by Kyla Stone
Sykes was outmatched, and he knew it. “This is only the beginning. You’re already dead. You just don’t know it yet, you hear me?”
He turned and ran, fleeing into the shadows.
Gabriel let off a volley of useless shots, none of them hitting his target. It was too dark. The freezing rain obscured his vision. He needed to get closer. “Should I go after him?”
“No.” Jericho bent double, holding his ribs, coughing and gasping for breath. He spat blood on the puddled asphalt. “There’s been enough killing for one night.”
“He’ll alert the rest of his people.”
“Trust me, they’re alerted. They’re already looking for us. We’re the ones who need to run now.”
The rain turned hard and dense. Gabriel held out his hand, watching the tiny balls of ice smack his palm. “Snow is coming.”
Jericho rested his forearms on his thighs. He straightened, took steady, deep breaths, and faced Gabriel. “You saved my life. I won’t forget that.”
Behind them, flames engulfed the department store. The fire surged through the shattered windows, hungrily licking the sides of the building, smoke pouring out. The air cracked like thunder, like the sky splitting open.
Gabriel holstered the pulse gun. “It was the right thing to do.”
15
Willow
The snow fell harder, a thick, white curtain. It stung Willow’s eyes and clung to her eyelashes. The icy wind bit at her exposed face.
Even in the freezing cold, the smoke of the fire burned her throat. They were exposed and helpless, stumbling around in the dark and the snow.
They passed cafes and storefronts and apartment buildings and businesses, all of them blank and featureless. They took a serpentine route, making sure they weren’t being followed, though there was no way to be sure, and no way to hide the footprints they left behind in the gathering whiteness.
Soon, a blanket of snow covered everything. Drifts piled against stop signs, abandoned vehicles, electric poles, storefronts. The snow-covered hulks of cars, trucks, and transports reared out of the gauzy moonlight. The night was a dreamscape of snow and shadow.
Every sound was both muffled and amplified. The stillness seemed to swallow them up. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to, their minds consumed with fearful, anxious thoughts for the people they loved most.
Was Benjie okay? Was Finn still alive? Had they escaped? She needed to believe they were okay. It was the only way she could focus on staying alive herself.
Once, there was movement several blocks ahead. They took shelter inside a convenience store, hiding for long, torturous minutes, waiting for the threat to move on.
They lost their way several times in the cold and the dark. Finally, the moon peeked through the thick clouds. Micah caught sight of the cylindrical Westin skyscraper through the forest of buildings towering around them. They used it as their guide to find Peachtree Street, and from there, the smaller hotel tucked a block behind it.
Three freezing, exhausting hours later, they made it to their rendezvous point, Peachtree Suites. The hotel atrium was filled with shadows. She glimpsed the glint of crystal chandeliers high above her head, dark hulking furniture, the gleam of wood floors.
Gabriel was waiting for them. He took Amelia from Micah, lifting her easily into his arms. She groaned as she drifted in and out of consciousness.
“What about Benjie and Finn?” Willow asked breathlessly.
“They’re here,” Gabriel said. “Finn is fine. Benjie needs you.”
They followed Gabriel to a suite on the second floor, where the others waited. They’d closed the drapes and used only the glow from a couple of SmartFlexes for light. Finn sat on a brocaded sofa, his shoulders hunched, rocking Benjie.
Benjie was wheezing and coughing violently, his light brown face tinted an unhealthy shade of purplish gray, his eyes wild and terrified.
Concern furrowed Finn’s brow. “He’s been like this since the fire.”
“The smoke triggered his asthma.” She didn’t bother to kick the snow off her boots as she dashed across the small room and knelt beside them. She yanked the inhaler from her cargo pocket and thrust it to Benjie’s mouth.
He sucked in the aerosolized spray, his rigid features softening. She thanked whatever god or angels or lucky stars that she’d kept the inhaler in her pocket instead of the backpack.
