Three Days to Dead dc-1

by Kelly Mendig

  A guttural snarl tore from my throat. This seemed to startle the Halfies. They paused and exchanged a look. Teenagers, I’d guess, with less than a week’s experience in their new lifestyle. They looked better suited for a homecoming football game than doing interrogation dirty work. Fury hit me so hard that my stomach ached. I clenched the bars until my knuckles cracked. If I could have escaped my prison, I would have gleefully ground their faces into the floor.

  “What the fuck did you do to him?” My voice bounced around the narrow corridor and reverberated off the metal bars. One of them—the larger of the pair—winced.

  They dragged Alex into the cell next to mine and let him go. His head cracked off the hard floor. I bolted to the shared wall of bars, reaching through for one solid swipe at one of those arrogant assholes, but missed. They knew enough to stay out of arm’s reach.

  Tall Jock, the more skittish of the pair, squared his shoulders and looked me up and down. A noticeable bulge grew in the front of his tight jeans. Definitely a high school student who strayed to the wrong side of the city at night. He whispered to his friend, and Short Jock offered me the same visual appraisal.

  I didn’t turn around, but could imagine the poisonous glare on Wyatt’s face. I couldn’t take my gaze off Alex. His ribs moved a fraction of an inch. He was breathing—small comfort. He was still unconscious, at the mercy of the Halfies and their infectious bites.

  “Shoulda turned her,” Short Jock said, eyeballing me.

  My stomach dropped down to my feet. Blood rushed from my face and set my heart racing. The Halfies laughed as they left the cell. I didn’t look at them. I eyed every cut, every scrape on Alex’s visible skin, looking for a bite. All it took was one. Their combined laughter was cut off abruptly by the door slamming shut.

  I slid to my knees and reached through the bars. He was too far, by at least a foot. He was facedown, half his body hidden from my inspection. He couldn’t be bitten. They’d said that to goad me, piss me off.

  “Alex.” I pressed against the cold barrier until my shoulder ached. “Alex!”

  “Evy, is he alive?” Wyatt asked.

  “I think so. I can’t see!”

  He didn’t have to ask what I couldn’t see. I tugged at the bars, as if I could pull them apart like putty. I tried the other arm, stretching and bruising it in vain. I screamed Alex’s name over and over, but he didn’t stir. Wyatt didn’t interrupt my mininervous breakdown, remaining quiet in his corner, watching.

  Minutes later—or an hour, it no longer mattered—Alex’s left hand twitched. I went completely still. Then he groaned, low and muffled. I held my breath, afraid to break the spell. Another groan, another twitch. His head tilted … the wrong way.

  “Alex,” I said.

  After a moment’s pause—and probably some superior effort on his part—Alex turned his head in my direction. Both of his eyes were puffy, swollen half-shut. Red tinged both nostrils. A fresh cut decorated his forehead from his tumble to the floor. His old gunshot graze was unbandaged and oozing. He blinked bleary eyes that remained at half-mast, hidden from my desperate need to see their color.

  “I’m here, Alex. It’s Evy.”

  His nostrils flared. He squinted. His lips moved, tried to form words. No sound came out, but I recognized the shape. It was a name. I bit the inside of my cheek, crouched down, then reached through the bars.

  “It’s Chalice,” I said. “Take my hand, Alex, I’m here.”

  A pained smile ghosted across his lips. His left hand inched toward mine, dragged there by fingers missing their nails. I swallowed back a small scream, but he didn’t seem to notice. His attention was fixed on my hand. One small task. One centimeter at a time. He closed the gap.

  My fingers brushed his. He stopped, satisfied with his progress. Panting hard, his cheeks flushed bright red against a deathly pallor, he gazed at me with shadowed eyes.

  “Alex, did they bite you?” I asked.

  He squinted, but didn’t seem to understand the question. “Asked me,” he managed, each word a single, wheezing breath. “Don’t know … anything.”

  “I’m so sorry, Alex. So sorry.”

  “Guess won’t … bury … you after all.”

