled, Caitlin stared down at the rubble.

“You’ll make a lovely parking lot,” she murmured.

A cry of raw panic jolted me to attention. Ben. He turned and ran, racing for the ranch house. Caitlin saw him go and pointed.

“Take him!”

I didn’t need to be told. I was already off and running, hot on his heels. I burst through a rickety screen door and into the darkened ranch house, then froze. He’d been just far enough ahead to hide, and with all the construction tools lying around, I needed to be careful. Nothing’s more dangerous than a cornered rat.

The door to one of the bedrooms hung open, swinging ever so slightly on its hinges. I eased my way past a stack of drywall, keeping my eyes on the opening. The room beyond was stripped down for remodeling. Nothing left but a closet, an empty vanity, and a double bed with no sheets on the musty mattress. With no bulb in the overhead fixture, the room swam in shadow.

A card jumped to my fingers, crackling with power.