“But you think about that now?” I ask, hopeful.
“No. I don’t.”
His answer stings.
Nathaniel charges at me. “I can’t think about what I’m doing to them. Maybe I could’ve before, but not now. Now I don’t have a choice. I can’t—”
I’m tempted to ask him what he was about to say, but I think I already know. He was going to say that he can’t be without me, I can feel it.
“Mercy.” Nathaniel’s voice softens. “I’m sorry for what I did to your friend. I’m deeply and profoundly sorry to have caused you any pain or discomfort. I’m sorry for the guilt you’re feeling. But if I hadn’t … I’m not ready to …”
“Leave me.”
Maybe he’ll lie. Maybe he won’t confirm my suspicion.
“No. I’m not ready to leave you.”
“Nathaniel,” I start, so not ready for this conversation. “I know what I showed you before with the whole kissing thing, so I won’t lie to you and say that I haven’t thought about it, about us—”
“Hey!” Gage calls to us as he crosses the floor. “I think I found something.”
Chapter Sixteen
Gage
I’ve interrupted an intense moment—this I can clearly tell. I give them a beat to divulge what they’ve been so intently discussing, but they’ve both gone quiet. I can see that Mercy’s been crying. Her eyes are rimmed pink, and the tip of her nose is red. I have a strong urge to console her and slap Nathaniel all at the same time, but I squash those feelings and get back to the matter at hand.
“What did you find?” Mercy finally asks.
“There’s an anti-binding potion,” I ask.
“Great. Let’s do it,” Nathaniel says.
“It’s not that easy,” I explain. “Ingredients are difficult to find.”
“How difficult?” Nathaniel asks, an edge to his voice.
“Water from the river difficult,” I say.
“That’s not difficult,” Nathaniel scoffs. “That’s impossible!”
“What river?” Mercy asks.
“Nathaniel, we just need someone who can cross over,” I say as if it’s easy, which we both know it’s not.
“What river?” Mercy asks again.
“I thought you said you’d actually found something useful.”
“I have.”
“Really? Go get it then. We’ll just wait here.” He checks his fake watch. “You’ll be back in, what? Never?”
“Don’t be an ass,” I say to Nathaniel. “I’m only trying to help clean up the mess you made.”
“Fuck you!”
“Stop!” Mercy yells. “Stop fighting! And tell me about the river.”
“When you cross the bridge,” I start.
“When you die,” Nathaniel adds.
“As I was saying,” I glare at Nathaniel and then turn my attention to Mercy, “when you cross the bridge from this life to the next, there’s a river. It’s the river of life. We need water from the river to extract Nathaniel and keep Toby alive.”
“So, let’s go,” Mercy proposes.
“Aren’t you listening?” Nathaniel says snidely. “The only way to cross the bridge is if you die. And once you cross, you can’t get back. If you don’t go into the light at the end of the bridge, you’ll end up in Purgatory. That’s the way it works.”
“Maybe,” I add.
“No.” He waves me off. “Whatever you’re thinking, just forget it.”
“She might have a chance,” I try. “We at least have to consider it.”
“No.” Nathaniel blazes toward me and forcefully grabs my shoulders. “Listen to me very carefully. There is absolutely no way she’s doing this.”
“What if I can?” Mercy asks.
“You can’t,” Nathaniel snaps.
“How do you know?” Mercy folds her arms indignantly across her chest.
Nathaniel releases me and faces Mercy. “Because I’ve seen it. I’ve seen what happens when you reject the light. You have no chance against it, Mercy. And I’m not going to let you try. Not for me. We’ll figure out another way.”
“What other way? We don’t have any other way! Nathaniel, Jay is one of my best friends. I have to do this. For him.” Mercy’s expression changes. She reaches into her back pocket and removes her phone. “It’s Jay.” She shows us the screen. “He’s looking for Toby.”
“Tell him you don’t know anything,” Nathaniel advises Mercy.
“That’s a lie,” Mercy replies.
