by Kat Colmer
Leo didn’t answer, just palmed the ring he always wore around his neck through the fabric of his T-shirt.
Elymas’s laugh filled the silence instead. I refused to look at the demon, refused to meet his freakish eyes, knowing I’d see my imminent death in the violet.
A warm breeze licked at my nape through the shattered window behind me, teasing me with a way of escape. But even if I made it out alive—which was highly unlikely—Elymas would come for Cora now that he had the Sword of Absolom again.
Every second that passed without Leo making a move to grab the ancient khopesh at his feet was a second closer to the end. Either mine or Cora’s.
Please.
Silently, I begged him.
Leo. Pick it up. Please!
But he stood immobile, and the last of my hope shattered to join the glass in the alcove window.
I didn’t even flinch when Elymas pierced the skin under my chin with the tip of his blade. A trickle of blood snaked down my neck, warm for a brief moment, before it soaked into the collar of my T-shirt.
There was no point in fighting the Groth Maar lord. It was either Cora or me, I reminded myself.
“Bring me my sword,” Elymas ordered over his shoulder as he herded me to the front of the lectern. Immediately, Clay abandoned Leo’s side and snatched the Sword of Absolom from the marble floor.
Without taking his eyes off me, Elymas addressed Baptiste. “Gather the others.” Baptiste placed the Book of Threads back on the lectern behind me, a clear sign I was no longer seen as a threat. Then he strode out of the library to round up his demonic brotherhood. It looked like my execution was going to be a public affair. I couldn’t bring myself to care.
It was over.
I had many regrets, too many to list in the short space of time I figured I had before Elymas drove his blade into my body, but one circled at the forefront of my mind:
I should have said the words, should have said those three little words as soon as I realized the truth of them. Then maybe I wouldn’t be standing here with a sickle sword at my throat.
As a dozen or so violet-eyed Groth Maar filed into the library, Elymas dug the sword tip at my neck farther into my skin, forcing me to lift my chin. Botticelli faces laughed down at me from the ceiling, and I clenched my fists against the ingrained impulse to fight.
It’s either me or Cora. This is how it has to be.
With his free hand, Elymas took the Sword of Absolom from Clay. Refusing to give the demon lord the satisfaction of seeing my fear, I stared up at the cherubs above our heads. Blood thundered in my ears as I waited for the fatal thrust of the ancient copper blade.
It didn’t come.
What are you waiting for? You have your audience. Finish it!
Each frantic thump of my heart heightened my dread. I didn’t know how much longer my legs would hold me up.
Then Elymas spoke, his voice a sinister whisper. “Come here, Leo.”
I glanced back down as Leo crossed the marble floor with hesitant footsteps.
Elymas’s lips curved in a malevolent smile as he held out the Sword of Absolom to Leo. “Show me how badly you want what I can give you.”
“No!” I lunged. Or my knees gave out. Could be I did both.
I had resigned myself to die at Elymas’s hand. But not Leo’s. Never Leo’s. The raw evil of it sent a fire blazing through my brain until all I saw was red.
Someone grabbed me from behind. By the viciousness of the jerk as I was hauled back, it had to be Clay. He shackled my arms in a vise-like grip behind me before I could scrape the skin off Elymas’s vile face. I thrashed and struggled for a second longer, then the burn inside died, and all that was left was the sting of betrayal behind my eyes as Leo stepped forward and exchanged his khopesh for the Sword of Absolom.
Elymas stepped aside, the two blades in his hands hanging loosely along his thighs. With savage anticipation reaching across every plane of his Ken-doll face, he looked every part the diabolical hellhound that he was.
Before me, Leo clutched the Sword of Absolom in white-knuckled hands. His face was devoid of emotion, but his hands trembled.
“Kill him slowly,” Elymas said. “I want to enjoy his suffering.”
I willed Leo to meet my gaze. If he was going to kill me, then I wanted the coward to look me in the eye the moment he handed over the last part of his worthless soul.
