“How do you know him?” I scream at her from behind Jonah. “Why are you doing this, after everything he’s done to our kind?”
She yawns and peers down at her nails, tsking over what must be a chip. “I swear, Jonah,” she says flatly, glancing up at him with cold fire in her eyes. “I just don’t get what you two see in this bitch.”
“I have to give you props, Sophie,” my husband says in return, completely ignoring what Enlilkian’s said to him. “How did you do it?”
A shiver runs down my arms. He’s so serious, all ice-cold fury running beneath the calm façade he’s projecting.
“We all have our secrets,” Enlilkian answers for her. “Also, don’t bother with that room. One of my associates is waiting within.”
I can practically feel Jonah’s frustration as we come to a halt. I wonder, though ... if I were to stretch my arm out just so, could I touch the Elder closest to us? Take it out?
“Tricia Basswood, right?” Jonah is saying, and I dig in my memory until I find ... Thierry Basswood. The Elemental whose body was stolen during my honeymoon when the Enlilkian killed his pregnant wife to suck out her baby’s powers. Except—
Enlilkian clasps his hands together and holds them close to his chest. “Bravo, Empath.”
“You are a sick asshole.” He’s struggling to stay calm. “You forced that poor woman to shield Sophie from me before you murdered her, didn’t you? You made it so I wouldn’t be able to read her clearly. That all I’d get from her is static.”
It all starts to click. Tricia Basswood must have been an Emotional. And Jonah must have focused on Sophie so much because he couldn’t read her.
“Aren’t you the clever one,” Enlilkian murmurs.
One of his minions, the one wearing Harou’s face, inches closer; Jonah immediately counters. Before I can even blink, it’s writhing on the ground, wailing. If this bothers Enlilkian, he doesn’t show it. In fact, his attention never waves from me.
I want to claw the rest of his decaying eyes out before I rip his existence apart.
“Don’t be like this, Jonah.” Sophie’s all false sweetness. “Not after everything we’ve meant to one another.”
I manage to lunge forward, but Jonah catches me before I can strike her.
This only makes Sophie laugh and laugh. “Gods, Chloe. You should have seen your face back in that office. He fucking puts a ring on your finger, gives up his brother for you, and you still think he’d cheat on you?” She tsks again. “Although, had he, you would have deserved it, you stupid cow. You did leave him behind, after all.”
I try to lunge at her again, but Jonah’s grip is viselike. And then Sophie is screaming dropping to the ground as she thrashes in pain while the Harou-Elder struggles to get up on its knees, what I can only assume as tears streaking its putrefying face.
“Don’t come an inch closer,” Jonah warns it.
Whatever he’s doing to Sophie slows to a stop, because she flattens her palms against the ground and shoves herself up. She wipes the tears from her face before hissing, “You have always been such an asshole, Jonah Whitecomb.”
Like he cares.
And then she bursts into laughter, like some kind of crazy person. “Bet you didn’t know Muses can occasionally manipulate emotions,” she sing-songs, pointing a finger at me. “Not as well as an Emotional, but well enough. Well enough to screw with somebody like you.”
I’m reminded of a time years back when Lizzie told me just such a thing. “It’s a little known fact,” she’d said, “but some Muses can attune themselves to a tiny bit of emotions from those around them, if they’re strong enough. It allows us to feed off of those feelings to help create a bond.”
But Lizzie had only mentioned sensing emotions. Muses can manipulate them, too? Did she manipulate me earlier? Make me doubt Jonah?
It doesn’t matter, though. I’m taking this bitch down. Because by the time I get ahold of her—
Wait. Something’s wrong. Something is very, very wrong. It’s too quiet all of a sudden. Too still.
“Enough, little Creator,” Enlilkian is saying to me. “It’s time to go.”
And yet, time stands still again, or at least slows way down, but not by my choosing. Because Enlilkian is grabbing my arm when I didn’t even see him move toward us, yanking me forward at the same time the incorporeal Elder that killed Kofi reappears, twisting one of its arms into a whip that strikes my husband right across his arms that just split seconds before held me tight.
