by Keri Arthur
But could I breathe?
I took one final, deep breath, just in case, and then pushed on. The ink washed up my face and then over my head, and it suddenly felt like there was a ton of weight pressing down on me. Every step became an extreme effort; all too soon my leg muscles were quivering and it took every ounce of determination I had to keep upright, to keep moving.
I pressed on, but I really had no idea if I was heading in the right direction. Not only did the darkness envelop me, but it also stole all sense of time and direction. God, what if this was a trap? What if all along they’d intended nothing more than to lure me down here to get rid of me? Sal’s partners had to be aware of his death by now, just as they had to be aware that I was the one who’d found and rescued the five kids—after all, those kids had been nothing more than bait in an attempt to trap and kill me. That it hadn’t gone exactly as they’d hoped was due to good luck on my part rather than bad planning on their part. Or, rather, good luck and a whole lot of help from the adult déchet who haunted my bunker.
And while Sal’s partners might have no idea what I truly looked like—and therefore couldn’t stop me from entering their businesses in Central, or hunt me down—they were well aware that I lived in the old underground military bunker outside that city. And they’d undoubtedly realized I would not abandon the rest of those children.
I had been expecting some sort of retaliatory attack, but against our bunker rather than out here in the middle of nowhere.
If this was a trap, then it was one I’d very stupidly walked right into. But there was nothing I could do about that now. I just had to keep moving.
But the deeper I got, the more crushing the weight of the darkness became. My legs were beginning to bow under the pressure, my spine ached, and my shoulders were hunched forward. It felt as if I could topple over at any minute, and it took every ounce of concentration and strength to remain upright. May the goddess Rhea help me if I met anything coming up out of the crater, because I doubted I’d even have the energy to pull the rifle’s trigger.
Then, with little warning, the weight lifted and I was catapulted into fresh air and the regular night. I took a deep, shuddering breath and became aware of something else. Or rather, someone else.
Because I was no longer alone.
I slowly turned around. At the very bottom of the crater, maybe a dozen or so yards away from where I stood, there was a rift. A real rift, not a false one. It shimmered and sparked against the cover of night, and while the energy it emitted was foul, it nevertheless felt a whole lot cleaner than the thick muck I’d just traversed.
Standing in front of it were four figures—three with their backs to the rift, one standing facing it. The solo person was the dark-cloaked, hooded figure I’d been following. The other three . . .
I shuddered, even as I instinctively raised my weapon and fired. The other three were tall and thin, with pale translucent skin through which you could trace every muscle, bone, and vein. There was no hair on their bodies and they didn’t really have faces. Just big amber eyes and squashed noses.
Wraiths.
And they reacted even as I did. Though none of them had anything resembling a mouth, they screamed—it was a high-pitched sound of fury I doubted any human would be capable of hearing, and it made my ears ache. The two front figures—the cowled man and the figure I presumed was the wraith’s leader—leapt sideways, out of the firing line. But the other two came straight at me. I kept firing, but the machine rifle’s wooden bullets bounced harmlessly off their translucent skin.
I slung the useless rifle back over my shoulder, unclipped the guns from my pants, then turned and fled into the soupy darkness. Just because I could fight didn’t mean I had to or wanted to—especially not when it came to wraiths. And two of them at that.
The darkness enveloped me once more. My pace slowed to a crawl, but my heart rate didn’t. I had no idea if this muck would affect them as it did me, and all I could do was pray to Rhea that it did. I didn’t want to die. Not here, not in this stuff, and certainly not at the hand of a wraith.
I forged on, hurrying as much as the heaviness would allow, my breath little more than shallow rasps of fear. While I couldn’t hear any sound of pursuit, I knew they were behind me. Ripples of movement washed across my spine, getting stronger and stronger as the wraiths drew closer.
Fresh energy surged into my legs. I ran on, desperate to reach the crater’s rim. I might not be any safer there, but I could at least fight a whole lot better out in the open.
The ground slipped from under my feet and I went down on one knee. Just for an instant, I caught a glimpse of starlight, and then a thick wave of movement hit my spine and knocked me sideways. Stones dug into my ribs as the air left my lungs in a huge whoosh. Claws appeared out of the ink—they were thick and blue and razor sharp, and would have severed my spine had the wind of their movement not hit me first. Luck, it seemed, hadn’t totally abandoned me.
I fired both weapons in a sweeping arc. I had no idea where the wraiths were, because the darkness had enclosed around those claws and the rippling movement seemed to be coming from several directions now. Something wet splashed across my skin and face—something that stung like acid and smelled like foul egg. I hoped it was blood, but I knew there were Others who could spit poison. With the way things were playing out tonight, it was probably the latter rather than the former.
I scrubbed a sleeve across my face but succeeded only in smearing whatever it was. I cursed softly, then thrust upright and scrambled toward the rim of the crater and that brief glimpse of starlight. If I had to fight, then I at least wanted to see my foe.
The ripples of movement didn’t immediately resume, and for an all-too-brief moment I thought maybe I’d killed them. It was a thought that swiftly died as those damn waves started up again.
