Blaze’s husky voice brings me back to the present. “No,” he replies with an easiness that’s both terrifying and impressive. “But I know who I am.”
“And who’s that?” Scarface challenges.
Blaze flashes his crimson teeth. “I’m the guy who will kill you,” he says matter-of-factly, spitting some blood on the floor.
Scarface’s blue eyes burn a nasty shade of garnet. A fraction of a second later, he explodes, throwing punch after punch, always aiming for Blaze’s face.
Left.
“You’re a fucking traitor.”
Right.
“He trusted you and you chose her.”
Left.
“Oh my God,” Izzy cries. “He’s going to kill him.”
Right.
“Stop,” Oz yells. “Just stop.”
Left.
“You should have been the one rotting in hell, not Seth.”
The voices, the cries, the dull sound of skin hitting skin—it all merges into a fireball rising from the pit of my stomach. The bubble I built around my emotions bursts. I can no longer keep the power under control. Like an adrenalin overdose, the wildfire courses through my veins, setting me on fire. Literally, I am on fire. Flames rage out of my palms, spreading all over my skin, burning away all noises, blurring the world around me.
What is happening to me? The energy keeps on building, once more shaking the ground beneath my feet. A scream forms in the depth of my soul. It forces its way out of my mouth, shattering every glass in the room.
Windows break.
Champagne glasses burst.
Scarface drops to his knees, covering his ears with both hands. Every other Soldier-Creature follows his example. They’re in pain, petrified of me. They’re not the only ones. My friends stare at me with dropped jaws. The chief and Mole freeze. Silvio screams. Tarryn and Adrianne cry. Mr. Thornton smiles. The rest of the town—those still alive—gape at the flames bursting out of my skin. But unlike Seth’s army, my high-pitched, hawk-like scream doesn’t hurt them.
I try to swallow the sound, try to stop myself before someone’s brain explodes from the shrill noise. By the time I manage to get a grip on it, Scarface and his Soldier-Creatures are lying on the ground, convulsing in pain.
My gaze skirts to my friends. I realize I have two options. One: I keep on wondering what the heck just happened. Two: I use whatever happened to get them and everyone else out of here. I go with option two.
“Run,” I yell.
They stare at me as if I’m the devil himself. Luckily, the chief is there. He does exactly what he’s trained to do. He jumps to his feet and barks orders, “Get out. Now.”
Good thing Shepherdstown listens to him. They start running. Adrianne, Tarryn, and a few other women make it out first. Izzy, Oz, and the rest of the gang are helping the chief clear the room.
When I’m certain they have it under control, the flames extinguish. Poof—they’re gone. And my skin is as smooth as ever.
I rush to Blaze. His face is purple, blue, and red. His eyes are swollen to a point where he can only see me through two slits. “You okay?” I ask, trying to loosen up the zip-ties.
“Been better,” he admits.
I yank at the plastic. The stuff is solid. “We’ve got to hurry.” Who knows how long they’ll be out.
Half the room has been cleared out. Scooby and Shaggy are helping an elderly couple get to their feet. Izzy and Oz are moving toward us.
Blaze points to the table. “Get the knife, princess.”
I grab the prestige silver cutlery. That’s when I see Anubis. His charcoal eyes are gazing back at me from across the room. “No,” I scream as a gunshot echoes off the walls.
The chief is dragging Mole toward the door when the bullet hits him in the chest, dangerously close to his heart. Blood splatters on Mole’s face. Frozen, he watches as his father reaches for the leaking wound. The distinct look of death creeps into the chief’s popping eyes. His lips move. I think his last word is “help,” but I can’t be sure, because a fraction of a second later, he drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
Chaos ensues. The remaining hostages—amongst them all of my friends—scream in utter horror as the man who swore an oath to serve and protect, the man who tried to get them to safety, the cop who made my life a living hell, lands on the hardwood floor.
Anubis doesn’t wield his staff yet. He’s still alive. Or so I hope.
But who shot the chief?
I scan the Soldier-Creatures. They’re still out cold. So is Scarface.
Shell-shocked, I look around, searching for the culprit—the person who put a bullet in the chief’s heart. I find the guilty party, freezing at the sight of him.
