Three Days to Dead

by Kelly Meding

  He reached out his small hand and I took it. Expecting a handshake, I instead received a hard object. I palmed it, and examined it. A sliver of crystal, the length and width of my index finger, its sides rounded and perfectly smooth and peaked to a single point.

  “A gift,” he said, “from the Apothi. It’s not enough for the suffering I have caused you.”

  “You?” I asked.

  Thin lips pursed. “Knowledge of healing magic is Gifted only to my people. Tovin took me for a fool once. It was I, Evangeline, who helped him add your regenerative powers to the resurrection spell. He said you needed the advantage in order to fulfill your destined task. I know now he meant only to prevent you from dying before his plan was enabled. I’m so sorry.”

  I stared at the little man in front of me, so small and yet reeking of power—a different sort than I felt while around Amalie, but still present. He was the only gnome I’d had a real conversation with, and I found myself hoping we’d meet again.

  “You’ve still given me a gift,” I said. “Your regenerative powers have helped me survive this long when I should have died multiple times. I do still have a task ahead of me. But thank you for this second gift.” I slipped the crystal spike into the back pocket of my jeans. “May I ask—?”

  “When the time comes, you’ll know how to use it. Go on careful feet, and may the ancestors keep watch over your journey.”

  I didn’t know if he meant his ancestors or mine, so I merely nodded and ducked through the doorway. Unlike the others, this door did not lead into a room, just a tiny space, no larger than a coat closet, with three potential corridors. I started down the farthest to the left, led by more glowing spheres, placed every ten feet and roughly the size of lemons. It was dim, but enough to see by.

  Wyatt followed, keeping a distance of several feet. We didn’t speak for the first leg of the journey. My thoughts consumed me. Training told me to never walk into a situation I couldn’t walk out of again—exactly what we were doing. We had no plan of action beyond contacting Rufus, who may or may not be able to provide Triad assistance. If not, we were up shit creek without a boat, never mind a paddle. None of the other species would help us without proof.

  Yet another great difference between humans and the majority of Dregs—a complete lack of, or simple inability to use, imagination. The very fact that Tovin had orchestrated our steps up until that very moment, that he had every piece in place to summon a Tainted into Wyatt’s body, would not sway them. They judged on action, not intention. Until Wyatt was actually demon-possessed, our chances of persuading them to assist us were less than zero.

  The Bloods were the only wild card in the deck. Istral and Isleen had already acted on their suspicions about the goblins, which meant they were on the list for proactive potential. But I hadn’t spoken with Isleen long enough to know her intentions, and her people likely held me responsible for her death. Still, if we could contact the heads of the Blood Families—

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Wyatt’s voice bounced through the narrow tunnel.

  “It’ll cost you at least a dollar,” I replied.

  “Got change for a twenty?”

  I smiled. The tunnel bent sharply to the right—our assigned direction. I almost missed a left-bearing junction, its entrance less than half the height of the tunnel. The floor was rougher, the walls spotted with roots and loose dirt.

  “Must be the split that Horzt mentioned,” Wyatt said.

  “Looks like. Where do you think it goes?”

  “Somewhere else in the city.”

  “Duh.” I crouched in front of the rougher entrance, intrigued by its age and the faint breeze trickling out.

  “Evy, come on.”

  I looked at him over my shoulder and winked. “It’s the path apparently never taken, Wyatt. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “Hiding behind my free will.”

  I wasn’t serious about exploring the rocky tunnel and only meant to tease, but his comment startled me. I stood up, heat in my cheeks and hands on my hips, and managed to scrape both elbows on the rocky wall. Ignoring the pain, I glared at him. It was rendered somewhat ineffective by the near-dark.

  “What the hell, Wyatt?”

  “What? I don’t think we should go exploring a strange tunnel when Horzt told us to go this way.” He jacked his thumb down the right curve.

  I didn’t particularly want to, either, but that was no longer the point. “You used to trust my instincts.”

  “I still do, Evy. I just don’t trust mine.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since now. Since all of this.”

