Shadowed Ground

by Vicki Keire

  She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what was happening to her. She was unbearably hot, encased in her own burning skin and almost smothered by her Guardian’s protective weight. In answer, she slipped her bare arm across the back of his neck. He tensed even more, his head jerking straight up as a low hiss escaped his lips. She heard him mutter a low oath. “I’m so hot,” she murmured into his neck, the only part of him she could touch. “It’s them. I don’t know why, but I’m burning up, because of them.” She was sweating freely now, trickles of it dripping down her back. When her own sweat hit her gruesome scar, it stung ferociously. She pressed her lips tightly together to stop from whimpering. “And my scar is stinging and pulsing, like it has a heartbeat, or something.” Pain flared between her shoulders and up her neck; she felt as if she were back in the alley, that creature holding her between two hands. “Please,” she gasped out, doing her best to keep her voice to a whisper. “You need to move. I can’t breathe. I’m burning up.”

  He cursed, low and colorful. “The vambraces act as shields. It’s why I gave them to you. Do you remember, in the alley, how I used them to block their fire?”

  “Mmm,” was the best she could manage. He still hadn’t moved.

  “Chloe,” he snapped. He had taken a tiny step forward, letting light and air between them. But the light and air didn’t help; she still burned, and her scar was pulsing hot and fast, as if a part of her skin was going into cardiac arrest. “Chloe! Listen to me! Do not reach for the elements, if you can help it. You will draw more of them to us, if you do.”

  She was panting now. “I’ll try,” she all but whimpered.

  “Good,” he murmured, his hand creeping up to hover above his right shoulder, inches from his sword.

  “Yesss, good,” came a low, slithering voice. She still couldn’t see. “Her sssense of thisss land growsss consssiderably.”

  “Thiss hass not esscaped notice,” voiced another one. She wondered, through the throbbing of her scar, why she could hear the slick sibilance in their words, when she didn’t remember it before. Were they a different kind than the ones who attacked her in the alley? If only he would move!

  “You need to let us pass,” Eliot said warningly, inching his hand up even further towards his sword. “You know how public this place is. You risk yourselves just by being here.”

  They must have come closer. The smell of sharp, metal edged cologne was almost unbearable now. She felt so hot, pinned against the wall. If she didn’t move, she knew she was going to scream.

  “Give her to usss,” one of them said. “We will not hurt her.”

  Eliot’s laugh was a short, harsh bark.

  “Eliot,” she whimpered. “Something’s happening to me. You have to let me out.”

  He stood, immovable as a pillar of stone, in front of her. “No.” She didn’t know if he was talking to her, or the Abandoned, or both. She let herself fall forward into his back. The sheath of his sword rested against her cheek.

  “Do you wish to burn, then?” one of them taunted.

  “It won’t come to that, and we both know it,” Eliot growled. His fingers were on the hilt of his sword now. She felt it sliding from its sheath, slowly, so slowly. “You won’t risk exposure here, not after that disaster in Atlanta. That was sloppy.”

  “And yet she feelss our ssting, even now,” the second, similar sibilant voice taunted. “Don’t you, Chloe Burke?” Its laugh was a low, drowning gurgle.

  “Fuck off,” she hissed between clenched teeth.

  “You just managed to awaken her landsense. Hardly a victory,” Eliot taunted back.

  “We have other weaponss than the killing fire,” one of them hissed.

  “We will not hurt her. We know of her growing powerss. The Emperor wantss her whole.” It sounded almost regretful about that. “He wantss her for himssself alone.”

  “Eliot,” she whined again, actively trying to wriggle out from behind him. “Let me out. They’re hurting me. I don’t know how.”

  “No.” His voice and body were solid granite against her. She felt tears, like sweat, trickling down her face.

  “Why won’t you draw your sword?” she pleaded. “Why won’t you kill them?”

  A grating chuckle answered her instead of Eliot. “He iss right that we won’t use the killing fire. The ssword is protection against a weapon we won’t use.”

  “But we have otherss,” came a nearly identical grating voice.

