by Anna Argent
How had she known to leave behind any of this at all? Was she some kind of psychic or prophet? Had her shards told her? And if so, how did they know?
Echo couldn’t remember a time when Mom hadn’t been with her children. She’d never left them for more than a few hours, so how had she been able to manage burying this stuff?
Had Mom always known about the locket? If so, why hadn’t she mentioned it? Had she known what it was?
She knew it was important, said a small voice in her head. She knew it could free her daughters.
Echo practically jumped out of her skin. She wasn’t used to her shards answering questions. She wasn’t used to them behaving in any sane way at all. They were simply annoying voices of insanity rolling around in her skull.
“Daughters?” Echo asked aloud. “Mom always thought that Melody would be the one to inherit her infection—her shards. Not me.”
An image of Hedy as a young, happy girl burst in her head, so clear and vivid, she knew it wasn’t just a memory. One or more of her shards was trying to show her something.
“What about Hedy?”
She needs you.
“She doesn’t need anyone. She’s dead.” Her voice broke on the last part. Saying the words aloud still hurt.
Echo wondered if they’d ever stop hurting.
The image of Hedy as a smiling girl morphed into the older, bloody woman that Echo had imagined earlier.
Echo closed her eyes and growled at the voice. “Stop it. This isn’t funny.”
She needs you. Sing her to sleep.
Shock raked its claws down Echo’s spine.
Mom had always sung to Hedy to calm her down. She was a wild hellion with outbursts of rage that only Mom’s song could soothe. Every night, Mom sang her to sleep, stroking her dark hair. She made up silly lyrics that went on for hours. Sometimes they rhymed, sometimes they were strings of nonsense. It didn’t seem to matter so long as the song didn’t end.
Echo had been jealous of that attention more than once, but Mom had always said that all of her children would get what they needed. Echo shouldn’t keep score.
Out of respect for Mom, she’d tried not to be jealous, but on those long, cold nights when Mom would sing a lullaby just for Hedy, Echo had secretly wished they’d never found her adopted sister in that alley.
To this day Echo was ashamed that she’d felt that way toward an innocent, little girl, and when she was old enough to understand the sin of envy, she’d worked hard to be a good sister so that Hedy would never know those dark thoughts.
She knows, whispered a cold, raspy voice. A different voice. She has always known.
Hazel. That was her sinister whisper in Echo’s head—one she studiously ignored.
Hedy was gone. Echo couldn’t apologize for her jealousy. She couldn’t make amends. All she could do was remember the way Hedy had been on the good days, when they’d played and laughed together the way real sisters should. She’d been sweet then. Kind, even.
That was the Hedy that Echo would keep in her memory—not the nasty, violent child that Mom had tamed.
Things were different now. Echo knew the pain of loss and would always protect herself from it. She’d wept over all the graves she would ever weep over. And while people would come in and out of her life, she would never let them become part of her the way her family had been.
Some people said that it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, but those people were idiots. They had no experience with real pain, with real grief. If they had, then asinine sayings like that would never have been born.
Echo thought about Eden and Harold, about Marvel and the others at Asgard. Those people wanted to be her friends.
Stygian was more than that now. He was her lover.
But that was all he could ever be. She couldn’t fall for him. Not now. Not ever. The world they lived in—the one ruled by ancient, evil souls and dark powers that could kill without warning—was far too dangerous.
You need him, Hazel whispered, her raspy voice a thin thread of sound.
She gripped the butt of the gun. “I don’t need anyone.”
He needs you.
Echo’s gut clenched at the low blow Hazel had delivered.
It was one thing for Echo to steel her heart against loving Stygian or his friends. It was another to turn her back on them. On him. And every day she was with him put her heart in more jeopardy.
She had to finish this job and part ways before it was too late. She would not—could not—lose someone else she loved.
Something rustled in the bushes at the edge of the trees, drawing her attention.
This side of the park was bordered by a creek that had been left to grow up in thick brush. That barrier and whatever it might hide was only a few yards away—too close for comfort.
Hedy’s bloody form rose up in Echo’s mind, giving her the creeps. She didn’t believe in ghosts, but maybe she should. If slivers of ancient souls could survive inside of other people, then why couldn’t they survive in different forms?
The sun was still below the tops of the trees, casting the area in dense shadows. She thought she saw something move, but it could have been the wind blowing the leaves.
Her grip grew sweaty around the butt of the gun in her pocket. Nervousness skittered along her skin, raising goosebumps.
Ghosts or not, she knew better than to ignore her instincts.
Echo backed away. As much as she wanted to turn and run, it was safer to keep her eyes on the threat.
As she watched, a pile of leaves surged and shivered.
Something was in there.
She cast a quick glance over her shoulder. The parking area was yards away, out of sight, over a couple of rolling hills. Solo’s grave had been placed as far away from foot traffic as possible so that it wasn’t disturbed. But that meant that Echo was equally as far away from Stygian and any help he might offer.
The leaf pile let out a hiss. Inside, she could just make out two beady, blood-red eyes.
The rat man had found her again, and this time, she was all alone.
