Staked!

by Candace Wondrak

  Claire’s car, idling, at the stop sign.

  I sprinted to it, which, after doing it and nearly doubling over by the time I reached the car, wasn’t the best thing to do. I felt terrible. It’d been a while since I was sick, it was true. This did not feel like an ordinary sickness.

  It felt like I was dying.

  The driver’s seat of the car was empty, as was the rest of it. I reached for the door when a wave of nausea overtook me, and I tripped, falling against the car just as someone crept up behind me.

  A cloth over my mouth, and then…

  And then nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine – Kass

  My hands bound. My ankles tied to a chair. My head lolled back, eyes closed. If I felt like I was dying before, I felt deader than dead now. I guessed I shouldn’t have gone to school after all, because on a good day, no one could sneak up on me, except maybe Crixis.

  Hindsight’s twenty-twenty, wasn’t it?

  “What is she?” a low, male voice spoke, and a frightened one answered it.

  “I told you, I don’t know.”

  I would’ve sighed with relief, because I recognized that second scared voice. Claire. She wasn’t the Skinwalker. Thank God I didn’t have to purify one of my only friends. I tried to open my eyes, and they were so terribly slow at moving upwards. What I saw I did not like.

  A room that, at one point in the past, was mostly white tile. It still had the tile, but most of it was coated in thick, red, coagulated blood. A few steel machines were scattered around, their stainless surface smudged with bloody handprints. A metal table sat in front of me, the middle object drawing my gaze: a scalpel.

  Beside me, Claire sat, tied to an old kitchen chair, her lip bruised and her eye swollen. Zip ties were the Skinwalker’s choice of restraints for the both of us.

  “This,” I spoke, coughing, “is exactly what I always imagined a serial killer’s basement to look like.” As I coughed, I felt liquid in the back of my throat. Was it because of whatever cloth he put over my mouth to knock me out? Was I chloroformed?

  I couldn’t see anyone else in the room, though there was a dark shadow under the staircase that led up. It wasn’t much of a guess to say that the Skinwalker hid under there, waiting for the right moment to come out and say ta-da.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I egged our captor on. I wasn’t in the best of shape to purify anything, but I’d rather go down swinging than just sitting here waiting to die. Although, maybe I should let the Skinwalker know that me and death didn’t get along too well.

  “The bird mocks me,” the male voice said, and within a second, a third figure appeared in the room, walking out from underneath the stairs. It was a young face, one I knew well enough. A cute face. Shaggy black hair, bright and shiny teeth, lips that sort of reminded me of John. The boy who’d asked about me cheering him on at a basketball game.

  “What was your name again?” My voice wasn’t as strong as I wanted it to be. It came out kind of gurgly. I coughed again. “Sorry, I’m not feeling too good today. You’ll have to excuse me.”

  “You remember my name,” he said, standing before us.

  I did. Of course I did.

  Seth.

  “It’s not your name,” I said.

  “No, I suppose it’s not. But I like it. It makes me feel young.”

  “And how old are you?”

  The Skinwalker smirked under Seth’s skin. “Asking me questions to see how good you’re tied up? Don’t bother. You won’t escape.”

  “I’ve escaped worse.” Another cough. This time, my head bent and some of the liquid in the back of my throat came up. My gaze sharpened on my lap, where splatters of bright red sat, all over my jeans.

  Was that…blood?

  The Skinwalker leaned closer, inspecting. “Ah, such a shame. You’re sick.” Before I knew what it was doing, a rough hand grabbed my face, harshly tilting it so that I stared straight into his eyes. They were cloudier than they should’ve been. “I was hoping to get inside of you and save your Morpher friend for later, but it looks like I’ll have to make do with her.” He let me go and wandered to the table with the small, precise cutting tools.

  Was that how the Skinwalker jumped from body to body? It cut them open like that? What about the pre-modern times, when there was no such thing as a scalpel?

  Grisly thoughts of him dragging another student to the bathroom on the side of the school no one used entered my mind, of the Skinwalker cutting into him as Seth tried to scream.

  As it grabbed the scalpel, Claire shook. It took all my energy to swivel my head around ask ask, “Why can’t you morph?”

