by Kat Quinn
“Fuck that, I definitely want to hurt him,” I growl, sights set on the red-eyed motherfucker next.
“Give no chance,” David taunts, “No chance. We take what is ours, what is mine.” There’s malice in the declaration, a dark intent I don’t plan to let come to pass. Pumping my arms hard, I haul ass towards the asshole, no mercy. Protect the pack. Protect Mine.
A few things happen at once. Aria screeches, this time in pain. Whatever hold she had on the being previously frozen is dropped, and it swipes at her, the force of its swing slamming her against the ground. The darkness around us flickers, growing. Two burning, golden beams of light rage out of Dizzy’s furious eyes, instantly catching Aria’s attacker ablaze. It screams, one solid, excruciating sound loaded with terror, surprise, and insurmountable pain. Its note of agony is snuffed out quickly, a pile of ash the only proof it ever existed.
David turns to face me as I’m charging, solely focused on impaling him on my burning spear. Eliminate the threat for good—no more looking over our shoulders. We can breathe again. I will do this, no matter what.
Before I can make contact, a visible burst of wild magic from the red-eyed fuckwad careens towards me, but never makes contact. What does make contact is a large stone, hurled right into my fucking ankle. It wobbles, but holds. David leaps into the night sky, cackling as he easily evades my impending swipe. The changing pitch of his maniacal laugh is grating, never quite settling on one sound at a time, while simultaneously finding all of the most painful ones to make. I grit my teeth, crouching, ready to spring upwards for another attack.
“Fuck!” Dizzy screams, falling to her knees. “Not now, not now…” Panic stabs an icy knife into Dizzy, passing along is horrible gift to me as well. Desperately, she grabs handfuls of things from various pockets in her jacket, ripping her shirt in half with a small knife, digging multiple gouges into her stomach with one increasingly shaky hand. Crudely, her other hand smears its contents across each gash before bringing the bloody leftovers up to her mouth. Her torso is a giant smear of black-speckled crimson.
Preoccupied with Dizzy’s upsetting condition, I’m caught unaware. Something slams into the back of my head hard, nose crunching as my face is slammed into the rocky driveway. Howling through the assault, driving off thoughts of pain, I flip around onto my back, spear slicing through the air with a powerful swing.
It meets resistance. A layered shriek follows—that’ll show that fuck to fuck with us. Tears well in my eyes, broken nose blinding my attack. No matter, I get up, jabbing and swinging relentlessly, determined to take as many chunks out of this cunt as I can until he’s less than fucking mince meat.
Another haunting cackle, echoing endlessly off of every surface. This time, Monty shines his light in its direction, and even my blinded ass can see the vindictive little shit that keeps trying to come between me and Mine.
Snarling, I careen wildly towards a blurry, black blob smack dab in the center of the spotlight, swinging wide as it dodges out of my range, ripping the spear from my grasp in the process. My ankle twists awkwardly, threatening to roll with each step. Not ready to give up, I plunge one hand into my pocket, seeking out more shapeable projectiles. Blindly, I hurl them as needles towards the shadow again, not fully certain of my aim until the fucker yelps a little.
Not enough.
He advances, shape becoming clearer as I wipe at my eyes and try to get a good lock on him.
“Just give up, pathetic fools,” one voice rising slightly more clearly over the others. David swipes at me, a long, burning gash splitting one shoulder open, barely inches from my neck. “No more asking. Want, darling. Will have.”
Head ringing, I stumble, feet not sure of their footing. Searching again, pocket is empty. Need to win, need to save. What’s left? Last chance. Shuddering, I scream, ripping out the raw metal tattooed in bands around my fingers. Warm blood runs in rivers down my hands, a dozen deep gouges easily letting it flow. Squinting, doing my best to track the bastard, I let fly one sharpened dart straight at the bulk of its mass. There’s an audible crack as my foot finally gives out, violently falling flat on my face again. This time, I am rewarded with a shocked gasp from my enemy.
Dragging myself up, one arm slips, the muscle too deeply split to support my weight. Disoriented, not entirely sure why my body isn’t following the commands, I try again, only to fall flat once more, panting with the exertion. My eyes refuse to clear, robbing me of one of my senses. I’m hobbled, blinded, unable to smell. Only able to hear, and feel.
