The Paladins

by Julie Reece

  Corpses, dressed in their Sunday best spill out into the rushing water. Arms and legs akimbo, red clay stains their finery. The same mud holds me in place, an unwilling spectator to a mass unearthing. Bodies bunch behind a fallen tree like a pile of discarded mannequins. Limbs joined at unnatural angles stick out from behind a fallen log. In time, the coffins come apart or sink but not the remains. Those shrunken forms work themselves loose and float along the current. Bobbing driftwood made of dehydrated bone, and flesh, and muscle.

  A scream tears from me as the first body bumps against my hip. The man’s lids are open. One cloudy blue eye stares without seeing. Looks at me. Accusing. His lips have rotted, exposing long teeth in an angry grimace. As if I’m the one who dug him up and threw him away.

  The dead wash past me, directed by an unfeeling current toward an unsympathetic sea. They plunge and reemerge in the churning water.

  Another whimper escapes as they crash into me, one gory corpse after another. An object snags at my feet. The bulk skitters and stalls against my shin bones, but won’t pass by.

  A body? I shudder. Tears stab my eyes.

  Something long and soft snakes up my calves, tickling the skin. Hair?

  I jump as lightning flashes. Thunder booms overhead before echoing in the distance. I strain with effort. Struggle to free myself from the mud, but its hold is iron. Through it all, the unseen something softly jostles at my ankles. It won’t go away. Can’t move on. Not without help. Water streaked and murky with clay makes it impossible to see what’s down there. Or who.

  I bend, dipping my hand under the boiling river, my hair drags in the flow. Uneven heartbeats play a staccato tune in my ears. Hesitant, my fingertips pull back a beat before I plunge ahead.

  My fingers wrap a branch or stick. It weighs nothing, yet when I lift, the source moves two or three inches and snags. Gauzy fabric flutters against my hand. Someone’s dress? Definitely a body.

  Shivers wrack my frame. I bite back a cry, applying more force to what I assume is a bone. I yank and rotate until I feel a snap.

  An arm, thin as a broom handle breaks the surface. I gag, throw the limb away, and dive again with both hands. I’m not so tentative now, frantically pulling until the body gives and rises—spine first. A pink dress hangs against an emaciated ribcage. Bleached skin still clings to bones in patches. Long dark hair parts against a white skull. I turn her over because this is a dream. The place where you do things you wouldn’t normally do.

  The nose is gone. A fleshy nub of skin dangles in the hole once occupied by cartilage. One ear is missing which strikes me as incredibly sad. Lips torn away, her mouth is a narrow hole. Her eyes are muted orbs, but I imagine them gray as they once were. The dim irises sway back and forth, as if she’s searching for someone. For me.

  My gaze drops to the amethyst pendant at her throat.

  “Wake up, Raven,” my mother says. “This is no place for the living.”

  I shake my head. I don’t want to argue, but I have questions.

  Rain falls harder. The water rises to my waist, my chest, bringing my mother’s face ever nearer.

  The river gives up her dead. Braced against the current, they stand before me in varying forms of decay. Tattered clothes hang from sagging shoulders. Bony fingers point. “Go home, Raven.” Their words mock me.

  My grip tightens on my mother’s sharp frame. “You were my home!” Water laps my chin. I press my lips together to keep out the toxic sludge. The river bloats, brine and mulch and waste fill my nose. My face tilts up, but the swell covers that, too.

  Mother slips away.

  I can’t do this without you.

  Water slides into my mouth, fills my lungs, and clogs my windpipe. I’m surprised to find drowning doesn’t hurt the way I thought it would.

  Mother’s face appears under the filthy water. Her milky eyes dull in the gloom, her nose an ink spot. “Don’t give up, child. Fight for what you love.”

  Pressure builds in my head, around my heart. Wait for me, Mother. I’ll be with you and Ben soon.

  “Raven.”

  Gideon? His voice floats above me, vacuous, unattainable as air. Be happy. I loved you so much.

  “Raven, wake up!”

