by W. J. May
“Devon—” Julian gasped. His face was drawn with fear and pain, and his eyes were locked on something just over his friend’s shoulder. “Dev, behind—”
Devon turned just as the blade flew towards him. Stained red with the blood of his best friend. Held firm in the hand of his father.
There was nothing he could do. It was too fast. He was too stunned. He would only watch with wide eyes as it flashed through the air. Leaving him with time only to whisper a single word. “…Dad?”
It should have been the end. It was a lethal blow, one that no one could survive.
But somehow, it wasn’t.
A hand flashed into the air between them. Absorbing the blade meant for another. Impaling almost in half as the knife stabbed straight through the center, coming out on the other side.
There was a feral cry of pain as Simon Kerrigan leapt onto the scene.
“Tristan—NO!”
In what had to be the most selflessly excruciating tactic Rae had ever seen, her father actually twisted Triston’s hand in a perverse wave, using his own flesh and blood to rip the knife away. It flew away from Tristan and landed with a loud clatter on the other side of the room.
There was a small scuffle as Simon launched himself forward, pinning his best friend up against the wall. But Tristan didn’t fight him. The second the knife dropped, the trance broke with it. Leaving the rest of the room reeling in the aftermath.
Luke was shaking, while Gabriel had gone very still.
Devon was still looking at his father. Frozen with almost childlike shock. It wasn’t until something wet soaked through the knee of his jeans that he looked down to see Julian bleeding out on the floor beside him. “Jules!” he cried again, forgetting everything else entirely as he lifted his head off the floor. A look of sudden dread paled his face as he pressed down on his friend’s chest, only to have his hands immediately overrun with blood. When he spoke again, it was far less sure. “…Julian?”
Gabriel jerked in place, like someone had snapped their fingers beside his ear, then bolted across the room in a flash, sinking to the floor beside them. “We have to get him out of here,” he muttered, trying to assess the damage as best he could between the torrents of blood and Devon’s trembling hands. “Help me lift him. On three.” He counted down swiftly, but when the moment came Devon didn’t move.
Not everyone had been raised in the catacombs. Not everyone had learned to suppress all human emotion. Devon’s best friend in the world was dying on the floor of a cheap apartment.
…a part of him was dying, too.
“Julian, stay with me.” All his training and experience went right out the window as he ripped off his jacket and pressed it against the wound. His voice shook, and his hands were trembling so violently they could hardly hold on. “It’s going to be okay. It…it has to be okay.”
It was a heartbreaking scene. One that made even Gabriel pause.
On the other side of the room, Tristan peeled himself off the wall. He blinked slowly as he returned to the present. Looking like a man who was coming out of a nightmare, only to realize that it wasn’t a nightmare after all.
His eyes flickered first to his son, sweeping Devon up and down in a practiced way to make sure he was safe, before coming to rest on the blade still embedded in Simon’s hand. “…Simon?”
At once, Simon dropped what he was doing and rushed back to Tristan’s side. It was like the last fifteen years never happened. Like they were brothers once more.
“What…what happened?” Tristan breathed, stepping back as he reached to Simon for support. “I don’t…” He trailed off when he saw Julian, his face growing dangerously pale. “Simon, please tell me…please tell me I didn’t do that.”
The two shared a look of silent understanding and Tristan slumped back against the wall, looking like he was going to be sick. On the other side of the room, things weren’t much better.
A sea of tears blurred Devon’s eyes as Julian began to drift in and out of consciousness.
“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered, staring down at his blood-stained hands. “You’re the one who can see the future. Please…tell me what to do.”
The words were for Julian, but the psychic was fading fast. It was Gabriel who answered.
“We take him back to the house.”
“The house?” Luke echoed, almost as lost as Devon. “But the hospital—”
“The house is closer,” Gabriel insisted, pulling him up to a sitting position. His green eyes tightened as Julian’s arms fell limply to his sides, and he muttered under his breath, “He’s not going to make it to the hospital.”
