Shadowed Ground (11 page)

“God damn you, Eliot,” she swore. There it was. The command that left her no choice. Suddenly furious, she felt her arms reaching around his side as if they had developed a will of their own. “I’m not leaving you here.” Her fingers grasped the hilt of a knife, and she pulled it free just as the Abandoned in front of them struck. Eliot didn’t even bother answering her. He swung at the creature, who danced back and out of the way with the same supernatural speed Eliot seemed to possess, if not with his grace. The other hung back, watching with a gruesome smile.

Eliot didn’t have to answer her. They both knew she had no choice now. But she didn’t have to like it. And she wouldn’t stand there uselessly, waiting for an opening. She held the knife, almost as long as her arm, angled outward. Her left forearm came up inches in front of her forehead, to block an attack. In front of her, Eliot’s arms moved almost too fast for sight, meeting the creature’s blow.

Then the other one charged her, twin blades extended.

Eliot cursed, fighting two of them now. His arms moved faster, impossibly, invisibly fast. “Chloe,” he panted out warningly. “Get ready.”

“Hell no,” she said stubbornly, but they both knew her protests didn’t matter. The pounding on the door resumed, and extra voices superceded Scott’s.

“This is security. Open this door now. The police are on their way.”

Eliot grunted, and Chloe tensed, her mind shutting down. She knew that sound. It was the same sound he’d made when a six-inch piece of glass sunk itself into his arm. She saw blood soaking through his jeans on his right thigh, and through his shirt on his left bicep. Still he moved his sword in its impossibly fast pattern, but against two of them, all he could do was block.

But she had a knife, and the coverings he had given her for shields. She tensed herself, shifting her weight forward as he’d taught her during their defense lessons ages ago. She gathered her resolve, focusing it into a single, laser point: strike one of them. Clear the way for Eliot to kill them off, so they could escape.

Apparently, he could feel her intentions building. “Chloe,” he said warningly, the muscles of his arms straining. She knew she only had seconds before he did something truly idiotic and unfair, like order her not to strike.

So she did.

She side-stepped him, forearm angled in front of her. She was so angry and frightened at the same time that she couldn’t think. She just reacted. Exposing herself was just what the second one had been waiting for. It whirled to face her, turning away from Eliot. She kept her vambraced arm up against it. They claimed they wouldn’t risk wraithfire, but she dared not trust them. The pounding on the door increased. Dimly, she heard Eliot yelling at her. Her world was slowing, narrowing, until there was only the creature in front of her. It held its blades angled towards her. One of them dripped with blood. His blood, her Eliot’s, and she felt an anger building in her she recognized.

“Yesss,” the creature coaxed. “Let it build. Let it out. Let your power bring my brothersss.”

“Chloe!” Eliot yelled from across the room. She noticed the creature had managed to move her halfway across the room from her Guardian. She risked a glance at him; he seemed to be gaining the upper hand. The creature was bleeding from too many cuts to count, but then, so was Eliot. “Don’t do it,” he warned in the low voice of command. But she felt it anyway. She realized, in some deep part of herself, that her use of the elements was something even her Guardian couldn’t command. But she also knew, with her rational self, that he was right. She didn’t want to draw them. Couldn’t draw them.

“No,” she whispered, as much to herself as to the creature. She gripped her knife tighter. She let the pain of her pulsing scar wash over her, forcing the power pulsing just below the surface back down. “Not yet,” she promised this strange thing that rode her. “Soon. Not now.”

With a cry of rage, the creature charged her. She used her forearm to knock one of its blades aside. With her other arm, she jerked her vambraced forearm up and in front of her face, deflecting the strike. “You’re not supposed to hurt me,” she panted, repeating the blocking maneuver with her left arm. “The Emperor wants me, remember?”

It hissed and dropped its blades, reaching for her. It got one hand on her, curling around the vambrace. She stabbed into its side with her free hand. It grunted, taking the hit. While she tried to work the knife free for another strike, the creature grabbed her, pinning both arms to her side. It had her in a lock, pulled close against its chest. She hissed and kicked, struggling.

“Chloe, no!” Eliot yelled from across the room. She heard a cry of pain ripped from deep within him like she had never heard before. She turned in time to see him stagger back against the wall, one of the Abandoned’s long knives driven deep into his sword arm.

