Ravenfall

by Narrelle M. Harris

  Michael cried out in agony as Frazer worked fingers into his gory throat wound purely to cause pain; to get Gabriel’s attention. In his other hand, Frazer held Michael’s compact gun.

  ‘Get over here, you little fucker.’

  ‘Please don’t hurt him.’ Gabriel knew that James had seen him, up precariously high. He could imagine Jamie’s horror, and how mad he’d be, after he’d made Gabriel promise to stay away from the roof.

  Jamie will save me, one way or another. He’ll save me and together we’ll save Michael, because we have Anthea. We’re not out of options yet.

  ‘Oh, I’m sick to death of waitin’ fer ye, pet.’ Frazer rose, fast and smooth, and lunged for Gabriel.

  Gabriel took his leap of faith, flinging himself over the precipice, narrowly avoiding the fox’s claws swiping through the space where his body had been.

  And he fell and he fell and he fell and he fell, wind whipping the cry from his throat, the terror and the hope both conspiring to blank his mind as the ground rushed towards him and all he could think was Jamie, a voiceless sob, before suddenly, and much too soon, the air was slammed out of his lungs.

  James, so near the Southwark side of the bridge, saw Gabriel either fall or fling himself off the hospital roof and found reserves of speed he had no idea existed, even in this strangely strong dead body of his.

  He was so fast that everything around him seemed immobile.

  Gabriel falling into nothing.

  Run.

  A blur on the bridge, leaping over and across the moving cars, pushing off a bonnet to add to his momentum, onto the footpath, up onto the metal-capped wall beside it, and on, on, on.

  Gabriel, arms flailing, black jacket flapping like useless wings, dark hair wind-wrecked in the fall.

  The stairwell ahead would rob him of impetus, and in any case the shortest distance between two points was a straight line, not the sharp angle of street-to-twisting-stairs-to-embankment.

  Run.

  Measure distance, run, push hand to the edge of the bridge, shove feet at the ledge. Leap into the space, ten metres across the river to the brown marble walls, to the path on the bank; cutting corners, saving vital seconds.

  The broken raven, falling.

  He crashed – shoulder, arm, back – into the smooth stone of the walls, and he used the energy to pivot as he slid down. His feet hit the path, he leapt down the steps without touching them. Land on his feet, push off, and run. Run. Run.

  Gabriel, falling with a faint, breathless cry of fear.

  A second of Gabriel out of his sight, his passage a blur through the underpass, and then light, and Gabriel, God, no, Gabriel.

  Another leap, one foot on the edge of the wall to push, push, up, arms stretched out wide to catch him. To save the one important thing. The only thing. To keep safe the breath his body no longer breathed; the heart for whom his own slow heart beat; his very soul.

  James’s body crashed into Gabriel’s, his shoulder driving into Gabriel’s stomach at this awkward angle, his arms clutching wildly to Gabriel’s torso.

  He grasped, twisted, trying to put his own body between Gabriel’s and the unforgiving ground. The motion took them over the river wall, over the top of the lampposts and the string of lights and the yellow balloons bobbing in the air, down to the muddy shore exposed by the low tide.

  James’s back slammed into the wet bed of mud and chunks of stone and river detritus, his spine, arms, legs braced to absorb the violence of the landing, to hold Gabriel up, away, up, safe safe safe oh please safe. Please.

  Carefully, James tilted to deposit Gabriel gently on the uneven ground. Unthinking, he shoved and kicked huge chunks of black stone away to clear the ground. ‘Gabriel!’

  Gabriel stared up at him, green eyes wide with shock, blood smeared over his face.

  Not breathing.

  Not breathing.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Tavisa saw what was happening from her car as she crossed London Bridge with her siren wailing; the blur that could only be James Sharpe leaping from the bridge to the opposite bank. A grey smear of motion pushing off from the river wall, into the air, up towards that plummeting black bird.

  Not a bird. Gabriel.

  Tavisa realised it would take longer in this afternoon traffic to find the exit to Tooley Street and down the roads to the hospital, than to follow James’s lead.

  She pulled over on the bridge, right next to the stairs, and flung herself from the vehicle. Anthea’s gun in her pocket, she ran for her life (not hers, for others, for everyone else’s lives) down the stairs to the path towards her nightmare made real.