  I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. They scorched my eyes and throat, burning with the sorrow in my heart. I had taken a gentle soul, thrust him into my violent world, and he was dying. Dying because I didn’t stay dead the first time.

  “You’re fine,” I said, choking on the words. They stank of lies. I forced them out anyway. “We’re going to get out of here, and we’ll get you to a hospital. They’ll take care of you. All of the junk food you can eat while you get better.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked. “Ice cream?”

  “Any flavor.”

  “Strawberry.”

  “That’s the best you can do? Strawberry? What about chocolate chip?”

  “Gross.”

  I laughed and lost it inside of a sob. My fingers stroked his, light enough to let him feel me, but not hard enough to cause him more pain. “Fine, strawberry it is. Lots of it, with strawberry sauce and whipped cream. You just have to hold on, okay? You can’t have it if you die on me.”

  “Better not die.”

  “Yeah, you better not.”

  All I could do was sit there and touch Alex’s hand. A few drops of blood leaked from his nose and pooled on the cement. He didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were barely open, but his hair was still solid brown. Maybe I’d get away with only killing him once.

  “You,” he said.

  I shook my head, not understanding. “Alex?”

  “You did this.”

  A gunshot to the stomach would have hurt less. Agony squeezed my heart so tightly I couldn’t breathe. He withdrew his hand and left me grasping for air.

  “Alex, don’t. I’m sorry.”

  He closed his eyes.

  “Please!”

  His chest stopped moving. I stared, my entire body trembling. Silence pressed down, louder than a thunderclap and deadlier than a lightning strike. He didn’t stir. I’d let him die. It was my fault. I’d done it, and he knew it.

  “Alex.”

  I dissolved, sobbing harder than I’d done in my life. Curled into the tightest fetal ball I could manage, I wrapped my arms around my knees and wept. Hatred and sorrow and loss and helplessness, all rolled into one broiling emotional cauldron. Rising above the rest was despair, sharp and painful, a thousand splinters in my heart.

  “Evy, please, come here.”

  I heard Wyatt’s voice, but couldn’t conjure the energy to respond. Crawling five feet to his side of the cell was too hard. Staying on the floor was easier. Pretending it wasn’t happening was easier still. Maybe if I stayed there long enough, the floor would open up and swallow me whole. End it all. Stop the suffering and doubt.

  The hysteria subsided on its own. Choking grief was replaced with faint whimpers. My head weighed fifty pounds. My nose and eyes hurt, and my throat felt raw. Every muscle ached from lying on the cement ground. I wiped my face. I didn’t sit up.

  “Evy.” The alarm in Wyatt’s voice parted the fog in my brain. I uncurled and lifted my head. He stared past me, lips parted, eyebrows knotted. His eyes widened. “Evy, move!”

  I followed his barked order without thought, rolling toward him, over and over until I slammed into the bars of our shared barrier. I pulled into a crouch too quickly, and nearly keeled over. Then the dizziness passed, and a nightmare came into focus.

  Alex smiled from his side of the cell, straight-backed with hands clasped in front of him. Cuts and bruises littered his chest, but he seemed not to feel them. He ran one hand through his hair. Brown powder streaked his fingers and dusted his shoulders, revealing the blond peppering beneath. He wiped his hand on his shorts. Eyes finally open wide enough to show a flash of lavender, he grinned like a fool satisfied with a cruel joke.

  I waited for more anger to bubble up and spill over. Righteous indignation
at his deception. Hatred for the show he’d just put on. Already a Halfie, pretending to die, just to hurt me. Instead, I only had pity. Alex was gone. The half-breed creature in front of me didn’t change that fact. Vampiric infection irrevocably alters a person, not just physically, but also their brain chemistry. His little show had only proved how much the vampire had already overtaken the human.

  Alex Forrester was dead, in all ways except physically. The creature in front of me was just another rogue that needed putting down.

  Slowly, I stood up. Wyatt hovered behind me.

  “You should see your faces. This is priceless,” Alex said.

  “What was the point?” I asked.