Impossible. That’s just im—
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Thornton says, arm wrapped around Izzy’s neck, gun aimed at her head. “I really wish it didn’t have to end this way, but you left me no choice, Nisha.”
What is happening? Did my favorite teacher, the only grown-up at Jefferson High who treated me like a human rather than a freak, just shoot Mole’s dad?
Impossible, I keep telling myself. Only it’s not.
I tighten my grip on the knife. The silvery metal slices through my palm. I welcome the painful distraction—anything is better than the sting his betrayal causes. I thought I knew this guy. Turns out I never did.
Oz is still processing the shock. “Mr. Thornton, what are you doing? Let Izzy go,” he appeals to the teacher we’ve all known forever. What Oz doesn’t see is the man who taught us about the Civil War, human rights, and Roanoke is gone. The one who shot the chief, who threatens Izzy with a gun, is someone, something else. Garnet eyes and dog-like face—he’s a soldier-creature. Only reason I still recognize him? His glasses.
Thornton removes his yellow earplugs. Explains why, unlike the other soldier-creatures, he’s still standing. It doesn’t explain how I didn’t see him for what he really was. “Sorry, Ozzy boy. What did you say?”
“Let Izzy go,” he repeats, desperation sinking its teeth into his soul.
Thornton moves his finger to the trigger. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” He’s clearly enjoying himself.
Anytime now with the back-up plan, Asim.
“What do you mean you can’t do that?” Oz barks. Reality is slowly dawning on him. He doesn’t take the enlightenment well.
“He’s one of them,” Blaze croaks, stumbling toward me. “Aren’t you, Mr. Thornton?” The name rolls off his tongue with bitterness and pure disgust.
Oz looks from Blaze to me and back to Thornton. “That true?”
Wicked is too nice a word to describe the grin plastered across our history teacher’s face. “Surprise, surprise.”
“Guys!” Scooby barks. “The chief is dying here.” He tries to stop the bleeding by applying pressure to the wound, but it’s useless. Anubis is already waiting for his soul.
“No,” Mole cries out. “He can’t…” He faces Shaggy, who’s by his side. “Please, don’t let him die.”
The two have never been friends. I’d go as far as to say Shaggy blamed Mole for everything his friends did to me after the disastrous date. But that’s in the past, and right now, all Shaggy sees is a guy whose dad is dying. “He’ll be okay,” he consoles him.
But he won’t.
My gaze drifts from them to Izzy. Tears stream down her face. She’s shaking like crazy. Asim is nowhere in sight. We’re on our own, and I have to do something before he kills my cousin. I drop the knife. “Let her go,” I order, voice brimming with confidence, skin on fire.
All eyes are on me. “She’s burning,” Shaggy says. “Again.”
I am. And this time, I didn’t feel a rush of energy or heat. I simply tapped into the power that’s always been there, slumbering beneath all my self-loathing and fear.
Thornton smiles, unimpressed. “Listen”—he tightens his choke-hold around Izzy’s throat—“the way I see it, you can certainly use your powers to end me.
The question is, can you do it before I pull the trigger?”
Sparks shoot off my skin. Burning would be too nice a death for Thornton. If I get my fingers on him, he’ll be begging every god there ever was for a merciful end. “Want to try me?”
Oz steps between us. “Don’t, Nisha.” His eyes are red. His heart has reached breaking point. “He’s going to kill her. Please,” he begs. “Just stand down.”
His words deprive the fire of oxygen. The flames die. The anger soothes. The feeling of having been betrayed, however, is still very vivid. “Why?” I hear myself ask. I always respected Mr. Thornton most, figured he’s a friend. Now he shot the chief and holds Izzy at gunpoint?
He laughs. “Why?” Thornton presses his lips against Izzy’s ears. “She wants to know why. Well, I will tell you, but first”—he faces Oz—“I need you to grab the golden handcuffs from the black duffel bag on the table and put them on Nisha.”
Oz hesitates.
Thornton flashes him an evil smile. “Tick”—his trigger finger moves—“tock. Tick—”
“Okay,” Oz yells, moving to the black bag.
“Good boy.”
