Mari laughed bitterly but said nothing.
“Tell me!”
“I bet you can’t guess what’s in that little sphere.”
“I don’t give two shits what’s in the—”
“Dom’s ba.” She brought her hand up to her mouth, gasping dramatically. “But—oh, no! You threw it into the Sound! Now how will he ever be whole again?” She blinked, eyes wide and innocent. Mocking. “He won’t be able to regenerate without it, that’s for sure. And with his injuries . . .”
I shot the quickest glance at the open shipping container, suddenly more terrified for Dom’s life than I’d ever been before.
Not quick enough. Mari struck, knocking my sword to the side and stabbing something into my belly.
I looked down, shocked to see her hand around the glistening black handle of a brand-new anti-At dagger, plunged to the hilt into my abdomen. It hurt like a bitch, stealing my breath even as the pain made me gasp. But even worse than the pain was the tingling. I could feel the miniscule anti-At particles separating from the blade and soaking into me, binding with my ba—my soul. I could feel myself being unmade.
“I’m sorry, Kat,” Mari said, face twisted and eyes pleading. She seemed absolutely genuine, all mocking nonchalance from a moment earlier gone. Had it been an act? Or was this the act? “I didn’t want this, I swear, but you didn’t give me a choice. Call Nik and tell him to come here. He can save you.” Gingerly, she pulled the dagger free and tossed it away, then eased me down to the ground with an arm around my waist.
Why? Why was getting Nik to come here so important to her that she’d risk changing the world as we knew it by unmaking me? The possible reasons were too slippery, and I could focus only on one thing. Nik. I needed him. He could save me.
I sucked in a shuttering breath. “I—I don’t have—” I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my jaw to fend off the pain. “—his number.”
Mari knelt on the ground beside me. “Well, where is he? You said he reached out to you—I know he wouldn’t just let you run off on your own.”
Lying on my back, right hand covering my stab wound, I stared at her. Now that the end was in sight, I was just glad that I wasn’t alone. Her presence was oddly comforting, even though she was responsible for my impending death. “W—what makes you say th—that?”
“Because he knows you too well. You’re rash, especially when your heart’s actually in the fight.” She shook her head, her eyes filled with sadness. “You let your emotions get in the way. You always have.” She squeezed my shoulder. “Where do you think he is? I’ll track him down. We can still save you.”
Tears welled in my eyes. I tried to blame the pain, but they’d only started after I’d heard the genuine concern in Mari’s voice . . . seen it in her shadowed jade eyes. “You’re th—the one who d—did this.” I inhaled shakily. “Why do you c—care?”
“Because I love you, idiot.” She combed matted hair out of her face with dirty fingers. “God, you’re such a moron sometimes.”
I stared at her, wide-eyed and dumbstruck. And dying. Worse. Being unmade.
“Where’s Nik, Kat? Please, you must have some idea.”
I narrowed my eyes, not trusting that this wasn’t all another act. “How do I know y—you’ll come back?” I tried to shift my body into a more comfortable position, but it only served to sharpen the twisting pain in my gut. “You know I’ll c—come after you.”
She shrugged. “I’ll chance it. But what I can’t risk is letting you get unmade. You’ve played too big of a part in shaping our world into what it is today. Who knows what it would’ve become without you?”
I coughed a laugh. “One w—way to find out . . .”
“That’s not going to happen.” Mari loomed over me. “Where is he?”
I stared into her green eyes for long seconds, weighing my options. There weren’t many. “The troll,” I finally said. I wasn’t positive, but it was my best guess. “In Fremont.” I switched hands, my right so coated in blood it wasn’t doing any good anymore. “He’s probably there.” With Garth . . . The thought felt important, but my sluggish, blood-deprived brain couldn’t figure out why. “If not—maybe my apartment.”
“Alright, it’s a start.” She stood and started jogging away. “Don’t go anywhere,” she called over her shoulder, a cell phone already at her ear. “I will come back for you.” I never even had a chance to find out why all of this was happening.
