Blurred Memories

by Kallysten

  “Are you done?” he asked, gesturing at the bowl and the paste inside it. “What now, then?”

  Simon blinked and looked down as though just remembering what he had been doing. He still didn’t resume his preparations, however, and after a second or two, he was back to looking at Blake with undisguised discomfort.

  “What about…what about the rest? Can you forgive me for touching…for what I did? I was just trying to help. I didn’t know any other way.”

  Blake knew what he meant. He would have blown him off, too hurt and impatient to leave the breach behind, if not for the quiver in Simon’s voice. He really needed to hear this. And unlike many things Blake had been asked lately, this one cost him nothing.

  “There’s nothing to forgive. Really. Don’t worry about it anymore.”

  Simon’s smile lit up his entire face, giving away just how much all of this had troubled him. Blake tried to smile back, but what came out felt like a grimace rather than a proper smile. Some days, Blake wondered if he’d ever learn to smile again.

  Chapter 9

  On the rooftop, Blake waved back at Kate, and she released the breath she had been holding. She wished she had pushed harder about accompanying Blake and Simon. She understood why Marc had suggested they go up there. Daniel had seemed rather certain that demons would come through and attack, sooner or later. The demons didn’t have an alarm like in the City, nor did they keep guards by the breach like at some other places, but they always seemed to know when soldiers were close by. When the demons did attack, Blake would be out of harm’s way and have a good reason to stay there. Still, she hated being so far from Blake, especially when there was a breach nearby, almost close enough to touch. What if his memories took hold of him again? Would Simon be able to help him?

  She turned her back to the building, resolutely telling herself that things were for the best, even though deep down she couldn’t help but wish Blake were as far from the battlefield as possible. He had wanted to come, but was it such a good idea?

  “Do you think it’ll help him to be out here?” she asked Marc when the question wouldn’t stop bouncing around in her mind. “To do something against the demons?”

  Marc’s silence stretched into uncomfortable territory. Kate turned to him, and the dark look on his brow sent a wave of ice deep into her bones. He must have noticed her shiver, because his features turned apologetic and he drew her into a brief hug.

  “I don’t know,” he murmured when he released her.

  They both returned to watching their surroundings. Kate noticed that Marc’s gaze flitted upward, to the rooftop where Blake stood guard over Simon.

  “I hope,” he said after a while, still as quietly. “I don’t know what else we can do to help, not when he still won’t talk to us.”

  A wave of guilt washed over Kate, and she shifted uneasily where she stood. Blake had talked to her about one small part of his experience and why he loathed seeing her on her knees. Part of her had wanted to mention it to Marc, share this small step with him, but so far she hadn’t said anything, and she still wasn’t sure why not.

  “Did he… I mean, before. Did he use to talk to you about things that bothered him or…”

  Kate didn’t finish her question; she didn’t have to. She could already read the answer in Marc’s flat eyes. Blake’s reluctance to confide into anyone wasn’t anything new—and no, Marc didn’t have any tricks to help Blake open up.

  She sighed. “I wish…”

  She bit her lip rather than finish voicing that thought. Marc knew. He had to. And he undoubtedly wished the very same thing.

  “He’s getting better,” Marc said with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s just hard to see at times because it’s so slow and we’re so close to him. Don’t lose hope.”

  He rubbed her back gently before resuming his watch. Kate wanted to believe him more than anything, but sometimes—

  She couldn’t have said what caused her to turn to the breach at that moment. Maybe she had caught the flicker of the light shining through from the corner of her eye. Maybe instinct, or intuition, or that same good luck that had kept her alive and well for so long was speaking to her again.

  Whatever it was, she pushed away her fears and concerns for her lover, and slipped into fighting mode. She was the first to raise the alarm when one lone, slender, human-like figure stepped out of the breach as though it were nothing more than a doorway. That first figure was soon followed by what looked like a dozen more—and those were unmistakably demons, armed and ready to attack.

  Had she recognized the first person to walk through, she might have allowed the demons to slaughter Jen. All she saw, however, was a human, someone to be protected, and she did exactly that. With a shout to raise the alarm, she rushed toward the breach and the demons, already wielding her sword and with the deep-bone certitude that Marc was only a foot or two behind her.

  The last thought that flashed through her mind before the heat of the battle obliterated everything else was the hope that Blake would stay safe and away from the fight.

  * * * *

  Kate’s cry of alarm startled Blake so much that he all but jumped. He looked over the low wall down to the ground to find out what was going on.

  Demons were rushing in through the breach. The squad was under attack.

  Emotions rushed through Blake in successive waves. First and foremost was worry; Kate and Marc were down there, already fighting side by side. He needed to go help them. Fear was next, so overwhelming Blake felt like he would choke. The last time he had fought demons, he had lost, and he’d been punished with decades of pain. What if he lost again? Shame and anger surged through him. He refused to be scared, refused to be a victim any longer. That was not who he was.

  “Blake? What should we do?”

