Soulstice (9 page)

“How do I stop it?”

Quinn sighed, and his eyelids drooped. “That’s why Keech is after you. So you can’t stop it.”

“But what is their plan? How are they going to do it?” Reggie shook Quinn by the arm, rousing him. His skin was cool to the
touch and thin like paper.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he said, yawning. “I feel…” He glanced at the Mountain Dew, then at Reggie, and another
smile stretched across his lips. “… drugged. Nice one, Halloway. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t think you had
it in you.”

Reggie pulled the knife out of the satchel and held it to Quinn’s throat.

“Tell me what the Vours’ plan is.”

Quinn lay back in his seat.

“You know what? Just do it. It will be a relief. No more running, no more hiding. And I’m glad it’s you, and not them. You’ve
earned it.”

Reggie hesitated, hovering above him, the knife between them. Quinn stared dreamily at her. Even with the bruises, his eyes
were still as beautiful as the first time she’d seen them.

“I know it’s not easy for you,” Quinn continued, his words slurring together now. “It’s not easy to kill. But in war, you
have to eliminate your enemy. No moral qualms. We’re generals, Reggie. We’re above that…”

His voice trailed off, his head lolled to the side, and his hand slipped off the armrest. The bandage snagged and fell off,
and in the flickering light from the movie screen, Reggie saw the stumps of his ring and pinky fingers, chopped right below
the knuckles. The wound had opened again and blood burbled up. She shuddered at the grotesqueness of it. Quinn was a monster,
but he was still vulnerable, like a human. There was a human boy locked away inside somewhere.

He was weak now; her plan had worked. She could slice him open and leave him to die.

She dropped the knife and it clattered to the floor.

“I don’t want to be above it,” she said. “That’s the difference between you and me.”

She stood up, but just at that moment the movie projector clicked off, leaving the theater in silence and dark. The red light
of the exit signs glowed eerily.

“Regina Halloway!” A leering voice echoed through the theater. “I’m sorry, did I interrupt your
date
?”

A chill speared through Reggie. She recognized the voice of Keech Kassner. They were here, now.

She slung her satchel over her head and felt on the ground for the knife. The tips of her fingers closed around the cold steel,
and with her other hand she felt blindly forward, crawling over Quinn to the end of the row of seats. She yanked on the theater
door, but it was locked.

“Not that way,” said Keech, and Reggie spun around, holding out the knife with a trembling hand. She couldn’t see a thing,
and she couldn’t pinpoint where the voice was coming from. It was all around her.

“You know you won’t get out of here alive,” the voice continued, tauntingly. “You’re both going to die. A shame, too. You’re
going to miss all the fireworks.”

“What fireworks?” Reggie called into the dark, her voice trembling.

“Armageddon, June twenty-first. I’d tell you to mark your calendar, but you’re going to be out of town. Or six feet under
it, to be more precise. Too bad you didn’t listen to Quinn’s warnings.”

Reggie stumbled back down the back row of seats where Quinn was passed out. She didn’t like it, but she had to admit he might
be her only hope of figuring out the Vours’ plans. If they could even get out of here. She shook him by the shoulders.

“Quinn, wake up,” she whispered.

“Wha? Huh?” he moaned, shifting in his seat.

Reggie dumped the remaining Mountain Dew on him and slapped him hard across the face. Blood from his wounds wet her fingers.

“Wake up!” she urged.

Quinn sat up groggily. “It’s still dark out, Mom. Not time for school…”

Reggie heaved him up out of the chair, slinging his arm around her shoulder to support him.

“It’s Reggie. We are still in the theater and Keech is here!” she hissed.

Keech’s laughter boomed through the blackness.

“Wait, did Quinn fall asleep on you?
Awwkward
.”

Quinn seemed to come to a little. “Keech? He’ll kill us!”

“No shit! Come on, I need you to walk.” Reggie half pulled, half dragged him into the aisle, his feet slow to respond. Together
they stumbled toward the front of the theater where another red sign showed the emergency exit. Reggie held her hands out
in front of her, praying they wouldn’t run straight into Keech. They reached the door, but it was locked, too.

“Not that way, either,” said Keech.

Reggie looked around, frantic. They were trapped. Quinn slumped against her.

“Reggie, did you like the flowers I sent you?” he asked sleepily.

“Not helping!” Reggie took a step and bumped into the stage. She propped Quinn against it. “We have to find another way out
of here.”

She heard a noise, and a match flared at the back of the theater. Behind its glow she could see Keech’s hulking outline, stalking
slowly toward her.

“Nowhere to run,” he said.

She hauled Quinn across to the other aisle, but then another match blazed, and a second figure, identical to Keech in size
and shape, came forward. Keech’s twin brother, Mitch.

Reggie backed away. Keech’s match went out, and he lit another. Reggie could see his snarl, but Mitch looked stoic. Reggie
shuddered at their determination.

And then, in the dim light of the matches, Reggie saw it. A ladder built into the theater wall leading up to the box seats.
It was just a few feet away from her. With Quinn in tow, Reggie sidled toward the ladder, not wanting to give away her plan
to the Kassners. They still approached slowly, savoring their victory, their kill.

“Quinn,” she said quietly through her teeth. “Are you still with me?”

Quinn lifted his head off her shoulder and sighed.

“Yep. I’m here. Hey, I like your hair cut like that.”

Reggie rolled her eyes and brandished the knife.

“I need you to
focus
,” she said, nicking him in the arm with the knifepoint. This finally seemed to jolt Quinn awake.

