It was just like déjà vu all over again.
A huge grey figure dropped into Mercy’s trajectory and she crunched right into ex-NRL player, Henry ‘The Colonel’ Tanqueray. Mercy bounced off, leaving smears of her pale blood on his chest. Her face was as bloody as Dev’s, nose and cheeks broken on impact. One arm hung oddly, bones cracked and breaking through her skin in jagged stumps.
The instant she realised what had happened, she was up and retreating, eyes wide with… fear.
This was the thing that had hurt her worse than anything else ever had. Like me, she’d been incredibly close to death a time or two, but that was nothing like the paralysis she’d suffered after her last encounter with Tanqueray. Alive but not really living. She was, mostly, all about hunting and feeding. Take those things away from her and she was nothing. This thing had taken those things away from her. She backed off.
Tanqueray followed her, herding her away from the rest of us. The rogue crept forward in their wake, moving cautiously.
“Stop right there,” Erin commanded, gun trained on the rogue.
She didn’t stop. Just kept coming, all but ignoring Erin in favour of watching me and Dev warily.
“Belinda!” Erin adjusted her aim. “Stop, or I’ll shoot.”
That got her. Halting, Belinda turned the shadowed depths of her hood toward Erin.
“No, you won’t.” The voice was that same sexless one she’d been using all along.
“I will.”
“All right. You will.” But she started walking again, heading for us.
Erin fired.
Belinda’s leg went out from under her. She hit the road hard.
We waited, watching the downed rogue for any sign of movement. There was none. I took a step toward her.
“No,” Dev gurgled. “She’s not hurt.”
“But—”
“Upgrades.”
To stop a bullet?
Erin lowered the gun and even from my distance, I could see her hands shaking. On the far side of the bridge, Tanqueray had also gone still. Like a statue. Mercy was still hyper wary, though. Her fear thrummed down the link, but threaded with courage. So she stayed close to the stone man, ready to attack if needed.
Belinda sat up. Then she stood up. The leg of her track pants over her knee was torn by the bullet. There was even a splash of blood on the material. She moved as if there was no damage.
Tanqueray came back to life. Mercy backed off again, trying to lead him further and further away from us.
Glock back at the ready, Erin aimed.
“You can empty your clip into me,” Belinda said calmly, still moving. “It won’t matter. Nothing matters anymore.”
She stopped several metres away from me and Dev.
Bullets might not matter, but I’m sure I had something that would. Unlike the stone monkeys or Tanqueray, she didn’t have the weight to resist my telekinesis.
I directed the blast down my left arm.
Belinda twisted her hand and my arm wrenched sideways and down. The force of my telekinesis hit the bitumen. I was thrown backwards, not braced for the impact.
As if I was as annoying as a gnat, Belinda faced Dev. He was still on his knees, unable to catch his breath between a bloody nose and possibly broken ribs.
“I told you, Randy, to go home.” Then she pushed back her hood.
The body was male, definitely, but the face was female. It was Belinda as I’d seen at the hospital, but slightly different. Not as gaunt, fuller lips, blue eyes the same shade as Dev’s.
“Lana,” he croaked out.
“Holy shit,” I breathed.
Dev lost it. He was crying and shaking his head. “Lana, God. He said you were dead. That Friedrich burned you.”
Cold, emotionless eyes regarded him, unmoved by the way his voice broke. “He did burn me. He broke me and then he burned me. At least, he burned the extra layer of skin I crafted over my body.”
“But they found a body,” I blurted out. My arm was twisted nearly out of its socket for my trouble. The arm itself didn’t hurt. The rest of me, however.
“I mocked up a body for them to find,” she said. “They thought I was dead. I wanted to be dead. Leave me in my grave, Randy. Go home. Forget about me.”
“I can’t. Lana, come home with me. We’ll get you help.”
The cool veneer cracked. “I don’t want help. I want to be left alone. No one can hurt me if I’m on my own.”
Dev tried again. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“Because that worked so well last time. Do you know what he did to me? The things he made me do? He told me if I did them, he’d let you go. So I did them, Randy. For you. I let him use me, in any way he wanted, just for you.”
