“Petey, Petey,” she cried.
She wiped something out of her eyes, dust, dirt, sweat, and blinked to focus on her brother. She had shielded most of his body from the falling wall, but a chunk of plaster the size of a backpack lay on his head.
She bit back a sob. She pressed two fingers against his neck and felt a pulse. She could feel his shallow breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, beneath her.
“Help,” she croaked, unsure if she was shouting or whispering, unable to hear for the ringing.
“Someone help us. Someone help us.”
“Save my brother.”
“Save him,” she pleaded, and the plea became a prayer. “Save Sam. Save us all.”
She began to recite from memory a prayer she’d heard once long ago. Her voice was faraway, someone else’s voice.
“St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the devil.” She could feel more than hear her own sobbing, a racking shudder that twisted the words in her throat.
As if in mocking answer to her plea for mercy, a shower of glass and plaster fragments fell around her.
“May God rebuke him, we humbly pray. And do you, O prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God…”
Little Pete stirred and groaned. He moved his head and she could see the deep gash, pushed inward, a cleaver-mark in his head.
“…cast into Hell Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls.”
Someone stood on the rubble above her. She twisted her neck and saw, silhouetted against the high ceiling in a sudden flash of green lightning, a dark face.
“Amen.”
“I’m not exactly an angel, let alone an archangel,” Dekka said in a voice Astrid could only just make out. “But I can get this stuff off you.”
Caine leaped from the wreckage of the building.
He had done it.
He had done it.
Sam was under the tangled debris, buried. Beaten.
But Caine could scarcely enjoy the moment. The pain from the damaged left side of his body was shocking. The dangerous green-white light had fused his shirt to his flesh and the result was beyond any agony he had ever imagined.
He staggered toward the ruined church, trying to make sense of the chaos around him. There was no more gunfire, but there were still screams and cries and snarls. And something else, a series of tiny sonic booms, the crack of a bullwhip. Below that, a bass drum keeping a random beat.
Caine stopped, stared, momentarily forgetting his pain.
On the steps of the town hall a titanic battle raged between Drake and some rough-hewn monster.
Drake cracked his whip hand and fired his pistol.
The monster lunged with clumsy blows that missed again and again as Drake danced around, whipping and whipping and yet not even backing the beast up.
The beast swung and missed Drake by inches. The stony fist slammed one of the limestone pillars in front of the town hall. The pillar cracked and almost shattered. Little stone chips flew.
Caine’s gaze was drawn downward by a snarling, slurring, high-pitched voice.
“Female say Pack Leader stop,” Pack Leader said angrily.
“What?” Caine could make no sense of it till he saw Diana striding up, dark hair flying, eyes furious.
“I told this filthy beast to stop,” Diana said, barely controlled.
“Stop what?” Caine demanded.
“They’re still attacking the kids,” Diana said. “We’ve won. Sam is dead. Call them off, Caine.”
Caine turned his attention back to the battle between Drake and the monster. “They’re coyotes,” Caine said coldly.
Diana flew at him. “You’ve lost your mind, Caine. This has to stop. You’ve won. This has to stop.”
“Or what, Diana? Or what?” Caine demanded. “Go get Lana. I’m hurt. Pack Leader, do what you want.”
“Maybe this is why your mother abandoned you,” Diana said savagely. “Maybe she could see that you weren’t just bad, you were twisted and sick and evil.”
Caine reacted with sudden violence, forgetting his powers and slapping her hard across the face.
Diana tripped backward from the blow and sat down hard on the stone steps.
Caine could see her face with sudden, terrible clarity by the glow of a brilliant column of blinding, green-white light.
That light could have only one source.
The light was like a spear aimed at the sky. It arced upward from the midst of the rubble of the apartment building.
“No,” Caine said.
But the light burned, burned away rubble and debris, all the crushing weight of the collapsed apartment building.
“No,” Caine said, and the light died, snapped off.
Behind him, Drake and Orc carried on their quick-and-slow, nimble-and-heavy, sharp-and-dull battle, but all Caine could see was the blackened, soot-covered, bright-eyed figure who now walked toward him from the rubble.
Caine aimed his hands at the shattered wood and plaster of the church front. He threw his hands toward Sam and a truckload of debris went flying.
Sam raised his hands. Green fire exploded chunks of brick and heavy wooden beams. They burned in midair, turning to cinders before they could hit him.
Dekka raised the debris off Astrid and Little Pete.
But it was no easy thing. Her ability to suspend gravity suspended it under Astrid as well, and she and Little Pete floated up in a spinning galaxy of broken lumber and plaster.
Dekka darted a hand in and yanked Astrid out of the suspension zone. Astrid hit the floor along with Little Pete.