“That’s your big concern here? Lying?”
“Don’t say anything to Jay just yet, okay?” I say. “If you don’t answer, you’re not lying. You’re just avoiding.”
“Fine,” Mercy reluctantly agrees.
The lights suddenly shut off. Mercy, Nathaniel, and I are standing in utter darkness.
“What’s happening?” Mercy asks nervously.
I raise my finger to my lips. She quiets instantly and edges closer to me. We three form a circle, facing outward, bracing ourselves for whatever is coming. When nothing happens right away, I seize the opportunity to move to a safer location. “This way,” I whisper.
Nathaniel and I flank Mercy as we inch quietly toward the exit. I’m hoping beyond hope that we can make it to back to the library before—
Shots ring out to our left. Nathaniel pushes Mercy along as we scramble. Each one of us assumes a defensive position as if that alone will protect us from the bullets. Footsteps, thundering footsteps, are coming toward us.
“Run!” I yell.
The shots continue as we race down the hall to the library. Of all the rooms in the building, it provides the most shelter, the most nooks and hiding places. Once they’re safe, I can go on my own to the weapons room. I’m guessing it’s probably been cleared out by now, but it’s my only hope.
We reach the library unscathed. Nathaniel immediately topples the tables, making it more difficult for whoever is chasing us to charge into the room.
“Stay here. I’m going to try for the weapons room,” I say forcefully. I don’t want any argument from either of them.
Mercy grabs my arm and gives it a squeeze. “Be careful.”
I nod. Looking to Nathaniel, I say, “If I don’t make it back—”
“You’ll make it back.”
I dash off without another word, zigging and zagging through the maze of tables Nathaniel made. Near the entrance I pause, flatten myself against the wall, and listen. The coast appears to be clear. Cautiously, I slither out into the hall looking both left and right and over my shoulders in rapid succession. I snake along, low to the ground, silent as can be.
I’m hit from behind sharply, and I stumble forward, blinking the stars from my vision as I’m struck again. My knees and palms smack the pavement. I whirl around, and hop to my feet. Grabbing my assailant by the middle, I attempt to tackle him to the ground. He’s surprised and thrown off balance at first, but he quickly recovers, plants his feet, and tosses me aside. I hustle to regain my footing, ducking and dodging as he takes aim with his pistol. I kick out and knock the gun from his hand. We dive, both of us clawing for it while still fighting each other. Wrestling and struggling, I clamor with all my might, trying to gain purchase. We grab the gun at the same time. It fires once, twice, and then the body against me goes still.
Now armed, I push the body off of me and run for the weapons room. My heart pounds wildly, adrenaline coursing through my human veins. Fighting as a Hunter is much different than this. Before I was controlled, prepared. Now I’m flailing, just trying to stay alive.
As expected, the weapons room is empty. How could it not be? Between the police and the fireman who trampled through here, I would expect nothing less. But they could only take what they could see, which means my hidden stash might still be safe. On the far wall is a glass case containing, ironically, a fire extinguisher. I smash the glass with my elbow, yank the extinguisher free, and throw it to the ground. I’m making too much noise.
I can hear someone approaching and I have to move fast. In the wall there’s a panel, which I punch through. Behind the panel are two pistols and three knives. I grab one knife. An angry, meaty, bald man plunges into the room. I flip the knife in his direction. He ducks, but I aimed low, and it slices right through his ample gut. He doubles over, grunting, and I go on the offensive. I strike with a series of punches and kicks. Weakly, he tries to defend himself, but when I yank the knife from his belly, he uses both hands to try to stop the gush of blood. It’s no use. Defeated, he sinks to his knees, but I am not finished yet. Rage I’ve never experienced before pulses through me. I finish him off by jabbing and twisting the knife into heart. He’s dead almost instantly.
Winded but still amped, I grab the rest of the weapons. In the hall I’m met by a woman, about my height, with a slick, tight ponytail, and a scowl that would make anyone cower. She’s aiming a delicate but deadly gun right at me. “Drop your weapons,” she instructs.
