Chaos (Guards of the Shadowlands Book 3)

by Sarah Fine

  The door opened quickly, and Zip appeared, wearing a goatskin dress. Her claws were now painted white. As they carried me into her den, I heard a tangle of languages I couldn’t understand. Takeshi spoke in Mazikin to Zip. Ana spoke in Spanish to both of them. Takeshi and Ana spoke Japanese to each other. I let them lower me to a goatskin pallet, staining it red. The hurt was fathomless. I was drowning in it.

  Someone poked at my forehead. “Qué se robaron los dientes?” whispered a voice I knew to be my mother’s.

  Ana answered her in Spanish, and whatever she said made my mother cry out. She turned me over and pulled me against her, amber eyes gazing into mine. They were lucid once again, full of concern. She squinted at my mouth, ignoring my attempts to shrink away. “Me alegro que todavía tienes los dientes. Pero si te los hubieran robado, te daría los míos.”

  “Why does she keep asking about Lela’s teeth?” Ana asked.

  Takeshi shrugged absently, completely focused on me and my mother. “I don’t know if this will work.”

  My mother began to stroke my hair.

  “Stop,” I said hoarsely. It was too much. Too weird. Too painful. But I was too weak to move, so all I could do was beg her in words she didn’t even understand. Tears burned my eyes as my gaze found Ana’s. “Make her stop. Make her leave me alone.” I feebly swiped at her hands as they smoothed curls off my forehead.

  Takeshi’s face appeared over mine. “We can’t, Lela. Not if you want to heal.”

  “Can’t I heal without her squeezing me like this?” I could barely breathe.

  He shook his head. “Sorry. She has to be touching you.” He gave me a faint smile and explained. “Many years ago, I was hiding in an abandoned den when I heard a commotion outside. I peeked out to see a man carrying a woman who had been badly mauled by a Mazikin. He set her down, both of them too tired and injured to go on. And there, right in that quiet tunnel, I saw the only miracle I have ever seen in this terrible place. He kissed her face and held her close. He was crying. Though I’ve seen many tears here, most people are in too much pain to cry for anyone but themselves. But he was crying for her.”

  “So the fact that he cared for this woman was a miracle?” Ana asked, sounding unimpressed.

  My mother began to rock me. She was singing some song that echoed in my head uncomfortably, scraping the walls of my skull, making it impossible for me to pull away from myself. Her heart beat loudly in my ears.

  “If you understood what it was like here, you’d know that it was a true miracle,” he said softly, turning to Ana and running his fingers along the side of her face and her throat, then down her arm. “But also, it was more than caring, and more than simple kindness. It’s the only reason I can think of for what happened next. The woman healed. So quickly that I couldn’t believe it, so well that within an hour, she was rising to her feet, despite the fact that she’d almost been gutted. Her skin knitted together and—”

  Takeshi leaned down and pulled up my tunic. I grabbed his wrist automatically, and he grinned. “You’ve got some strength back in your grip.” He looked over at Ana. “It’s definitely working.”

  I released his arm, meeting his eyes as he added, “And your wound is closing.”

  Stunned, I glanced at my belly, blood-smeared but no longer bleeding. My mother hadn’t loosened her grasp, and she was still singing, smiling to herself dreamily, her cheek pressed to mine, like it were seventeen years ago, when I was still her baby and she was still herself.

  “Love,” he whispered. “You are one of the few humans in this city who is loved, Lela.”

  I blinked up at him, noticing how the pain was fading, how my belly tingled and my whole body felt warm. This was so much better than the healing I’d experienced at the hands of Raphael, whose technique felt more like being burned alive. This was . . . nice. It was comforting. And as I lay there, my mother’s unfamiliar arms wrapped around me, a truth bled into me and spiraled its way along my limbs. Rita Santos—my mom—loved me. She might have left me. She might have failed me. But despite that, her love was real. Imperfect, yeah, but deep and enduring. It was a big feeling, pushing at the fortress around my heart. I squeezed my eyes shut.

  Takeshi and Ana settled in against a wall next to us, seeking rest and haven in each other. “We’ll go at sunup,” said Takeshi. “Before the fire hour. We’ll rest until then.”

