Circus of the Damned - Laurell K. Hamilton [104]
I got out the knife for my left hand. The right was still trembling. I was better right-handed, like most right-handed people, but I practiced left-handed, too—ever since a vampire broke my right arm and using my left had been the only thing that saved me. Nothing like near death to get you to practice.
I crouched on my knees in the tunnel, knife gripped, using my right hand for balance. I would only get one chance at this. I had no illusions about my chances against an athletic man who outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds. If the first rush didn’t work, he’d beat me to a pulp or give me to the lamia. I’d rather be beaten.
I waited in the dark with my knife and prepared to slit someone’s throat. Not pretty when you think of it that way. But necessary, wasn’t it?
He was almost here. The thin penlight looked bright after the darkness. If he shone the light in the direction of my hiding place before he got beside it, I was sunk. Or if he passed close to the left-hand side of the tunnel, and not under me . . . Stop it. The light was almost underneath me. I heard his feet wade through the water, coming closer. He was hugging the right-hand side of the wall, just like I wanted him to.
His pale hair came into sight nearly even with my knees. I moved forward and he turned. His mouth made a little “O” of surprise; then the blade plunged into the side of his neck. Fangs flicked from behind his teeth. The blade snicked on his spine. I grabbed his long hair in my right hand, bowing his neck, and tore the knife out the front of his throat. Blood splashed outward in a surprised shower. The knife and my left hand were slick with it.
He fell to the tunnel floor with a loud splash. I scrambled off the ledge and landed beside his body. The light had rolled into the water, still glowing. I fished it out. Lying almost under Blondie’s hand was the Browning. It was wet, but that didn’t matter. You could shoot most modern guns underwater and they worked fine. That was one of the things that made terrorism so easy.
Blood turned the stream dark. I shone the light back down the tunnel. The lamia was framed in the small light. Her long black hair spilled over her pale upper body. Her breasts were high and prominent with deep, nearly reddish nipples. From the waist down she was ivory-white with zigzags of pale gold. The long belly scales were white speckled with black. She reared on that long, hard tail and flicked her forked tongue at me.
Alejandro stood up behind her, covered in blood but walking, moving. I wanted to shout, “Why don’t you die,” but it wouldn’t help; maybe nothing would help.
The lamia pushed onward down the tunnel. The gun had killed her men with their fangs, Ronald with his snake eyes. I hadn’t tried it on her yet. What did I have to lose?
I kept the light on her pale chest and raised the gun.
“I am immortal. Your little bullets will not harm me.”
“Come a little closer and let’s test the theory,” I said.
She slid towards me, arms moving as if in time with legs. Her whole body moved with the muscular thrusts of the tail. It looked curiously natural.
Alejandro stayed leaning against the wall. He was hurt. Yippee.
I let her get within ten feet; close enough to hit her, far enough away to run like hell if it didn’t work.
The first bullet took her just above the left breast. She staggered. It hit her, but the hole closed like water, smooth and unblemished. She smiled.
I raised the gun, just a little, and fired just above the bridge of her perfect nose. Again she staggered, but the hole didn’t even bleed. It just healed. Normal bullets had about as much effect on vampires.
I put the gun in the shoulder holster, turned, and ran.
A wide crack led off from the main tunnel. I’d have to take off my jacket to squeeze through. The last thing I wanted