  James rolled Gabriel over carefully, cradling Gabriel’s head to lay him on the ground. He assessed his own damage as negligible, feeling the ache as he moved. All of his attention was for Gabriel’s needs.

  Gabriel. Face covered in blood. Not breathing.

  James bit back the keening that rose in his throat, instead falling into old army habits. Triage.

  No major head injury. The blood wasn’t Gabriel’s. It smelled of fox.

  Gabriel’s eyes were darting, searching James’s face. He was distressed but focused. His pulse was strong; James could hear that without needing to take it, so the problem was–

  Ah. The catch had been awkward, James’s body slamming into Gabriel’s diaphragm. James pushed Gabriel’s leather jacket wide, tore open the T-shirt beneath it. The red blotch on Gabriel’s body would bruise spectacularly but, running his hand over the mark, James could detect no swelling or heat. Nothing to indicate a serious internal injury.

  Winded then. The diaphragm was spasming.

  James pressed gently into the muscle and leaned over Gabriel.

  ‘You need air,’ he said calmly to Gabriel’s panic, before closing his mouth over Gabriel’s and puffing a lungful of oxygen directly into him.

  Gabriel coughed, then heaved in a laboured breath. Then another, sucking in the air with a desperate hiss. A third, and then he started laughing.

  ‘Gabriel?’

  ‘Knew you’d do it,’ said Gabriel, wheezily but perfectly audible. Perfectly fine.

  Then he woofed air out again as James pulled him up into his arms and hugged him. And hugged him. And hugged him. And hugged him. And hugged him.

  Gabriel wrapped his arms around James, curled one arm up to run fingers through James’s hair. He didn’t say anything, simply held and stroked James’s back, his head.

  ‘You did it,’ he whispered.

  ‘Havenae ever run so fast,’ the tears he couldn’t cry were in James’s voice. ‘Never. I didnae know I could.’

  ‘Sorry about the roof,’ Gabriel managed with a choking breath. ‘He was waiting there when I went to meet Michael. Sorry. Sorry.’

  ‘Shh, now, mae bonnie, mae angel, shh.’ James pressed kiss after kiss to Gabriel’s cheeks and forehead, heedless of the dried blood and the fear-sour sweat. ‘I’ve got ye, love. It’s all right.’

  ‘It’s not.’ Gabriel struggled up, ‘Michael’s badly hurt and Frazer’s still got him.’

  James pulled Gabriel to his wobbly feet.

  ‘We have to hurry,’ said Gabriel. Ignoring the gathering crowd of puzzled bystanders, he led the way, staggering towards the underpass to take them to the other side of the building, towards the hospital entrance.

  James leant him against the spiked fence that separated the car park undercroft of the hospital’s nearest neighbour. He boosted Gabriel over the fence, following so swiftly after that he was able to steady Gabriel’s descent as well. Then they were off again, darting between stationary cars and to the entrance.

  Tavisa saw Gabriel falling like a broken bird. But she’d never seen James like this in her dream, all speed and grace – well, until he’d crashed into the wall, but then he twisted in the air, landing perfectly and instantly running once more. Something of a dark angel, in his way: concentrated power and speed and intent.

&nb
sp; Then the two of them were over the river wall and crashing into the low tide mud and rocks. Tavisa stumbled to a stop on the path, grasping the rails as she leaned over to see (terrified to see) the man in black, covered in blood, and oh god, James’s face – the devastation in it. Gabriel had thrown the raven from the roof, and Gabriel was dead, and it was Gabriel’s doing and James Sharpe, a man already dead, looked like he had seen the worst thing, the very worst thing, this terrible world had to offer.

  But no. No, because then the doctor was tearing open Gabriel’s T-shirt and kissing… no, not kissing. Mouth to mouth. Gabriel coughed and breathed and then the two of them clung to each other, as though each man was the other’s greatest gift from the world. Not nightmare and perdition after all, but life, and joy.

  It was almost more painful to see than the loss, but it was a better pain.

  But this wasn’t over yet. Tavisa checked the text she had received from Anthea.

  Michael compromised. Need your backup.