  The weapon resting against her cheek left its sheath so fast she felt as if she had been slapped. Eliot sprung forward, his sword out, angling his body slightly to the right. She had a partial view, at last, of the two creatures in front of them. Their appearance was so mundane it was almost disappointing. At least, at first glance. Later, she would have time to reflect on the oddity of adrenaline, coupled with danger. It did strange things to time. She had time, as she looked closer, to notice strange details about the otherwise normal looking men in front of her. Their skin sagged in some places and bulged in others, as if they wore human forms like ill-fitting suits. They had an ashen pallor. One wore a hat, and she dimly remembered the two in the alley who had taunted her. They had worn hats, as well. Seeing one bare-headed, she could guess why.

  Its hair was falling out in huge clumps. Bald spots dotted its scalp. Where naked skin touched air, she could see that the bald spots were actually angry red patches of skin, not quite burns, but festering and painful looking. Their movements were awkward and jerking.

  Her gut twisted. They were wearing bodies like costumes. People like Scott, the dressing room attendant who was somewhere near, could so easily turn into costumes for them. They were parasites, taking over bodies. She wondered what happened to the people inside them, but some part of her knew without asking.

  They were dying.

  All this she registered as Eliot’s sword cleared its sheath and stood, upright and gripped with his two strong hands, between them and the deadly dying bodies in front of them. All this she saw as, at the same time Eliot readied his sword, the two creatures reached for weapons of their own, and threw.

  His sword easily knocked the twin airborne knives out of the way. The lightweight throwing knives hit the floor and skittered under the round table, knocking off a pack of cigarettes and sending a stack of magazines fluttering to the floor, pages flapping like wings. A barrage of knives followed the first throw; the bodies they wore might be awkward and dying, but they still possessed supernatural speed.

  But so did Eliot.

  He held his stance, coiled and ready. She saw muscles bunching and releasing beneath the tight fabric of his t-shirt. His arms moved as he deflected the knives with his sword, sending them flying across the room. The break room table fell over on one side, its contents crashing to the floor. Knives embedded themselves in the mesh coverings of the employee lockers. There was no longer any pretense of quiet.

  The handle to the room twisted, then shook violently. “What is going on in there?” the high-pitched voice of Scott, the overly helpful dressing room attendant, demanded. “Open this door, or I’ll call security.”

  “Not a good idea, Scott,” she gasped out. Chloe raised the vambraces to her face, curling her forearms together over her head, creating the shield Eliot had warned her about. If they deflected wraithfire, surely they would work on ordinary knives. “Run, Scott, trust me.”

  The door was still and silent. She hoped he took her seriously.

  The two creatures in front of them changed tactics. They quit throwing knives. One of them drew matching blades as long as his forearms. “Eliot,” she said warningly. Her scar still pulsed in a heartbeat of pain.

  “I see. I know, Chloe. Just stay behind me,” he warned. His voice was low and furious, but it did not carry the undercurrent of a Guardian’s command.

  The one holding two knives moved within striking range while the other hung back. Its eyes were on her alone. She had a sinking feeling deep in her gut as she realized they were trying
to separate her from her Guardian. “Chloe,” Eliot said as the first creature moved closer to him, “at the first possible opening, you will run for the car and drive away.”

  “God damn you, Eliot,” she swore. There it was. The command that left her no choice. Suddenly furious, she felt her arms reaching around his side as if they had developed a will of their own. “I’m not leaving you here.” Her fingers grasped the hilt of a knife, and she pulled it free just as the Abandoned in front of them struck. Eliot didn’t even bother answering her. He swung at the creature, who danced back and out of the way with the same supernatural speed Eliot seemed to possess, if not with his grace. The other hung back, watching with a gruesome smile.

  Eliot didn’t have to answer her. They both knew she had no choice now. But she didn’t have to like it. And she wouldn’t stand there uselessly, waiting for an opening. She held the knife, almost as long as her arm, angled outward. Her left forearm came up inches in front of her forehead, to block an attack. In front of her, Eliot’s arms moved almost too fast for sight, meeting the creature’s blow.

