Under Her Skin

by Frost, Jeaniene; Brook, Meljean; Andrews, Ilona

  "Neither do I." He gave her another sad smile.

  She hung her head, torn. She was deeply, deeply afraid. But walking away from the children wasn't in her. She wouldn't be able to look herself in the eye. It was as if they stood in the road with a semi hurtling at them at full speed. What kind of person wouldn't push them out of the harm's way?

  "I should practice more," she said.

  "We're going to need another worm then," Nassar said.

  She glanced at the beast. It lay dead, sliced in a half.

  "You killed it," he told her. "Sometimes the Barrier magic can also become a blade."

  "But I don't even know how I've done it."

  "We don't need to worry about that now," he said. "As long as you can defend me, we should be fine."

  * * *

  Three days later Grace stood in the middle of the street in Millighan City, hugging herself as the sun set slowly. Nassar loomed next to her. Behind them unfamiliar people moved, their magic shifting with them, their clothes color-coded by their clan: grey and black for Dreoch, green for Roar, red for Madrid. Nassar explained the rest of the colors, but she couldn't recall any of it. The anxiety pulsated through her with every heart beat.

  Ahead a seemingly empty stretch of a suburban street rolled into the sunset. The round, red sun hung low above the horizon, a glowing brand upon the clouds.

  Familiar magic brushed her and a heavy hand touched her shoulder gently. Nassar. He wore grey pants tucked into military boots. A long-sleeved shirt hugged his arms and over it he wore a leather vest that wanted very much to be called armor. She wore the same outfit. The leather fitted her loosely enough not to be constricting, but tight enough not to get in the way.

  "Don't worry," Nassar said.

  Her gaze slid to the large axe strapped to his waist. She touched her own blade, a long narrow combat knife. Gerald had taught her the basics of knife-fighting a long time ago but she'd never been in a real fight.

  A male voice rose to the side. "Can he bring a servant into the game?"

  It took a moment to sink in. Of course, her status would be public knowledge among them, but it still cut her like a knife. She turned. A group of people stood on the side. Five of them wore dark blue robes. The arbitrators, she remembered from Nassar's explanations. An older female in the arbitrator robe regarded her with serious grey eyes.

  "If you want to withdraw, you may do so now," the woman said.

  She could withdraw. She could simply refuse to go in. If she did, Nassar would be doomed. He had already committed to the game and she knew he couldn't simply substitute someone else in his place. He wouldn't.

  Overnight, her fears had grown into near panic. Now she could walk away from them.

  Grace looked at the gathering of the clansmen. Her family used to be a clan. Her people should have stood right here. Instead the clansmen viewed her as a servant. Pride spiked in her. She had as much right to be here as anybody else. The vague feeling of unease that had eaten at her ever since Nassar had transformed into a bird crystallized and she finally understood it: it was envy. Envy of the magic used freely. Envy of knowledge. Circumstances had jettisoned her out of this world, but she refused to stay locked out.

  Grace drew herself to her full height. "Why in the world would I want to withdraw?"

  A red-haired man in Roar's green shook his head. "She can't refuse. She isn't even properly trained. She's a servant."

  "Not anymore," Nassar said softly behind her.

  The gathering suddenly grew quiet.

  The arbitrator surveyed them for a long moment. "Nassar, am I to understand that you've released Clan Mailliard from their service?"

  "Yes," he answered.

  The arbitrator looked at her. "You're here of your own free will?"

  "Yes," Grace said.

  The arbitrator glanced at Roar clansman. "There is your answer. Let the record reflect that Clan Mailliard chose to assist Clan Dreoch. You have our leave to proceed."

  They passed her. Grace let out her breath.

  "Thank you," Nassar murmured.

  "You're welcome."

  Two young men in Roar's green came to stand at the other end of the street. Both were lean, strong, hard, as if twisted from leather and twine. Both had long hair bound into horse tails: one red, one black.

  Nassar leaned to her. "Conn and Sylvester Roar. Powerful, but they lack experience."

  The arbitrators passed between them, blocking her vision. As the blue robes fluttered by, Grace saw Conn Roar turn to her. He grinned, his eyes alight with feral fire, and snapped his teeth.