  A gentle hand smoothes the hair from my forehead, the motion’s warm and comforting. This time, my name’s no more than a whispered breath in my ear sending a shiver through me. When the scent of spicy black licorice tickles my nose, my eyelids flutter open. It’s still dark. I’m flat on my back, the air cool and dewy on my skin. My boyfriend’s face swims into view surrounded by a starry night’s sky. Ex-boyfriend. Guess I haven’t gotten used to thinking of him that way yet, and my chest cramps painfully when I do.

  Behind him is the clearing where we made camp. Skeletal trees skirt the boundary of a small circular lawn. I’m lying on the leaf-littered ground and not in the tree where I fell asleep. We tied ourselves to sturdy limbs to pass the night, away from the dangers Cole’s always warning us about. I heard several screams while trying to nod off, followed by grisly sounds of flesh being ripped apart. Perhaps that’s why I had the nightmare.

  I push up on my elbows. “I must have been sleepwalking again.” Nighttime weirdness I’d done on and off since I was a kid, unfortunately.

  “Hm, yes, so I gathered,” he says, still running calloused fingers up and down my arm. “I recognized the signs, though you didn’t end up in bed with me this time.”

  “Oh, uh … ” He chuckles, and I’m thankful the dark hides my blush. Because I’d done exactly that, sleepwalking into his room on multiple occasions last year. “No. See, I was actually dreaming about my mother. She was telling me something … ” Like a lot of dreams, it seemed so important at the time, but the urgency fades as soon as you wake up. “I forget now.” Glancing around, I remember our goal here and pass from one nightmare to the reality of another.

  His fingers stop moving against my skin. “I’m sorry. Are you all right?” Gideon’s handsome face leans in, lines etched deeper with concern.

  At first, all I want is to alleviate his fears. Then I remember how he dumped my butt not twenty-four hours ago with no better reason than to say life is “complicated,” and Have a nice day! That can’t be the whole story, can it? After promising not to leave, maybe he can’t bring himself to admit his feelings faded after all. The thought flips a switch inside me and I push my nightmare aside.

  I made of fool of myself kissing him yesterday. Throwing myself at him is more accurate. I played every card I had, laid all my stupid feelings on the table. So when he kissed me back, I thought maybe … But my very short experiment as seductress was a humiliating fail, because in the end, he had no trouble walking away.

  “Wait a minute, you broke up with me.” I say, scrambling to stand.

  He rises with me. “What?”

  “When you break up with somebody, you don’t get to say stuff like ‘I’m sorry’ or listen to their dreams or ask them how they are.” I hate that I sound like a petulant child, but my heart is bleeding, and the hurt makes it easier to speak without filters.

  “I’ll never stop caring about you, Raven.”

  His words hold no meaning. Even so, I’m distracted by the planes of his chest showing through his unbuttoned shirt. How the dip between his pectoral muscles rises and falls with each quick breath, how the waistband of his khakis rides too low on his hips while his shirt is hiked up enough to see a swath of golden skin. He looks so good, and that makes me so mad, I want to yell.

  “You can’t break up and then act all … ”

  “All what?”

  Nice.

  It makes everything harder. I stare a hole into a nearby tree trunk to keep from crying. He might feel guilty over breaking my heart, but it occurs to me he may have confused pity and love from the beginning. Either way, I need space. “Thanks for checking on me, but I’m good.”

  “Rae.” His tone is incredibly soft. “Don’t do that.” His
fingers stretch toward my cheek. I’ve never wanted something so much, but I turn aside. He can’t have it both ways. My heart can’t take it.

  “Do what?” My arms fold creating a tiny wall between us.

  “That. Shut me out. Can’t we find a way to be friends again?”

  “See, that’s the thing,” I fire back. “We were never friends. Never took our time getting to know each other. We went straight from enemies to madly in love. Well, at least one of us did. That was my mistake.” Thank you, sarcasm.

  He blanches like I slapped him. I actually feel bad for a minute until his nostrils flare. A sure sign his patience is waning. I can’t imagine what right he has to feel frustrated. And if he is, that’s his problem. “I don’t want to fight.”

