by W. J. May
Gabriel nodded to himself, rationalizing his behavior and dismissing it at the same time.
And maybe when I’m finished, I can double back and take a look at that broken water heater. She can’t keep washing her hair in the sink—
He came to a sudden pause as she turned off the main road and headed down into the subway, freezing at the top of the steps. An involuntary chill swept across his shoulders and he felt himself stalling, pacing back and forth across the top.
Subterranean tunnels weren’t exactly his thing. Not after his unconventional childhood. It was a testament to how resistant he was to the entire idea, that he would rather walk nineteen blocks with a gunshot wound than take the New York City subway.
Of course she goes down there. Why would she take a cab when the sewers are waiting? He hesitated a split-second more, weighing her safety over his sanity, then took off after her into the dark. She bought a ticket. He hopped over the rail. She stared down at her iPod. He was watching everyone in sight. When the train pulled up she almost didn’t notice, she was lost so deep in her own world. He hovered on the platform a few yards behind, waiting to see what would happen, half-hoping they wouldn’t have to ride the train after all. When she looked up at the last second and darted through the doors, he was quick to do the same.
Once they were on the train, things became considerably easier. And depressingly predictable.
These things should be banned, Gabriel thought miserably, discreetly edging away from a man who had recently vomited on himself. Dismantled piece by piece.
The smell alone was incredible. The clientele, a collection of all those faces you grew up seeing on milk cartons. Doused in cheap alcohol and aged fifty years.
“Hey, you got any gum?”
Gabriel’s shoulders tensed as the gravelly voice croaked right in his ear. The obligatory spray of spit was soon to follow. He glanced up slowly, making the conscious effort not to warp some of the metal chairs into an impromptu barrier. The kind that came with dragons and a moat. “No. Sorry.”
A polite dismissal, but it clearly wasn’t enough.
The man who’d asked the question leaned forward, projecting a delightful aroma of rancid fish and booze. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
An astounding observation. Based upon nothing but a London accent and a visible aversion to germs. No. Brooklyn had not yet secured its inescapable grasp.
Gabriel shook his head, keeping his eyes straight ahead.
Do not engage. Do not engage.
The man leaned closer still, leaving ‘personal boundaries’ lightyears behind as he chewed on a toothpick stuck between his lips, studying Gabriel with an appraising eye. “You French?”
For the love of—
“I’m highly contagious,” Gabriel replied, looking him right in the eye. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have any gum, would you?”
The man faltered. Frowned. Then moved to a seat on the other side of the train, muttering under his breath all the while. French guy took my gum, got me sick...
On the other side of the train, Natasha was in her own little bubble. Eyes dancing with someone else’s memories as she distractedly bobbed her head to the music. Completely unaware of everything else around her. Completely oblivious to everyone else who had taken notice.
Like the three men who followed her when she got off the train.
Gabriel ghosted along behind them like a shadow. Hunting the hunters. Moving with predatory skill. They kept their distance as she made her way up out of the tunnels. Staying at least ten paces behind until she’d made it up the steps. It was then that they pounced.
“Hey! Hey—you!”
With her headphones on, Natasha couldn’t even hear them. She kept right on walking down the road. A bright little pixie in a world full of monsters. Gabriel watched from the shadows as the tallest of the men circled around in front, stopping her in her tracks.
“Hey, sweetie. You got the time?”
Natasha froze. Looking like a girl who’d been pulled too quickly from a dream. Unable to believe her current reality, even though it was standing right in front of her. By now, the other two men had caught up and were standing behind her, grins stretching from ear to ear.
“Uh...what?” She slowly pulled the headphones from her ears, unable to fully hide the tremble that shook her hands. “I didn’t hear you.”
“The time.” The man came even closer, forcing her to take a step back. Gazing down with a twisted smile as his two friends closed ranks. “I asked if you had the time for us.”
Her lips parted, but she didn’t know what to say. One hand reached discreetly into her purse, but what good was a taser against a trio of men? Especially when all three of them were standing close enough to grab her the second she pulled the thing out. “Um...no, sorry. I’ve got to go.”
Gabriel watched as he quietly moved closer.
Natasha took a step forward but the man caught her by the shoulders, holding on as easily as if she was a doll. Something to be passed around from one to the next.
“So soon?” He bent down to whisper in her ear, “But we were just getting started—”
It was too fast for anyone to see it coming. Too brutal for them to possibly defend. One second, there were three men standing on the sidewalk. The next, there were only two.
“What the—” The man leapt back in shock, now staring down at his two fallen companions.
They’d been replaced by another man instead. One who had a stream of blood dripping off his knuckles, his eyes fixed on the remaining target.
Natasha let out a little shriek, but quieted immediately as Gabriel pulled her against his chest—holding her there with one arm. It was a territorial gesture. One as obvious as if he’d made an actual threat. One that the final man seemed perfectly willing to oblige, but Gabriel wasn’t feeling as forgiving. This wasn’t some midnight mugging on the streets of Prague. These men had made a serious mistake when they set their sights on his lovely new friend. It was a price that would be paid in blood.