She’d distracted him enough that he dropped his guard. His right arm dangling, he flipped his sword into his other hand, and parried blows left-handed.

Of course, she thought. Of course he can use either hand.

The creature pulled her closer, nuzzling her hair. “Ssso sssweet. Like earth and sssky and growing thingsss. He will make you sssing with pain, my Emperor.” She choked at his nearness, at the heat and bitterness wreathing her in his embrace. Her scar pulsed.

She butted her head against his. He growled and shook her. “We’ll see,” she told him mildly, a strange calm descending on her. Eliot’s hurt. He’s hurt, again, because of me. She remembered the afternoon of her defense lessons. No one had held her this tightly, this immobile, since then. But this time, I’m not helpless. She smiled at the creature, a strange calm descending on her as remembered that day, remembered Eliot’s arms around her, pinning her, holding her tight. She remembered his soft t-shirt against her skin, the feeling of his legs tangled with hers. Warmth bloomed inside her. The creature hissed, its eyes widening in surprise. She smiled at it, and it growled, uncertain. She could feel the shift, feel it in the way it gripped her. It held her away from itself now, as if repelled by her memories.

“Don’t like that, do you?” she whispered, still held in its arms. “You only like pain.” Its face twisted into some expression she didn’t recognize. “How about this?” she said, reaching for something, anything, that made her happy. She remembered standing hand in hand with Eliot, the warm ocean waters lapping at their feet underneath the full moon. She remembered the smell and feel of living water, and the warmth of his hand.

The creature howled. She felt its hold loosen, but not release. Smiling, she pushed into him instead of pulling away. It hadn’t been expecting that. Its gruesome face twisted in surprise. She hooked an ankle behind his and leaned in harder, faster. It fell backwards, pulling her with it. She managed to shake out of its grasp as it fell, freeing her arms. When she landed on top of it, she felt something warm and sticky beneath her hand. The hand that held Eliot’s knife. The knife now buried up to the hilt in its heart.

She stared at it, panting. She had never killed any living thing. She filed her feelings away for later as the thing gurgled and breathed a single, last raspy breath beneath her, then lay still. Later, she told herself fiercely. The door pounded rhythmically; they were trying to break it down. But worst of all, there was no sound from the corner. No sounds of fighting, and it filled her with dread.

She whirled to her feet, leaving the knife stuck in the creature’s heart. Eliot lay on his side, his face ashen, the other creature dead on its side facing her. She stepped over it, barely sparing it a glance.

“Can you walk?” she asked, kneeling in front of her blood-covered Guardian. His sword lay on the ground in front of him and he clutched his right arm to his chest. She glanced over him quickly as the door began to splinter. He looked at her with pain filled eyes. He had no words. He could only nod. “Come on, then,” she said, slipping her arms under him. She pulled as he struggled to his feet.

“You… alright?” he gasped, wincing as he moved.

“Shut up,” she snapped. “And yes. We have to go.”

The door opened a few inches, wood splintering. “Take… sword.” She looked at it dubiously. It was slick with blood. She grabbed his discarded jacket and shoved the sword inside it. Her hands came away even more blood-slicked. She wiped them, as best she could, on the outside of the jacket.

“Let’s go,” she said, straining under his weight. He leaned heavily on her. Behind them, the door splintered open a few more inches. They moved awkwardly out the emergency exit, setting off a cacophony of alarms, and headed into the sunlight, where the Cruiser waited for them. She silently blessed his paranoia; they were parked close. She propped him against the door, steadying him before digging in his jeans pocket for the keys. “Stay with me,” she half-ordered, half-begged as she got the door unlocked and shoved him into the backseat. “Don’t you dare pass out me.” She noticed, for the first time, the deep edge of hysteria to her voice.

She ran to the driver’s seat, vaulting herself in, not bothering with the seatbelt. Her hands shook on the wheel as she drove, fast and careless, out of the parking lot. She noticed a gathering of police cars, blue lights flashing. But no one seemed to be following. She exhaled, hoping the slaughter in the break room would stop them for at least a few minutes. “Eliot? Stay with me, or I’ll stab you again myself.” Her threat was laughable; she had tears in her voice and eyes as she delivered it.

“Serves you right,” he groaned from the backseat. “Don’t listen worth a damn.”

