Three Days to Dead

Chapter 28

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As though my sudden understanding had robbed him of the last of his strength, Wyatt fell. He was too far away for me to catch him before he hit his knees. I caught him around the waist and eased him down onto his back. He looked like a ghost, pale skin stretched taut over his face. His lips were dry and colorless. Glassy eyes blinked up at me. Hard, shallow breaths dragged in and hissed back out.

My stomach twisted, tightened, and my heart nearly hammered right out of my chest. Fear blasted through me like a winter wind. I knelt beside him and cupped his cold cheeks in my trembling hands.

“Wyatt, look at me. Wyatt!”

He blinked twice, hard, and saw me. “Sorry.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“It’s better this way.”

I wanted to slap him, punch him hard until he took it back. Force him to stand up and dress me down for hitting a superior. Instead, I reached down and clasped his good hand. He squeezed back, so weak. Something thick clogged my throat. I swallowed hard, unable to dislodge it.

“Better for you, maybe, but I can’t do this alone.” My voice sounded strange—high-pitched and desperate. The din of the fight faded away until nothing existed but us.

His pale lips stretched into a tired smile. “You can, Evy. You have to.”

“This is my death, goddamnit, mine. Not yours.”

“You’ll be whole. Force his hand. You can win.”

I leaned over and pressed my forehead to his, as though I could keep him there by touch alone. His cool breath puffed against my lips, each exhale a struggle. I didn’t understand. Didn’t want to understand. I only wanted him to stay. Stay by my side and help me fight.

“Stay with me,” I whispered.

“I can’t. Evy, promise me.”

“Anything.”

The hand holding mine squeezed harder. “Live.”

My insides quaked. Everything in me screamed to get help, to fight and save him—even though I knew I couldn’t.

“Evy?”

“I promise.” I brushed my lips across his. When I pulled back, a single tear had marked a slick track down his cheek. My chest ached. Scorching tears pooled in my own eyes, stung my nose.

I held on until his hand loosened around mine. His eyelids drooped, forever hiding his glimmering black eyes. His chest rose once more and stopped. He lay so still I thought the world had frozen in place. Then an anguished scream broke the spell, and I realized it was me.

Until that moment, I’d never known the word “heartbroken” as anything other than a metaphor. Yet as I gathered Wyatt in my trembling arms and held him to my chest, I felt it happen. Something inside me shattered, releasing rage and anguish unlike anything I’d ever felt—whole and feral and never-ending. I pitched headlong into the despair of loss, with the last person I cared for in the world dead in my arms.

My descent into grief, however, was cut short rather rudely by a blinding gray light. Even with my eyes closed, it was all I could see. It blasted through me like a lightning bolt, electrifying every nerve ending. I was falling into consuming fire that did not burn. It invigorated me and, within the chaos of pain and ecstasy, a life played out in my mind’s eye.

A little girl so lonely she prefers playing with stuffed animals to other children, misunderstood by unknowing parents, misguided by well-meaning counselors. A misfit in high school who acts out and makes bad choices and ends up in trouble more times than her beleaguered parents can bail her out. Coping with the loss of everyone important to her and the desperate need for a fresh start.

They could have been my own memories, save the faces of the players and the point at which they diverged. For while my story ended in a fulfilling job with the Triads, this girl’s story ended in a tub of hot, bloody water. It was Chalice’s life that I experienced, all of her memories coming to the surface as the pact made between Wyatt and Tovin shattered.

Wyatt was dead. I got to live. Forever trapped in someone else’s body, with her life tucked into the back of my mind. Alive. Whole. And furious.

I see her walking across a college campus, balancing too many books and a coffee cup. A clumsy, harried young man knocks the books to the ground, getting coffee on his khakis. Alex. He gathers her books, smiling his sunny smile at her. I felt her love for him—genuine affection for a gentle soul who accepted her, warts and all. So undeserving of his violent fate.

How was I seeing these things? Chalice Frost was long dead, her soul at rest. Was memory more than just consciousness? Had some of her remained behind, her body as much a part of memory as her soul had been? I had enough trouble with my own memories and emotions; I didn’t need someone else’s crowding my head.

The gray light faded. Still holding Wyatt, I no longer felt the hard pavement beneath me. The cloying odor of earth and leaves clued me in before I got a good look. I had transported us both, quite by accident, into the woods. I could still hear the distant hum of voices, the occasional spatter of gunfire, the residual stink of the explosion.

