by Rose Garcia
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
My hands shook. My stomach tightened. Abigail wanted Huxley to study her, but did she want him to kill her? Farrell and I flipped through the pages to read more, but the scribbled ink smeared all over and blended together.
Farrell slammed the book shut and chucked it at the wall. I stared at the worn leather cover and the yellowed paper that poked out. My hands went to my cross. I rubbed the warm smooth surface.
"I need to check something," Farrell said. White light trickled out of his hand and wrapped around his fingers. He touched the cross. I had never been so close to him while his energy radiated from his body. My eyes fixed on his perfect face. White flecks the same color as his aura littered his pure green eyes, like tiny stars. His aura pulsed through the stone and into my skin, vibrating straight through my body. Warmth spread deep inside me and my head began to spin. He drew his hand away fast.
"What?" I asked. "What is it?"
"Her energy source is in there," he said. "I didn’t recognize it before, but I can tell now."
What? Her energy source hung from my neck? My skin prickled with fear. I swallowed hard while I recalled everything Farrell had told me about Transhumans back at the Rice library. The only way we die is to get relocated, or absorbed by another energy source.
"She relocated her energy source," I muttered.
"Yes," Farrell said. "She put it in that stone." He ran his fingers through his hair and paced the room. "But why?" he asked, mostly to himself. "Especially if it can’t be accessed."
My stomach lurched. "What do you mean, can’t be accessed?"
He continued pacing while my anxiety soared. "When a Transhuman places their energy in an inanimate object, it’s locked away forever," he said.
Why would Abigail put her energy source in the cross if it couldn’t help me? It didn’t make sense. My stomach heaved, and I thought I might vomit. I rushed to the bathroom, slammed the door shut, and splashed water on my face. Water dripped down my chin while I stared at the reflection of the cross that hung from my neck. I was just about to yank it off when Farrell knocked on the door.
"Dominique, are you okay?"
In two days I would face Tavion, the leader of the Tainted who wanted me dead. He had my parents. The cross that hung around my neck was useless. I jerked the door open. "No! I’m not okay!" I grabbed my necklace. "And this can’t even help me."
"I might have something that can," he said.
Farrell went to his room and came back with a long wooden black box. He opened the box and brought out two shiny silver daggers. They were plain and slender with a very fine tip.
"I’m not going to give you up, Dominique. When we face Tavion, you’re going to kill him."
"What? Kill Tavion? Is it even…possible?"
"There is power coursing through your veins," he said. "If you can touch Tavion with your blood, you might be able to kill him."
My mind raced. The image of Tavion’s pale and gaunt face filled my mind. The last time I saw him I was on the brink of death, but managed to smear my blood on his face. It had burned his skin. But could my blood kill him?
I shook my head. "Farrell, I don’t know. I mean, I know my blood burned his skin, but kill him?"
He lifted the daggers out of the box and handed them to me. They were cool and smooth, and surprisingly light.
"We let Tavion think we’re turning you over in exchange for your parents," Farrell said. "Just after the switch, you’ll take one of these daggers, cut your palm, cover it with your blood, and plunge it into him. Your blood must penetrate past his skin and go deep inside him. When it does, I think it will extinguish his energy source and kill him."
My hands had finally healed since my last encounter with Tavion when the sharp rocks I held had slashed my skin. Now I would have to cut them again, but this time on purpose. My palms throbbed. Every detail of the red desert flooded my senses. The heat filled my nose. The dirt invaded my lungs. I could even feel tiny granules of dirt under my fingernails.
"I thought a Transhuman couldn’t die," I said. "That their energy source was either absorbed or transferred."
Farrell took the daggers out of my hands. "It is said that our energy source can be extinguished, like fire doused by water, though I’ve never heard of it happening before."
Every hair on my skin stood on edge. "Hold on," I said. "We’re going to try something that’s never been done before?"
"Yes," he said. "We are." He placed the daggers in the box, and handed the box to me. Then he went into my room, grabbed my favorite brown boots and jeans, and tossed them on the bed. He took the box out of my hands.
"Put these on and meet me downstairs," he said.
I had no idea what he was up to, but I figured I should do what he said since this was it—my last two days. If my Walker didn’t have a plan, then I was completely screwed.
When I got downstairs I found Farrell pacing the room, the daggers laid out on the coffee table. "When we show up for your surrender, you’ll have your jeans tucked into your boots, one dagger in each. When he releases your parents, I’ll hand you over. When you get close to Tavion, I want you to pull out one of the daggers, slash your palm, smear it with your blood, and stab Tavion in the chest."
I shuddered at the thought of getting close to Tavion. "I don’t know if I can do it," I whispered.