  Then the other one charged her, twin blades extended.

  Eliot cursed, fighting two of them now. His arms moved faster, impossibly, invisibly fast. “Chloe,” he panted out warningly. “Get ready.”

  “Hell no,” she said stubbornly, but they both knew her protests didn’t matter. The pounding on the door resumed, and extra voices superceded Scott’s.

  “This is security. Open this door now. The police are on their way.”

  Eliot grunted, and Chloe tensed, her mind shutting down. She knew that sound. It was the same sound he’d made when a six-inch piece of glass sunk itself into his arm. She saw blood soaking through his jeans on his right thigh, and through his shirt on his left bicep. Still he moved his sword in its impossibly fast pattern, but against two of them, all he could do was block.

  But she had a knife, and the coverings he had given her for shields. She tensed herself, shifting her weight forward as he’d taught her during their defense lessons ages ago. She gathered her resolve, focusing it into a single, laser point: strike one of them. Clear the way for Eliot to kill them off, so they could escape.

  Apparently, he could feel her intentions building. “Chloe,” he said warningly, the muscles of his arms straining. She knew she only had seconds before he did something truly idiotic and unfair, like order her not to strike.

  So she did.

  She side-stepped him, forearm angled in front of her. She was so angry and frightened at the same time that she couldn’t think. She just reacted. Exposing herself was just what the second one had been waiting for. It whirled to face her, turning away from Eliot. She kept her vambraced arm up against it. They claimed they wouldn’t risk wraithfire, but she dared not trust them. The pounding on the door increased. Dimly, she heard Eliot yelling at her. Her world was slowing, narrowing, until there was only the creature in front of her. It held its blades angled towards her. One of them dripped with blood. His blood, her Eliot’s, and she felt an anger building in her she recognized.

  “Yesss,” the creature coaxed. “Let it build. Let it out. Let your power bring my brothersss.”

  “Chloe!” Eliot yelled from across the room. She noticed the creature had managed to move her halfway across the room from her Guardian. She risked a glance at him; he seemed to be gaining the upper hand. The creature was bleeding from too many cuts to count, but then, so was Eliot. “Don’t do it,” he warned in the low voice of command. But she felt it anyway. She realized, in some deep part of herself, that her use of the elements was something even her Guardian couldn’t command. But she also knew, with her rational self, that he was right. She didn’t want to draw them. Couldn’t draw them.

  “No,” she whispered, as much to herself as to the creature. She gripped her knife tighter. She let the pain of her pulsing scar wash over her, forcing the power pulsing just below the surface back down. “Not yet,” she promised this strange thing that rode her. “Soon. Not now.”

  With a cry of rage, the creature charged her. She used her forearm to knock one of its blades aside. With her other arm, she jerked her vambraced forearm up and in front of her face, deflecting the strike. “You’re not supposed to hurt me,” she panted, repeating the blocking maneuver with her left arm. “The Emperor wants me, remember?”

  It hissed and dropped its blades, reaching for her. It got one hand on her, curling around the vambrace. She stabbed into its side with her free hand. It grunted, taking the hit. While she tried to work the knife free for another strike, the creature grabbed her, pinning both arms to her side. It had her in a lock, pulled close against its chest. She hissed and kicked, struggling.

  “Chloe, no!” Eliot yelled from across the room. She heard a cry of pain ripped from deep within him like she had never heard before. She turned in time to see him stagger back against the wall, one of the Abandoned’s long knives driven deep into his sword arm.

  She’d distracted him enough that he dropped his guard. His right arm dangling, he flipped his sword into his other hand, and parried blows left-handed.

  Of course, she thought. Of course he can use either hand.

  The creature pulled her closer, nuzzling her hair. “Ssso sssweet. Like earth and sssky and growing thingsss. He will make you sssing with pain, my Emperor.” She choked at his nearness, at the heat and bitterness wreathing her in his embrace. Her scar pulsed.

