Engines and werewolves

Chapter 55

I can’t,” Belvia says. “I can’t hold it!”

“Try again.” Marvel’s voice is remarkably steady. “I trust you.”

Oh, rot. Rot rot rot.

Pale blue light gathers one more time, but Belvia doesn’t seem to know how to apply his force to the enormous creature. Bands of light press against the massive head, trying to hold the thing in place, but he’s just not strong enough. Given the size of the thing, it’s like trying to stop a runaway cart full of rocks. It pushes through with ease, moving faster now, right at Marvel.

I should have rotting known this wasn’t going to work.

I run at the hammerhead, igniting my blades and shouting at the top of my lungs. The noise at least distracts it, and it slows, wide snout turning in my direction. It doesn’t change course fast enough, though, and I still catch it in the side, one blade held out in front of me like a lance. The green energy sinks into the hammerhead’s flesh, actinic crackles of magic spidering out along its hide, until my knuckles brush against its skin. Clear, sticky blood wells, coating my fingers.

I’m just about at the middle of the creature, and down around my knees its hundreds of legs are pumping away like pistons. I pull my blade free with another spurt of watery fluid and s***h low, hoping to salvage Andre’s plan. But the legs are chitinous and hard, much tougher than the rubbery skin of the creature, and my Melos blade scrapes and sparks across them without inflicting much damage.

The hammerhead lurches sideways, and I have to jump backward to avoid being slammed aside. I definitely have its attention now, and its segmented body curves in my direction, blunt head straining blindly toward me. The mouth gapes wide enough for me to see two black tongues twisting around each other like wrestling snakes.

Rotting wonderful.

Fire blooms in the darkness, a bolt that whips across the deck and slams into the hammerhead’s side. It barely seems to notice. Another blast impacts near its head, shattering into globs of liquid flame that burn briefly on its thick hide before guttering out. It’s coming faster now, legs churning, and I back away.

“Victoria!” Marvel shouts.

“Keep it moving!” says Andre, hurling another gout of flame.

You’re not rotting helping, I want to say, but I can’t spare the breath. Picking away at something this size is like trying to kill an ox with a slingshot. The heart or the brain, Andre had said. I try to picture the location of both, based on his crude drawings. The heart, back in the center of the body, is buried too deep in the rubbery flesh to get at without carving the thing apart. The brain should be just behind the bulbous hammer-shaped head. So maybe …

Oh, Blessed’s rotting balls. This is going to hurt.

I spare a glance over my shoulder, making sure the ground behind me is clear, and settle into a defensive crouch. The thing is coming at me like a loaded wagon barreling downhill, and a traitorous part of my brain insists that it’s not too late to run away. But I need this—if I’m going to climb Soliton’s hierarchy, get out from under the Butcher and into a position where I might be able to get something done, I need to take risks.

This is definitely a risk.

A moment before it reaches me, I jump, hoping to get clear of its jaws. At the same time, I stab down with both my blades, aiming at the back of the snout, trying to punch through enough rubbery flesh to reach the brain.

It nearly works. I get my blade in, sizzling Melos power slashing through flesh, but the brain must be farther back than I thought. The creature never slows. And my standing jump isn’t quite high enough, because one long black tongue licks out and wraps around my ankle, yanking me down. My blades come free in a spray of clear blood, and for a moment I’m falling. I jam one blade in, right above the creature’s jaws, and twist it so it holds me in place. That keeps the tongue from pulling me in entirely, so its bite closes on my calf, rather than my waist.

Melos armor flares wildly around my leg, green energy forming a nearly solid shell that crackles and spits as it tries to keep the monster’s teeth from my flesh. But this isn’t like deflecting a sword cut or a brief blast of fire. It’s more like trying to hold up a building, and I give a full-throated scream as the magical energy flowing under my skin builds to an unbearable heat. Wisps of smoke rise from my leg where arcs of green lightning strobe across it.

I let the armor fail. I’m not sure it’s even a conscious decision, but I have no choice. In another few seconds, Melos power would sear my leg into ash and blackened bone. The hammerhead’s straining jaws close, and a new, exquisite agony blooms as needle teeth tear into my flesh. There’s a nauseating c***k as the bone breaks, and blood bubbles through the monster’s clenched teeth.

Definitely not the best plan I’ve ever been a part of.

The hammerhead is still moving fast, turning back toward the others. I’m hanging on the front of its head, supported by my mangled leg and the blade driven into its nose. If I let go, then I’ll fall down and be crushed under the thing’s onrushing bulk. If I hang on, I’ll pass out from loss of blood. My vision is already going gray at the edges. So what now, Victoria?

Die, most likely.

I’m not eager to die. And more than that. If I die, I fail. If I die, chong wu will do whatever he wants to vee and everything I’ve worked for will be for nothing. If I die now, I never meant anything to anyone.

The rot with that. I’m not going to let that rotsucker win. Not like this.