“Hey, man. So sorry.” The guy backed away with both hands held in the air, perfectly content to leave his friends bleeding on the ground. “Didn’t know she was your girl.”
Natasha’s body stiffened, but Gabriel’s eyes never left the man. They glowed softly in the faint moonlight. Shimmering with an animalistic kind of rage.
“No,” he answered softly, “you thought she was alone.”
The men lying on the sidewalk behind them stirred, and Natasha sank her fingernails into his arm. Too panicked to say a single word. Too stunned to think of running.
He glanced down at her for the briefest of moments, feeling as her tiny body trembled and shook against his. Then, without thinking, he pressed a soft kiss into the top of her hair. “Close your eyes,” he whispered.
Before she could think to reply, he was airborne—pushing her gently to the side while launching himself straight at her attacker, giving the man no time to defend himself. The whole thing happened so fast the man barely raised his hands before Gabriel landed a debilitating kick in the center of his chest, cracking several ribs along the way.
There was a violent crunch and all the air rushed out of his body. But before he could fall Gabriel reached out and caught him by the sleeve, unwilling to end the game so easily. “You thought she’d be alone,” he repeated, circling the man’s crumpled body like a lion on the hunt, “so you and your friends could have a little fun. Is that it?”
The man pushed to his feet with a defiant growl, but Gabriel kicked him down again.
“And I doubt it’s the first time.” His eyes swept over the other two, deliberately stalling to give them time to get up. “You’re far too practiced for that.”
It was three to one now. An almost impossible fight by regular standards, but you’d never tell it from their faces. Gabriel was cool, calm, and collected, whilst the only thing keeping the others there was a great deal of pride. In the end, it was the pride that pushe
d them over the edge.
“You get that we’re going to kill you, right?” the tall man snarled, clutching painfully at his stomach. “Then we’re going to take our time with your girl.”
“She’s not my girl,” Gabriel replied evenly, staring at each in turn. “But I can promise she’s not going to be your girl, either.”
Without another word, the three men charged. Gabriel was ready for them. After all this time, he no longer considered his movements. He acted on instinct alone. Pure, deadly instinct.
A second before the first man could touch him he leapt into the air, spinning around with a lethal kick. He felt the man’s jaw break beneath his shoe as he landed back on the ground, raising his arm to block the punch of another. This one sparred a bit. Or, at least, he tried to spar. Throwing wild punches in every direction with no clear strategy in mind. Gabriel studied him for a split second then took a step forward, straight into the line of fire. The man whirled back in surprise but Gabriel caught him by the hand, flipping him up into the air before smashing him back down onto the pavement just inches from his friend.
A sudden silence rang out in the darkness. There was only one man left standing and, coincidentally, it was the same man who had started the little game in the first place. The one who had stopped Natasha and asked her for the time.
He was apparently the brains of the operation, because after what happened to his friends he made no attempt to fight Gabriel. He simply reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun. “Like I said,” he cocked the hammer with a vicious sneer, “I’m going to take my time—”
The trigger was pulled. The gun went off. There was a burst of powder, followed by a tortured scream. But the scream didn’t come from Gabriel. It came from the man who targeted him. The same man who was suddenly missing half of his hand.
“WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!” he shrieked, waving the bloody mess back and forth in the air. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!”
“Me?” Gabriel calmly walked forward, his eyes dancing with a secret smile. “I didn’t do anything. Standing all the way over here, remember? Just waiting to die.” The smile faded a bit as he looked the man up and down, his face hardening with the utmost dislike. For a second, he was tempted to do more. Much, much more. Things that his new family would never approve of. Things that Natasha would never be able to get out of her head.
But he didn’t. Somehow, he stopped himself. With nothing more than a gentle shove, the man fell next to his friends. The third in a line of bloody dominos. Each broken in their own unique way.
“Have a better night.” Without another word, Gabriel turned his back on them and walked away. Coming to an abrupt stop just a second later as he looked at Natasha for the first time.
Her eyes weren’t shut. They were wide open. And staring right at him.
For a second, he froze. He hadn’t wanted her to see any of that. It was precisely the reason he’d asked her to close her eyes. Why were girls so stubborn? Why couldn’t this one ever, just once, do as he asked?
Then she shivered suddenly, and he took a step closer. “Are you okay?” He moved slowly, afraid of setting her off. It was one thing to see the varied atrocities in his memories. It was another thing entirely to see them firsthand. “Honey, talk to me. Are you all right?”
Pet names again. He must be more worried about her than he realized himself.
She stared at him blankly for a moment, still clutching her earbuds in either hand, then her entire face transformed with a look of sheer terror. “GABRIEL—LOOK OUT!”
He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the man with the missing hand propel himself to his feet in a burst of adrenaline-fueled rage. The gun was gone but he had procured a knife, one he was pointing directly at Gabriel’s heart. He was still turning when Natasha went bolting past him, throwing her body selflessly in between. No thought at all to stop the blade. Just to stop it from reaching him.
His mouth was still falling open in shock when she threw out her arms and closed her eyes, bracing against the pain that was sure to come.
