Burned

by Karen Marie Moning

  As we ascend the snowy peak, the others drop to low crouches near the ground.

  Barrons leads the rest of them, sticking to the barren patches. The moon silvers the mountain with a faint merlot tinge. Invisible, I stride to the cliff’s edge, battling a stiff breeze. I inhale deeply of the crisp cold mountain air. Far to the north I see the needlelike spire where the Hag roosts. Ryodan’s right. Nobody could climb it. Not with her sitting on top of it as she is now, back to us, knitting feverishly away, bloody, snaky hair spilling down her back and bloody, snaky guts from her gown dripping over the side. Even with her gone, it would be a dangerous feat. Although as a potential plan B, we might wait for her to leave and try it, if plan A fails. If I could get into her nest and lie in wait, invisible … wait, I don’t dare stab her. But then again, if everyone else rescued Christian and abandoned me here until I got control of myself again …

  Hopefully it won’t come to that.

  “Are you ready?” Barrons says in a rough whisper.

  I nod, then append it with a “Yes. ” I keep forgetting they can’t see me, since I can see them.

  “Where are you? Touch me. ”

  I slip my hand into his, and for a moment he just stands there, looking down at where I am, then he closes his eyes and laces strong fingers with mine. I hear exactly what he’s not saying in them: You better bring your ass back to me, woman.

  I reply with mine, Always.

  He laughs softly then somehow finds my face and kisses me, light and fast, and I taste him on my lips, need him again, hard and fast and soon.

  Then he and Ryodan are groping around on me, hooking pulleys to my rings, preparing me for my first-ever rappelling trip down the side of a twelve-hundred-foot cliff.

  Going over the side is the hardest part. The wind is cutting up here, pelleting in stiff gusts. I close my gloved hands on the cable as I ease over the edge, feeling about for footing. I eye the thin cable dubiously. It’s all that’s keeping me connected to life. I’m not sure even I could survive a twelve-hundred-foot fall. I know I wouldn’t like the recovery from it. “Are you going to hook it around something?” I whisper.

  “Ryodan already secured it to a rock. You’re safe. We’ve got you,” Barrons replies. “If something goes wrong, you have only to pull yourself up. ”

  “Your primary objective is getting Christian out of here,” Dageus whispers. “Doona fash yourselves with the rest of us. ” Then he adds something in another language.

  Drustan says, “Gaelic. A blessing in the old way. ”

  “Thanks,” I murmur.

  “If you prefer, I will go,” Jada says.

  I hear something different in her voice and look up, past Barrons, and catch my breath. It’s the first trace of Dani I’ve seen. Jada looks worried. About me.

  I smile, but she can’t see it, and say, “I know you would. And appreciate it. But I’ve got it. Just keep an eye on the Hag for me. ”

  “You have to kick off, Mac,” Ryodan says softly. “Go down a dozen feet, push out gently, drop twenty feet or so, regain the face and repeat. ”

  “Don’t push out hard,” Jada whispers. “Get your climbing legs. Descend slowly at first. ” She doesn’t add and do not puke but I hear the unspoken recrimination in her voice.

  I glance down and am instantly sorry I did. I almost puke. I’m hanging above a sheer drop. I can do this, I tell myself. I can do this.

  “Did you eat Unseelie, lass?” Drustan whispers.

  “Got it on me. Hits fast as a shot of adrenaline. ”

  “Go,” Barrons says. “We don’t know what shape he’s in or when she’ll next stir. ”

  I keep my eyes locked on his dark face as I force my feet to do the counterintuitive on a cliff and kick myself off it.

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  My first drop takes me a short ten feet. The instant I feel myself free-falling, I grab the cable and squeeze. My gloves grip hard and yank me to an abrupt halt. I take a deep breath, exhale, and try again. This time I drop about fifteen. My heart is racing and lodged high in my throat.

  Each time I kick off, I feel a little more secure, trust that my cable is solid and I’m not going to fall. After my fifth try, I force myself to glance down and see where Christian is, and estimate he’s still about eighty or so feet below me. I decide to start talking to him when I’m a dozen feet away. I glance up and see three heads looking down but the moon is behind them so I can’t make out their features.