  “I still trust you.”

  “How the hell can you? Everything happening now is because of me. You’re in Hell again when you should be at peace, making choices no one should have to make, because I let someone manipulate my emotions. I did this to you. How can you trust me?”

  Shadows darkened his face, making it nearly impossible to read. Only his eyes sparkled brightly. I reached out, but he shied away from my touch. The simple action, more than any of his words, hurt.

  “Accepting responsibility and casting blame aren’t the same things, Wyatt. I know why this is happening, and I know who’s responsible, but that doesn’t mean I blame you, because I don’t. Blaming you won’t change it, won’t find a solution, and it won’t make me feel better.” I poked him hard in the chest. “And I will not let you use my imaginary blame as an excuse for your own self-hatred. You were made a fool of and there’s no changing that, so get the hell over it.”

  “Get over it?” The dug walls vibrated under the force of his angry tenor. “You aren’t the one being prepped to host an ancient demon, Evy.”

  “No, I was the one brought back from the dead to relay important information I don’t fucking have.” Another circular argument, getting us nowhere. “Can we please stop playing Who Got the Worse Deal? Our primary goal has not changed, and that is stopping Tovin before he can bring something across First Break. The rest of our personal bullshit can wait.”

  “For when, exactly? The day after tomorrow?”

  “If I have anything to say about it, yes.”

  He frowned, glittering eyes searching my face. “Don’t tell me you believe in a happy ending now?”

  “I believe that the next twenty hours are still mine to do with as I wish. Am I prepared to die again to stop Tovin? Yes. Would I rather find a loophole that lets both of us live? Most definitely yes. Until I am faced with death or a demon, I’m going to keep looking for that loophole. How about you?”

  His hand slipped around my waist, and I pressed close, my arms encircling his neck. I received his answer in that hug. It offered the promise of hope. And, in the face of impending death, a promise was better than nothing.

  **;*

  The tunnel narrowed after thirty more yards. We were reduced to crawling on our hands and knees over packed dirt and the occasional exposed root or rock. I cut my palms several times, but the pain was refreshing, almost invigorating. It marked our progress.

  After what felt like a mile, the glowing orbs disappeared. Caught in pitch black, we slowed even more. I swept my hand in front of my face before each step, imagining all sorts of creepy things ahead—spiderwebs or worse. But beyond dirt and more dirt, the tunnel remained empty.

  “Too bad you need both hands for crawling,” I said. “We could use some sunshine in here.”

  “Next time, I’ll be sure to ask the sprites for a flashlight.”

  “And a bottle of water. I think I’ve swallowed enough dust to shit a brick later.”

  Wyatt started laughing. The sound echoed, painfully loud, but it was contagious. I found myself giggling as I limped along on hands and knees, waiting for that elusive light at the end of the tunnel. The kind I was prepared to follow.

  It appeared, as if out of nowhere, twenty minutes later. I blinked, sure I was hallucinating. But it seemed to get larger the closer I got, and I realized soon that I could see m
y hands in front of my eyes.

  “Finally,” I muttered.

  “Go quietly, Evy. We don’t know where we are.”

  I swallowed a “Duh,” and plodded along. Every breath seemed too loud, every heartbeat like thunder. The tunnel never widened. The light remained steady, its yellow glare marred by a black pattern. Something was in front of the exit. A bush, maybe?

  The refreshing coolness of moving air whispered across my cheeks. I inhaled deeply, savoring the sweetness. Anything was better than the damp, basement air we’d been breathing for two hours. Then I became aware of something else new. Music thrummed all around us, a steady rock beat that was all sound and no words. Dance music. Strange for that hour of the morning.

  And it wasn’t a bush that covered the tunnel exit; it was a wire-mesh grate. I scooted closer and squinted out. We were in a weed-filled ditch, half lit by the cloudy morning sun. The pulsing music came from somewhere behind—probably a nightclub that never closed. I smelled cigarettes and gasoline and exhaust. Definitely near the parking lot.