  “Malachi,” I whispered. “We never got what we needed to unlock his chains.”

  Takeshi chuckled. “You think I’d let your sacrifice go unrewarded?” He reached into his pocket and held up a beautiful, intricate metal treasure. “It’s why I had to wait for the right moment to rescue you. I needed to snatch the Smith’s master key.”

  A few more hours and we’d save Malachi. With that knowledge, I sank into my mom’s arms, letting her improbable, flawed love make me new again.

  THIRTEEN

  I CROUCHED IN AN alley a block from the square, sweat dripping down the side of my face.

  Ana squatted next to me, peering at the sunbaked concrete. “It must be like an oven in that square. Takeshi said it’s almost the fire hour.”

  “So I guess we’d better hurry.” I stared into her dark eyes.

  “Hey, who’s the Captain here?” she said, but it lacked bite. I knew she wanted to get Malachi out of there. She just didn’t want to be incinerated in the process, and I couldn’t blame her.

  Takeshi appeared silently behind us. “There are only two guards in the square, at least that we can see. There are probably a few others in the buildings around the perimeter. Very soon, they’ll all be inside when the fire hour arrives, but that will also be the most dangerous time to enter the square. Malachi is under a shelter because they won’t allow his body to be entirely destroyed.”

  Unwilling to offer him even a few hours’ worth of wholeness, they didn’t want him to die and reappear at the city gates. Instead, they kept him barely alive and suffering constantly. My rage flowed through me, powerful and hotter than any flame.

  “We can’t let any of them escape and raise the alarm,” said Ana.

  “Then we should go now.” Takeshi raised his hood and then reached into his cloak and pulled out the Smith’s master key.

  “You want me to do it?” I asked.

  Ana nudged my elbow, urging me to take it. “I think you’re the best person for that job.”

  I accepted the key. “You two can handle the guards?”

  Ana nodded, eyeing the grenade belt slung over Takeshi’s chest. We didn’t want to use them if we didn’t have to—we had only six left thanks to Takeshi’s efforts in the Smith’s yard. But if we needed them, the fire hour would be the perfect cover, since explosions were common at that time of day and therefore wouldn’t bring Mazikin running to investigate. “We’ll take care of them.” She turned to me. “Malachi will need to hear your voice, Lela. Make sure you talk to him. He’ll need any motivation you can give him to climb down off that platform.” She gave me a sad, solemn look. “He’s in bad shape, and—”

  “I know, Ana. Let’s just go get him, okay? Is Zip waiting?”

  “She is,” said Takeshi. “She has a view of the square from one of the passages above her den. She’s watching and ready.”

  “Then that’s it. Thank you both,” I said quietly, gripping the key in my fist.

  I followed Takeshi along the alleyway. The heat intensified the stench of the city: roasting meat, gasoline, blood and shit and sweat. This, I thought, is what hell smells like. I pulled my hood over my hair as the sunlight hit me, searing my skin. Amazingly, though, I felt strong, ready to roll through my enemies. Love had healed me, and now my love would save Malachi. It had to.

  We stood in a corner of the square looking out across the expanse. I’d have to run straight across it and climb the steps to get to Malachi, who stood beneath a broad piece of corrugated metal. His sweat ran in trickl
es, working thin rivulets through the blood that coated his skin. His eyes were closed. The wound stood out, ghastly and huge, below his rib cage. Tears pricked my eyes as I watched him. Once again, I considered what all of this trauma might have done to him. Was he still in there?

  I pushed the fear away. He would be whatever he was, and the only thing that mattered was saving him from more suffering. “The guards look pretty miserable over there,” I whispered, pointing at the bedraggled-looking creatures that crouched on either side of the steps with their hoods pulled low over their heads, not even their snouts peeking out.

  Takeshi, who was standing beside me, inclined his head toward a wide building that took up most of the block next to the huge cement archway that marked the road to the Bone Palace. “The other guards are probably there. The only threat they expect is from Malachi himself, but they can see as well as we can that he can’t go anywhere now.”

  “Okay,” I said hoarsely, tucking the key into the pocket of my pants. “I can take out one of those guards by the platform, but not both.” I pulled a knife and held it in my right hand, the solid, welcome weight an extension of my body.

