Balthazar

by Claudia Gray

  Redgrave staggered backward, falling to his knees. Through bloodied lips, he spat, “You know—this won’t—stop us. So why—do you bother?”

  “It’ll slow you down enough,” Balthazar said, beating back one of the others. “And then I’m going to find out if it’s possible to behead you just by ripping your head off with my bare hands. Never tried that before. But you know what? I bet it works.”

  Redgrave leaped up, but he was slower than a human now, and Balthazar threw him back like so many rags. As his sire fell in the snow, a pathetic wreck of his old self, Balthazar heard him say, “You’re killing Skye even now.”

  Balthazar hit him again, so hard he heard the collarbone snap. As Redgrave doubled over in pain, Balthazar shouted, “Where is she?”

  “She flung herself in the river,” Redgrave panted. “Better to freeze than to bleed, I suppose. Skye’s drowning or freezing to death right now … and you can’t be bothered to save her. This time, we both lose. Skye’s just like Charity—another pretty toy we broke between us.”

  Once more, Balthazar smashed his crowbar into Redgrave, this time into the side of his head. His old foe went down, unconscious, and the other vampires weren’t trying to stop him; they were inching back, hoping that Balthazar would forget them.

  He almost had. Without Redgrave, they were merely vermin. Let Black Cross handle them when they arrived in town. But it was Redgrave he had to kill, Redgrave he had to punish for everything he’d done—

  —but every second he spent here was one he wasn’t using to help Skye.

  As long as you wish to be human, you will never be able to defeat me, Redgrave had said. But keeping his soul human—human enough to love Skye and to save her—was more important than anything else. Even killing Redgrave.

  Balthazar bolted for the car, leaving Redgrave behind. Craig and Britnee were still there, though both of them stared at him as if he’d grown another head. He slid into the driver’s seat, letting the crowbar fall to the floorboard, as he said, “Tell me the fastest way to get to the other side of this river. When we go over the bridge, you’ll have to hang on to the steering wheel.”

  As he put the car in reverse and backed out, burning rubber, Britnee said, very quietly, “Mr. More? What’s going on?”

  “We’re getting the hell out of here.” Balthazar put the car in drive as Craig mutely pointed forward. “And we’re going to save Skye.”

  His anger had left him. He didn’t even glance backward at Redgrave. All Balthazar could think was, Please let me get there in time.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  SKYE UNDERSTOOD NOW.

  The visions weren’t merely visions. They weren’t some kind of cosmic punishment inflicted on her; they were signs showing her the path. Every death was a doorway.

  “And you can walk through,” Dakota said. He sat next to her in the snow, his forearms resting on his bent knees. She still lay on the riverbank, shaking, but the cold and the pain were very distant. Her body might have been no more than an old nightgown she’d tossed aside.

  Although she would have loved to embrace her brother, that was impossible the way they were now—spirits untethered to the physical world. It would have been beside the point, too. They were more fully together now—more fully aware of their love for each other—than they’d ever been before. “What—what is this?”

  Dakota ran one hand through his scruffy hair; he still looked just as he had the last time she’d seen him, with his skater gear T-shirt and cargo shorts, braided necklace around his throat, and Teva sandals. “It’s only the gate. You go through, and you’re on the other side. Afterward it seems simple.”

  Skye remembered the phone ringing late at night, and how she’d known, even before anybody answered, that it meant something horrible had happened. The sound of her mother sucking in a sharp breath as she heard, and the long silence that had followed before she could speak to tell them. The first time she’d seen Dad cry, and how old he looked, as if the tears had etched his wrinkles deeper. The funeral, with Dakota’s girlfriend Felicia trying to talk about how great a time he’d been having on the adventure that claimed his life. How Mom and Dad had buried themselves further in their work, hardly even acknowledging the other child they had, maybe because she reminded them too painfully of the one they’d lost.

  Skye realized more fully than she ever had before that Dakota wasn’t the only one who had died that night; their family, as they had known it, had died, too.

  Quietly she said, “The afterward isn’t easy for the rest of us.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  Although Skye didn’t know if he was apologizing for behaving so recklessly, or simply telling her how badly he felt, it didn’t matter. Dakota was here—as much with her as he had ever been—and that was enough.

  Dakota said, “You know you can’t stay here.”

  “With you?” The thought of leaving her brother again, when she’d only now found him, felt horribly wrong. “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “You can find me again anytime, now that you know how,” Dakota said. “You’re the path, Skye. The gateway between our worlds. You can always talk to me; you can always talk to any of us. And trust me, there’s a lot of guys over here who are dying to talk to you … okay, maybe that wasn’t the best choice of phrase. Ready and waiting, let’s say.”

  “I can talk to the dead now?”

  “The dead who have something to say. And I don’t mean like some crappy TV psychic, you know? This is going to be the real deal.”

  “Am I supposed to—make people feel better? Solve murders or something?” Well, now she had something original to speak up about on career day. “Where is this gift supposed to take me?”

  “Wherever you want to go, sis. But none of that matters if you cross over for good now.”

