Dead City

by Debbie Cassidy

  “I hope you like soup?”

  She stares at me for a moment longer and then slumps into the nearest seat.

  “The fear is gone.”

  “Yes. The mind is a wonderful thing, but it struggles to deal with two extreme emotions at the same time. In this case, lust and fear. They don’t compute, and considering that your fear was inexplicable but your lust wasn’t …” I let my sentence trail off, enjoying the spike in her pulse.

  “I’m not lusting after you.”

  “Of course you’re not. You simply kissed me because your lips were cold and your tongue was dry?”

  Liar. She wants me. In that moment, with our mouths fused, she wanted me. The knowledge is both euphoric and terrifying. It’s been a while since my heart beat this fast, since my cock hardened so quickly. My balls are throbbing in chastisement now. It’s been too long since I fucked for pleasure. Lira is a distraction, and feeding and fucking have become entangled, and loneliness … Loneliness can make a fool of better men. But I see now that maybe Lira will need to go.

  Echo hasn’t responded to my little barb. She’s thinking on it, considering my words. I pour the soup into a bowl for her and set it on the table.

  “Eat.” I take the seat opposite her.

  “Who was that man?”

  She won’t look at me, and for some reason, this bothers me. “That was no man. That was Rydian, the king of the sea dwellers. He’s dangerous.”

  “He put the fear in my head, didn’t he?”

  “It’s his forte. The ability to manipulate brain chemistry with a simple visual connection. The council knows better than to look into his eyes.”

  I can see her mind working and then her gaze flicks up to mine in horror. “Guardians have to go there … to the sea kingdom …”

  Yes, she’s getting it now, and this time her fear is all hers, all real. “You won’t be going alone. We’ve agreed to terms.”

  “I have to go?”

  “Yes. But there’s time. There’s no need to panic. Emory and I will be going with you, and one of us will be with you at all times. It’ll only be for two weeks.”

  “He still has the other guardians, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes. He won’t release them until you get there. The meeting earlier today was … difficult, but he agrees that the sea dwellers aren’t in any immediate danger from Genesis. In fact, Genesis hasn’t attacked them even once. Less than nine months remain before we’ll have more guardians, but in between that time, we’ve agreed eight weeks of your time will be spent there, and we’ll do them in two-week slots.”

  She nods slowly and picks up her spoon. “Is there a way to stop him getting into my head?”

  She’s smart and proactive, and that’s why she’ll survive. “I can teach you.”

  “Good.”

  I sit back in my seat. “Now eat up and then we can discuss tomorrow’s drop.”

  She begins to eat, and I find myself watching the movement of her throat with each swallow. I imagine my lips on that throat, and the moment my fangs slide into her flesh. I imagine her beneath me as I feed off her while fucking her, and I’m painfully hard again.

  Marika has been the only woman in my heart for so long that every feeding, every sexual encounter has meant nothing. I do what I need to survive, to satisfy my body, but this is different. There is cold fire in my veins, and Echo has put it there. Echo is under my skin, and I have no idea what I’m going to do about it.

  Chapter 21

  The Deadlands stretched out below us like a cracked red canvas. Blood of the dead, blood of all the supernaturals and humans who’d fought in the war. Okay, so it wasn’t really blood, but the whole thing just felt symbolic. Lyrian flew smoothly with me on his back. Deacon was wrapped around me, pressing my staff into my spine with his weight.

  Thank God the wind was blowing his scent in another direction so I wouldn’t have to inhale it. He’d kissed me, full-on tongue-in-throat kissed me, and then acted like it meant nothing.

  Kisses like that didn’t mean nothing.

  Kisses like that were etched into memories and woven into sonnets. Kisses like that should be illegal. I guess all those years on his earth had given him time to practice his lip and tongue action. How many women had he kissed? Made love to? Marika had been the love of his life, but what about before? What about after?

  Lyrian’s mind brushed up against mine, but we didn’t speak. It was as if he knew that I needed this time to gather myself. Soon, we’d be landing, and then I’d have to leave him and Deacon behind to venture into the dead zone.