  “I’ll take the one on the left, closest to the archway,” said Ana.

  “And I’ll take the ones in the building,” said Takeshi. “They’ll be sleeping. Ana will help me when she’s finished with hers. Lela, when you get him loose, the entrance to Zip’s den is there.” He pointed to an alley at the opposite end of the block from us. “She’ll be waiting to get him below before anyone knows what’s happening.”

  “Got it.” A few blocks away, a percussive boom shook the ground at our feet. The fire hour was starting.

  “Now!” Ana cried.

  We sprinted into the square. My cloak billowed behind me as my feet pounded the concrete. My soft-soled boots were so silent the Mazikin guard wasn’t aware I was coming until I was less than twenty feet away. It yipped loudly and reared onto its hind legs, but I was on it before it could draw the dagger from its belt. I used its upward motion against it, ducking low and driving up knife-first, burying my blade in the guard’s stomach and twisting. Blood flowed over my hands as it jerked. I yanked the knife out quickly and wrapped my arms around its flailing, snapping body, then hurled it to the ground. Across the square, the screech of the other Mazikin guard stopped abruptly as Ana did her thing. My opponent was still kicking and gasping. Its claws caught in my cloak but didn’t tear it, and I let it struggle as I straightened up and stabbed down with all my strength, right into the Mazikin’s throat. It gurgled and went limp.

  I jumped for the steps, still hearing the sounds of frantic fighting coming from inside the building where Takeshi was taking on the remaining guards. But I didn’t pause or even look in his direction—my mission was Malachi, and I had eyes only for him. Malachi didn’t seem aware of the noise or the fighting or the heat. His eyes stayed closed as I reached the top of the platform and pulled the key from my pants.

  My heart squeezed painfully at the sight of him, so close at last, so torn up. “Malachi,” I said softly, putting all my hope into that one precious word. “Malachi, it’s Lela.”

  At the sound of my voice, his eyes flew open and landed on me. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a quiet moan. His lips were moving, but he didn’t seem able to put any breath behind his words. I gently touched one of the few uninjured places on his chest. He flinched, and my fingers drew back slick with his sweat and blood. “Shhh, I’m here.”

  The manacle around his neck was the first to go. I jammed the key in the lock and sent a silent prayer of thanks skyward as it turned easily and allowed the heavy iron cuff to swing away from his throat. He groaned as his head fell forward. I knelt at his bleeding, blistered feet and unlocked the manacles at his ankles. I freed his right arm, which fell heavily at his side, revealing deep wounds in his wrists where he’d tried to pull himself loose. Bracing his body with mine, averting my eyes from the barely closed wound covering his reforming heart, I unlocked the manacle on his left wrist.

  And then he was free. He sank onto me, and I couldn’t hold him up. He was over six feet tall and outweighed me by about sixty pounds. We fell to our knees beneath the shade of the metal overhang, his sweaty face against my neck, his arms limp and twitching. To my left I heard an explosion and a scream. I couldn’t tell if it was human or Mazikin, but it didn’t matter. “Malachi,” I whispered. “Open your eyes and look at me. Look at me, Malachi. Please.”

  “I wish you were really here,” he said weakly.

  “I am here,” I said, the tears springing to my eyes. “And I need you. I need you to stand up and help me. We’re getting out of here.”

  He winced as a wistful smile pulled at the raised claw marks on his face. “I miss your scent. Wind and salt. Like the sea. Wild . . .” He slumped against me. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

  “Oh God,” I said, my voice breaking. This wasn’t working. He didn’t believe I was real. I took his face in my hands, as carefully as I could manage. “Malachi? Come on, open your eyes. I’m right here.”

  “I miss you,” he mumbled, but his eyes stayed closed. “So much.”

  The heat at my back was nearly unbearable. My spine was being hard-boiled; I needed to move. I gazed into his face, the dark circles around his eyes, the wounds on his right cheek, the blood on his lips, and a desperate idea hit me. For the last seventy years, Malachi had been a Guard. It was who he was. It was more real to him than nearly anything else.

