Wilder The Chosen Ones

by Christina Dodd

  Then the bus hit a speed bump so hard they left their seats and landed with a thump, and they laughed as Rosie drove them through Little Italy, toward Osgood Headquarters now towering on the horizon.

  Jacqueline turned. “Did everyone have the vision?”

  Nods all around.

  “What did you see?” she asked.

  “I was flying with the wings on my back,” Genny said.

  “No, it was me,” John said.

  “Me!” Aaron said.

  Rosamund straightened her glasses on her nose. “A most unusual occurrence. What is commonly believed is that this means that any one of us can perform the task at hand.”

  Jacqueline nodded. “We have to get to the roof of the Osgood building. That’s where Osgood is. He’s calling in the storm, remaking the earth. The roof—that’s where we’ll take flight.”

  “Then the roof will be our goal,” John said.

  “Charisma carries the feathers.” Jacqueline’s low voice carried to every ear. “So whether or not she takes flight, she has to make it to the roof.”

  John stood up and shouted, “Charisma Fangorn has to make it to the roof!”

  Around the bus, every head nodded.

  Rosie turned a corner so hard John hit the window and remained plastered there until she straightened the wheel.

  “Hope we live through the ride,” Konstantine shouted cheerfully.

  Isabelle put her hands on Charisma’s shoulders.

  Charisma felt the flow of warmth start, and sighed with pleasure.

  “You’re stronger.” Isabelle’s surprise told Charisma that Isabelle, too, knew of her fatal poisoning. “Oh! How marvelous! Your gift is back.”

  “Yes.” Charisma touched the stones at her wrist. They sang to her of duty, of sacrifice, of a death nobly borne. “I can hear the earth again.”

  “What about— Oof!” Samuel gasped as if Isabelle had elbowed him hard.

  Both Aleksandr and Charisma turned to see Samuel holding his ribs.

  He fake-smiled again, that lawyerly smirk that made Charisma glad she had never faced him across a courtroom. “I was going to say, what about me? You know how selfish I am. Isabelle should put her hands on me.”

  “Yes! And heal you!” Before he could say another word, Isabelle put both hands on his hip and grimaced.

  “Woman, you try my patience.” But the small, pinched frown between his eyes vanished.

  “We need you, Samuel. We need every warrior.” Isabelle took her hands away and leaned sideways, as if trying to alleviate the pain in her own hip. “And don’t try to tell me it didn’t hurt, because now I know better.”

  Samuel wrapped his arm around his wife and brought her close against his chest, closed his eyes, and rested his head on hers.

  Aleksandr watched them, and his beastly yet beautiful face twisted in anguish. Then he looked at Charisma, and his blue eyes softened. For a moment, just the briefest of moments, she slid her arms around him and rested her head on his chest.

  No one else could have made her happy. Except Aleksandr.

  The moment of loving communion was all too brief.

  The bus shrieked to a stop.

  Rosie flung open the doors and yelled, “Osgood Headquarters. Everybody out!”

  Chapter 50

  Aleksandr joined the others as they moved to one side of the bus and peered out the windows.

  Osgood Headquarters rose straight up, bleak, stark, almost completely windowless, with a sickly-white sheen that reflected the black clouds swirling in a circle around the top floors. In an eerie silence, lightning snaked out of the clouds, striking like flaming cobras at the walls, the trees, the ground. The earth began to tremble, then to shake. Giant cracks opened in the street, then snapped shut again while waves of destruction emanated from the building’s foundation.

  Seemingly oblivious to the shaking, Rosie lit a new cigar. “No time like the present!” She stomped down the steps.

  Clinging to the seats for balance, everyone stumbled their way down the aisle and onto the circular drive. A landscaped and lavish covered walk led to the cathedral-size bronze-cast double doors that opened to the lobby. They walked forward, exclaiming at the bronze arches, the stone benches, the perfectly arranged landscaping. The entrance resembled any entrance to a grossly wealthy conglomerate, except . . .

  They all slowed.

  They all looked around.

  Rosamund said what they were all thinking. “Where are all the people?”

  There were no employees. No visitors. No guards. No one watching them suspiciously.

  “Something is very wrong here.” Charisma cradled the feathers a little closer.