I am hysteria, screaming like a wild banshee until Enlilkian’s grip crushes the bones in my arm below his fingers to fine dust. All of the oxygen in the room disappears without a trace as I collapse; he kicks me then, shattering my kneecap.
Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods, nonononono. Jonah.
Another kick destroys my femur. I can hear it crack, and it’s weird, so weird, because I hear it, hear my bones shatter. How can they be so loud when everything else is so silent around us but my own earsplitting voice?
I try to counter him, words of oblivion on my tongue, destruction fighting to come out of my fingers, even just erect one of Kopano’s shields, but he shatters my fist. Shatters my cheekbone. Shatters my collarbone. I’m his punching bag and he’s preparing for the boxing match of his life. All the shields I’ve been working on for months are nothing but distant memories in my past.
All the pain Jonah had hidden so easily earlier comes at me like the tides he loves so much, all this and more as wave after crashing wave of debilitating agony consumes me. Enlilkian is dragging me backward while I’m helpless to do anything but watch, time speeding up just a little but not enough to match our own, as two Elders grab hold of Jonah from behind and I can’t—I can’t—they hold him and the one whose body is a weapon turns into a stake and stabs my love, my Connection, my husband right into the chest over and over again until I am, don’t even know how to scream anymore my pain is so blinding and total and complete and I want to die wish it were me not him never him and he’s falling slumping in slow motion his eyes closing, I’m trying to kick, to wrestle myself out of Enlilkian’s grasp but I’m a rag doll and oh gods oh gods there is so much blood everywhere and things are blowing up around me this old venerable building is falling apart now in my terror he hits me in the head nice and hard and my eyes roll back and he’s telling me it’s for good measure be a good girl he says be a good girl and Jonah isn’t moving and each stab into my beloved another death and he’s no longer moving on his own and and Karnach is falling apart and I’m blinking I want to see him save him words are so hard thoughts words and then they pick him up and throw him over the side just like Mac and Kofi like he’s a rag doll too and the stairs break apart and fall too all the walls crumbling my chest it feels like somebody punched through and stole my heart and
I’m shaking. My heart is beating too fast. My ears are ringing.
A bright light blinds me, but I ... I’m too weak to move away. Even to shove something away with my hand. My eyelids go into overdrive in their efforts to focus. Holy hell, do I ache.
Wait. Why do I ache?
“She needs surgery,” someone says.
I don’t recognize the voice. There’s a blurry outline of a ... man? ... next to me. Male voice, as shaky as I feel. White coat. Face doesn’t seem right. Is purple-y, I think. I close my eyes tight and then open again. Still blurry.
“I’ve set as many bones as I can, but she’s got a bad concussion. And I think there’s internal bleeding that I can’t stop outside of a surgery room.”
Is he ... he’s talking about me?
I try to move, but a gentle hand presses against a shoulder. “It’s best to stay still.”
My chest hurts. Feels like ... feels like holes are carved in it. Like I’ve been cored over and over again. Like I’m still being cored.
Quiet murmuring sounds from the other side of the room. I think a door opens and closes.
“It’s a shame, little Creator,” somebody else says, “that
you had to get rid of Bios.”
Now that voice I do recognize. If I thought my heart was racing before, that’s nothing compared to how I’m feeling now. Enlilkian is here with me. Where is here? Where am I? What—what—
Too many images hit me all at once. Karnach, under attack. Taking out nine Elders. Sophie. Mac. Kofi.
Jonah.
Oh my gods. Jonah.
I’m thrashing now, pain lasering through every vein alongside grief and rage, every blood vessel, every pore. I have to get out of ... this bed I’m in and get—I need to find him—
“Make that stop,” Enlilkian is saying.
Things are crashing around us, exploding, and I’m screaming and flailing and all I want to do is find him, make sure he’s okay, gods, please please let him be okay, but then my eyelids are drooping, my limbs slowing down until they are filled with weighted sludge.
“It isn’t wise to force her awake to only sedate her moments later,” I think the blurry man in white says, but here at the bottom of the ocean, it’s hard to be sure.