One tiny, clawed hand touches mine, followed by the press of a wet nose. Movement, and then the hand is replaced with fur, Aria sitting on my hand, asking me to stay down. If I could, I’d push her aside and go in for another swing, keep swinging until I can’t any more… But I can barely get any part of me to move. My head is pounding, ice pick splitting my skull apart. Both arms, now, no longer feel like a part of me—somehow numb and painful at the same time, like the burn of ice held in place too long. My throat is tight, a small whimper creeping up through it. This can’t be it, it can’t be.
I can barely make it out, but the light Monty’s holding moves. There’s a thud as he connects with something, followed by multiple hits and a distant squelching. My heart soars at the idea that Monty is finishing the job I couldn’t, but clenches at the unknown worry that it’s his bones breaking I’m hearing. Helpless to contribute, I beg for a miracle, willing to make a deal with any force out there for the safety of my pack. Not this, not again. My lights start to fade, fuzzy around the edges. With all the might I can muster, I fight against passing out, determined to at least bear witness.
A few layered, warbling notes rise, a melody that transforms as it blends together, multiple tones slowly merging into one. Stray thoughts stop running away, forming more coherency. It’s Aria, right in front of me, singing; changing the shape of… something. Taking apart something broken, separated, and twining it back together. The final note she sustains, feeling richer and thicker than the layered ones before.
Nearby, the dull thud of fists against form pause, no longer beating a rhythm of their own.
Aria’s tune holds, but is shaky. Whatever she’s done, it’s bought us time.
There’s a jagged sob. “Run!” David pleads, “Take Dizzy and run! I can’t stop her, I can’t stop them, you have to run!” His voice is clear, no longer drowned out by an echoing chorus of different ranges. “Kill me, please, I don’t want to do this. If they come back, I won’t be able to stop. Please, don’t make me do this any more.”
“Shit, you’re…” Monty whispers, trailing off.
Singing starting to skip. Another thud, heavy.
Scrambling. Staggered footsteps. A high-pitched whistle. No more singing. Eyes too heavy, head too heavy. Arms under mine, feet dragging.
“Come on you heavy bastard, I can’t do this without you,” Monty grunts near my ear. A weak but familiar trickle of warmth enters from where he makes contact, just enough juice to get my good foot under me. “There you go, that’s it.” He grabs my uninjured leg and lifts it, familiar bar of a stirrup firm under my shoe. “We’re going up, okay? Ready? One, two…” We both groan with effort as he lifts, hoisting me stomach-first across the saddle. “No time to lash you on, try not to fall off, okay?” He pats the side of my leg. “You hear me?”
I mumble weakly, a response he’ll just have to accept.
“Okay, Diz, you just hold on, okay? I’ll get us out of here.” Monty’s voice fades away. More noises, too tired to figure out. Limply, my limbs sway as we start to move, rhythm lulling my mind into unconsciousness.
38. Monty
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” I mutter under my breath, struggling to keep Dizzy in place with one arm while holding both reins at the same time. Glancing over one shoulder, my breath catches as I glimpse the receding light of Al and Molly’s burning house; a home senselessly destroyed. We’re not far enough away yet–how far would far enough be, anyway? How long can
we run before they catch up again? How long before we can’t run any more?
“Yah!” I cry, snapping the reins and urging our steeds as fast as I dare.
Kieran groans weakly, slung over the saddle of my speckled horse, his own pale mount following behind despite its absent rider. A thin trail of blood flings off the back of Kieran’s steed, hardly any of his wounds stitched together in my hurry to just get the heck out of there alive.
With some difficulty, I switch the reins to my other hand, carefully trying to keep balanced while dipping into one of my side pockets. Aria’s soft chest rises and falls evenly beneath my fingers as she rests, safely curled up tightly in the loose pouch. One pocket up, my phone buzzes.
“We’re already on our way. Where are we meeting you?” Zeke’s even voice immediately asks.
Briefly, I look skyward, thanking my lucky stars. “My parent’s house,” I blurt out, hoping the horses have it in them to get us to the only place left that feels safe. Please, let it be safe.
“Status?”