  “Boredom. The fellows upstairs don’t have much to keep them entertained while they’re guarding your sorry asses. I was only interesting for a short while.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what? Getting me into this? We had that conversation, remember? I’m still Alex, just a little improved.”

  “You’re not Alex.”

  “Sure I am.” He strolled out of his cell and came around to the front of mine. “I still remember everything, Evy. I’ve just never felt like this before, like I could run a marathon and never get winded. Like I could take down an armored car with my bare hands.”

  “But you can’t, because you aren’t a vampire. You’ll never be one, you’ll never have their strength or their powers. You’re infected by a saliva parasite that’s altering your DNA. You’re a half-breed, nothing more.”

  “It’s better than being dead, isn’t it?”

  “Sometimes dead is better.”

  Wyatt grunted.

  “Do you really think that?” Alex asked.

  “More than ever.”

  “Cheer up, sweetheart. Your clock runs out in thirty hours, and then everyone gets what they want.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Wyatt asked.

  Alex gave Wyatt a hard stare. “She talks so highly of you, and you still haven’t figured this thing out? That’s pretty pathetic.”

  “I’ll give him one thing, Evy, he’s got the cryptic-speak down pat.”

  “I’ve got at least forty hours left,” I said.

  “Wrong,” Alex said. “Hate to break it to you, beautiful, but your boyfriend forgot to clarify one point when he made his deal, and that was when precisely the clock started.”

  Wyatt made a strangled sound.

  I gaped at Alex, quickly doing the math in my head. It came out to an answer I should have anticipated, and that instantly infuriated me. Had Tovin somehow fucked up the resurrection spell? “Son of a bitch, he started the clock at the time of death of the host body.”

  “Bingo. Sucks for you, doesn’t it?”

  “So we’re supposed to do what now? Just sit down here until my time is up? That’s the plan?”

  “In a nutshell. But just think, Evy, it’s your fondest wish. You get to spend the rest of your life with him. Short though it is.”

  “Step into this cell with me, asshole,” Wyatt said, “and we’ll see whose life is going to be shorter.”

  Alex laughed—a hard sound lacking warmth or mirth. “Please, I’m not that stupid. I may be reborn, but that doesn’t mean I suddenly know how to defend myself. You’d wipe the floor with me, help your girlfriend escape, and then he’d be pissed.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Nice try, but no. It’ll ruin the surprise, and trust me, no one’s going to see this coming.”

  More questions died on my lips. He wouldn’t answer them. Asking was a waste of time. The Halfies wanted us down here until my time ran out. They had a crystal in place that interfered with Wyatt’s Gift. It had been planned meticulously. Yet as simple as it all seemed, I couldn’t see that final piece of the puzzle. The final “who” and “why” that completed the picture.

  “And lucky you,” Alex said to Wyatt. “You get to watch the love of your life die twice.” Wyatt growled; Alex laughed. “But you two won’t be alone. An old friend will be back around midnight, and she’s bringing her favorite straight razor. That healing thing you do fascinates her.”

  My stomach trembled. Anger flared bright red in my vision. Kelsa had been here recently, and she was coming back. Passing threats against her health to Alex was a waste of breath, but it didn’t stop me from thinking them. If she even pointed her razor at me or Wyatt …

  “We probably won’t meet again,” Alex said. “Good-bye, Evangeline Stone.”

  “Fuck off, Halfie,” I said, offering him a one-fingered salute.

  He smirked and strolled back to the iron door, as breezy as a man on an afternoon stroll. He hit it twice with his fist. The door opened, and he disappeared through it. The lock squealed back into place.

  “Evy?” Wyatt said.

  I retreated to the middle of my cell. “If you ask me if I’m okay, I’ll belt you, I swear it.”

  He offered a wan smile. “Sorry.”

  “He never should have gotten involved in this shit, Wyatt. I kept trying to push him away, but he wouldn’t go. This is what friendship got him.” I sat down, exhausted and hungry and verging on the need to pee. “So what do we do now? A rousing game of I Spy?”

  “Arousing, huh?”

  “Cute.”

  “I know you are, but what am I?”

  “A jackass.”

