Dying Light

by Kory M. Shrum

  He regards me with an assessing stare. I’ve gotten used to these over the past two months. I’m getting really good at giving him the blank face too. Or better yet, I make faces and see how long it takes for him to look away. He’s never amused, but I am.

  I’m still pinning my nose up into a pig snout for Jeremiah’s pleasure when the nurse arrives with my water.

  “Thanks,” I snort and accept the drink. I get half of it down in the first go. God, it feels good. I swear, it’s like death sucks all the water out of me.

  This is only my second death since Brinkley died in October, two months ago. When Jeremiah insisted that we come to Chicago where we would be useful and safe, I thought he would use me for more replacements. After all, that’s what I do. I die so others don’t have to. I’m good at it. But just like the last time I died, Jeremiah looks pissed.

  “Why didn’t you kill Jason?”

  I meet his eyes over the rim of my Big Gulp water. “Uh, because I’m not a murderer?”

  “Caldwell has killed at least three partis and absorbed their abilities. Acquiring a second ability would be useful.”

  “You’re still talking about killing someone.”

  Jeremiah steeples his fingers. “You need to be stronger if you want to take him on. You have your shield and your pyrokinetics, excellent abilities. But think of what you could do with Jason’s ability to heal.”

  “When I die, I heal anyway. Too bad he doesn’t have super strength or the ability to fly. That’d be cool.”

  And who said I want to take Caldwell on? Where did Jeremiah get that idea? I want Caldwell dead. I’d bring maracas and a kazoo to his funeral. But actually taking someone’s life is a whole other matter.

  Jeremiah prattles on, unaware that I’ve stopped listening. “Your mission—”

  “Listen.” I cock my head to the side. “I don’t care about the missions. I only care about keeping Ally safe. She’s the one who insists we help you, so here I am. She seems to believe that you’re saving all the babies from war-torn childhoods or whatever. So I get why she thinks the work you do is important. But don’t act like my handler or my boss, because you’ll never be either.”

  “Your handler was a good man, but—”

  “Don’t.” Heat rises in my face.

  Gabriel appears at the end of my bed, his feathers ruffled. His gaze is murderous and fixed on Jeremiah. Good. I don’t like the guy either, but melting Jeremiah in his seat is a bit of an overreaction, even for me.

  I release a nice controlled breath. Some of the tension in my chest loosens and Gabriel’s own feathers lay flat. I breathe again, in and out, and Jeremiah arches a curious eyebrow.

  “You’ll thank me for not boiling your eyeballs in their sockets. Or ruining this year’s argyle.” I flick my eyes down to his sweater vest. Jeremiah’s lips press into a thin line.

  The heat of my anger cools and I try to speak like a civilized person. “You didn’t know Brinkley, and you’ll never replace him. If you insist on trying, I’m out of here and I’ll take Ally with me. Got it?”

  I have no idea if I can actually get Ally to leave this place. She believes that Jeremiah is trying to help people and save all the orphans Caldwell is leaving in his wake. Until I can prove otherwise, I have to hold on to her coattails and keep her out of trouble. No thanks to Jeremiah.

  Even if I can’t prove Jeremiah is secretly evil, maybe I can prove her new girlfriend Nikki is a traitor, liar, or cheater. Anything horrible would make Ally never want to set foot inside Tate Tower again. Who cares about helping people?

  A girl can dream.

  “Understood,” Jeremiah relents. “I am your friend, Jesse.”

  I consider making the pig nose again. The door opens and Ally appears, smiling, cradling forty pounds of pug against her chest.

  “Winston. Come here, squishy.” I reach for him and his cinnamon-bun tail wags, slapping Ally’s arm. She plops my fat pug on the bed, and he pounces on my legs. “You want to get under the covers? Get under these covers.”

  I throw the covers over his head. He turns circles between my legs, nibbling on my fingers playfully as I poke him through the bedding.

  “This is a sterile room.” Jeremiah presses one finger against his temple.

  “Uh, therapy dog. I died. You can’t deny me some pug love.”

  Jeremiah stands, scrapping his chair back from the bed. He doesn’t say goodbye or another word to us. He just disappears out the door.