The words carried farther than he intended, and for a second the entire room froze.
It was a testament to how bad things were that they hadn’t moved him already. That everyone was still standing in the dingy little room. But it only took one look at Julian to see that his situation was critical. No one wanted to risk moving him. They were afraid just to touch him.
“Devon.”
Devon looked up sharply as Gabriel jerked his head towards the door.
“Are you going to take him? Or am I?”
The words brought the room back to life.
Luke nodded and ran downstairs to bring around the car, while the younger men bundled Julian as best they could for the journey. As for the older generation, they kept their distance.
There wasn’t a single drop of blood for which they weren’t directly responsible. No matter how the situation might have changed, it was a fact that was impossible to forget.
And the rest was history.
Julian let out a soft cry of pain as they carried him down the stairs, but other than that he remained quiet. Quickly slipping into the near-comatose state that would claim them by the time they reached the house. The others never spoke a single word. Not until they rounded the corner to the London house, and Devon shouted the fateful words.
“HE’S NOT BREATHING!”
The memory faded to mist as Devon and Rae lifted their heads at the same time. The deep violets and midnight silvers of the garish scene brightened into the soft light of morning. The warm glow of the rising dawn had crept inside the room.
Although the mental connection was broken, they didn’t let go of each other’s hands. And it took a moment to realize they both had tears in their eyes.
“Now you know.” Devon bowed his head, overwhelmed by the images all over again. “Now you know everything. Rae, you have to believe me; I never meant to—
“Shh.” She put a finger over his lips, and pulled a blanket over them in the same instant. She didn’t want to talk about what happened. It was enough to see it. It was enough to see what it had done.
“Hold me,” she whispered, pulling his arms around her with a little shiver. “Please just hold me.”
Chapter 7
Rae woke a few hours later to a set of the most vile profanities she’d ever heard. At first, she thought some sort of Irish sailing convention must’ve come to town before she realized the dark litany was coming from her best friend’s room at the end of the hall.
“Devon,” she whispered excitedly, turning to shake him although there was no way he could possibly have slept through it. “Devon, it sounds like Julian’s—”
But Devon was already gone. The sheets cold. The bed on his side was empty.
Instead of the automatic dread that usually followed such a discovery, Rae found herself grinning uncontrollably as she leapt off the mattress and grabbed the first set of clothes her hands touched. She dressed quickly, racing down the hall. The door was half-open, and from the sounds of things she wasn’t the only person who was completely beside themselves at the prospect of seeing Julian alive. In fact, unless she was mistaken, the colorful commentary wasn’t even coming from him.
“Get the hell OFF, Molly!”
There was a muffled struggle, followed by a dull impact, followed by the sound of breaking glass. Immediately after, a burst of elec
tricity lit up the entire second story.
What the…?! Rae skidded to a sudden stop, staring wideeyed at the door. The tips of her raven-colored locks reached up to the walls as an invisible wave of static electricity rippled through the air.
“MOLLY ELIZABETH SKYE!”
Devon’s voice shook the house—the thunder behind the lightning—as Rae ventured a few steps closer. The door to Julian and Angel’s bedroom wasn’t ajar, as she had originally thought. It was actually propped up precariously in the frame, a giant scorch mark running up the center. A rarely used tatù floated to the surface of her skin, and with a mischievous grin she vanished into thin air before slipping silently into the room to watch the strange scene unfold.
It was exactly as she might have predicted.
Molly and Devon were standing at the foot of Julian’s bed, screaming at each other like it was the end of the world. The room around them was in shambles. Burnt curtains. Shattered desk. A thick layer of smoke hung in the air, and every now and then a shower of angry sparks would fly off Molly’s fists, adding fuel to the fire.
As for poor Julian himself? The subject of all their indignant rage?
He was lying unnoticed on the mattress. Propped up in the center of the bed on a trio of blood-stained pillows. His face was pale and tired and, judging by his expression, he had been watching them go at it for quite some time.
