Incendiary (The Premonition Series (Volume 4))

by Amy A. Bartol

  “Well, I couldn’t leave to help you because I had the detonator. I got jumped by a couple of stinky devils who thought I tasted like ‘Heaven,’” he explains, his voice sounding strained and raspy as he swipes his hand through his hair. “Zee got to me, knockin’ the bastards off of me. He took the detonator and told me to go, so I went. He planned to blow the island and leap into his portal. That one hitched a ride when I was leavin’,” Russell groans, gesturing to Keefe’s body. “What is that smell?” he demands, doubling over like his stomach aches.

  “That’s Eion…and probably Keefe…their blood,” I answer, panting. “It smells…”

  “Delicious,” Russell finishes for me.

  “We gotta go, Russell, before we try to eat them,” I gasp, feeling a bead of sweat drip down the side of my face. “We need to find clean blood…animal blood to curb the bloodlust.”

  “I remember…I just didn’t know…this is…” he strains to stand.

  “Agony,” I finish for him, gritting my teeth and pushing myself away from the chair.

  “Yeah,” he agrees, “I think I’m startin’ to trip, Red,” Russell says, swatting at something he’s seeing in the empty air. “Or is this place crawlin’ with mosquitoes the size of Krispy Kremes?” Russell asks, ducking his head.

  “No, you’re hallucinating,” I reply, feeling choked up because I can hardly move. “You have so many bites, Russell.”

  Terror creeps up my spine, knowing that I’m going to have to try to help Russell before he completely freaks out. Once he loses all sense of reality, I’ll probably look like the enemy to him. He could kill me without even knowing it’s me…and I could kill him.

  Trying to think, I say, “Russell, take off all of your weapons and throw them away.”

  “Why?” Russell says, not doing what I told him.

  “Because, we’re going to be each other’s worst nightmares soon and I don’t want to get my head hacked off by your broad sword,” I retort.

  “Oh…good point,” he replies, taking off all his weapons and tossing them near the window. I do the same, tossing mine into the fireplace.

  “Okay, now…we have to leave. We have to get as far away from the blood of the Gancanagh as we can,” I say, while my mouth begins to water.

  “It’s snowin’ outside, Red,” Russell says, gazing out the window at the snowy night sky.

  “Maybe Reed has clothes,” I say, lifting my hand listlessly toward an elegant wardrobe. The room is beautiful, with stucco, arabesque molding and baroque architecture. It is the most elegant room I’ve ever been in.

  “It won’t matter, Red,” Russell replies, staggering toward me instead. “There’s no way I’m gettin’ my wings to retract. I can’t even put a coat on.” Grasping me by my upper arm, he steers me towards the bedroom door. “Do you know where we are?”

  “Torun, Poland,” I reply.

  “No kiddin’?” Russell asks, a small smile forming in the corners of his mouth.

  “No, why?” I counter, leaning against him.

  “’Cuz I’ve been here before…’bout six hundred years ago, more or less—I was the daughter of one of the town’s merchants.”

  Entering the hall, Russell sways on his feet, crashing into the wall. I grab onto the banister looking over the landing and seeing that we’re three stories up in an elegant town house. The spiraling staircase is ornate, with oak spindles in the form of angels, running the breath of the staircase.

  Placing his hands on the wall, Russell leaves huge, bloody handprints on it as he gains his balance. “Sorry, Red.” Russell groans.

  “S’kay,” I slur, feeling him take my arm again and lead me to the stairs.

  “I’m startin’ to suspect that nothin’s a coincidence, Red,” Russell says, sitting down on the top step and pulling me down next to him. He scoots down a step, the way a toddler would to descend the stairs, pulling me along with him. “Are them angels on the railin’ cryin’, Red?” he asks, shying away a little from the balustrades.

  I scrutinize the carved banister as it shivers and melts. “No,” I answer. “Do you see any tiny, evil-looking sprites chewing on bat wings?” I mutter, sliding my butt down to the next stair.

  “Naw,” he answers, looking around in shock.

  “No? No sharp-teeth little creatures dressed sorta like Santa’s elves?” I ask again warily, as a ferocious sprite eyes me from his position flying above my head.

  “Naw,” Russell shakes his head. “How prepared would you say Reed is?” Russell asks, pulling me faster down the steps.