  Alarm dashed down her spine in a rush of cold. She raised her eyebrows. "Someone forgot his muzzle."

  "See the pendant around Conn's neck?"

  Grace glanced at a small black stone hanging on a long chain.

  "That's a summoning stone. They'll use its power to manifest creatures."

  Marrow worms. They'd use it to summon the marrow worms. Nassar had warned her that the Roars would try to kill them. Him, specifically. The game as only the opening salvo to the hostilities between the two clans, and Roars wanted to land the first blow by taking out Dreoch's best magic user.

  The arbitrators raised their hands. A controlled surge of magic washed over the street. The reality drained down, as if it were a reflection in a melting mirror. A new street opened before them. Green and red lianas hung from the dark, sinister houses. Kudzu vines climbed in and out of windows. To the left a huge clump of yellow foam dripped rancid red juice onto the street. A puddle of brown slime slivered across the asphalt like an amoeba and slipped into the storm drain under the light of street lamps. Ahead something furry dashed across the intersection: a long, shaggy body with too many legs.

  Somewhere in that zone a flag waited. Whoever touched the flag would be instantly transported out. They just had to survive long enough to reach it.

  The woman arbitrator raised her hand, fist closed. Next to Grace, Nassar tensed.

  "Let the game begin!" A white light pulsed from the arbitrator's fingers. The crowd erupted in a ragged cheer.

  The two Roar clansmen screamed in unison. Flesh bulged under their skin. Their bodies contorted, their limbs thickened. Black fur sheathed their skin. Horns burst through their manes. Their eyes drowned in golden glow and an extra pair opened beside the first set. As one they raised monstrous faces up, the sharp fangs in their jaws silhouetted against the red sky. Eerie howls tore free from their throats, blending into a haunting song of hunt and murder.

  The Roars dashed into the zone on all fours. Nassar watched them go, his face calm. Leaping and growling, they turned the corner and vanished behind the abandoned houses. The echoes of their snarls died. Nassar took his axe from its sheath, rested it on his shoulder, and strode into the zone, unhurried. Grace swallowed and followed in his footsteps.

  The street lay quiet. They would be watched by magical means while in the zone, but for now the press of many stares bore directly into her back. Her nerves knotted into a clump.

  They've reached the intersection.

  A hint of movement on the roof of a two-storey house made her turn. Grace frowned.

  A flat, wide shape leaped off the roof, aiming at her. She caught a glimpse of a fang-studded mouth among bulging veins. Too stunned to move, she simply stared.

  Nassar's huge back blocked the mouth. A hot whip of magic sprung from his hand, cleaving the creature in two. Twin halves of the beast fell to the ground, spilling steaming guts onto the asphalt.

  "You're allowed to dodge," Nassar said.

  * * *

  The enormous blue beast bore on them. Grace watched it come. It thundered down the street, its six stumpy legs mashing pot holes in the crumbling pavement.

  In the past seven hours, she'd used her magic for defense countless times. Blood splattered her face, some dried to flecks, some still wet. Her side burned where a red furry serpent had bit her before Nassar chopped off both of its heads. A long rip split her left pant leg, ex
posing puckered flesh of the calf where a liana stung her with its suckers. It never ended. There was always a new horror waiting to pounce on them from some dark crevice. Grace clenched her teeth and watched the beast charge.

  It brushed against a house, sending a shower of broken boards in the air, and kept coming, cavernous mouth gaping wide, the sound of its stomping like a canon blast salute at a funeral. Boom-boom-boom.

  Keep it together. Keep it steady.

  Boom-boom-boom.

  The beast was almost on her. Two bloodshot eyes glared. The black mouth opened, ready to devour her.

  "Now!" Nassar barked.

  She slammed her magic into it.

  With a surprised roar, the beast rammed the invisible barrier. Her feet slid back from the pressure. The beast's momentum pitched it to the side. The mammoth body fell, paws in the air. Nassar leaped over it, a feral shadow caught in the moonlight. White light sliced like a huge blade from his hand and Nassar landed by her. Filthy and bloody, he looked demonic.