“I’m fine, Diz’s out cold but okay. Kier… He’s in bad shape, Z. I don’t know if he’s gonna make it, and I can’t risk stopping to fix him up if David’s still on our trail. Something… something’s going on with him, Z. I think… I think he’s not… Things might’ve just gotten more complicated. And he wasn’t alone this time—a whole bunch of them hit us at the farm. I don’t know if we got them all or if we’re still being tailed, all I know is it’s a mess.”
“Hm.” There’s an audible grunt from Zeke’s end. “We’re using swift travels. Two hours.”
The line goes dead.
Tucking the phone back in its pocket, I distract myself by going over recipes in my head.
Grate tomato into a pan with garlic and onion, cook the sofrito down until thick and fragrant. Can’t forget the smoked paprika. Everyone thinks the key to a good paella is saffron, and it is, but the paprika is just as important, if not quite as sexy. It brings that deep, savory smokiness that keeps your spoon dipping back in the pan for more and more of the addictive, perfectly-seasoned rice. And the socarrat? That layer of caramelized grains keeps your mouth alive with excitement; crisp, crunchy socarrat the ultimate contrast to succulent shrimp and soft, tender vegetables.
Yes, I’ll make us all one big paella, bring the whole family together with one big pan. Connor will pick lemons from the tree easily, Dizzy’ll bring in a bouquet of parsley, Lin’ll make short work of deveining the shrimp. Aria will steal stray peas for her and Stubbs. Zeke and Kieran will bounce between being unhelpful and destructive, but they’ll be there; we’ll all be there. And we’ll be okay, and we’ll be warm and happy and healthy and fed.
Setting my sights hard on the barely-visible road whizzing by, I’m determined to get the three of us safely to that future. My eyes strain as I try to navigate the badly beaten path, lines barely visible even at the best of times. The muscles in my jaw tense as my teeth grind together, back and shoulders winding tighter and tighter as we race along the infinite road.
Mentally, I cook my way through a dozen feasts, each one a more elaborate promise than the last until finally, signs of life start to spring up along the side of the road. Driveways every couple of miles, lights twinkling in the distance, fewer potholes, a gas station.
“Almost there, just a little further,” I tell no one, mostly reassuring myself. Kieran’s moans completely stopped long ago, somewhere between duck a l’orange and a three-foot-tall croquembouche. The big man’s weight keeps shifting ever so slightly, but there’s nothing I can do without stopping—a risk my racing heart can’t bare to take. Dizzy’s still limp in my arms, now stiff and burning with the effort of keeping her steady this entire distance. Ignore it. Your pain is not important right now.
It’s quiet out, huffed breaths and clopping hoofbeats of our three horses the only noise on this beautiful, starry night. How dare it be so calm and innocent? How dare this peace spit in the face of my own turmoil?
Finally, familiar roads; ones walked down daily in my childhood to visit neighbors, or just to explore the world outside of our busy household. The big old oak where I broke my first bone, the rusted-out truck we used as a jungle gym, Mrs. McLeary’s colorful flower bed, where I used to pick fresh roses for Daddy’s collection. We’re already home, just a few minutes further…. Keep going, keep going. Hold on.
Hold on.
“Oh, honey!” Daddy’s warm, bright voice rings through the darkness; a beacon, lighting the way. The horses slow as I pull on the reins, trotting up our long driveway. “Your friend called ahead, come on, come on! Remy’s inside, ready to fix you up, don’t you worry at all sweetheart, you’re home. We’ve got you.”
Coming to a complete stop, my shoulders slump, tight ball of razor wire in my gut loosening ever so slightly. Daddy walks with sure steps to my side, reaching up. “I’ve got her, honey, let me help.” Gently, he cradles Dizzy in his arms while heading towards the front door, a giant bear tenderly caring for a newborn kitten.
My ankles wobble unsteadily as I slide down the massive black horse, mouth foaming and nostrils billowing clouds of steam from sustained exertion. “Thank you,” I say, resting my forehead on its thick neck. “You saved us.” Ebony Thunder lets out a huff, kicking one of his forelegs against the ground. For just a moment, I breathe deeply while leaning against the beast, weary but grateful.