I twist my head and spot Marvel and Belvia. My voice is a strangled yell, twisted by pain.

“Get its mouth open!” I wave my free hand, blade humming as it parts the air. “You rotting little coward, just get this thing to open up!”

I’m not sure Belvia understands, but Marvel does. She grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him, hard. His eyes are wide as saucers, but he brings his hands up, focusing his Tartak power. I see the wisps of pale blue energy hover around the hammerhead’s mouth, tentatively at first, then pushing harder as Marvel shakes Belvia again.

The creature’s jaw levers open. I’m sure Belvia wouldn’t be strong enough if it were bearing down, but he’s caught it by surprise, and in a few moments the thing is yawning wide. I purposely don’t look at my leg, catching only a sidelong glimpse of a mess of torn fabric and skin, painted liberally in crimson. Instead, I grab a tooth in my free hand and swing myself forward, into the hammerhead’s mouth.

This is, to put it mildly, completely insane.

The two black tongues writhe around me but don’t grab hold yet, the creature unsure what to make of this development. Pulling my leg free from where it’s still impaled on the hammerhead’s teeth hurts so much I nearly black out, but I cling to consciousness like grim death, crawling toward the back of the thing’s gullet. I plant my boot on the base of its tongue, and push upward, slamming both of my blades into the roof of its mouth. They cut through its palate and slice deep enough, I hope, to reach the brain.

This time, I managed to hit something. The hammerhead wobbles, slewing like a cart with a snapped axle. I stab again and again, ignoring the lash of its tongue against my waist. I feel it when the creature starts to roll, legs losing their coordination and going out from under it. It falls heavily and flips over, sending me crashing against the roof of its mouth, then flips again, ending up on its side. I lie curled inside the monster’s cheek, its tongues twitching and shaking against me, as it slides to a halt.

There follows one of those timeless moments that could be an instant or a thousand years. It’s dark, and warm, and smells of spoiled meat. My leg no longer hurts, but I can’t feel anything below my knee, which I suspect is a bad sign. In spite of the heat of the hammerhead’s bulk all around me, I feel cold, which probably has to do with the rate at which blood is leaving my body.

Now what, Victoria? Going to die now?

This admonition manages to get me wriggling forward. But the hammerhead’s mouth is almost fully closed, and the most I can do is put my hands on its teeth. Prying its jaws apart is beyond my strength, and I can’t even think of trying to resummon my blades.

Rot.

A shudder runs through the hammerhead. For a moment I think it’s going to get back up, and then its jaw levers open. Marvel is standing in the gap, breathing hard, arms trembling.

“Victoria!”

She reaches past the rows of needle teeth and grabs me under the arms. I scrabble weakly, trying to help her, but only push her off balance. She stumbles back, and I end up in her lap as she sits down heavily. I’m soaked with a mix of hammerhead blood and my own, my skin caked and sticky with the stuff, and Marvel frantically brushes it off my face.

“Victoria!” she says. “Hang on. I’m going to find a bandage.”

I almost laugh, because I need a hell of a lot more than a bandage. It comes out as a cough. Some ways off, I hear Belvia shout, and Andre swearing in his own language.

“I have never seen something so crazy,” he says. “Is she all right?”

“Of course she’s not rotting all right!” Marvel shouts. “Get over here and help!”

“I—” Andre says.

Belvia cuts him off. “It’s moving!”

There’s a crunch of twisting metal. I manage to raise my head.

The hammerhead’s dying tumble took it close to the edge of one of the holes in the deck, and Marvel and I are still lying beside it. We’re several yards away from the hole, but the deck beneath us is flaked and pitted with rust. The hammerhead, which had been lying still, begins to thrash, clear fluid spraying wildly from its mouth, legs twitching in uncoordinated spasms.

“Run,” I gasp at Marvel. She won’t let me go.

One of the monster’s mindless tremors lifts it off the deck as its back arches. It slams down with a tremendous crash, hundreds of pounds of flesh hitting the rusty, rotten deck. There’s a scream like a dying giant as a whole section of metal warps under the impact, supports giving way with a rapid pop pop pop. Plates of rust at the edge of the gap flake away, and then the deck beneath me tilts as one end dips toward the abyss.

The hammerhead begins to slide as it thrashes, and its weight pulls the deck down farther. I feel Marvel lose her balance and fall, then start to skid toward the edge. I grab her wrist, but I have no strength, and nothing to hang on to. Metal rasps at my clothes as the deck dips again, becoming a ramp leading into darkness.

Someone is screaming. Possibly me. The hammerhead goes over the edge, flailing aimlessly. I reach out with my free hand, trying to get a grip, but the ragged, rusty deck only shreds the skin on my fingertips. When we reach the gap, I try again, b****y palm grabbing for the edge of the deck. It crumbles in my grip, and we’re falling.

I pull Marvel close, wrapping myself around her, putting every scrap of my energy and will into summoning my Melos armor. Then I close my eyes, knowing it won’t be enough.