Black Fallen (21 page)

I stop. “Yes, I am,” I answer. “Why?”

“Och, a Yank. Here on holiday?” he continues. He’s short, with a bulbous red nose.
The man obviously likes his whiskey.

I smile. “Right again.”

His eyes, crinkled at the corners, graze over the inked wings at mine. “Right. Well
you might want to bear right just up the way and take the Radical Road. ’Tis a rough
track that’ll take ya straight up to the Seat.”

I give a nod. “Thanks.”

“Aye,” he responds, and turns to finish locking up the door.

With a wave, I jog onward. At the end of the block I bear right, and sure enough,
around the palace, which is pretty impressive, is a rough road. Radical Road. I take
it and, after seeing no one around, open up.

Even at top speed I can’t help but notice how wild yet gorgeous the landscape is.
The grass is still green, even in October, and stretches out toward the sharp hill
that juts up—Arthur’s Seat—and the beauty of it takes me by surprise. I have to remember
that just because there is evil invading Edinburgh doesn’t mean the city itself is
evil. It’s . . . stunning. And I wish more than anything Eli could be here to see
it with me. One day, again. Soon.

Before I know it, the sun is dropping fast, but I don’t care. I can still see out,
and I’m determined to make it to the top of the Seat. A sweet aroma—different from
the city’s brine—hits my nose. Clover? Whatever it is, I like it. It soothes me. Pushes
me harder. Soon I’m at the foot of the Seat and I start the climb. It’s not straight
up, so I run at an angle, and at one point I’m bent over, using hands and feet to
gain the top. Sharp rock, spongy stuff that I can’t identify, and clumps of faded
brownish-purple bushes that I think are heather are all over. They’re not soft to
the touch. Neither are the thistles. I ignore all of that, though, and scrap my way
over and up. As a full-fledged human it would’ve taken me, I don’t know, probably
an hour or two to climb. Now? Let’s just say I left the Crescent about fifteen minutes
ago and I’m nearly to the top. I notice how fast the sun drops out of site, and the
purple-and-pink-streaked sky has become gray and dark. It’s not pitch out yet, but
it’s getting there. I’d better hurry or I’ll miss the view.

In less than three minutes I’m at the top. The city’s lights are on now and the castle
is illuminated, a guiding light in its gray center. Tall, dark spires that look like
jagged shadows jut skyward. I can hear tires splash through puddles. Doors scraping
the wood floor as they close. Grease sizzling as battered fish and whatever else is
being fried. Conversations merge, and I have to block them all out because trying
to decipher the different dialects and accents makes my head hurt. I breathe in, long,
deep. That clover smell is potent up here, almost like someone’s just cut the grass
and run over a giant pile of, well, clover. And some other things I’m not familiar
with. Makes you think nothing could ever be as wrong as they are down in the city.

But they damn sure are.

Since going down has to be even easier than going up, I know I’ll get back to the
Crescent in minutes. Just as I start down, I jolt to a stop. A dead halt.

A lone figure stands twenty feet away. His face is cast in shadows, and I see nothing
but his silhouette. My heart leaps.

“Eli?” I say out loud. Jesus Christ, it looks just like him. At least I feel it does.
His height, body shape, broad shoulders. Even the way he stands. I move slowly toward
him. He’s saying nothing, yet I feel . . . something. A familiar presence about him.
“Eli, is that you?” I know it sounds absurd that I even think it. I saw what happened
to him at Waverly Station. There’s no denying what happened. Yet . . . I still have
doubt.
Eli! If it’s you, you’d better goddamn answer me!

I’m almost to the figure now, and he’s not moving. He’s not speaking.

He’s not breathing.

I hear no heartbeat.

I freeze. Standing my ground, I do nothing but stare.

The image blurs, shifts, and disappears.

Blinking, I gape at the empty space. I rub my eyes with my knuckles and look again.
I look around. I’m on the Seat, totally alone.

And I must be losing my frickin’ mind. Now I’m seeing what I think is Eli? Shaking
my head, I start down the Seat once more, and in a couple of seconds I’m at a full
run. I cross the park, leaving the path and going straight across the grassy field,
and pass a small body of water. A loch. Maybe one day I can return and enjoy all of
this to its fullest.