  Ally sits on the only part of the bed that isn’t lumpy with legs or pug. “Are you bickering again?”

  “He’s riding my ass about not killing Jason.”

  Ally frowns.

  “Brinkley never asked me to kill anyone,” I say. “And here Jeremiah comes in trying to tell me what to do, and acting like offing people is totally normal. It’s so not normal.”

  Ally’s eyebrows scrunch up and her mouth flattens into a grim line. “I understand his argument. Killing Jason would make you stronger.”

  “Yes,” Gabriel adds. He stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed over his chest and pouting. A wing draped over each shoulder.

  “You stay out of this, Gabriel.” There is a momentary hitch where I’m worried someone has heard me say his name. But it’s only Ally here, so I relax. My shoulder blades ease away from my ears.

  “What did he say?” Ally asks, her brown eyes searching mine. I suppose I could be worried that anyone, even Ally, knows that I have conversations with my hallucination. My ex-mentor Rachel spent years in a mental hospital for this very reason. But I wasn’t afraid around Ally.

  “I prefer you don’t hide it. In fact, please don’t hide anything from me,” Ally had told me once. “We promised, no more secrets.”

  I am doing my best to keep that promise.

  “Three votes for offing Jason,” I say. “It seems I’m outnumbered.”

  I scratch Winston’s belly.

  “Again, I’m not saying it’s a good idea, but just think about it, Jess. If you had Jason’s power, you could heal without dying. Doesn’t that sound so much better?”

  Buttloads better, I think, shifting my weight to relieve the deep, throbbing ache in my pelvis.

  “You’re the ultimate pacifist.” I lean back into the pillows. “I can’t believe you want me to off a guy.”

  “I don’t.” She tucks her straight blonde hair behind her ears. “Every time I think of you fighting, it makes me sick. But I also don’t want Caldwell to have any more power.”

  “I agree,” Gabriel adds, folding his arms over his pristine suit jacket. The black lapel lies exactly where it should without a fleck of dust on it. The tie changes from an emerald green to a fire engine red.

  “Shut up, Gabriel. You’re sadists. Both of you.”

  Ally smiles. “Says the person who pushed me out of a 34-story window.”

  She has a point.

  I reach out and squeeze her hand. “How’s your work going? Was the laptop helpful?”

  “I don’t know what Jeremiah is going to do with the laptop, but yes, we were able to place two girls, sisters, last night.”

  “You get so much done while I’m dead.” I try to get comfortable on the pillows but it isn’t happening.

  She smiles. “You grew an entire pelvis cradle. You’re hardly lazy.”

  “So tell me about these sisters.” I want to keep her talking. Ally’s voice is calming and it’s a pleasant thing to focus on when really I want to mash the morphine drip button a hundred times. Maybe Jeremiah turned it off on his way out, the spiteful bastard.

  “Caldwell has a four-person team that’s been working the Louisiana death replacement circuit pretty hard. Nikki thinks they’re looking for someone down there. Anyway, these girls had a mother with NRD. She was killed and the girls didn’t have any other family. God, Jess, they were so poor. They barely had a chance to rebuild after Hurricane Katrina and then their mom is killed.”

  Tears well up in her eyes and I want to look a
way. I hate to see Ally cry. I squeeze her hand a little tighter as my gaze slides down to her shoulder, hopefully giving me a thoughtful look.

  “We were able to find a wonderful couple in Philadelphia that wanted to take them in—both of them, which is great. I was so worried we’d have to separate them.”

  “They have you to thank,” I remind her. “Alice Gallagher, protector of war babies.”

  She frowns and pulls her hand away. “I know you think what we’re doing here isn’t important.”

  “I never said that. I just hate these people, and I hate that we have to work with them.”

  “I know.” Ally sits back in her chair. “But they have more resources than we do in Nashville. They are actually doing things to minimize the damage. We can’t just pretend people aren’t dying and go about our lives like everything is okay. We have to do what we can to help until—”

  She stops. She looks almost apologetic as if what she intends to say next really is the worst thing ever.