High-strung. Rae shook her head with a little grin. Over the years, she’d heard her friends rather generously described as high-strung. Yeah, I can see it…
“I can’t believe it!” Devon cried, running a hand along the back of his head as a fine layer of singed hair fell to the ground. “I can’t believe you used your tatù on me!”
As if to accentuate his rage, a broken picture frame fell off the wall.
“It’s not like you left me a choice,” Molly hissed, clinging onto the foot of the bed like her life depended on it. “Trying to BAN me from the room! Are you bloody SERIOUS?!”
“BECAUSE YOU’RE TOO LOUD!” Devon shouted at the top of his lungs, completely oblivious to the ridiculous irony echoing off the walls. “Can’t you see you’re upsetting him?!”
Julian sighed softly and slipped lower on the bed.
The others were too distracted to notice.
“I’M upsetting him?!” Molly’s face paled with fury. “I’M not the one who took him out last night and almost got him KILLED!”
Devon ducked swiftly as she pelted him with her shoes. “This is EXACTLY what I mean! Lower your DAMN voice!”
Julian’s dark eyes flickered wearily between them, growing more tired with each pass. When a bolt of lightning followed the stilettos, he tried to gently intervene. “Guys—”
“Don’t try to talk, Jules,” Devon quieted him quickly, blurring to the side of the bed. “You’ll only strain yourself.”
“But I’m really—”
“Seriously, Julian.” Molly took up position on his other side, distractedly smoothing, then re-smoothing his dark hair. “What you need right now is peace and quiet.”
He closed his mouth helplessly, and the two of them proceeded to continue to scream at each other.
“You need to be careful with him!” Devon shot Molly a scorching glare as he seized Julian’s wrist to check his vitals. “It’s like you’re not even paying attention!”
“I’m plenty careful with him, thank you very much!” Molly wrapped her tiny arms around Julian’s neck defiantly, patting the top of his head. “He needs me right where I am.”
Neither noticed the ironic wince that tightened Julian’s face every time he was touched. Nor the silent sigh that bowed his shoulders. In the end he simply settled back on the bed, watching his friends with a look of long-suffering patience as they went for each other’s throats.
It wasn’t until Rae shimmered into view that he glanced up with a spark of hope. Their gazes locked for a suspended moment, his lovely eyes screaming a silent cry for help.
Get me the bloody heck out of here.
Rae lifted her hand with a little salute, and stepped boldly into the fray. “Ahem!” she cleared her throat loudly, and the other two jumped in surprise. It wasn’t often she was able to catch them both off guard, and she took a second to revel in the triumph. “From what I can see, the biggest threats to Julian’s well-being right now…are the two of you.”
Molly and Devon froze at the same time, flushing guiltily as they looked first at Julian and then down at the floor. Both mumbled an unintelligible apology and took a step back. The psychic flashed Rae a look of extreme gratitude, which she specifically avoided—preparing for her betrayal.
“Now,” she clapped her hands briskly together, taking advantage of their silence to seize her golden opportunity, “I think the person Julian really needs to spend some time with is me—”
Julian’s head fell back against the pillow as the shouting started once more.
“Not on your life!” Devon countered, enraged once more. “He needs to rest! I’m not going to stand here and keep arguing with—”
“If Rae gets to stay then I get to stay, too!” Molly screeched, clinging even tighter to Julian’s neck. “I’m the one who cares about him most—”
Rae shot her a sarcastic glance, sending a gust of wind to mess up her hair, and Devon literally picked her up in frustration, trying to pry her away.
“Are you kidding me?!” Devon scoffed. “How are you possibly the one who—”
“I’m his ROCK!” Molly’s legs were lifted into the air, but her arms held firm. “You have no idea half the things the two of us have…” She trailed off suddenly as a chilling silence fell over the room.
