"Did you see the animal that attacked you?" Iris asked. She was worried about what the sheriff might say about the hellhound.
"No. It came from behind and knocked me to the ground. I must have hit my head and passed out. When I came to, it was already gone. So were most of the men that were out there tonight. So many bodies…"
Iris shivered, remembering the state the Elwoods were in after trying to fight off the hounds. They had supernatural abilities and nearly died. The human search party didn't stand a chance.
At a crossroads in the woods, the sheriff turned left. She could swear that Dorian had gone in a straight line when he took her to the Elwoods.
"Shouldn't we keep walking ahead?"
"My cruiser's parked a mile further west. I need to get you out of these woods as soon as possible. That thing is still out there."
"Sheriff, I'm okay. You can go back and help the others."
"I'm not going to risk another innocent life tonight. Now come on." He grabbed her by the arm and led her down the track.
"I'll take her." The voice came from the darkness of the forest and sounded very familiar to Iris.
The sheriff immediately let go of Iris' arm and pointed his gun and his flashlight in the direction the voice was coming from. "Who are you?" he said on a firm tone when Dorian stepped out of the shadows with his hands up.
"Dorian Reed. You probably don't know me. I'm just passing through town. But she and I are friends. Aren't we, Iris?"
"What are you doing here?" the sheriff asked before Iris got the chance to speak.
"I heard about the search party and wanted to join but, sadly, I was too late. It's a mess out there. Since they need you more than they do me, I would gladly take Iris home and let you get back to your job."
The sheriff lowered his gun and Dorian started walking towards Iris. When he reached her side, a howl resounded in the woods some distance away from them. The sheriff automatically turned around and raised his armed hand again. He held his flashlight on top of the gun, pointed in the direction the sound was coming from. He told them to stay put and took a few careful steps forward, away from Dorian and Iris. The further he got, the more he seemed like a shadow, until Iris could barely see him anymore. And then, another shadow emerged from behind the trees, just a few feet away from where she and Dorian were standing. It flew across the track releasing a second howl, so loud that it nearly covered the sound of the gun. Iris closed her eyes. She could hear the second, third, fourth, and fifth shots exploding in her ears. When she opened her eyes, she still couldn't see anything. It was only after a moment that she realized Dorian's chest was blocking her view, his arms wrapped tight around her shoulders. When he released her, the sheriff was coming towards them. He was talking on his radio, asking for assistance.
"Are you two okay?" he asked. They both nodded. "Get her out of here. I'm going after that thing."
Iris watched him disappear into the woods then she turned to Dorian. "What was that?"
"Just a scared wolf." His voice was trembling.
"Are you okay?"
"Peachy," he said right before he collapsed at her feet.
Iris dropped to her knees. She touched Dorian's chest, shaking him, trying to get him to open his eyes. She tried to sit him up and noticed that her hand was wet. By the light of the moon the blood looked like liquid tar. She looked at his back and realized that he'd been shot. One of the bullets that were meant for the wolf ended up in Dorian's back. Instead of me.
She pulled out her phone but before she could decide who she could possibly call for help she realized that she had no cell signal. Damn it. Panic started to take over her. She was in the middle of the woods, with maybe a mortally wounded boy lying unconscious in her arms and no means of getting him to a hospital.
She couldn't let him die. She absolutely couldn't. Not because she felt guilty or indebted to him for saving her life, but because something inside her told her that if he died, she died. It was crazy and irrational. She barely knew him and, even without Connor's warnings, she knew that she should keep her distance. And yet she couldn't. It was like she was compelled. Okay, Iris. Breathe and try to stay calm. Too late. Her lungs were already struggling for air.
She looked around. There was no chance of bringing the car to him. The trail was too narrow. She had to find a way to get him to the car. They weren't that far from the crossroads where the sheriff had turned left and from there, if she went straight ahead she was sure that she would get out of the woods in the same place she and Dorian had left her grandmother's Ford.
She pulled him up in a sitting position and held him by the arms. She crouched next to him, her back against his chest, and put his arms over her shoulders. His body tended to slide to the sides and she struggled to keep him steady. She got on her knees, grabbed hold of his arms, and loaded him on her back. He was heavy then, still half on the ground, and she wondered if she would be able to stand when his entire weight pressed against her body. You can do this, Iris. She propped her left foot on the ground and stood on one knee, struggling to keep her balance. Then she took a deep breath and pushed herself up. She straightened her back a little too much and nearly dropped him but she immediately bent forward, staggered for a few moments, and finally managed to steady herself.
She started walking down the trail, every now and then lifting her head in an unnatural position to see where she was going. It felt like forever until she reached the crossroads and the thought that she'd still have to walk at least three times that long terrified her. Her lower back was hurting and her knees and thighs were on fire, yet what she was worried about was that she wouldn't be able to make it in time.
She stopped and made sure he was steady on her back, then she slid her hand along his arm until she reached his hand. She rested her index and middle finger on the inside of his wrist. His pulse was weak but it was still there. She sighed, relieved, and started walking again.
