All of which was less of a problem than when Zheng decided to simply jump over nothing but thin air, which might have been survivable for him but wasn’t for John!
However, they didn’t slam into the ground as he’d expected, but rather into a crosswalk he hadn’t seen because it was a skinny little nothing of a thing, just a few bamboo poles and an occasional cross tie, connecting some buildings three stories above the street.
Magical Hong Kong had grown up as much as out, and considering how clogged the small arteries below were, John couldn’t blame people for finding alternatives means of getting around.
Like, he realized with a sinking stomach, the hundred or more bridges crisscrossing the way ahead. Many of which he got to see up close and personal after Zheng dragged him off the bridge and onto the top of another speeding cab, and they went on a wild journey through a tunnel of bamboo and concrete, whilst constantly dipping and rising because the damned bridges were on all different levels. Even worse, half of them were connected by ladders and stairs, and even a long metal slide John that got a good look at since they missed it by millimeters.
Unlike someone’s clothesline, which they barreled through a moment later, sending a string of laundry streaming out behind them. Or, more accurately, out behind John, because the line had—of course—snagged him. But unlike the banners that had almost garroted him a moment before, at least this one was useful.
He started reeling it in, as best as he could one handed, because the other was keeping a choke hold on the rain slick top of the cab. He managed to locate a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that looked like they might fit, although nobody had been good enough to hang a pair of boots out to dry. But they had left a heavy coat with some waterproofing, which was fortunate. Because John had to throw it over top of him a second later, when they passed a gutter spewing what looked like Niagara Falls!
“Heh,” Zheng said, watching John flail around under his makeshift tarp, trying to get dressed without falling to his death.
John stuck his head out long enough to glare at him. “What?”
Zheng grinned, his good humor apparently restored either by adrenaline—if vampires had such a thing—or by watching John’s contortions. “You adapt well.”
“Do I have a choice?” John snarled.
“No.” And then the rat bastard pushed him off the buggy!
Fortunately, they’d just dipped low to avoid a lady tossing out a bucket of fish guts, and so didn’t have three stories to fall. Just one and a half. They landed hard—at least, John did—on a patch of wet earth on what looked like the edge of a park, with the maze of buildings behind them and a small hill ahead, crowned by a grove of trees.
Zheng immediately bounced back to his feet and scrambled up the water slick grass as if it was dry land. John had a little more trouble, partly because the fall had knocked his breath out and left him gasping. And partly because he’d almost landed on a war mage who had decided that he was a threat.
But Zheng was right—John did adapt well. At least when the choice was do or die. Which is how the war mage ended up with a face full of heavy, water logged coat and John ended up sprinting over the hill with his newfound jeans still around his ankles.
And then he abruptly stopped, wondering if he wouldn’t have been better off on the other side.
He took a moment to snatch his trousers up under the scant shelter of a tree, and to survey what looked even more like a battlefield than the panicked action back in the city.
In a valley beyond the small grove, a battle was being fought fiercely and on every possible side. Windblown spells slashed through clouds of poisonous gasses, sending colorful tendrils clutching at the combatants like clawed hands. Drifts of smoke floated about like low lying clouds, cutting down visibility, as did the smoke and fires raging everywhere. Especially in the distance, where John could see a small pagoda swathed in spell fire. And in front of it—
He stopped, his eyes narrowing in confusion. “What are they doing?”
“You tell me!” Zheng spat, appearing out of nowhere.
The big vampire must have been further down the hill, nearer to the battle, because John hadn’t seen him when he crested the summit. But he was back, and his mercurial emotions had shifted once again. At least, John assumed so, considering that he suddenly found himself flat on the ground, a beefy hand around his neck, and an enraged master looming over him.
“Release me you bloody idiot!” John spat.
The bloody idiot stayed where he was.
“Release me or you’ll regret it!”
“One of us will,” Zheng promised, his hand tightening—just before a stray spell bolt hit him square in the back.
He in turn hit John, when the force of the blow thrust him forward like a fleshy club, trapping the mage under hundreds of pounds of dead weight. Although there was less of it than there had been a second ago. The spell had taken a cannonball sized chuck out of the vampire’s back, and the effect was now spreading further.
Or it was trying to.
John lay there for a moment, stunned from the feel of being bitch slapped by three hundred pounds of vampire, and getting a close-up view of exactly how formidable their healing abilities were. He assumed the effect was exaggerated considering that this was a senator, and therefore had a huge family who could feed him energy through the blood bond. But it was still eye opening.
John had thought he’d seen it all at one point in his life or another, but watching veins reknit themselves, flesh bloom where none had been mere seconds ago, and a spine, white and slippery, rise from the blackened meat of the vamp’s back like a string of islands poking up from the sea . . .
Well, he was grateful that the old wars between Zheng’s kind and humans were long over.
Or they were supposed to be.
But within seconds, while he was still fighting to get out from under, the giant fist clenched shut once more. John did some mental swearing, then tried to cast a spell to pry the damned thing open. When that didn’t work, he resorted to more hands-on sorts of persuasion. Because the Corps didn’t work out like they did in order to throw spells!
John used a combination of several martial arts and a huge reserve of pent up rage to break the creature’s hold, then did his best to also break his jaw. He didn’t think the latter worked—the bastard had bones like solid steel—but he hit hard enough to get a look of surprise out of the vamp. And then another when he managed to throw him off.
Zheng landed on the back that was still attempting to mend, but didn’t so much as flinch. He was on his feet the next instant, but the short fight seemed to have cleared his head. At least enough that he didn’t immediately come after John again.
For a moment, the two men regarded each other warily while the battle raged nearby. John was taking a chance by paying more attention to the vampire than to the several hundred heavily armed combatants below, but he didn’t have a choice. He had to get the man to listen.
“I don’t know what the hell set you off—”
“What set me off?” Zheng waved an arm at the little temple. “That set me off. Are you blind?”
No, and despite the drifts of smoke, John could currently see quite well. The rain had finally let up, although the angry skies bore witness to the fact that this was a temporary respite. What he didn’t understand was what he was seeing. It looked like a couple hundred corpsmen were trying to destroy the picture postcard pagoda, which seemed like a strange target.