  When I’m twenty feet or so from Christian’s head, I feel a tight snap of the cable, a prearranged warning if anything in our current situation changes. Shit, I think, glancing around wildly, half expecting the Hag to erupt from directly behind me and somehow pierce me with her lance even though I’m invisible.

  My blood chills. I am still invisible, right? The Book would have no reason to expose me now. I glance up at my gloved hand then down at my body. Yup, still invisible. Then what? I brace myself on the rock and turn to look at the Hag’s nest.

  My heart sinks. She’s stirring, standing, bloody dress dripping over the side of the spire, black holes where her eyes should be trained in our direction.

  She’s tense, preparing for flight.

  Son of a bitch.

  She’s coming.

  35

  “Off into the sunset, living like there’s nothing left to lose”

  MAC

  I glance up but don’t see anyone at the cliff’s edge. Only a thin black cable snaking over the side.

  Good. That means they warned me and sought cover, as was our contingency plan.

  I glance down. If the Hag comes for Christian now, I’m perched on the side of the cliff a mere twenty feet above where she plans to hunker down and flay the Highlander. I’ll have to hang here, wait for her to finish, then climb back up and wait until Christian heals a little to try again.

  Unless she’s going somewhere else. Could I be so lucky?

  I glance back over my shoulder, peering through the moonlit night. She’s still standing in her nest, macabre gown of guts dripping over the edge, swaying from side to side in an eerily reptilian manner, nose in the air, head tilted as if listening intently.

  Surely she didn’t hear the sound of my boots hitting the side of the cliff over all this wind and from a quarter of a mile away.

  Did she? I have no idea the acuteness of her echolocation skills.

  I hang there, debating options. I don’t need to kick out anymore. I can inch down another ten feet, whisper to Christian, give him the spear, kick out to draw her near him. Then pull myself up out of the way really fast.

  Or … I could hang here while she kills him again, wait and inch back up.

  Only to inch back down later.

  I so don’t want to do this again. The way I see it, the odds of failing are directly proportionate to the number of attempts, increasing each time.

  What would Jada do?

  That’s a no-brainer.

  I steal another glance at the Hag.

  She’s still standing in her nest. Not hearing any vibrations. As long as she doesn’t, we should be fine.

  I begin to inch slowly downward.

  When I’m ten feet from Christian’s head, I say softly, “Christian, it’s me, Mac. Don’t talk loud. Keep it low. ”

  I have to repeat it several times before I hear a guttural groan.

  My head instantly whips to the Hag but she’s still standing, unmoving.

  “We’re here to save you. I’m bringing you the spear. I’m going to pry one of your hands free,” I say in a low voice. No way I can try to drive a spike in now. She’d hear it for sure. It’s going to be risky enough prying one of the rivets out. “You’ll have to hold on until she comes for you again. Hide the spear. ” As soon as I say that, I think, Where exactly do I expect him to hide it? The man is naked.

  I’m beginning to realize we overlooked a few critical details in our pla
n.

  I hang there, boots carefully braced on a tiny, narrow ledge on the sheer cliff face, being buffeted by a stiff, cutting wind, suspended by nothing but my frightfully thin cable (yes, I read the weight rating; it doesn’t make me feel any better), and force myself to take one hand off it to rummage around in the pocket of my jacket for a bottle of Unseelie flesh, neatly sliced and diced months ago. I keep them hidden all over the bookstore. I’ll take every advantage I can get right now. I half expect the Sinsar Dubh to either prevent me from using it or try to amp it up in some nasty way. Biting back revulsion, I gingerly work the lid free and ease the wriggling contents into my mouth.

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  My body stiffens as it hits me like a thunderbolt.

  Energy, sexuality, vitality, and strength burn in my veins. No wonder so many people are so addicted to it. I feel strong. I feel alive. I feel invincible. I remember eating it once before and taunting Barrons to hit me, punch me, fight with me.

  I ease down a few more inches. So far no malevolent commentary from the Book and no apparent negative side effects. If you exclude a ferocious desire to eat it again once it wears off.