As she lifted her head to see the trail, she stepped in a puddle and lost her balance. She instinctively let go of his arm and extended hers to the side to regain her footing. He slid down her back and she grabbed hold of him just a split second before he fell to the ground. She pulled him by the arms, bouncing up and down to steady him on her back again. He moaned.
"Hang on. We're almost there," she said, gasping.
A strain of her hair got tangled in the zipper of his jacket and was tearing at the back of her head, preventing her from straightening her neck. Now she could keep her eyes on the trail but she couldn't walk like that. She knew that there was only one solution to the problem. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and threw her head forward in a swift move. She felt electricity run through the back of her head and she screamed as heavy tears filled her eyes and blurred her vision. She blinked to release them and moved forward. Something warm started flowing down her neck.
After a while, when hopelessness and exhaustion started creeping in, she lifted her eyes and saw the town lights behind the curtain of trees. She laughed and picked up the pace. She was on the homestretch. When she stepped through the last row of trees and saw the car, her lungs were burning and she felt lightheaded. She ignored them and pushed forward.
She circled the car and stopped in front of the passenger seat door to make sure he was steady on her back. She released one of his arms and reached into her pocket for the car keys. It was empty. She grabbed his arm again and tried the other pocket. Still nothing. She could feel her temples pulsing violently as a steel claw pierced through her chest and clenched her heart. Then she remembered that he'd been the last one driving the Ford so she twisted her arm back and tapped his jacket. After what seemed like forever she found the pocket and inside it her car keys. Oh, thank God. She took out the keys and by a hair she didn't drop them when she unlocked the car. She took a step back, slowly so she wouldn't drop him, and opened the car door, then turned around and slid him on the passenger seat. She adjusted his legs inside and locked his seatbelt. When she s
traightened herself, her lower back exploded. She bent forward and tried again, this time little by little. The pain was still there, but not as piercing as before. She ran the back of her palms over her eyes to wipe away the tears and jumped on the driver's seat.
"We made it," she said to him as she started the car, crying and laughing at the same time.
19
Something to Fight For
The bar was empty and smelled of old chips and stale beer. And burnt ash. And lavender. An old, desolate structure made of wood and very little iron, designed to accommodate supernatural creatures that lived among humans, especially Fae. Dorian sat on the only stool at the counter, staring into a half-empty glass of whiskey. Something kept tickling his cheek, like an invisible feather, and he ran his hand over his face, irritated. The jukebox in the corner was playing a song he didn't recognize, but the machine must have been broken because the music that came out of it sounded distorted. As did the voice of the singer and the lyrics. He could still make out the chorus though— Hang on. We're almost there—on repeat, until it faded away into the background noises.
The wallpaper, a nauseating shade of brown, glowed golden from the dancing yellow lights hanging from the rafters. There was something about it that drew Dorian's attention but he couldn't really tell what. He got up and walked closer to the wall. The paper began to glow underneath. He grabbed a loose corner and peeled it off. The flames came alive and surrounded him, dancing in circle, embracing him. He felt the heat and the burning pain when one of them touched the back on his shoulder. They grabbed him and pulled him out just as the roof of the bar collapsed from the fire. He closed his eyes and kept them closed until one of the flames—or was it the voice in the jukebox?—spoke. We made it.
When he opened his eyes again he was back on the stool, staring into a half-empty glass of whiskey. He looked around. The bar showed no signs of a fire, but now the floor was shaking, making the searing pain in the back of his shoulder worse. What the bloody hell? Am I dreaming?
"I'll have what he's having. And another one for him. On me."
Dorian jumped and turned around to see where the voice was coming from. When he saw the man sitting next to him, clarity struck. It's not a dream. It's a memory.
"You know, contrary to common belief, alcohol rarely offers you an answer to what you're looking for," the stranger said as the bartender was pouring two glasses of whiskey.
Dorian got up and headed towards the door. "No. I'm not going through this again." It's been three years. Why am I remembering this now?
"You've been badly wounded," the bartender said. "This is your mind's way of coping with the pain. Or maybe it's trying to remind you why you should fight to stay alive. Either way, you're not getting out of here until the movie's over, buddy."
Dorian touched the back of his shoulder. It was burning. He sighed and sat back down. Alright, let's play. "Who says I'm looking for something?" he replied, pushing away the empty glass in front of him and taking a sip of his new drink, all the while never looking at the man next to him.
"Aren't we all?" Dorian didn't answer and they both sat in silence for a short while. "I see you're not much of a talker."
"Look, mate, no offense but I'm here to drown my sorrow not have a chinwag, so thanks for the drink but if you want someone to bond with, try the establishment next door. They have some lovely ladies there who not only are great listeners, but also offer some mind-blowing perks for an extra glass of fine bourbon."
Dorian finished his drink in one sip and headed for the door. The air outside was humid and cold, masking the usually overwhelming smell of alcohol and urine flooding the alley behind the bar. He pulled up his collar and started walking.
