by Amy Cook
“So I sat up there on that roof, thinking I’d be safe up there until I tested whether it was real or not. Sure enough, you come prancing along with your little girlfriend, just like I’ve seen you do all week. And to my surprise, the damned thing actually works! It’s kind of funny, don’t you think? The big bad Halfer, brought to his knees by a measly little piece of jewelry.”
Amiel choked out a scream when Duane swiftly plunged a knife into Harley’s thigh. Harley ground his teeth together, refusing to scream out at the pain. He tried to hold Amiel’s gaze, to assure her that it was okay, that he would find a way out. Instead, he found himself staring in wonder. She bared her teeth, eyes suddenly turning wild. The pupils dilated, and even the whites seemed to gray. Duane, thankfully, didn’t notice the transformation taking place under his arm. He was focused solely on shoving the blade into Harley’s shoulder next.
“Now we’re almost even. Hurts like hell, don’t it?” He grinned viciously. “We’ll do your face next. Then you just sit there real still and die for me while I kill your little girlfriend.” He snickered as he drew the blade down Harley’s cheek. “You know, I actually thought she was one of you? But since the watch didn’t affect her, obviously that isn’t the case. She’s just damned lucky.” He drew a deep breath of Amiel’s hair, leering. “But that luck is about to change.”
Duane moved to stand, but while he was at his weakest point in balance, Amiel kicked off of the ground, shoving backward with all her strength. Duane let out a curse, stumbling backward. Harley forced his muscles to move, his leg dragging forward to catch the back of Duane’s feet again.
The thug toppled over, taking Amiel with him. She dug her elbow in as they landed, the momentum of her fall pushing the bone deeper into his gut. A huff of air escaped the guy’s mouth, his grip around her neck loosening for only a moment. A moment was all she needed. Grasping his wrist, she spun, twisting his arm as she rolled. With his arm at an awkward angle, she shoved upward, yanking the arm clear from its socket.
As Duane screamed in agony, Amiel scuttled toward a broken chunk of concrete on the ground. She let out a scream of her own as she slammed that hunk of rock down over Duane’s face, knocking him somewhat senseless. She wasted no time ripping the watch from the Cutthroat’s wrist, then slamming the rock down on it over and over until it smashed into pieces, freeing Harley of its debilitating effects. Immediately his body relaxed, sensation flowing back to his limbs. He urged it to move faster as Duane rolled to his side in an effort to grab the gun that had apparently fallen from Amiel’s jacket during their fight.
Amiel moved instead. Straddling Duane, she brought the rock down on him over and over, screaming with each descent. Duane kept trying to squirm away, to buck her off, yet somehow Amiel held tight. By the time Harley was able to drag himself to her side, she brought the rock down one more time, blood spraying her like some grotesque scene in a horror film.
Harley grabbed the back of her jacket, yanking her toward him. She turned on him, rock held high above her head, and for one heart-stopping moment, he thought she would bring it down on him too. Her eyes blinked, recognition finally registering in that dark gaze. The rock tumbled from her fingers, and she stumbled toward the side of the alley, retching.
Harley rolled to his knees, sitting up to better survey the situation. With each passing second his strength returned, the gelatin of his bones turning hard once more. The Cutthroat groaned on the ground, rolling slightly back and forth in his pain.
Harley took stock of the man’s injuries; he’d seen enough in his lifetime to know death. And right now, the thug didn’t face it. Amiel had dislocated his arm, broken his nose, smashed out a few teeth, crushed an eye socket, perhaps fractured a collarbone, and given him bruises galore. But as it was, the thug would crawl out of this alley, survive, and come for them again.
As if to prove Harley’s reasoning, Duane’s fingers twitched toward Amiel’s gun once more. Harley kicked the gun out of reach, kneeling down at his side. He ignored the pain of the knife wounds, turned it off in his mind as he focused on the wretch before him.
“Who was it?”
The thug groaned in reply. Harley yanked him upward by the lapels of his jacket. “Who was it! Who did ya steal the watch from!”
