She nodded. Doubtful y.
I turned to Bergman and Sterling just as they were emptying their pockets. They reminded me of a couple of fifth graders comparing treasures. I could almost hear the discussion.
“I’ve beaten this Pokémon game so many times I’m dreaming about it now. I’l trade it to you for that Snickers bar, your free pass to the basketbal game, and the combination to Heidi Neyedmeyer’s locker.”
“Okay, but the Snickers bar’s kinda melty. It’s been in my pocket for, like, three days.”
“No problem.”
“Deal.”
I replaced my Party Line so I could snoop. Their conversation wasn’t nearly as fun as the one I’d imagined.
Bergman was saying, “… stil think the hardest part wil be distracting everybody from what we’re doing. There’s”—
Bergman gestured around helplessly—“no privacy.” Sterling said, “Stickman, if you’re that worried about it, I can toss the ingredients for my special tea into this dude’s pot instead of using mine.” He nudged his elbow toward sel er number seven. “In thirty seconds nobody within a hundred feet wil care if we’re dancing naked on the tables.” Bergman frowned down at himself. “Are we going to want to dance naked… anywhere?”
Sterling chuckled. “I hope not, for my sake. You’re too damn skinny to turn streaker!”
“Everybody stays dressed,” I ordered. “Sterling, keep the goodies stowed. We may need them later. Bergman, relax. Nobody gives a crap what you’re doing as long as you act normal; they’re too busy having their own lives.” Muttering something that sounded like, “If you say so,” Bergman watched Sterling unpack, wel , it looked like a Bergman watched Sterling unpack, wel , it looked like a wooden dandelion. A late-phase one, after the bloom has gone to the spunky white seed that reminded me strongly of my landlady’s Sunday-go-to-meeting wig. Except where the hair made me want to pile drive her into a frozen pond to see if the spikes were as sharp as they looked, the carving was so intricate I wondered if its artist had studied under the guy who’d done Vayl’s cane. Or maybe taught him.
I slapped the cane against my leg, wondering idly if the sword it covered contained any silver, as Sterling nodded at Bergman. “Just like we discussed, now,” he said.
Miles eyed the junction box nearest our position. He took a breath so deep that for a second I could detect his ribs straining against the material of his shirt. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Sterling caught my eye. “Okay, Chil . Whenever you give the word.”
I checked on Vayl. No movement from him or the roofbound Were. “Cole, are you ready?”
“I’m set. Should I take out restaurant boy first?” I considered our options. “Yeah,” I decided. “Do it right before the lights go out. I figure Vayl wil move on him as soon as the funkiness begins, and I don’t want any friendly fire casualties tonight.”
“But…” Bergman lowered his voice. “Can Vayl handle him in his present condition? Especial y if he doesn’t know what we’re up to?”
“It doesn’t matter what year Vayl thinks it is,” I said.
“He’s stil the baddest fighter in this square. Probably on the whole damn continent. He’l be fine.”
Bergman shrugged. I looked from him to Sterling to Kyphas. “Ready?” Each of them nodded.
“Okay,” I said. “Cole downs the Weres. Remember they’l be wounded, not dead, so we may have to deal with a couple of them before we can move in and grab the mage. Sterling, you’re going to be able to immobilize Ahmed before he can put the whammy on us?”
“It’s what I do.”
“Kyphas, are you prepared?”
She pul ed the tahruyt off her head and slid it lovingly through her hands. “Oh, yes.”
I pul ed out my bolo, slipped it into Bergman’s belt, and covered it with his shirt. “Just in case,” I whispered as he pul ed up his sleeve. He glanced down. “Oh!” He went so pale I put out an arm to steady him. He jerked away. “I’m fine!”
I shoved my hand back in my pocket, contacting the poker chips I kept there, imagining that I’d piled them on a green felt table where I could hear the click clack as they slid through my shuffling fingers, constantly revising their positions but never losing their integrity.
I said, “Miles, you and Sterling begin as soon as the Were goes down. Cole?”
“Yes, dear?”
“When you’re ready.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Cole’s shot cracked across the square like the signal for a set of kickass fireworks. The pack leader fel back in his chair, his Luureken and the people at the surrounding tables staring dumbly as they tried to figure out what had happened.
At ground level, a few people looked for fire in the sky.
And they got it. Bergman released four of his missiles at the junction box. They didn’t want to go up, however. They were made to seek the warmth of bodies, and the street below was packed with them. Which was where Sterling’s wooden seedpod came into play.
He whirled it above his head, chanting, “Up draft. Up breeze. Up current. Fly!” The seedpods broke off the stem, formed a carpet of white that sped after the missiles, caught them, carried them high over the heads of the crowd, and slammed them straight into their target.
Sparks flew. Blue threads exploded from them, reached over the screaming crowd and slammed into two more junction boxes, throwing the square into darkness.
Panic, both in the restaurant, where they’d just figured out the man on the floor was bleeding from a massive head wound and his “kid” had been shot as wel , and on the ground, where a fire had started in one of the mobile food stal s when someone accidental y tipped over a pot ful of boiling oil.
I saw Vayl cast his eyes around at the rising chaos before separating himself from cart eleven and heading toward the downed Were. I wanted to fol ow him. But his memory stil rested back with Ahmed.
“Cole?” I asked. In my earpiece I heard another shot.
Then another. He didn’t speak until he’d taken six altogether.
“Three pairs down,” he said professional y. “I’ve got men moving on my position. I’m relocating. If I can, I’l do the rest after I lose these chasers.”
“Roger that,” I replied. We both knew he’d try like hel to even our odds, but time was not our friend.
I tossed Vayl’s cane to my left hand, jerked my right wrist, and felt my staff slide into my palm, its cool handle reminding me to take deeper breaths as it stretched to ful length. Fol owing my lead, Bergman pul ed my knife. He stared at it doubtful y, like he thought it might leap out of his hand and stab him while he wasn’t looking. In the end he took a tighter grip and checked his missiles. Four stil nestled in the sheath he’d created for them. Encouraged, he pul ed out the wal et-sized tracking unit that would al ow us to find Ahmed again.
Sterling watched Kyphas transform her scarf into the flyssa that would, hopeful y, stick to Weres this evening. But he didn’t prepare anything extra for our trip back to the mage. Just fol owed at his easy pace as Bergman led us back to the bil Cole had left with Ahmed earlier.