  “Until I kill Caldwell. And the sooner the better because that’s fewer babies to find homes for.”

  She takes my hand again and squeezes. “He’s your father, but no one holds you responsible for his actions.”

  Is that supposed to make me feel better?

  “But they do expect me to use my gifts against him.” They expect me to do what they can’t. “If I don’t try to stop him—if I don’t kill him—then I’m not doing my part.”

  She searches my face. “Maybe there’s another way.”

  Chapter 3

  Jesse

  Once Jeremiah’s medical team stops hovering and Ally says goodnight, I scoop Winston up and carry him to the elevator. By the time I reach the silver doors, my back is throbbing. I set Winston on his feet and he looks up at me as if I’ve just stolen a treat right out of his mouth.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t carry you. I hurt. Everywhere.” I gesture at all of me and he cocks his head as if trying to understand. “Come on.”

  The illuminated red numbers descend, counting down to the hospital ward on the 8th floor, where I stand with the pug.

  I shift my weight, trying to relieve pressure from one aching joint to another. I’m clenching and unclenching my jaw when the doors finally open. Winston follows me inside the small, warm space and I press the button that will take us to the rooftop terrace.

  The doors ding open and an icy blast of cold air hits me. I suck in a breath, taking that moment to recognize the thinness of my hospital scrubs. I should’ve brought a coat.

  “Sweet gee-zus.” I squeeze myself and nudge the reluctant pug out of the elevator with my foot. “Do your business quick, and then let’s go cuddle where it’s warm, okay?”

  Winston waddles over to the large patch of grass growing against a brick wall. Most of the roof looks like a park. I guess that’s what you do when you build cities. You level all the trees and lay sod on the tops of buildings. The only problem is that 65 floors above Lake Michigan is way colder than any park on the Magnificent Mile.

  I go to the edge of the balcony and look out over the water. It’s midnight blue and vast as an ocean. It could be the ocean for all I know, complete with seagulls, a lighthouse, and waves crashing against the embankment. Little boats cut waves on the horizon, probably a patrol, given the white searchlight splashing over the rocks. In the city itself, Christmas lights have cropped up on a few of the buildings, blinking like red, green, and silver stars.

  The icy December wind pulls tears from my eyes, freezing them against my cheeks.

  I hate being cold.

  It makes me miss home more than anything. It figures that as soon as I start to think of Nashville as home, I have to leave. Or maybe it’s the fact that Christmas is on the horizon, which always makes me a little lonely.

  Ally is usually good about making me feel special during the holiday season, but this year we breezed right through Thanksgiving without much thanks and Christmas is on the horizon with no hint of eggnog, or presents, or mistletoe.

  I guess this is what happens when you have shitty parents and no family. Is it too much to ask for a father that buys me an iPad instead of one that only wants to get together so he can drug me and bury me alive?

  What’s your Christmas wish, Jess? Ally would ask this if we weren’t so distracted. And what would I say?

  I wish my father was dead. I wish that the other Highlander-wannabes would stop thinking I’m an easier target and stop trying to kill me. I wish they’d just kill each other instead and leave me out of it. I wish I could find Rachel and know that she’s okay. I wish Gabriel would finally explain to me what it is he expects me to do with all these firebombs and shimmery shields. I wish I could talk to Lane—at least one more time.

  “Jesse!” Gabriel screams. His voice jolts my heart, and my shield brightens around me.

  I whirl to find Caldwell standing behind me.

  “Hello, Jesse,” he says. His hands are in his pockets and his suit-tie ensemble is a soft gray with a red tie, and white shirt beneath. No doubt it cost a fortune and was tailored to fit him. “It’s good to see you again.”

  My pulse thrums so loud, I’m certain he can hear it. Hell, maybe he can see it with his fancy new Liza vision. He only had to kill the partis girl to gain that ability, but some people seem to think that’s not such a big deal.

  “Speak of the devil,” I say, trying to assume an air of casualness. “I was just thinking about what a terrible father you are.”

  He takes a step toward me, a little smile twisting up the side of his mouth.