“Natasha—no!” Gabriel grabbed her by the waist and threw her out of the way, but in the time it took him to do so the man was able to gain the upper hand. While he would never be able to quite understand how his trusty blade went flying up into the sky, it did leave his good hand free to punch Gabriel as hard as he could, straight in the chest. There was a soft tearing sound, followed by a sickening crunch as all of Peter’s healing efforts went right out the window.
Gabriel dropped to his knees with a broken gasp, grabbing his shirt as what looked like a small ocean of blood splattered down onto the sidewalk. The scene in front of him tilted and blurred, but muscle memory kicked in and he was able to catch the man’s boot just a second before it could strike him, throwing him back towards the street.
“Gabriel!” Natasha screamed again, clapping her hands over her mouth as the man came back for more. She’d probably never seen so much blood. Probably never been more intensely afraid in all her life.
But Brooklyn had a way of using that fear to motivate people. And she was born and raised.
With a wild cry she raced forward, reaching into her bag at the same time. There was a brief scuffle as the two silhouettes collided, but just a second later an electric flash shot through the air and the larger of the two fell to the ground. She stared down in a daze, gave him a hard kick for good measure, then raced back to Gabriel, kneeling on the sidewalk by his side.
“What the bloody—what’s the matter with you?” he panted, trying to stem the flow of the bleeding whilst chiding her at the same time. “You could have been killed!”
Her overwhelming panic took a temporary backseat as she folded her arms across her chest with a caustic glare. “Is that how they teach you to say, ‘thank you’ in London?”
Thank you?! What was wrong with all these American women?! Endangering his life, then demanding that he immediately thank them for it? “I could have easily stopped him if you hadn’t gotten in the way.”
“And I could have easily let him pummel your ass, instead of using my taser.”
Gabriel opened his mouth, but was too tired to argue. Instead, he bowed his head in pain, clutching weakly at his shirt while the cracks of the sidewalk filled up with blood.
“What were you even doing here?” she asked in a far quieter voice. Taking off the sweater beneath her jacket and pressing it firmly against his chest. “The Fischers live all the way over on the other side of town.”
Gabriel looked up at her with a blood-spattered glare. “I was following you, all right? I’m a certified stalker now.”
A little smile tugged at the corners of her lips, as she bent and gently wound his arm around her slender shoulders. “Well, come on then, stalker. Let’s get you home.”
IT TURNED OUT THAT Natasha didn’t mean his home. She meant her own.
Gabriel stared up in surprise at the dilapidated house in front of them. Something so wretched and crumbling it made her shitty apartment look like some prize. The roof was caving in, the shutters were hanging off the hinges, and the walls themselves were so riddled with rot it was a miracle the thing was still standing.
But at least it had windows. At least it had sky.
It took a second for him to realize that she was watching him. Shooting defensive little looks out of the corner of her eye. He instantly changed his expression and glanced down with a painful shrug. “Hey, it’s a lot better than where I grew up.”
The defensiveness faded immediately, softening into a wry smile. “Yeah,” she led him up the front steps, “I guess it is.”
If Gabriel was hoping that the inside of the house might be any better, he was sadly mistaken. The paint was peeling, the walls were mildewed, and the air itself was thick with the smell of dust and tobacco. He had seen nicer crack houses in London. Not that he had any intention of sharing that little thought with Natasha.
He followed her stiffly up the stairs to the second story. She might have lived
with her foster father, but the man obviously wasn’t there. Still, there was an instinctual quietness to the way she moved. An abstract caution that haunted her every move. That made Gabriel wonder.
“My room’s just up there.” She pointed one way, then walked another. “Wait for me—I’m just going to grab a couple things.”
He nodded obediently and did as she asked, heading towards the room at the end of the hall. The second he was inside, every muscle in his body froze at the same time.
The place was a wonderland. An eccentric, quirky, dark, bohemian wonderland.
The paint was a faint gold, but you couldn’t really see it. Every inch of the walls was covered—plastered over with pictures, posters, and maps. Decorative scarves were draped over the windows, blocking out the vile view of the street below, and what had to be about five hundred different tea lights and tapers were scattered over every flattened surface. From the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, to the tiny bureau beside her bed.
Whatever foul aroma permeated the rest of the house, she’d made damn sure it couldn’t reach her up there. A precautionary towel had been stuffed under the door, and a forest of vanilla incense was burned almost all the way down in the corner. Instead of having a dresser, it looked like every piece of clothing she owned was thrown haphazardly over the floor, and the blankets on her bed had been cycloned into a little nest. One marked with a pillow at the center.
The place wasn’t a bedroom. It was a sanctuary. Clean and simple.
It was the maps that interested Gabriel the most. He took a step closer, careful not to spill any blood on the floor, and examined the nearest one. It was of Tasmania, of all places. Marked with little dots and stars, annotated with illegible notes scribbled in the corners.
The door opened behind him, and he tapped the map with a faint smile. “Sarcophilus harrisii.”
She paused mid-step, her arms bursting over with bandages and gauze. “Excuse me?”
“It’s a Tasmanian devil. You wrote here that you wanted to see one.” He flicked the map again before meeting her in the center of the room. “Trust me, you don’t. They’re vicious little monsters. Bite off your toes, just for the chance to steal your shoes.”