I don’t.
She tilts her head to the side slowly, clearly calculating her next move. “I said, drop your weapons.”
“Who sent you?” I’m stalling. She knows it. I know it.
“I’m going to give you one last chance,” she threatens.
Slowly, with great effort, I begin to crouch. She’s watching me carefully, never altering her aim. Even if she isn’t a great shot, she has me dead to rights. One at a time, I set each weapon down on the floor. As I’m about to release the last gun, I take my chances, raise it quickly, and get off one shot before my thigh explodes with pain. White-hot and burning, the fire spreads quickly up and down my leg. I drop my gun without thinking and latch onto my leg with both hands. It does nothing to alleviate the burning. My vision blurs. Tipping over, my right shoulder hits the ground, and I force myself to focus my eyes, force myself to gauge my surroundings. I see her feet in front of me. She’s still standing, so I must’ve missed.
Pop! Pop! I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the light to take me. But nothing happens. Stealing a glance, I see the woman drop, her life extinguished by three or four gaping holes in her chest. Rolling to my left, I try to look over my shoulder, but the movement is too much. Blood rushes from my thigh and drips over my hands.
“Stay down,” a female voice commands as she steps over me.
“Mercy?” I ask, confused as to how she found me, and where she got a gun.
“Not quite,” she quips. She checks the hall, and when it’s clear she squats in front of me.
“Justice?” I’m so confused. Everything is wrong. Everything is black and thick and heavy. “What are you doing here?”
“You can give me the third degree later. Right now we have to move.”
Justice picks up my weapons off the floor. She slides one knife into each boot and sticks a gun inside the waistband of her pants so that it hugs her tailbone. She worms her arm under mine, shoulders my weight, and helps me to my feet. The effort is agony, and I want to collapse, but I stand, sort of.
“Where are the others?” she asks.
“Library.” I nod in that direction.
“Hold this.” She hands me a gun. “Fire at anything that moves, got it?”
Again, I nod.
It takes a century to reach the library, but Justice never once complains about the pace. We slip through the doors. With her foot, Justice rights a chair. She lowers me into it. “Give me your shirt.” She holds her hand out, palm up, waiting.
I shrug off my jacket and ease the shirt over my head. Justice makes a substantial rip in the fabric. Then she tears the shirt into strips. Gingerly, she wraps one of the strips around my thigh. “Ready? This might hurt.”
“Do it.”
Justice yanks the ends of the fabric, and my leg screams. I grit my teeth as she makes the final knot.
“This won’t hold for long,” she tells me.
“Why are you helping me?”
“Questions later, Gage.” She surveys the room. “Where are they?”
“They should be here,” I tell her.
“Again, fire that thing at anything that comes through those doors. I’m going to look around.”
Justice clicks off the safety on her gun and leaves me facing the door. My hand trembles, but I force myself to keep it as steady as possible. I don’t know what’s going on—I just know it’s not good—and I hope I survive long enough to get some answers.
Minutes tick by and Justice still hasn’t returned. It would be stupid to call out to her, but I’m tempted.
Just as I’m about to yell her name, I hear her. Her footsteps are labored, like they were when she was assisting me. I twist in my chair, gun still pointed at the door and take in the scene. Justice is dragging Toby. He is propped against her, one of his arms around her shoulder, the other limp at his side. One of her hands holds his arm over her shoulder; her other hand is around his waist. His head is bent and bobbing, and the toes of his shoes slide along the floor.
I want to help her, but in my condition, I can’t. Panicked, I ask, “Is he alive?”
“He’s breathing. Has a pulse.” She eases his limp body into a chair next to me. “But he took a beating for sure.” She pulls his hair back and shows me his lumpy, purple and black face.
“Jesus. Who did this?”
Ignoring my question, Justice takes her cell phone from her pocket. She makes a call. “It’s me. I have Gage and Nathaniel. Mercy’s gone.”