  The pack carrying the orb was strapped to my waist. It contained some med supplies and the Morai candle, a tiny stump of a thing that looked like it would probably burn out in minutes, but which, according to Deacon, had always been that size and would remain so.

  Heading down, Lyrian said.

  My stomach lurched as he dropped altitude, and then we were sailing toward the ground. His wings flared upward as he landed, catching the air to cushion the impact. It still jarred my bones, though.

  Deacon climbed off and then reached for me. His hands braced my waist, and he plucked me off Lyrian’s back. But he didn’t set me down straightaway; he pulled me against his body and slid me down so our clothes snagged against each other, and for a moment, I was suspended eye to eye with him.

  There was darkness in those eyes, a sucking, consuming darkness that begged me to crawl inside and be lost. And then my boots touched the ground, and the connection was lost.

  “Are you ready?” Lyrian asked from behind us.

  Taking a deep breath, I strode toward the railway station. A lone building set in the midst of nothingness. It was eerie and spooky. Deacon and Lyrian followed me into the station house, past the tiny ticket booth, and out back onto the platform. The railway tracks stood out starkly against the dry, cracked earth. They gleamed in the sun, stretching out into the distance.

  I retrieved the candle. Shit, I’d forgotten to bring any matches.

  “Allow me,” Lyrian said.

  Deacon cursed softly. “She has to light it herself, or it won’t work.”

  Lyrian gave Deacon a flat look. “I’m her scalemate. We’re connected.”

  He stepped behind me, his chest to my back, and then rested his head on my shoulder. The connection between us pulsed and throbbed, eager and happy that we were this close.

  His hands cupped mine, holding the candle, and then he exhaled. Hot air brushed my skin, and then the candle was alight.

  “It didn’t burn her.” Deacon sounded stunned.

  Lyrian’s stubbled cheek brushed mine. “My fire is hers now, and it won’t hurt her.”

  He released me, and the connection between us tugged, unwilling to let go just yet.

  “Once you step onto those tracks, we’ll be gone,” Deacon said. “The world will change, and you’ll be in the dead zone. Do not stop. No matter what you hear or what you see. The zone will try to lure you away from the tracks, it will try and trick you. Keep to the path, and it will lead you straight to Haven.”

  “And how will I know it’s Haven?”

  “It will be marked,” Lyrian said. “A gateway with a sign.”

  Okay, sounded straightforward enough, and no, I did not need to use the bathroom. That was just nerves.

  With a final glance at Deacon and Lyrian, I stepped off the platform and onto the tracks. The candle flickered and flared blue, and then the world around me darkened to night.

  “Shit, you weren’t kidding.” I looked back to where the guys had been standing a moment ago, but the spot was empty.

  This was the dead zone.

  Time to get walking.

  After all the hype and all the drama my mind had conjured, the actual walk was disappointingly anticlimactic. Aside from a gusty breeze that whipped the candle flame into a frenzy every few minutes and gave me a mini heart attack as I tried to shield the candle. Nothing happened. Not a moan or a peep, not even a set of creepy glowing eye
s in the darkness. The land to my right and to my left was barren and dark and silent.

  Well, this wasn’t so bad. I’d be at Haven in no time. Drop off the orb and be home in time for supper. And then some creepy-arse music began to play. It was a tinkling, slightly off-key tune that made me think of broken things. Yep, there was a light up ahead. Okay, keep to the path. Keep to the path. My pulse sped up as the light grew brighter and the music grew creepier, and then I was coming abreast of the spectacle.

  A man sat on a stool, smoking a pipe and listening to what looked like one of those old-time music machines … a record player. The black disc spun, and sound drifted out of it.

  Do not look at the man. Just keep walking.

  “You know it’s rude to ignore someone,” the man called out. “Your father always stopped to say hello.”

  Oh, crap. No. It was a trick. He didn’t know—

  “Yes, Roland was a polite man. A good man. Shame what happened to him. He’d have been better off here with us, the unhallowed.”

