Boreal and John Grey Season 2

by Thoma, Chrystalla

  “You need to let me in,” Dave said. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me how things stand.”

  “If I tell you, will you swear to hear me out and not start by shooting people?”

  “I assume that by people you mean Finn?”

  “You assume correctly.”

  “All right, I swear.”

  “I can’t help him in his dreams,” she blurted out. “He can’t remember what happened to him during his time in the army, back at Aelfheim, and he has nightmares. But inside those nightmares, he doesn’t know who I am.” Although this last time he’d known her. Why? “He doesn’t know what’s real. And there’s a cave where an Aesir commander held him and tortured him and...” Her throat was closing up. She wanted to curl up and cry.

  Can’t break down now. Finn needs you.

  “I see.” Dave’s dark brows knitted. “You should’ve told me this before.”

  “What can you do?” She shook her head. Her ponytail had come undone and her hair stuck to her wet face. “How the hell can you help, Guardian?”

  He accelerated and avoided looking at her. “I’ll find a way.”

  ***

  Ella stroked Finn’s hand, the scarred knuckles, the long fingers. She turned his hand over and traced circles on his palm. He rested in bed, his face so pale it was the color of the soft cotton pillowcase. His lids looked bruised.

  “My knives,” he breathed, his voice a painful rasp. “Ella.”

  She shook her head. He’d been asking for them ever since he regained consciousness a few hours back. “Just rest.”

  Dave had left as soon as Finn was settled in bed, but his words still echoed in her mind. ‘I’ll find a way.’ God, she hoped so.

  Finn shifted restlessly and winced, reaching up to cover his shoulder with his hand. “Cut it out,” he said.

  Ella chewed on her lip. This had been their conversation. He wanted his knives, or for her to cut out his mark. “Can’t, Finn. You don’t know the consequences if it’s taken out. I know it hurts, but it may be part of your magic.”

  His eyes closed, the lashes wet against his cheekbones. “Cut it out, please,” he mumbled. “Please, Ella.”

  God, it hurt so much to see him in such pain. Finn never begged.

  She bent her head over the bed, fighting more tears.

  A knock came on the bedroom door, and it opened with a whine.

  Ella looked up. “Hey, Mike.” She tried to smile for her friend. “How’re you holding up?”

  “I’m okay now.” He smiled back. “Headache’s gone. How’s elf boy doing?”

  Ella bit her lip. He’s alive, she wanted to say. That’s all that counts.

  Finn’s eyes opened to slits and his fingers twitched. “Mike.” He licked his lips.

  “Hey buddy.”

  “A knife,” Finn whispered. “Need a knife.”

  “What for?” Mike frowned and glanced at Ella. “What’s this about?”

  “I want to talk to you,” she said and laid Finn’s hand back on the covers. “Let’s step out a minute.”

  With one last look at Finn, she led Mike out into the corridor, and on second thought out into the living room. Even exhausted as he was, Finn might hear.

  Mike followed her, brushing his hand over the doors he passed. “Why are your doors cracked?”

  Ella groaned. Um, because Finn had punched a couple of them in moments of frustration? “Nevermind that.”

  “Fine. So, what is it, girl?”

  “Just...” She paced behind the sofa, her hands clenching and unclenching. “I’m afraid.”

  “Me, too, but he’s out of danger now, isn’t he?”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Although, yeah, her heart still hammered and cold sweat covered her palms. “It was something Finn said.” That Dave should kill him. “And you heard him. He wants a knife...” She stopped, twisted her hands together. “He’s depressed. He’s frustrated. With the nightmares, the flashbacks, the Gates opening, Dave harassing him, all the pain, both real and remembered...”

  Her throat closed up.

  “Come here.” Mike led her to the couch and made her sit. He sank next to her and took her hand. “You’re afraid he’ll kill himself?”

  She nodded, her eyes stinging. “I’ve been afraid of this since we found out who he is, but with every bad memory, every bad flashback, I fear...” I fear he’ll make up his mind.

  “Stop this. He won’t do it.”