Had my release from Tovin’s spell made me powerful enough to transport not just myself, but others? The evidence was in our new location, and the very faint ache between my eyes. My entire body thrummed with energy. It cycled up into me, like a lifeline to the earth itself. With full possession of Chalice’s body, I had tapped into the Break and was helpless to turn it off.

I eased Wyatt to the carpet of leaves. His head listed to the side and lay still. I touched his cheek, his forehead, memorizing his face. Revenge hadn’t felt so good when I enacted it for myself, but I had a feeling revenge was going to taste wonderful when I tore it out of Tovin’s ass.

Something poked my thigh as I rocked back on my heels, preparing to stand. I dug into my jeans pocket, the tips of my fingers sliding around something solid and hot. The crystal Horzt gave me. I pulled it out and held it between my forefinger and thumb. The clear crystal had turned cloudy white and was fiery to the touch. It seemed to pulse with life of its own.

When the time comes, you will know how to use it.

A tiny flare of hope burned bright in the back of my mind, but I refused to acknowledge it. It was too much to expect. I had lost everyone I loved. Wyatt was no different. So why did the crystal burn with life of its own?

I untied the blood-soaked bandanna from Wyatt’s arm and ripped a hole in the sleeve of the shirt. The wound was small, maybe the size of a dime. I poised the pointed tip of the crystal above the bullet hole. My stomach fluttered. I couldn’t dare to hope. I pushed the crystal in, down through torn flesh, until its length disappeared and blood oozed out to cover its presence completely. I kept my hand over it, uncertain what to do next.

“Please,” I said.

The skin beneath my hand warmed—from the crystal or my pressure, I didn’t know. The hard butt of the crystal softened until I no longer felt it. It seemed to melt into him. Hotter still, for only a moment, and then it cooled. I let go and brushed away the drying blood. The skin on his arm, once torn, was mended. I checked the other side—no exit wound.

My heart dared to hope, pounding hard, threatening to choke me, but Wyatt didn’t move. Didn’t open his eyes or suck in a ragged breath. Hope shattered into despair.

I put my right hand on his chest, threaded the fingers of my left above it, and depressed. One, two, three, four, five. “Come on, Wyatt.” One, two, three, four, five. “Come on, damnit.”

Again, nothing. I pounded with a closed fist. Fury and tears blinded me, choked me. No reaction. The crystal had been too little, too late.

“Fuck!”

I collapsed against his chest, too exhausted to sob. No more energy for grief. I couldn’t make his heart beat. I couldn’t force him to breathe. I couldn’t do anything, except finish the task we’d started together. Tovin had lost his vessel for the Tainted, but I had no illusions that he’d just roll over and give up. Creatures that cunning always had a failsafe.

Force his hand. You can win.

“I hope so.” I touched Wyatt’s lips with the tip of my finger, positive the warmth I felt was a figment of hope. “If I don’t, I’ll see you soon.”

I stood up, tapped into the Break with little effort, and thought about the line of Jeeps. Colors swirled. The world dissolved into a pale ache that lasted only until movement ceased, and I found myself face-to-face with a very stunned Kismet.

“Where the hell did you come from?” she asked. “Where’s Wyatt?”

“Dead,” I said, surprised at the even tone of my voice. “What’s our situation here?” She frowned, but I didn’t care how she interpreted my question. I had to finish this before I let myself fall to pieces.

“No movement inside the Center,” she said. “The Halfies aren’t attacking, but the Bloods are getting itchy, and we still can’t get past that barrier.”

“What about the thing they used the first time?”

“They only had the one, and getting another takes both time and money.”

“What if I can get us through? Well, me and maybe two others.”

“How?”

“A little trick I picked up along the way, but I don’t think I can carry more than two. Hell, I might not even get us across the barrier, so I’d pick two volunteers who don’t mind the distinct possibility of being smashed into putty when we try and spectacularly fail.”

“I’m in,” Tybalt said. He fell in next to Kismet, his mouth set in a grim line. “How about you, boss?”

She gave him a sideways look. Nodded. She pulled her walkie-talkie. “Baylor, come in.”

It crackled briefly. A male voice said, “Go ahead, Kis.”

“You’re point on ops outside. We may have a way in. I’m going in with Tybalt and Stone.”

“Acknowledged.”

