Dark Deceiver (11 page)

He tensed for Autumn's questions, but her attention was focused elsewhere.

“Is she still alive?” Her hand, where it touched his arm, shook.

“Yes.” Barely. They hurried up the steps to find Tarrys waiting for them at the entrance, her feet bare beneath a pair of too-long jeans, a Redskins sweatshirt hanging to her hips, tears in her eyes.

“Jack called. Myrtle is preparing the ritual.” She held the door for Kade, then followed him to the elevator.

“Hey!” A man shouted. “You can't bring her in here. She's bleeding!”

Kaderil sent the man a glower that had him scurrying backward.

“Kade!” Autumn held the elevator door for him as he strode inside.

“I'll call the cops!” the man shouted, but his threats were quickly drowned by the closing of the doors.

Tarrys's eyes widened. “Is it illegal to harbor the injured?”

Autumn scoffed. “He doesn't want the blood on his floors.” She hit the wall of the elevator with the palm of her hand. “Come on, come on.
Faster.
”

When the doors finally opened, Kaderil followed the women down the hall to where Jack's aunt Myrtle stood in the same red dress he'd seen her in before, her expression grave.

Kaderil eased his dying burden through the door of an apartment that looked as though someone had plucked it from a flower garden. He followed the silent Myrtle to a bedroom as blue as the sky.

“Put her down, Kade.”

He laid Larsen onto the striped bedspread, watching her head roll to one side, her face without color. He eased his arms out from under her and stepped back, his gaze seeking Autumn. She took his hand and held it tightly, her eyes bright with tears, her lips tight with misery.

“Oh, dear,” Myrtle said, her words choked with tears. The blood still flowed freely from Larsen's abdomen. She covered her mouth, tears springing to her eyes. “This is far more than I can do. We must call an ambulance.”

“Myrtle…” Autumn said. “There isn't time. Jack believed you could save her. He believed you were the only one who could. You have to try.”

Tarrys joined the older woman beside the bed. “I'll help you,” she said softly. Myrtle lowered her hand and enfolded the smaller woman in a tight hug. Against her shoulder, Tarrys said, “I haven't much magic, but what little I have is yours.”

Myrtle pulled away. “All right, then. Let's try.” She pulled a stoppered bottle from the lace-trimmed basket sitting on the bedside table. “Open her shirt, Autumn. All the way. You can leave her bra.”

Autumn released Kaderil's hand and moved to Larsen's side. But as her fingers moved from one button to the next, a sob caught in her throat. “I can't do this.”

“You must, dear. I must see the wounds.”

Kaderil stepped forward. He gave Autumn's shoulder a squeeze, then wrapped his arms around her and helped her pull the bloody fabric from the ruined flesh. Pressure throbbed between his eyes at the damage wrought by such small bullets.

The wounds bared, Myrtle unstoppered a small vial of oil, filling the room with a smell that burned the insides of his nostrils.

Tarrys slapped her hand over her nose. Autumn pulled out of his embrace and turned to face Myrtle with a grimace. “It smells like dead animals.”

Myrtle said nothing, merely poured a small puddle of oil between Larsen's breasts and laid two rocks on top of the glistening pool. She replaced the oil in the basket, then pulled out a stack of candles and handed them to Autumn with a pack of matches.

“Replace the other candles with these, then light them. Quickly. And pull the drapes.”

Autumn gave the matches to Kaderil while she and Tarrys changed the candles. Kaderil stared at the small package. He'd never struck a match, for Esria was lit by magic, but he searched his borrowed memories and found the trick. On the third try, the match sparked and burst into flame, a small triumph as long as no one started murmuring the death chant. As he lit the candles, Autumn and Tarrys lifted them to light others until the room flickered with candlelight.

“Silence please, children.” Myrtle sat on the bed, placed one hand on the rocks, the other on Larsen's forehead, and began to hum, then to sing under her breath, her words only sporadically audible.

With a shock, Kaderil recognized the words as Esrian. He shouldn't be surprised. Sitheen magic came from the Esri.

