The dozen or so barges were shaped like long-necked Viking craft with dragon figureheads.
Gliding along without the aid of oars in the deeper middle of the river, they were as silent in motion as ghost ships.
Armed warriors lined their sides. One thought of shields when envisioning Vikings, but these fighters wore their shields. I would bet the steel-studded wetsuits were fashioned of some impervious blend of materials that made them as supple as second skins and tougher than crocodile hide, chain mail or Kevlar.
The dragon's rear was a dinosaur-size mountain blocking everything ahead, a beaten metal wall of gorgeous scales. Every so often its submerged tail would twitch out of the oily water, splashing the fighters and making their Viking ships wallow wildly.
No wonder this uniform I wore was based on a modern wetsuit. Inside my own impervious body armor, I felt empty and anxious.
I couldn't believe I'd set this awesome force in motion.
I couldn't believe Snow as a dragon-rider, despite his stage shtick, much less as a dragon-raiser.
Some entrepreneur had imported the historical London Bridge to the Arizona desert as a tourist attraction back in the last century, making it a bridge over untroubled sand. The dragon, La Gargouille, though, had been called up from its own ashes. Why was Snow the custodian of such a legendary creature and how could he raise the dead beast?
I shuddered inside my taut leather and steel second skin, wishing I could have worn it for the Brimstone Kiss. Wishing I could slough my real skin like a snake and disown my Brimstone Kiss moments.
Yet, perhaps some events were foreordained.
If I hadn't unknowingly followed Caressa to Las Vegas and finally fulfilled the canceled Kansas interview, I'd never have known about the dragon. According to the legend, a saint had interred the creature's ashes. Was one required to raise it?
That would make Snow a good guy and my crawling skin wasn't about to concede that. The Devil, maybe, had called the monster home after its death in the mortal world and held it in waiting in this New Hell on earth of post-Millennium Revelation Las Vegas.
Snow's true nature didn't matter now, though, only that my conclusions were right: Kephron and Kepherati, the twisted soul sister and brother, held Ric captive and he needed to be rescued as soon as possible. If he was still alive to save.
The silver familiar had quit pretending to be subtle, changing into a scale-armored metal serpent as thick around as a cane. It sped over my body taking the positions of a scout. Once it wrapped itself around my forehead and assumed the position of the Egyptian Uraeus. It seemed to be straining to see ahead.
Grizelle, still in human form, hissed at it like a big cat. "I don't like snakes. Where did you get that bizarre familiar?"
"Why?"
"It creeps me out."
I was almost tempted to tell her the talisman was the spawn of her own master's long white albino locks, but resisted.
Lanky Grizelle looked pretty serpentine herself in the form-fitting black wetsuit with the hood almost matching the rich ebony color of her face. None of her white dreadlocks showed, but they bulked out the back of her skull. The effect reminded me a bit too much of the head of that classic bitch-monster, the creature from the Alien film franchise. She turned that formidable head to glare at me. The serpent swiftly slipped down to coil around my neck and hiss at her.
It had never made a sound before. I stiffened with alarm as much as Grizelle did.
"Does it bite?" she asked.
"I don't know. If it does, it would be better if the bite was venomous. The Egyptians have cobras to command."
"Do they swim?"
"Not that I know of."
Grizelle grinned at the dark oily water pooling around the sides of our craft, which were not wood, but scales, I noticed. Dragon hide?
She tapped one side with a cat-long claw. "Man-made. Metal."
"Did you read my mind just now?"
"No. What would I find there?" Her smile was sharper than her tiger claws. "Some human stew of unpleasant emotions, no doubt. My master is adept at drawing those out."
"Why?"
"His business. As this expedition is not." Disapproval dripped from her tone.
"I'm paying for it."
"Paid," she corrected me. Her green eyes studied mine. "I can't say I understand these human bargains. Unhuman bargains are sealed with blood, not a kiss."
"Then Snow isn't unhuman," I pounced.
"It was your bargain, not his." She was just as quick on the draw as I was at implications. "I don't understand why he'd mount such an aggressive underground force on your say-so."
"Ric-" I began.
"Why should anyone care about him besides you?"
She'd shocked me into silence. At Our Lady of the Lake, we were taught that every human soul was precious. So was every life. Yet, what would still count in these post-Millennium Revelation days?
"Maybe what I want is more important than you think," I told her, lifting my head, and the silver serpent rising to strike in tandem.
She shrugged metal-glinted broad shoulders. What would happen to her wetsuit when she shifted to her white tiger form, I wondered? Her use of the suit implied her human form was vulnerable and so was the tiger, I guessed.
Vulnerable to injury, I reminded myself, not necessarily vulnerable to feeling.
We spoke no more, because the scenery was changing.
The rock walls were lightening to sandstone color and the water, reflecting them, looked muddy brown instead of deepest green-black.