“Lana.” It was barely a whisper. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
“If you were really sorry, you’d leave. Leave so I won’t have to kill anyone. So I can be in peace.”
Slowly, Dev got to his feet. He swayed but didn’t fall. “But you have killed, Lana. The person you mocked up to be your dead body. That footballer. All those people at Friedrich’s mansion. The drivers and the servants. Your own team of shooters. They didn’t need to die.”
Lana nodded firmly, once. “They did, Randy. They knew what he was doing to me and they didn’t stop him.”
“They were victims, too,” he said, sounding stronger. “As much prisoners there as we were.”
“No. They knew he was ra—”
“I knew, too, Lana! Do you think Elise didn’t take great pleasure in telling me every little thing he was doing to do you up there? Every time he touched you, I knew about it! I went insane in that basement. Elise caught me every time I managed to get out and burned another layer of skin off my back. But I kept trying, Lana. For you! I knew and didn’t stop it, either.”
She was trembling under the onslaught of his confession, flinching with every punctuated point. It was the most human I’d ever seen her, as Belinda or the rogue. There were no tears, just a full body reaction to her brother’s torment.
“Well, Lana?” Dev demanded. “Are you going to kill me, too? Do I deserve to die?”
Whatever sanity she had left snapped.
“Yes!” she screamed at him. “Yes, you need to die, Randy! You let him hurt me. You let him kill me.”
“Then do it!” He leaned right into her, throwing his arms wide, defenceless. “Kill me, Lana.”
She hauled back, the short nails on her hand growing into claws in the blink of an eye, aimed to take out his throat in a single sweep.
I body charged her. Slammed my side of stone into her stomach. Kinetic energy, directly applied.
Lana went flying backward. She crashed down on the rubble of one of her stone monkeys. Bones broke. I heard them break, but she was moving almost instantly. Rolling and pulling in her limbs even as they mended, she bounced back to her feet and rounded on me. I held up my arm, ready for a hit of telekinesis, but she grabbed onto it with her sorcery again and tossed me. I tried to control the fall, landing on my left side. Still, I was dazed and down for the moment. As fast as she was, Lana would be all over me in an instant.
She wasn’t as fast as a vampire at speed though.
Silver light swept by and collected Lana in a body check that made mine into a rather embarrassing attempt. Lana should have shattered on the debris like one of her monkeys, but she rolled as she hit, as I had. Unlike me, she came back up on her feet, ready for more.
Mercy came in again, but without half a bridge worth of run up, she wasn’t as blinding fast. Lana spun out of the way, sweeping low with a foot. The vampire, even more elegantly than Lana or me, turned the fall into a graceful tumble, popping back up. Giving up the speed, she launched right at Lana, hissing and spitting.
Like vampires, given half a bridge’s worth of run up, stone footballers could pack a wallop. Tanqueray lumbered into the fight with all the momentum of an out of control juggernaut. Lana sprang clear of Mercy just as Tanqueray hit. Mercy
was thrown into the side of an abandoned sedan. A second later, Tanqueray smashed into it. Anything between him and the car would have been pulverised.
I went berserk.
Springing to my feet, all the damage to my body lost amidst the red haze, I body slammed Lana again. She rolled and came back up, facing me. I had my left hand out, telekinesis burning at path down its length.
Almost laughing, Lana grabbed onto the stone she’d created in my arm again.
Any mental control I may have once had was severely compromised, and while Lana tossed me again, I was also slipping down the link, sharing Mercy’s pain and fear and anger. She burrowed through the crushed remains of the car, the huge stone man crunching after her. This terror, this new, frightening thing, burned through her, making her falter, making her fear the possibility of being hurt. She had to get away, but at the same time, had to help me. She just didn’t know how. Didn’t know if she could because it was right there, coming for her and she had to get away before it hurt her again.
It struck me as I tumbled away from Lana, as I landed on Dev, huddled over his knees, burned arms cradled close to his chest as he relived those horrible days of captivity. He grunted and shoved me off, pressing a small object into my left hand as he did so. My fingers closed over it reflexively.