“Darwin, or some stupid name,” Duane coughed out, blood and teeth oozing over his lips. Harley’s fists tightened. Darvey. He should have known the freak wouldn’t be happy to leave them alone. He was just trying to find someone else to do the dirty work for him. But how had he gotten ahold of a watch? Darvey wasn’t allowed access to them; he wasn’t important enough. Teeth gritting, Harley dumped the thug on his back.
“I’ll kill you both. I won’t stop until you and that whore bleed in the streets!” Duane cursed, spitting at Harley. Harley stared down at him drolly, before bending to pick up the rock Amiel had dropped.
“Remember the night we met, Duane? I made ya a promise.”
Duane fell still, skin paling. “No, wait!”
“I’m a man of my word, Duane.” Two resounding cracks filled the air as Harley brought the rock down on the man’s shins, splitting the bones. Duane screamed in agony, cursing and writhing. Harley tossed the rock to the side, bent and pocketed Amiel’s gun.
“Keep screamin’. It’ll make the end come that much faster. Rabids are probably on their way already.”
Duane shut up immediately, though he still writhed on the ground. Grabbing up her glasses as he went, Harley moved to Amiel. Her form was shaking as she leaned against the wall, dry heaves still shuddering through her body.
“Hey, kid,” Harley murmured, shrinking down at her side. She flinched at his touch, hands clutching her head.
“It hurts,” she whispered in agony. Harley gently lifted her chin, trying his best to examine her for the source of her pain. His breath caught slightly when he saw her eyes; they were dilated still, and thin, blackish-red rivulets poured from her tear ducts. Harley cursed, grabbing her up in his arms. He shifted her slightly when the knife wound in his left arm protested, the muscle still trying to knit itself together. Gritting his teeth, he pushed through the pain, lifted the girl in his arms, and quickly stumbled from the narrow street.
“Don’t leave me!” Duane called after them in terror. Harley paused, not even bothering to look back.
“You made your grave.”
Duane sobbed as Harley moved down the street at a faster pace. His heart held not an ounce of remorse for the man in the alleyway, not even when he heard the screams from several blocks away.
Chapter 27
Harley
Harley wiped the gunk from Amiel’s eyes as it eked down her cheeks once more. Pell stood to the side, hands in his hair as he stared at her.
“Tell me again what happened.”
Amiel drew a shaky breath, eyes squeezing shut. “I don’t know how to explain it any more clearly, Pell.” Confusion and frustration heavily coated each word.
“Just start from when you felt the first change,” Pell coaxed. Her eyes opened and she stared at the ceiling, collecting her will and thoughts. Harley wiped at her cheeks as more bloody tears came. They had slowed down since the encounter, but they just wouldn’t stop. It worried him. How much blood was she losing here? And what the crap was wrong with the color of it?
“I watched him torturing Harley, telling him about how smart he was in gaining his precious watch. I stood there and I felt helpless and entirely weak.” Her voice shook, fury plainly written on her face. “I wanted so badly to stop him, yet I was terrified.” Her gaze shifted to land on her hands in her lap. Harley couldn’t help it; he softly enclosed her hands in his, sheltered them. It seemed to give her comfort, though she still wouldn’t look at him. She hadn’t since she’d beaten the crap out of Duane. And that worried him, too.
“And then I remembered the gun. I pushed my fear away and reached for it. I didn’t care what happened to me anymore, I just wanted Duane to stop, and I wanted to help Harley. That was when
he hit me with the Taser. And it was like… it was like I short-circuited. I don’t know how else to explain it. It felt like my brain shifted in several different directions, before fusing back together into one…. The pieces were all out of order and yet it seemed to fit perfectly.” She shook her head, gaze still fixed on his hands atop hers.
“He dragged me across the ground, choked me and ripped my hair. But it wasn’t until he stabbed Harley that things… clicked.”
“Clicked how?” Pell pressed.
“I don’t know. I just…” A shudder shook her body. “I felt this all-encompassing rage and sense of vengeance come over me. I knew Duane needed to die, and that I was going to do it.” Her words were quiet, strangled by the tension held throughout her body.