  I straighten my back. I can’t look tall exactly, but not appearing as pissing-myself-in-absolute-terror is good enough.

  I manage not to glance at Winston. I want him to come to me. Run to me. I’m hyperaware that Caldwell is between me and someone I love—which has never ended well. I have no reason to believe this time will be different.

  “It’s been very difficult getting you to myself,” he says. “Your friends have done a great job of keeping you locked away from me.”

  “I guess they don’t want you to kill me. You know, again.” I shift my weight for relief. “Funny how friends care like that.”

  Caldwell’s smile widens. He’s showing too many perfect white teeth. “They’re doing a great job killing you all on their own, aren’t they?”

  I keep my face unreadable, expressionless.

  “How many deaths have you had since that night in Minooka?”

  Two, I think, with no intention of telling him. Instead, I inch a little closer to the pug rooting around in the bushes. I move and the camera by the elevator follows.

  Please send someone. Send someone before this gets ugly.

  Gabriel is quiet. If he’s somewhere deep in my head trying to send warnings about Caldwell’s intentions, I don’t hear him. Caldwell watches me with the intensity of a snake trained on its prey.

  “To be fair,” I begin, keeping the pug in my peripheral vision. “I’m doing most of the dying all by myself. They try to keep me safe, but you know me. I’ve always played a little rough.”

  He smiles another devilish smile. “You come by it honestly.”

  “Do I?” I inch closer to the bushes. I try for nonchalance, hands in my pockets. “What’s got you dying these days? Don’t tell me you only do it as a beauty routine. I’m surprised Maybelline hasn’t called you yet.”

  The fact that Caldwell is my father, but doesn’t appear to be more than ten years older than me, means he has to be dying, but why? With all his powers, what in the world can kill this guy? I’d pay good money to know the answer.

  “We all have our secrets,” he says. A gust of wind rolling in off of Lake Michigan blows his hair into his eyes. He brings a pale hand up to brush it away, his gaze never leaving mine. “I’ll give you my secrets if you give me yours.”

  I snort. I can’t help it. What doesn’t he know about me? The richest, most powerful man in the world could have any secret he wants on a plate, if he
likes.

  I cross my arms over my chest. “You probably know more about me than I do.”

  He cocks his head. “In many ways, I suppose that’s true. But I don’t know what your intentions are.”

  “My intentions?” To get to my freaking pug and get off this roof. He has to know Winston is the reason I’m up here. Maybe he has no interest in the dog, but I’m not taking any chances.

  “Has he started showing you your choices yet?” Caldwell asks.

  I know I must look as confused as I feel. “My choice of—?”

  “The worlds.” He moves closer, placing one shiny, polished shoe in front of the other. “Has he shown you the worlds?”

  “Jesse.” Gabriel’s voice rises in warning, echoing in the back of my mind. “Be careful.”

  I get the impression of black wings flapping and a feather brushing my cheek, but Gabriel doesn’t materialize.

  Be careful of what? The lies? I already know Caldwell can mindfuck anyone with lies. So what? He doesn’t need to play with my head. But I can’t sense the danger. Caldwell can read my face as well as my mind, apparently.

  “Not yet.” A tightness strains Caldwell’s voice. I’m not as good at reading people, so a look of doubt or fear can easily be mistaken for constipation. “If he intends for you to be the apex, then why hasn’t he shown you the worlds?”

  The elevator doors ding open and men with guns rush out onto the terrace. More men climb over the lip of the wall surrounding us.

  “Freeze!”

  Caldwell disappears from where he stood in front of me and reappears beside Winston near the bushes lining the sod. He snatches the pug up in one fluid movement.

  “No!” I run across the rooftop toward Caldwell and he takes a step back, but doesn’t disappear. I turn my back on him, probably the stupidest thing ever, and put my hands palm out toward the gunmen. “No. He’s got my dog. Don’t shoot my freaking dog.”

  I whirl on Caldwell. He’s smiling, the bastard.

  “Give him back. Give him back or I’ll kill you.”

  Caldwell bites back his smile. “Maybe it’ll be easier if I give you a reason. Wouldn’t you be more willing to face me?”