  Simon’s squeaky words snapped Blake back to attention. He turned to the mage, his mouth already open to give orders. It fell shut and he blinked when he took in Simon’s appearance, three red lines of drying paste drawn over each of his eyelids as well as above and below it. For a fleeting moment, Blake wished he had paid attention while Simon did his magic, or even asked explanations about what he was doing. Maybe later.

  “Is your spell over?” he asked. “Did you get the information you needed?”

  Simon grimaced. “Not yet. I need a little more time. Can you—”

  “Make sure you get it?” Blake’s grin felt like his first real smile in months. The sense of purpose that came with it was like a balm soothing an open wound. “Yeah, I can do that. Come down when you’re done, all right? And do your magic cloak thing on yourself when you do.”

  He barely waited for Simon to nod in reply before he hurried to the stairs, his sword already in hand. In moments, he was back in the street. He remained near the entrance to the building so he could defend its access. Most fighters worked in pairs, but that did not worry him. Fighting was in his veins. He didn’t need help. He only needed an adversary.

  It wasn’t long before one presented itself.

  The demon struck with a loud grunt. Its sword met Blake’s in a clash of fiery sparks. For the first time in what seemed like forever—what was centuries, in fact, at least to him—Blake felt as though pure life was coursing through him. Not until this very instant had he realized how much he had missed the rush of the fight, and the exhilaration of going head to head with an adversary. The fears and worries that had plagued him when he had sparred with Marc were gone, leaving only a sense of rightness behind.

  With a shout that was part delight, part defiance, he struck high at the demon’s chest. Seneca rang like a gong against the thick metal armor. The demon wasn’t hurt, but it stumbled back either from surprise or from the force of the blow. Blake rushed forward at once and struck again, high, then low, at the demon’s leg, and its arm, blood dark as ink staining his blade. With a growl, the demon pulled back again; the light emanating from the breach now bathed its side.

  Blake froze.
His throat felt tight, too tight. His fingers clenched on the hilt of the sword.

  Demons were all different. No two of them had the same pattern of protruding bones. But back in the demon dimension, when Blake had first been captured, when demons had dragged him to a cell, one of them had had a series of bone spikes on each forearm, five spikes between four and five inches in length on either side.

  The demon standing in front of Blake wore identical spikes. Five on the left forearm, four on the right, plus a short stub near the elbow where a fifth one had been broken off.

  Where Blake had broken it off.

  * * * *

  Shouting or struggling was useless, and so was refusing to walk. The demons would drag Blake over uneven ground and stones until he was bruised, maybe even had broken bones, and that wouldn’t help him escape in the least. Walking behind one of his two captors, with his hands tied in front of him and a rope around his neck, Blake tried to take in as much as he could, memorizing features of the landscape around him, seeking paths through the rocky terrain.

  The trouble was, they had been walking for hours, and everything looked the same. Blake had no idea where he was being led, but the further he let himself be taken, the harder it would be to get back to…

  To where?

  The breach was closed. How would he go back to his world?

  He needed to find another breach. It didn’t matter where he ended up; he only needed to go back through. And for that, he first needed to escape.

  He started to pay closer attention to his guards. There were two of them, both in front of him. They were grunting quietly at each other—talking, Blake supposed. It would have helped to know what they were saying, but Blake had to work with what he had, not what would be convenient. He had no weapon, nothing to cut his bonds, but he didn’t need to get to his guards’ weapons to have access to something sharp. His guards themselves were full of sharp edges, and he knew from experience that their spiky bone protrusions could cut like steel. He had another advantage: they believed him beaten and caution unnecessary. If he could get close enough, managed to incapacitate the demons in some way, freed himself and ran fast enough and found another breach to jump through…

  Too many ifs. The odds weren’t good, but he doubted they would get any better once they arrived wherever the demons were taking him.

  He maintained the tension on the rope, pretending that he was still dragging his feet, and the demon that held the rope continued to jerk on it every so often without bothering to look back. Neither guard noticed that he was slowly coiling up the rope in his hands and getting closer to them.

  Looking ahead, he saw a rock protruding on the side of the trail. This was his chance. He waited until the demons had just passed it, then jumped to the top of the rock and immediately jumped back, this time toward the demons. They both looked at him, but too late to draw their weapons. His body collided with the closest demon, his momentum giving him enough force to send it crashing into its partner.

  The three of them fell to the dusty road. Hindered by their armor and their sheer size, the demons were still down when Blake jumped back to his feet. He frantically pressed the rope against one of the demon’s spikes in a see-saw motion. Three slides were enough, and he cut through his tether. His hands were still bound, but he’d worry about that later. For now the important thing was to run.

  The path would only take him where the demons wanted him. Going back would be useless because the breach there had been closed. Instead, Blake left the path, rushing into a terrain of rocks and sparse vegetation as fast as he could on such treacherous ground. He could hear the demons stomping behind him, grunting every so often, either at each other or at him. They sounded like they were slowly catching up to him. He wasn’t going to lose them, was he? Change of plan, then.

  He worked at the rope that tied his wrists with his fangs. It forced him to slow down, but at least his hands were soon free. He looked around for what he needed and was quick to find it: a large but manageable rock, as big as his head, and a series of flat rocks that would first hide him then give him a boost in height. When he had a sword in hand, he didn’t care that demons were so much taller; it was different when he only had makeshift weapons.