“Everything turned green; every tiny detail was brisk and amazingly detailed. I’ve never seen the world look so intense. We fell to the ground, I dislocated his arm, I broke the watch, and then I began slamming him with the concrete, anywhere I could hit him. I just knew he had to end; for what he’d done to me, what he probably did to others. But mostly for what he did to Harley, and could still do to him if he lived.” Harley felt his heart crack and expand at her words, his Hybrid shivering at their depth and loyalty.
“So you felt joy in your vengeance?” Pell asked carefully. Amiel shook her head vehemently.
“No. There was no joy. There was only an undeniable need to protect. And pain, terrible pain.”
“Pain?”
“It ripped me apart, inside me. Every time I hit him, I would scream in pain. Every time I moved to make contact, it was like I was forcing my way through tar to reach him. My body didn’t want to cooperate, or maybe it was my mind that didn’t want to cooperate with my body. I don’t know. I just know it felt wrong and right at the same time. I knew I had to stop him, yet it was like I had to physically fight myself to do it. And every time I made contact, intense pain avalanched through me: like every bone in my body was breaking, my brain being stabbed by a thousand icepicks. But I couldn’t stop.” She shivered, and Harley squeezed her hands tighter.
“Interesting,” Pell murmured, watching her closely. Harley frowned up at him, but Pell was too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice.
“When Harley finally stopped me, it hit me like a truck; it was all I could do to crawl away before I started throwing up. The blood started pouring out of my eyes. My head felt like it was shredded. I’ve never known such pain.”
One of Harley’s hands shifted to slip into the hair at the back of her neck, gently pulling her so that her forehead rested against his.
“I’m so sorry I let this happen to ya, darlin’,” he muttered. “Good kid like you should never have to go through somethin’ like that.”
Amiel pulled away, head shaking, and finally her eyes met his. The emotions within plowed him over.
“Please don’t blame yourself for what I didn’t do. I should have acted sooner. I should never have let it get that far. I should have shot him when he first jumped down from the roof. I should have…”
Harley didn’t relinquish his hold on her neck, didn’t let her retreat. He met her square in the eye, feeding his own emotions through the current so she wouldn’t mistake his reply for weak attempts at condolences. He needed her to know he held her in no ill will.
“No.” That one word held more meaning and depth than a thousand. Her angry eyes widened, and the fight left them with the tears that slipped over her cheeks. Her bottom lip trembled, and she fell into his arms, sobbing. Harley held her, rocked her back and forth as she spent every single tear left within.
“You could have died. It shouldn’t have taken me so long to react,” she whispered between sobs. “I am so sorry for my weaknesses.”
“Never be sorry for that. Weakness can be a beautiful and rare gift.”
“How can weakness be a beautiful gift?” Amiel grumbled.
“Because it is our weakness that makes us stronger; without weakness, we wouldn’t see a need to better ourselves. Aside from that, not everyone can recognize their weaknesses, or find the strength within ’em to face it. You’ve got the gift, Thumbelina; don’t belittle yourself for it.”
She pulled back, gaze searching his. “I thought Hybrids weren’t accepting of weakness?”
“Even Hybrids have a thing or two to learn, Thumbelina. And right now, both sides of me only see the strength in ya.” He offered her a crooked grin, and a smaller version of her own grew to match it. They both jumped slightly when Pell cleared his throat, reminding them of his presence.
“You say the world turned green?”
Amiel blinked, sitting straighter and composing herself.
“Yes. It was a very vibrant green, and everything around me was so detailed it almost hurt to look at it. It was like I could see every speck of dirt if I tried.”
“Interesting. Has that happened before?”
“Not that I remember. But I usually can’t remember anything I do when that part of me takes over.”
“What about your dreams,” Harley offered hesitantly. “Remember, your other side told me ya see memories of what happens through your dreams.”
Pell snapped his fingers in excitement. “Yes, yes! Are your dreams seen in green, Amiel?”
Amiel paused to consider Pell’s question. When she spoke, her answer was resolute. “No.”