I circle the palace, and the second my feet hit the grounds of the ruined abbey, a
body hurls from the shadows and knocks square into me. I go flying sideways and land
under its weight. “What the hell?” I mutter, and with two hands easily shove the body
off me. I jump to my feet. “What are you doing?” I say to the kid pushing up off the
ground where I threw him. From the shadows of the abbey, five more emerge. Six guys
in all, and in this light I’d say they’re between the ages of eighteen and twenty-three.
Youth. Probably punks.

Shit.

I don’t have time for this.

“Where ya goin’, lass, in such a feckin’ hurry?” one says, and he steps closer to
me. The others fall in behind him. One by one, they fan out. Circling me.

“What are you?” another says. “We watched you run from the Seat. You ain’t normal.”

“I’m very normal,” I say. “Now move. I’ve got somewhere to go.”

One bold one takes a few steps up and pushes me backward. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere,
miss.” He cocks his head, his face half in shadows. “What’s with the ink?” he reaches
out and tries to touch my cheek.

Bad move.

I grab his arm and in a second have it twisted up and behind him. The others loom
toward me, and I yank his arm higher. He curses and yells. “You’re feckin’ breakin’
my arm, bitch!”

I tug a few more times, and he yelps. “No,” I say, in his ear, calculating. “You’ve
still got a little more give before the bone snaps.”

“Ge’ off me!” he yells, his accent heavy.

The others advance. And without hesitation.

I look at the one in the lead.
Fall to your knees.

He does with a yell. “Feck!”

The next one’s already looking at me.
Down on your side, grab your balls, and scream like a girl.

He does, but the screaming is so annoying and loud that I put a stop to it.
Scream silently.

His mouth is wide open but nothing’s coming out. Perfect.

The rest, all wearing dingy clothes and T-shirts with jackets, fall in the same manner.
Squirming on the ground in silence. I walk the one standing, my hand still jacking
his arm up behind him, toward the ruined abbey wall. I look up and notice the darkened
sky peeking through what once was a grand window but now is a gaping mouth in stone.
I shove the kid against the wall, face into stone. “Do you seriously not have anything
better to do than jump, or try to jump, women in the park? Really?” I shove him harder,
and he grunts. His hair is cut close, or I’d grab a handful of it and yank him hard.
“Stop being a useless piece of shit for society and go do something. Get a job. Whatever.”
I lean close, my mouth to his ear. “But be careful who you fuck with.”

I give him one last push into the stone wall. He grunts again.

Now drop to your knees, be quiet, and don’t turn around for five minutes.

I let him go and he drops to his knees.

With a glance at the rest, I shake my head and take off back to Canongate, wondering
the whole time not who that group of punk guys could’ve potentially raped or beaten
if I weren’t there, but what exactly I saw on top of the Seat.

And why I thought it was Eli.

The streets are dark now, lamps burning and shining on the wet cobbles, and people
are hustling about. The wind has picked up and it’s brisk against my cheeks. I barely
make it to Old Tolbooth Wynd before I almost run smack into Noah. His face is glowering,
almost illuminated, in the lamplight.

“Where’ve you been?” he asks.

“Lose the ’tude, Miles. Jesus. I went for a run,” I answer.

“Alone? Without telling anyone? Seriously?” he says angrily. “Goddamn, Riley. Use
your head.”

I stare at him, bewildered. “I like the old Noah better. You know, the one who eggs
me on at a vampire fight club?” I frown. “Where’s that guy?”

Noah’s eyes soften in the lamplight as his gaze locks onto mine. “He left the minute
Dupré did.” Sun-streaked dreadlocks shift over his shoulder as he shakes his head.
“Eli made me vow to watch over you if anything ever happened to him. And I take my
vows seriously, Ri.”

We start walking up the wynd and toward the Crescent. I glance at Noah. “Well . . .
thank you. I appreciate it. But I can—”

“Handle yourself. Yeah, I know.” He grins. “Eli said you’d say that. A while back,
in Savannah. Before we left.”

I smile again. “Yeah, he would.” Inside, though, my heart is ripping just thinking
of him. “Noah, up on the hill back there. I . . . thought I saw him.” I look at him.
“Eli.”

Noah’s face hardens. “Who was it?”

I kind of laugh and shake my head. “That’s just it. It was . . . no one, I guess.”
My gaze meets his. “He . . . blurred, faded, and disappeared. No one else was around
except, well, that was later, by the abbey.”

Noah grabs my arm and we both jerk to a halt. “What happened at the abbey?”