  If she froze to death, he meant. Skye became aware of her physical body again—still at a distance, but enough to feel the dangerous numbness claiming her limbs. “Do you promise I’ll be able to find you again?”

  Dakota gave her that lopsided grin that always made her want to smack him, and yet smile back, too. “Oh, you’re never gonna get rid of me now.”

  Skye laughed. It seemed to her that she’d gone from a place of ultimate fear to a place where fear didn’t even exist. If the only danger was death, that was no danger at all, not in the end. “I love you, Dakota. I always felt like I never said it enough.”

  “Love you, too. And yeah—nobody ever says it enough. Nobody in the world. But I always knew you loved me. Except maybe that time you stole my skateboard.” His expression was half tenderness, half exasperation. “Will you save yourself already?”

  “I’ll go. I’ll get out of here. But I’ll come to you again soon.”

  “Count on it,” Dakota said, as if he knew much more about it that he wasn’t saying yet.

  Her body closed around her again, and Skye transformed from the liberated spirit she’d been back into a creature of blood and bone. The cold hit her, and she gasped, almost unable to catch her breath.

  Clumsily she pushed herself to sit up and take in her surroundings. Dakota had vanished; nothing of his presence remained. It was stranger than it should have been to realize that he had left no footprints, no impression in the snow. She was alone in the underbrush, her wet underclothes freezing around her shaking body; the tips of her hair were already becoming icicles. An incredible sleepiness hit her, as if all she needed to make herself feel better was to lie down and take a long nap.

  That was hypothermia talking: Skye knew the signs. So she fought the urge to rest, braced her hands against the trunk of the nearest tree, and shoved herself upright until she could stand.

  Where am I? Okay, not too far from the area with all the shops—but she understood now that it was farther than she’d be able to walk, suffering as she was from shock and exposure. She’d just have to make it to the nearest road. It was well after dark now, and in this weather few people would be out, but
she only needed one car to stop and help her, or even just to call the police. Though her legs shook and she felt weak, Skye began moving toward the road. One step. One more. That was all she had to do, keep going.

  As she got closer to her goal, Skye saw a pair of headlights drawing near. Could she make it in time to wave at them, get their attention? Her red, numb feet wouldn’t move much faster. But she didn’t have to get to the road; the car pulled over anyway, and she heard the slamming of doors.

  Skye opened her mouth to shout for help, then thought, What if it’s the vampires? What if it’s Redgrave? They’d had a van before, but they might have a car at their disposal, too; she didn’t know. Fear returned to her—not of dying, but of living as a captive. That was the only thing worth fearing.

  Then she heard a voice call out, “Skye?”

  “Balthazar!”

  He emerged from the inky blackness, long coat billowing behind him as he ran toward her, his handsome face bruised and cut. Never had he looked so beautiful to her. Skye managed a few steps on her shaky feet before he closed the distance and pulled her fiercely into his arms.

  “God, I thought we’d lost you,” Balthazar murmured, between rough kisses against her cheek. “Are you all right?”

  “Just—just cold.” Her teeth chattered so much that it was hard to get the words out. “I’m so glad you found me.”

  Two more figures came toward them, indistinct amid the swirling sleet until one of them called, “Did you find her?”

  Incredulous, Skye said, “Craig? Britnee?”

  Sure enough, her ex-boyfriend and his current girlfriend were coming toward them; Britnee even held Skye’s coat in her hands. As Skye yanked it on gratefully, Craig said, “We dropped by to check on you, and Mr. More was there and he told us some people were after you, or something like that—I didn’t know what to think until that weird crew showed up at your old house. Anyway, now I realize he was telling the truth. I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “I’ll be okay when I’m warm,” Skye said. “But … thanks, guys.”

  Britnee raised her hand. “Mr. More? The way you were fighting those guys back there? You were, like, super fast and stuff? So I was thinking in the car—well—are you a ninja?”

  It took Balthazar a moment to answer. “No. I can’t explain all of this, guys. I wish I could, but—it’s better if you don’t know. Let’s just get Skye home so we can get her warm.”

  Skye leaned heavily on his shoulder as they made their way toward the car. She murmured, “You didn’t tell me there were ways for vampires to repel ghosts.”

  “Redgrave found out about that? How did he—Charity. Of course.” Balthazar grimaced. “I should have realized as soon as she rejoined them that they’d catch on.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it. Once he was ready to get me, he was going to get me one way or another.” Skye realized that Redgrave was still too close. “What are we going to do now?”

  “Get you to safety and worry about the rest later.” There was so much unsaid there: What was safety for her now? Did “the rest” mean that Balthazar still held on to his illogical belief that she could go on to a normal life after this—a “normal life” meaning one without him? All that ran through Skye’s mind as Balthazar continued, “But first we have to make sure you’re not freezing to death.”

  Shivering, she said, “Sounds good to me.”

  But as they got within ten feet of the car, more headlights appeared, and Skye’s stomach dropped as she realized it was the black van. Redgrave and his tribe had found them.

  “It’s those guys,” Craig said, putting a protective arm in front of Britnee. “How are they up after you beat them down like that?”