  I swallowed hard and mustered as much volume as I could. “Get up, Lieutenant,” I barked. “That’s an order!”

  His eyelids fluttered. “Hmm?”

  “Up,” I snapped, holding my face close to his. “Get. Up. That is an order.”

  He blinked slowly, like he was trying to clear his head. His gaze sharpened as he focused on my face. He grabbed my arm, holding on to me for balance. “Lela?” His hand landed on the side of my neck, and he pulled me close, until we were nose to nose. “You can’t be here. They’ll . . . I won’t let them.”

  It broke my heart. He was worrying about me. “Then I need your help,” I said as his metallic breath huffed against my face. “I’m not leaving this platform unless you’re with me.”

  His muscles tensed beneath my palms, but his limbs wouldn’t quite work right, and he couldn’t rise to his feet. I slid my arms around his waist, ignoring his sharp intake of breath as my chest pressed against his, putting pressure on the wound at the center of his body. With all my strength, and a little help from him, I pushed us up to standing and held him as he raised his head.

  He froze, muttering something I didn’t quite catch.

  I looked up into his face, terrified that I had caused him unnecessary pain in my clumsy attempts to get us moving. “Are you okay?”

  He swallowed, his gaze riveted on something over my shoulder. He repeated what he’d just said, and this time I understood it: “Behind you.”

  I’d blocked out the rest of the world over the last few minutes, because I was so focused on Malachi and what he needed. That had been a terrible, stupid mistake. I twisted around. We were completely surrounded. Not by Mazikin. By people. Arrayed silently on the steps behind us, daggers sheathed in their belts. I searched their faces, mostly concealed beneath hoods, and didn’t recognize a single one. Ana and Takeshi were nowhere among them. The dark-cloaked leader in the center took a few steps toward us, lifting her hood and showing me her face. Pale skin and white-blond hair. The one I’d seen in the city, near the factory, and in the square two nights ago.

  I reached behind me, holding Malachi steady as his legs began to buckle. “Who are you?” I tried to sound braver than I felt. Were these people loyal to the Smith? And . . . had Ana and Takeshi been taken? Had they been killed?

  The pale woman smiled, but it didn’t reach her ice-blue eyes. “I’m Treasa Kirwan, servant of the Tanner,” she said
in a loud Irish-accented voice that cooled the temperature in the square at least ten degrees. “And you’re coming with us.”

  FOURTEEN

  BEFORE I COULD EVEN draw a knife, Treasa gave a quick wave of her hand, and the hooded humans rushed up the steps and tore me away from Malachi. They used my cloak against me, wrapping it around me, pinning me inside. A reeking, scratchy bag was lowered over my head and pulled tight around my neck, plunging me into suffocating darkness. I fought uselessly as I was carried down the steps and wrestled onto a hard surface that rumbled and rattled—I knew I was in the back of one of those mechanized carts.

  “Malachi!” I shrieked, flexing and writhing. A hand clapped over my nose and mouth. My lungs burned. I needed air, but there was none to be found, and so I fell down a deep black hole, still calling for Malachi.

  I swam through the darkness, my hands sliding over skin and cement and metal, trying to find a place to anchor myself but finding nothing . . .

  I came to with a gasp, lying on damp cement. The room was dimly lit by a single candle, which sat on the floor by a steel door. I rolled to my hands and knees, drawing deep breaths, waiting for pain but feeling none. I wasn’t hurt. I got up and walked to the door.

  I tugged at the handle, but the door didn’t even rattle in its concrete frame. I spun around and leaned against it, frantically trying to think through what could have happened. Ana had taken out one of the Mazikin guards, and then she’d run into the building where Takeshi had said the other guards were sleeping. I had no idea what had happened after that. They could have been ambushed. Killed. Taken prisoner. By the Mazikin, or by the people who had taken us. And—

  I blinked, lifting the candle and focusing on a dim shape at the other end of the long, narrow room. A bed of goatskin, and on top of it . . .

  “Malachi!” I ran to him, sobbing with relief. He lay sprawled on the thick pallet, and he tensed when my hands skimmed up his arms to his face. “It’s me. Please wake up.” I dropped to my knees. “Malachi?”