  “Uh…Reed? He makes the boy scouts look like loafers,” I reply, bumping down the stairs.

  “And he’s super paranoid where you’re concerned,” Russell adds.

  “Protective,” I agree.

  Russell drags me faster down the remaining stairs. At the bottom, Russell gets to his feet. I try to stand, but I can’t. Toppling over on the ground, I lie there looking up at him.

  “Which way would you say it is to the kitchen?” Russell asks grimly.

  When I shrug, Russell grasps my hand and drags me across the floor. Pulling me from room to room, he finally locates what he’s looking for—the kitchen. He drops my arm and it falls across my chest. Staggering forward, Russell opens the refrigerator.

  He laughs before he shouts, “RUDE CAR, RED!” Holding up a large, glass jar, it looks like blood that has separated. Shaking it, Russell mixes it together in the jar, making it look more like blood. Peering back into the refrigerator, he frowns. “Damn!” he says.

  “What?” I ask, pulling myself to a sitting position against the wall.

  “This is it,” he says. It’s about a quart of blood…enough for one of us. “Here,” Russell says, extending the jar in his hand as he walks toward me.

  “No,” I croak, putting up my hand so he won’t come near me. “Don’t let me smell it. I might—I might try to fight you for it.” I cover my nose and mouth with my hand.

  “We could share it—” Russell says, and I shake my head.

  “It’s not enough for both of us. You should drink it—” I begin.

  “Naw,” Russell says, a fierce scowl transforming his face. “It’s yours!”

  “Think about it, Russell,” I say, feeling really ill. “You’re stronger…if I drink it and you keep hallucinating, you’ll probably end up killing me, even if I manage to bring back blood for you. You just said you’ve been here before—”

  “THAT WAS SIX HUNDRED YEARS AGO! THE PLACE HAS PROBABLY CHANGED!” Russell shouts at me.

  “Russell, I’m so weak that I can’t even stand up. I think Eion might’ve drained half my blood supply. That blood is yours because you can go out and get more and…I’ll wait here for you,” I say listlessly, feeling like I’m going to burst into tears at any second.

  “NO!” Russell shouts stubbornly.

  “YES!” I snap back. “And tie me up, so I don’t stagger away or try to hurt myself…or you. Use your belt—tie me to a chair—one of those kitchen chairs will be okay.”

  “Naw! I’ll take you with me,” he counters with pain in his eyes.

  “Yeah, it won’t look weird that you’re carrying an angel through town looking for blood. What if a Fallen spots us?” I ask. Russell groans in indecision, so I press my advantage. “Hurry, Russell. I’m not getting any better while you’re sitting around on your ASS!”

  “ASS KICKER!” Russell spits out between his teeth. “You’re the most difficult—irritatin’—stubborn—it’s always gotta be your way!” he says, before twisting the lid off the jar and putting it to his lips, downing half the blood in a few gulps. My mouth waters along with my eyes watching him. Digging my nails into my palms, I glance away so I won’t get up and try to take it from him.

  When he finishes the blood, I stagger to my feet, using the wall to get to one of the kitchen chairs. Sitting in it, I pant, “Now tie me up.”

  “Red—” Russell starts to say.

  “When you’re done, knock the ch
air back, so I can’t walk around. HURRY!” I order, feeling like I’m going to attack him at any second and try to rip the blood out of him. Taking off his belt, he winds it through the back of the chair and around my hands while I make a concerted effort not to move.

  Russell walks around to the front of the chair. He eases it back so that I’m resting on my arms. “Don’t die, Red,” Russell pleads softly. “Promise.”

  “I won’t,” I say weakly, trying to smile, but I can’t see his face through my tears. “I promise.”

  Russell leaps away then and is gone from the house with the banging of a door several rooms away. I close my eyes. The house takes on the silence of a tomb; the only sound becomes my ragged breath as it passes over my dry lips. The silence grows as my breathing begins to slow and wheeze out the name, “Reed...Reed...Reed...”

  As if in answer to my mantra, whispering hisses assail me from all the corners of the kitchen, Genevieve…struggle now…it makes us want you more. Opening my eyes again, shadows flitter and scurry, beetling along the walls like gruesome Werree monsters.

  “Not here...YOU’RE NOT HERE!” I scream at them with tears sliding down my cheeks as my breathing becomes erratic once more.