Chapter Fifteen
Echo is under attack!
Stygian had just finished washing his hands when his shards issued that warning.
Fear gripped his body, shoving blood through his veins in a hot, panicked rush. He raced from the bathroom and through the park, praying he wasn’t too late.
He never should have left her alone, not even to grieve in private. The risk was too high.
At least she had his Glock.
He had backup weapons in his glovebox, duffel bag and trunk, but all of those were too far away.
As he was on his way up the last hill separating them, he heard the gun fire. Birds burst from the trees. A nearby jogger came to a stop and pulled out her earbuds to listen, as if unsure of what she’d heard.
Stygian wasn’t. He knew exactly what that sound was and what it meant.
Someone or something was trying to hurt Echo.
His heart pounded, more from fear than the run. By the time he crested the hill, a parade of horrible thoughts had marched through his head, leaving a wasteland of fear behind them.
She can’t die.
He wasn’t sure if the thought was his or his shards’, but it hardly mattered. They were all in agreement.
He couldn’t lose her. She meant too much to him, and not just because she was likely the only person alive who could lead them to the locket and freedom from Hazel.
Thanks to his powers, Stygian saw the scene near Solo’s grave a second before he laid eyes on it. He saw Echo with the gun in her shaking hands, backing away from one of those giant, scarred rats. He saw a second creature sneaking up behind her.
He also saw a flicker of movement far to his left, but didn’t have time to register what it was before he was close enough to act.
Without stopping to think, he dove for the rat behind Echo. It was both closest to her and the biggest threat.
&nbs
p; He landed on it, using the full force of his weight to pin it to the ground. It screamed in pain and fury as it clawed at the ground.
Its skin was fever hot. The fur was coarse and poked into his skin like a thousand needles. The jagged scars were rubbery and tough, giving him a good place to grip.
He dug his fingers into its flesh in an effort to keep it pinned and out of reach of Echo. Somehow, it managed to worm its way around enough to sink its long teeth into his wrist. He saw the attack coming, but couldn’t do anything to stop it, short of letting go of the rat.
Pain roared up his arm.
He must have let out a noise, because Echo turned then and gasped. “Stygian!”
A flash of denim told him she was headed his way. In doing so, she’d turned her back on the other creature.
“Kill it,” he growled as he forced his injured arm to stay wrapped firmly around the animal.
It thrashed in his grip, slashing cuts across Stygian’s skin with its bony whiskers.
Stygian squeezed harder in an effort to cut off the creature’s air.
It let out a squeal of pain and fought harder to get free.
“You’re too close. I can’t shoot it,” Echo said.
There wasn’t much Stygian could do about that. If he let go, the thing would either attack him or her. Neither was a good idea.
“Just do it.”
She got close—close enough that Stygian could see the blood-red eyes of the second rat charging in from behind her.
“Do it!” he screamed. “In the eye!”
She put the barrel of the gun right against the rat’s eye, angled it toward the ground so the bullet wouldn’t go through Stygian as well, and fired.
The shot was deafening. His ears rang. Gunshot residue burned his eyes.
The rat went limp.
Behind his closed lids, Stygian saw the second attack coming.
The creature launched itself at Echo’s exposed back.
He didn’t stop to figure out what to do. He simply acted.
He grabbed the gun from Echo’s hands, shoved her out of the way and fired—all with his eyes closed.
His power showed him where to aim.
When he heard the heavy thud of a body hitting the ground, he knew his shot had been on target.
With his eyes burning and tears rolling down his cheeks, he surveyed the area for more danger and found none. Whatever the third target he’d seen before was, it was gone now.
“We have to go. People will have heard those shots.”
He grabbed Echo’s hand and dragged her along behind him.
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’ll wait. Cops will be coming. We can’t be here when they arrive.”
She nodded and hurried her pace to match his.
They’d just pulled out of the parking lot and were down the block when the first police cars arrived, sirens screaming and lights flashing.
He kept his bloody arm out of sight, along with the gun. “If we get stopped, tell the police we were mugged. Tall man with glasses in a gray hoodie.”
“What?” she said, her voice shaking.
“Our stories have to match. We were attacked by a tall man wearing glasses and a gray hoodie. Repeat it.”
“W-we were attacked by a tall man in glasses and a hoodie.”
“Gray hoodie.”
“Gray hoodie,” she repeated, though she sounded more than a little shell shocked.
“Good.”
“I…I’ve never shot anything before.”
He spared her a quick glance and saw that her skin was too pale and covered with tiny specks of blood.
His grandfather would have slapped him for freaking out the way she was, but he was not his grandfather. All he wanted to do was reach over and comfort her. He was driving with only one hand as it was. The other one was weak, screaming in pain, and covered in blood.
He needed to stop the bleeding, but couldn’t pull over yet.
“Everything is fine now,” he said, hoping his words would comfort her when his touch couldn’t. “We’re safe. Even if the cops stop us, they won’t hold us. We didn’t hurt anyone. The only bodies they’ll find are the rats, and those have probably already reverted back to their natural size like the last one did when it died.”