“When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. Until then, stay silent. Surely, you don’t want the same outcome as your mate?”
I want to fit these pieces together, but ... but it’s so hard.
Jonah. Oh my gods. Jonah. He can’t be dead. He can’t. He can’t. How can I breathe? How can I find a single breath in a universe he doesn’t exist in?
My eyes go blurrier than before, which makes sense considering I’m drowning. My heart hurts, just hurts so godsdamn much. Before I know it, that black abyss opens up below me and sucks me right in.
It’s the middle of the day, I think; soft sunlight filters through golden falling leaves to dapple a yard just outside the broken window in front of me. There’s what I think is a bench out there, white wicker, and a creaking swing, too.
There’s also what looks like a leg sticking out of the closet directly next to the window, covered in dried blood. I think it’s a woman’s; the toenails on the bare foot are electric orange.
Each breath I take in and out is a thousand knives stabbing furiously at my lungs.
“I’ve given you something to help you relax,” somebody whispers softly. “Don’t try to move too much.”
I have to blink a few times to focus on the person standing next to me. It’s a man, his face mottled black and purple, one eye partially swollen shut. He’s no longer wearing a white coat; instead, his blood stained dress shirt has sleeves rolled up to his forearms, the buttons at the collar open.
We are alone in a bedroom I don’t recognize. One that looks like a tornado redecorated it. Walls are cracked, the light over us is splintered, furniture is torn apart.
The man sets a syringe down on the broken, teetering nightstand next to us and leans over me. He gently pries my eyes open and peers in, waving a small flashlight back and forth.
“Your concussion is quite bad,” he whispers. “Try not to move too much.”
He’s an Elf, I think. Middle Aged. Scared; his hands are shaking.
“I’ve set your leg and arm,” he continues, voice barely discernable in the heavy silence of the room. “Wrapped your ribs as best I could. Tried to set your cheekbone, but ...” He leans down, his face so close to mine as he peers at me I feel soft hair swishing across the tip of my nose. “I’m a neurosurgeon. My last ER rotation was two decades ago.”
It takes a lot of effort to lick my cracked lips. “Wh-where?”
The man glances around the room guiltily before leaning back down toward me. Close to my ear, he barely breathes, “Saerçier.”
I have no idea where this place is, but I’m pretty sure it’s not Annar.
Footsteps sound in the hall; the man yanks away from me, stumbling back to a metal folding chair a few feet away.
Nivedita appears in the doorway. Or, at least, the Elder wearing Nivedita’s decaying, once stunning face. Eyes settle on me and then the man before it turns and leaves.
Tears slide down the man’s cheeks; he glances toward the closet before shutting his eyes entirely, deep breaths shakily pulling through his nose.
He is just as much a prisoner as I, I think. And then, more clearly, I need to get out of here. I need to get back to Jonah and see—
Everything around me starts to shake again. The man is wailing, and all those cored holes in my chest open up wide before blackness finds me again.
The man is no longer in the room, at least from what I can tell. Instead, there’s a young girl with a tear-streaked face, cowering in a corner. She’s Elvin, too—or at least, I think she is. She’s so young, it’s a little hard to tell.
The Elder wearing Earle Locust-tree’s face is in here, too, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. “Get to work,” it barks at her.
She winces, sniffling as she drags the back of her hand across her nose, smearing the snot coming out across her sweet face, but she stumbles toward me. There’s crusted red streaks in her hairline, a chunk of curly blonde hair missing.
Fury curls through my veins. They tortured a child?
She turns toward the Elder and says, words tripping out of her quivering mouth, “But ... she’s got casts. I need to touch her skin.”
The Elder simply stares at her, unmoved.
“I can’t ... I have to touch someone to fix them.” The little girl hiccups as a fresh set of tears streak through the dirt and snot on her face. “Have to touch her skin, feel her owies. I can’t do that through a hard cast.”
She’s here to heal me. Gods, they kidnapped and tortured a child, just so she could come and heal me?
I want to tear the Elder apart bit by bit. Destroy them all for what they’ve done.