  The smell of Eion’s blood drifts to me from the floors above, causing my eyes to roll in agony. I strain forward, struggling against the leather belt binding my hands, wanting to go to him—to feed on his dead corpse. Bashing my head hard against the back of the chair a couple of times, I try to knock myself out so that I won’t move from here. My head feels sticky, like I might’ve cut it open as disorientation makes me rest it against the seat back again.

  A noise from the hallway outside the kitchen makes me cringe as I imagine every type of monster that I have met being the source of it. I groan while I try to lift my head so that I can see the doorway.

  The golden glint of a tip of an arrow breaks the plane of the doorframe. My eyes widen, following the shaft of the arrow back to delicate-looking fingertips, pulling the string of the bow taut.

  A deep, quivering exhale comes from me as a beautiful, pale face of a feminine angel turns her green-eyed gaze on me through the sight window of her bow. Her inky black wings rise threateningly and her eyes narrow as she stares back at me with a grim expression. Taking a step into the kitchen, she doesn’t lower her bow, but draws her arm back a little more, ratcheting the arrow tighter on the string.

  “You’re not real,” I mumble to her, staring back at the ceiling and waiting to see if she’ll morph into something else or just disappear.

  Sweet, soft music tumbles from her lips, sounding like she’s speaking to me in Angel. But, if she’s really here, the derisive expression on her face is letting me know that she’s not friendly.

  “Blah, blah, blah,” I mutter feebly. “You’re my hallucination. You should know that I don’t speak Angel.”

  She approaches me then, peering down on me. Using her foot, she catches the base of my chair, tipping it up abruptly. She bends down so that we’re at eye level. Her black hair falls forward as she speaks in Angel again. The tip of her arrow arches close to my head.

  “Okay,” I murmur, moistening my lips, “that seems a little more real.”

  With a scowl on her face, the black-winged angel puts her foot on my chair again. Kicking the bottom of it, my chair slides back across the floor, crashing into the wall behind me and crushing my arms painfully.

  “Bitch!” I cringe, my wings moving painfully, trying to get me to fight back, but my hands are still locked behind me.

  Again, beautiful music tumbles from her mouth.

  “I DON’T SPEAK ANGEL!” I shout back at her, straining my hands to get free. Her fingers relax then, releasing the string and sending her arrow spiraling toward me at a deadly velocity. Throwing my body to the left, I pitch the chair over, avoiding the arrow aimed at my heart. It embeds in the wall behind me. Hitting the floor, the chair breaks, releasing my hands.

  “RUSE-EL,” she shouts, pulling another arrow from the quiver strapped to her side. She looks like a trained assassin; her tight black outfit hugs her every curve so that no one can grab any loose fabric to use against her in a fight.

  “Wait,” I say, stumbling to my feet and rubbing my numb hands together. Dizziness overcomes me and I fall back against the wall, sliding to the floor again.

  “Ruse-el,” she snarls between her teeth, easing the string of her bow back and aiming another golden arrow at my head.

  “RED! I FOUND BLOOD!” I hear Russell shout as he bangs open the front door of the town house, pounding down the hallway toward the kitchen.

  “RUSSELL, NO!” I shout. The black-winged angel turns when she hears Russell’s voice, lowering her bow to her side.

  Entering the kitchen, Russell’s face goes from relief to confusion as he freezes, taking in the situation before him. “Sheeee-it, Red,” Russell breathes, seeing the angel in the middle of the room. His hand goes to his stomach, touching it lightly. He turns his eyes on me, seeing me sitting listlessly on the floor.

  “Russell,” I whisper. “Run.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Don’t Wake Me

  Russell

  Scannin’ the broken kitchen chair next to Red, my eyes quickly go to her pale face before they shift, restin’ on the black-winged angel between us. I touch my stomach again, it’s flutterin’ and jumpin’ like it’s filled with thousands of crickets. My face darkens. Slowly, I set the canister in my hand down by the wall. Then, my wings emerge from my back, archin’ out like thick, blazin’ banners. It had been a huge effort to get my wings to go back in, but it’s a relief to have them out now.

  “Red, who’s this?” I ask, takin’ a cautious step toward her position on the floor by the far wall.

  The black wings of the other angel spread out wide in front of me, blockin’ my view of Red behind their long, elegant expanse. I scan her face; her beautiful, green eyes follow my every move. Her wings twitch agitatedly, movin’ her long, thick, black hair.

