Angel Town by Lilith Saintcrow Page A

’breed’s tough shell and poison them, weaken them enough so you could tear them to itty-bitty pieces and make the night a fractionally safer place.
    For the umpteenth time that long, long night, relief swamped me. The waves of feeling under my skin were like caffeine jolts, or like some drug that hadn’t been invented yet.
    Thank you, God. My fingers flew, drawing the old clip out, clearing the chamber, racking the new clip, chambering a round. The relief turned into a calm steadiness.
    Now we can do some shit. Oh yeah.
    She drew her left-hand gun again. A howl rose on the exhaust-laden wind, and sirens began baying in the distance. The ruby at her forehead gave a sharp glitter, and I saw old yellow-green bruising on the side of her neck. “Stay low. You hear me, Kismet? No heroics. Stay low, follow Theron, and I’ll do the rest. And Jill?”
    “Yeah?” My throat was full. The buzz inside my head crested, threatening to shake me. Her territory was over the mountains, why was she here?
    I said goodbye to her once. And she promised to do…something. What? What was it?
    “If you become a liability, I’ll put you down myself.” She was braced for action, I realized. As if I was the enemy.
    Or as if I was a question mark.
    That was new, and unwelcome. We were hunters, she and I. It’s a bond deeper than blood, and there are no lies told or implied, no quarter asked or given. Why would she even say that?
    My right wrist ached, and I had a sudden, very bad feeling about all this. But the first wave of hellbreed had massed and moved out into the streetlamp glow, civilians were screaming, and Theron arrived right next to me, his hand curling around my left arm again. Devi let out a short sharp breath, and every inch of silver on her ran with blue light.
    “Time to go,” Theron said, and the race was on.

12
     
    R amshackle frame houses slumped in a jam-packed neighborhood deep in the barrio’s seethe. The street here was maybe paved once, but patches of dirt rose up through the ancient concrete-like mange. Chain-link fences enclosed haphazard, yellow-grassed, postage-stamp yards, and patches of sidewalk here and there were linked together with dusty boardwalks that looked ancient as the Mayflower . Everything looked deserted, but I would have bet my roll of stolen cash and my gun that there were eyes on us.
    I leaned against Theron, my stomach empty and a hot weight of bile rising in my throat. “Fuuuuck,” I whispered, drawing the single syllable out, and Anya Devi laughed, a sarcastic bark. Her coat was flayed by hellbreed claws, her hair was scorched, and her eyes were alight. Dried blood crusted her hair and her cheek, and thin blue lines of healing sorcery sank into her skin, pulsing through her aura.
    I’d wanted to help apply the sorcery, since God knew I had enough etheric force humming through my right hand. But she’d shied away. Just like I’d twitched away from Perry.
    I didn’t know if I liked that.
    She was braced against a graffiti-scarred storefront, leaning forward, elbows on her bent knees while her sides heaved. Her breathing evened out, and she shook her head, silver chiming. “They want you bad , sweetheart. That’s a good sign.” She checked the street. “We’re clear. Theron?”
    He ran his free hand back through wildly mussed dark hair. The bruises were getting better, but the circles under his eyes were so dark they looked painted on. His shirt flapped low on his right side, crusted with blood, but he was moving all right. “I could use a burrito. And a good stiff drink wouldn’t go amiss either.”
    “In a few minutes. Jill?”
    I wiggled my left toes. I’d somehow lost a sneaker, and my sock was torn up and filthy. I wasn’t bleeding very badly. Everything on me ached, but the wounds just closed up on their own each time the gem sent another hard, high burst of singing rattles through me. It felt like a jet plane just before takeoff. “Food sounds good.” Booze sounds