The White Rabbit Chronicles

by Gena Showalter

  The grandfather clock adjacent to us struck midnight, bells chiming, and I stiffened. A new day. From this point on, I could not peer into Cole’s eyes without having a vision.

  Distraction was dangerous in a situation like this.

  Not that I knew what, exactly, was going on.

  The room was so hushed, the blood pumping through me so swiftly, my ears rang. No wonder I never heard the door to the bedroom open or the footsteps of the man dressed in black; he eased his way toward the bathroom, stepping into my line of vision. Shock lanced through me.

  Benjamin, with a .44 of his own clutched in his hand. Like mine, the weapon had a silencer.

  Cole didn’t waste time with conversation. He raised his crossbow and fired off a shot.

  The arrow sank into Benjamin’s shoulder, impact pushing him into the bathroom door, which swung open, dragging him inside. He tripped over the weapons we’d left behind, but as he fell, he spun and aimed the gun right at us.

  Too bad for him I’d already had his chest in my sights, my finger poised on the trigger. I squeezed.

  The gun’s recoil vibrated in my shoulders, the smell of smoke and gunpowder hitting my nose as the assassin ricocheted backward, landing on his back. He tried to sit up, but couldn’t quite manage it. He ended up wilting against the tile, unmoving.

  “Careful,” I said as Cole rushed over, his crossbow extended.

  As he crouched, intending to roll Benjamin over and tie his hands behind his back, Cole’s legs were kicked out from under him. He launched another arrow as he fell, nailing Benjamin in the chest. But he cracked his head on the tub and was either knocked unconscious or silly, allowing the assassin to lumber into a sitting position—and aim his gun at Cole’s chest.

  Instinct. Rage. Panic. I’m not sure what powered me. I squeezed off another shot, hitting Benjamin in the hand, sending the gun flying. His narrowed gaze settled on me. I squeezed the trigger, a death shot this time, but heard only a click.

  Out of bullets, when Cole constantly reloaded? Or another faulty gun? What were the odds of that...unless someone was tampering with our stuff? Whatever. No time. I hopped to my feet. Benjamin and I had faced off before. I’d won. I could win again.

  Besides, someone in the house had to have heard the thump of falling bodies. He—or she—wouldn’t know where, exactly, the sounds had come from. Or what room Cole and I were in. A search would ensue. Benjamin had time, but not a lot.

  “Obviously you escaped your cage,” I said. “Where are Frosty and River?”

  He wiped his mouth, smearing the blood trickling from the corners. “Wasn’t hard to palm a key. Then the second they left me alone...” He smiled, all here I am.

  “Kill anyone along the way?” I tried for a breezy tone.

  “And risk raising an alarm? No. I decided to wait for my prey.”

  Me. Clearly.

  I didn’t ask why, but he answered anyway. “A month ago, I was hired to bring you in or kill you. You got away, and now there’s a stain on my spotless record. It’s nothing personal, sweetness, but I want that stain wiped away.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  Despite being arrowed twice, and shot, he was surprisingly steady as he swiped up a couple of daggers and a short sword from the bathroom floor.

  He grinned slowly, coldly. “I don’t need luck. I have skill.” Moving so swiftly I had trouble keeping track, he tossed one of the daggers. The blade sliced the underside of my wrist, nicking the vein. My pain receptors acted on autopilot, causing my entire hand to flinch. The already useless gun dropped to the floor.

  Advantage—Benjamin.

  Just. Like. That.

  He stalked toward me, menace in every step. I backed away, rounding to the right and moving toward the door. It was closed, probably locked; I wanted it open and unlocked. Wanted to lead Benjamin into the hallway, away from Cole—please be okay—where we were more likely to be seen and heard. But he angled, too, forcing me to go in the other direction or be stabbed. Eventually, the backs of my knees hit the edge of the bed.

  He stopped a few feet away, his smile returning. “Poor Ali,” he said and tsked. “Nowhere else to go.”