  Don’t stop. Do not engage. But my feet were coming to a halt, and my mouth—my stupid big mouth—was spilling words. “He’s dead, and he’s free, and that’s the best we can hope for.”

  “Dead? Well, I suppose that’s relative, now isn’t it?”

  “Relative to what?”

  “Relative to life.”

  Now I’d gotten a better look at him, he was younger than I’d first thought. Probably late twenties. His blond hair was tucked under a strange-looking hat, and his blue eyes were serious.

  “You should go back, you know,” he said. “I’m not supposed to warn you, not supposed to speak to you actually, but I do as I please, and it pleases me to warn you. Go back now.”

  A shiver of apprehension ran up my spine, but Deacon’s instructions had been clear. Not to engage. Not to listen. Not to trust.

  “Thanks, but I have a job to do.” This time I did carry on walking.

  “In that case, I’ll see you soon … on the other side, pretty girl. We can dance. We can dance all night.”

  I walked faster, the blue flame of the candle lighting my way, and his voice faded into the background. Long minutes passed, and then the glint of silver metal caught my eye. A few seconds more and the gate came fully into view, and the script molded into wrought iron letters across an arch at its peak glowed softly in welcome.

  I’d made it. I’d made it to Haven.

  The tracks stopped at the gates. Beyond the silver and iron structure, there was mist and silence. Taking a deep breath, I stepped through the arch. My skin prickled and stung, and then the world lit up in lights that floated in the air in a strange haze. What were they, these whizzing, hovering lights? And what was that smell, floral and soothing.

  “Fireflies,” a deep male voice said from behind me.

  I whirled around to find a man blocking the arch. He was wearing trousers made of a material I’d never seen before, blue and dark and hanging low on his hips, and a black T-shirt hugged his broad chest.

  He was young, and he was older; it was hard to pin down his age. His eyes were green—no, they were gray, and then they settled to warm brown—and his hair was dark like ebony and pushed back off his face.

  He nodded. “Nice. I like it. I’ll add it to my closet.”

  “What was he talking about?”

  He made a tutting sound. “Serenity didn’t warn you, did she?” He sighed. “She forgets how mutable Death can be, how everyone’s experience is different.”

  “You’re Death?”

  He held out his arms. “In the flesh … or maybe not.” He made a give-it-here gesture. “You have the orb.”

  I unzipped my bag and retrieved the glass ball. It was dull and dead, but as soon as Death’s fingers curled around it, the whole thing lit up.

  “Hello there,” Death said. “Yes, yes, I’ll be crossing you over.”

  He looked up inquiringly. “And?”

  “And what?”

  He shook his head. “Look in the bag, there should be a letter for me.”

  A letter? I rummaged in the bag, and sure enough, there was an envelope inside. The paper was bobbly and tan. There was a time paper had been white, but that was when there had been huge factories to create it and special dyes to give it that color. Now we had limited resources, and fresh paper was valued and scarce.

  Death plucked it from my fingers and held it to his nose. He closed his eyes and inhaled, and when he opened them again, there was a swirling miasma of colors in the depths of his pupils.

  He flicked his wrist, and the envelope was gone, the letter open. He scanned it, and the sharp lines of his face softened. He closed his eyes, and the paper glowed for a brief moment before dulling to cream once more.

  “Here.” He handed me the paper, which was now neatly folded and back in its envelope. “Give this to Serenity.” His eyes were dull with sadness now.

  The kind of sadness that accompanied loss. Could it be that Death and Harker were … God, I wasn’t even sure what to think.

  “You don’t know anything, do you?” Death asked. “Has it been so long that people have forgotten me? That the Hive has forgotten its association with me?” He snorted. “Time slips by here. It has little meaning, and her letters never dwell on current events.” He circled me. “Tell me, Guardian, what are the recent developments at the Hive?”

  “I’m sure if Harker wanted you to know, she would have put it in her letter.”

  “The paper is enchanted, the space is limited; why use it for current affairs when you can use it to send words of love?”