  Tavisa left Gabriel and James to their miracle, turning to the narrow alley leading to Tooley Street, which would take her to the hospital entrance.

  She ran as fast as she could, wheeling left on the larger road, then finding the shortest route to the hospital entrance. In to the lifts to get to the highest floor. She squeezed out as the doors were opening and ran along the corridor to the stairs that led to the roof.

  She drew the gun Anthea had given her, and began the ascent.

  ‘Well, that was a waste, wasn’t it?’ Frazer said to Michael Dare. ‘Did you hear the thump? I heard the thump. It was less wet than I imagined it would be.’

  The bleeding slowed again. Michael groaned, less in pain than in despair.

  ‘You’re going to be such a lovely kit,’ said Frazer. ‘They’ve taken Jack Cray, but I don’t need him anymore. Not now I have you. But here, stop fighting us. Give in and I’ll fix that hole in you, lickety split.

  Michael gave him a look of pure, cold poison.

  Frazer crouched and brushed his fingers over the wound. ‘I can keep you alive, ye knaw. Give you more of the fox. Ye’ll heal up in naw time.’

  Michael tried to move away; he managed to shove his feet against the concrete and put an extra half inch between them. It cost him in pain and blood.

  ‘Oh, Mikey, stop fighting me. I appreciate yer strength. I do. I’ve never had anyone fight me so hard with just their brain before. All that willpower. It’s delicious. But give it up, would ye? And don’t feel bad about Gabriel. Ye should be proud. What he did was kind of noble. Stupid, but noble.’

  Frazer raised his head suddenly, surprised by a noise. Then he grinned again.

  ‘Ah. Yer bodyguard is here. She smells lovely, doesn’t she? Positively edible. And she’s still trying to guard your body. How about I make me final push, then. I can let the fox loose in you, and you can go eat yer little chicken.’

  Michael Dare shut his eyes. When the fox pushed against his brain, he pushed back, and hoped to God it would give him an aneurism.

  Tavisa waited at the entrance to the roof, gun drawn, watching. Anthea had crept out onto the rooftop and was crouched behind a cooling tower, her gun trained on Michael Dare. Anthea’s gun hand was trembling.

  Frazer halted in his awful speech to cock his head. Tavisa heard that terrible, wicked voice tell Michael that it was over. Michael was about to become utterly possessed by the fox, and then he’d be made to kill Anthea.

  Michael was losing the fight. He was almost as pale as James Sharpe from the loss of blood, but his waxy skin was covered in a sheen of perspiration. His lips were going blue.

  He wasn’t long for the world, one way or another. Dead soon, or alive as a puppet of the fox.

  I’d rather be dead too, Tavisa thought. That was our job. To let him die human, not be used

  She noticed Anthea had adjusted her grip on her gun, her hand steady as she took a bead on Michael. And she shouldn’t have to do that. She shouldn’t have to kill the man she loves.

  Lying in the spreading pool of his own blood, Michael began to change. His hair turned a deeper auburn, the fur thickened on his hands. His eyes began to turn ember dark.

  And suddenly, the roof wasn’t there. Frazer, Michael, Anthea, all gone, replaced by a dizzying swirl of images.

  A fox, with Michael Dare’s eyes, lapping, slurping, at a rose garland around the Queen’s throat.

  Anthea’s face twisting, growing teeth and madness at the sight of a pendulous pearl in the black velvet sky, bones popping and skin splitting and the ragged tail wagging as the wolf that used to be a woman crunched fragile, newborn bones, and sang to the moon.

  Helene’s red mouth all teeth and thirst, feeding on a little girl.

  A cloud of fine snow, the finest, falling, falling, and she knew, she knew, that it was the dust of James Sharpe, settling like grief on the carpet of the flat at Ivy Gardens.

  Behind the cloud of dust, holding the sharp-ended tree branch, was a black-and-silver fox, with ember eyes. DI Bakare’s body only, his mind and heart belonging to the fox now.

  Gabriel Dare, hand to his chest that was blooming flowers – red roses, red carnations, red poppies, red, red, red – and the Michael- fox howling a shrill cry before launching himself at his brother’s throat.

  I’m dreaming, Tavisa realised. This is the future.