  “Are you sure?” Stupid question, but she needed reassurance.

  Mike shrugged.

  Not good enough. “How can I help him?”

  “Be there for him. Ground him, convince him he’s okay. Give him a center of calm. You’re doing all this.”

  Right. Calm. Instead there were snipers, dragons, fights with Shades, blood and tears. “You once said your brother had flashbacks and nightmares because of his time in the war.”

  “Yeah, he did. Post-traumatic stress disorder.”

  “But now he’s over it? How did you help him?”

  Mike looked down, his shoulders slumping. “Ella...”

  “He got over it, right?”

  “You don’t get over it. You learn to live with it. Or you don’t.”

  Her pulse beat in her temples, a roar as if from a crowded stadium. “What do you mean?”

  “He committed suicide.” Mike shook his dark head and ran his fingers through his spikes. “I’m sorry.”

  ***

  Ella stared at the elven gadget — the crystal egg that had sucked Finn’s blood to wake and whose secrets were still locked inside.

  Mike’s revelation sent ripples through her perception. Fear lurked at the end of every thought like a shadow.

  Finn wanted a knife. She couldn’t let him have it. That was all she could do, the only way she could think to protect him. The breaking of this last spell had really taken its toll on him. He was still in bed, still in pain, still too exhausted to do anything more than beg for her to cut his mark out.

  Wouldn’t that kill him? Was that what he wanted?

  She hadn’t told him that she’d spoken to Dave. She held out hope that her boss would find a way to help.

  Because right now she had no fucking idea what to do.

  So she sat on the couch, sipped her tea and fought the urge to bang her mug on the table or throw it against the wall. She knew now how Finn felt every time he punched and cracked a door in the apartment.

  Finn wouldn’t kill himself, she told herself. He wasn’t a quitter.

  But too much pain could break just about anyone. She’d surfed the web, looked up websites and blogs. It all depended on the person, but Finn fulfilled the requirements for PTSD to the letter. Childhood abuse, check. Teenage abuse, check. Physical abuse, psychological abuse, hunger, pain, loneliness, traumas of all kinds.

  Check, check and goddamn check. PTSD, depression, suicidal tendencies were to be expected. Not having them would be odd.

  No. Finn was a fighter.

  He was also a person, with limits.

  Finn wouldn’t give up.

  But he was no god; he could be broken.

  Damn, she was driving herself crazy with this. She had to trust him, let him act as he thought best. He wasn’t a child, and she couldn’t protect him from everything.

  She sank on the sofa, placed her mug on the table and put her hands over her eyes. He’d be fine. He’d survived so long. He’d survive now.

  A clatter from the kitchen made her look up.

  Relax, Ella. A dish in the drying rack had probably shifted. She wasn’t that good at piling up the plates and glasses. Mike liked poking fun at her about it.

  Another noise filtered through — a hiss.

  Ella shot to her feet. “Finn?”

  In two strides she was in the kitchen, and then the room started to turn.

  Blood. Finn. A knife.

  Jesus fuck. He stood bare-chested and held a knife, its tip buried in his shoulder, blood running down his p
ecs, soaking into his grey pants. He was breathing hard, his face drawn, pale like a ghost.

  She stumbled forward, caught his arm. “Stop.”

  “I must get it out,” he whispered.

  “Are you out of your mind? Give me the knife.”

  He shook his head. Strands of pale gold were stuck to his neck and forehead. He lifted his hand, slicing through his flesh.

  “Finn, no!” She pulled, struggling against his strength, trying to halt his movements. “You’ll bleed out. Please, don’t do this.” Don’t do this to me. “Please, Finn.”

  But he kept cutting, sweat dripping off his face, lines of pain around his mouth. More blood poured down his chest, thick crimson rivulets that soaked into his jogging pants.

  She sobbed for breath, her fingers scrabbling on his arm. Please. Please, don’t. She could stop the bleeding — but how could she stop him from trying again?

  Finn groaned and swayed on his feet, letting the knife fall. Ella managed to grab him around the waist and guided him to one of the two chairs that fit inside the tiny kitchen. “Damn you, Finn, what were you thinking?”