There was nothing I could do. Nothing except keep running. Wraiths weren’t stupid; now that they knew I had weapons that could actually hurt them, they’d be a lot more cautious.
But, cautious or not, they were still moving through this muck a whole lot faster than me. I had one chance, and one chance only—I had to get out and put as much distance between them and me as possible.
The heavy darkness began to slide away from my body. I sucked down big gulps of air, trying to ease the burning in my lungs. It didn’t really help. I ran on, my speed increasing as the darkness retreated further, lifting the weight from my shoulders and spine. Then, finally, I was free from its grip and racing over the edge of the crater. I didn’t stop. I didn’t dare. I needed to gain as much distance as I could . . .
Movement, to my right. Instinct had me leaping left. Claws snagged the edge of my coat’s sleeve, ripping it from cuff to shoulder, but not cutting skin. I twisted away, raised the guns, and fired.
At nothing.
The creature was gone. I had no idea whether speed or magic was involved in that disappearance, and no time to contemplate it. I just kept on running. Stones bounced away from my steps, but this time there were no ghosts to dance in time to the sound.
More movement, this time to my left. I fired again. The shots ripped across the night but found no target. The stony hillside appeared empty, even though the foul presence of the wraiths stained the air.
If they were so damn fast—or, indeed, capable of hiding their presence through magic—why weren’t they attacking? Had they been ordered not to? Or were they like cats, preferring to play with their prey before closing in for the kill?
If it was the latter, then they were in for a shock, because this little mouse wasn’t about to go down without taking at least one of them with me.
The crest of the hill loomed above. Tombs and crosses reached for the stars like broken fingers reaching for help. But there was no safety to be found there, and the tombs themselves were just a reminder of my fate if I wasn’t very careful.
Stones
clattered to my right; I swung a gun that way but didn’t fire. There was nothing there. They were playing with me. Fear pounded through my body, but there was little I could do but ignore it. I’d been in far worse situations than this and survived. I could survive this.
With luck.
I hoped.
The graveyard ghosts gathered near the top of the hill as I drew closer, but their energy was uneasy. Wary. I very much doubted they would have helped even if I could have asked them to. There was none of the anger in them that was so evident within the Carleen ghosts, and that probably meant this graveyard—and these ghosts—were prewar. In which case they’d have no experience or knowledge of wraiths, and no idea just how dangerous they could be.
One of the creatures appeared out of the night to my left—or, rather, his arm appeared. I ducked under his blow and fired both guns, but in the blink of an eye, his limb was gone again. The bullets ricocheted off the nearby rocks, sending sparks flying into the night.
How in Rhea could I fight—kill—these creatures if I couldn’t see them?
I guess I had to be grateful that I could at least hear them. Sometimes. More than likely when they actually wanted me to.
More sound, this time to my left—claws scrabbling across stone. If that noise was any indication, it was closing in fast. Perhaps it had decided playtime was over.
I couldn’t escape them—not in this form. Maybe it was time to try another . . .
Even as the thought entered my mind, something cannoned into my side and sent me tumbling. I hit the ground with a grunt but kept on rolling, desperate to avoid the attack I could feel coming.
I crunched into a large rock and stopped. The air practically screamed with the force of the creature’s approach; I raised the guns once more and ripped off several shots. Then I scrambled upright, only to be sent flying again. This time I hit face-first and skinned my nose and chin as I slid several feet back down the hill.
I had no time to recover. No time to even think. The creature’s weight landed in the middle of my back, and for too many seconds I couldn’t even breathe, let alone react. Its claws tore at my flesh, splitting the skin along my shoulder and sending bits of flesh splattering across the nearby rocks. It was still playing with me, because those claws could have—should have—severed my spine.
But the blood gushing down my arm and back was warning enough that if I didn’t move—didn’t get up and get away from this creature—I’d still be as dead as any of those who watched from the safety of their tombstones.
And there was only one way I had any hope of escaping—I had to call forth the vampire within me.
So I ignored the creature’s crushing weight, ignored the blood and the pain and the gore that gleamed wetly on the ground all around me, and sucked the energy of the night deep into my lungs. It filtered swiftly through every aching inch of me, until my whole body vibrated with the weight and power of it. The vampire within rose in a rush—undoubtedly fueled by fear and desperation—and swiftly embraced that darkness, becoming one with it, until it stained my whole being and took over. It ripped away flesh, muscle, and bone, until I was nothing more than a cluster of matter. Even my weapons and clothes became part of that energy. In this form, at least, I’d be harder to pin down.
I slipped out from under the wraith and fled upward toward the graveyard once again. But I wasn’t out of danger yet. I might now be as invisible to the mortal world as any vampire or, indeed, the wraiths themselves, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t sense me. Didn’t mean they couldn’t kill me. The number of vampire bones I’d seen near active rifts over the years was testament to the fact that this particular vampire trick made little difference to a wraith’s ability to hunt and kill them.
I finally crested the hill and surged into the cemetery. In this form, I saw the spectral mass that was the gathered ghosts glimmering in the darkness. Their bodies were blurred, barely resembling anything humanoid, which meant I’d been right—these ghosts were very old indeed. Even so, I could taste their fear—of me, not of the things that pursued me. They might not know what wraiths were, but they were familiar with vampires and were now seeing me as one of them.