  “Christian, can you hear me?” I whisper.

  “I … hear you,” he says weakly. “Mac … I smell … Unseelie flesh. You … eating it? Ken you what … vile stuff … does … to you. ”

  Despite the agony in his voice, I swear I hear a faint note of teasing.

  “Are you strong enough to hold yourself up for a little while if I free one of your hands?”

  “Aye,” he whispers. “Give me … the bloody spear … kill the … bloody bitch. Can’t see … you. Naught but … black and moonlight. Am I … blind?”

  “I’m invisible. ”

  “Och, and … why wouldn’t you … be. ” He sort of laughs but it turns into a blood-chilling moan of pain.

  “How long do you think you can hold yourself if I get your hand on an outcropping of rock?”

  He’s silent and I get the sense he’s resisting the urge to snarl Forever, trying to gauge what he believes he can actually do. Finally he says faintly, “A few minutes … no more. I’m gutted … nigh dead. Keep … blacking out. ”

  “Shit,” I mutter. From this angle I can’t see past his head.

  I feel another sharp pull on the cable, twice, three times, and my blood runs cold with dread. Three times means she’s taken flight.

  It’s now or never. I have to hurry. And I’m going to be sitting mere feet away when it happens.

  “I’m going for your left hand, Christian. ”

  “She’s … on her way. ”

  “I hear her. ” She has no wings, who knows how the hell she flies? But she makes a sharp whining sound as she displaces air. She’ll be on us in ten seconds if she comes straight for him. I kick out—why not, she’s already coming?—and drop to rest below his left hand. I pull the spear out, wedge the tip beneath the pylon and get ready to pry it free. “Grab my arm with your fingers. You must hold on when I pry it out. ”

  “I’ll … pull you … down. ”

  “You won’t. I ate Unseelie. ”

  “You … never … learn. ” His fingers close around my wrist.

  I establish the most secure toeholds available, which is virtually nothing, as sheer as the rock is where she hung him, and pry with one swift, hard jerk.

  The rivet shoots out, goes flying off into the air behind me, and begins the long plunge to the canyon below. Christian’s grip on me tightens, and my feet slip off the nearly nonexistent ledges.

  I plummet like a stone, in full free fall.

  I grab the cable with both hands and squeeze as tight as I can, jerk it too hard, bounce upward and crash into the rocky bluff.

  Wiping blood from my face, I glance up. Christian is a good thirty feet above me, hanging by a single arm at a telltale slant.

  I look down. The Hag is gone, apparently chasing the sound of the rivet hitting stone.

  It’s a darn good thing I ate Unseelie flesh. Without it I’m not sure I would have been able to stop myself from plunging down to join the rivet. Dark energy pounds in my head, my heart, giving me many times my normal strength and energy.

  I hang there a second, looking up, studying the cliff, picking out my toeholds, plotting my climb back up before beginning the steep ascent.

  When I’m even with Christian, I see his body for the first time and gasp. He’s sliced from breastbone to groin, skin flapping, parts of flesh hanging out, regrowing.

  How the hell has he even been talking?

  “She sees me … hanging by one arm, she’ll lance … me from a … distance. ”

  “I’m going to ease your hand onto a piece of rock. Hold like your life depends on it. ”

  He groans. “Mere minutes, lass … no more … pain immense. ”

  I hear the familiar, dreaded whine of the Hag’s flight and scramble to get his fingers fastened onto a rocky ledge. “You got it?”

  “Aye. Need … spear. ”

  If she sees it, she’ll never come near him. “I’m crouching on the wall, just above your hand. When she gets here, I’ll wrap your fingers around it. It won’t become visible until I let go of it. ”

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  “You’ll … be. … lanced. ”

  “I won’t,” I say flatly. “Shut up and focus. ” I use the cable to raise myself a few feet, praying he can hold on.

  After a moment, he growls, “Where … is … she?”

  Suddenly I hear shouting above us, and Jada screaming at someone to take cover.

  “Fuck this,” I snarl. I take my spear and slam the hard steel against the face of the cliff, to distract her, lure her to us.