Then, Lana caught me by the ensorcelled parts again, rolled me. In a flash I saw my demise. Tipped over the side of the bridge, to sink into the river, not yet stone enough to survive, like Tanqueray had, but heavy enough to sink without hope of being saved in time.
I did the only thing I could. My body was useless, Mercy’s mind was lost in a mad swirl of panic.
I dove down the link, leaving my body behind. Slamming into Mercy, her psyche tumbled out of the driver’s seat and I settled in to her small, slender, infinitely more powerful body. I spun her around in the tight confines of the smashed car and kicked my way out of the back window. Tanqueray was still behind me, crashing and smashing, getting closer and closer. Ignoring him, I dived away from the hulk and, the night blurring around me, flew past Erin, still on her perch atop the 4WD, but useless without a clear target, and reached the BMW.
In the backseat, Feeble was cowering against Craver, who did his best to not shove her off him, though the twist to his lips said it was a serious challenge. Beside the girl, however, was what I wanted.
Jerking the door open, blanking out Feeble’s weak scream, I grabbed the bottle of alcohol. Leaning over, I smacked open the glove compartment and, bingo, grabbed up the taser.
I spun around and came face to chest with a rock wall. Bottle and taser dropped to the seat of the car.
Tanqueray grabbed for me. Mercy’s intense fear flooded her body, overriding my control. We staggered back against the BMW. The giant loomed, hard and invulnerable and oh so terrifying.
The prickle of impending sorcery sizzled along Mercy’s skin. All the primal vampire instincts bridled in response, so that when Tanqueray was struck by a sudden and violent twitching in his remaining biological bits, Mercy surged, her higher functions taking an enforced hiatus. Rage and the need to hunt, to dominate, to destroy obliterated the fear and the vampire was back in charge. Mercy sprang.
Dislodged, I fell back into my own body, finding myself closer to the edge of the bridge than I had been. Lana, her expression closed down, showed neither glee nor anger, just a grim determination to get this done. I struggled against her hold on my arm, but she had too much leverage, too much momentum. Over I went again, and again. Another roll and I’d be on the brink.
“Hey, bitch.”
Lana twitched, then slowly turned.
Mercy stood there, torn and bleeding, but right there. Behind her, the stone man stood where she’d left him, his neck a craggy stump, head cracked and broken at his feet.
“He’s not yours,” Mercy snarled.
Deadly quiet, Lana focused on the vampire. The acidic tingle of sorcery spiked. Before the trick was unleashed, though, Mercy moved. She threw the bottle of rum to the bitumen at Lana’s feet. The glass shattered, making Lana jerk backwards, away from the spray of alcohol. In a flash, Mercy struck the spill with the taser, triggering it.
Flames burst into life.
The effect was immediate. Lana screamed and flung herself away from the fire, utter panic in the uncoordinated flailing of her limbs. Like her brother, she had developed a pathologic fear of fire, to such a degree she couldn’t do anything else but try to escape it.
Lana tried to flee, spinning right into me. Right into Dev’s switchblade in my left hand.
I’ve said it before, shove a long enough knife into anything’s heart, it’s probably going to kill them.
Chapter 52
“Hey.”
Dev barely had the energy to lift his head at the softly spoken word. Erin stood before him, a bowl of soup on a plate in one hand and a mug of something hot in the other.
“You should eat,” she murmured, turning and setting it all down on the coffee table.
“I’m not hungry.” He didn’t lie. In fact, he couldn’t even imagine wanting to eat ever again. Everything was numb, inside and out.
Erin frowned down at him, then with a determined sigh, smoothed out her expression and sat on the couch beside him. “Dr Carver said you need to replenish your body. The soup is chicken and sweet corn. I think it was a gift from Matt’s neighbours,” she said with a small smile, “before he went all tough love on them. It’s good, which is proof enough Matt didn’t make it himself. I haven’t known him long but I do know his culinary talents only extend to pasta and even then, that’s mostly just pouring a store bought sauce over store bought pasta. The drink is green tea, the only tea I could find in his cupboards.”
