Martyr (3 page)

“We need to burn them,” Tenn said.

She looked at him. Her eyebrows were furrowed, but for the life of him, he couldn't place what she was thinking or feeling. She didn't look lost or frightened or sad. If anything, there was a resignation, a determination he knew all too well. Death left you hollow. Many deaths left you expecting more.

She didn't say anything. Red light flickered in her chest as she opened to the Sphere of Fire. Heat shimmered around her, made sweat break out across his skin. Then, with tendrils of flame snaking around her fingertips, she screamed.

The fields erupted into flame. Tenn hid behind his arm as the world around him roared with heat and anger, and beside him, screaming every curse she could, Katherine called forth Hell, her clothes whipping in the maelstrom like an angry god.

It lasted only a minute, but when the power died down and the fields were nothing more than smoldering ash and steam, she was sobbing.

“Goddamn you,” she cursed through her tears, dropping to her knees on a pile of ash. Fire winked out in her chest. “Damn you all.”

Tenn reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. The rain still steamed off her skin, but he didn't flinch from her heat. He welcomed the pain. It let him know he was still alive.

He didn't say anything when she started to laugh. Fire had that effect on the mages that used it.

“It's gone,” she said. She chuckled and looked up at him. “The fucking deer. It's gone. They ate it.”

Tenn let out a long sigh and turned around. Sure enough, the cart with the deer was no more. Hell, there was nothing on the road save the steaming remains of car skeletons and pools of the dead that streamed like magma.

“Michael would be so pissed,” she continued. Then her laughs became a hiccuped sob. “We should have let him eat the tongue.”

The walk back to base was long and silent. Tenn didn't stop scanning the fields, but both he and Katherine kept their Spheres closed off. There was a slim chance that the approaching army was still too far away to sense their magic. A slim chance, but he would hold on to it while he could. The idea that he'd singlehandedly sabotaged their entire mission—all for nothing—wasn't a notion he could entertain. One thing was certain—the Howls they'd faced were one of the many wild bands that roamed the States. It wasn't the group of monsters they'd been sent out here to intercept. When the army they were waiting for approached, they'd know.

They reached the town before nightfall. The scattered houses were empty, the lawns overgrown and tangled with forgotten toys and shadows. Lake Michigan flanked one side of the harbor town, while the other met rolling fields and scattered woodland. Even without Water open, Tenn could sense the great lake stretching out in the distance. Ever since he'd been attuned, he'd been able to feel those sorts of things, like ghosts of limbs he didn't know he was missing.

Katherine said nothing as they walked the empty streets, stepping over rusted bikes and piles of old refuse, dodging craters and overturned cars. Both her swords were clean and bared, and Tenn's grip on his staff was just as tight. No matter that the rest of their troop was only a hundred yards away—anything could be hiding in the shadows.

It was nearing nightfall now, and the houses reared up on all sides like hungering beasts. It looked like a tornado had hit, but the damage done was no act of nature. Some houses were perfectly intact; others were torn apart, with roofs blown off, façades ripped open like scabs to reveal abandoned dining rooms and unmade beds. Everything had that sick old stench of antiquity, like a sodden vintage store. Even in the dying rain, Tenn couldn't help but feel the dust of the past creeping through his nostrils. It made him feel unclean. Shadows shifted over the rubble, and he jerked his staff to the ready. Then the shape stepped into the road: a small fox, its ribs horribly pronounced with hunger. The creature didn't flinch as he and Katherine walked past. It watched them intently before finally turning and slinking back into an alley.

When houses gave way to the broad downtown avenue, he felt his nerves calm. Their hotel rose up from the buildings on the other side, one of the few structures still intact. Uprooted trees stretched like black veins across the concrete. Marble slabs and pillars tumbled on the road in piles of white bone. The hotel stood strong and seemingly deserted, the clean red brick and white marble an anachronism in the destruction surrounding it.

Something shifted from the corner of his eye, and Tenn turned on the spot, ready for another attack. A girl in black stepped out from the crumbling post office. Tenn exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding when he recognized the red hair and compact frame.

“Audrey,” he said. He lowered his staff. “I nearly killed you.”

“Jesus H,” she said. There were two daggers in her hands, the kris blades glinting like wolves' teeth. “I thought… We thought you were in trouble. Jarrett's had us on high alert since noon.” It was then she noticed Michael was missing. Her voice became a whisper, and her shoulders slumped. “What happened?”

Tenn hung his head. If the troop had felt their use of magic all the way back here, there was no way the necromancers had missed it.
How the hell had Water opened like that?

“Kravens,” he admitted. The word was bitter on his tongue. “And at least one bloodling.”

“Shit,” she whispered.

“He died fighting,” Katherine said. She sheathed her blades, trying to sound nonchalant, but Tenn could sense the waver in her words. “It's all any of us could ask for.”

“Where's Jarrett?” Tenn asked. The last thing he wanted was to stand here in the rain, mourning the loss of someone whose death warrant he had as good as signed and sealed.

Audrey nodded to the hotel.

“Executive suite,” she said. “He's meeting with the twins now. Everyone else has been stationed in the field in case…”

“In case we brought anything back,” Katherine finished.

“Yeah.”

“How pissed is he?” Tenn asked.

Audrey gave a small grin, though it was more forced than anything.

“Well,
I
wouldn't go near him. Though maybe he's cooled down by now.”

“Right,” Tenn said. He very much doubted it.

He gave them both a quick nod and walked to the hotel.