Mari was out of sight by the time I realized my palm was burning even worse than before. The searing pain became so intense it muted the stab wound to a dull ache. I pulled my hand away from the wound and held it over my face. The tattoo of the Eye of Horus had changed; it still shimmered with that otherworldly iridescence of At, but now shining onyx streaks spread throughout the symbol like veins in marble.
“What the hell?”
And then it hit me—the tingling caused by the poisonous anti-At had stopped. It was gone.
The obsidian streaks in the tattoo had to be the anti-At, pulled from me, body and soul, by the Eye of Horus. I stared in awe at the thing that had just saved my life. That had just saved my whole damn existence. Protection amulet indeed.
The burning in my palm subsided and the streaks settled, the anti-At particles bound to the At in the ink, and I was left lying there with an ordinary stab wound. It was the kind of injury I could easily heal from. The kind I could deal with later. There were more urgent matters to attend to.
Gingerly, I pushed myself up to a sitting position and unzipped my left jacket pocket. I fished out my phone with fingers slimy with blood and dialed 9-1-1.
The phone rang twice before an emergency dispatcher picked up. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“I need an ambulance.” I clutched my side, gritting my teeth. “My friend—”
“State your name, please.”
“My friend’s dying,” I snapped. “He needs help, now!”
“Where are you, ma’am?”
“Harbor Island—Terminal 18. There’s a man in a shipping container—slot A-27. It’s the second container up, so they’ll need a ladder.” I brushed my hair back from my face, cringing when strands pulled from sticking in the drying blood on my hand. “Just hurry, please!”
“Alright, ma’am, we’re on our way. I need you to stay with your friend until—”
I hung up the phone and shoved it back into my pocket. Gritting my teeth, I pulled my legs in and, ever so carefully, stood. I lifted my sword, hilt-first, with the toe of my boot, then bent down part of the way to pick it up. I strained against the pain to sheath it over my shoulder and hobbled to the edge of the shore of the artificial island to search the smooth, black and silver surface of the water for the anti-At orb.
It took me nearly ten minutes to find it, and by the time I spotted Dom’s ba bobbing along on the water’s surface, I could hear the approaching sirens. I dove into the water and swam to the orb, my heavy boots becoming leaden in the water and doing their damnedest to drag me down. I grabbed it with my left hand, trusting the Eye of Horus would protect me again, and crawl-stroked to the dock on the opposite side of the waterway, muscles fatigued, lungs straining, and side burning with pain. Staying afloat became so difficult that for a minute there, I doubted I would make it.
It took an insane amount of effort, but I managed to pull myself up onto the dock behind a massive container ship. I flopped onto my back, giving myself a chance to catch my breath before the police and paramedics arrived. I needed to be gone before they had a chance to spot me and drag me in for questioning. There was somewhere else I needed to be. I had to find a way to get to Nik before Mari found him. I had no idea why she was so desperate to get her hands on him, but if it had anything to do with Ouroboros and whatever they were up to, it couldn’t be anything good.
Garth’s at the troll, too. Again, I had the nagging sense that that piece of information was important, but I couldn’t quite put my thumb on the reason why.
&nbs
p; I stared up at the stars, realization a bright burst in my mind, and I suddenly understood. I may not have had Nik’s number, but I had Garth’s. Or, at least, I had a way to contact Garth. I’d just used it.
I fumbled with my left pocket, pulling out my phone once more. It was dead, killed by the dip in the water.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I grumbled, sitting up. The searing pain in my side was lessening—probably not because it was already healing, but because my brain was normalizing the sensation. I was getting used to it. Worked for me.
I climbed to my feet using one of the ship’s thick dock lines, took a deep breath, and stumble-jogged back to the Ducati. It was the fastest I could go.
15
The nearest pay phone I could find was four blocks east in the Industrial District outside of a twenty-four-hour convenience store. The clerk working the graveyard shift watched me through the front windows. I guess a drowned-rat motorcycle chick dripping blood on the pavement is quite the sight to see. I turned my back to him as I dialed 9-1-1.