Oz approaches me with a pair of golden cuffs dangling from his hand. The material sparkles like the sun itself. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, guilt and misery clouding his eyes.
“It’s okay,” I assure him, extending both hands.
“No,” Blaze cuts in. “I can’t—”
“Blaze.” He meets my gaze. “She’s my cousin.”
He hates me a little right now. “Don’t hurt her,” he threatens Oz.
The boy I’ve known since kindergarten averts his gaze. “I really am sorry,” he repeats, clicking the cuffs shut around my wrists.
When Izzy and I were kids, we had regular sleepovers at Aunt V’s old place. It was a nice small flat on West High Street, just a couple of blocks from my parents’ house. One night, we were nine or something, Aunt V and Rob went out for dinner. Izzy and I had the place to ourselves. She found Rob’s DVD stack and we ended up watching our first scary movie—an 80s flick by John Carpenter called The Fog. Why am I thinking about this movie right now? Well, because when these vengeful revenants appear and kill most of the town, the protagonists are facing a fog so thick, they can’t see their own hand in front of their eyes, which is exactly what I’m seeing right now—or should I say, what I’m not seeing. The dining room, my friends, all the blood and gore—it’s all wrapped in a nasty haze.
I take deep breaths, trying to blink the mist away. But it’s in vain. I feel nauseous and sick. It’s as if the cuffs suck the energy right out of me. “Princess,” Blaze shouts as I stumble backward, my hip knocking into something hard. “Take that off her,” he orders.
“She’ll be okay in a minute,” Thornton says casually.
And he’s right. The smog clears a bit. I see the body I’ve sent flying to the floor when I bumped into the table. A man in his early thirties, wearing a suit. His head is resting on my Chucks, his blood seeping into the fabric of my shoes.
“See,” Thornton brags. “She’s fine.”
I pull my gaze off the body. The images carved into the cuffs—an ankh, a bird, a pair of entwined snakes—are glowing. A trapping spell, a voice in the back of my mind whispers. I don’t believe in magic—or heka, as the Egyptians once called it—but I can’t deny the power these cuffs have over me.
Blaze is standing behind me. I know he’d wrap his arms around me if they weren’t tied to his back. “You okay?”
I wouldn’t use the term okay. I nod anyway.
Oz’s face is marked with all-too-familiar self-hatred. “I’m so sorry.” I have no doubt he is, but none of this is his fault. It’s mine. These guys came here because of me. They killed because of me. And they will continue to do so because of me.
Thornton rolls his eyes. “Why are all of you so overly dramatic?” He pushes his glasses up his nose and grins. “She’s okay. The cuffs are simply preventing her from going all protectress on me. The second I take them off, she’ll be good as new.”
“You’re dead,” Blaze hisses through gritted teeth.
“Funny.” Thornton laughs. “That’s exactly what Nisha’s dad said, seconds before I sent him to hell.”
My heart cramps. Thornton killed my parents? That can’t be true. I have not looked into my parents’ murderer’s eyes on a daily basis. Didn’t offer him a visit to Dad’s office. No. I refuse to believe that. But what if it’s true? What if—
Memories flood me like a super tsunami.
I pulled my gaze off Dad’s lifeless body. Mom knelt on the floor. Crimson ran down her chin, spilling from the cut on her lip. “Run,” she screamed hysterically. “Run, Nisha! Run.”
A pair of black combat boots strolled my way. I blinked over and over, hoping the nightmare would fade, but the boots came closer.
“Run,” my mom pleaded with me.
I looked up instead. The boots belong to Mr. Thornton. I see him now. His creature-like head blinked in and out of existence. His glowing garnet eyes sparkled at the sight of me.
“Please.” My mom turned to him. “Don’t make her watch.”
Thornton pointed the gun at my mom’s temple. It’s the same gun he used to shoot the chief, the one he’s pointing at Izzy’s head right now.
BANG.
The images of last Devil’s Night don’t fade. They stay with me, stirring up a lethal amount of rage. I lunge forward, ready to get my revenge, ready to kill the bastard. After two steps, I drop to the floor, hardly able to breathe. The angrier I get, the more energy the cuffs drain from me.
