The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [100]
Long arms closed on thin air. She was gone.
No, not gone.
The creature jerked its snout around. The woman in black stood behind it now. A smile slashed across her fierce, beautiful face, and a spiked boot kicked out, contacting the thing’s face.
A wet, crunching sound. Grace knew the sound of shattering bones when she heard it.
Silent this time, the creature sailed back through the open window. Then there came the wet thud of something striking the pavement below.
Once again the air blurred, and now the woman stood before Travis and Grace, regarding them with solemn gold eyes.
How the hell did you do that? Grace wanted to say. But it was Travis who spoke first.
“You.” His voice was barely a croak. “I’ve seen you before, watching me. Who are you?”
The woman rested her hands against her hips. She wasn’t even sweating.
“I’m your only hope,” she said.
33.
“Now what?”
Grace peered past the shredded remains of the curtain, into the night outside. Chill autumn air poured through the broken window, but Travis hardly felt it. He was already numb as he gazed at the woman who stood in the center of the room, legs apart, stance ready. She was sharply beautiful, her gold eyes set above proud, coppery cheekbones. But it was not her beauty that held Travis’s gaze. She carried no gun, no knife. All the same, she was deadly. And she had been following him.
“You cannot stay here,” the woman said. “The others will have heard the sound of battle, and the scent of blood will lead them. You must follow me.” Her English was perfect, yet richly stilted, as if studied too well and practiced too carefully.
Grace turned from the window. “Why should we follow you?” Her tone was not accusing. She was simply a scientist, looking for facts on which to base a conclusion.
The woman knelt, touched a pool of blood soaking into the shag carpet, and stood again, her hand now wet and red.
“Because if you stay here, in five minutes this is all that will remain of you.”
Grace nodded and said nothing. The woman moved for the door, her motions sleek, prowling.
“No.” Travis was surprised at the metal in his voice. “That’s not good enough. How are we supposed to trust you? You’ve been following me for days, spying on me, and now you just pop into view like some black-leather Barbara Eden and expect us to follow. We don’t even know who you are.”
“My name is Vani. Now you know.” Then the door opened, and she was gone into the night.
Grace started after her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Travis said.
She met his gaze, her expression hard. “Trying my damnedest to stay alive.”
Grace stepped out the door. Travis glanced at the stiletto still clutched in his hand. The gem in the hilt was dimmer than before, but a faint, bloody light still shone deep in its heart. He swore softly, then followed the others outside.
He saw Grace standing not far away, at the head of the staircase that led down to the parking lot. Someone had switched off the fluorescent lights above the walkway, and the motel was silent, except for—somewhere—the muffled barking of a dog. There was no sign of Vani.
“Where is she?” he whispered.
Grace gazed into the gloom. “I don’t know. She was here a second ago, and then …”
Great. She had led them into danger, exposed them, then ditched them. Maybe saving them back in the room had all been part of her plot to get them out here.
“You know, I really don’t think I—”
—like her much, Travis was going to say. Instead, his words ended in a hiss as the air beside him undulated. She stepped from between two folds of shadow, her garb blending seamlessly with the night.
“Where were you?” he demanded. “And how did you—?”
She held up a hand, silencing him with a sharp motion. “You must not question me, Travis Wilder. There is no time for it. These stairs are not safe. This way.