He knew what she was trying to do. Distract him. Divert his thoughts from the internal rollercoaster ride. Blindside him into making the motions of life, trick him into thinking it was possible to continue on.
She didn’t understand, though. Lana was dead. Again. There was nothing left of her or her life to keep him going. He’d tossed aside any chance he’d had at a normal life when he’d agreed to learn the Art with her. He’d sacrificed a long life just so Lana would have someone level-headed enough to keep her out of trouble.
Not that it had worked, regardless, and now he didn’t even have a burning vengeance to keep propelling him forward.
Dr Carver had mended his broken ribs and sealed up the broken blood vessels in his head, but Dev still felt the ghost of those injuries. A lingering burn in his chest if he breathed too deep and a sickening wave of dizziness if he moved his head too fast.
So he didn’t do those things. He just sat in the corner of the couch and tried not to think. Tried not to breathe, or hurt, or feel. Tried not to remember seeing his sister crumple to the surface of the bridge, her body loose and broken, sprawling across the shattered remains of one of her monstrous stone monkeys. Desperately, fiercely tried not to remember that small moment of relief when he’d realised she was dead, that her pain was over, that she wouldn’t hurt anyone again—that it had been Matt Hawkins who’d done it.
Not Dev.
Erin didn’t say anything more. She just reached over and squeezed his hand, gentle and reassuring.
They were back at Matt’s place. Dev barely remembered getting there. Had only vague thoughts of Erin hauling him up off the road and bullying him to the BMW. Flashes of the vampire doing the same for Matt, his heavy, unresponsive left arm slung over her shoulders. Dev did recall, however, in perfect clarity, the sight of his switchblade clutched in Matt’s hand, unable to be dropped from his immobile fist. Still saw in his mind’s eye the way Lana’s blood dripped from its point.
Somehow they’d all ended up in the one car, Dev, Matt and Fiona squished into the back, Carver in the front passenger seat. Erin and Mercy had argued outside the car for a minute, then Erin had got behind the wheel while the vampire headed back to where the final clash had occurred. Thankfully, they’d pulled away before Dev could even peri
pherally understand what Mercy was doing.
The BMW was off the bridge and taking random turns to evade the incoming police and firetruck cavalcade by the time the Moto Guzzi had caught up. A single, black-haired rider had waved at them as she passed by, burning ahead to lead the way home.
Once there, Carver had healed Dev’s physical ailments, then, with the spell Mercy had obviously retrieved from Lana’s body, disappeared into Matt’s bedroom with him. That had been several hours ago.
Beside him, Erin stirred and looked over her shoulder.
Dev didn’t have to look to know what she’d see. It was same thing she’d seen every other time she’d looked.
A closed bedroom door, only silence from beyond it. A tiny vampire curled up against the door, her ear pressed to the wood, expressionless as she strained to hear and feel what was happening in there.
“Any idea…?” she asked, also for the umpteenth time, her tone weighted by weary concern.
Dev moved enough to answer, “No,” has he had every other time.
She sighed and slumped back. After a moment, with an irritated scowl, she got up and went to the far end of the couch.
Fiona had given in to overwhelming emotional exhaustion and was curled up in a tight, trembling ball, sleeping fitfully. Erin had tucked a blanket around the girl, leaving only a fan of bright red hair visible. Laying a hand on the girl’s covered shoulder, Erin seemed to reassure herself Fiona was all right, then she moved on to her next patient.
“Mercy,” Erin said softly. “It’s nearly dawn.”
The vampire was about as responsive as the rest of them.
“Come on. You need to get to your room.”
“No.” The response was quiet and solemn, a complete contrast to every other mood she’d shown so far. “He needs me.”
“Yes,” Erin agreed. “He needs you to be there for him when he’s better, so you should get to bed now. Sleep and rest so you can take care of him when you wake up.”
There was an expectant silence, then, “I’m not a child.”
The tone of Mercy’s voice was almost enough to coax Dev into looking. Almost, but not quite.
Rock Paper Sorcery Page 38