  “I don’t know,” Red whispers, “but, she’s not friendly. You need to go now.” Splinterin’ pain creeps into her voice. I know the pain she’s in now. It probably feels like her veins are turnin’ to stone.

  “Yeah…that’s not gonna happen,” I whisper back, feelin’ like I should be sweatin’, but I’m cold, like I’ll never be warm again. “What do you want?” I demand of the stranger in the kitchen. My hands feel weak and I want to drop them to my sides, but I don’t.

  Tiltin’ her head to the side, she gazes at my face. Her flawless skin flushes, a soft blush spreadin’ over her cheeks. Then, her eyes rest on my neck, and her brows shoot together in a scowl. Beautiful music falls from her lips in a rapid flow of Angelic words. It’s like how Buns sounds when she’s talkin’ to Zephyr in Angel. She moves toward me, and I take a guarded step back from her.

  She stops talkin’ and just looks at me. There is a long pause before she says somethin’ else. Her eyes look strange, like she’s expectin’ a different reaction from me. My eyes follow hers and I see that she’s lookin’ at my chest, seein’ blood oozin’ from the Gancanagh bites that aren’t healin’.

  I touch my neck lightly, “Yeah…the blood suckers got me,” I admit softly. “They got my girl, too. I need to give her some blood…so she won’t be hurtin’ so bad,” I try to explain, gesturin’ toward Red on the floor behind her. I pick up the canister I had brought and try again to inch around the seriously sexy angel in front of me.

  She steps in front of me again, and raisin’ her bow, she points her gold-tipped arrow at me. “Okay, listen,” I exhale, puttin’ out both of my hands to stop her from shootin’ me. “This is blood,” I say, shakin’ the canister demonstratively, “I need to give it to her. You’d never believe it, but the butcher shop that was here six hundred years ago still exists.” I inch another step toward Red, continuin’ to talk like everythin’ isn’t completely effed up and out of control. “Coincidence you might say, but I’m thinkin’ that this was all in
some huge playbook and I already studied the play—I just need to execute it.”

  More music spills from her lips as she looks through the sight window of her bow. Takin’ a breath, I say, “Well, that sounds serious…and I can see that you mean everythin’ that you’re tellin’ me, but you gotta get outta my way now ‘cuz I’m fixin’ to go mental if you don’t let me give this to my girl.”

  I brush past the black-winged angel to kneel down by Red. Openin’ the lid to the canister, I lift Red’s head, cradlin’ it while puttin’ the rim of the canister to her lips. Red drinks the thick, coagulatin’ liquid as bloody trails drip down her cheek, fallin’ onto her little halter tank top.

  “That’s it, Red, keep drinkin’ it, sweetheart,” I whisper to her, seein’ her eyes open a little at my words. Liftin’ her hands to the canister, she holds it to her mouth, drinkin’ in large gulps like she’s dyin’ of thirst.

  The angel behind me growls, makin’ me stiffen. I say over my shoulder, “Just a second…I’ll get to you.” Usin’ my hand to smooth Red’s hair back from her face, I murmur “It’s gonna be all right, Red. I won’t leave you again.”

  Instantly, I feel somethin’ hit the back of my head, causin’ me to reach up and touch my neck. Dark spots swim in my vision as everythin’ begins to sound like it’s comin’ from far away. Another swat to the back of my head makes me drop Red as I fall on her, while everythin’ goes dark.

  **

  Wakin’ up, my vision blurs as whistlin’ blares from nearby. My head feels like it’s seis de Mayo and I had been up doin’ tequila shots all night with the señoritas. Shiftin’ my head toward the sound, I see a kettle on the kitchen stove emittin’ a stream of steam from its spout. Tryin’ to move, I find that it’s impossible. Thick chains are wrapped around my waist, holdin’ me to a chair in the kitchen. My hands are bound behind my back with the same type of chains.

  Glancin’ over, I see Red is in a similar position, chained to a chair next to me. Her chin is slumped forward on her chest, but she looks like she’s still breathin’. Strugglin’, the chains rattle loudly behind me. The pot on the stove continues to boil until the lithe figure of a beautiful, young woman enters the kitchen and takes it from the burner. Her wings are in now, and she’s put her hair up in a sleek ponytail, but I still recognize her as the angel with the black wings.