  “He knocked me out in the school, and when I woke up here, he stuck me with something. It’s like it’s locked away. I just…can’t.” Claire’s blue eyes widened when she saw him pick up another injection after setting the scalpel down.

  “Don’t worry, kitty, this isn’t for you.” The Skinwalker flicked the needle, its liquid clear, as he squirted a bit out. He held it in front of me. “It’s for you.” He knelt before me, his other hand on my knee, squeezing it, touching me like he knew me. “I should thank the Council, for this.”

  Then I remembered: Taiton had a similar needle when he was here to fight Crixis and bring him in. Was this from Taiton’s stash? Did the injection nullify every supernatural’s power? And why…why was he going to inject me with it?

  “I’m not a supernatural,” I said, meeting Seth’s eyes.

  A sick smile grew on his lips. “You’re not a good liar, Kass.” Right. He knew me because he had Seth’s memories. He’d taken them the moment he took Seth’s body. “You are. I can sense it.” His head bent toward Claire. “She can sense it.”

  “No,” I stated, weakly tugging at my restraints. “I’m not.”

  I was a lot of things. Daughter, friend, charge, Purifier—but I was not a supernatural. I was not the kid of an Angel. My mother was just a normal woman who…faded into light and came to me offering advice I was free to take or leave as it was.

  “I’m just a Purifier.”

  The Skinwalker frowned. “Still, I’ll take no chances. If there’s anything I’ve learned in the last few decades, it’s about laying low. Though, I must admit—” He stuck the needle into my neck and injected me with each drop of it without warning. “—lately I haven’t been doing such a good job, and I think that’s because of you. You make me…” A finger ran along my jaw, down my neck, over the bruised area where he’d injected me. “…feel things.”

  I made him feel things? All right, maybe I was something, because I certainly wasn’t pretty enough to warrant half of the attention I got from John and everyone else. How did Claire and Crixis describe it? I was like a fire, like a magnet or a battery or whatever. They were drawn to me, because…

  Because I was the daughter of an Angel?

  “Don’t touch her,” Claire hissed, sounding like me on a normal day. “You want me, let’s just get it over with already.” Her tough act didn’t last long, for he moved to her side, grabbing her jaw, covering her mouth with one hand.

  “Hush, Morpher. It will be over for you soon enough. First, I plan to have a little taste test.” His eyes, glimmering with ill intent, looked to me. “I have to know if she’s worth keeping alive.”

  Keeping me alive so I can be a living blood bag? Uh, no thanks.

  I muttered, “I didn’t know Skinwalkers drank blood.” Truthfully, I didn’t know much about them at all, save for the basics and how to purify one. With my hands tied like this, and my energy waning, I wasn’t so sure I’d be able to.

  “Oh, we’re not like Vampires. Some of them only drink blood, others will eat the flesh, too.” The Skinwalker shrugged, talking as if it were no big deal, like he was talking about the weather instead of eating someone, “So picky. My kind make a meal out of it all. Blood, skin, muscles, organs, bones. It’s all so good.”

  “It’s a good thing the Council wiped most of you out, then, isn’t it?�
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  The Skinwalker backhanded me, right across the cheek. The wind was knocked out of me, stars in my field of view. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d been backhanded like that. Such a pathetic, wussy move. “You speak of your Council as if you know them. Your precious Council campaigns for the genocide of all Demonkind, even your Morpher friend.” His fingers entwined with my hair, and he roughly pulled my head back, exposing my neck. “Tell me, Kass, would you purify your friend if your Council demanded it? Because make no mistake, they would and they will.”

  My eyes darted to Claire, who was doing her best not to listen to the raving lunatic we were currently at the mercy of. “No,” I finally said, making my choice. “I wouldn’t.” In reality, I made my choice a long time ago.

  The jury was still out on John. But Rain? No. Alyssa? Nope. Claire and Steven? A definite no.

  “Wow,” the Skinwalker mocked me, his fingers loosening their hold on my scalp. “A modern Purifier. Never seen that before—oh, hold on a minute. I have, and do you know what always happens to them?”

  I closed my eyes, gathering my strength. “I’m guessing,” I coughed out, “the same thing that happens to every other Purifier.”