When he looked up, his eyes were hollow beneath the shock of his dark hair.
“I trusted you,” I said. My voice sounded distant, not my own.
“I know,” he whispered, “and I’m sorry.” Then he raised the Sword of Absolom to my chest.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Cora
Only one thought raced through my head as Beth and I beat our way through the dense scrub at the side of the mansion: Please don’t let me be too late! Dread sat heavy at the bottom of my lungs, stopping me from taking a decent breath.
“If he’s not dead already then I’m gonna kill him,” Beth whispered as we rounded the sandstone corner to the front of the building. Her pathetic attempt to lighten the mood didn’t fool me; we both knew this was beyond serious.
“Get in line,” I said over my shoulder, but like Beth’s tone, mine betrayed my growing fear.
Please don’t let me be too late!
Like a beacon, light seeped out of the broken alcove window. I edged closer to the frame, careful not to step on the shards of glass scattered below. It was quiet. Too quiet.
Slowly, I craned my neck to look inside. Then froze, my fingers clamping painfully around the hilt of the khopesh in my hand.
The room was packed with Groth Maar, their violet eyes trained on the lectern in the alcove. Elymas stood to the side of the lectern while Clay had Jonas restrained in front of it. And Leo… Leo stood in front of Jonas, Sword of Absolom pointed at Jonas’s chest. What on earth is going on?
Then Leo heaved the khopesh above his head.
“No!” I couldn’t tell who screamed, Beth or I. Maybe we both did. All eyes turned our way. Time held its breath for an agonizing moment.
Then hell snapped its reins.
Everything happened at once. Leo shoved Jonas to the side and drove his blade into Clay’s stomach. No sooner had he pulled it out, Groth Maar descended on him.
I didn’t think, only reacted. I dove through the broken window, rolled and pushed to my feet just as Elymas lunged for Jonas. Without a weapon, Jonas stood little chance. He held his arms up in an instinctive guard but couldn’t do much else.
“Cora, get out!” His eyes were frantic, pleading. Even now, when death was breathing in his face, he was protecting me.
I wanted to scream.
Sword gripped tightly in my shaking hands, I raced toward them. I slashed my blade across the purple fabric of Elymas’s back at the same moment he sank one of his khopeshes between Jonas’s ribs. Elymas reared back with a violent roar and fell to his knees.
Jonas swayed on his feet, hand clutched to his side, blood gushing thick between his fingers. A moment later he stumbled into the lectern, knocking the Book of Threads to the bloodstained floor. Then the bones inside him disappeared and his legs gave out underneath him.
My mind seized, just ground to a halt, unable to accept that he might—
“No!”
I was beside him as he hit the floor. No. No. No. Over and over, the word struck hard against the inside of my skull with each frantic beat of my heart. So much blood. Too much blood.
“Hold on.” My voice was tight, forced. This isn’t happening. It just isn’t happening. “I’m getting you out of here.” I needed something to slow the bleeding. I slipped my sword under his T-shirt, ready to cut the material off him.
“Cora…” He grabbed at my hand, his fingers slick.
I found his eyes and couldn’t breathe. There was no need fo
r him to say the words. They were there, in the familiar gray-blue. They’d always been there, shouting all the things he couldn’t bring his lips to say.
This. Isn’t. Happening.
“Don’t you dare die on me, Jonas.” My hands shook as I sliced the cotton from his torso, balled up the material and pressed the wad against his wound.
“Oh my God.” Beth’s voice from behind me.
“Help me lift him.”
Without another word, she grabbed Jonas under the arms, and we started hauling him toward the window.
The slashing frenzy farther up in the library continued. At least three Groth Maar lay bleeding on the ground, and somehow Leo was keeping the others at arm’s length with his sword work, not a trip or stumble in sight. Unbelievable. He had a heck of a lot of explaining to do if we made it out of here alive.
An outraged growl behind me had me swiveling around. Elymas was back on his feet, freakish eyes levelled directly at me. Like Jonas’s, they spoke volumes, only the message in these purple orbs sent terror racing up my spine. I had no time to dwell on my fear. Both swords raised, Elymas thundered our way.