Three rings this time before the dispatcher picked up. “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” I was fairly certain it was the same woman I’d spoken to earlier.
I cleared my throat and made an effort to deepen my voice. “I have reason to believe one of your officers is in trouble. I need you to connect me to—”
“What is your name?”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I leaned my forehead against the inside of the phone’s metal privacy alcove. “Officer Garth Smith is in trouble, and I need to talk to him right now.”
“Officer Smith has already called for backup. What is your name and how did you know he would be in trouble?”
“He already called for backup?” I went cold all over. Had Mari called in some Ouroboros goons to help her capture Nik? Would they hurt Garth? Would they go so far as to kill him? “Then it’s too late,” I said numbly, and hung up.
I stood there for a moment, feeling slightly nauseated, then took a deep breath and fished my sodden wallet out of my jacket’s interior pocket before going into the 7-Eleven. Standing there being worried and afraid and feeling sorry for myself wouldn’t help anyone. I headed straight for the refrigerated case of energy drinks in the back of the store, pulled two oversized cans out, and brought them up to the checkout counter. “No change,” I said, dropping a soggy five on the counter before walking out through the door.
If there was one thing I’d learned during my years as one of the Senate’s assassins, it’s that carrying cash is one of the best ways to keep a low profile. I always have some on me. And since many of my current clients paid in cash, I almost never had to go to the bank.
I chugged the first can of sugar and caffeine in thirty seconds flat. I tossed it into the garbage can by the door, then cracked open the second and downed it in five big gulps. They should sustain me for at least an hour, even with the untended stab wound. When I crashed, I would land hard, but this bought me some time.
I hopped back onto my bike and kicked the engine on, zooming away from the convenience store. I made it to Fremont in barely ten minutes—record time—only slowing once I was within two blocks of the troll. I couldn’t hear any sirens, but I could see the emergency vehicle’s lights flashing off trees and the sides of houses up ahead.
I rode around a corner and pulled the Ducati up onto the sidewalk, killing the engine and backing it into the driveway of a dumpy-looking house with an overgrown yard. I left the bike tucked between a broken-down pickup raised up on cinder blocks and a rusted boat trailer and snuck out to the sidewalk, sticking to the shadows by the bushes and trees.
I had a good vantage point from behind the trunk of a massive pine about halfway up the block. I could see the five police cruisers pulled up haphazardly around the underpass the Fremont Troll called home. An ambulance was just being loaded with a gurney, and if my eyes were right—and they almost always were—Garth was the injured guy strapped in, face covered by an oxygen mask. My heart sank.
I didn’t know why Mari’d attacked him, but I was just relieved she hadn’t killed him outright. But don’t get me wrong, the relief didn’t come close to surpassing the fury burning through my veins. Garth was innocent in all this, and he was, in a sense, my friend. Or the closest thing I had to a friend right now. He didn’t deserve this. I’d pay Mari back for what she’d done to him.
I scanned the rest of the people milling around, looking for Nik’s lanky silhouette. But all I saw were cops and paramedics and about a dozen lookie-loos. More civilians were trickling in from around the neighborhood. I searched the streets and yards around the underpass but saw no retreating figure. Which meant Mari must’ve found Nik. But had she taken him by force, or had he gone willingly once he’d heard I was in danger? Or was Nik injured, too?
My anger spiked. Hands in fists, I closed my eyes and took several long, deep breaths. Mari had said I had a tendency to act rashly and let my emotions take over. She viewed that as a weakness; I never had. She was about to bear the brunt of that rashness firsthand.
Hearing a person walk up the sidewalk just a few yards away, I opened my eyes and slunk deeper into the shadows. I couldn’t stay here.