  He hid behind the rocks, forced himself to stop breathing, and waited. He would only get one chance.

  It all happened so fast, he felt like his body was acting on its own the entire time. When the demons sounded close enough, he jumped out of hiding, swinging the rock down onto the closest demon’s head. It impacted with a deep, crushing noise, and the demon collapsed under Blake. It didn’t move again.

  Its companion roared and slashed toward Blake with its sword. Blake, who was still clutching the rock, used it to block the blow, then threw it at the demon as hard as he could. It raised its arm to protect its head, and the rock broke one of the bone spikes on its arm. When it lowered its arm again, its features reflected its anger all too clearly. It grunted at Blake, gave the ax Blake had taken from its companion a dirty look, then attacked.

  Had it been a sword—had it been Seneca—Blake was sure he could have held his own against the demon. But the ax was unfamiliar in his hands, heavier and more unwieldy than he was used to.

  He tried his best.

  He lost.

  The demon didn’t kill him. But it did learn, and it kept Blake in front of him all the way to the prison.

  * * * *

  “Blake? Come on, please, you’re scaring me.”

  There was a hand on Blake’s arm. By pure reflex, he flinched away—and regretted it at once. How often had he pulled away from his Master’s hand, only to be punished in reply? The blow he expected didn’t come, though. Instead, the hand returned, lighter than before. He looked down at his arm and watched that familiar hand stroke small circles. Each touch sent goose bumps racing down his arm.

  “Blake?” And then, more quietly still… “Childe?”

  Blinking furiously, Blake pushed away shadows and ghosts and tried to see reality in front of him instead. Oh, how he hated to see the undiluted concern in his Sire’s eyes!

  “I’m fine,” fell from his lips, the words as meaningless as ever.

  Marc looked unconvinced, and with good reason. “Are you hurt?”

  Blake shook his head and looked down at the sword at his side. He had dropped his weapon.

  Again.

  Hadn’t he learned his lesson the first time around?

  “Blake, for fuck’s sake, talk to me! What happened?”

  Blake flinched again and hated himself for that involuntary reaction.

  “Nothing happened,” he grunted. “I lost a fight, all right? Not the first time, and probably not the last. Let me up.”

  Marc stood up and took a step back. Whatever he thought, he didn’t say anything and simply offered his hand to help Blake up.

  Blake didn’t take it. He picked up his sword instead and got to his feet on his own. He looked at the demon lying dead a few feet from where he had fallen to the ground.

  “Your kill?” he asked quietly, tilting his head toward the demon.

  “Yes.” Marc touched Blake’s arm, drawing Blake’s attention to him. “What happened? You were doing fine and you just…stopped.”

  Blake shook his head, “Let it go, okay?” he snapped. “It’s dead, I’m fine, there’s more demons to kill, let’s move on.”

  He didn’t wait for Marc to reply and started to stride away. More demons had come through, and the squad was struggling to hold its own. After only three steps, however, Marc stopped him with a touch to his shoulder that didn’t linger.

  “Where’s Simon? Did he finish his spell?”

  Blake cursed quietly. He had forgotten about Simon. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just move on?

  “Still up there,” he said, turning back on his heel and feeling like a fool. “He wasn’t done when I came down. I told him I’d guard the entrance.”

  “Go check on him.”

  Blake c
ouldn’t remember the last time Marc had given him such a clear order. When he looked at him in surprise, Marc amended his words at once.

  “Daniel wants us to leave as soon as Simon’s done.”

  Even with the invocation of Daniel’s name, Blake had the impression that Marc was sending him off the battlefield so he wouldn’t get himself killed—or worse, captured again. It only pissed him off more.

  “You check on him,” he said harshly. “I’ve got demons to kill.”

  He returned to the fight, and for a little while he was alone with Seneca, a demon, and his anger. His fangs had extended in his mouth, and he could taste his own blood on his tongue. His entire mind was focused on one thing: killing as many demons as possible before the squad left. He forbade himself from actually seeing the demons or searching for the familiar spike patterns of his jailers. They were meat, nothing more, and his job was to make them bleed, hurt, and die.

  Like he had bled and hurt. Like the Kate-who-wasn’t-Kate had died.

  With each blow he struck, something crowed inside him, a satisfaction he hadn’t felt in a long time. Kate joined him, then Marc. He glared at them every time they tried to steal his kills, and after a while they merely guarded his back.

  Daniel called for them to retreat far too soon. Blake could have kept fighting all night long. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so good.

  It didn’t last.

  Chapter 10

  It was all Blake could do not to scream outright. They were insane. All of them. Marc, Kate, and Daniel, each one as crazy as the others. And they worried about his mind!

  Jen had already been in the back of the truck when Blake had climbed in. Still shaken by his experience facing the demon that had once been his captor, he hadn’t even noticed the gagged and bound woman. He finally heard her name halfway back to town and was unable to do much more than stare, incredulous, when Daniel asked Marc to be present when he interrogated her.