"I on the other hand can," he heard the man say a few seconds later.
Dorian stopped but didn't turn around. "You can what?" he asked, he himself surprised that he listened to that madman instead of just ripping his head off for bothering him, like he would normally do.
"Give you the answer you're looking for."
Dorian turned around and rushed towards the stranger. In the split of a second he was holding him by the neck against the brick wall. The man had no scent, which threw Dorian off a bit because in his wanderings around the world he'd had the chance to meet all kinds of creatures and learned to recognize their scents. That gave him the advantage when it came to defending himself against potential enemies, but in that moment, even though he was the one holding the stranger against the wall, he felt vulnerable and that put him on edge.
"I don't know what you are and honestly I don't give a pin," he said through his teeth. "But I find you extremely irritating and, if you don't tell me what your deal is with me in the next two seconds, I'm going to rip out your intestines and hang you with them."
"Do that and you'll never know the identity of the last member in the bloodline of the man who betrayed your father," the stranger said on an oddly calm tone for someone whose life was being threatened.
Dorian let go of him and took a step back like he'd been electrocuted. The only people who knew about his search were the Elwoods but he'd cut ties with them and, given the disastrous manner in which they'd said their goodbyes, he didn't see any reason why they would send someone to help him.
For the first time that night he took a good look at the man, only to realize that everything about him gave off a strange vibe. His entire outfit, very somber and out of fashion, was a combination of dark grey and black, which made him look like he'd just stepped out of a painting depicting a secret society funeral ceremony in Victorian times. Dorian was surprised that he hadn't heard anyone make any mocking remarks as he'd often noticed people did whenever they passed by someone who stood out as much as the stranger did, but perhaps he wasn't paying attention. Or perhaps that strange vibe he felt was like a warning not to mess with him.
Dorian was six feet two and, although the stranger seemed about the same height, his lean figure and elongated face made him look a lot taller. The top hat only added more power to that illusion. He was holding a black cane, probably made of ebony, with a silver knob handle and a string of strange engravings spiraling down along the entire length of the shaft.
His skin was unusually white and papery, as if his entire body was covered by a thick layer of powder chalk. That and the fact that every move he made took a few seconds longer than normal made him look incredibly old. But Dorian knew better than to let that impression fool him into lowering his guard. When he pushed the stranger against the wall earlier, the latter didn't put up any resistance, but the tension in his muscles warned Dorian about the actual strength of his opponent.
He spoke with strange accent that made it impossible to pinpoint it to a specific location. Still, Dorian didn't find that at all surprising, given that the stranger was not of that world and he probably learned the language from books.
But perhaps the most unsettling thing about him were his eyes. Pitch black and wider than normal, they were like nothing Dorian had ever seen. Completely lacking any kind of reflection, they were so dark that it was impossible to distinguish the difference in color between the iris and the pupil, something quite easy to notice in anyone, whether they were human or supernatural. If the eyes were windows to the soul, the stranger's soul was a terrifying black hole.
"Who are you?" Dorian finally asked.
"That is irrelevant. All you need to know is that I represent a group of very powerful entities who can tell you what you so desperately wish to find out."
"What's the catch?"
"The catch?"
"Don't play dumb. Nothing is for free and when someone makes you an offer you can't refuse, it usually comes with a price so high even the Devil has trouble wrapping his mind around it."
"Ah," the man answered smiling. "There is indeed something we want in return. But first I need to know that you're in."
"I can't agree to do something without knowing what that something is."
"Unfortunately, my lips a
re sealed."
"Well, unfortunately, that's not how I do business."
"Then I suppose we were wrong about you. However, we are willing to give you some time to think about it. Should you have a change of heart, meet me here tomorrow night. Ten o'clock, not one second later."
He turned around and started walking away, but after a few steps he stopped. "What I can tell you about the task that you would undertake if you agree to our proposal is that it's nothing that a young lad with your determination can't do," he said without turning around, before he disappeared around the corner.
Dorian spent the next twenty hours pacing up and down the small motel room he rented above the bar. He was weighing the pros and cons of the stranger's offer. It sounded like he'd finally caught a break in his life-long search but it also sounded too good to be true. The price he would have to pay in return would probably be colossal. And yet, even if it cost him his life he knew that he couldn't turn it down. He'd decided that even before the stranger bid him goodbye, he just took a while to admit it.
The hour before the meeting seemed endless and, when the massive clock on the church tower that overlooked the town a few blocks away from the bar struck a quarter to ten, Dorian was so hyped that he found it difficult to breathe normally. As he headed towards the spot where he'd met the stranger the night before, his feet suddenly seemed to have a life of their own, rushing him into the dark alley. Anxious as he was to see what kind of deal the stranger was talking about, he had to make use of all his strength to appear like his usual relaxed, devil-may-care self.
"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist," he heard the stranger's familiar voice behind him.
"I'm here. Now let's get down to business."
The Fountain of Truth (Tales of the Dark Fae Book 1) Page 17
