“It’s far from the enemy.”
“Ah. It’s also far from us.”
“Not a problem.” He opened his wings with a rustle of leathery skin.
“Or we could walk,” she suggested quickly. As jaded as New Yorkers were, even they might notice a giant flying bat . . . man.
He shrugged. “As you wish. Shall we take the stairs from this roof?”
“Yeah, but first.” She unslung her small backpack and pulled out one of those ponchos that folded into a tiny ball. They were usually some gaudy neon color, but this one happened to be dark blue. “Put this on. Your shirt’s shredded again from the wings. You’re also bleeding, and—” Her throat was too thick with tears to continue.
He hugged her gently. “It’s all right, Mae. I’m used to it.”
“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Come on, let’s get this on you.” She unfolded the poncho, then helped him pulled the flimsy fabric over his head and down past his waist.
He bent his head to meet her gaze. “Ready?”
She nodded and walked over to eye the rusty knob assembly, saying, “That door’s probably locked, or rusted shut.”
Dragan reached around her and twisted the knob sharply, to the sound of grinding metal. “It’s open.”
“For an ancient warrior, you’re quite the wise guy.”
“Wise guy,” he repeated, as if tasting the words. “I know that expression. We had them in my world, too.” He pulled the door open. “I, however, am not such a one. I merely observed the truth of the door’s opening.”
“Sure you did.” She surprised herself then, by laughing. “Come on, before Nico leaves us behind.”
“That, he would never do,” he said solemnly, and they began the long climb down the fire escape to the street.
THE WALK WASN’T far by Dragan’s standards. He’d walked farther than this many times to reach the goddess’s battlefields, only to immediately fend off her enemies singlehanded. Most people on this world seemed to use vehicles to get around, although the streets of this Manhattan were crowded with people, as well.
He and Maeve walked hand-in-hand, passing many other couples doing the same, as well as groups of younger people laughing and talking, barely seeming to pay attention to where they were going. Oddly enough, their innocence made him feel better about this place.
“There they are,” Maeve said, nodding at their long, black vehicle. She didn’t hurry or point, which was smart. One never knew if the enemy was watching. The car’s back door opened when they were a bare few feet away. “Is that a good sign?” she asked.
Dragan chuckled. “Yes, and there’s Gabriel,” he said, as the front door opened, as well, and his brother stepped out. They wasted no time once he and Maeve were back in the car. Gabriel pulled them smoothly from the curb, building quickly to a speed that had little to do with the crowded streets around them.
“Everything good?” Nico asked glancing over his shoulder to meet Dragan’s gaze.
“Nothing worse than a rusted lock.”
“What about the computer?” he asked Maeve.
“I copied the drive, but there was no time to look at anything.”
“All right. We’re heading straight to the airport. I want to hold off the debrief until we’re back in Florida, so the others can be there.”
“Should we call?” Maeve ventured. “Let them know everyone’s okay?”
“I called Hana,” Gabriel said, speaking for the first time since they’d rejoined the group. “She’ll tell the others.”
She sighed deeply and settled against Dragan’s side. “So the worst part’s done with, I guess.”
“I wish you were right,” Nico said, sounding more tired than he had since their reunion only two nights ago. “But experience tells me this fight will become far bloodier before it’s over.”
SOTIRIS HAD SMELLED his enemy the moment he entered the building. Katsaros’s stench was one he’d never forget. He ignored the guard who walked with him to the elevator. The doors were closed, indicating someone else was using the device, which by itself seemed unusual at this hour. He frowned at the guard, who muttered an apology and inserted a key, which should have overridden any other calls. When the doors remained stubbornly shut, he closed his eyes against the desire to lash out in a burst of destruction, and cast his awareness upward. Katsaros was gone, but he’d lingered long enough to stall Sotiris’s arrival. Probably needing the time to make his escape, or that of his warriors. The coward would never have come alone.
The violation of this home bothered him more than it should. He’d never been attached to any of the places he’d lived. But this one . . . he’d lived here longer than any other in this world, and for the first time, he’d favored one home above the many others he owned. He’d protected it with multiple wards not only on the penthouse floor, but on the building itself. He was furious, but in the end, not shocked that his protections hadn’t been enough. Katsaros was the most formidable power in this world, after him of course, and he knew Sotiris well. If anyone could defeat his wards, it was his old enemy.
They’d already met three times in this world, all three in just the last few years as Katsaros’s warriors had begun freeing themselves. Now that Dragan, too, had escaped, the bastard had all four of his men back. There was a symmetry to that. Their fourth and final battle in this world would be a replay of the war they’d fought in the world of their birth. Once again, Katsaros and all four of his precious warriors would stand against him. And once again, they would be defeated. Permanently this time.
The thought of the hexagon and where it might be at this moment cast a shadow of uncertainty, but he brushed it away, confident that he’d retrieve the damn rock before they met again. If not by force or outright theft, then there were other methods he could use. Blackmail was such an easy weapon when the heart was involved, and he knew exactly what, or whom, Katsaros valued most.
But first, he must deal with the invasion of his home. Perhaps the many spells protecting his workroom had done their job, and he’d find Katsaros’s dead body waiting for him. It was a soothing fantasy as he waited for the elevator to rise.
The penthouse was empty when he stepped through the open doors. Neither of those things surprised him. Why bother to lock doors you’ve gone to such trouble to break through? He stood for a moment, breathing in the scents of his home. Any doubts vanished. Katsaros had been here. Who else could it be? A bitter frown twisted his lips, as he detected another familiar scent. That treasonous girl had been here, too. She’d not only stolen from him, but was now helping his bitterest enemy undermine and destroy him. It had to be her who’d identified this place for them. He’d lived here in one identity or another for as long as this building had existed, and in the building that been on this same land before that, and had never been targeted. Not here. Until now. She’d die for that alone.