"You have to do it," he said. "You have no choice, Dominique. This is it, your final life. Game over after this, for all of us. Got it?"
Farrell’s words echoed in my head, the hard tone in his voice vibrated in my ears. "You’re right," I said. "I have no choice." I picked up the daggers, one in each hand. "Veronica and Jan died because of me. So did Abigail." Trent’s bloodied face from our confrontation in the red desert flashed before my eyes. "I don’t want to be responsible for anyone else’s death."
"Good," Farrell said. "Now practice taking the dagger out of your boot and slashing your palms. You must be swift."
My hands throbbed. "You want me to cut myself right now?"
"No, you just need to practice the movements," Farrell said. "You need to get comfortable with the daggers. You need to move them as if they were an extension of your body."
I placed one knife in each boot, the pointy end facing down. I walked around a little, trying to get used to them. Luckily, with my jeans tucked in, it didn’t feel so bad.
"Grab one of the daggers as quick as you can," Farrell said. "The other dagger will be your back up."
I exhaled, stood with my legs shoulder width apart, and tried to relax my hands while a million doubts raced through my mind. What if I couldn’t grab the dagger fast enough? What if I dropped it and didn’t have time to get the other? What if I couldn’t cut my hand after all? And could I really plunge the dagger into Tavion's chest?
Farrell gave me a nod of encouragement that only heightened my anxiety because I didn’t want to let him down. With my right hand, I went for the dagger on the inside of my left boot, but my hand caught on the top of the boot. I relaxed my hands again at my side. I went for the dagger again, but fumbled around inside my boot before bringing it out, and when I did, I dropped it.
"Not bad," Farrell said. "You just need to keep a firm grip."
"Farrell, thanks for the support and all, but that sucked."
"Just keep trying," he said. "I know you can do it."
After over a dozen tries, I finally managed to pull out the dagger and point it at my right palm, ready to slice my skin.
"That was good," Farrell said. "Now keep practicing until you’re faster. Tavion can’t know what you’re doing until it’s too late."
The day turned to night as I continued pulling the dagger from my boot. My hands ached. My arms grew sore. I was beginning to think I could never do it fast enough. Frustration escalated inside me, and I was just about to throw the dagger at the wall as hard as I could when Farrell appeared right beside me, his hand on my arm.
"I know it’s not easy," he said, his ey
es locked on mine while he pried the dagger from my grip. "Let’s take a quick break, okay?"
Tears flooded my eyes, and I swallowed the lump that had lodged in my throat. "Okay."
After pulling myself together and having a quick bite that I forced down, we were back at it. I pulled the stupid dagger out of my boot over and over while Farrell urged me to be faster. Just when I was about to quit, in one swift motion I pulled the dagger out and pointed the tip at my palm.
"I did it!" I said. I slid the dagger back in my boot and tried it a few more times to make sure I had it down, and I did.
"Good. Now let’s do your left hand in case you can’t use your right," Farrell said.
Can’t use my right hand? My body trembled. My throat tightened as I imagined all the things Tavion could do to my right hand: tie it up with his aura, burn it to bits, cut it off. I tried to shut off my imagination, but had a hard time.
"You shouldn’t have said that," I said.
"I’m sorry," he said. "But we need to be ready for anything."
I took a deep breath. Farrell was right; I needed to be able to pull out the dagger with my left hand in case something happened. Since I wasn’t left-handed, taking the dagger out of my right boot and positioning it at my right palm took forever. My weak and clumsy left hand was hard to control, and just about every time I pulled the knife out, I dropped it. But I couldn’t quit, so I kept at it even though my arm started to burn and my hand started to tingle.
With a jerk, I brought the dagger out and brought it to my hand, but my movement was too heavy. The dagger plunged straight through my palm. Pain shot through me. Blood gushed all over.
Farrell took my hand. His aura trickled out of his fingers and gathered at my palm. My head swooned. My body swayed. His light sent the blood back into my hand. My cut closed. Farrell held me tight, lifted me, and set me on the couch.
Sadness and despair flooded me, and fear—fear that I’d never see my parents again, that I wouldn’t be able to kill Tavion, that I’d be killed…again.
"You should rest," Farrell said. "We face Tavion tomorrow at midnight, and we need to be ready."
"No!" I struggled to get up. "I need to keep practicing!" Farrell held me down with a firm grip. "Let me go!"
A white mist circled his fingers as he touched my forehead. "Just close your eyes, Dominique. Rest."
Warmth filled my body while I fought to keep my eyes open. I counted the tiny white flecks in Farrell’s eyes, trying to stay awake, but I couldn’t hold on. Instead, I drifted into a deep, dark, and restless sleep.