  Behind him the beast lay split open, like a chicken with a cleaved breastbone. Soft, beach-ball-sized sack of its heart palpitated once, twice, and stopped,

  Grace stared mutely at the carcass. She had never imagined the night could hide things like it, terrible, awful things. She felt like she had aged a lifetime.

  A soft humming filled her skull. She shook her head.

  "What is it?" Nassar grasped her face and turned it to him.

  "Buzzing."

  He raised his head, listened, and grabbed her hand. "Run!"

  She'd learned not to ask why. They sprinted, zigzagging through the labyrinthine streets, past overgrown lawns, past an abandoned playground, where small things with round red eyes clutched at the jungle gym with sharp claws, past office buildings, and burst into a park. In the middle of the park lay a pond, bordered by a row of street lamps spilling orange light. The moon slid from the clouds, illuminating the water's surface and the raised concrete basin of a dried fountain in the center.

  Nassar pulled her into the water and pointed to the fountain. "Go!"

  She swam through the murky water without thinking. Something soft brushed her legs. She shied and squeezed a frantic burst of speed from her exhausted body. Dizziness came and then her hand hit the concrete base. She pulled herself up. Nassar climbed up next to her, grabbed her by her waist and hoisted her up into the seven foot wide basin. She fell on dried leaves and dirt.

  The buzzing grew louder, steady and ominous like the hum of a giant engine.

  An invisible whirlpool of magic built around Nassar. He stood cocooned in its fury, his axe held high. His body trembled under the pressure. The cuts and gashes on his arms reopened and bled.

  The buzzing swelled like a tidal wave.

  She saw the axe fall in an arch, its tip prickling the pond. The magic sucked itself into the axe handle and burst through its blade into the water. The pond became preternaturally calm, its surface smooth like glass. The buzzing vanished.

  Nassar swayed. Grace grabbed his shoulders and pulled him against the lip of the basin, steadying him. His hand squeezed hers. He turned carefully, leaped up, and pulled himself into the basin next to her.

  A swarm of insects spilled from the street. Green and segmented, like grasshoppers armed with enormous teeth, they were the size of a large cat. They streamed around the water in a mottled mass, bodies upon bodies, packed but none touching the pond.

  "What are they?" Grace whispered hoarsely.

  "Akora. The spell keeps them out of the water. As long as nothing disturbs the surface, they can't see or hear us. Don't worry. They can't survive the sun. They'll stay here entranced by the spell until morning." He lay on his back and closed his eyes.

  Across the water the green insects crawled over the stone benches, perched on lamp posts, and combed the weeds of the once perfectly cut lawn. They had surrounded the pond. Everywhere Grace looked, long segmented legs rubbed, sharp mandibles gnawed on random refuse, and backs split to flutter pale wings.

  There were too many of them.

  She felt so hollow. The seven hours she had spent in this place had consumed her: there was nothing left inside her. "We'll die here," Grace whispered.

  "No."

  "They'll eat us, and I'll never see my mother again." What was the point of going on? They'd never make it out. She no longer cared if they would.

  A warm hand grasped her and pulled her with irresistible strength snug against Nassar's chest. His arms closed about her, shielding her, shocking her cold body with their heat. His cheek rested against her hair. "I won't let you die, Grace," he whispered. "I promise I won't let you die."

  She lay rigid against his chest, her face in his neck, listening to his strong, even heartbeat. His lips grazed her cheek. "I must be out of my mind," he whispered and his mouth closed on hers.

  He kissed her, at first gently, then harder, as if he tried to breathe his life into her. She felt numb, but he persisted, his kiss passionate and searing. His arms caged her. His large hard body cradled hers, keeping her from slipping off into the empty deadness. His magic wrapped them both. He kissed her again and again, anchoring her, refusing to let her go. Caught on the threshold between complete numbness and painful awareness, Grace teetered, unsure. He pulled her back to life, back to the desperate reality. She didn't want to face it.

  A shudder ran through her. She closed her eyes and let him part her lips with his tongue. He drank her in and finally she thawed. She wanted to live, to survive so she could feel this again. She wanted Nassar.

  Tears wet her cheeks.

  Nassar released her mouth and crushed her to him.

  "I want you so much," he whispered, his green eyes looking into the distance. "And I can't have you. I really must be cursed."

  She lay in his arms for a long time.