  Seth’s laughter filled my ears. “Yes, yes, mankind and their obsession with death. You would die regardless of whether or not you were a Purifier.” He must have leaned down, for I felt his lips on my ear as he whispered, “When the Council learns of a rogue Purifier, they send their own Agent to take care of it…and do you know how they take care of it? Do you know what happens to the Purifiers who cross the Council?”

  Behind my closed eyelids, I already had a nagging suspicion.

  “They have them killed. Tossed out like garbage. Buried in unmarked graves. I’ve seen it happen.” The Skinwalker released my hair, moving back to the table and retrieving the scalpel once more. This time, I had a feeling it wouldn’t put the blade down until it made a few cuts. “Your Council may act high and mighty, but it’s nothing more than men and women in suits who try to dictate what’s best for everyone else.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Kass,” Claire tried whispering, “I—I’m sure he’s lying.”

  I was glad she was so certain. I, on the other hand, was far from it. In fact, I was almost sure he wasn’t lying, because it made sense. The Council couldn’t have any rogue Purifiers wandering around the globe, spreading their secrets, could they? If there were rogue Purifiers, then the whole world’s population would probably know all about the Demons that pretended to be their neighbors.

  “No,” I said, watching as the Skinwalker stepped slowly, measuredly, toward me, scalpel in hand. “He’s not.” I ignored the expression Claire gave me, the one that asked why would you want to work for something like that?

  I don’t have a choice, Claire, I wanted to say. I was forced to, because my father worked for them. It’s a family business.

  Only…now it wasn’t.

  The Skinwalker spun the sharp edge of the scalpel on his finger, digging it into Seth’s skin. Clearly, it didn’t care about its current body. Mr. Skinwalker only had eyes for us, now. “Where, oh where should I make the first cut?” Beside me, it muttered an apologetic, “I’m sorry, but it’s been so long since I’ve had a Purifier on my table—or chair—let alone one that’s also a mystery supernatural. I do plan on taking my time, and making you pay for all the Demons you’ve purified in your lifetime.”

  The cool metal pressed against my cheekbone, drawing down, along my face, until there was a thin sliver of blood two inches long. I barely flinched, having been used to a great deal worse, which made it laugh. “What a brave face you wear. I can’t wait to cut it up.” I had a witty retort ready—and another coughing fit that might come with more blood—but I froze as I felt his tongue run alongside the cut, licking off all the blood that escaped from it. “You taste so good, Kass. What are you?”

  I looked into Seth’s eyes, adrenaline starting to pump through my veins with the new wound. Behind my back, my fists clenched. “Your worst nightmare,” I murmured, watching as the smug Skinwalker began to laugh heartily.

  Now or never, Kass.

  With my mini pep-talk in my head, and a slight throbbing on my cheek, I used the Skinwalker’s closeness to my advantage: the hardest headbutt I’d ever given. A headbutt so hard, so fast, that my world turned black for a split-second before my gaze refocused on the Skinwalker on the ground.

  I breathed in and out. It took me a few tries, a few back and forth motions, but soon I had tipped the chair forward, and I stood on my feet, knees bent, still attached to the chair. It felt like an old kitchen chair, rickety with years of use. It wouldn’t take much to break it.

  Please, let me at least save Claire, then it could do whatever it wanted with me.

  Heaving myself up with as much chutzpah as I could muster, given the circumstance, I pushed off the ground, jumping half as high as I could when I wasn’t restrained. But it was enough; I didn’t land straight back, I landed on an angle on the chair’s side, splintering it enough that the bottom collapsed. At least my legs were free.

  “I was not expecting that,” the Skinwalker said, getting up.

  But I was faster.

  With my legs stretched out, I ran to its side, body-slamming it with the side of the chair, and seriously hurting my arm in the process. Oh, well. I hurt almost everywhere else. What’s a little more pain?

  After it breathed in, and I realized how badly I misjudged how difficult it was to stand from this angle with no help from my arms, the Skinwalker threw me off him, landing me on the dirty, blood-soaked floor. Scalpel in hand, it leapt on top of me, pressing the sharp edge to my neck.

