‘I know you wish it had been me,’ Evie said quietly.
Margaret’s head instantly flew up.
‘I wish it had been me too,’ Evie continued, faltering over the words. ‘And I want you to know that I’m going to kill Victor once this is over. I promise you that.’
Margaret frowned at her for a moment before the tension evaporated from her body. She hung her head. ‘I’m sorry I handed you over to Victor,’ she said.
Evie blinked at her in astonishment. She hadn’t expected that. ‘I understand,’ she said as the silence stretched on. ‘I would have done the same.’
The two of them stared at each other for a few more seconds, recognition and understanding passing between them, and Evie felt a portion of the ache inside her ease a little. Margaret too seemed to pull herself together. She strode to the cabinet on the wall and threw open the doors, revealing an impressive display of weaponry – both antique and modern. When she turned back towards them they could see that she was holding something.
Evie stepped forward, her gaze dropping to the slender blade lying across Margaret’s palms. It had a long hilt, and the blade was shaped like a dagger. Evie tried to imagine an unknown warrior forging it centuries ago in the dark desert of the Shadowlands. Margaret offered it to her and her fingers closed greedily around the hilt. It was so light it practically floated upwards out of Margaret’s hands as though normal laws of gravity didn’t apply to it. The others pressed in on her for a look. The blade was as long as Evie’s forearm and was glowing slightly, like a pearl under water.
‘Thank you,’ Evie said, looking up, but Margaret had already turned away and was standing with her back to them, staring out of the window at nothing.
Chapter 15
The shoes he’d stolen were more like slippers. Paper ones. Flimsy. His feet were cold. His torso too. He crouched down behind a bush and waited for the guard to amble past on his midnight round.
He’d timed this from his window on the third floor. He only had a few seconds before the people in white would notice he was gone and sound the alarm. The seconds ticked by. Finally the guard appeared, whistling as he walked. The moment the man was out of sight he darted towards the wall and swung himself up into a tree that brushed up against it. He scrambled along a branch until he was at the same height as the top of the wall and then he hung over the side and jumped, landing in a crouch on the sidewalk below.
He stood up quickly, scanning the street. It was eerily quiet. The avenue of trees spreading their thick branches overhead buried him in shadows. Headlights suddenly swept across him. He bowed his head and started walking, trying to look inconspicuous – which was hard given that he was wearing only a pair of bright-green scrub trousers.
He knew he needed to find out where he was. But, more importantly, he needed to figure out who he was. Before the monsters with the fangs and the tails came after him. Because, though he couldn’t remember much of anything else and didn’t even know his own name, he did know that they were coming.
As he rounded the corner he saw the sign next to the front gate of the place where he’d been locked up for what felt like years. Gateways Hospital, it said. And underneath, Community Mental Health Centre.
He paused for a moment, the word Gateways stirring something in his subconscious, but then he shrugged to himself and kept walking. It was just one more thing he couldn’t remember.
In the distance he heard a siren start to wail and he upped his pace, breaking into a jog and then into a sprint, the green scrub trousers he was wearing flapping uncomfortably. At the bottom of the hill he turned onto a main thoroughfare, blinking in the sudden glare of shops and the eye-shattering headlight beams of dozens of cars.
Nothing about this place looked familiar, but then again it didn’t look unfamiliar either. He wasn’t scared by the noise or the traffic or the cars weaving in and out across four lanes. A sense settled over him that he belonged here. That this had once upon a time been his city – his stomping ground. He knew that if he gave in and trusted his instincts he’d figure it all out. In the same way he knew that the monsters the doctors had dismissed as figments of his psychotic mind were real.
He was aware that he was drawing stares. People were openly gawping at his dirt-streaked feet, naked chest and hospital trousers. He should have taken a doctor’s coat but, hell, knocking out the orderly and managing to pull his pants off him had been all he could manage in the timeframe.
He ran across the street, ignoring the angry honks of oncoming traffic that had to swerve to avoid him. He kept moving, following his gut instinct, letting it take him somewhere, though he didn’t know where. He just kept running, dodging past late-night revellers, almost smacking into a lamp post that he didn’t see coming, hearing the yells of people behind him and a whistle blowing in the distance.
He couldn’t let them take him back there and lock him up. He couldn’t let them keep sticking needles in his arm and pumping him full of drugs that made him pass out and the days drift into one long vivid streak of nightmares. If they weren’t going to listen to him about what was coming – about the monsters – then he was going to have to take matters into his own hands before it was too late.
He ducked down a narrow alley running between two buildings. It looked familiar, as though his feet were following a well-trodden path. The sound of sirens faded into the background and he slowed his pace, coming to a halt at the far end of the alley.
