Like the sickle, the bō had started out as an agricultural tool. It was, essentially, a good, stout stick. Adam used the metal bands on the ends of his stick to protect the wood from edged weapons.
Even though Wulfe was taller by several inches, the bō gave Adam the advantage of reach, letting him stay well out of range of the Soul Taker. Wulfe wasn’t giving Adam any opportunities to break bones. The only reason I’d been able to do that was because Wulfe hadn’t expected me to snatch the walking stick out of the air.
The fight was a near stalemate, an exhibition in martial arts done at supernatural speed. Adam had told me that, having seen Wulfe fight a time or two, this part of the dance might last as much as five minutes.
As long as neither of them made a mistake.
A gun might have been the best choice of weapon—and we had discussed that, too. I had my concealed carry tucked in my waistband, though Adam had left his in the SUV. Adam wasn’t sure that he could kill a vampire as old as Wulfe with a gun, and we didn’t want to do that anyway. Our goal was to separate Wulfe from the Soul Taker. Marsilia needed him in the same way that we needed Sherwood.
I’d thought Wulfe had been holding back when we fought, and I’d been right. Someone who didn’t understand what was going on might think that they were deliberately not hitting each other. But that wasn’t true. They were predicting each other’s moves and getting out of the way. I could do that, a little. I could do it better when fighting with people I’d trained with for months or years. Adam and I could put on a pretty good show. But nothing like this.
There weren’t any giant leaps—once a fighter’s feet left the ground, his trajectory couldn’t change until he hit something. That made him an easy target. Those kinds of flashy moves were for demonstrations, or for fighting someone you held a considerable advantage over.
I wasn’t the only one fascinated. I caught the moment when Bonarata leaned forward and watched the fight, moving subtly as if in participation. When he’d been human, he’d been one of the condottiere, a captain of mercenaries who’d gained power and wealth by waging war.
I might have enjoyed watching it, too, if I didn’t know what the Soul Taker was. If so much didn’t ride on Adam being just that little bit better than Wulfe.
Just that little bit. Or maybe if Wulfe managed to figure out why I brought his silk girdle with me. I wanted to touch it again, to see if it was still sparking magic. But Bonarata hadn’t noticed it yet, so I kept my hands still.
Gradually, Adam forced Wulfe to fight defensively. And the fighting had slowed down a little. Not because anyone was tired, but because they’d taken each other’s measure and quit wasting effort.
At that slower pace it was easier to understand what they were doing. The sickle was knife-sized, and so was best used just outside of grappling range. The bō allowed Adam to stay farther away than that, in the outer circle of the fight. He could hit Wulfe—as long as he was fast enough that Wulfe couldn’t grab the bō. But Wulfe was forced to stay too far away for the Soul Taker to touch Adam, who used the ends of the bō to keep Wulfe away from him.
I judged the duration of the fight more on the way they were fighting than a clock. Adam’s shirt was wet with sweat and Wulfe was making irritable movements when his Hollywood-inspired costume got in his way. He pulled off one of the flowy sleeves and flung it on the ground with a snarl that would have done credit to Adam.
I unwrapped the girdle from around my waist—and it was once again warmer than it should have been. I coiled it up so I could hold it in one hand, but when I got to the end, I wrapped it around my wrist. I didn’t want to lose it too easily.
“What do you have?” Bonarata asked.
I looked up, almost caught his gaze, and managed to focus on his mouth instead.
“Bait,” I told him. “And anchor.” Then I let out a single yip and bolted for the fight.
Adam hit Wulfe hard in the chest, making the vampire take a step back and a little to the side. Then Adam took two quick steps out of the pattern of the fight—away from Wulfe. Leaving Wulfe facing me while focused on Adam.
I stopped about ten feet from him, and using the power that flowed from Adam, I said, “Wulfe.” It was more than his name, it was a reminder of who he was. I held up the girdle stretched between my two arms as I caught his gaze.
I heard the crack of a gunshot, but it didn’t hit me or Wulfe, so I ignored it. I was aware, peripherally, that another fight had broken out between Adam and Bonarata, but I could not afford to look. Adam had told me that he’d keep Bonarata from interfering with what I was going to try to do.