  Love? “You’re lovers?”

  “We were, a long time ago. But now, I’m here, and she’s there, and this is how it will be until her life ends, and we are finally together again.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “I’m Death. I am the divine soul that shattered to spawn the first souls at the beginning of humanity’s existence. I am pure energy, and Genesis would have a feast if he found me. It’s not safe for me anywhere but here.” His mouth turned down slightly. “This is hallowed ground. Saturated with arcana and surrounded by the dead zone where no machines can operate. Not even Genesis’s scouts can get to me here.”

  “But we have wards at the Hive.”

  “I shine too bright. I’m a beacon to the soul eaters, and if I’d remained, then Genesis would have found you a long time ago.” He shrugged. “And that is my story, so tell me what’s yours.”

  He was studying me now. “You look familiar … Roland’s daughter.” He clapped his hands together. “Ha. He’s a good man. We have a date, you know; once he passes over we’ll be playing chess till all hours. How is he?”

  I stared blankly at Death. “You … You don’t know.”

  He frowned. “Know what.”

  “My father’s dead.”

  He shook his head. “No, that can’t be right, because if he was dead, he’d be … be here …” His expression crumpled as he put two and two together and worked out that Genesis must have gotten my father’s soul. “Oh, God. Roland … how? When?”

  It was clear that Death lived in a bubble, and Harker had kept him this way; why she’d done that was unclear, but I wasn’t about to walk away without giving him some answers.

  I filled him in about my father’s death. About the Run and Genesis and the fact that all the potentials were dead. I filled him in on the harvest and the attack and my hunch that the rules were changing.

  Death plucked at his bottom lip. “This is bad. You can’t do it all alone.”

  “I’m not alone. I have help.”

  His lip curled up slightly. “A few good men? You remind me a little of her, you know? My Serenity. She’s a fighter, but it wears on you eventually, all the fighting. Everyone needs to rest after a while. Tell her … Tell her what we have isn’t just about the words of love. It’s about shouldering the burden.”

  I nodded and picked up my candle from the headstone it was resting on. “I should get
going.”

  “Be careful and stick to the tracks. The unhallowed are hungry.”

  “Yeah, so everyone keeps saying, but I didn’t get a peep out of them on the way here.”

  He tensed. “What? Nothing?”

  “No, just some guy playing a record and slinging warnings about heading back.”

  “Toby told you to head back?”

  “You know him?”

  “He’s unhallowed but the least insane. The music keeps him present and stable, and if he warned you to go back, you should have turned back.”

  That same prickle from earlier ran back down my spine as if heading home, as if doing what I should have done. I plastered a nonchalant look on my face. “Well, I’m headed back now.”

  Death’s face froze, and then his head whipped up to look over mine, back at the arch. “Soul eaters.”

  “What?” I followed his gaze, but there was nothing there.

  He backed up toward a mausoleum. “Soul eaters are coming, and they have souls.” He looked torn, and then he turned and ran into the mouth of the mausoleum.

  Wait, what? Soul eaters ate souls and converted them to energy which was passed to Genesis. What did he mean they had souls?

  I took a step to follow him, but then the ground beneath me rumbled, and when I looked back, the archway was spitting metal beasts.

  Soul eaters, but not like any I’d seen before. These were different, and each had a glass dome on its back, and inside it was a swirling silver mass.

  Death’s words came back to me.

  These soul eaters had souls.

  Chapter 22

  My brain did the math. Soul eaters were machines, so they should have been taken out by the dead zone, but these hadn’t because they had souls … but not any old soul could pass through the dead zone. It had to be a guardian soul … or … or a potential soul.

  The potentials.

  Oh, God. It was all falling into place, but there was no time to iron out my thoughts. Propping the candle on a gravestone, I pulled my staff from its harness and fell into attack. Arcana flew at the eaters, hitting them square on, but they didn’t go down. They kept coming, their red laser eyes heating up for attack. Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. They were protected somehow, protected by the souls they carried.