  “Take it out,” he rasped. “Can’t stand it anymore.”

  “You can’t, dammit!” She nearly cried with frustration. She grabbed a towel and pressed it to the deep, jagged cut on his shoulder. “I’ll bring the medic-kit.”

  He caught her wrist and tugged until she dropped the towel. Then he dug his fingers inside the wound.

  Ella’s vision took on a grey tinge, black encroaching at the edges. She was going to pass out. “Stop,” she whispered, her knees giving out until she knelt at his feet. “Enough.”

  Tears tracked down his cheeks, glimmering. His face glowed, and bright lines flickered on his chest. He dug deeper, his lips going white, peeling back.

  He pulled out something. She got a glimpse of filaments or thin legs, a spider-like thing covered in blood — his blood, that now flowed freely down his chest and arm.

  But it was no spider. Through the gore, a faint white light blinked.

  Goddammit. The transmitter.

  Dave had lied. The filthy robot had lied to her, tricked her into talking.

  Finn slipped from the chair, folded to his knees. She grabbed him before he fell on his face. The twitching thing dropped from his hand, hitting the ground, and with a snarl he smashed his fist over it, shattering it. He bent over, panting.

  “How long have you known where the transmitter was?” Ella croaked. “Finn?”

  “Today,” he wheezed. “You said Dave’s tech hurts with the magic.” He gave her a grim smile. “Now we can talk freely.”

  THE END of EPISODE 3 (SEASON II OF BOREAL AND JOHN GREY)

  The Loop

  Episode 4

  Once every ten years, an elf without magic is born.

  Once every hundred years, one of them will become a John Grey.

  Some say John Grey isn’t born; he’s made by his fate.

  Not all such children will be born in a royal house.

  Not all parents will reject a child without magic.

  Not all that are rejected will survive.

  Not all will remain sane.

  Only one will become John Grey.

  Chapter One

  Web

  The spidery metal gizmo lay on the coffee table.

  Dead.

  Ella itched to smash her fist over it once more, to make sure. That... thing had been in Finn’s flesh, feeding off his blood, transmitting everything he said to Dave.

  She shuddered and rubbed her eyes. Glanced sideways at Finn who sat glowering at the gadget, looking so pissed it was a miracle it hadn’t caught on fire.

  He also looked as bad as she expected: dark rings under his eyes, a translucent quality to his skin that spoke of bone-deep exhaustion.

  Oh god. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  Finn lifted a pale brow, his gaze questioning.

  “For not quite believing you.” She waved a hand in the air. “About the transmitter and the tracker and...” She frowned. “Are you sure this is a transmitter of voice?”

  He nodded.

  “And the other...?” She gestured at his bad leg. He had it stretched before him. “How can we be sure the one in your leg is a tracker only?

  “It’s too far from my mouth to transmit sound,” he said.

  Right, that made sense, she guessed. Dave had strategically chosen where to insert his gadgets: in places where Finn already hurt, so he wouldn’t notice.

  “God, I mean, I believed you at first, but then, when I couldn’t find anything...” Ella shook her head and went to sit beside him. “I never thought the pain had anything to do with it. I thought it was the change in the weather, or the fights with the Shades.” She couldn’t look at him. Her hands curled in her lap, the blood staining the whorls on her palms suddenly fascinating. “Dave insisted he didn’t bug you and I...”

  Quiet fell. Finn’s sharp intake of breath rang overly loud. Rough fingertips touched her jaw and she pressed her lips together as they trailed to her chin and lifted it.

  “But now you believe me.”

  She inhaled his scent. “Hard not to.” She couldn’t tell him she’d betrayed his trust, that she’d told Dave why his power wasn’t growing — her inability to get through to him in his dreams. But she hated lying to Finn. The words wanted to come out. “I believed Dave. I thought he’d help you. Help us figure this out. I...”

  “No.” His thumb brushed over her chin, and he leaned closer, his brows drawing together. The bandage on his shoulder had soaked through, crimson and wet. “He can’t help me.”