  “Because I didn’t finish the job,” Balthazar said grimly. “Stand back, all of you.”

  Redgrave appeared at the head of them—six vampires, all men. The finely drawn, debonair features of Redgrave’s face had been battered almost past recognition; his lips were split, his eyes swollen, his golden skin already purpling with bruises. Nor did he wear his usual smug smile—only a snarl. He finally appeared as monstrous as he truly was within. “Fool,” he said to Balthazar. “You gave up your chance to kill me in order to save her—all so I can take her away from you again.”

  Balthazar let go of her, and she had to struggle to stand on her own. “I’ve got more than one chance to kill you.”

  “But you’re not armed now, are you? And we are, this time.”

  Skye realized it was true. Balthazar glanced toward the car, where vampires were waiting. As good a fighter as Balthazar was, he didn’t stand a chance against this many vampires when he was unarmed and they all carried stakes. Redgrave was battered, probably still not at his full strength, but the ones Balthazar had spent less time beating down already appeared completely undamaged again. Skye was in no condition to fight, and even if she were, she couldn’t have been much help against these odds. Craig and Britnee had no idea what they were dealing with.

  There was only way to avoid becoming Redgrave’s servant forever.

  “Change me,” she whispered.

  Her eyes and Balthazar’s met for one tortured moment. Skye hated to ask him to kill her—hated the thought of becoming a vampire—but if this was her only way to escape, then she would take it.

  Balthazar’s expression told her that, even loathing the idea as he did, he would have changed her if he could—but he shook his head. No time, she realized. No chance.

  Just when she thought the situation could get no worse, another figure stepped closer: Charity. She was almost as white as the snow that surrounded them, her dress, skin, and hair all the color of frost. Only her lips were dark, still stained with Skye’s blood. In her hand was the largest, most lethally curved knife Skye had ever seen.

  “Charity,” Balthazar said, and his voice sounded broken. “Don’t watch this.”

  “You think she wouldn’t want to watch your final destruction?” Redgrave’s exhilaration creased his battered face into a smile. “I think Charity’s been waiting for this a long time.”

  “I remember now,” Charity said. “Yes. A very long time.”

  Then she swung the blade savagely upward. In one lightning-swift move, she sliced straight through Redgrave’s neck.

  Britnee screamed, and Craig jumped. Skye clutched Balthazar’s arm, but all he could do was stare as Redgrave’s head and body both tumbled toward the snow—then dissipated into so much ash.

  As the clouds of what had been Redgrave settled around her feet, Charity brought up her blade and screamed at the other vampires, “Nobody kills my brother but me!”

  They scattered. Whether it was from the fall of their leader or the sheer homicidal insanity in Charity’s eyes, the vampires had lost their nerve. Within a few moments, their small party stood alone except for Charity. Her eyes were locked with her brother’s; her blade was still at the ready.

  She repeated, in a whisper, “I remember now.”

  Balthazar said, “Are you going to kill me next?”

  Charity let the blade drop to her side. Like a petulant, bored child, she said, “I don’t feel like it tonight.”

  The glance that brother and sister shared was confused and even angry, but loving, too. “Um, I was wondering, what in the hell is going on?” Britnee asked.

  “We’ll talk at the house,” Skye said. The cold she’d nearly forgotten during their confrontation with Redgrave had returned. “Let’s go home.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  BALTHAZAR WAS REALLY TOO LARGE TO RIDE IN the middle of the backseat, but he did anyway. This meant that he could fold Skye into his right side, his arm around her shoulders, as the car’s heaters and his own shelter warmed her from the terrible chill. Though she still shivered, he could see her strength returning to her. Despite everything, Skye was going to be all right.

  This seating arrangement also meant that he could keep Charity on his left. She sat quietly, hands in her lap as neatly folded as if they w
ere over a linen napkin instead of the blade she’d used to kill Redgrave.

  His sister had done it. She’d really killed him. As badly as Balthazar had wanted his own vengeance, he would never have denied that Charity deserved that kill as much as he did. The main thing was that Redgrave was gone, forever.

  “I drank her blood,” Charity said. Although Balthazar realized what she meant, Skye held out her arm, revealing the two small pink marks that lingered there, for proof. “I went back to before.”

  “What did you go back to?” he said gently. He had not spoken to her this way since they were both alive.

  “The day I put my bonnet on the cow to make you laugh.”

  Balthazar had almost forgotten that. How ludicrous the cow had looked, and how silly they’d been about it. “That was funny, wasn’t it?”

  “It was.” Charity leaned her head against his shoulder, the way she used to when she was little and they sat in front of the fire. “We used to have lots of fun, didn’t we?”

  “Yeah. We did.”

  That was why she’d murdered Redgrave. The sip of Skye’s blood—the tool Redgrave had thought would make any vampire his minion forever—had instead reminded Charity of who she was when she was alive. At the moment, she was more his sister … more truly herself … than she’d been since becoming a vampire. He let his head rest against hers, just for a second.

  From the front seat, Britnee said, “So, I couldn’t help hearing the comment about drinking blood? Are we talking about vampires here?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Craig said.