The three friends took a giant step back as a breathtaking girl took a giant step forward, her sapphire eyes flashing pure murder.
“What the hell is this?”
Oh, crap. Not good.
The three friends stepped back farther still and Julian collapsed against the pillows with a sigh of relief, running his hands up over his face with a muttered, “Oh, thank goodness.”
“Did you think this was what I meant when I said to keep an eye on him?” Angel’s voice rang with a deadly sort of calm. The kind that left everyone looking for the exits. “Really?”
Rae fought the urgent need to once again become invisible as Molly angled discreetly behind her. Only Devon had the strength to answer, although he couldn’t seem to meet her eyes.
“We were…we were just—”
“GET OUT!”
Rae didn’t argue. The terrified feeling inside her, the urge for flight instead of fight, won out. She skittered out of the room like her feet were on fire, the others hot on her heels. She turned around at the door to watch Angel, wanting to make sure Julian was okay. She didn’t say a word; neither did her fiancé or best friend.
Julian, however, gazed up at his girlfriend with a tender smile. “What do you have there?” he asked softly, nodding at the bag still clutched in her hands.
She turned back to him, her fearsome expression melting back to exquisite perfection. “I brought you some breakfast…”
Devon did them the courtesy of discreetly propping the door in its hinges on his way out and, together, the three friends headed down the stairs, feeling rather subdued, all things considered. “So, uh…” he raked a hand awkwardly through his hair, “anybody hungry?”
Rae nodded at the floor, while Molly piped up, “I could eat.”
He nodded once, not really looking at either of them, and disappeared into the kitchen.
The second he was gone, the girls shared a silent look.
“I wasn’t scared,” Molly said defensively.
Rae glanced back at the top story with a shudder. “Me neither. Not for a second.”
* * *
Luke joined them for breakfast, and an hour or so after they’d finished eating the front door pushed open.
“Hello?” Dean Wardell called quietly as he stepped inside. “Anybody awake?”
The
four friends stiffened of one accord. They were settled in the living room, surrounded by a dozen cups of coffee. Luke had already filled Molly in on what had happened, and now that they were satisfied their friend was in good—albeit terrifying—hands, they were quietly discussing what to do about the other catastrophe that had happened the previous night.
That catastrophe being Samantha.
“Anybody here?”
Devon glanced up to where Julian was resting upstairs before getting to his feet. “I’ll tell him to leave. I’m sorry, I didn’t even think he might still—”
Much to his surprise, Rae stopped him. She held onto his sleeve, glancing at the others for affirmation, before gently shaking her head. “Dev, it wasn’t his fault,” she said softly, lowering her voice as much as possible, even though Tristan would still be able to hear. “Julian knows that. You need to know it, too.”
Devon froze for a second before pulling his arm away. “I don’t care,” he muttered. “I can’t see him in here. I can’t…I can’t see him at all.”
A wave of pity welled up inside her as she remembered the look on his face. That almost childlike look of wide-eyed shock as his own father bore down on him with a knife.
But she remembered the look on Tristan’s face as well. After the trance had broken and he realized what he’d done, she felt certain he was about ready to turn that knife on himself.
“You can’t blame him for something that wasn’t in his control.” Her dark hair fell around her face as she bowed her head with a little sigh. “Devon…I didn’t blame you.”
That stopped him.
His eyes tightened, and for a split second they both flashed back to just a few weeks earlier. When Devon had been the one with the blade. The memory was enough to make him sick. A look of gut-wrenching sadness swept across his face, and he sank silently into his chair.
“We’re in here,” Rae called, keeping her voice as steady as she could. The sound of light footfalls echoed in the foyer, and a second later Tristan Wardell swept into the living room.
It was clear the poor man hadn’t slept a wink. Rae doubted he’d even made it to the car. His eyes flickered quickly across the living room—resting for a painful moment on his son—before he turned and glanced up the stairs the same way Devon had just seconds before. Rae felt sorry for him.