“‘Sup, Broski? Daddy-o told me to help with your horses?” Morgan’s voice is relaxed, and lazy, like seeing a man dripping with blood while slung over a stolen speckled steed is old news.
Head still resting on the horse’s neck, I turn to get a glimpse at the bored-looking teen, arm lazily reaching towards me. “Yeah, thanks Morg, that’d be great.” Exhausted, I haphazardly slop Thunder’s reins in his hand, reluctantly backing away from my head-rest, wearily loping around to Kieran’s side.
My arms feel like lead weights as I try to reach up and ease the unconscious man from his saddle. Good news/bad news, gravity really seems to want to help out with my efforts.
“Don’t worry yourself now, honey, I’ve got him.” Daddy’s big, brown hand easily lands on Kieran’s back and stops him from sliding down to land like a sack of potatoes. “You go inside and let me take care of everything. Go on, now,” he nods towards the open door, warm light spilling out onto the stoop and guiding my weary soul home.
“Thanks, Daddy.”
He kisses the top of my head, easily slinging Kieran’s arm over his own enormous shoulders. “Of course, honey. Now get in there and head to Pops’ office before I carry you there myself!”
Not having the strength or will to argue, I drag myself along the walkway, a deep sigh deflating my whole chest as that warm light washes over me. Home.
39. Monty
Pops turns his head as I enter, assessing me over the edge of his glasses, “Mm. Montgomery. Yes, take a seat—I’m looking over your friend first.” His hands are working methodically over Dizzy’s blood-streaked torso, examining the clotted streaks of crushed plant matter.
I all but flop onto one of his uncomfortable chairs. From my pocket, a tired squeak sounds. “I wouldn’t touch that, Pops. Best to wait until she wakes to try and remove it. Learned that the hard way.” Gently, I pull Aria out, cradling her small frame in one hand, petting softly with the other. As she weakly leans into the caress, I send the dredges of my energy through her, finding a few broken ribs and bruises to patch up along the way. She whistles a note of gratitude at me, then weakly flits herself over to Dizzy’s bed, splaying herself out as much as possible to cover Dizzy’s wounds.
One dark grey eyebrow arched dramatically, “Do you think it’s wise to exert yourself in such a state?”
Shrugging, my arms relax, hands landing hard in my lap. “Least I can do. Had to save someone.” My eyes don’t quite blink in sync any more, feeling heavier with each second. “You won’t find much wrong with Dizzy anyway—took me a while to come to terms with it. Just have to wait.”
> Daddy casts an imposing shadow in the doorframe, even with the frilly pink apron, as he drags an unconscious Kieran along. Calling brightly over his shoulder, “Morgan, would you be a dear and lift his legs up for me?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’ Daddy-o.” The scuffling of dragged feet announces Morgan’s entrance as he squeezes past the giant man being held up by a truly enormous one.
“Thanks, sugar. You ready? 1…2…3…” To me, it looks like he didn’t need the help, but Tyson’s always been big on inclusion, keeping everyone busy and feeling useful.
Pops’ looks over Kieran with the same removed, analytical precision as he does every patient, not at all flustered or concerned by the man’s ragged state. “Mm. I see. Perhaps it’s better I’m still fresh for this task.”
The bleeding stopped long ago, but there’s barely a space on Kieran’s body not coated in a thick layer of dark, clotted muck. One arm looks like it’s almost severed, layers of muscle sliced back over partially visible bone. With the amount of damage and erratic hair plastered all around, it’s difficult to tell what on Kieran’s head HASN’T been smashed in. A cluster of jagged gashes block out the whole surface of one ankle, foot dangling at an unnatural angle.
Dispassionately, Pops covers Kieran’s shredded shoulder with one hand, assessing the damage. “It’s fortunate the artery was missed. A laceration this deep would have been fatal within minutes.” The wide gash is completely gone by the time he’s done, not even a scar left behind. Pops lifts Kieran’s arm and tests its range of motion, moving it on a practiced, efficient path. Seemingly satisfied, he places a hand on either side of Kieran’s head, pausing to use his senses to assess the damage internally before physically lifting it, visually examining all sides.
“Tyson, would you kindly retrieve some warm water and a cloth? I’d imagine it will be easier for all parties if we clean him up a bit,” Pops asks, not looking over his shoulder.