She slipped the walkie-talkie back into her belt without a reply, checked the clip on her gun, then turned to me. “Ready when you are.”

“Do either of you know the layout of the Center?” I asked.

Tybalt nodded. “I came here a few times as a kid. The first floor is an open lobby, with a lounge and information booth. I think the second floor is offices and a couple of activity rooms. I never went up on the third, but the basement should be all storage.”

“And Tovin’s likely location. Underground gets him as close to the Break as possible. So I’ll aim for the lobby. It’s an open area. We’re less likely to land inside a desk or a wall.”

Kismet blanched.

I held out one hand to each of them and clasped theirs tightly. They reached to each other, completing the circle without being asked. I fed the thrum of energy through me and into them. Tybalt’s hand jerked; I held tight. “This might feel weird,” I said.

The world melted. The pain was immediate, because of the added weight and distance traveled. It furrowed between my eyes like a red-hot spike. We floated until the world turned blue. Power crackled around us. Agony exploded in my head. I screamed, pushed through it, and came out the other side, intent on the lobby.

As soon as I felt hardwood form beneath my feet, I let them go and fell to my hands and knees. Something warm and wet stained my upper lip. Drops of red hit the floor between my hands. The horrific pain faded, but the migraine-esque symptoms remained. My stomach tried to turn itself inside out. A hand touched the small of my back. I focused on the contact, used it to push the pain away and focus on standing.

“How did you do that?” Kismet asked.

“I’m Gifted now,” I said. “The girl whose body this was, she was an unfound tap. This is her—it’s my power. It’s never been this strong before, but Chalice and I … we’re truly one person now. Everything that was individually ours is mine.”

“So your emptying hourglass?”

“Busted.”

“Great. Now that you’ve solved that quandary for us, I—”

A low growl cut her off. I paid attention to our surroundings for the first time, cursing myself for not doing it sooner. The lobby was the length and width of the building itself. Freestanding walls had long since fallen over. The wood floor was warped in places, and scored in others. The main desk that dominated the very center of the lobby was covered with writing that, upon first glance, appeared to be graffiti. A better look revealed an actual language—albeit, one I couldn’t read.

And I didn’t have time to try, because the desk wasn’t the source of the growl. From the shadows of the rear corner of the lobby came a hulking shape—one that had become very familiar over the last three days. The snarling hound hybrid shambled into the light, saliva dripping from its bared fangs. It stopped, balanced on two legs, then drew up to its impressive height.

My fingers clenched around the hilt of the knife. I’d killed two of them. I could use one more notch on my belt.

“What rounds do you have in?” Kismet asked, her voice a hushed whisper.

“Anticoags,” Tybalt replied. “You?”

“Same.”

“Mine are frags,” I said. “Mix them up. It’ll kill that thing faster.”

Kismet reached behind me with precise movements, doing nothing to startle the hound into attacking faster. It was still fifteen feet away, approaching like it was on a Sunday stroll. She pulled my gun and tucked her own into its place.

“Get downstairs. We’ve got him,” she said.

“Destroy the desk, too. It could be the barrier spell,” I replied.

“Got it. Now go.” She stepped to the left. “Hey, ugly!”

I turned and ran as gunfire erupted behind me. Fast, toward the door marked EXIT. I crashed through the fire door and descended the dank, cement steps two at a time. The weapons play faded into the distance. I hit the basement level and was presented with two doors, made of the same heavy metal as the door upstairs, but these felt different—ominous and dark, the keepers of terrible secrets. The thrum of energy was strong. It crackled all around me. Whatever Tovin was doing, he’d already tapped into something.

My hand closed around the bar handle of the door on the left. A thunderous explosion from above shook the walls and trembled the ground beneath my feet. Dust drifted down. I sneezed and looked up, as if I could see up through the floor at what had happened.

“I hope that was the desk blowing up,” I said, wishing they could hear me. The barrier was beyond my powers or ability to detect, even through the Break. It didn’t matter, though, because Tovin had to know we were inside.

I pushed down on the bar. The door opened without resistance or noise. I slipped through into what, at first, looked like a high school science lab, or something out of a hokey television horror movie. Long metal tables covered with laboratory equipment straight from Young Frankenstein filled the center of the room—microscopes, petri dishes, flasks and vials, and intricate setups of tubes and burners and bubbling liquids.