“I’ve never shot anything before.” She said it again as if she hadn’t just said that very same thing a second ago.
That wasn’t a good sign.
He ignored his concern and pitched his voice low and soothing. “You did what you had to. I know it was scary, but you did great.”
She didn’t respond, which worried him more. He drove a few more blocks and pulled into the parking lot of an aging strip mall filled with vacant businesses between a pawn shop and a payday loan place. The whole area had a rundown quality to it. He didn’t see any obvious security cameras. The shops had not yet opened, giving them a small degree of privacy.
He reached past her and pulled a package of wet wipes out of the glove box. His backup Glock gleamed darkly in the morning light.
He needed to reload. He needed to stop his wrist bleeding. Instead, he wiped away the traces of blood on her skin.
His grandfather was right. He was soft.
She saw his bloody arm and for some reason, that seemed to snap her out of her shock.
“How bad is it?” she asked.
“I’ll be fine. We’ll patch it up with the first aid kit, and I’ll be good as new.” He pulled out more wipes and went to work cleaning himself up.
Echo grabbed a handful of fresh cloths and took over the job for him. Her touch was careful, but the wound still felt like a hot poker embedded in his flesh.
“It’s deep.”
“I’m not bleeding enough to worry me. No major blood vessels were severed. I can still move my fingers.” Though it hurts to do so. “Just cover it up so we can be on our way.”
“I think you need stitches, and probably rabies shots.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve taken far worse damage than this.” And that was just from his grandfather.
She gave him a skeptical frown, but did as he asked. She covered the wound with a thick gauze pad and wrapped it tight enough to make his fingers tingle.
“You’re in no shape to drive,” she said.
He could have pushed through in a pinch, but there was no sense in risking their lives in traffic just to prove a point.
He got out and went to her side of the Mustang. She had gathered up all the bloody mess and dropped it into a trash can in front of the pawn shop. She cleaned her hands off and dropped that into the trash too.
When she got back into the car, he was fumbling with the seatbelt. His backup Glock was tucked under his thigh until he had time to reload his primary weapon.
Echo buckled his seatbelt like he was a child, then adjusted her seat forward so she could reach the pedals. “Where to?” she asked.
He punched Marvel’s number on his phone and the line began ringing over the speakers of the car.
“Magical genius, at your service,” Marvel answered cheerfully.
“Stygian here.”
“I know, honey. Tell me something I don’t know.”
“We need help.”
Marvel sighed. “Strike two. One more chance and you’re out.”
“248 Park. Where is it?”
Her tone perked up with interest. “A mystery. Hang on.” There was some keyboard clicking on the line. A few seconds later she said, “There are a lot of those. At least six in Illinois alone. What else do you have to go on?”
“It’s a house,” Echo said.
The little paperweight had ended up on the floorboards. Stygian picked it up and turned the figurine in his good hand.
It had been hand-painted, and not well. The colors had scraped off in places, revealing a harder, glossier paint beneath.
Had Echo’s mom painted it as a clue?
“Look for a dark blue house with white trim. Two-story. Old-fashioned loo
king.”
“Like a Victorian? Plantation style? A castle?”
“No,” said Echo, her tone distant, her brow furrowed. “Like an old farmhouse. Small town, fairly rural.”
Stygian turned toward her. “You recognize this place?”
She shook her head. “Maybe. If so, I was so little then. Four or five.”
Marvel’s triumphant voice came over the speakers. “How about 248 Park Street, Jasper, Arkansas? Sent you a pic.”
Stygian’s phone beeped. He opened the image and saw a rundown farmhouse, two story, faded slate blue with white shutters. It was surrounded by green countryside and blue sky. Nothing else.
He showed Echo the picture.
She sucked in a shocked breath. She whispered, “I know that place.”
“What is it?” he asked.
Her pale teal gaze met his, and tears swam in her eyes. Her voice was soft, as if to speak too loudly would scare away something she’d been searching for her whole life.
“Home.”
***
Hedy found Bernard’s van across the street from the park, and ripped the door open. Metal squealed in her grip, mixing discordantly with her scream of rage.
She was stronger than she looked, a fact made obvious by the now-broken handle and warped door frame.
The coward sat behind the wheel, his beady eyes wide with surprise.
“Hedy? What are you doing here?”
She didn’t tell him Phoenix had sent her.
“You attacked my sister,” she snarled, spittle flying. “Echo is mine!”
Bernard held up his hands. Behind his seat, a small army of rats chittered nervously from the shadows. “I’m only taking what was promised to me—what Phoenix gave me years ago.”
“Echo was never yours. She’s my sister. I’m the one who will bring her to Phoenix, not you. Me!” Rage bubbled beneath her skin, growing in force until she thought she’d burst from the pressure. The voices in her skull grew so loud she could no longer hear the enraged pounding of her pulse in her ears.
Bernard’s red hair glistened in the sunlight as he leaned away from her. “Whoa. Back the batshit-o-meter down a notch, will you? There’s plenty of fun to go around. Besides, I’m the one who lost pets to those two, not you.”