  “You should get some rest.”

  The change-up surprised me. I also wasn’t about to argue. I needed sleep, as well as the fresh perspective that came with a rested mind. The hard cement floor wasn’t conducive to comfortable sleeping, though, as Wyatt could certainly attest. He’d been caged up longer than I.

  “Come here,” he said.

  I did. He stretched out lengthwise on his side of the prison bars, facing me. I did the same, lying on my right side with my back to him. The barrier prevented much contact, but I felt his presence. His warmth and strength and life. He draped half of one arm over my waist. I reached up to clasp that hand, fingers tangling with his. It was the best we could do, but I’d take it over nothing.

  We were together again, and we made a hell of a team. Faith in that helped me find some restless sleep, once again devoid of dreams or nightmares.

  Chapter 19

  25:40

  Hours passed in a hazy daze of sleeping and waking. Time spent not talking about anything important, just holding each other without really touching. The more I puzzled it out, the more confused I became, unsure of what was true and what was false. Memory and instinct vied for attention, but neither provided the answers we needed. Or a means of escape from our cells.

  No one was left to look for us. Isleen and Rufus were probably dead. Max wouldn’t interfere. We had no more allies within the Triads. Hope grew dimmer with each passing hour, marked only by my increasing hunger and thirst.

  At some point during our slumber, two bottles of water appeared outside of my cell. I scrambled for them, and nearly wrenched my shoulder out of its socket. No matter how I twisted and tried, they remained outside of my grasp, a full twelve inches from my fingertips.

  “Use my belt,” Wyatt said, already reaching for the buckle.

  “That’ll just knock them over.” Water had never looked so good, and I didn’t want to risk pushing them farther away.

  I stood up and shimmied out of my jeans. They caught on my sneakers, so I yanked those off, too. I shook out the jeans, put them through the bars, and knelt. Holding one leg cuff in each hand, I flung the crotch toward the bottles. The makeshift net lassoed them in one try. I gave a cry of triumph and reeled them in, half an inch at a time so they didn’t fall over and roll away.

  When the bottles were finally close enough to grab, I gave one to Wyatt and nearly dropped mine wrenching off the cap. I forced myself to take only two long gulps. More would make me sick. The tepid, plastic-flavored water sloshed into my stomach, bringing blessed moisture to my mouth and lips. The small gesture of anonymous mercy refilled my energy levels, and I found myself gigglin
g.

  “What’s the joke?” Wyatt asked, water dribbling down his chin.

  “Nothing’s funny.” I tried in vain to sober myself. “Just never been so thirsty in my life.”

  “Too bad they didn’t send along a couple of cheeseburgers.”

  “Or some pancakes.” It felt like breakfast, but we had no watches. “What time do you think?”

  “Morning. The sun’s up. I can feel that it’s warmer now.”

  I took another sip and screwed the cap back on. I had half of an eighteen-ounce bottle and didn’t know when or if we’d be resupplied. It had to last.

  “There’s one other thing I still can’t reconcile,” I said.

  “One thing?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Me, Wyatt. If they’re just waiting for my death, why sit on me until the clock runs out? Why not put a bullet between my eyes?”

  “Does the phrase ‘don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’ mean anything to you?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.”

  “Why the theatrics if they only want me dead? What happens if I die before the end of the seventy-two hours?”

  “Then the freewill contract is voided,” he said. “The deal was for seventy-two hours.”

  “Although it seems the starting point is now in question.”

  He nodded. “Anything that breaks the contract—”

  “Like me being killed ahead of schedule.”

  “—nullifies the terms, and I owe him nothing.”

  I allowed a tiny flare of hope. “You keep your free will?”

  Another nod. “The only profit and loss is between the two people who made the deal.”

  “You and Tovin?”

  “Right.” Then Wyatt’s face went slack. His skin paled to a shade whiter than any living human. His lips curled back. Sweat broke out across his forehead. He looked like a man on the verge of a heart attack.

  “What?” I asked, my heart beating faster.

  “Tovin. It’s been Tovin from the start. It’s the only explanation.”