  It works.

  She suddenly shoots out above us and hangs in the air, gut gown snaking over the edge, peering down.

  “Right here, bitch,” Christian snarls.

  She draws back like a cobra about to strike.

  And does.

  With one of her insectile lancelike legs, she severs my cable.

  Time suspends and everything seems to unfold in slow motion. I’m staring up, watching the cable snake in coils over the edge for what feels like a full minute, excruciatingly aware I’m a thousand feet above a deadly rocky canyon floor, crunching thoughts furiously: How fast will I fall? Will I die? Will I bounce off an outcropping and break every bone before I even hit bottom? How bad is this going to hurt? Have I been good? Was my life worth anything? What did I accomplish in twenty-three years? I haven’t had nearly enough sex with Barrons.

  I know a mere instant passes, but I understand what people mean when they say their life flashes before their eyes. In vivid detail I see the finest moments I’ve experienced, the ones I regret, my bravest times and my most cowardly, followed by the many experiences I’d hoped to have and now perhaps never will.

  All of it crashes into my brain as I take that horrific first moment of free fall, and in spite of myself, my mouth stretches wide on a scream as I try desperately to brace myself for whatever’s to come: a brutally painful recovery or a happy reunion with Alina in heaven, because if I go to Hell, I’m breaking out. I will not be separated from my sister forever. I haven’t been that bad. Besides, I just ate Unseelie, which means I can kick some serious demon ass busting loose.

  I slam into what feels like a seesaw between my legs and suddenly I’m choking and sputtering, trying to breathe.

  “Good … fucking thing you … screamed,” he rasps. “I’ve … got you … but can’t hold … long. ” I realize he let go of the rock, kicked his leg in the general direction of where he heard me (my pelvic bone is going to be sporting one heck of a bruise) and grabbed blindly for any part of me, ending up with the front of my jacket. He’s hanging by one hand. Strangling me with my coat with the other.

  He murmurs, “And that’s … what … Dageus meant. ”

  “What?” I ask as I flail wildly, finally get
my legs wrapped around him and clamber up his body, trying hard not to clutch at any torn flesh in the process. It’s a messy, slippery business.

  “About my opportunity. Bloody hell, she’s … coming!”

  I can’t let go of him or I’ll fall. If I don’t let go of him, I’ll get lanced when she stabs him. I sincerely doubt she’s going to get close enough to us, with all the intruders she’s spotted on her mountain, for either of us to stab her.

  I’m not leaving without what I came for. We’ll finish the Hag later.

  I hiss, “Can you sift?”

  “Iron. Manacles. Can’t. Too … wounded … anyway. ”

  Terrific. I can pry the rivets out but my spear is useless for cutting the manacles off his arms. I’d wondered how she was preventing an Unseelie Prince from sifting. With iron, the same way Inspector Jayne does with the Unseelie he captures and keeps until someone slays them. Speaking of which, his cages must be crammed to overflowing.

  I’m not dying on this cliff.

  I wrap one arm tightly around Christian’s neck, force myself up and to the left, dig my spear beneath the rivet holding his right hand. It won’t budge. There’s too much weight hanging on it. I dig the tip of the spear in deeper, start rocking it back and forth beneath the rivet, using my Unseelie-flesh-enhanced strength.

  He looks up, growls, “What … the … fuck … Mac! No!”

  The rivet suddenly shoots from the cliff like a missile being launched, and for the second time I go into a full free fall.

  I hold on to him tightly and scream, “Fly, Christian! Fucking fly!”

  36

  “Forever trusting who we are and nothing else matters”

  MAC

  Once again, nothing goes as I expect it to.

  I can’t call what Christian does flying, and he confounds me by going up not down. I expected him to, at worst, be able to unfurl his wings and use them as a sort of hang glider, to soar us to the floor of the gorge without killing us. Instead he scrabbles higher with short, fierce bursts of his wings, digging and clawing at the side of the cliff, using them like appendages, a hawk that can’t fly, scrambling desperately upward.

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  Closer to the freaking Hag.

  “Why the hell don’t you go down?” I shout.