The Iron Hunt by Marjorie M. Liu

Author:Marjorie M. Liu
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Tattooing, Fiction, Fantasy, General, Suspense, Occult fiction, Epic, Demonology
ISBN: 9780441016068
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2008-06-24T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

My mother was shot to death. I stopped carrying a gun after that. I had not touched one in five years.

It was a fast attack. A man and woman swept into the cluttered room, one after the other—so quick, little more than a blur in my eyes. I saw blond hair. Windbreakers and jeans. Familiar ruddy faces.

Edik’s Wonder Twins. Blood Mama’s long reach. Made no sense.

The piles of books and paper did not slow their trigger fingers. They started shooting as soon as they came into sight; precise hits, softened by silencers. I got slammed with the first round—felt the impact, no pain. The Wonder Twins seemed unbothered that I stayed on my feet. Their gazes never changed: sharp, intensely focused.

Bullets bounced off my body. One of them nicked the gun-woman in the arm, but she barely faltered. She kept her weapon trained on me, reaching inside her jacket for a second gun when the first ran out of bullets. Drowning me in metal.

It took me less than five seconds to realize I was not their target. Five seconds to get rained on and pounded. Five seconds before I gathered my wits and reached inside my jacket for the knives.

My mother had trained me to use her blades. I sparred with her every day, even when I was hardly as tall as her knees—but it had been five years and all those skills were gone to shit. I had played it easy. Let the boys do the dirty work. And now one day of crap had hammered it home.

Dumb. I was so damn dumb.

I threw the knives. My aim was better with my right hand and the blade skimmed the edge of the woman’s gun arm, shaving off flesh, making her drop the weapon. The other man, victim of my left, was stabbed in the upper thigh. He got off a shot before I reached him. The bullet hit my collarbone. I planted my fist in his face. He fell hard and did not get up.

The woman already had her hand on another gun. I body-slammed her, and we fell down in a pile of books, rolling and grappling. She punched me and I let her; a flamethrower or bazooka would have felt the same. The boys absorbed everything.

I finally pinned her, books and paper cascading out of control. She tried to buck me off, but I dug my fingers into her armpit, pinching a nerve, and she screamed in pain. The boys rumbled in their dreams.

I looked for Jack and Sarai. The old man was gone. No sign of him, though I did not discount the possibility that he was hiding under the table.

Sarai was on the ground, lost in a heap of books. Legs twitching. Covered in blood.

My focus narrowed, my heart thundering in my throat. The woman beneath me started fighting again. I punched her. I hit her so hard, bone crunched, leaving a dent in her cheek the size of my fist. Blood spurted from her nose.

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