  And as suddenly, the vision was gone, leaving Anthea, squeezing the trigger; Michael, still fighting, teeth clenched, his voice a rising whine as he succumbed.

  No. No. No no no. This stops. This ends now.

  Gun raised, Tavisa stepped onto the roof; she stepped into this crucial point, this fulcrum of the future, between Anthea and Michael.

  Let Michael die human, but on his own. No-one should have to kill the one they love.

  ‘Leave him be.’ Stupid to alert Frazer, but she couldn’t shoot him in the back. A failing, probably. James Sharpe might think so, given his stealth earlier, despatching the vampires, the deadliest of their obstacles, with such ruthless efficiency. So, yes, it was stupid to give this monster warning, but Tavisa Datta was who she was, and she couldn’t do it another way.

  Frazer darted a look of annoyance at her, then his brow cleared. The pressure on Michael eased, and his eyes were filled with pain and despair, but they were his own human eyes, at least.

  ‘Well, well, you’re the other dreamer my kit thinks about. Look at you, hinny, running around trying to make sense of all yer funny dreams.’ His nose wrinkled with distaste.

  Tavisa’s aim didn’t waver. She took a step towards him.

  Frazer spread his arms wide in mocking invitation.

  ‘You won’t,’ he said confidently. ‘Ye’re one of the good guys. You should have wings and a fucking halo.’

  Sergeant Tavisa Datta pulled the trigger and Frazer staggered back a single step, his surprise almost comical. He looked down at the bloom of red in the centre of his diaphragm.

  Tavisa scowled in aggravation. She’d missed.

  Aim for the heart and the head, James Sharpe had said. That’s very effective for pretty much everything.

  Tavisa strode towards Frazer as he began to change.

  Tavisa adjusted her aim. ‘Have you seen pictures of the Christian angels in churches? Big fuck-off swords, they’ve got. You should pay attention.’

  His face grew long and sharp, his hands shrank and become clawed as he scrabbled away from her. His foxy face twisted wrongly as he spoke.

  ‘I can shift,’ he whined. ‘I can heal.’ He was at the edge of the roof, bleeding onto the concrete yet bizarrely confident that he was going to get away.

  And another flash in Tavisa’s head, another kaleidoscope of images. Dust and red blooms and the crunching of bones. Different images, perhaps, but the wicked fox remained in the centre of them. Healed and warped as ever.

  The fox whined again and began to rise, to transforming human feet, a human hand pressed to its bloodstained,
white-furred belly that had stopped bleeding.

  Tavisa Datta’s second bullet caught him between those burning eyes and he pitched back, his body poised between fox and man, between sky and earth, between surprise and oblivion.

  Then gravity wound around his corpse and pulled it down, hard and fast. Tavisa kneeled, put her hand on the ledge and leaned over to see.

  On the path, a fox. What was left of a fox. Blood. Fur. Pieces and parts. It was disgusting. Horrific. Over.

  The bile rose up and Tavisa turned her head to be sick on the rooftop, heaving until she was empty.

  Once she regained her breath, she peeped over the edge again. Michael Dare’s people were there already, herding pedestrians away from the path, from the bridge where they were gawking. Other agents wearing blue latex gloves gathered up the pieces of the fox, placing them in separate bags, sluicing down the pavement with buckets of bleach-stinking water. Making it all go away.

  Her uneasiness made way for relief.

  In her mind’s eye, that future of blood and blooms, of dust and death, blew away. Something else was there. She couldn’t see it yet, and it wasn’t devoid of darkness, but mostly it was green and growing. Mostly it was good.

  She heard a soft cry. Anthea was sitting with Michael’s head cradled in her lap, heedless of the blood soaking her clothes as she stroked his hair.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Gabriel’s heart was hammering so hard, James thought he’d be able to hear it from space. On reaching the hospital entrance, the artist had dragged James towards the nearest lift. His breathing had become erratic again.

  ‘Sod this,’ muttered James. He seized Gabriel by the hand and took him to the stairwell, away from prying eyes. His leg hurt but the lift was too slow and would stop on all the bloody floors. This was the more viable option.

  ‘Hop up, then. Hang on tight,’ he commanded.

  ‘No. You’re hurt.’

  ‘It’s nothing.’