She was crying freely now, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, oh god, please be all right,” she begged, speaking to him and herself and whoever else might be listening. “I don’t know what to do. You’re bleeding to death. Tell me what to do. I’m taking you to a hospital.”

“No! No hospitals. Watching them. Not going to die, Chloe.”

“You swear it?” she sobbed, eyes watching the rear view mirror.

“Swear.” She heard a tearing sound, followed by a grunt. “Have to get off the road. Now. Find motel.”

“Where? What kind?” She ordered herself to sound strong, but so far, she was failing miserably.

“Small. Rooms facing road. Pay cash.” She nodded, not trusting her voice. “Chloe?” he said softly, after several interminable minutes of heavy silence. “That was good. Your control. No elements. If more came… we’d both be dead.”

She nodded again, but then, the damn broke, and she sobbed in a torrent. “I have to tell you something, about them. About how I killed that one who got me.”

“Later,” he said, sleepily.

“Don’t you dare pass out on me!” she screamed.

“Motel,” he said, even more softly. “Rest now.”

“Goddamn you, Eliot Gray!” she yelled, but he said nothing back. She drove faster.

Chapter Twelve: Crossing Over

There was something comforting about the company of monsters. Alexander Ravenwood was no longer the worst behaved person in town, no matter how hard he tried.

He stared mournfully into his empty glass, shaking the ice in the hopes it hid the last drops of lemonade. It didn’t. Frowning, he reached out to put the glass on his sister’s nightstand and jumped a little when it shattered instead. He’d missed the nightstand by inches.

“That’s what happens when you drink modified lemonade all afternoon.” Carson’s booming voice held more worry than rebuke. It sounded very far away.

Turning to look at him felt like watching a movie in slow motion. Alexander blinked owlishly at his only friend left in the entire town of Raven’s Ward. He leaned back into the same position he’d held all day, slowly making an entire pitcher of vodka and lemonade disappear as he moved listlessly back and forth in his sister’s rocking chair, watching her sleep.

If sleep it could be called. Her chest rose and fell; that was one way he could tell she was still alive. Occasionally, she whimpered. That, too, was good. Dead people didn’t whimper. They didn’t sweat, either. He reached for the damp washcloth he’d carefully wiped her face with all day, but checked himself as he realized how unsteady he really was.

“Carson,” he enunciated carefully. “Do you think she’s dying?”

The big man moved right behind him. Alexander jumped as Carson’s hand, strong as a steel clamp and just as unforgiving, latched onto his shoulder. “I don’t know,” the head of security answered honestly. He knelt so that he was right next to Alexander’s ear. His words were soft, meant for his befuddled ears alone. “I do know you can’t do a thing to help her, in the state you’re in. What happened, Alex? I waited for the two of you all night. When you didn’t show, I came to you, and this is what I find?”

“This happened. She happened.” Alexander staggered to his feet. He clutched his hair. His eyes were wild. He didn’t know if his words came out right, and he didn’t care. “I did this to her. She was hysterical. She fought me. She clawed and kicked.” He was crying freely now, sobbing, his knees buckling underneath him. “I did what I had to. What I thought I had to. I only gave her the recommended dose for her height and weight, I swear on my mother’s grave, and she… she…looked like one of them, Carson. I saw them looking back at me, through her eyes, and I just knew. It’s too late for her. They’ve already started to take her over.” He didn’t realize he was curled into a ball on the floor until he felt Carson’s big arms under his own, lifting him up. “Carson,” he croaked. “I’ve killed my own sister. I thought that’s what they were doing. Killing her slowly. I just speeded it up for them, taking her away, and trying to sedate her.” He uncurled enough to stare up at the big man. “Do you think they knew that? I bet they planned on it, the sick bastards.”

The chief of security forced him back into his chair. “Easy now, Alex, or you’ll draw them like a moth to flame with your hysterics.”

“I have never had hysterics,” he protested, rubbing his wet face across the back of one hand. “I have rages. Drunken ones, sometimes, but rages nonetheless.”

Carson cracked a smile. “There you are, Alex. Thought I’d lost you, for a minute.” He went to perch on Charlotte’s bed. He took the girl’s pale damp hand and felt her pulse. “Just the recommended dose, Alex? Of what?”