“Nisha.” Blaze and Oz are next to me in no time. “Breathe,” Blaze orders. “You have to breathe.”
I try to banish the madness searing through my veins. “I’m okay,” I assure them, allowing Oz to pull me up.
“If it’s any consolation,” Thornton starts, “killing your mother didn’t bring me any joy. Beauty like hers should never die.”
The gun to Izzy’s temple no longer keeps her lips sealed. “You’re sick.”
Thornton shrugs. “Just a little,” he admits.
I still want to kill him, but I also know I have to pull it together for my friends sake. “I get why you killed my parents.” Asim told me all about the book. “But why did you have to do this?” I point at the corpses scattered all over the room.
Thornton sighs. “We needed a few souls,” he explains nonchalantly. “The portal to the underworld won’t open itself, honey.”
All of this mayhem is part of that stupid ritual they want me to perform? “You really are sick.”
Mole, who has been crying over his dying father’s body up until now, jumps to his feet. “I should have reported you to my dad the second Jerry told me what you did.”
Jerry—so that’s J’s name.
Blaze narrows his eyes at Mole. “What are you talking about?”
Mole approaches Thornton with balled fists. “After Nisha pushed Marie in the girls’ room, Thornton summoned my teammates. He told them there was only one way to protect the people they care for.” He pauses, shame creeping into his eyes. “He said if they ever wanted to feel safe again, they needed to get rid of Nisha for good.”
The Shed incident. That’s why they attacked me so brutally? Because Thornton told them to?
Blaze shoots daggers at Mole. “You knew what they were going to do and didn’t stop them?”
“No.” Mole holds his hands up in defense. “I didn’t know.” He meets my gaze. “You have to believe me, Nisha. I would have stopped them.”
“I know,” I assure him. For some unexplainable reason, Mole likes me, and I don’t think he would have let his friends kill me.
“They told me after I confronted them about what happened,” he goes on.
“Well,” Thornton says cheerfully. “They did a bang-up job.” He winks at me. “I mean, I was there that night. I watched the goddess inside you shake the earth to protect”—he tilts his chin at Blaze—“yo
ur favorite warrior. I’d say it was worth it.”
The guy in black behind the tree was Thornton? Oh. Boy. And here I thought I’d seen it all.
“That isn’t all he did,” Mole blurts out, focusing on Blaze. “He’s the reason I came by your house.”
Mole came by Blaze’s house? When did this happen? I sure am not up to date.
“Let me guess,” Blaze mutters. “He told you about my past, didn’t he?”
Mole nods. “He claimed you were dangerous, man. I was just trying to look out for Nisha.”
Should we get out of this alive, they both owe me an explanation.
Thornton rolls his eyes. “I needed you out of her life, warrior. I knew you’d always protect her. You always were loyal to her only.”
“You’re fucking crazy,” Blaze snorts.
Thornton grins. “I prefer pragmatic or genius, Medjay.”
“Stop calling me that,” Blaze barks.
The lunatic history teacher rests his chin on Izzy’s shoulder. His lips are close to Izzy’s neck. She shudders violently every time his disgusting breath beats against her skin. “My, my, my, someone’s ashamed of his past life. I guess I’d be too, had I betrayed the god who saved my life.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Oz blurts out, unable to handle more mysteries.
Thornton points the gun at Blaze. “Why don’t you ask your friend?”
Oz’s gaze skirts to Blaze. “I have no idea,” he assures him.
Psycho teacher arches a brow. “C’mon, now. Don’t pretend you’ve never heard of the story your ancestors tell so proudly about the mightiest warrior, saved by the goddess herself. The boy with the mark of the”—he directs the gun at Blaze’s chest—“Bennu bird.”
Is he referring to the story Kathy told me over dinner? The one that I could have sworn I’ve listened to before?
“So, what if I have?” Blaze counters. “It’s just a myth, made up by bored Travelers.”
Thornton’s laughter bursts the blood vessels in my brain. “You’re cute, Medjay. But you’re also wrong. If you don’t take my word for it, then why don’t you ask your princess? She’s seen the real you.”
Book of Souls (Gods of Egypt 1) Page 28