“Work,” it snarls at her again, but the girl starts bawling in its vehemence.
I force my words out, past lips that don’t feel like mine. “Sh-she ... c-c-can’t.”
But here’s the thing. I can. Outside of the holes in my chest, I think I’m drugged. Maybe the man gave me more of his Elvin medicines, because—
Jonah.
The nightstand next to me splinters apart completely; the end of the bed I’m in, carved and beautiful explodes into tiny slivers of kindling. The girl screeches bloody murder and retreats until she’s up against the far wall, before sliding down and hugging her knees.
Must. Focus.
All I want to do is cry myself. Curl into the same ball. Drown in the blackness threatening me. Destroy everything around me. But ... there is a little Shaman here that needs me who is missing part of her hair because some monster in this house most likely ripped it right out of her head to get her to do what they want.
I force myself to breathe. In. Out. Count to ten. Twenty. Thirty. The room stills.
The Elder leaves his post by the door, grabs the girl’s arm, and yanks her up until her toes dangle against the carpet. I force the fury howling in my chest back. I can’t lose this opportunity.
He drags her toward me. “Fix her now, little bitch.”
One of her tiny hands trembles as it reaches toward me. Mine doesn’t hesitate like hers, though. My hand shoots out and latches onto Earle’s rotting shirtsleeve and I will that asshole’s existence straight into oblivion.
Cold satisfaction fills me up. That’s one.
The girl stumbles in its disappearance, her eyes going wide, like she’s about to lose it once more.
I gingerly place a finger in front of my lips. The pain may be dulled, but I’m still moving slow. I force the wrath still pulsing through me back, so all she’ll see is just a girl, broken in a bed and not the creature of vengeance I ache to be.
What I will be, once I get her to safety.
She stills, biting her lip. So, I motion her closer. The poor thing hesitates (which I get, because I just murdered something right in front of her, monster or no), but eventually creeps toward me.
It’s too hard to talk, plus I don’t want to alert anyone what I’ve just done, so I create a piece of paper with writing already printed on it. I h
old it up to her. I will get us out of here. I will keep you safe. Can you fix my leg and arm?
She stares at the paper in my hand for a long moment. I know she speaks the same language as I, but can she read it? I’m screwed if she doesn’t.
Just before panic sets in, she gifts me with a quick, quiet nod. I put my finger back up to my mouth and erase the paper. And then I erase the cast on my leg and the one on my arm.
She’s still fearful, but her little hands reach out and press feather-light against my leg. Lines scrunch on her forehead; her tongue sticks out the corner of her mouth as she squints. It’s awful that I’m asking so much of this young Shaman, but I will be no good for her until I’m back on my feet.
I ache to fall apart, to just ... let myself slide into darkness. Or just let the howling fury building in me free. I don’t want to put that foot in front of the other for what I know I have to do to get us out of here. I don’t know if I have the energy for it. But vengeance is a controlling demon that doesn’t accept weakness or failure. Enlilkian must pay for what he’s done. And then, so help me, I will track that bitch Sophie down and exact the same price from her.
Only then will I allow myself to sink into the lull of desolation.
The girl does her best, I think. By no means, am I fully healed. As she’s probably nine or ten at the oldest, she isn’t nuanced enough to fix all the injuries I have, which leaves an eerie sensation like giant Band-Aids have been peppered all over my body. That’s okay, though. As long as I can get on my feet and a hand can make contact with evil, I’ll be more than good enough to go.
She helps me out of bed, her hand so small in mine. She’s quivering, whispering over and over again about how she’s sorry she can’t do more. I touch her shoulder gently and let her know it’s okay. I’m chewing on cotton when I say it, with a tongue and lips that surely someone snuck in in the middle of the night and glued on me. And then I hug her, because I think the both of us need one.
There are syringes scattered on the floor, bottles, too. I gingerly pick one up—it’s still hard to bend over—and peer down at the label. Dammit. I can’t read the Elvin language it’s in. I turn to her and tap on the label, shrugging my shoulders in confusion.
A Matter of Forever (Fate #4) Page 19
