sound of it. “Go,” he snapped, shoving Blade in the back.
Blade needed no urging. He scrambled up the tiles on the roof, a break in the clouds bathing him in moonlight. Once, a few years ago, his hair would have lit up like a beacon. Now it had dulled to a light brown, and his skin was no longer as pale as marble.
Will followed at his heels in an easy lope, his ears alert to the slightest sound behind them. They’d seen what they came to see. No doubt word of it’d be all over the streets by morning.
Movement ahead caught his eye. A swirl of a black cloak stirring the fog. Will leaped forward and shoved Blade flat, covering him with his body.
“Ooof,” Blade wheezed. He lifted his head. “Thanks, but I’ve already got a wife—”
“Shut up.” Will pressed his hand between the other man’s shoulder blades, coming to a crouch. His gaze raked the fog. There. A metallic chink. Voices in the shadows.
From Blade’s stillness, he’d heard them too.
“Stay here,” Will breathed, close to his ear. “Keep your bloody head down and I’ll check it out.”
“Do I look like I need a friggin’ nursemaid?”
Will shot him a look. Three years ago, no. Blade’d been the most dangerous thing to stalk the night. But his hair and skin color weren’t the only changes in him since he’d started drinking Honoria’s blood.
“You go left,” he finally murmured. Short of tying Blade to the chimney with his belt, there wasn’t much chance of leaving him here.
Both of them faded into the fog. The voices ahead were getting farther away. Will moved like a wraith through the night, the movement rippling his dark wool coat around his hips. Beneath it he wore a heavy leather waistcoat that had been modified with steel inserts, as well as steel caps over his knees. You couldn’t be too careful in a world where a man’s main weapon might be a shiv or a heavy wrench. His loupe virus could heal almost anything, but being knifed still hurt.
Metal clanged and a pair of curses littered the air. Then silence, as though both people froze to see if they’d been heard. Will slowed, creeping across the tiles with one foot placed carefully in front of the other. He knelt low, easing on hands and feet around the edge of a chimney. There was no sign of Blade, but then Blade was even better at this sort of thing than he was.
“You drop that again and Mercury’ll have your head,” someone snapped.
Two figures. Both dressed in black and moving with a footpad’s efficiency. The shorter one picked up something heavy. A hollow metal tube, like the flamethrowers that the Spitfires used.
“Mercury ain’t here, is he?” asked the shorter man, hefting the flamethrower over his shoulder. “And when he hears how well we done, then he’ll be burying us in ale and whores.”
“That’s if the Echelon don’t rip your guts out first,” Blade said pleasantly, materializing out of nowhere.
Shit.
Will leaped forward, even as the two men turned on his master. Despite their bickering, they moved with military efficiency. The shorter one snapped the flamethrower up, just as the other drew his blade. The tube coughed and then bright orange flame spewed through the fog, highlighting the roof and everyone on it.
Blade spun low, sweeping the knife-wielder’s feet out from under him. Will grabbed the barrel of the flamethrower and elbowed the man in the face. There was a satisfying crunch, then his mind registered just how hot the tube was. He dropped it and it rolled toward the edge of the roof, catching in the gutter.
“Just the two of you boys?” Blade taunted, not even bothering to draw a knife. He bent backward, avoiding the swipe of the knife with a gravity-defying movement, before snapping upright.
The man he was facing stiffened. “Frigging bleeders!” He reached into his pocket to press something and then agony screamed through Will’s head.
The sound was like an ice pick to the brain, wiping out all sense of time and place and even connection to his body. He hit the tiles, scrabbling blindly for purchase as he started to slide.
Something hit him hard under the chin, snapping his head back with resounding force. Words sounded, distorting the high-pitched scream, but he couldn’t make any of them out. Then movement blurred at the edge of his vision. Another smashing blow against his cheekbone. Blood splashed over his face, wet and hot.