The smell nearly felled me—a fetid mixture of waste and blood and rot, made sour by chemicals and lemon-scented cleaner. Fluorescent bar lights gave the entire room a sickly yellow cast. While my brain caught up to the stink, I scanned the perimeter of the room. The right wall was all open shelves and locked cabinets, fully stocked with supplies I couldn’t identify. The left and rear walls looked like dog kennels, each section four feet wide and the height of a man, partitioned by cement blocks. Iron bars more suited to a prison cell-block made up the fronts.

Something growled inside one of those kennels. A chill wormed its way up my spine. The hounds. They were artificially created hybrids, the source of which was right here and had been for quite a while, given the intricacy of the lab and its contents.

I made my way to the nearest cage, curiosity edging out common sense. The kennels weren’t lit, leaving the interiors cast in shadow. I remained at arm’s length and squinted through the iron bars. Matted, moldy straw covered the floor, which extended less than six feet to the rear.

Huddled in the corner was a creature the size of a five-year-old child. If it had ever been human, it had long ago ceased being so. Oily black skin glinted in the dim light. Short, connected spikes, like the dorsal fin of a pickerel, ran down its spine. I saw no face, no hands, only the backside of it.

The kennel had no label or designation, only the letter A painted above it. Each kennel was similarly lettered, all the way to N. Fourteen kennels, fourteen potential experiments. I forced myself to the next one. In the center, nestled in soiled straw, was a teenaged boy. Half of a teenaged boy. The entire left side of his body was stone, fixed in place and anchoring him to the ground. He blinked at me with one brilliant blue eye, an image of perfect despair.

“Holy shit.”

I backed away, unable to bring myself to look into the rest of them. I didn’t want to see the abominations created by mad scientists—or more precisely, a mad elf—for reasons I could never hope to understand.

Something squealed. My head snapped up and right, to the very last kennel. The door had swung open. I slipped sideways, putting the rows of lab tables between me and it, fixed on the shadowed interior. The occupant snuffled. Straw shifted—a dry and wheezy sound. My knife hand twitched.

The thing that finally showed itself shouldn’t have been able to move. It shouldn’t have even been alive. The size of a house cat, sans fur or distinctive markings or muscle mass of any kind, it had twin incisors at least four inches long. Like the living skeleton of a saber-toothed tiger kitten, it trotted out of its cage and leapt onto the nearest lab table.

Claws clicked on the metal surface. I watched it sniff a petri dish. It hissed—a horrible sound like steam escaping. One step at a time, I backed toward the door. It continued its forage along the table, paying me no heed. Only a few feet to go and I would escape the waking nightmare. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure the thing could hear it.

I closed my hand around the door handle and pushed down. The gentle clack was all it took. Skele-kitty raised its head, sunken eyes looking right at me. It yowled, and the screech made my teeth ache. It raced toward me, faster than it had any right to move. I pushed against the door, went through, and shoved it closed again. The critter hit with a thump. Unless it knew how to open doors, it was trapped.

“Okay, let’s try door number two.”

With perfect silence in the stairwell and lobby above, I pushed through the second door and into another stairwell. The basement had a basement. Interesting. It also had no light of any kind. After a moment fiddling with the door and finding no way to prop it open, I gave up and let darkness envelop me.

The stairs were steeper, wood instead of cement, and still held a hint of pine fragrance. They were new enough that I doubted they were part of the original floor plans. I dragged my fingertips along the rough, packed-dirt walls, each step taking me farther into the gloom.

My foot finally landed on something harder than wood. I scraped the toe of my sneaker around. Cement floor. I’d hit bottom. I fumbled until my eyes adjusted enough to make out a thin line of light on the floor, roughly the width of a door. The metal frame was embedded in the dirt walls and within it was another steel fire door. Another handle. Another room.

I pressed my palm against the smooth metal. It hummed beneath me like a living thing. The short hairs on the back of my neck prickled. I was there, on the precipice of solving my entire three-day ordeal. Facing Tovin, and getting what few answers he might reveal before I cut his black heart out with my knife. But standing there, so close to what I wanted, I hesitated.

Wyatt was supposed to be by my side for this. We should have been facing Tovin together. A pang of loneliness loosed a flood of power through my body. I had to maintain control. The last thing I needed was to teleport out in the middle of killing the bad guy. I inhaled deeply, blew out through my mouth, and pushed down on the door handle.

Showtime.