  She butted her head against his. He growled and shook her. “We’ll see,” she told him mildly, a strange calm descending on her. Eliot’s hurt. He’s hurt, again, because of me. She remembered the afternoon of her defense lessons. No one had held her this tightly, this immobile, since then. But this time, I’m not helpless. She smiled at the creature, a strange calm descending on her as remembered that day, remembered Eliot’s arms around her, pinning her, holding her tight. She remembered his soft t-shirt against her skin, the feeling of his legs tangled with hers. Warmth bloomed inside her. The creature hissed, its eyes widening in surprise. She smiled at it, and it growled, uncertain. She could feel the shift, feel it in the way it gripped her. It held her away from itself now, as if repelled by her memories.

  “Don’t like that, do you?” she whispered, still held in its arms. “You only like pain.” Its face twisted into some expression she didn’t recognize. “How about this?” she said, reaching for something, anything, that made her happy. She remembered standing hand in hand with Eliot, the warm ocean waters lapping at their feet underneath the full moon. She remembered the smell and feel of living water, and the warmth of his hand.

  The creature howled. She felt its hold loosen, but not release. Smiling, she pushed into him instead of pulling away. It hadn’t been expecting that. Its gruesome face twisted in surprise. She hooked an ankle behind his and leaned in harder, faster. It fell backwards, pulling her with it. She managed to shake out of its grasp as it fell, freeing her arms. When she landed on top of it, she felt something warm and sticky beneath her hand. The hand that held Eliot’s knife. The knife now buried up to the hilt in its heart.

  She stared at it, panting. She had never killed any living thing. She filed her feelings away for later as the thing gurgled and breathed a single, last raspy breath beneath her, then lay still. Later, she told herself fiercely. The door pounded rhythmically; they were trying to break it down. But worst of all, there was no sound from the corner. No sounds of fighting, and it filled her with dread.

  She whirled to her feet, leaving the knife stuck in the creature’s heart. Eliot lay on his side, his face ashen, the other creature dead on its side facing her. She stepped over it, barely sparing it a glance.

  “Can you walk?” she asked, kneeling in front of her blood-covered Guardian. His sword lay on the ground in front of him and he clutched his right arm to his chest. She glanced over him quickly as the door began to splinter. He looked at her with pain filled eyes. He had no words. He could only nod. “Come on, then,” she said, slipping her arms under him. She pu
lled as he struggled to his feet.

  “You… alright?” he gasped, wincing as he moved.

  “Shut up,” she snapped. “And yes. We have to go.”

  The door opened a few inches, wood splintering. “Take… sword.” She looked at it dubiously. It was slick with blood. She grabbed his discarded jacket and shoved the sword inside it. Her hands came away even more blood-slicked. She wiped them, as best she could, on the outside of the jacket.

  “Let’s go,” she said, straining under his weight. He leaned heavily on her. Behind them, the door splintered open a few more inches. They moved awkwardly out the emergency exit, setting off a cacophony of alarms, and headed into the sunlight, where the Cruiser waited for them. She silently blessed his paranoia; they were parked close. She propped him against the door, steadying him before digging in his jeans pocket for the keys. “Stay with me,” she half-ordered, half-begged as she got the door unlocked and shoved him into the backseat. “Don’t you dare pass out me.” She noticed, for the first time, the deep edge of hysteria to her voice.

  She ran to the driver’s seat, vaulting herself in, not bothering with the seatbelt. Her hands shook on the wheel as she drove, fast and careless, out of the parking lot. She noticed a gathering of police cars, blue lights flashing. But no one seemed to be following. She exhaled, hoping the slaughter in the break room would stop them for at least a few minutes. “Eliot? Stay with me, or I’ll stab you again myself.” Her threat was laughable; she had tears in her voice and eyes as she delivered it.

  “Serves you right,” he groaned from the backseat. “Don’t listen worth a damn.”

  She was crying freely now, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, oh god, please be all right,” she begged, speaking to him and herself and whoever else might be listening. “I don’t know what to do. You’re bleeding to death. Tell me what to do. I’m taking you to a hospital.”