Branded

by Rob Cornell

  She staggered sideways. Blood stained her orange and white fur by her belly.

  Anda flipped up onto her feet. She didn’t seem to notice the bleeding claw marks on her shoulders at all. She readied another bolt in her crossbow and aimed for Fiona.

  “No,” I shouted. I gathered up that small bit of remaining magic within me and lit my fist into flames. “I’ll burn you to the bones.”

  Anda looked at me, but kept the crossbow on Fiona.

  Fiona curled around to face Anda, movement awkward and slow. She took a couple steps toward Anda, then dropped to the ground, whimpering. As a weretiger, Fiona should have had a tremendous constitution. Certainly more than what a single arrow could sap. Which told me Anda was using the poisoned arrows she had tagged me with before.

  I raised my fiery fist. “Put down the crossbow.”

  “I’ll have plenty of time to take the shot. This one will go straight through her skull.”

  Even if Fiona’s shifter physiology could hold up against the poison, she couldn’t survive a shot to the head. If I killed Anda, I would lose Fiona, no question. But if I didn’t use the fire bolt I had conjured, it would mean releasing that magical energy. I couldn’t take it back. And since I held the last dregs of my power in that flame, once I let go, I would have nothing left to fight Anda with.

  “Put it out, Sebastian,” Anda demanded.

  “Promise me you’ll get her help,” I said. “After you kill me. Get her help.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt her,” she said.

  “Then help her.”

  “Drop the flame.”

  I looked at Fiona. She looked back. I could see the intelligence in her tiger eyes and thought I could see sadness or regret. “It’s okay,” I said. “This is all my fault. I’m sorry.”

  I opened my hand, released the energy, and the flame died.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Turn around and get on your knees,” Anda said.

  I gave Fiona one last look. I had really wanted a second date, damn it. This was not fair at all.

  “Do it,” Anda prodded.

  I sighed and obeyed. Despite the hot sun and humidity, the ground felt cool against my knees. I squinted up at the sky. Cloudless and bright blue.

  “Now put your hands behind your back.”

  Anda didn’t know I had coughed up the last of my magic. She was being extra careful with me. I wondered if I could somehow use that to my advantage. For the life of me, I couldn’t see how.

  Once I crossed my wrists behind my back, I heard Anda’s footsteps approach behind me.

  Fiona growled softly.

  “I have to say, I’m surprised.” From the sound of her voice, I could tell Anda stood only a couple feet away. I could practically feel the point of the arrow she meant to execute me with against the back of my skull. “You are sacrificing your life to save the shifter. Not the Sebastian Light I know and loathe.”

  “That’s just it, Anda. You don’t know me. Whatever twisted version of me you’ve imagined is just that. Imaginary. If making me out to be the villain soothes your conscience over killing me so you can snag a few more bounties, I doubt I can convince you otherwise. But I’m not the villain here. I never threatened to kill you. Never threatened anyone you cared about. Never set up a bunch of others to die to benefit myself. That was all you.”

  Anda’s boot slammed into my back, right at kidney level.

  I flopped onto my face. My cheek scrapped against the ground as I writhed in pain.

  “Roll over.” She kicked me in the side. “Roll over. Let me see your face.”

  I rolled onto my back and looked up at her. She aimed her crossbow at my left eye.

  “I have to do this.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “You’re a wicked, selfish fuck.”

  “That’s right.”

  “The world will be a better place without you.”

  I swallowed and looked Anda right in the eye. “Tell that to my sick mother, who will have no one left after you kill me.”

  Her brow creased. Uncertainty filled her eyes.

  It was the best chance I had.

  I swatted at her crossbow, throwing off her aim, and rolled sideways. I heard the bolt spring loose and stab the ground where my head had been a second before.

  I hurried to my feet, ignoring the throbbing kidney and the fire in my throat. I had no magic left in me, but I still had my survival instinct. Everything depended on that.

