And he clonked the shit out of himself. Right on the head.
The blow made him weak in the knees, and after fighting the sag for a moment, he let himself sink down. Bracing himself with his arm, he put a hand to his left temple. Stars. Definitely seeing stars.
In the midst of all his blinking, soft laughter drifted up from behind him. The satisfaction of the sound told him who it was, but he had to look anyway. Glancing under his arm, he saw Lash standing about five feet away. The guy's pale hair was wet, his street clothes sleek, his smile cool.
"You are such a loser."
John refocused on the mat, not really caring that Lash had caught him nailing himself in the brain. The guy had already seen that in class, so there was no new humiliation here.
God... If he could only get his eyes to clear. He shook his head, stretched his neck... and saw another pair of nunchucks on the mat. Had Lash thrown them at him?
"No one likes you, John. Why don't you just leave? Oh, wait. That would mean you couldn't chase after the Brothers. Then what would you do all day?"
The guy's laughter cut off abruptly as a deep voice snarled, "You don't move, blondie, except to breathe."
A huge hand appeared in John's face and he looked up. Zsadist was standing over him. dressed in full war gear.
John grabbed hold of what was in front of him out of reflex and was pulled up easily from the floor.
Zsadist's black eyes were narrow, shimmering with anger. "The bus is ready, so get your shit. I'll meet you outside of the locker room."
John hustled across the mats, thinking that when a male like Zsadist told you to do something, you did it fast. When he got to the door, though, he had to glance back.
Zsadist had Lash around the neck and had lifted the guy off the mat so his feet dangled. The warrior's voice was graveyard cold. "I saw you put him on the ground, and I'd kill you right now for it, except I'm not interested in dealing with your parents. So listen good, boy. You ever do something like that again, I'm going to thumb out your eyes and feed them to you. We clear?"
In response, Lash's mouth worked like a one-way valve.
Air went in. Nothing came out. And then he pissed in his pants.
"I'll take that as a yes." Zsadist dropped him.
John didn't stick around. He ran to the locker room, grabbed his duffel, and was out in the hall a moment later.
Zsadist was waiting for him. "Come on."
John followed the Brother out into the parking lot to the van, all along wondering how he could thank the male. But then Zsadist paused by the bus and all but shoved him inside. Then he boarded the thing himself.
Every one of the trainees cringed back into their seats. Especially when Zsadist unsheathed one of his daggers.
"We sit here," he said to John, pointing the weapon's black blade to the first bench seat.
Yeah, okay. Right. Here is good.
John squeezed up against the window as Zsadist took an apple out of his pocket and lowered himself down.
"We're waiting for one more," Zsadist told the driver. "And John and I will be your last stop."
The doggen bowed low behind the wheel. "Of course, sire. As you wish."
Lash slowly came into the van, the red streak around his throat a stain on his pale skin. When he saw Zsadist, he stumbled.
"You're wasting our time, boy," Zsadist said while sliding the knife under the apple's skin. "Sit your ass down."
Lash did as he was told.
As the van took off, no one said a thing. Especially as the partition closed and they were all locked in the back together.
Zsadist peeled the Granny Smith in one long strip, the skin inching down until it reached the floor of the van. When he was finished, he draped the green ribbon over his knee, then cleaved off a slice of white flesh and held it out to John on the blade. John took the piece with his fingers and ate it while Zsadist cut a hunk for himself and carried it to his mouth on the knife. They alternated until the apple was nothing but a skinny core.
Zsadist took the skin and what was left and threw them in the little trash bag by the partition. Then he wiped the blade on his leathers and started to flip it into the air and catch it. He kept this up the whole ride to town. When they got to the first dropoff, there was a long hesitation after the partition opened. And then two of the guys shuffled by quickly.
Zsadist's black eyes followed them, and he stared hard, as if he were memorizing their faces. And all the time with the blade, up and down, the black metal flashing, the big palm catching it in the same place on the handle after every toss梕ven when he was looking at the guys.
This happened at each stop. Until John and he were alone.
As the partition closed, Zsadist slid the dagger into his chest holster. Then he moved to the seat across the aisle and leaned back against the window, shutting his eyes.
John knew better than to think the male was asleep, because his breathing didn't change and he didn't relax at all. He just didn't want to interact.
John took out his pad and pen. He wrote neatly, folded the paper, and held it in his hand. He had to say thank-you. Even if Zsadist couldn't read, he had to say something.
When the van stopped and the partition opened, John left the paper on Zsadist's seat, not even trying to give it to the warrior. And he made sure he didn't look up as he hit the steps and headed across the road. He did stop on the front lawn to watch the van leave, though, snow falling on his head and shoulders and duffel.
As the bus disappeared into the gathering storm, Zsadist was revealed standing across the street. The Brother flashed the note, holding it up in the air between his first and middle fingers. Then he nodded once, put it in his back pocket, and dematerialized.
John kept staring at the spot where Zsadist had been. Thick bundles of flakes filled up the footprints the male's shitkickers had left.
With a rumble the garage door opened behind him, and the Range Rover reversed its way over. Wellsie put the window down. Her red hair was coiled up high on her head, and she was wearing a black ski parka. The heater inside the car was going full blast, a dull roar almost as loud as the engine.
"Hi, John." She reached out her hand and he laid his palm on hers. "Listen, was that Zsadist I just saw?"
John nodded.
"What was he doing here?"
John dropped his duffel and signed, He rode home on the bus with me.
Wellsie frowned. "I'd like you to stay away from him, okay? He's... not right in a lot of ways. Do you know what I mean?"
Actually, John wasn't so sure about that. Yeah, the guy was enough to make you think fondly of the bogeyman sometimes, but clearly he wasn't all bad.
"Anyway, I'm off to pick up Sarelle. We've run into a snag with the festival and lost all our apples. She and I are going to make the rounds of some spiritual folks, see what we can do about this so close to the date. Do you want to come?"
John shook his head. I don't want to get behind in Tactics.
"Okay." Wellsie smiled at him. "I left you some rice and ginger sauce in the fridge."
Thank you! I'm starved.
"I figured you would be. See you soon."
He waved at her while she backed down the rest of the driveway and took off. As he headed for the house, he noticed absently how the chains Tohr had put on the Rover made sharp gouges in the fresh snow.
Chapter Forty-one
"Stop here." O opened the Explorer's door before the SUV even came to a halt at the base of Thorne Avenue. He angled a quick look up the hill, then shot the Beta behind the wheel a real wake-your-ass-up stare.
"I want you to circle this neighborhood until I call you. Then I want you to come to number twenty-seven. Don't head into the driveway, keep going. There's a corner in the stone wall about fifty yards later. That's where I want you." As the Beta nodded, O snapped, "You f**k this up and I'll put you under the Omega's feet."
He didn't wait for the slayer to throw out some kind of bullshit, have-confidence-in-me babble. He hit the pavement and ran up the road's gradual incline. As he jogged he was a mobile arsenal, his body weighed down by the weapons and explosives he'd hung on himself as if he were a paramilitary Christmas tree.
He went past number twenty-seven's twin pillars and eyed the driveway that disappeared between them. Fifty yards later he was at the juncture of the stucco wall where he'd told the fool Beta to pick him up. He took three running strides and leaped into the air, all Michael Jordan and shit as he went for the top lip of the ten-foot wall.
He closed the distance with no problem, but then his hands made contact. The blast of electricity that shot through his body was a real hair curler. If he'd been human still he'd have been toasted, and even as a slayer, the jolt was enough to leave him breathless as he pulled himself up and then plunged down the other side.