  I pushed at the grate, and it gave without hesitation. I moved it only a few inches at first, then stopped and listened, but heard no voices or footsteps. I pushed it a bit more. Still nothing, so I pushed until I could slide through, into the dry ditch bed. I peeked out, expecting a red-feathered dart at any moment.

  The ditch did, indeed, border a nightclub parking lot. T.D.’s was a popular joint, more because guys got a kick out of saying the name than for its class or dollar-per-beer value. The other two sides of the parking lot butted up against the bare brick sides of other buildings. The only street access was from an alley between T.D.’s and its neighbor. I knew the place.

  “We’re in the Lot,” I said.

  I scuttled farther down the ditch so Wyatt could climb out. The sky was overcast and threatening rain. Moisture hung in the air like a damp sweater. Once Wyatt was by my side, we made a mad dash for the nearest parked car.

  “I think I know where we are,” Wyatt whispered. “Rufus’s apartment is six blocks from here.”

  “Won’t they be watching it?”

  “They who?”

  “Any they. The Triads or the Halfies?”

  “The Triads won’t watch it; they won’t see the need with Rufus in the hospital. If he wants to contact us, that’s probably our best way.”

  “What about the Halfies?”

  “They left him for dead.”

  “Doesn’t answer my question.”

  He turned his head, winked. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “Smart-ass. Let’s go, then. If nothing else, we can clean up. You have dirt all over you.”

  “You were rolling in it, too, you know.”

  We hit the ground running and made it into the shadows of the alley without notice. Each step raised my anxiety level a fraction. This part of the city came alive after dark, but daytime saw just as much activity. Even the back alleys and side streets received heavy foot traffic—mostly teenagers keen on skipping school and young adults who couldn’t afford college. We probably blended right in.

  No one paid us any mind, not really. But every time someone’s eyes acknowledged me, I cringed and expected attack. When you don’t know who your friends are, anyone can be an enemy.

  I counted the blocks. After six, Wyatt turned us toward a stinking, rotting alley that ran next to a seven-story brick apartment complex. One of the low-rent styles with one fire escape per floor, no balconies, and bars on all the windows. He found a back door with no outside knob. It was locked tight.

  “It’s hard to pick a lock without a lock to pick,” I said.

  “Want a lock?” He held his hand out, palm up, and closed his eyes. Sweat beaded on his forehead. The air above his hand swirled and crackled. He was summoning something. A lump of black metal materialized. He opened his eyes, face pale, and held up the object.

  It was the door’s locking mechanism.

  “Have I said lately you have a pretty cool power?” I asked.

  He grinned and pocketed the lock, then nudged the door. It creaked open without protest. He led me into the bowels of the tenement, through a dank hallway to service stairs that reeked of sweat and urine. I was careful to not touch anything on our ascent, horrified by the vile substances that seemed to coat the railings and walls. Rufus St. James wasn’t well paid as a Handler, but certainly he could afford nicer digs than this dump.

  Wyatt peeked out into the fifth floor, then waved me forward. Stark walls of ivory-painted cement blocks proved no homier than the outside of the building. The hallway was bare concrete, the doors a heavy, gray metal. A television blasted a laugh track as we passed one door. Several more apartments went by until he stopped in front of 512.

  “You going to summon a key, too?” I whispered.

  Turned out we didn’t need one. The apartment door swung open, and we found ourselves staring down the barrel of a shotgun. Across the length of it, past the sight and the arm holding it at shoulder level, I recognized the brown hair and deadly eyes.

  “Look what I caught,” said Nadia, the last surviving member of Rufus’s Triad.

  Wyatt groaned. “God—”

  “—dammit,” I finished.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  16:05

  The standoff lasted the space of a breath, then Nadia lowered the shotgun. Her coffee-colored eyes darted to the hall behind us, searching. She stepped back and cocked her head. “He is waiting for you,” she said.

  “Who is?” I asked.

  “Rufus, idiot.” Her disdain was palpable. She pointed the muzzle of her weapon toward the interior of the apartment. “Go on, then.”