She stroked Benjie’s splendidly messy hair. No sooner had she brushed it flat with her fingers then it stuck up all over again. She kissed his forehead tenderly.
Benjie lowered the inhaler and took a deep breath. “I lost them,” he wheezed, his small face etched with sadness.
“What did you lose, kiddo?”
His mouth contorted as he struggled to hold back tears. “My backpack. All my magic stuff. The cards Daddy got me…Mom told me to keep them forever, but I lost them…”
Except for Micah, they’d all lost their packs, forced to leave them behind in the chaos of the fire. No one missed anything that couldn’t be replaced. Except for Benjie. He’d just lost the ratty Star Wars backpack he’d been lugging his magic stuff around in since he was three years old. Since their father died.
Memories flashed through her mind, tender as a bruise when she pressed on them: The night the cop-bot came to their door with a recorded holo solemnly reporting their father’s death—a car crash, automatically ruled an accident because the vehicle had been in manual drive mode. Zia screaming. Her mother collapsing to the floor, sobbing. Little Benjie whimpering in confusion, clutching the brand-new Star Wars backpack their father had bought for his birthday the day before, paying with the last of their savings.
It was just a backpack. And yet she felt suddenly bereft, like someone had died. She hadn’t saved Zia or their mother. She hadn’t even managed to salvage that ratty old backpack, severing their last connection to their old life.
She took a breath, steeling herself. She pressed her forehead against Benjie’s, cupped his head with both hands, and gazed into his eyes. “It’s going to be okay. I promise you. You did your best. You were brave as hell. If Dad were here, he would understand. So would Mom. They would both be so proud of you today.”
Benjie nodded, tears still glimmering in his eyes.
Finn leaned in and grinned conspiratorially. “Sir Benjie, this means we must embark on a quest! A very important quest to restore the sacred magical objects of this land. Do you accept?”
The smallest smile quivered at the edges of Benjie’s lips. “I accept the quest, Mister Finn,” he said gravely. He unfurled his fingers, revealing the carved bird Raven had given him. “I still have this.”
“A lucky charm!” Finn boomed in delight. “A good omen, my boy!”
Benjie’s smile widened. He’d just escaped a blazing fire and a gang of murderous thugs, but heartened by Finn’s imagination and enthusiasm. He was okay again.
She sank back on her heels. Deep gratitude filled her. “Thank you, Finn,” she rasped and cleared her throat. It was more than the lingering effects of the smoke making her eyes water. “If something happened to him…”
Finn gave her a lopsided grin, revealing the adorable gap in his front teeth. He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “I was worried about you.”
Her stomach did a weird flip-flop. Her cheeks heated. She pulled her hand away. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
He shrugged his huge shoulders. “I know you can take care of yourself. But I worried anyway.”
“Yeah. Okay, thanks.” She scrubbed at her face, secretly cursing herself. She was terrible at this kind of thing, whatever this was. Emotions or feelings or whatever. She much preferred shooting rats and punching Silas. That, at least, she understood.
She forced herself to get a grip and looked around the room again. Amelia laid on the bed in the master bedroom, still out of it. Micah sat with her, refusing to leave, Gabriel hovering anxiously over them both. Silas sulked in the corner with his arms crossed, his expression har
d as stone. Jericho paced the opulent living room in tense circles.
They were safe—coughing, cold and exhausted, but alive. She took in everyone’s scared, dirty, weary faces. They were the most beautiful faces she’d ever seen. Finn, Benjie, Jericho, Amelia. Gabriel and Micah.
The group was incomplete. Something—someone—was missing.
“Where’s Celeste?” she asked. “And Horne?”
“They’re not here yet,” Jericho said in a strained voice.
Anxiety twinged in her gut. Had they gotten caught in the fire? Bitten by the rats? Captured by the Pyros? Trapped or lost out in the freezing cold? There were too many possibilities—none of them good.
“They’ve been missing for far too long.” Gabriel rubbed his throat with a wince. They were all still feeling the effects of smoke inhalation. “We need to look for them.”