  The coal darkness of the sky faded to pale grey of pre-dawn. Grace stirred. "Why did you do it?" she asked softly. "Why did you become a revenant?"

  "I was dying," he answered, his voice hoarse. "We had a feud with the Garveys. They cornered my brother, John, and I went to get him. John didn't want to be taken alive. He didn't think help was coming, and he cursed himself and all those around him with a plague of marrow worms. A suicide curse is very potent. I brought him out of the trap, but the curse had caught me. We were both dying and the family could do nothing to keep us alive. I'd lost consciousness. John knew that if I took his body, I'd gain a temporary boost of power to break the curse. He made the family commence the ritual."

  "He sacrificed himself?" she whispered.

  "Yes. I remember there was a rush of red, like I was swimming through a sea of blood and drowning, and then I saw this shape floating in the depths. I thought it was my body and I knew if I wanted to survive, I had to get to it. I grabbed it, saw it was John... The pull to live was too strong. I awoke in my brother's body."

  She put her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

  "I killed my brother so I can live," he said. "It doesn't get any worse than that."

  She simply held him.

  A low growl froze both of them. Grace flipped onto her stomach and glanced over the lip of the basin. In the night, the insects had stopped moving. They lay still now, entranced by the spell, their chitin mirroring the grass and weeds around them so closely that if she didn't know they were there, she would've mistook them for heaps of vegetation.

  A lean muscled creature trotted along the edge of the pond. It gripped the ground with four oversized paws armed with sickle claws. Its serpentine tail lashed its dark pelt spotted with flecks of red and yellow. The beast padded down the shore, dragon-like jaws hanging open showing off fangs the size of her fingers. Foamy spit leaked from between its teeth, staining the long tuft of red and yellow fur hanging from its chin. It halted, sniffed the air, and turned to the basin. Four glowing amber eyes glared at her.

  "Sylvester Roar," Nassar murmured.

  Sylvester sniffed the water. His narrow muzzle wrinkled.
He looked like he was grinning at them with his monstrous mouth.

  Nassar growled. "No, you young idiot! Can't you see the spell on the water?"

  Sylvester snapped his teeth and snarled in a feral glee. An eerie raspy growl came from between his teeth. "I see you, Nassar. You can't hide from me."

  "Inexperienced fool." Nassar reached for his axe.

  "I'm coming, Nassar. I'm coming for you." Sylvester gave a short ragged howl and splashed into the water. Little waves ran over the surface of the pond. Behind Sylvester the akora swarm swelled. Buzzing filled the air. Sylvester turned—

  Nassar grabbed her and forced her to the floor of the basin, next to him.

  A hoarse scream sliced through the morning, a terrible howl of a creature in impossible agony being torn to pieces. Grace squeezed her eyes shut. Sylvester screamed and screamed, the buzzing of the akora a morbid choir to his shrieks, until finally he fell silent.

  Grace lay still, afraid to breathe. Slowly she opened her eyes.

  An akora perched on the lip of the basin. It sighted her with dead black eyes. Its back split, releasing a pale gauze of wings.

  Sun broke above horizon. Its rays struck the insect. Tiny cracks split its shiny thorax. The insect shrieked and fled, breaking apart over the water of the pond. Grace rose. All around the pond the insect horde fractured and crumbled under the rays of the sun. The air smelled faintly of smoke. She looked beyond the heaps of melting insects and drew a sharp breath. Past the park, to the right, rose a tall heap of rubble that had been a multi-storied building in its former life. Atop the rubble a small white flag fluttered in the wind.

  "The flag!'

  Nassar had already seen it and jumped into the water. Together they swam across the pond. As she waded onto the solid ground, Grace passed a human skeleton, stripped bare of all flesh – all that remained of Sylvester.

  Nassar moved cautiously along the sidewalk, jogging lightly on his feet, axe at the ready. She followed him, gripping her knife.

  He wanted her and she wanted him. He'd forged a connection between them she couldn't ignore. The way he had held her, the way he'd touched her made her want to hold on to him. She had no idea what would come of their connection, but her instinct warned her she wouldn't get an opportunity to find out. Thinking of losing him now, before she had a chance to sort it out, terrified her.