Maxi, laughing, focused both his flaming guns on the main building. One, two, three white-hot spiraling spheres splattered on the steps, erupting toward the doors. A tall shape tumbled through the flame and down the stairs, rolling back to his feet — Rupert Greeves. He was carrying a gun longer than he was tall, what looked like a wooden-stocked musket but with a massive black ammunition drum above the trigger.
“Maximilien!” Rupert bellowed. “Stand and fight!”
Cyrus inched up.
Maxi was less than fifty yards away, heavy guns dangling from his hands. “Are we hunting elephants, Monsieur Greeves? The Avengels I’ve tilled into earth must weep for you.”
Greeves raised his long gun. Still laughing, Maxi ducked and began running, zigzagging toward the stairs. The gun roared and green turf exploded. Again, and again, and two more craters emptied themselves into the sky. Again, and Maxi’s running legs were swept out from under him.
Giggling, coughing, wheezing like a child tickled sick, Maxi staggered to his feet. Rupert was aiming while jogging. A pair of fireballs spiraled back toward him.
“Cyrus!” Antigone barked. She was still on her hands and knees. “Where do we go?”
The walkway was lined with doors, but Cyrus didn’t know if any of them had exits. Windows. They’d have to jump and hope for the best. He glanced back into the courtyard as Rupert dove into a somersault, a sunburst of white fire licking at his heels. Once more, the huge gun rose to his shoulder. Behind him, just visible through the hazing smoke, another, smaller shape dove from the high, broken window. A bounce, a roll, and it raced to the side of the courtyard.
“Into the room!” Cyrus said, crawling forward. The elephant gun fired, but he didn’t look back again.
Inside, he jumped to his feet, slammed the door, and tried to wedge a chair beneath the knob. It didn’t work.
Antigone was already at the window, leaning out and looking down. “There’s a tree, maybe close enough if we were squirrels and if this window opened wider. It’s high, Cy, and the ground looks pretty rough. I don’t think we can jump.”
Cyrus dropped the chair and ran to the casement. Pushing Antigone to the side, he jumped onto the table and kicked at the window’s hinges. His boots were solid. Aluminum bent and warped and popped. Finally, the window swung wide, slammed against the outside wall, and tore free, dangling awkwardly.
Antigone was right. A straight leap out was their only chance, and it wasn’t a good one. “You first, Tigs,” he said. “Roll when you land.”
The door to the room banged open and Cyrus spun around, grabbing a chair, not sure what he would do with it.
Breathing hard but evenly, Nolan shut the door behind him. His bare arms and white tank top were covered with dust. His eyes were empty. His voice was strangely calm. “Maxi’s up the stairs. Eldridge is dead. Greeves is burning. You should jump.”
The wall shook, and fingers of flame curled in and fisted around the door behind him, tearing it from its frame. Nolan, the door, and blazing heat tumbled across the room.
As Latin books crackled, Maxi stepped into the doorway.
Antigone lunged for the window, but Cyrus pulled her to the floor as Maxi fired again. Searing magnesium flame swirled out the window and into the tree, exploding through the branches.
“No window this time,” the man said, licking his worn smile. “Not again, ma chérie. Mi florita.”
Nolan rolled out from beneath the door and stood. Cold, rigid, he stepped in front of Cyrus and Antigone. His dirty skin was striped with angry veins, and a piece of glass stuck out from the back of his neck.
“Children,” Maxi said. “There is something you are very much wishing to give me.”
A bullet whistled into the room and ceiling plaster shattered. Pumping fireballs over his shoulder, Maxi stepped to the side, leaning his back against the blackened wall. Antigone’s fingers were digging into Cyrus’s arm. She was trying to pull him up. Together, they stood.
“If you do not give it to me”—Maxi shrugged, showing them his tiny teeth—“then there will be much dying. Your brother, your mother, the two of you.” He pointed his four-barreled gun at Nolan. “And this one.”
Nolan took a small step forward. His voice was low, unruffled. “Fight with me, Maximilien. You think you cannot die? Fight with me.” His fists pulsed. Clenched in Nolan’s right hand, Cyrus glimpsed the keys, the unsheathed black tooth protruding between his knuckles.
“Ah …” Maxi’s eyebrows shot up. He brushed back his hair, and his smile grew.
Cyrus’s eyes drifted down from Maxi’s miniature teeth to the thick scar that encircled the man’s neck.
“You are Nikales,” Maxi said. “The little serpent, oldest and most cursed of thieves. I can free you from your curse.”
Without looking, he blasted fire out the door beside him, swiveling his gun around the walkway. Shouts. A scream.
Then he drew a long, slender knife from the small of his back.
Nolan took another step, tense as a coiled snake. “I can kill you, Maxi. I will be the one to pluck the life from your flesh — as easily as picking some low, worm-riddled fruit.”
“Can you?” Maxi asked. “Are you then greater than God, little thief?”
Nolan exploded forward. Latin ashes tumbled and sparked.
Cyrus watched Nolan spit himself on Maxi’s knife. He saw Maxi’s gun rise and Nolan’s toothed fist flash forward. The gun fired too soon. Swallowed in flame, Nolan tumbled across the room, slamming into the wall.
The blast knocked Cyrus to the ground, Antigone gasping beneath him. Singed, hair smoking, Cyrus clattered toward Nolan. The keys were dangling from his limp hand, and his shirt and the skin from his chest and stomach had burned away.
Maxi fired again out the doorway, and then moved forward through the rubble.
“Cy!”
Cyrus heard Maxi step behind him, and he hunched farther forward, trying to hide what he was doing. The key ring was around Nolan’s finger, and it had been crushed in place. Frantic, gritting his teeth and pinning Nolan’s wrist down with his knee, he tugged harder. The knuckle popped, and the key ring slid free.
“Give them to me.” Maxi jerked Cyrus around and clamped his hot hand tight around Cyrus’s neck, crushing veins, nails digging deep into skin. Cyrus tried to twist, he tried to breathe, he heard Antigone scream, and then he felt Patricia grow.
The silver snake, suddenly as thick as his arm, struck straight for Maxi’s face. Shocked, releasing Cyrus, Maxi staggered back, knocking the first strike away. But the snake was still growing. Patricia slid down Cyrus to the ground and reared up after Maxi, chest height, hissing like a monstrous silver cobra, emerald eyes sparkling with wrath. Maxi raised his gun and fired as Patricia struck the barrel, taking the fireball down her wide throat. The snake’s thick body bulged, glowing orange, and then a pillar of fire exploded back out of her mouth and up Maxi’s arm.
Heart racing, Cyrus slid the tooth out between his knuckles as Nolan had done, clenching his fist around it. Selam. Kill me. He knew what had to be done. Maxi’s gun was on the ground and his back was against the wall. With one hand, he was gripping Patricia just beneath the head as she spat and fang-groped for his forearm. With the other, he raised a knife.
Muscles taut with drumming adrenaline, Cyrus threw himself forward, fist raised, focusing on the man’s temple as he swung. He saw Maxi’s eyes turn toward him, surprised. He saw the knife flick through the air, but he didn’t feel the blade graze his scalp and nick his ear. He didn’t hear himself yelling.
Bone crunched.