  Not quite the welcome of Kings, but she didn’t shoot us on the spot. I walked down a short entry hall that smelled like tomato soup and bleach—two cloying and somewhat nauseating odors. The hall opened into a surprisingly spacious living room/kitchen combo. Plain roman shades covered both windows in the living space, and the sofa had been pushed up against the shared wall. Light flared down from a single overhead fixture.

  Rufus lounged in a wheelchair parked next to a small wooden side table. His left shoulder was in a sling. Bloodstained bandages poked out beneath his unbuttoned shirt. He was pale, with dark circles lining both eyes, and he was sweating like a junkie long overdue for his next score.

  “Jesus, Rufus,” Wyatt said. He scooted past me and approached his old friend. “Why aren’t you in the hospital?”

  “Not safe,” he replied, slurring his words. Nadia had him hopped up on something. “Halfies followed me to finish the job.”

  Nadia swooped past me and knelt next to Rufus, shotgun across her lap, protecting her Handler. She continued to glare at me with open suspicion, so I glared right back. She had nothing to fear from me unless she got in my way.

  “He insisted we come here,” Nadia said, her faint accent sharpening her S’s and R’s. “I told him it was not safe, but he is stubborn. He said you would know to find him here, so here he must stay.”

  “And I was right,” Rufus said. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, Truman. I should have helped you sooner.”

  “I didn’t give you much reason to trust me, pal,” Wyatt said. “But at least I didn’t shit on my friends for nothing. We finally got the answers we wanted, and none of them are good.”

  “About the alliance?”

  “More like a conspiracy,” I said.

  Wyatt and I took turns narrating the events of the last twenty-four hours, right up through Horzt leading us out of First Break, and Wyatt ended with our arrival at their doorstep.

  Rufus had gone impossibly paler during our description of Tovin’s ultimate plan for Wyatt’s free will. His breathing seemed erratic, almost panicked. Nadia remained a sphinx, her internal thoughts impossible to guess by her body language. I might as well have told her the grocery store had a half-price special on laundry detergent, for all of the interest she displayed.

  “That’s unbelievable,” Rufus sai
d after a brief pause. “I mean, I knew it had to be something big, but from the elf? I never would have guessed.”

  “He’s playing everyone,” Wyatt said. “Putting up a concerned front about a possible alliance that was all bullshit. He’s been using the Halfies, and the goblins, too. The Bloods are on to him, but the Families won’t act without proof. No one will.”

  “Are we not overthinking this?” Nadia asked. Her chilly voice sparked goose bumps across my skin. “Save lying, Tovin has committed no real crime. All we need do is void your contract. Simple, no?”

  Wyatt glared at her with unmasked fury. “No, not so simple, Nadia. And if you even contemplate putting buckshot into either one of us, I’ll summon your heart right out of your chest.”

  Her eyes widened to comical proportions. The threat worked; she backed off. Lucky for us she didn’t know Wyatt couldn’t summon living tissue.

  “We need to find Tovin,” I said, “but he could be anywhere in the city, and we don’t exactly have time for a door-to-door.”

  “You can always have a go at the babbler,” Rufus said.

  I blinked. “The what?”

  “The babbler in the next room.” He waved his right hand at a door to the left of the kitchen. “The Halfie who tracked me to the hospital. Nadia brought him with us, but he’s pretty useless. Must be newly turned, because it didn’t take well. He’s losing it.”

  “Lost it,” Nadia said.

  One in five humans infected by a Blood doesn’t take to the change. Most adapt to their new cravings and lifestyle and limitations and powers, but some don’t. They can’t quite grasp that life will never be the same, and often lose their tenuous grip on reality in a mighty scary fashion. I’d cleaned up after many feral Halfies who turned their insanity against helpless innocents.

  Rufus wiped his hand across his chin. “Keeps on muttering about his lost goblet, or some such nonsense. Can’t get anything else out of him.”

  “Lost goblet?” Wyatt asked. “You sure know how to pick useless hostages. But I’m surprised that just one Halfie came after you. They tend to travel in packs.”