When his khopeshes smashed into mine, the bones in my arms felt ready to shatter. His rage oozed off him in waves.
His strikes were too fast, and I had no real idea how to use the damn sword in my hands. I landed a few well-aimed kicks, but within seconds he’d backed me up against the alcove wall, my head dangerously close to something blazing. I glanced to my side. A wall sconce? I had no time to wonder at the bizarre choice of lighting before Elymas pressed both sickle swords to my neck. He leaned in close, so close his cold breath fanned my face as he spoke.
“If it is any consolation, he really was willing to die for you. Fitting, then, that you can enjoy these last moments together.”
The blades pressed some more, cutting painfully into my skin. This is it. Oh God, this is it. But suddenly the pressure eased. Frustration pulling his lips taut over his teeth, Elymas stared at the sharp weapons at my neck.
He can’t kill me with these. He needs the Sword of Absolom!
Raw need for survival took over. I reached for the torch beside me. The smell of burning hair filled my nostrils a split second before Elymas screamed. He dropped the swords from my neck. His shirt caught fire almost at the same time, sending him screaming and thrashing about wildly across the marble floor.
Confused, the Groth Maar fighting Leo stopped. I used their distraction to throw the torch at the nearest bookcase. The combustion was instant, all those ancient volumes a perfect fuel.
I turned and raced for the window. Beth had Jonas almost all the way through. “Hurry!” I helped her lower him to the ground and jumped through it myself.
“He can’t walk,” Beth said. He could barely stand. But he could still breathe. Thank God, he was still breathing.
I slung one of his arms over my shoulder, and Beth did the same on his other side. We were halfway to the Beetle when footsteps crashed through the undergrowth behind us.
My heart in my throat, I turned, gripping the heavy khopesh.
Leo. Cut, bruised, and bleeding but still alive. Unbelievable.
“I’ve got him.” He slid his shoulder in place of Beth’s. “We need to move. Fast.”
I didn’t argue.
Somehow we managed to haul Jonas into the back of the Beetle. I threw Beth the keys and slid into the back, cradling Jonas’s head in my lap.
Leo didn’t get in.
Beth grabbed onto his blood-soaked T-shirt through the still open car door. “Where are you going?”
He didn’t look up at her. “My car’s around the next bend. Get him to a hospital.” Then he disappeared into the darkness.
In a matter of minutes, the Beetle filled with the smell of cold metal. I pressed the makeshift pressure bandage down harder on Jonas’s ribs. He wheezed. I bit my cheek at the sound. His blood had soaked the wad of his torn T-shirt, seeping between my fingers as I pressed in a desperate attempt to slow the flow.
Please, Jonas, hold on.
I brushed sweat-streaked hair from his closed eyes and tried to catch Beth’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “What on earth do you think went down back there? It looked like Leo—”
“I don’t know,” she cut me off. “He helped get us out, didn’t he?” Her voice was defensive, but I heard the echo of confusion in each clipped word.
I kept going. I couldn’t help it. “And the fighting. The way he swung that sword…” My brain was still trying to reconcile the image of a sword-wielding Leo with the one of him standing frozen and useless in the middle of the library this morning. Something didn’t add up.
When I looked at Beth’s reflection in the rearview mirror, her mouth was pressed in a thin line. She said no more.
Beth turned a sharp left off West Head road, and Jonas moaned in his delirium. His breaths came quick and shallow now, his chest barely rising and falling.
I gnawed on the inside of my cheek some more and leaned down so my forehead rested against his. Tears stung the backs of my eyes. I pressed the lids shut tight. “Stay with me, Jonas. You hear me? Don’t you dare leave me,” I whispered against his cold cheek.
He didn’t respond, didn’t move, or make a sound.
I bit down hard and tasted copper. Blindly, I reached for his unmoving hand lying at his side. His balled-up fingers were so cold. I pried them open, wanting to weave my own through his. That was when I felt it, wet and sticky and crumpled.
