western woman in a fancy black cocktail dress and too much gold jewelry watched the scene unfold, her hair braided with jewels, stones, and clasps of platinum and jade. Margot felt the involuntary grin, lips pulling back as her razor teeth extruded a few centimeters, a defensive reaction as a primal as a lion’s roar. She had never met one before, but she knew it by instinct – Anathema. This was no Witch. This was an exiled, heretic Operator, and she could feel the Ether recoil at her very existence.
Margot stood up, putting one hand to her chest to check on the damage. Her hand came away sticky, but the wound had coagulated, and the bleeding was slow and thick. In a minute or two, it would heal completely, without leaving as much as a scar. Just another part of her gone quiet and dead, porcelain-white silicon where there had been flesh and blood. Nothing she wasn’t used to. Nothing that would stop her, or even slow her down. Mixed feelings about Alistair and loneliness for the Academy aside, Margot wanted the job badly. She was going to be an Auditor, no matter whom or what got in her way.
Starting with this lot.
The Weir that had struck her was licking her blood from its jagged talons, a long purple tongue snaking grotesquely through its furred paws. The other two lagged behind, advancing cautiously, one on each side. They looked hungry and eager, which meant that they had underestimated her. Margot charged them, weaving her way between the wooden stands of the vendors and the frantic passersby who could not seem to decide which way to run. She kept her head low and moved as fast as possible, though she wasn’t certain the precaution was merited until the head of a nearby shopper exploded like a wet balloon.
Margot’s eyes narrowed, searching the rooftops automatically for the sniper, hoping to see the light reflect from the scope, but she had no such luck.
It didn’t matter. Margot hit the first Weir running, driving her shoulder into the matted fur of its chest, bowling it over and then stepping on and over it, grabbing the Weir on the right side by its arm and the scruff the neck. The creature bit and spat and clawed, tearing out chunks of the flesh above her ribcage and out of the side of her head, but Margot ignored it, using her momentum to spin the thing sideways, up and over, headfirst into the wall. She did not have time for technique; she just muscled him around and swung like a hammer throw, the crown of its skull breaking right through the cinderblocks, leaving a crater several inches deep. The Weir shook, convulsed, and leaked disgusting fluids from the remnants of its head. The remaining monsters exchanged what was obviously, even on from a Weir, a worried look.
The alley was crowded, and Margot never stopped moving, so she got lucky again – the sniper’s second shot went wide, sinking deep into the new asphalt roadway a second behind Margot. She ducked underneath a broad swipe from the claws of the closest Weir, and then landed a sidekick solidly to the side of the knee. The Weir had not bothered to try to dodge the strike, and she didn’t really blame it – normally, even an Operator could not hope to damage a Weir hand-to-hand. Margot was different, though, as life never failed to remind her. The Weir’s leg bent like a eucalyptus tree in the wind, and the Weir shuddered and cried out. She used the opportunity to close and wrap her hands around the thing’s long, muscular throat, the greasy fur sliding underneath her hands as she squeezed. The Weir convulsed and raked her back with its claws, but she ignored it, pressing her thumbs into the trachea. By the time the last of the Weir had made up its mind to charge, she had collapsed its companion’s throat and was back on her feet.
The Weir moved too fast for her to dodge, so Margot braced for impact instead, but the creature fell limply to the ground in front of her. A split second later, she heard shots and rolled, hoping to evade the
Margot stood up, putting one hand to her chest to check on the damage. Her hand came away sticky, but the wound had coagulated, and the bleeding was slow and thick. In a minute or two, it would heal completely, without leaving as much as a scar. Just another part of her gone quiet and dead, porcelain-white silicon where there had been flesh and blood. Nothing she wasn’t used to. Nothing that would stop her, or even slow her down. Mixed feelings about Alistair and loneliness for the Academy aside, Margot wanted the job badly. She was going to be an Auditor, no matter whom or what got in her way.
Starting with this lot.
The Weir that had struck her was licking her blood from its jagged talons, a long purple tongue snaking grotesquely through its furred paws. The other two lagged behind, advancing cautiously, one on each side. They looked hungry and eager, which meant that they had underestimated her. Margot charged them, weaving her way between the wooden stands of the vendors and the frantic passersby who could not seem to decide which way to run. She kept her head low and moved as fast as possible, though she wasn’t certain the precaution was merited until the head of a nearby shopper exploded like a wet balloon.
Margot’s eyes narrowed, searching the rooftops automatically for the sniper, hoping to see the light reflect from the scope, but she had no such luck.
It didn’t matter. Margot hit the first Weir running, driving her shoulder into the matted fur of its chest, bowling it over and then stepping on and over it, grabbing the Weir on the right side by its arm and the scruff the neck. The creature bit and spat and clawed, tearing out chunks of the flesh above her ribcage and out of the side of her head, but Margot ignored it, using her momentum to spin the thing sideways, up and over, headfirst into the wall. She did not have time for technique; she just muscled him around and swung like a hammer throw, the crown of its skull breaking right through the cinderblocks, leaving a crater several inches deep. The Weir shook, convulsed, and leaked disgusting fluids from the remnants of its head. The remaining monsters exchanged what was obviously, even on from a Weir, a worried look.
The alley was crowded, and Margot never stopped moving, so she got lucky again – the sniper’s second shot went wide, sinking deep into the new asphalt roadway a second behind Margot. She ducked underneath a broad swipe from the claws of the closest Weir, and then landed a sidekick solidly to the side of the knee. The Weir had not bothered to try to dodge the strike, and she didn’t really blame it – normally, even an Operator could not hope to damage a Weir hand-to-hand. Margot was different, though, as life never failed to remind her. The Weir’s leg bent like a eucalyptus tree in the wind, and the Weir shuddered and cried out. She used the opportunity to close and wrap her hands around the thing’s long, muscular throat, the greasy fur sliding underneath her hands as she squeezed. The Weir convulsed and raked her back with its claws, but she ignored it, pressing her thumbs into the trachea. By the time the last of the Weir had made up its mind to charge, she had collapsed its companion’s throat and was back on her feet.
The Weir moved too fast for her to dodge, so Margot braced for impact instead, but the creature fell limply to the ground in front of her. A split second later, she heard shots and rolled, hoping to evade the
Similar Books