  “Now, now, you shouldn’t have done that,” it whispered, menacing, the metal more threatening than its words could ever be. “Now you made me mad, and you’re not going to like me when I’m mad.”

  “Well,” I coughed right into its face, “aren’t we just spitting out cliched line after cliched line?” My wrists felt like they were close to breaking behind me, under the chair, under Seth’s weight. I did the only thing I could think of to do: I kneed the Skinwalker in the groin.

  And, since he wore the flesh suit of a teenage boy, it hurt quite a bit.

  It hurt so much, actually, that the Skinwalker howled, rolling off me, dropping the scalpel. That was all I needed.

  My greedy, grubby, aching hands found the scalpel, and my fingers turned it around so that I could cut away at the zip tie holding my wrists together to the back of the chair. By the time the Skinwalker righted itself, I was finally free of every piece of the chair, save for the two zip ties on my ankles, which had easily slid off the bottom of the chair after I broke it.

  I held the scalpel out, saying, “Don’t come any closer.” I swayed, and for a moment, I saw two Skinwalkers in front of me. I blinked furiously, trying to see normally, trying to overcome the absolute exhaustion that came over me. I wanted to sleep and never wake up.

  Claire watched me with stunned, surprised eyes. “Kass, you have to kill it!”

  Thank you, Sherlock, I wanted to say, but I kept quiet, saving my energy for the Demon. How was I supposed to purify it when I felt so sick? How was I supposed to win this fight when, in order to do that, I had to catch the Skinwalker body suit-less?

  I had a feeling I was up a creek without a paddle here.

  “You,” the Skinwalker hissed, pausing as it lurched toward me. Seth’s handsome face twisted into a mixture of a sneer and confusion. “What did you do to me?” It set a hand on its stomach, its skin turning pale. “Your blood…tainted.” Its eyes held pure, unadulterated fury. “You poisoned me, you sick—” The next moment, it ran at me, but I was able to easily sidestep the attack, and the Skinwalker fell to the floor, curling into itself, shaking violently.

  Sharp, pointed tentacles seeped from every orifice of Seth’s body, growing in size and length until the flesh it wore tore, ripping under the pressure of something trying to get out. But it was too late.<
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  It was an ugly, hideous beast, a Demon straight from my nightmares. All tentacles and slime and blood. Its tentacles were lined with razor-sharp, mini-teeth, and as it tried to crawl out of the body, it dug into the tile. It must slowly absorb what it tore off, when it was inside someone. A disgusting parasite. Demons like this should be purified, I thought. Not ones like Claire.

  Soon enough, the Skinwalker slowed to a halt, and it didn’t move again, even as I nudged it with my shoe. Wiping the sweat off me, I knelt beside it, tugging the rest of it out of Seth’s body, doing my best to pretend that this was all a dream, that I wasn’t kneeling beside an empty suit of flesh.

  Once the Skinwalker was completely out of Seth, I searched through its many tentacles, receiving dozens of tiny, indiscernible cuts on my hands, until I found the center. An asexual Demon whose brain and heart were a single organ, laying right in the middle of the mass of tentacles, where they joined haphazardly into a fleshy, red and pink blob.

  I didn’t hesitate, but I might’ve gone a little crazy.

  Over and over and over, I stabbed the center of the blob with the scalpel, until it was nothing but a gory mess. The Skinwalker looked dead before that, but I had to be sure. Letting this thing go was not on the menu.

  Almost in a daze, I went to Claire and freed her wrists, and then her legs. She quickly got to her feet, steadying me by holding onto my shoulders. When I met her eyes, I dropped the bloodied scalpel. “I’m taking you to the hospital,” she said, starting to drag me up the creepy stairs.

  “No,” I pulled back. “No. I just want to go home.”

  Go home, pass out, and die.

  Claire thought I was nuts. In a way—okay, in lots of ways—I was. But I was used to it by now. “Is…is there someone we should call about this?” she asked as we emerged into a dimly-lit house.

  The house was more like a shack. A small ranch, on some dead-end side street, its neighbors far apart. The perfect place for a killer Demon to make its home. We exited the house, and I saw long, overgrown grass and wondered how long this house had been vacant. Couldn’t have been too long, for the electricity was still on. Didn’t the city shut that off?