I snatch my arm back. “Listen, vow or not, you can’t be Mr. Overprotective all the
time. Good Lord.” I shake my head. “Humans. Kids. Punk kids. I took care of them.”

“How many?” he asks.

“Six.”

“God, Riley,” he mutters. We get to the gates, and the others are already waiting.
“What’d you do to them?”

I shrug. “Nothing much.” I smile. “Promise.”

“So you’ve found your way home again,” Jake says. “We’re going to hunt in sections,
teams of three. Miles, Gabriel, and Sydney. Darius, you’re with the lupines. Arcos,
Riley, and myself. Keep to the shadows. It’s what they prefer. Royal Mile upward way,
the castle gardens below, the clubs on Niddry Street, around the kirk yards. My group
will take first Tron Kirk, St. Giles’, and Greyfriars, and the university. And any
close or wynd in between. Darius, your group takes Niddry Street. Gabriel, castle
gardens, Scotts Monument, Waverly.”

Noah gives me a furtive look.
I hate not being beside you. Fucking hate it. Be careful, and don’t do anything stupid.
Got it?

Yeah, I got it, Mr. Grumpypants. Keep your mind in the game. Sydney, above all else,
needs her back watched. It’s why you’re with them tonight. I told Jake what a kick-ass
fighter you are. And don’t worry. I’ll be safe. Pinky promise.
I smile and nod, despite the scowl he gives me, and join my team.

Through the darkness, old Peter comes hurrying toward me across the Crescent’s drive.
“Here ya go, miss,” he says in his heavy accent, making
go
sound like
goo.
Ya canna forget these now. Can ya?” He hands me my coat and sword.

I grin and take them. “Thanks, Peter.”

“Aye,” he answers, bobbing his gray, cap-covered head. “Be safe now, the lot of ya.”

I pull my arm through the leather strap, buckle it at the waist, and sheath the sword.
Victorian helps me into my coat.

“I know you’re in pain over your man,” Victorian says close to my ear. “But even I
agree with Miles. Get your head in the game, Riley.” He turns me around and looks
me in the eye. “I couldn’t bear to see you harmed. In any way.” His gaze deepens.
“I won’t bear it.”

I stare at him. “Okay, okay, Vic. Chill. I promise. I will be careful.”

He continues to study me, as if he doesn’t believe a word of it.

With good reason.

“Okay, let’s go,” Jake calls. We all disperse.

We immediately cross over to Cowgate and head toward George IV Bridge. There are a
few cafés still open, a bakery, and a few chip shops. Several restaurants. Traffic
on the streets has slowed, almost as much as foot traffic has on the sidewalks. We
reach Candlemaker’s Row and head toward Greyfriars. We slip into the shadows, hug
walls, and keep a critical eye—and nose—out for Jodís. I see and smell nothing unusual.
We move in and out of alleyways, behind businesses, and into any small, shadowy place
evil would lurk. Nothing. Finally, at Greyfriars, a guided ghost tour is just leaving
the kirk yard as we pass. The guide, a big guy with a head full of dark hair and a
black cloak, stares hard at us, but continues on with his group.

Inside the kirk yard, we separate and slip around the many stone crypts and headstones
filling the ancient hallowed yard. The cemetery is neatly manicured, with paved pathways
among green grass. Ahead I hear something. A heartbeat. Alone. I back into the shadows
and wait. Soon a young woman appears on the path coming in through the front gates
of Greyfriars. Why she’s alone, I have no idea. It’s well after nine p.m. She must’ve
slipped away from the tour group. She’s dressed in a black peacoat, with her hair
all tucked up beneath a cream-colored knitted cap. She has her hands stuffed into
her pockets and is walking fast. So fast, she walks right past me without noticing.
I follow.

Where are you?
Victorian calls to me inside my head.

I don’t know. By a crypt. There’s someone in here. Human. She seems to know where
she’s going.
I answer.

And where’s that?
Vic asks.

Then the smell hits me. Stronger than usual. That means there’s more than just one.

Jodís, Jake, Vic. Get over here. I can smell them. I’m near a wall of graves. So gray,
some almost look black. And there’s a woman in here.

No way in freaking Hell is another Jodís going to kill an innocent with me this close
by. I hurry behind her, my eyes darting in the dark. No Jodís yet. Hopefully, we’re
here in time. I ease back into the shadows as I follow her. I don’t want to scare
her and I don’t want the Jodís to see me. Not yet anyway.