I supposed I knew where Mari and Nik would be headed—back to Harbor Island to “save” me—and I played with the idea of following them back there. But there were bound to be police crawling all over the place by now, thanks to my 9-1-1 call. Mari wouldn’t risk it, and she would assume I’d ducked out as soon as the cops arrived.
Head hanging and hands in my coat pockets, I headed back to my bike. There was no real reason for me to track Nik and Mari down right away. She needed Nik for something—not that I knew what—and I figured he was safe enough for now. Besides, they’d be too preoccupied searching for me to get started on whatever plans she had for him. Dom was the one most urgently in need of help.
Back on the motorcycle, I pulled out of the little hideaway and wound around the block until I was merging onto Aurora Avenue to head back downtown to Harborview Medical Center. It was the city’s most renowned trauma hospital, and there was no doubt in my mind that the paramedics would’ve taken Dom there.
By the time I turned off the bike in the hospital’s parking garage, the glowing green digits on my little dashboard clock said it was just after ten at night. I parked the bike near the skybridge and hopped off. I shed my visible weapons, stashing them in a nearby garbage can that was nearly empty—under the bag, of course—and followed the signs to the skybridge. Visiting hours must’ve ended a while ago, because the garage was nearly empty.
I stopped in the third-floor bathroom near the elevators to clean up. My clothes were still soaked through, the anti-At orb containing Dom’s ba bulging in my left coat pocket, and my hair was a tangled mess. Whatever scrapes or bruises I’d acquired during the fight were all but healed by now, though the wound in my abdomen still throbbed in time with my pulse and seeped blood with every intake of breath.
I folded up a wad of paper towels and pressed them against the wound, wrapping my belt around my torso to hold the bundle in place. At least Mari’d had the decency to stab me below the hem of my tank top, leaving my shirt intact.
I zipped up my leather coat and stared at my reflection in the mirror. There was nothing I could do about the wet clothes, or about the eau de harbor water wafting off me, a delightful scent that would only get better. “Well, I think this is as good as it’s going to get,” I told my reflection. The girl in the mirror was a sorry copy of me, and I stuck my tongue out at her.
It was easy enough to find the emergency room—they’re always on the ground floor, at least in every hospital I’ve ever been to. Convincing the intake nurse to share any information with me about Dom was more on the difficult side.
“Listen . . .” I let the sorrow and fear and dread I’d been feeling since first finding out about Dom’s disappearance well up in the form of tears. My chin trembled, and when I spoke again, the quaver in my voice wasn�
��t on purpose. “He’s my brother. I just want to be here for him when he wakes up.” I wiped a tear from my cheek with my knuckle. “If he wakes up . . .”
Finally—finally—the nurse took pity on me. Her entire demeanor softened and a warm, motherly glow shone in her eyes. “Alright, hon.” She turned in her chair and stood, coming around the partition. “He’s in surgery right now, but you can go back to the family waiting area.” She held out an arm toward a doorway leading to a bustling emergency room filled with bay after curtained bay of patients in various stages of checking in and being treated.
She guided me through that chaotic room to another area beyond, where chairs, large potted plants, and an enormous fish tank had been arranged to delineate a “waiting area” within a larger open space at the convergence of several hallways. There were magazines on little end tables and arranged in a wooden display stand and not much else.
“There are vending machines around that corner, there,” the nurse said, pointing across the open space. “And I’m not sure how long he’ll be in surgery, but the cafeteria opens again at six in the morning.”
“Is there a phone? I need to call my family,” I said, voice catching. God, Heru was going to be pissed when he found out about all of this, specifically that I’d gotten involved in Nejeret matters without talking to him first. And Lex—she was, quite possibly, even closer with Dom than I was. She was going to kill me.
“Of course,” the nurse said, pointing to a plant at one corner of the waiting area. “It’s just on that table, there, hidden by the plant. You go ahead.” She bustled away. “I’m going to check in with the doctors working on your brother . . . tell them he has family waiting so they know to update you if there’s any news.”
Ink Witch (Kat Dubois Chronicles Book 1) Page 10
