I had no time to rejoice. Mackie’s blade called my name again, found the wall’s end in a squeal of sharp delight, and I bolted. Then, as expected, an explosion of weight hit my back. I cringed reflexively on the ground, but the pinning weight didn’t shift. I couldn’t hear a thing. Lifting my head, I realized there really had been an explosion behind me, and I shifted quickly to climb from under Mackie’s dead weight. Then I turned.
Harlan Tripp stood in the middle of the room, a look of fierce pain stamped beneath his ever-present Stetson. Smoke rose from an archaic conduit, the grocery bag of weapons at his feet. “Go,” he croaked out, voice strained. I frowned even as Mackie stirred at my feet, yet my expression quickly turned to horror as I realized the smoke wasn’t coming from the weapon, but from burning hands as Tripp grasped the barrel tight.
“Let it go!” I yelled, though as Mackie pushed to his hands, I thought, But plug him first!
Tripp shook his head, grimacing. “Can’t.” He blasted Mackie again so he fell flat. More smoke, and Tripp’s hands were suddenly one with the gun, his flesh sliding like molten wax before hardening, the weapon instantly a part of his body. A part, I saw, pulse hammering, that was killing him.
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”
“Go, for fuck’s sake!”
I bolted for the shattered windows, leaping over Mackie’s body. I had to salvage what I could of this, which meant protect my own life…yet I skidded to a stop, one hand on the heavy curtain. The binder. It was flung open on the floor from when the Tulpa’s body hit the desk. “Wait!” I yelled, already running back behind the invisible wall, past Mackie, who was stirring once more.
“Hurry!” Tripp didn’t want to fire again. I couldn’t imagine the agony each shot cost him, and I didn’t want to be the cause of any greater pain. Picking up the binder, I folded it tight to my chest and turned…into Mackie.
My eyes widened at his low, whirring growl. This close, I smelled old sweat overlaying decay, and saw every sinew in his muscular arms tense as his hand squeezed his knife. Behind him, Tripp was shaking his weapon ineffectually, gaze whipping to meet mine, helplessness etched on his brow. His skin had melted beneath the trigger. He couldn’t fire another shot.
Mackie leered, poised like a king cobra, and Tripp shot forward. All accomplished warriors have an awareness when someone is behind them, and Mackie was no different. My own warrior’s nature had me sprinting while he turned, but I wasn’t so fast I didn’t see that slim, deadly blade find a home in Tripp’s chest. It pierced the leather vest, sent a black button flying, then found his skin, and his heart. He fell still, eyes going dead while still on his feet.
Mackie ripped the blade from his body, listing toward me. We both yelped when Tripp miraculously lunged for one last blow, the butt of his gun ripping air to land on Mackie’s temple with a resounding crack. The monster went down again…and I plowed into something as hard as his petrified skull.
“Archer!” Strong hands steadied me and kept me from struggling.
I whirled, tense…and then slumped. “Carlos! Help. Tripp-”
“I smell it,” he said, motioning behind him. “Get her out.”
Fletcher and Milo stepped forward, but I pointed behind me. “No. Get Mackie out.”
Carlos saw instantly what I meant: if I fled, my Olivia Archer identity was forever lost. The Tulpa had been forced from the room before Mackie attacked me, and his bitch, Lindy, had no doubt followed to assist with Skamar. If I disappeared now, leaving the scents of rogue agents and Mackie behind, they’d put all the pieces together and know exactly who I was.
If I stayed, pretended to be an unwitting mortal whose mind had played tricks on her in a moment of stress, I’d still get my shot at the Tulpa. I had a hidden room I could take refuge in, which was a damn good cover for making it out alive. The Tulpa couldn’t say any different; he’d had his hands full upon leaving the office.
Assessing all of this within seconds, Carlos’s next order sent everyone in motion. “Attack.”
They ignored the weaponry in the grocery bag Tripp had dropped, clearly wishing to avoid his fate, and attacked Mackie with their hands, boldly pitting fists against blade-a suicide mission if done one-on-one. Yet together it was an effective example of the power of numbers.
They drove the crazed man from one side of the room to the other, the incessant whining in his throat rising to a pitch only dogs could hear as he was herded away from me. He gave one last desperate lunge-a move I didn’t even note until the men clustered around him formed a wall in front of me.
Then Alex cried out and an entire arm fell to the floor. Mackie squealed in delight, and the others continued punching, though more carefully…which wouldn’t work. Panicked, I whirled as the men lost ground and Mackie inched closer. Lunging for the grocery bag full of weapons, I didn’t care what I withdrew as long as it was lethal.
It was the saber, with its side firearm. Yet, the cluster was too tight, the movements too fast, and I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t hit one of my men. I backed all the way across the room, heels braced against the bookcase behind me, then yelled for them to clear. No one heard. But Tripp, now propped against the far wall, rolled his head, saw the weapon in my hand-one no one else could touch-and my braced stance. Fingers to lips, he let out a piercing whistle, then collapsed into himself.
I caught Gareth’s dazed expression, before Carlos yanked him back. Mackie scented me, spotted me, and lunged in the time it took to blink, and though I was ready, he was halfway across the room before I plugged him. He dropped a foot from the bookshelf and lay still.
“Eat lead, you rancid prick.” I depressed the trigger again…and the fucking thing shorted out. Pissed, I flipped the weapon around and used the flat end-and all my mortal strength-to hammer his skull. This had the surprising effect of reviving him. His head whipped up, bowler hat still perfectly affixed, and he growled.
His leap never reached me. It must have been Carlos who caught him from the side, because they were the first two out the shattered window, the others following, pummeling Mackie like schoolyard bullies in the moonstruck night.
Chest heaving, I ran to watch for a moment, catching only a glimpse of the dervish, a mass of limbs and fury, but one headed away from me, rather than toward. Within seconds the sound faded, leaving me alone with breath arrowing jaggedly from my chest, my mind numbed but whirling. Somehow, despite having been enclosed in a room with both the Tulpa and Mackie, I was also alive.
Adrenaline coursed through me, banging against the thoughts already careening through my head. How to hide what I knew? How to explain what had happened here? How to convince Lindy and the Tulpa that a sole human woman could have made it out of this room alive?
Yet every question fell away when I whirled to spot Tripp’s tortured body propped against the wall, eyes fixed on me. They were bright with the kind of pain that drained rather than sharpened the senses. He hadn’t much longer to live.
Look what he did for you. I crossed to him, tears instantly welling. More than Warren had ever done. And it was so unexpected-a fucking former Shadow! A man raised to both despise mortals and murder the Light. And he lay dying because he’d protected someone who’d once been both.
“Archer…”
“Shh…” I knelt beside him, earning a pained grunt when I accidentally jostled him, but his gaze remained on mine, aware, coherent, and unwavering. His cowboy hat had come off when he fell, and it was the first time I’d seen him without it. It made him appear naked somehow. Dark sweaty hair plastered itself to his skull in thinning strands, and I swept them back before resettling the hat on his head. His hands were still melted around the silver gun’s barrel, still steaming on his lap too, though it looked like the nerves in his palms had finally shorted out. His chest was another story.