“Heart beat with life…illness flee…vanquish death. Tarrys, your hand, please, dear.”

As Tarrys sat across from Myrtle on the bed and placed her hand atop the older woman's, Autumn came back to stand beside him, tears in her eyes. Kaderil pulled her against him in a movement that felt as natural as breathing. He enfolded her tightly in his arms as her grief buried sharp claws in his heart, his chest filling with the echoes of her misery and heartache.

As he stroked her back, she trembled and clung to him and he felt needed, truly needed, for the first time in his life.

The seconds turned to minutes as they stood, breath shallow, hearts racing, waiting for a miracle.

Myrtle's voice rose, the chanting turning more urgent, more frantic with each repetition.

Autumn's grip on him tightened as Myrtle lifted the stones, poured more oil and set them down again.

“It's not working.” Autumn's words were light as the wind, for his ears only. But Myrtle's gaze snapped up and speared them with anguished eyes.

“No. It's not working.” Myrtle's words rang with a devastating hollowness. “Oh, my dears. I can't save her.”

G
rief thickened the air, weighing on Kaderil's heart as Autumn clung to him, her arms like a vice around his waist. Kaderil's arms tightened around her quaking body, offering what comfort he could against Myrtle's devastating words, words that still echoed in the small blue bedroom.

The elderly healer sat on the edge of the bed, her dress as red as the blood still flowing from Larsen's prone body. Tears and hopelessness shimmered in her eyes.

Tarrys sank to the mattress on the other side, weeping softly. Though Myrtle was purportedly a gifted Sitheen healer, the devastation to Larsen Vale's…Larsen Hallihan's…mortal body was too great for even her skills.

Autumn's tears started to come in great sobs as she buried her face against his neck. Her misery sliced through him, making his chest ache with her sorrow. So much grief. So much suffering over a single mortal life.

How did the humans stand it?

None of this should bother him. He should, in fact, be rejoicing over this death. But he felt no joy. No relief. Only the echoes of Autumn's distress and fury that Zander, by enchanting those shooters, had caused Autumn such pain.

If there were any way to spare her this, he would.

He stilled. Maybe he could. His power wasn't great. But combined with Myrtle's and Tarrys's, it might be enough.

Refusing to think too hard about the foolishness of saving one he was only going to have to destroy later, he squeezed Autumn's shoulders lightly, then released her and crossed to the bed and Myrtle. The smell of the oil was even more pungent up close, and his eyes burned from the assault.

“Try again,” he said to the woman.

Myrtle looked up at him, her faded eyes swimming in tears. “I've done all I can,” she said softly.

“Jack said my power is strong. We must try again.” He looked across the bed at Tarrys. “All of us.”

The violet-eyed slave nodded, wiping away her tears. She pushed up the overlong sleeves of her sweatshirt and placed her small hand on Myrtle's. Kaderil covered both of them with his own.

Myrtle tried to resume chanting, but her throat was clogged with tears and she had to clear it twice before she could get any sound. Finally, she began to sing.

Even as his logical mind ridiculed this soft-hearted, foolish action, the overpowering need to end Autumn's suffering had him clearing his mind and pushing his energy, his power, into the broken body of her friend.

He felt Autumn move to his side.

She knelt at his feet and slid her free hand over Larsen's where it lay motionless on the bed. “Can I talk to her?” she asked quietly, her gray eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Myrtle nodded, but never ceased her singing.

Autumn leaned over, close to her friend's ear, her braid slipping over one shoulder. “Larsen…you have to get better. Jack's okay. He's hurt but waiting for you. He's worrying about you.” Her voice broke.

Kaderil squeezed her shoulder and felt a strange surge of energy, as if the power arced as it traveled between the unintended circle. The energy rose, like a humming through his body, an odd blend of Sitheen, Marceil and Esri power and Autumn's love for her friend.

“You have to get better,” Autumn murmured. “Fight, Larsen.
Fight.
Jack needs you. We all need you.”

As the vibration inside him grew, heat began to build in both his hands, the one that covered Myrtle's and the hand that clung to Autumn's shoulder. A faint glow began deep within Larsen's body as if she were suddenly lit from within.