  A sad smile leaks out through my pain. “You love to fight, Gideon … debate, win.” I watch his lips turn down, think about how they feel on my neck, and mentally pinch the crap out of myself. My head knows we’re finished but not my soul. Sure, he’s being a contradictory ass right now, and he’s still the most fascinating person I’ve ever known.

  Wind kicks up, rustling the leaves above us. I peek up at our wind maker, but Cole’s still asleep high in a tree. My empty bunk is on the limb right next to his. Where Gideon put it. I swear, it’s like he’s forcing me on Cole. “You like bargains, so I’ll make a deal with you. We’re here to rescue Rose, right? Arguing the whole time will only cause problems. Not to mention be awkward for Cole, so let’s both suck it up and move on.”

  “Oh yes,” he snarls. “Let’s make sure Wynter’s happy. I’ll make it my top priority.”

  From the first, Gideon’s moods were unpredictable, but the last few days, he’s off the rails. “You want to tell me what’s going on with you lately, Jekyll?”

  His eyes narrow as he steps closer. “Want to elaborate?”

  He’s inches from me, but I’m not backing up … or down. Not this time. “Well, first off, you’re acting like a lunatic.” His mouth opens, but I talk over him. “You won’t tell me why you’ve been so upset lately. Or explain how you and Dane suddenly became the brotastic duo.” I pause looking into his moonlit eyes. It won’t make any difference. It might even hurt more to know, but I plunge ahead. “Or give me a real reason for breaking up.” I didn’t plan to cry, yet a tear breaks free, falling into darkness.

  His hands frame my face, fingers threading the hair at my temples. His breaths heat my skin, and I swear I hear his heart pounding, but it must be mine. “You did nothing wrong. It’s me.”

  I sob-laugh because I’m actually getting the it’s-not-you-it’s-me speech.

  Standing together in the dark, we cling to each other acknowledging a chance taken that wasn’t meant to be. My pulse quickens as the wind whips through the trees, gusts around our feet. With his blue and green eyes blazing down on me, I could almost believe it’s desire instead of guilt that drives his tortured expression. Almost. But then he’s always been unpredictable, and I can’t say he didn’t warn me.

  “So, that’s it,” I say, though I think I’m talking more to myself at this point. “You don’t want me anymore.”

  He won’t even look at me. “I’m sorry, but no. Not like that.”

  “Wow, that’s a real no, isn’t it?” My voice is calm, strangely resigned. Hard as it is, I step away. His hands drop, and he looks as miserable as I feel. While he doesn’t love me, it’s clear he hoped to stay in my life. That would be great if I were capable. I’m not. Maybe one day. Right now, I can’t handle watching him move on with someone else. Or worse, withdraw into that lonely old house. Destroy himself with bitterness and hate the way he used to. He’s better than that, even if he doesn’t think so.

  Why can’t girls come pre-wired with memory card delete buttons for ex-boyfriends? Why do we spend hours planning improbable, imaginary solutions for bad breakups? I’d heard it a hundred times in school. Girls wishing out loud their ex would be hit by lightning while simultaneously checking their cells every ten seconds for apology texts where he begs to get back together. I never understood their paradoxical thinking—until now.

  “Okay, I call a truce.” I take a deep breath, refocusing on the bigger part of what brought us here. “We’ll work together, get Rose, and go home. But afterward, I’m gone. We won’t ever have to set eyes on each other again. Deal?”

  His stare is savage, jaw clamped tight enough to crack bone. With a sudden lunge, he grabs my arms, fingers digging in. “I never wanted this.” His breath catches with intention. “If you … God, this is killing me.”

  I wrench free of his hold. “Killing you?” Anger finally boils over. “You say you won’t leave and then you do. We break up, but you look at me like you’re looking at me right now. I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Raven, will you—”

  “They’re coming. Run, Rose!”

  Our heads swivel up. Whatever Gideon planned to say next is lost as Cole shouts from his nest in the tree.

  Seems I’m not the only one suffering from nightmares tonight.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cole

  Tied into my makeshift hammock on a tree limb, I can’t help listening to Rae and Gideon’s post break-up spat. Right. Okay, maybe I can help it. I’m only half-ashamed to admit my curiosity to know what killed their relationship rivals a forensic coroner with a dead guy on the slab. After a few minutes, I have new insight on the couple-drama happening below. In fact, I’m about to pull an optic muscle with all the eye rolling I’m doing.