Our river-borne war party was floating into the River Nile and Egypt land beneath the Las Vegas Strip.
The hush that fell over the company as we floated past larger-than-life-size friezes of ancient Egyptian scenes made me release a relieved breath. The extent of the Karnak 's hidden empire was living up to my advance warnings.
Heaving flames from wall-mounted torches along the route made the figures almost seem more real than painted, which made the armed invaders jumpy. I heard the creak of leather bandoliers, the scrape of metal being shifted, the click of firearms being taken off safety settings.
And La Gargouille began unfolding and flexing its huge leathery wings, adding to the thunderous echoes.
After a while, it occurred to me that not all the sounds of forthcoming battle might be coming from our forces.
Somehow Snow slewed the dragon's great head around. "Down!" he shouted in voice that reverberated as if electronically amplified. We all bent our knees and heads, just as the dragon released a fire-hose force of flames that raked the walls on both sides.
The exquisite art melted like crayons, but so did armed and armored Egyptian warriors. Unfortunately, more leaped into life from behind them on the walls.
La Gargouille slowly swung its huge haunches left and then right, driving the ships into the landings on either side so the riders could scramble onto the stones and engage the Egyptians hand-to-hand, spear-to-sword. The swords didn't stop them, and the spraying bullets just jolted the brown bodies pouring out from the walls like fire ants.
The dragon's hot breath was too broad to use with our own forces thick in the fray. It paused as Snow slid down the rough terrain of its scales to stand and fight.
Now the "little dragons" some fighters carried came into play, flame-throwers that fried the ancient figures like insects in a campfire.
The sizzling crackling sound was icky, but I saw a werewolf's hood being ripped away by one set of dark hands even as another drove a spear though the opening. Both Egyptians sank their fangs into either side of his neck as he fell, gulping a swallow of life's blood even as it surged away, and turning to head for me.
I'd jumped to the stones with the rest of my ship's riders. I took the sword Grizelle had given me two-handed and swung it horizontally from one man's broad shoulders to the other's.
Vampires they were, but also the result of unknown ancient Egyptian funerary rites. My blow was as strong as desperation could make it. I wielded my sword like a scythe and reaped two bloody-mouthed heads on the stones at my booted feet.
I don't know whether I was more horrified at destroying what might be ancient historical artifacts or finding it so easy to decapitate vampires.
It didn't matter. Other bodies were pressing against me, pushing me forward, running toward me.
It seemed unfair that our enemies were half-naked and we were swathed from head to toe in modern defensive measures, but seeing some wetsuited figures lying still on the stones with limbs and heads lying nearby in puddles of bright blood cured me of any second thoughts.
So I hacked and charged with the crude weapon I'd been given, my cheeks burning from the nearness of the flame-throwers.
And Ric.
How would we even find Ric in the mass slaughter?
I slipped on a pool of blood and went down, my whole body thudding with the impact. A helmeted Egyptian warrior was near enough for me to see the triumph on his face, in his kohl-lined eyes.
I struggled to get my long blade pointed up and braced to spear him as he dove down to slit my face downward with an axe.
A huge gray shadow slipped between him and me, and brought him down with his throat gushing blood as if a vampire chainsaw had been at him.
"Quicksilver!"
My dog was gone in a flash of fur, werewolf fast and strong, growling and snarling like the pack at Starlight Lodge, chasing his own pack: a trio of the powerful-jawed hyenas. The blood and fur that flew as he overtook the last one convinced me that only death would banish these creatures on their own ground.
I struggled upright just in time to slice off a mummy's wrapped arm. It felt like attacking the halt and the lame. These creatures were dry and sere, as easy to maim as the morning paper. Yet they kept coming, diverting us from the more dangerous vampire warriors.
In time, I only heard the ring of steel on steel, the thud of steel on flesh and bone, I only saw the contrails of blood catching the torchlight as they lashed the stone walls with a fresh wet embroidery of spatter.
The din, the heat, the motion... it was impossible to tell who was friend or foe, but I sensed Grizelle behind me, her long, lithe reach keeping enemies from reaching me even as I slashed and kicked and screamed my way forward, looking for Ric in this dungeon of chaos.
"Why? How? Quicksilver here?" I managed to shout.
She shrugged and elbowed an advancing mummy, then took it apart like a chicken dinner.
"He was on the boss's list."
Snow had somehow brought Quicksilver into this slaughter? As if it didn't matter if I lost my beloved dog too?
My weary sword arm lifted to cut down a pair of warriors, whose fallen forms erupted instantly in sizzling flames from the Inferno fighter bearing a flame-thrower behind me.
These creatures are not alive, I reminded myself again and again. These are undead predators and their zombie flunkies, no more than movie extras. These deaths aren't real, because the victims aren't alive.
But we are.
But maybe Ric still is.