Autumn gasped and pulled away. At once, the glow died, the magic failed.

Kaderil squeezed her shoulder. “Don't let go! Hold her.”

Her startled gaze snapped to his before she nodded and grabbed Larsen's hand. “What's happening?”

“I don't know, but somehow you're part of it. I can feel it. The circle must not be broken.”

She reached up and pulled his hand off her shoulder, lacing her fingers between his. Her hand was cold and trembling, and he clasped it tightly, offering comfort and assurance even as he drew them from her.

Myrtle's song grew slowly louder, filling the room, as if the power that flowed between them strengthened her as much as it did Larsen. The glow within Larsen's body grew and changed, shimmering now with sparkling, iridescent color.

“That's it, Larsen.” Autumn's grip on his hand tightened. “Fight for your life. Fight for Jack.”

The room was getting hot, the air charged with power. Sweat began to roll down his spine. Before Kaderil's eyes, the torn flesh began to heal visibly, slower than any Esri's, yet a thousand times faster than human flesh. The bullet appeared in the wound, then slowly rose to the surface.

Autumn's hand convulsed around his. Kneeling at his feet, she pulled their clasped hands to her face, pressing his knuckles against her soft, damp cheek. Tenderness and a keen protectiveness clutched at his chest.

Myrtle's song rose in volume, the Esri words as clear as her voice. “Death I banish you. Death be gone.” Tarrys began to take up the chant and Kaderil joined her until their voices filled the room. Little by little, the bloodied flesh reknit itself until all that remained of the deadly injury was a single bullet lying atop Larsen's unblemished skin. The rainbow of light that had filled her body gathered at the surface and began to rise until it hovered inches above her.

Myrtle's voice rose higher, then abruptly ceased even as Tarrys and he continued to sing. Kaderil could feel her drawing their power, feel it building inside her until finally she took a deep breath and with a last surge of magic, shouted in Esri,
“Be gone!”

The hovering light exploded, blowing out the candles, sending the magic scattering to the corners of oblivion. Myrtle collapsed across Larsen in a dead faint.

Autumn scrambled to her feet. “What's happened?”

“Are they all right?” Tarrys asked.

Kaderil scooped up the healer and laid her carefully at Larsen's side, feeling the magic still swirling inside her. “This one's pulse is strong.”

Autumn's fingers pressed beneath Larsen's ear. She looked up at him with eyes shining with joy. “So is Larsen's. She did it. Myrtle saved her.”

Laughter bubbled out of Autumn's throat. The smile that lit her face filled all the empty places deep inside him. She threw her arms around him and he lifted her off her feet and swung her around, laughing. The sound felt foreign, yet even the strangeness delighted him.

Slowly he lowered her to her feet. The laughter died from his throat as he fell into her eyes and fed his parched soul on the tender joy he found there. Their heads bent together and he kissed her, tasting the salty sweetness of her tears. This was wonder. Perfection. And if he could stay here like this for the rest of his life, he'd be the happiest of men.

“What happened?” Larsen's soft, weary voice had them jerking apart.

Autumn's laugh held a touch of embarrassment, but she grinned at him without shyness, then turned toward the bed. She leaned over Larsen and pressed her cheek to her friend's. “You scared us to death, that's what happened. Myrtle just performed one of her famous miracles.”

Kaderil stepped back, giving the women room. The smile continued to play at his mouth as his spirit soared. But as he watched them, the happiness slowly drained out of him as the truth of who he was, and what he must do, rushed in.

He turned from the room, suddenly unable to face Autumn. Knowing the suffering she was doomed to endure.

Kaderil went to the living-room window, his hands fisting on the sill as he watched the late-afternoon traffic clogging the streets below. The phone rang. From the bedroom, he heard Larsen say Jack was on his way. Then the women's talk turned to clean clothes and baths. And still Kaderil stood, rooted, a war raging inside him. Jack was on his way, the draggon stone likely still around his neck.

The opportunity he'd waited for was finally about to fall into his hands.