Tenn didn't knock when he reached the door to Jarrett's makeshift office. The twins and Jarrett sat around a large oval table in the center of the room, papers and maps spread across the mahogany in an organized disarray. Whatever conversation they'd been having cut off the moment the door creaked open. Their intent gazes made his skin tingle.

The twins were roughly Tenn's age, maybe around eighteen. He'd never bothered to ask for specifics, and they'd never told him. Not that they'd ever really spoken to him. Dreya and her brother Devon were fraternal twins, their resemblance extending only to the tilt of their light-blue eyes and the sharp lines of their high cheekbones. According to Jarrett, their ancestry was Japanese, though prolonged use of the Spheres had altered their appearances drastically. Dreya's skin was paler than ivory, and her hair was waist-length and silver-white. She was thin, wisp-like, with graceful limbs and willowy fingers. Devon, on the other hand, looked like some Peruvian mystic. His hair was short and black, his skin the color of burnt earth. Tenn had never seen Devon's face, not fully; the guy wore a burgundy scarf wrapped all the way up to his nose. If he ever took the scarf off, Tenn hadn't seen it in the two years he'd known them.

Dreya's eyes narrowed the moment he walked in. He felt like a mouse stuck under a falcon's gaze. He couldn't look away, and whatever words he had meant to say when entering were stuck in his throat.

Not that he had much chance to say anything.

“What the hell did you do?” Jarrett asked.

Tenn tore his eyes from Dreya and looked at their commander.

Jarrett stood on the other side of the desk. He was nineteen and tall, with lithe Scandinavian looks brought on by Air. His hair was long and golden-blond, pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, one side shaved close. Pale scars laced his skin; one in particular crossed from the stubble at his jaw to the edge of his blue-grey eyes. When those eyes caught Tenn's, his breath hitched.

“I'm sorry…” Tenn began, but his words faltered.
Sorry isn't good enough
.

“Damn it, Tenn!” Jarrett yelled, slamming his fist into the desk. Air flickered in his throat and sent the papers swirling. Neither of the twins flinched, but Tenn took a half-step back.

Jarrett took a deep, slow breath and closed his eyes. His next words were carefully composed, only a hint of strain at keeping his frustration in check.

“What happened out there?”

“We were attacked,” Tenn said. “There were hundreds. I swear I didn't mean to use magic. We were holding them off, but then Michael went down and Water… I don't know. It fought back. It opened before I could stop it.”

Tenn caught the quick glance between Jarrett and the twins. He couldn't even begin to guess what it meant, but he knew what they were thinking—the Spheres didn't just open on their own. Magic didn't have reflexes or thoughts of preservation. The Spheres were energy centers, nothing more.

But Tenn wasn't lying. He had fully intended on going under. When he had heard Michael scream, Water had taken over.

“Leave us,” Jarrett said. It was only when Dreya stood up that he realized Jarrett wasn't talking to him. He kept his head bowed as Devon and Dreya left. He couldn't meet their eyes. Not right now. All he caught were the trailing hems of their light-blue jeans.

When the door closed behind them, Tenn risked a glance at the table. One of the pages—one of the few not scattered on the floor—was a map, showing the continental U.S. Only on this map, there were no states. The new territories didn't go by that anymore. Half of the West Coast was shaded grey. It was the Deadlands, an area controlled by Leanna. The rest of the states were divided into smaller sections, areas controlled by Hunters or the Church, small sanctuaries surrounded by nothing but waste and ravenous monsters. This was humanity. This was what the Hunters were trying to protect.

“You betrayed my orders,” Jarrett whispered.

“I know.”

“You put our entire mission at risk.”

“I know.”

“If Cassandra ever found out, she'd have you skinned alive.”

“I know.”

“I'm sorry.”

Tenn looked up. Jarrett's eyes were soft, the tempest over, and his words were softer.

“What?” Tenn asked.

Jarrett moved from behind the desk. He was in dark, ripped jeans and a loose T-shirt, his coat folded over the chair and his sword by the window.

“I shouldn't have sent so few of you out there,” Jarrett said. “It was reckless.” He was closer now, only a few steps away. “I…”

For one of the few times since Tenn had known him, Jarrett was speechless. Not a trait Air users usually exhibited.

“I could have lost you,” Jarrett finally said. He reached out and touched Tenn's face. His fingertips were warm and sent a current across Tenn's skin.

Tenn reached up and put his hand over Jarrett's. They just stood there, staring into each other's eyes. He could have fallen into that touch, let all the pain and bloodshed fade away into the static of Jarrett's fingers, the warmth of his eyes. The screams in Tenn's head never went away, but when Jarrett was nearby, they fell into a hush.

“Michael's dead,” Tenn whispered. It wasn't what he meant to say, but Michael's image weighed on his mind like a stone.

Jarrett's eyes tightened.

“You did what you could,” he said. “I'm just glad you're safe.”

Then Jarrett leaned in and kissed him.

They pulled each other close, Tenn's free hand lacing through Jarrett's hair, both of Jarrett's hands on Tenn's face. The kiss made Tenn's heart hammer, the embrace filled with more than love. In Jarrett's lips, Tenn tasted need and fear and hope, the mix that permeated everything resembling a relationship in this new, fucked-up world. He pulled his boyfriend closer, and in that moment, he was grateful—grateful it hadn't been his own body burned beneath the kravens, grateful he'd never been turned into a Howl, grateful for every bloody battle that kept him pushing forward. So long as he had this, life was worth living. If only his gratitude wasn't laced with the guilt of what he'd done.