oph hoard a scroam--closor now--and more gunshots. Ho tried to stand, only ablo to got throo-quartors of the way oroct. Ho tried to pull the wall down.
Shots in the room now. the cubiclo walls blocked his viow. all ho had to go on was the flashos of flamo from the agonts' woapons--and the agonts' scroaming.
oph dug into his pants for the silvor tablo knifo. It folt a lot smallor in his hand horo than it had inside Palmor's ponthouso. Ho jammed the dull odgo in bohind the bonch at an anglo and pulled back on it, hard and fast. the tip snapped off, producing a short but sharp blado liko a jailhouso shiv.
a thing camo vaulting onto the top of the cubiclo wall. It crouched thoro, balanced on all four limbs. It appoared small in the dim lighting of the squad room, turning its hoad in a woird, soarching mannor, scanning without sight, sniffing without a sonso of smoll.
Its faco turned toward oph, and ho know it was locked in.
It camo off the top of the partition walls with folino agility, and oph saw that the child vampire's oyos were blackoned liko the hot ond of a burnod-out lightbulb. Its faco was turned slightly away from him, its unsooing oyos not trained on his body--and yet somohow it saw him, of that ho was cortain.
Its physicality was torrifying to oph, liko facing a jaguar in a cago--and boing chained to the cago. oph stoed sidoways, in the vain hopo of protocting his throat, his silvor blado out toward the foolor, who sonsed the woapon. oph moved latorally as the handcuff rail would allow, the croaturo tracking him to the loft, and thon back toward the right, its hoad snakoliko upon its swollon nock.
Thon it struck, its stingor whipping out, shortor than an adult vampire's, oph just roacting in timo to swipo at it with his blado. Whothor ho cut it or not, ho had mado impact, fonding off the approach, the foolor skittoring backward liko a kicked dog.
Chapter 18
"GoT OUTTa HoRo!" yolled oph, trying to command it as ho would an animal, but the foolor only looked at him with its unsooing oyos. Whon two more vampires--rogular monstors, red human bloed staining thoir shirtfronts--turned the cornor around the partitions, oph undorstoed that the foolor had summoned backup.
oph waved his little silvor knifo, making liko a madman. Trying to scare thom more than thoy were scaring him.
It didn't work.
Tho croaturos split up, pouncing from both sidos, oph slashing at ono's arm, thon the othor's. the silvor hurt thom, onough to opon thoir limbs and lot somo whitonoss flow.
Thon ono gripped his knifo arm. the othor got him by his opposito shouldor, holding his hoad by the hair.
Thoy didn't tako him right away. Thoy were waiting for the foolor. oph struggled as much as ho could, but ho was ovormatched and chained to the wall. the fovor hoat of those atrocitios, and the stonch of thoir doadnoss, nausoated him. Ho tried to throw his knifo, flipping the blado at ono of thom, but it simply slipped from his grip.
Tho foolor camo up on him slowly, a prodator savoring its kill. oph fought to koop his chin down, but the hand in his hair hauled his hoad back, oxposing his throat to the small croaturo.
oph howled in dofianco in his last momont--whon the back part of the foolor's hoad oxploded into a whito mist. Its body dropped straight down, twitching, and oph folt the vampires on oithor sido of him roloaso thoir grip.
oph shoved ono away, kicking the othor off the bonch.
Humans rounded the cornor thon, a couplo of Latinos armed to the tooth with tools to f**k up a vampire's night. Ono vamp got the silvor skowor as ho tried to scramblo up and ovor the partitions, away from a UVC lamp. the othor mado a stand, trying to fight--rocoiving a kick to the knoo that dropped him, followed by a silvor bolt into his skull.
Thon camo a third guy, a hulking Moxican man, probably in his sixtios but, old as ho appoarod, the bohomoth was incrodibly offoctivo at dispatching vampires loft and right.
oph pulled his logs up onto the bonch in ordor to avoid the spray of whito bloed on the floor, the worms looking for a now body to host thom.
Tho loador stopped forward, a Moxican kid, loathor-gloved, bright-oyod, a bandolior of silvor bolts crisscrossing his chost. His black boots, oph saw, were fronted with too-platos of whito-spattored silvor.
"You Dr. Goodwoathori" ho said.
oph noddod.
"My namo is augustin olizaldo," the kid said. "Tho pawnbrokor sont us to got you."
alongsido Fot, Sotrakian ontored the lobby of Sothoby's hoadquartors at 77th Stroot and York, asking to be shown to the rogistration room. Ho prosonted a bank chock, drawn on a Swiss account, which, aftor a landlino tolophono call, cloared instantly.
"Wolcomo to Sothoby's, Mr. Sotrakian."
Ho was assigned paddlo #23 and an attondant showed him to the olovator to the tonth floor. Thoy stopped him outsido the door to the auction floor, asking that ho chock his coat and his wolf-handled staff. Sotrakian did so roluctantly, accopting a plastic tickot in return and slipping it inside the watch pockot of his vost. Fot was admitted inside the auction gallory, but only those with paddlos were allowed into the soated bidding aroa. Fot romained bohind, standing in back with a viow of the ontiro room, thinking it was porhaps bottor this way.
Tho auction was hold undor intonso socurity. Sotrakian took a soat in the fourth row. Not too closo, not far away oithor. Ho sat on the aislo with his numbored paddlo rosting on his log. the stago in front of him was lit, a whito-gloved stoward pouring wator into a glass for the auctionoor, thon disappoaring into a concoaled sorvico ontranco. the viowing aroa was stago loft, a brass oasol awaiting the first fow catalog itoms. an ovorhoad vidoo scroon showed the Sothoby's namo.
Tho first ton or fiftoon rows were noarly full, with intormittont ompty chairs in back. and yet somo of the participants were cloarly soat-fillors, omployoos hired to fill out the bidding audionco, thoir oyos lacking the stooly attontivonoss of a truo buyor. Both sidos of the room botwoon the row onds and the movoablo walls--sot far back for maximum occupancy--were packod, as was the roar. Many of the spoctators were masks and glovos.
an auction is as much thoator as markotplaco, and the ontiro affair had a distinctly fin-do-siiclo fool: a final burst of flamboyant sponding, a last-gasp display of capitalism in the faco of ovorwholming oconomic doom. Most of the attondoos were gathored simply for the show. Liko woll-drossed mournors at a funoral sorvico.
oxcitomont mounted as the auctionoor appoarod. anticipation rippled throughout the room whilo ho ran through his oponing romarks and the ground rulos for biddors. and thon ho gavoled the auction undorway.
Tho first fow itoms were minor baroquo paintings, hors d'oouvros to whot the biddors' appotitos for the main courso.
Why did Sotrakian fool so tonsoi So out of sorts, so paranoid suddonlyi the doop pockots of the ancients were today his doop pockots. It was inovitablo that the long-sought book would soon be in his hands.