I pulled the blood-smeared paper from his hand and flattened it on the car seat beside me the best I could with only one hand—I wasn’t moving the other from Jonas’s wound. The page was covered in his blood, but the writing in the center was unmistakable:
Jonas Leander
I stared at the two words and everything they meant, there on the backseat of Dad’s Beetle instead of bound tightly in the ancient tome they’d first been written in. He’d done it—he’d torn his page from the Book of Threads.
It was over.
We were safe.
Jonas was free of Love’s Mortal Coil.
Which meant he was free of me, if that was what he wanted.
If he made it into tomorrow alive.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Jonas
There was beeping. A truck backing up? Made sense, what with the raging fire in my shoulder and side, and the bench-press weight on my chest: I’d been run over. Judging by the level of pain, it’d been a semi, not just a pissy little flatbed. What didn’t make sense was the industrial washing powder smell of the road beneath me.
I tried to pry my eyes open, but the lids were sheet metal, welded shut. The beeping continued. Constant. Somehow it wasn’t right. Too slow.
Someone held my hand. Firm fingers, soft skin. I tried my lids again. Nope. Not even a crack. The effort left me exhausted, worse than cutting through the pool chasing a personal best time.
Time. How much did I have left?
Thinking was too taxing. So I let oblivion drag me under.
Later, when the fire in my body had dulled, leaving an echo of pain alongside the beeping, there were voices.
One feisty and familiar. “I understand you feel you’re doing everything you can, officer, but obviously, it isn’t enough. This is the third attack in less than a week. How many more young people need to be brutalized by this madman before your department takes this situation seriously and ups their efforts?”
The other voice was gruff and defensive. “Contrary to your belief, Ms. Leander, this case does have top priority, and we are doing everything to find the perpetrator. At this point, however, we’re working with very little information. So far the other nightclub patrons we’ve spoken to don’t recall seeing a man resembling your niece’s and her friend’s description. Also, there is no trace of the knife used in the attack. This will take some time
. We’d appreciate your patience.”
No truck, then. A knife. A picture flashed behind my closed lids. A knife—no, a sickle sword—and violet in a Ken-doll face. Recollection slammed into me with the force of a tidal wave: Love’s Mortal Coil. Elymas. The Book of Threads. The Sword of Absolom.
Leo.
Cora.
Blood. My blood.
Moisture broke out on my forehead, and the beeping kicked up until an alarm shrilled somewhere above my head. It hurt to breathe. The fingers around mine gripped tighter.
“Jonas, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
Her voice washed over me, cool and calming. It was going to be all right—because she was here, which meant she was all right. My sheet-metal lids still proved too heavy to lift. Instead, with monumental effort, I curled my fingers around hers. Then the beeping grew faint, and once again oblivion blocked out the world.
The next time I woke, my lids had shed some weight, and the room slowly swam into focus. Washed out yellow walls, a minuscule TV hanging from the ceiling, a hideous green, patterned curtain to my left, and the metal frame of a hospital bed complete with chipped white paint near my cotton-covered feet.
I leaned toward the now familiar beeping, found its source—a monitor of some kind, attached with a wire to a peg-like contraption that pinched the index finger of my left hand. My right hand was free of pegs and wires but lay imprisoned in one of Cora’s hands and was covered by her tangled hair as she slept in a chair beside the hospital bed, her cheek resting on the edge of my mattress.
I stroked my peg hand over her auburn strands. She stirred and lifted her face, her features soft and sleep-creased, hazel eyes dreamy and disoriented.
The most beautiful fricking sight in the world.
“Hi,” was all I could manage, my mouth full of sawdust. She smiled and the monitor sped up for a good three or four beeps.
“Hi,” she said. Gazes locked, we stared at each other for the next few heartbeats, until her smile wavered. “You scared the crap out of me, Jonas.” She released my hand and lifted hers to my face, then hesitated at the last moment and let it drop to the sheet.