  By the time I stood, Anda had another arrow loaded. I ducked low and charged like countless linebackers had during the Silverdome’s prime. Anda loosed an arrow, but it went over me. I slammed my shoulder against her waist and threw all of my weight into her. I probably weighed three times as much as she did, so gravity was on my side.

  She hit the ground.

  I landed on top of her.

  Her crossbow clattered away, knocked from her grip.

  I moved to pin her arms, but one of her thin wrists slipped from my grasp. She reached down for something and an instant later I felt a sharp pain rip through my side.

  I rolled off of her and pressed my hand over the tear in my shirt that exposed the gash underneath. Blood oozed between my fingers. More of my blood covered the blade of the knife Anda held.

  She snarled and dove for me.

  I scampered away, going for the crossbow.

  She saw where I was headed and shrieked like an angry crow. I was a foot from the crossbow when Anda pounced onto my back. Her knife sliced into the meat of my left shoulder. If I survived, I would have another scar on the opposite shoulder from where I was branded. How nice.

  I bit back a scream and used the pain much like I would use a sudden burst of magical energy, but instead of conjuring an external flame, I stoked the one inside of me, the one that burned for me to survive, keep going, never give up, had too many things yet to do.

  Like help Mom.

  Like get that second date with Fiona that I fucking deserved, gads damn it.

  I bucked hard, tossing Anda off of me. She went, but the knife stayed embedded in my shoulder. Just as well. Better it sticking out of me than in her hand ready for another strike.

  I kicked at the ground to close the distance between my grasp and the crossbow.

  Anda shrieked again. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought she was some kind of werebird. But nope. She was just fucking insane.

  I grabbed the crossbow, twisted around in time to see Anda lurching toward me on her knees with her hands clawed as if she meant to tear out my eyes.

  I wasn’t any kind of marksman. Hell, I’d never fired a crossbow in my life. So I held off taking the shot. Held off until she was practically on top of me, until I could barely fit the crossbow between us. She reached to grab it from me.

  I pulled the trigger.

  The bolt only had six inches to travel. It shot through her throat and nearly made it out the other side.

  Her eyes went wide. Her hands continued to scrabble at the crossbow as if she hadn’t yet realized it wouldn’t do her any good. She coughed, spraying blood across my face.

  I shoved her aside and threw the down the crossbow. Got to my feet. I felt all the pains from my wounds. Most coming from my side. I could feel the knife still sticking out of me, too, which didn’t hurt as much as I thought it should.

  I stood over Anda and watched the light drain from her eyes.

  I kept watching her until I was certain she wasn’t getting back up.

  Then I crouched beside her and checked her pockets. Found her phone. I dialed Sly as I stumbled over to Fiona who lay quietly, eyes closed, like a big sleeping cat. I looked closely to see that she was still breathing. She was.

  Sly answered his phone with, “Who is this?”

  Anda’s number must not have shown like it hadn’t for me. I was lucky he had answered at all. Sly did not take unsolicited calls very well.

  “It’s Sebastian. I think I’m dying. Think you can spare o
ne more favor?”

  I explained the situation and made sure he promised to bring the stuff he had given me for Anda’s poison.

  That done, I dropped the phone and curled up next to Fiona, rested my head on her soft side so I could feel the rise and fall of her breath.

  “Hang on,” I said. “Help’s coming.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The Detroit prefect had an office in the Renaissance Center, overlooking the International Riverfront with a nice view of Canada on the other side. The RenCen is a group of seven skyscrapers all connected, a defining feature of the city’s skyline, and a trademark of its history. The office space the Ministry leased there had to cost a fucking fortune.

  I had to wait in the office’s reception area for two hours before the prefect could finally squeeze me in to his busy schedule. I think the only reason I managed to get an impromptu appointment at all was because of my respected surname and the fact that, as far as he knew, I wasn’t supposed to be able to walk around in the daylight.

  Judging by his expression when I entered his office, I had that last part right.