  I knew it would be suicidal to try to kick the knife out of his hand. That was all Hollywood and stupid. My dad once told me to use whatever was nearby as a weapon. Anything. Everything.

  “I’m going to enjoy this,” Benjamin said. And then he did it. He swung the short sword at me. I arched away from the blade and grabbed his wrist, stopping his momentum. Then, with my free hand, I punched him in the throat.

  Gasping for breath, he stumbled away from me.

  I used what was nearby—a candle. I flung the hot, melted wax over his face. He grunted, wiping at his eyes, temporarily blinded. Then I kicked the sword out of his hand. Like this, I didn’t have to kick as high, which meant I had a better chance of staying on my feet if he dodged.

  He didn’t dodge.

  As the blade skidded across the floor, I moved in for another strike and kicked him in the nuts. He growled low, like a wounded, angry animal, but didn’t hunch over. Somehow able to work past the pain, he drove me to the bed. I bounced on the mattress until his weight bore down and pinned me.

  I could have panicked, but I knew emotions were my worst enemy right now. So, I stayed calm, even when he delivered a solid punch to my jaw.

  Pain. A burst of stars. In a flash of violent motion, I bucked, creating a gap between our bodies. He was forced to grip the headboard to remain upright. Without his hands holding me down, I was able to clasp him by the hips and pull myself between his legs, sitting up behind him and turning.

  I flattened my hand on the back of his head and shoved. His forehead banged into the headboard, the entire bed rattling with the force of the blow. But again, he wasn’t as injured as he should have been. A slayer ability?

  He grabbed my arm when I reached for him and flung me to the floor. Impact escorted the air right out of my lungs.

  Benjamin jumped to his feet.

  “Ali!”

  I looked. I didn’t mean to, but finding Cole whenever he called was habit. Absolutely essential. Our gazes met as he raced from the bathroom, and the world faded away—

  —suddenly Cole was striding down a narrow corridor. I was hanging over his shoulder, beating and kicking at him.

  “Let go,” I demanded.

  “Never again,” he countered.

  “You keep saying that. What do you want with me? What do you want from me?”

  “What I’ve always wanted. Everything.”

  “Well, you can’t have it. I don’t know you, don’t want to know you—”

  —what! I almost screamed.

  The scene instantly morphed—

  —we were standing nose to nose, shouting at each other.

  “Yes! Dang it, yes!” I stomped my foot. “You remember what the pages said. One person will give her life to save many.”

  “That person isn’t going to be you.”

  “It is!”

  “No,” he repeated more firmly—

  —the second vision vanished, and again I wanted to scream. Because I might be the one, the “she.” We’d lost track of the assassin, and I probably had knife wounds all over me.

  I blinked rapidly and looked down at myself. I was on my feet, warm blood trickling from my neck. My gaze found Cole. He stood a few feet away, his hands clutched at his sides, his expression murderous. He fought to reach me, but Bronx held him back. There was a smear of crimson on his temple.

  “Cole.”

  “He’s fine.” Frosty moved in front of me, studied my features.

  “The assassin—”

  “Dead,” Frosty replied with relish. “He was a split second away from cutting through your jugular. I wa
sn’t taking any chances and shot him between the eyes.”

  One mission...over...almost died...wouldn’t have had...chance to say...goodbye. Something was wrong with me—and only getting worse. I struggled to breathe, my thoughts derailing. Every ache and pain I’d received during the fight roared with new life, driving me to my knees.

  “I think...Cole...concussion,” I managed to say. My eyelids became heavy.

  “I don’t care about me,” he said, and I knew he was beside me now. He’d probably shoved Bronx and Frosty out of the way.

  Sharp pains exploded through my head. “Something...wrong.” I opened my mouth to say more, but I didn’t have the strength.

  “Ali?” he demanded. He sounded far away. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

  I floated away from him, going higher and higher, no longer able to hear him or feel him. It sucked. But it also didn’t suck. Up here, I felt nothing.

  “Alice.”

  The familiar, beloved voice called to me, and eyelids no longer weighed down fluttered open. My little sister stood a few feet away, white mist dancing all around her, creating a magical haze.