They wouldn’t help me.
Air began to stir around me again, buffeting my particles and sending a fresh spurt of fear through my body. They’d entered the graveyard . . . and in this form, I couldn’t use my weapons. I didn’t even have a vampire’s sharp claws to defend myself with. To use my weapons, I’d have to transform both them and my arms back to solidity, and a partial transformation wasn’t something I was particularly adept at.
I raced on, heading for Carleen, hoping against hope that the ghosts there would help me. Because if they didn’t . . .
I shoved the thought away. I could do this. I would do this. The lives of eight children lay on the line—or so Nuri believed. I very much doubted her statement—that if I didn’t find those children, no one would—had been just an attempt to bring me back into the fold. The desperation and fear in her eyes had been all too real.
Though I heard no sound of approach, claws slashed the trailing tendrils of my energy form. Particles spun away into the night, and pain ripped through the rest of me. Panic surged. I really was no safer in this form than the other. In fact, I was probably worse off because I couldn’t actually defend myself.
If I was destined to die this night, then, by Rhea, I would go down fighting in human form rather than in vampire.
I called to the darkness and reversed the process, becoming flesh from the head down. As my arms found form, I fired both guns over my shoulder, then to the left and the right. A high-pitched scream bit across the night and the rancid, metallic scent of blood washed through the air. I had no idea if I’d killed one of them or not, but at least I’d hit it. And if I could do that, I could kill them. Not that I was about to hang around and attempt it.
I raced on through the broken tombstones and shattered remnants of trees, my gaze on Carleen’s distant walls even as every other sense was trained on the night around me.
Air rushed past; a wraith, planning Rhea only knows what. I didn’t check my speed. Didn’t even fire. While my guns weren’t yet giving any indication that ammunition was running low, I couldn’t imagine it would be too far off. And while I was carrying extra ammo, I had neither the time nor the desire to reload. The minute I stopped, they would be on me—of that I was sure. The only other weapons I had were the machine rifles—which had already proven useless—and the two glass knives strapped to my wrists. They’d been built as a last resort, a weapon designed for hand-to-hand combat with a blade that was harder than steel. But there was no way I was about to get into a last-resort situation. Not when it came to wraiths, anyway.
Up ahead, air began to shimmer and spark. A heartbeat later, one of the wraiths appeared, blocking my path between two crumbling but still-ornate tombs. A thick, bloody wound stretched across its gut, and black blood oozed down its torso and legs. But if the wound was hampering it in any way, it wasn’t obvious. It flung its arms wide, its claws gleaming an alien, almost icy green. Sparks began to flicker between the razor-sharp tips, then spun off into the night. But they didn’t disappear. Instead, they began to cluster together, each tiny spark sending out tendrils to connect to another, and then another, until a rope began to form. A rope that glowed the same alien green as the creature’s claws and pulsated with an energy that made my skin crawl.
The wraiths weren’t trying to kill me—they were trying to capture me. I had no desire to know why, and certainly no intention of finding out. I swung left, attempting to outrun the still-forming rope. The wraith appeared in front of me again, the rope longer and beginning to curve toward me.
I switched direction, and again the same thing happened. I slid to a halt, raised the guns, and unleashed hell. The wraith’s body shook as the bullets tore through its flesh. Blood and gore splattered the ground a
ll around it, but it neither moved nor stopped creating that leash. The two ends of the rope were close to joining now, and I very much suspected I did not want that to happen.
One of the guns began to blink in warning. I cursed and ran straight at the wraith. Firing from a distance seemed to have little effect, so maybe getting closer would be better. I had nothing to lose by trying—nothing but my life, and that was already on the line.
The second gun began to blink, but I didn’t let up and I didn’t stop. The closer I got, the more damage the guns did, but the creature didn’t seem to care. Its body and face was a broken, bloodied mass, and still it stood there, resolutely creating its leash. Did these things feel no pain?
The first gun went silent. I cursed again and did the only thing I could—I launched feetfirst at the creature. I hit it so hard my feet actually went through the mess of its chest, but the sheer force of my momentum knocked it backward and the shimmering around its claws abruptly died as it hit the ground hard. I landed on top of it, caught my balance, and then fired every remaining bullet at its head.
This time, I killed it.
But I didn’t rejoice. Didn’t feel any sense of elation. As the second creature emitted a scream that was both fury and anguish, I tore the two spare clips free from their holders on my pants, reloaded the guns, and ran on.
The twisted, rusting metal fence that surrounded the graveyard came into view. I leapt over it, my gaze on Carleen’s broken walls. But the wind that battered my back was warning enough that the other wraith was not only on the move, but closing in fast. And I could taste its fury; this one had no intention of corralling me, even if that had been their orders.
I reached for everything I had left, but my legs refused to go any faster. My body was on fire and my strength seemed to be leaching away as fast as the blood pouring down my arm, back, and face. It was sheer determination keeping me on my feet now, nothing else.
And determination wasn’t going to get me much farther. It certainly wouldn’t take me to Carleen. The city was simply too far away.