He stepped out onto another street and scanned it. The building over the way jarred something in his memory. It looked out of place, like someone had transplanted it from another country, even from another century. Its windows were blacked out, and yellow and black tape stretched across the blackened doorway. It looked like it had been destroyed in a fire. A car cruised past and he slunk backwards into the alley, sliding down a wall behind a dumpster and resting on his haunches. Now he’d stopped running he had started shivering. He wrapped his arms around his body and stared at the scars marking his upper chest and arms. Most looked like knife injuries, though there was one that looked like a burn on his right forearm. He had been in fights – that much was obvious – but he couldn’t remember when or how or against whom.
The doctors had checked his fingerprints against some police database but he had never been arrested. And no one had reported him missing. Which was strange, because somewhere in the fogged-up recesses of his brain he could remember someone.
He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to stir up something, anything at all from the muddled images resembling a Dali painting in his head. With the drugs still heavy in his system he was having trouble trying to piece everything together. There was a tall blond guy in his memory. And he was coming at him, attacking him, but a girl with long dark hair and eyes the blue of a summer sky stepped between them. The girl haunted his dreams – with her dark lashes and fierce gaze. He had no idea who she was but he knew he had to find her.
Find her before the monsters did.
He didn’t know what they were but he knew they were bad. Vampires. The doctors had called them that after he described them but he had argued with them. That wasn’t what they were called. They weren’t the black-caped, pale-faced creatures portrayed in films and in books – they were something else entirely. They were something real. As were the things with tails.
The scar on his back – it wasn’t a knife wound as the nurse had guessed. It had been made by a tail. He was sure of it. And the mark on his arm, where the skin was tanned darker, was a burn, though from what he didn’t know. Creatures shifted into animals in his dreams, things flew, hands burnt, voices whispered and none of it, none of it, made sense.
He leant out from behind the dumpster and peered out into the street. There was something about that building. His feet, his instinct, whatever you wanted to call it, had brought him here for a reason. Did he know something about the fire? How many weeks ago had it been? How long ago had he been brought into the hospital?
Right now he could hear footsteps heading towards him and all of a sudden his heart was beating strong enough to burst clean through his ribcage. He rested the flat of his hand over it, panicking that maybe it was the result of missing his meds. His palms were sweating too. He wiped them on his scrubs and tried to heave himself upright. The adrenaline rushed through him, making him light-headed and spinning him out when he stood.
Over the street across from him he could make out four shapes. He already knew that they weren’t people. He didn’t know how. He just knew these were the monsters that haunted his dreams.
On automatic, without stopping to think about what he was doing, he stepped out of his hiding place in the alley and into a patch of light cast by a streetlamp.
Four heads flew up, four bloodshot sets of eyes staring right back at him. And then, there – the glint of razor sharp teeth.
Well, what do you know, he thought triumphantly. I was right. Monsters do exist.
Chapter 16
Ash was piling weapons onto the coffee table and Vero was checking their sharpness and firing mechanisms before packing each blade and gun into a canvas duffel. Evie meanwhile was taking out her frustration on the punch bag, imagining it was Victor’s face.
‘I told you we couldn’t trust him,’ she said, whacking the bag so hard her fist almost tore a hole right through it. ‘He’s probably halfway to Panama by now. No way he’s going to stick around now he knows I’m out to kill him.’
‘Victor’s not going anywhere,’ Vero remarked. ‘He might be a total mentalist, but at the end of the day he’s a Hunter all the way. It’s his life. He’s going to stay around until the last unhuman is dusted.’ She zipped up the duffel and walked over to Evie. ‘He said he’d get in touch in a day or two, once he’s found the lair. And besides, we need to hit the streets downtown and do some cleaning up.’
Evie cracked her knuckles. Her shoulders were aching. Sleeping on the sofa hadn’t done her back much good. But punching the bag had eased some of her frustrations.
‘Here,’ Vero said, tossing something at her.
Evie caught it left-handed. It was a bottle of lighter fluid.
‘Let’s go have ourselves a little party,’ Vero said to her with a grim smile.
They drove through the streets of downtown in silence. Evie toyed with the shadow blade on her lap even as her thoughts strayed to her mother back in Riverview. She reached into her pocket and reluctantly pulled out her cell phone. She had had over a dozen messages from her mum so far and several hundred missed calls. Guilt was starting to feel very much like taking a bath in Mixen acid. She tapped out a perfunctory reply saying she was fine and not to worry, hit send and then switched off her phone and put it back in her pocket.
Through the gap in the front seats she watched Ash lean across and kiss Vero’s neck, before resting his hand on her knee. Evie’s stomach twisted and tears burnt hot and unwelcome behind her eyes. She turned her head away and locked eyes with her reflection in the side window. How could she be jealous of Vero? Vero, who had lost her sister and Cyrus? She should be glad that Vero had Ash to take care of her – not jealous because it threw her own loneliness into relief. But god, she missed Lucas in that moment. Missed the feel of his hand curling around the nape of her neck. Missed his lips, feverish and cool at the same time, sending every cell in her body into a state of shock.
Lost in thought, she didn’t at first notice the Bradbury building up ahead. When she did, her knee, which had been bouncing up and down, stilled instantly and all thoughts of Lucas trailed away. She leant forward, her senses buzzing as though she’d been tasered and her heart rate amplifying.