Her words register, and now I can’t help myself. I have to look for Mercy. I stand and instantly regret it. Justice eyes me, gives me a reproachful look, and I sit back down.
“Got it,” she says and then she ends her call. “Help is on the way.”
“Who did you call? What’s going on? Who has Mercy?”
Justice paces back and forth.
“I asked you a question.”
“I heard you,” she snaps.
“You’re not going to answer me?”
“No. I’m not.” Justice marches to the door. “Stay put. I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going?”
My final question is met with the door closing behind her.
With great effort and searing pain, I scoot my chair closer to Nathaniel. I check for a pulse. It’s there, but it’s faint.
Mercy is gone. Nathaniel’s host body is unconscious. I’ve been shot. Justice saved my life. In such a short time, everything has gone to hell.
I sit there stewing, unable to do anything but wait for Justice to return, which she does only moments later. With her are four hulking figures I recognize. “You called Isadora? That’s who you were on the phone with? Are you insane?” I want to kill her! How could she bring Isadora of all people into this? Aren’t things bad enough? I’m powerless to resist the hands that hoist me from the chair and assist me out of the building. One of the men carries Toby’s motionless body. “Where are you taking me?” I ask Justice.
“Somewhere safe.”
“If Isadora is involved in this, none of us are safe.”
Justice isn’t in the mood to argue with me, apparently, because she doesn’t respond.
Just outside the warehouse, parked at the curb, a black town car waits for us.
To the man holding Toby, Justice says, “Drop the body somewhere visible. Call 911, and don’t leave until you see they have him. Got it?”
I’m appalled. “You’re just going to leave him somewhere? That’s Nathaniel in there!”
“Go,” Justice says to the one holding Toby. He takes off without looking back.
Justice stands directly in front of me. She places her palm on my bare chest. Her touch is surprisingly warm. “Gage,” she begins with no trace of anger or malice, “Toby’s been reported missing. The police are all over town looking for him. We’ll make sure that they find him and take him to the hospital. This is what needs to happen.”
She holds my jacket out to me like a peace offering. When I don’t move, she throws it over my shoulders. Relenting, I slide my arms
through the sleeves.
She’s right. It’s so wrong, but she’s right. Toby’s body is in trouble. Mercy would want me to make sure he gets the help he needs. I know this, but I still don’t feel right about letting Nathaniel out of my sight, not when I’ve already lost Mercy.
Two men assist me into the backseat of the car. Each movement is agony, but I hold it together as best as I can. Justice slides in next to me. The two men get into the front, leaving one still on the sidewalk.
“He’s not coming?” I ask. I don’t know why I’m care. Mostly, I’m just curious, and I’ll take all the information I can get.
“Clean up,” Justice says as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“Right.”
I know she won’t give me any more information. She won’t tell me where we’re going or why she’s helping me, so I don’t bother to ask. I keep my thoughts fixated on Mercy and how once again I’ve managed to let her down. I should’ve been there to protect her. I never should’ve left her alone with Nathaniel, who was in no position to defend her, obviously.
The car stops. When I realize where we are, I suppose I should’ve known all along this is where we were headed: The Sheraton Grand Hotel. It wasn’t that long ago that Nathaniel and I came here looking for Mercy’s mother. And since Ariana is Isadora’s sister, it’s only fitting that they should choose the same hideout.
Getting out of the car is as torturous as I imagined it would be, but at least Justice’s makeshift tourniquet seems to be holding. I’m not bleeding profusely anymore.
We make our way through the lobby with little fanfare. I understand now what makes a hotel such a great escape. People are too busy with themselves to notice what’s going on right under their noses. Once we reach the penthouse suite, Justice knocks, and we are let in immediately.
The scene inside is more than startling. “What the …”
I expected to see Isadora. I did not expect Ariana and Mercy’s father, Eric, to be standing next to her.
Chapter Seventeen
Into the Light Page 12