  A knot in the branch digs into my spine. I shift to my side, and just that fast, I’m sucked into another dream state. The lull is so powerful, not even a good fight keeps me awake. As I enter the mysterious space holding Rose captive, I no longer fight against it.

  The turret room materializes, solidifies. Moonlight streams in through the window. Dim candlelight glows on the table by the bed.

  I’ve barely taken a breath before the lovely blond is in my arms. Rose is instantly corporal. I reject the idea she’s holding me for any other reason than to feel the weight of her own body.

  “I’ve missed you so much, Cole.”

  Okay, until she says that. There’s no guile in her. No games or coy talk. Just, “I missed you.” My arms cinch around her frail shoulders. Her cheek nuzzles my chest making me feel strong and needed.

  “I said I’d be back.”

  She takes my hand and gives a tug, leading me to the open window. Without releasing my hand, she presses her thighs against the cool stone and leans out to gaze at the courtyard and surrounding labyrinth. “He was here again today: Pan.” The name slithers though my mind like a curling viper. How often does he come to see her, and why? “He knows you’re coming for me. Be careful, Cole. He’s planning something bad.”

  “Define bad.”

  “I can’t.” She shakes her head. “I mean, I don’t know, maybe a trap.” She shivers and I squeeze her hand.

  “We expected a fight, but thank you for warning us.”

  Her smile is quick before fading to a frown. “Don’t thank me. I’m not a good person.”

  “Of course you are. Why would you say that?”

  “Because I’m turning out just like my uncle. I swore I wouldn’t, but I am.” Her eyes continue scanning the courtyard as though she’s lost someone.

  She’s different tonight, distracted and pensive. My finger slides beneath her chin, and I force her gaze up. “I’m sorry, Rose, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You always call me Rose now. I like it.”

  Her comment is deflection 101. Used it myself, which is why she won’t get away with a non-answer. “Why don’t you think you’re a good person? What happened with your uncle?”

  When she bites her pale peach lips, I realize I’m staring like a perv. Focus, Cole.

  “Talk to me.”

  “I’m here because my uncle wanted Pan to rig a big game he had going in Las Vegas. Poker.”
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  “He lost?” I ask, but I already know what she’ll say, and my stomach sinks.

  “Yes, and no. More like I lost.” Her features harden with a look I’ve not seen before. “Pan used magic to ensure my uncle won. In return, Pan asked for a percentage of the winnings. His treasure.” But my uncle was sick, he couldn’t stop gambling. He lost everything he’d won the following day. Pan took me instead, and I wound up here.”

  “Which was likely his plan all along.” I surmise.

  “Exactly. See that mirror on the wall?” When she releases me to point, her feet disappear in a white mist. I touch the fabric of her gown and bring them back. “Pan’s enchanted other mirrors in different places that connect to the labyrinth. He left that one here on purpose. So my uncle could see into my jail and suffer with what his choices had done to me. He fell into a deep depression, before he hanged himself.”

  “That must have been—”

  She waves me off. “Ask me how I know.” Her tone’s sharper than the ragged edge of a broken bottle.

  There’s no need to ask her anything. I know she watched her uncle kill himself through the looking glass. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too.” The anger dies from her voice leaving it tired sounding instead. Lines mar her smooth skin. Her pain is pure and authentic. Listening to her story feels like spying, even though she invited me in. “I can’t bring him back, but I don’t want to die never having lived.”

  At the catch in her voice, I reach for her but she tears herself away. Fully ethereal, she hovers at the window, facing the garden again.

  “That’s why I’m bad. I wanted my life back so much; I risked you and your friends for the slightest chance.” Her fingers play with her hair. “It’s hopeless. No one beats the magician. And you’ll hate me, and I’m sorry, and I wish I could take it all back, because you’ll be stuck here. I don’t want you of all people to hate me.”

  Why me of all people? But that’s not what comes out. “I could never hate you.” I asked Raven to risk as much a year ago myself. “We’re not as different as you might think.”