‘Mixen and Thirsters,’ she said, pointing towards the sidewalk in front of the building, where a group of them stood.
‘And a half-naked homeless guy,’ Ash added, pointing to the other side of the street.
Vero screeched to a stop, swerving halfway across the road. Evie flung open her door, a rip tide of adrenaline cranking through her system. She had assessed the entire scenario in the second it took for all four unhumans on the sidewalk to turn their heads towards them.
There were two Mixen demons – obvious because of the green colour of their skin – and two Thirsters. The half-naked homeless guy seemed to have made the sensible decision to scram.
Evie felt Vero and Ash flanking her. She glanced sideways quickly at Ash, who had a flame-thrower on his shoulder like a machine gun, and then at Vero, who was wielding Victor’s shadow blade like an Olympic torch. Evie felt the beautifully light heft of her own shadow blade and smiled. This was going to be fun.
The three of them strode across the road. The unhumans watched them, intrigued, and then moved – spacing themselves out – grins spreading across their faces. Ash was right about the suspension of the revelation law. These guys didn’t care who saw them. Evie caught the wet glint of incisors, still dripping with blood, and a thrill ran through her. She upped her pace till she was almost running to meet them.
On the bright side there was no traffic – thanks to all the murders people were choosing to stay home at night. Which meant no witnesses to the massacre that was about to take place. Evie shifted her focus to the Mixen in front of her.
‘You guys take the Thirsters,’ she murmured to Ash and Vero. ‘Let me handle the acid freaks.’
‘With pleasure,’ Ash answered, peeling away to the right.
Evie stopped a few paces away from the Mixen, rolled her neck to loosen up her muscles and readied herself. She expected them to come straight for her, trying to get an early hit in – it’s what she would do in their position. But as she got closer the one nearest to her faltered, lost her confident stance and went hopping backwards, grabbing her companion by the arm.
‘It’s her – it’s the girl,’ she hissed, her eyes brightening with fear. ‘The White Light.’
Then, without a second’s warning, the Mixen took off, running down the street, heels flapping. Evie paused mid-step. That was unexpected to say the least.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the silver light trail as Vero’s blade sliced through the air and then a high-powered roar as Ash started raking the sidewalk with flames. A hissing pop followed by high-pitched squealing told her all she needed to know about how that fight was going.
Evie turned to focus on the remaining Mixen who was still standing there, staring at her. Evie lunged fast, swinging the blade low, aiming to cut his legs out from under him but the Mixen leapt backwards out of reach just in time. She stalked him, forcing him into a stumbling retreat until she had him boxed into the charred doorway of the Bradbury. He cowered low, holding his hands up, begging for mercy.
Evie hesitated. She was used to unhumans fighting back. What was the protocol when they tried to surrender? Should she just kill it anyway?
In the split second she stood there pondering it, the Mixen dived towards her. His hand closed around her wrist and she let out a scream, feeling the acid sinking through the skin and muscle until it stripped through the nerve.
Without thinking she raised the blade she was holding in her hand and swiped blindly, hearing a yell and a hiss as the Mixen released her wrist and went tumbling to a heap on the ground. His hand flew straight to his shoulder where she’d slashed him through his sweater. Evie stood over him, grimacing as she nursed her wrist. He whimpered up at her pitifully.
‘Go on then,�
� she growled. ‘Get out of here, and tell your friends and whoever else that if they come out to play with any humans, if they flout the revelation law, that the rogue Hunters are going to finish them. If I see you again, I swear to God I will kill you.’
The Mixen stared at her wide-eyed and then, gathering his wits, he got to his feet and started edging away from her with his back to the wall.
Evie watched him run and then turned back to the others. Vero had sliced the head clean off one Thirster and its body was now lying in pieces in the middle of the road. The second one she’d backed into a corner. He was limping, and his eyes were wide red oceans as Ash raked him with fire. He went up as if he had gasoline in his veins. Evie staggered backwards, throwing her arm over her face to block the heat.
‘Watch out!’ she heard someone yell right behind her.
She spun around in confusion just as her blade was whipped from her hand. She made out only a greenish blur in front of her face and then in the next second there was a Mixen lying at her feet.
It was the same one she’d given a free pass to. He had sneaked up behind her. Goddamn. What had she been thinking, letting him go? As she watched, the body vanished, leaving only a pile of torn and dirty clothes on the sidewalk.
Evie turned her head in shock towards the person who’d snatched her blade from her hand and saved her life. He was standing with his back to her, still clutching the shadow blade, which was dripping dark spots of blood onto the white paper slippers he was wearing. It was the homeless guy in the green scrub trousers she’d seen earlier.
What the hell? Evie pushed the hair out of her eyes and stepped forward ready to thank him, but the words died instantly on her lips at the sight of the long scar running up his back.
And then he turned slowly towards her and she caught sight of his face, and her heart burst like a storm cloud in her chest.
Shadowed (Fated) Page 7
