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wasn’t wearing her chains since this was supposed to be a secret, bloodless run. That meant her odds of being wounded were higher, but she’d recover.
So will I. And we’re far enough from our hideout that an attack here won’t draw them to us.
    Jael nodded and gestured, hoping she could figure out his meaning.
We have to get ahead of them. We missed our opportunity here.
When Dred fell in behind him, relief surged through. It was delicate work, scrambling alongside them light enough not to draw their notice, but the station sounds covered most of the movement though Silence’s murderers glanced up now and then. Jael made out the occasional moan from their hostage, and his determination ratcheted up.
    Silence won’t have you, whoever you are, why ever she wants you.
    Now,
he mouthed at his partner. As one, he and Dred dropped out of the ceiling and onto their targets.

4
    Must Be a Hex
    Dred landed on top of two of Silence’s men and jammed her knife in the first one’s neck before he could react. The other slashed at her, and she blocked instinctively with a forearm, half expecting her chains to mitigate the damage. Instead, the weapon sank in, almost to the bone. The pain screamed along her nerve endings as the bastard twisted; someone less accustomed to it might have folded. Instead, she clumsily tossed her weapon to her other hand while her attacker yanked the blade out for another strike.
    The person they were carrying hit the ground and thrashed, but Dred couldn’t do anything until she dealt with the four killers who wanted her head. Two male, two female, all dedicated to Silence’s death cult.
They probably think they’re doing me a favor.
They rushed her in a blur of spiked bludgeon, garrote, and knives. Fighting this many at once without her chains meant for every strike she dodged or blocked, she took a hit somewhere else. Soon Dred had slashes streaming on her arms and shoulders, bruises on back and thighs that trickled blood from the spiked weapon. Silence’s killers weren’t tremendously strong, but they
were
fast.
    Gritting her teeth, she changed tactics and slammed the club-wielder into the one who kept trying to get behind her. They stumbled but didn’t fall, and she took the opening to stab the first in the kidney. Her knife went in clean, and she aimed a ferocious kick at the other’s kneecap. It popped sideways with a satisfying twist, and the killer screamed. She cut the cry short by jabbing her knife through the man’s eye socket. When she pulled her blade back, it was bloody, and she only had two women left to kill.
    Their faces were both painted in the disturbing art of death they’d witnessed earlier, eyes ringed in blood and soot. Their teeth glowed a garish yellow against the white-ash paint that covered the rest of their faces. Both seemed at ease with their blades, and they came at Dred simultaneously. One sliced at her throat while the other tried to disembowel her. She swept the legs out from under the first while spinning away from the side strike. Dred came up off-balance, her right arm streaming blood, and the first woman slipped in it. She lashed out, spiking her blade up through the underside of the killer’s jaw into her brain through her palate. That gave her last opponent the chance to stab her in the side. It was a good hit, nearly crippling.
    Damn, I miss my chains. I’ve gotten sloppy.
    She wrenched away before the woman could yank her knife out.
That’ll buy me some time.
Clumsy from pain and blood loss, she circled. Her left hand wasn’t as accurate as her right, but she had to take this last one out before she fell over. Before she could decide how best to do it, the fabric wrapped around the captive finally gave way to the frantic pulling, and a small person crawled out. Without hesitation, the hostage grabbed the bloody garrote and wrapped it with full strength around the nearest killer’s