“Hey!”

Reggie thrust him against the wall.

“Climb!” she ordered.

Immediately, Keech realized what she was up to, and he and Mitch rushed at her. Reggie waved the knife at them.

“Back off!”

Keech laughed. It sounded like a growl.

“You can’t take us both on, Halloway. And you just sacrificed yourself for your archnemesis. You are so pathetically human.”

Quinn had reached the top of the ladder, ignoring the pain in his hand, and disappeared into the box seat. Reggie continued
to swing the knife at a merry Keech and a solemn Mitch, but her mind was blank with terror. There was no way to climb without
letting go of her only weapon. Fight or flee, they’d kill her.

A roar and a flash of light came from above. All three of them looked up to see the musty velvet curtain hanging next to the
box seat go up in flames. The dry fabric crackled and smoked, then plummeted toward them, a giant fireball. Keech and Mitch
dove out of the way, but Reggie leaped onto the ladder and scrambled up as quickly as she could, always expecting a hand to
clamp down on her ankle and yank her off. Her arms shook violently with fear, and the black smoke billowing around her choked
and blinded her. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. It heaved her up and over the side of the box. She collapsed on
the ground, coughing, as Quinn put his lighter back in his pocket. They stared at each other for a moment, then Quinn pulled
her up, and they fled the box to the open air of the theater lobby.

“Do you believe me now?” Quinn grunted as they dashed out the theater’s back entrance into the alley. He yanked the hoodie
up over his head and pulled it tight.

Reggie didn’t answer—she was trying to steady her breath after taking in all the smoke from the burning curtain. Her left
forearm throbbed with pain, and she looked down to see a splotch of badly blistered skin. In her rush to escape, the curtain
had burned her and she hadn’t even felt it.

“I have… to get… home,” she rasped.

“Yeah, we should split up anyway,” Quinn said. His speech was slow and slightly slurred, remnants of the sleeping meds. He
shook his head, trying to wake fully. “I doubt he’ll come after you at your house. He doesn’t want to be tied to any crimes.
Stay there and in public places.”

Reggie’s hands shook, and she fumbled with her bike lock. Quinn took the key from her impatiently and snapped open the lock,
then dragged the bike off the rack with his good hand.

“And what are you going to do?” Reggie forced herself to control her voice, and yanked the handlebars away from Quinn. She
was embarrassed to appear so anxious in front of him.

“Find out what I can. Now you know the stakes, maybe you won’t come after me with sleeping pills and a knife.”

“Don’t bet on it.” As she got on her bike, Quinn was already slouching to the end of the alley.

“I’ll contact you!” he shouted over his shoulder at her.

“Yeah, and what am I supposed to do in the meantime, wait around for the end of the world?” Reggie yelled after him, but Quinn
was already gone.

  
8
  

Reggie was relieved to pedal into an empty driveway when she got home: her father and Henry were still out. She showered first,
washing the soot and grime off her skin and out of her hair, and threw her dirty clothes in the hamper. She rubbed antiseptic
on her burn; there were no bandages in the house large enough to cover the wound, so she put on a thick plastic bangle that
mostly hid it. She didn’t want her father asking any questions about it.

She took out the trash with the bloody bleeding hearts in it and replaced the bag. Then she sat down at the kitchen table
to wait. When Dad got home, she figured she might as well get the drama over with.

She drummed her fingers on the table. The summer solstice. Armageddon. It was a lot to have to think about when she should
be studying for finals.

She heard the truck pull up a half-hour later. When they walked in, Henry gave Reggie a sympathetic look, but Dad walked straight
to the sink and got a glass of water. He took a long gulp, then filled the glass again.

“Hen, why don’t you go play in your room for a bit?” he said.

Henry nodded and left the kitchen. Dad finished the second water and came back to the table. He sat down heavily and only
then allowed his eyes to focus on his daughter.

“Do we need to get you a new watch?” he asked.

Reggie looked at her hands.

“Because I believe I was very clear on the time we were leaving this morning. Am I wrong?”

“No, you were clear.”

“Then explain to me why at nine o’clock I go into your room to find an empty bed and then can’t get a hold of you on your
cell phone. That phone is a privilege, not a right. When I call, you pick up.”

“Dad, it was an emergency. Aaron—”

“Aaron? Aaron had an emergency? And you chose…” Dad’s teeth clenched. “Look, I know you have issues with me, but this time
I thought… because it was Henry. That you’d be there for him.”

“Dad, I wanted to be—I did. It was a mistake, I know. Things have just been so crazy.”

“Things will always be crazy, Reg. That’s life. But your brother should be a priority.” Dad spoke softly but firmly, and Reggie
could tell he was trying to keep his temper in check. “When you do things like this, he sees that you have more important
things in your life than him.”

“I’m trying to protect him! I’m trying to protect all of you!” Reggie looked as surprised as her father at her outburst. She
bit her lips and kept her head down, and tried to keep the tears at bay.

“Protect us? Reggie, get control of yourself. Look, I’m not going to punish you,” Dad continued. “Lord knows that hasn’t worked
in the past anyway. I need you to work through this and be the sensible girl I know you are. Dr. Unger said you may be reacting
to discipline reserved for a child, so I won’t do it. And in return I’m expecting you to act like an adult.”

“Is that what Dr. Unger said?” Reggie asked wryly. It was probably true in most teenage girls’ cases. Reggie already felt
like an adult, and it was the last thing she wanted to be.