  “Am I dreaming?” I asked.

  “No.” She looked worried and adorable at once. “You’re hovering somewhere between life and death.”

  Death? I instantly recoiled. “I’m not ready to die. There’s too much to do.” I had to save Justin, as promised. I had to destroy Anima. I had to spend time with Helen.

  I had to create a safe world for Cole and Kat and Nana.

  “Then fight,” she said.

  I wanted to shake her. “That’s what I’m doing.”

  “Fight,” she repeated. “Alice. Fight!” The last was screamed.

  No, Emma wasn’t screaming. I was. Agony consumed me, and my back bowed off the floor. Floor. Yes. That’s where I was, not the clouds. I was lying flat on my back, fire burning me up, sweat pouring from me. Something hard beat at my chest, nearly cracking my ribs.

  Finally, though, the fire died and I sagged against the wood planks, boneless. But still the beating continued.

  “—must have poisoned her somehow,” Frosty was saying.

  I pried my eyelids apart. Cole straddled my waist, his hands flat on my chest, pressing.

  CPR?

  “Cole,” Bronx said. He knelt beside me. His spirit, not his body. He glimmered so beautifully. He lifted his hands from inside my arm, the fire in his fingers dying. “Cole! She’s alive. You can stop now.”

  Cole stilled, his eyes meeting mine. Agony ravaged his features. He pressed two fingers into the side of my neck and encountered the slow but steady thump, thump.

  “Your heart stopped,” he croaked. “It actually stopped.”

  And yet, I experienced no pain. Not now. Not even in my jaw, where Benjamin had hit me.

  Even as fogged as I was, one fact became clear. We were getting stronger. All of us. We’d come through things that would have broken anyone else. We’d done things we’d never done before.

  We would do things we’d never done before.

  One life for many.

  Even better, we were capable of things Anima probably wasn’t equipped to handle.

  “Ali,” Cole said. “Talk to me.”

  “Thank you,” I said on a sigh and closed my eyes. I was grinning as I drifted to sleep.

  * * *

  I woke gradually, luxuriating in the warmth surrounding me...and the strong chest underneath me.

  I lifted my head, my cheeks heating when I realized I’d kinda sorta drooled on Cole’s bare chest. I wiped away the humiliating damp spots as gently as possible, brushing against the piercing in his nipple.

  His long lashes parted, and those lovely violet eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at me. “Morning, sunshine.”

  Gonna play the name game, were we? “Morning, sugar puff.”

  His grin widened. “I’m sugar puff now?”

  “Well, it’s better than monkey butt, isn’t it?”

  “And monkey butt is what you really wanted to call me?”

  “Maybe.” I smoothed the hair from his forehead, waiting for a vision that never came. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand—11:13...in the afternoon? That meant we’d already had one today, weren’t due to have another one until tomorrow.

  And in came a flood of memories. The assassin. The gunfight. The extended vision we’d already shared. Emma.

  “I died,” I said, blinking in surprise. “Kind of.”

  A pallor took root under Cole’s skin. “Your heart stopped, yes, and that’s the most scared I’ve ever been. But Bronx lit up like a Fourth-of-July rocket, providing the fire while I performed CPR. You came back to me.”

  I fell on him, hugging him close. “Always.”

  He hugged me back with gusto. “Ankh looked you over while you were snoozing and said you’re as good as new.”

  Now I just had to stay that way. “Oh, hey. I just remembered. Emma told me I share my abilities with other slayers every time I use my fire. Like passing on spirit cooties, I guess.”

  He thought for a moment, nodded. “That explains why Frosty and Bronx had a vision.”

  “They did?” Seriously? “If you tell me Frosty saw himself in bed with Bronx, the way Gavin saw himself in bed with Jaclyn, I will absolutely, one hundred percent...want front-row seats when it happens.”

  He laughed as he only ever laughed with me, genuine and carefree. “Sorry, Ali-gator, but they actually saw themselves in a fight. Bronx was trying to drag Frosty away from something, and Frosty was trying to get back to it—whatever it was.”