“We must find a safe place for the rest of us first, then we will,” Jericho said.
“They could be in trouble, or hurt,” Micah said.
“I volunteer.” Gabriel rose to his feet, his shoulders squared, his hands flexing into fists at his sides. “I’ll go right now.”
“We’re not risking it,” Jericho said firmly. His dark eyes flashed, his jaw squared. “Especially now when we’ve lost most of our weapons. Gabriel and I managed to steal two of the Pyros’ guns. Micah has his handgun, and Silas his rifle. But that’s it. We have no additional ammo. We’re outmanned and outgunned.”
She knew it was bad. She didn’t realize how bad. Willow exchanged worried glances with Finn. They were lucky to have survived unscathed this far. They’d barely escaped the Pyros and the fire. What were they going to do now?
“I’ll go without a gun,” Gabriel said.
Silas sneered. “You’ll just get yourself killed.”
What do you care?” Gabriel snapped back, bristling. “We wouldn’t even be in this situation if not for you.”
Silas’s mouth tilted in a savage smile. “You have something you need to get off your chest? Wanna take a potshot at me?”
“Enough! Both of you.” Jericho coughed hard, bending double for a moment before straightening. When he regained his composure, he shook his head. “We’ll go first thing in the morning, and not a second before.”
Celeste and Horne weren’t her favorite people. That was no secret. But they were part of the group. And maybe Celeste wasn’t as awful as she used to be. Horne was irritating as hell, but there were worse people in the world. “Gabriel’s right. We should look now.”
Jericho ran his hand over his head and sighed. “Believe me, I hate this as much as you do. But it’s too dangerous.”
Willow hated feeling sorry for an elite: first Amelia; now Celeste and Horne. But they must be terrified out there, alone and weaponless, maybe lost or hurt or both. She didn’t wish that fate on anybody. “But the Pyros are gone for now. We chased them off—”
“We can’t go traipsing around in the dark when we’re already exhausted. From now on, we can’t risk being seen. We must be invisible.”
Willow just stared at him. Dread crept up her throat. She didn’t ask the question. She already knew the answer.
Silas said it anyway, his expression flat, his eyes hard. “We’re being hunted.”
16
Gabriel
“There’s someone out there.” Gabriel crouched behind the service desk in the hotel lobby. Morning light trickled through the windows, revealing stuffy, antique decor slightly worn around the edges: burnished wood floors, crystal chandeliers, a bank of last generation SmartFlex charging stations, and heavy leather sofas surrounding a massive stone fireplace.
“What do you see?” Jericho asked from beside him.
Silas scowled. “Just shoot if it’s a Pyro.”
Gabriel peered around the side of the counter with the scope of the semi-automatic he’d taken from Mohawk yesterday. Jericho carried both the pulse rod and the gun.
Amelia had regained consciousness late last night, but her mind was still foggy. She’d had a difficult time walking or talking for several hours, though she seemed to be coming out of it now.
They’d all spent the night in the same hotel suite. No one wanted to be alone. Gabriel had remained awake, standing watch. The lingering scorched sensation in his throat was a harsh reminder that they couldn’t let their guard down for a moment.
Gabriel squinted through the scope. A lone figure trudged toward the hotel from the south. He was dressed in black cargo pants and a dark jacket. He limped slightly. A red blotch stained the front of the jacket—blood. The head was bowed, the masked face in shadow.
Gabriel tweaked the zoom on the scope, narrowing in on the figure’s face. But the person stepped into the street between an SUV and a minivan.
Gabriel lost his bearings, spinning wildly and seeing only blurred close-ups. He pulled back, reset the scope, and zoomed in again.
It was Tyler Horne. There was a scrape across his temple and blood crusted along the side of his sculpted features and square jaw. But it was definitely Horne.
“What can you see?” Micah asked.
“It’s our favorite person.”
Silas groaned. “Is the girl with him, at least?”
“The girl has a name,” Willow snapped.