“Huh.” Pell’s shoulders sagged slightly, whatever theory he had been working up in his mind ruined by that reply. Sighing, he grabbed up a chair and slumped into it. “Well, we may not have that one figured out yet, but there is one thing I think we can be certain of. Your body is hardwired to prevent an attack on humans.” He stood quickly, ignoring the chair once more for his preferred state of pacing.
“Here is my theory. Those tags are meant to make you attack Rabids. That’s it. It has hardwired your brain so that when you want to attack a human, in self-defense or not, it makes it physically impossible for you to do so.”
“But I did attack him,” Amiel pointed out.
“Yes!” Pell pointed at her excitedly. “But only after you, as you so aptly put it, ‘short-circuited’. The Taser served as a sort of… disconnect, if you will, from the tags’ control of your mind. You were able to draw on the power of the tags without the presence of a Rabid, and you were able to harm another human in the process. But it was a short-lived disconnect. Once the effect of the Taser began to wear off, the tags regained just enough control to punish you every time you hit the man: thus the bleeding. I assume it is some sort of internal reaction, internal bleeding.” He swatted a hand through the air when Harley’s face clouded with concern.
“I wouldn’t worry overly much about that. The color suggests the bleeding is already slowing. And with her rate of healing, I would imagine she will be just fine in a number of hours.” He stretched and yawned loudly.
“As for the green, detailed vision, I honestly have no clue. I would assume it to be some sort of tag-induced night vision, but if that were true it would happen in your dream memories as well. I suppose we will have to be happy with what we know for now. I have to head back to Foundation.” He paused in the process of gathering up his coat. “Unless, of course, you want me to run more tests?”
He already knew the answer to that. They were running enough risk as it was, having Pell involved. Harley had promised himself he wouldn’t call Pell anymore, after the last time. But the kid had scared him, again, and he had caved fast. He was in totally uncharted territory with this girl. He knew he shouldn’t cave, that he should start looking at her as just another Hybrid. Yet the idea of Amiel dying because he didn’t act… that was something neither he nor his Hybrid were ready to risk. Amiel suddenly stood, back straight and determination emanating from every pore.
“Thank you, but no, Pell. No more tests. I am sorry I brought more risk on you tonight. It won’t happen again.”
“Oh, no, no worries there! You know I live for this stuff. And I am more than happy to help out friends.
” Pell grinned brightly.
“I know you are. And I thank you for the help you’ve given. But we will not be asking for your help again, because you are our friend.”
Pell’s shoulders sagged slightly. “I see.”
Amiel walked toward him, grabbing him by the shoulders.
“Pellerton the third, you are too important to this world for your work to be cut short on my account. You have a brilliant brain, and a wholesome heart. Come by the diner and we can chat as often as you like about your theories. But no more tests, and no more late night runs from Foundation. I value you too much as a person and a friend to risk it.”
Pell’s gaze brightened, a blush on his cheeks. “Very well then, if you insist.”
“I’ll have Cookie make a batch of your favorite donut dips, too.”
Pell’s face brightened further.
“It’s a date!”
Harley’s brow lifted slightly, and Pell quickly backpedaled. “Uhh… well… I mean… you can count on it!”
He offered them a hasty wave before heading down the stairs to leave. Amiel moved to the window to watch, and Harley joined her there. Pell had ridden his crazy little moped thing here this morning, and Harley couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as it bubbled to life, backfiring and snorting as it puttered down the road.
“He is a good friend,” Amiel murmured. Harley nodded at her side. The guy might be a bit of a dweeb, and too eager to get himself into trouble, but Harley was finding that he really was a good guy to the core. And that surprised him, because Pell had managed to secure himself in one of the outer rings of Harley’s protective circles now: not an easy task. Or at least, it wasn’t an easy task before Amiel came along. She seemed to be changing his rules without even trying. Slowly turning, she looked up at him with huge, depthless pools of emerald, the bleeding thankfully seeming to have stopped at last.
“We cannot call him anymore, Harley. Promise me. No matter what happens with me, no matter how screwed up I am, promise me.”