  She froze. She had to tell him. “Finn—”

  “Breathe,” he whispered, his mouth inches from hers. “Why are you shaking?”

  She inhaled his sweet, spicy scent and shook her head. “He will know,” she said. “He’ll figure out something happened to the transmitter.”

  His arms went around her, gathering her close. “We’ll tell him I hurt my shoulder.”

  God, he smelled so good. “But what about your leg? We need to take that out. It hurts you. I’m gonna kill Dave if he—”

  Finn brushed his thumb over her mouth, silencing her. He touched his forehead to hers and sighed, closing his eyes.

  “He knows so much we don’t,” she spoke against his skin. “He’s a bastard, but what if he knows of a way to help us?”

  He stiffened. “If he helps me, I’ll be able to open Gates at will, and then I can finally be his tool. That’s what he said.”

  And he might use Finn to invade worlds; start wars. All on behalf of the Dark Elves.

  She had to read more about them. The ethnographic book of ballads about the elves she’d scrounged up at the university library waited underneath her pillow. She’d put off reading it, what with dragon-rides, feeding dragonets, fighting fire demons and keeping Finn from dying every other day.

  “Last time, in your dream, you knew me,” she said and reached up, running her hands along Finn’s spine to his shoulder blades. “You said my name.”

  He frowned. “I can’t remember.”

  Damn. “There were these corpses. Laid out on the snow. And you had a gun.”

  “Corpses,” he breathed. “Who were they?”

  “You said they were with your legion.”

  He flinched and pulled back, his color draining. “Can’t remember.”

  “They’re sometimes in rows, sometimes in piles or laid out haphazardly. And you carry this long gun. It’s silver and lights flash on it.”

  He shook his head but fear sparked through his gaze.

  “All right. Just...” She frowned. “With everything that’s happening, and another seal broken, your name spoken behind the Veil and no clue as to how to fight back... Hell, Finn, I just hope you’ll remember soon.”

  Finn pushed his hair out of his eyes. He sounded very tired when he said, “Me too.”

  ***

  A faint glow lit up the bedroom.

&nbs
p; Ella lifted her head off the pillow and blinked, trying to clear dream images from her vision. She’d been on the frozen plain again, seen Finn trudge through the snow, the shiny tube of a weapon in his hand. And corpses. Strewn all over the plain, a gruesome carpet, bright splashes of crimson like flowers here and there — a face frozen in a mask of horror, an out-flung arm, a broken body — and the body count seemed to rise with every recurrence of the dream.

  What an odd thought. A recurrent dream was still a dream and was bound to change, even when it was a memory.

  Wasn’t it?

  Finn was facing away from her, his silver hair pooling on the pillow, shiny against the dark fabric. His shoulder was bandaged, the gauze covering his starburst mark. Droplets of blood had soaked through. The previous night, she’d applied Steri-strips to the cut, through which he’d removed the transmitter — digging his fingers into his torn flesh, pulling out—

  God.

  She leaned in, inhaling his sweet-spicy scent, touching his soft hair on the pillow. When she laid a hand on his arm, she found his muscles bunched up and hard like rocks. Still caught in the dream.

  She shook him lightly. “Hey,” she whispered. “Wake up.”

  A shudder went through him. He twitched, his broad back rippling, and his breath went out in a hiss. He rolled over, blinking at the ceiling, a crease in his brow.

  “You’re okay,” Ella said and squinted against the light suffusing the room. She turned to switch off her bedside lamp and found it dark. What the hell?

  The wall behind seemed to writhe.

  Oh shit.

  She scrambled back against the pillows and hit her skull on the headboard with a thump. She barely felt it.

  Breathe, Ella. You’re growing soft. Fighting Shades is your job, or have you forgotten?

  Grinding her teeth, she reached for the bedside table and snatched her knives, drawing them from their sheaths.

  The light intensified but no lines appeared in the air — yet. Ella crouched on the bed, not knowing what to expect: Shades or an honest-to-god Gate.