  Mind twister: What could possibly make two best bros fight, when they’d never fought before? “Why don’t the visions show us more?” I grumbled. “Why do we get mere glimpses?”

  “Maybe what we see is all we can handle. Maybe they aren’t meant to change our paths but to prepare us for what we face.”

  Yeah. Maybe. I sat up, my hair tumbling around my shoulders. “We’ve got a lot to do today.”

  Cole toyed with the end of a curling lock, as if he wouldn’t tolerate a total separation from me. “Yes, we do.” Then he gave the lock a gentle tug, disturbing my balance. As I fell on his chest, he rolled, pinning me to the mattress.

  I glared up at him. “We are not doing what the fake people in books and movies do.”

  “And that is?”

  “Kissing before we brush our teeth. I don’t want you anywhere near my morning breath.”

  “You trying to deny me my prize? I saved your life. Now I own it.”

  “Well, the prize needs a good scrubbing.”

  “But I want it prescrub.”

  Not in a million years. “If we’re going to get technical, I owe Bronx a prize, too. We should call him in here and let him collect.”

  “He prefers fruit baskets,” Cole replied, deadpan. “Ali?”

  I went soft and dreamy. “Yes, Cole.”

  “I’m about to do something you’ll claim you don’t like, but we’ll both know you’re desperate for more. Won’t we?” Then he pressed a hard kiss on my lips, and I squealed.

  Laughing again, he jumped up and threw a cell phone at me. “Kat’s been texting all night. You can deal with her while I shower. And no, you aren’t invited. Last night was too much of a temptation and right now we’re too pressed for time.”

  Did that mean he would have given in to temptation if we’d had time?

  Good glory!

  His gaze remained on me, hot and needy, as he shut the bathroom door. The lock clicked.

  Groaning, I sat up and looked over my phone’s text-riddled screen. There were twenty-three messages. In an effort to save my sanity, I responded to only my top five.

  1. WHAT’S THIS I HEAR ABOU
T U DYING? U’ve got 2 tell me about things like that. A good friend keeps her friends informed, even in the afterlife.

  My response: I’m alive & well—promise!

  2. Ali Bell. U have 5 secs 2 contact me or I’m stomping N2 UR room & killing U 4 reals...slight change of plan. Frost tied 1 of my hands 2 my bed. NEWS FLASH: that might have stopped me from leaving the room, but it won’t stop my convo w/U. UR welcome. But now he’s giving me dirty look. I’m thinking he has bondage fetish.

  Response: Having read all UR texts before responding, I know what comes next, U lucky girl.

  3. What has 2 thumbs and just died & went 2 heaven herself??? This girl! Frost gives good argument. He uses his hands!!

  Response: THAT.

  4. Srsly, tho. R U OK? Because I’ve just broken up w/Frosty as punishment 4 keeping me away from U.

  Response: I really am OK. Promise!

  5. UR the most annoying friend ever. Except 4 Frost. He’s worse. He keeps trying 2 take away my phone. Says I need 2 leave U alone & let U rest. As if! He doesn’t realize U’d B lost w/out me.

  Response: I really am sorry about the delay! I was sleeping off the death thing J But now I need U 2 suck it up, take one 4 the team & put Frosty N a good mood. He’s gonna B w/me later, helping w/enemy, & he’s always a beast when U break up w/him.

  My phone beeped, signaling a new message.

  Kat: Fine. But only because U asked. UR lucky I heart U so much!

  Me: I know!

  Kat: UR also lucky I’m such a good friend. THE THINGS I DO 4 U! I guess I won’t give Frost the poem I wrote about him. Check it: Roses R red, violets R blue, I have five fingers, & the middle 1 is 4 U.

  I chortled. Then I read the lyrical genius to Cole as he came out of the bathroom. He wore a clean black T-shirt and ripped-up jeans. Leather cuffs circled each of his wrists, and a chain hung from his waist. He looked good enough to eat.

  Put that on the to-do list.