  He stood behind a massive cherrywood desk that could easily double as a life raft if the RenCen ever tumbled into the river—except that it probably weighed as much as my car. The rest of his office had similar displays of opulence, including an ornate rug I was pretty sure had been hand stitched by fairies. I’d seen something similar in a Fae history book my parents had me read when I was younger. As I recalled, only a hundred such rugs existed in the world, throughout history…ever.

  Not to get political, but I could think of a million better things the Ministry could do with its wealth besides rent fancy office space and decorate it like a damned museum.

  The prefect, Morgan St. James, had dark, mahogany skin and bright, intelligent eyes. He looked to be in his mid-forties, but I knew he was at least five times that. His presence was imposing. Magical energy exuded from him with great force. His power filled the room.

  He waited to speak until his secretary closed the door behind me with a quiet click.

  “I have to admit, this is rather awkward.”

  I smiled, showing my teeth. “Look, no fangs.”

  “Obviously.”

  He gestured to one of a pair of leather wing chairs in front of his desk, then took a seat himself.

  As rattled and snide as I felt, I knew better than to disrespect a high officer of the Ministry—I’d even worn a tie for this meeting. I took his invitation to sit. When I did, the weight of the last few days, especially my tussle with Anda, pressed down on top of me. I could have closed my eyes and dozed off right there in front of Prefect St. James. Wouldn’t that have been cute?

  I must have made a pained noise of some kind. St. James asked, “Are you well?”

  “Considering I was attacked by vampires, hunted like a demon, and nearly killed in the freaking Pontiac Silverdome of all places, I’m good.”

  St. James pursed his lips. “You’ll have to forgive me, Mr. Light, but I only know the broad strokes of your situation. I don’t normally deal with the minutia behind bounty contracts.”

  Of course you don’t, big fella. Wouldn’t want to get your hands dirty with all that dust and bloodshed.

  “Well, apparently someone thought I was a vampire and that I needed to be executed. Which is strange, as not only had I not turned into a vampire, but, even if I had, I did not break any Ministry laws that would have warranted said contract.”

  St. James’ expression gave away nothing. “So you were never infected?”

  “I was never turned.”

  “How is that possible?”

  No way I was going to admit to stealing from a dragon or working with a vampire. No need to complicate things. “How did the Ministry know about the infection in the first place?”

  St. James ran a hand over his bald scalp. “I took the liberty of doing some research while you waited to meet with me. My understanding is that it was an anonymous tip.”

  “A random tip? And a contract on my life was drawn up based on that alone?”

  “As I said, I’m not privy to the details behind every contract.”

  “Well, what did your research reveal about whatever supposed crimes I had committed?”

  He exhaled slowly through his nose, rested his hands on the desk in front of him. “I understand your frustration, Mr. Light. And I assure you this error has been corrected. The contract on you has been revoked.”

  “That’s nice of you.” I could not help a little dose of sarcasm. I am who I am.

  “If that’s all?”

  I thought for a second, shook my head. “Any idea why a whole group of vampires were so eager to turn me into one of them?”

  St. James shrugged. “I can only assume they felt a powerful sorcerer such as yourself would prove an asset to their baser needs.”

  “Yeah, I thought it was something like that, too.”

  “Do you think there is some other explanation?”

  I couldn’t tell if he was being condescending or genuinely curious. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “If there is,” I said, “I can’t image what it is.”

  “Please be certain, Mr. Light, that the Ministry takes this matter seriously. Whatever errors were made, it won’t happen again.”

  Errors were made. Closest thing to a Ministry officer admitting a screw up. I would have to accept it. I was just glad this whole disaster had come to an end.

  I stood. “Thank you, Prefect.”

  When I stepped out of the RenCen, I took a deep breath of the hot, exhaust flavored Detroit air. My body ached. I felt worn out inside. And I still didn’t have any magical juice left in me. I wondered if this was how normals felt. If this was how Anda felt. Scary feeling. I could see how someone with so little power who knew about and fought demons could go a little nuts.