His heart tried to rebel, but his mind was strong. Taking that stone, killing these people was his job. His life. If he failed this mission, Zander would win. Rith would banish the Punisher from court, leaving him to wander his world alone, feared and hated.

If he failed this mission, his life was over, his place in his world lost. And for what?

For Autumn.

A foolish sentiment. Any heartache he saved her would be temporary. If he failed to complete his mission as directed, others would step in. Zander, who would not only kill the Sitheen, but any humans he could catch, as well. His blood went cold as he imagined the way Autumn would suffer at Zander's hands.

Autumn's laughter carried from the bathroom, twisting his heart, but his mind stood firm. He was the Punisher. This was his mission and he could not fail.

The thoughts circled, over and over, as he stood before the window, his heart as cold as chiseled stone. He heard Jack arrive. Heard the tearful reunion between the man and the wife he'd thought he'd lost. And Kaderil continued to stare out the window, unseeing, as his Punisher's brain took over.

Completing his mission—retrieving the draggon stone and killing the Sitheen—would be a simple matter now. Jack trusted him and would allow him to walk up behind him. Kaderil had broken dozens of necks as the Punisher, though this would be the first that would kill his victim.

Once Jack was dead, Larsen would die next. Then Myrtle. Both women were weak from the healing and would put up little resistance.

The problem was Tarrys. The Marceil should be returned to Esria where she belonged. And this one had knowledge of humans and their world that would be greatly sought. Zander and Ustanis would be able to bring her quickly under control, for true Esri had the power to control a Marceil's every action with the touch of a hand.

So, the Sitheen had to die. Tarrys had to go with him.

And that left Autumn.

His stomach clenched at the thought of her in the midst of such destruction. At the thought of her watching him destroy the people she loved. The pain in her eyes. The horror.

The betrayal.

Sweat rolled down his scalp. His pulse pounded behind his eyes.

What would he do with her? He couldn't leave her here to warn Charlie and Harrison that he'd turned traitor. But neither could he escape the building with two struggling females without attracting far too much attention. If only he had the power of a true Esri! He could enchant Autumn and control Tarrys. But he didn't. So what would he do with Autumn?

The obvious answer hovered at the edges of his mind like dark, ominous smoke threatening to suffocate him. He needed to kill her with the others. That was the obvious answer.

And one he couldn't accept.

He would not hurt her.

His arms began to shake as he gripped the window sill. He wiped his mouth, feeling the beads of sweat on his upper lip.

All his life he'd been feared. And he'd demanded that fear. But he hated the thought of it in Autumn's eyes. He'd seen a glimmer when she woke from the enchantment, but that was nothing compared to the terror that would fill her eyes if he acted now.

And he must act.

His life depended on it.

Yet his muscles quivered and shook at the thought. He was turning weak. The Punisher threw bodies without compunction, dealt destruction without a second thought.

Yes, but to beings who
could not be hurt.
The Punisher had never ended a life. It wasn't the same.

It was his mission. His duty. He must act. He must deal this death.

He jerked at the feel of a hand on his back, nearly attacking until he realized it was Autumn's.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.” The word came out harshly. The Punisher's voice.

He made the mistake of looking at her. What he saw in her gray eyes nearly broke him. Concern and softness. Deep, strong caring. For him. She pulled at him with her eyes, coaxing him into her warmth, into that place of smiles and belonging. That place the Punisher could never go.

Her hand slid up and down his back in a slow, steady rhythm meant to comfort and soothe. But he was beyond calming. His body was strung tighter than a bow with the knowledge of what he must do.

“It's been an eventful day.” Her smile was small, but sweet, filling him with the nearly unbearable urge to pull her against him and bury his face against her hair. “Why don't we go back to the houseboat? I'll make you dinner.”

The devastating need to hold her again was almost too great to breathe around.

Weakness. It is weakness.

She cared because she thought him human. The moment she knew who he was…
what
he was…she'd run from him in fear.

He was the monster. He would always be the monster.

He'd never minded being the Punisher, his brain railed.