Gabriel shook his head. “Alone. No sign of Celeste.”
He scanned the street, the sidewalks, storefronts, and the surrounding buildings through the scope, searching for movement, for any sign of a tail, of surveillance, or that their position had been exposed. But there was no movement. Nothing.
“Get him inside before he gives us away,” Jericho said, his voice strained.
A minute later, Horne was sagging against the concierge desk, bloodied and bruised but still in one piece.
“What happened?” Gabriel asked. “Where’s Celeste?”
“Nice to see you, too.” Horne lifted back his hood and ran shaking fingers through his matted blonde hair. “After barely surviving a night of horror, you’d think a more pleasant greeting would be in store.”
“We’re happy you’re alive,” Jericho said evenly.
“Speak for yourself,” Silas growled.
Gabriel grunted. “Get on with it. What happened to Celeste?”
“I’m clearly wounded. And utterly exhausted. Let me attend to my needs first—”
Gabriel stepped closer, until he was less than a foot from Horne. His patience had run out. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain calm. “Why isn’t she with you?”
“I’m certainly not her keeper.” Horne gave a haughty sniff. “I had no responsibility for her. She made it perfectly clear on numerous occasions she wanted nothing to do with me.”
Gabriel wanted to seize Horne by the collar and shake him. His hands curled into fists. He restrained himself—barely. “You both ran out the south entrance just ahead of me. I provided cover so you could escape. You were together.”
Horne’s eyes flickered warily from Gabriel to Jericho to Silas. He wrung his hands, clasping them together like a prayer. He cleared his throat uneasily. “I’m sorry. She didn’t make it.”
“No,” Willow said, taking a step back. “No.”
It hit him like a swift kick to the balls. Celeste was an elite, but she’d managed to survive and live alongside them all these months, in spite of her whining and complaining. She was part of their group, for better or worse.
The thought of losing someone else after Nadira was too much. He would not accept it. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
Horne shifted nervously. “There was nothing I could do. I swear. We ran as far as we could, but we got disoriented in the darkness and the rain. There were rats, too many of them. We got cornered in an alley. There was a dumpster with the lid closed. I told her to climb on top of it. I didn’t even have a weapon. I jumped in front of her, kicking and punching as many as I could. She fell and…” His voice trailed off. His face contorted and he swiped at his eyes. “There was nothing I could
do. Nothing. I barely escaped with my life.”
Gabriel inhaled sharply. “Where is she?”
“I…I wanted to carry her, but…she’s infected, now. It was too dangerous.”
Gabriel spun and stalked across the room. A hot spark of anger flared through him. He couldn’t stand to be near that slimy, self-serving asshole for a second more. There was something in his face, something guarded, some shadow Gabriel couldn’t pin down. But he didn’t like it.
“You did what you could,” Micah said gently. “What’s done is done. You were lucky to make it back.”
Gabriel met Silas’s gaze for a moment. Silas said nothing. He slouched against the counter, his fists thrust deep in his pockets. His face was an expressionless mask, his eyes hard as stones.
Gabriel aimed a savage kick at the stone fireplace, doing nothing but stubbing his toe. But the splinter of pain centered him. It felt like he’d personally lost her. Like he hadn’t done enough to protect them all. That he’d failed his promise to Nadira. That he’d failed himself.
He pushed his hand in his pocket and felt the soft square of cloth. He turned back to Jericho. “I’ll get her.”
“What?” Horne said.
Amelia said nothing, her face tight. Willow and Finn stared at him like he’d grown a second head. But what they thought didn’t matter. “She deserves to be buried. We can’t leave her out there to rot.”
“Her body is infected,” Horne sputtered.
“It’s too dangerous,” Jericho said.
“You’ll get yourself killed,” Horne said. “And for what? She’s already dead.”
Everything Horne and Jericho said was true. His own mind whispered all the reasons this was a terrible idea. Why should he risk himself for an elite, for someone who didn’t even like him?