  I thought about her claim to having kids. I had a sick feeling she might not have been lying.

  Had I made some orphans somewhere out there?

  You had no choice.

  Yeah, but that didn’t make me feel any better about it.

  Chapter Thirty

  At least a dozen shirts lay in a heap on my bed. Half as many pairs of slacks had slipped off the edge of the mattress to the floor. I stood in front of the full-length mirror inside my closet door, checking out yet another outfit. For some reason, nothing seemed to hang right on my frame. Every combination of shirt and pants looked positively dorky.

  I had never had this problem before.

  I always looked good.

  But tonight, good was not good enough.

  Tonight I finally had my second date with Fiona, and I wanted everything to be perfect.

  “Forget perfect,” I told my reflection as I turned one way, then the other, my stomach full of flits and flutters. “You can’t even get yourself dressed, for gods’ sake.”

  This latest ensemble wasn’t cutting it. I stripped clear down to my boxers to start from scratch.

  Before I could yank another shirt off its hanger, I heard the muffled sound of “Strangers in the Night” playing from under the pile of shirts on the bed. My ring tone (on my warranty replaced phone) I had programmed specially for Fiona.

  Aw, crap. Something had come up at the nursing home and she would have to cancel. Of course, maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing, seeing as I was about to run out of viable outfits any moment now.

  I dug through the shirts, found my phone, and answered, hoping I didn’t sound too eager or disappointed.

  “Sebastian, you have to come to the home.”

  My heartbeat quickened. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. It’s your mom. She’s awake.”

  I was confused. Mom had been conscious for a while now, two weeks after I had nearly killed her with that potion. This wasn’t news. I made a hesitant sound, unsure what to say.

  “Sorry. Of course she’s awake. I mean she’s lucid.”

  “Luci
d?”

  “Yes. Lucid. Aware. Coherent.”

  Finally my brain made it over the speed bump of denial and I caught on. “She’s awake?”

  Fiona laughed. A beautiful sound. “Yes. And she’s asking for you.”

  Suddenly, my outfit didn’t mean a thing. I would have thrown on a toga if it were the closest thing. Fortunately, I had a pile of pants and shirts right in front of me instead. I grabbed a random shirt and a random pair of pants, threw them on, and headed out to see Mom.

  I was damn lucky I didn’t get a speeding ticket on the way over. I almost tripped over my own feet rushing from the nursing home’s parking lot to the front door.

  I went straight to her room. Mom sat in a chair by the window. Fiona stood beside her. They both smiled at me when I hurried in.

  That’s right. Mom smiled at me. Made direct eye contact with me.

  Reached her arms out to me.

  “Aw, Mom.” I dashed across the room and into her arms. I squeezed her thin frame as hard as I could without breaking her. She pressed her cheek against mine and I felt her tears. Or were they mine?

  Yeah, they were mine.

  “I’ve missed you so much.”

  She stroked my hair and hushed me. I guess my sobs were getting a little out of control.

  I hugged her for a long time before I got my fill. I drew back and looked into her smiling eyes. “You’re here.”

  “I didn’t know I was gone,” she said. “The doctor had to explain it to me.”

  I touched her cheek. I thought maybe I was dreaming, wanted to make sure she was real. She was.

  I gasped as the next obvious thought struck me.

  “Mom, do you remember what happened to you?”

  Her brow furled. Her mouth turned down. I hated seeing it. I wanted her smiling again. But the question had to be asked. I finally had a chance to set things right, to get justice for whoever had wrecked my family.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I…” She squeezed her eyes shut, pushing tears loose down her cheeks. “I don’t know.” Then she opened her eyes and looked around frantically. “Where’s your father? Why isn’t he here?”

  I knelt before her and took her hand. “Mom, Dad’s gone. Something happened to both of you. An accident of some kind. Nobody knows what. But Dad didn’t make it.”