  “Osgood declared this Worldwide Apocalypse Day and gave them a holiday?” Samuel suggested.

  Nobody laughed. Not even Samuel.

  Ten feet before they reached the doors, John waved everyone into a circle around him. “Gather ’round. Gather ’round. And listen. I’m the leader of the Chosen Ones, which means I’m your general.” He bent a stern look on the older Chosen, on the Wilders and the street people, the wealthy, and the Belows. “I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure no one is hurt, but there’s not much time left before Osgood gets all the trump in his hand and starts his thousand-year reign on earth.”

  The ground rattled beneath their feet.

  Everyone looked up toward the top of the building, where the clouds circled faster and faster.

  Aleksandr pulled Charisma close, and noted that there was no sign of life around them; not even birds twittered in the trees.

  John continued. “We don’t know what we’re walking into. The Others are probably going to be in there, and heaven knows what other kind of creatures, and heavens knows what kinds of weapons. Stick together and stay behind me. I throw off energy, which means I can repel bullets and push people around. Remember—the elevators are at the back of the lobby. Our aim is to get as many of the Chosen Ones on them as we can and head for the roof.”

  “Osgood has control of the elevators,” Aaron pointed out.

  “We’ll have to take our chances,” John answered.

  “What’s your choice?” Rosie chomped on her cigar. “Running up one hundred and some flights of stairs?”

  “Right.” John nodded at her. “We haven’t got a good choice, but for sure, Charisma and the feathers need to make it aboard that elevator. Innovate as you have to. And for just a moment, let’s hold hands and—”

  Behind them, Aleksandr heard a warning crackle. Heat flashed through him. He saw a blaze of fiery white light, felt the hair lift all over his body.

  A bomb!

  He flung himself around.

  No, not a bomb. A lightning bolt had hit the bus, turning it into a pile of twisted, smoking metal.

  “Why, you son of a bitch.” Rosie threw her cigar on the ground and stared at the wreckage. “You killed my bus!” With a growl that started deep in her chest and issued from her mouth as a roar, she charged toward the bronze doors.

  “Let’s go!” John shouted, and ran after her.

  The Chosen Ones encircled Charisma and Aleksandr.

  The Wilders surrounded the Chosen Ones. The police, the wealthy, the Belows formed the outer perimeter.

  The whole group followed Rosie and John, and barreled toward the heavy doors, into the lobby. . . .

  They stopped. They stared.

  They had found the people. All the people.

  The gigantic room was a symphony of white marble, glittering gold, crystal, and cast bronze. And every inch was packed with employees, screaming, pushing, shouting, praying . . . begging. Begging the guards who held them at gunpoint to let them leave.

  At the back, behind the security station, more employees emptied out of the elevators, packing the gigantic space tighter and tighter.

  “Of course,” Rosamund said. “To seal his deal with the devil, Osgood is going to sacrifice them all. He owns their souls. Now he’ll take their lives. The bargain will
be sealed in blood.”

  Aleksandr was tall, and could see all too well, looking over the heads of everyone else and deep into the lobby. He could smell the fear of a thousand bodies pressed together, feeding one another’s dread. He could smell pain and terror. “Yes,” he said, “and that’s why he hasn’t killed the Chosen Ones when at any moment, he so obviously could have. If we are part of the sacrifice, it is all the more decisive—and powerful.”

  Another earthquake rumbled the ground.

  People screamed. They broke. They ran toward the entrance.

  The guards opened fire, killing them and the employees behind them.

  Blood spattered the white marble, splashed the bronze statues.

  Shrieks of pain and fear echoed off the marble columns.

  Rosie trembled with rage. She shouted, “You sons a bitches!” and charged again.

  John charged after her, using his powers to block bullets, to knock guards aside.

  More guards leaped to the front, firing at the people in the lobby.

  John slammed the guards against the wall.

  The police used their nightsticks with abandon, knocking out the guards, pointing out the way to the people rushing toward the door.

  A wall of flame sprang up in the entrance.

  As Aleksandr’s fur burned and curled, he pushed Charisma farther into the lobby and away from the doors.

  Fire caught one of the fleeing female employees. She screamed in agony.

  Firebird Wilder ran into the flames. “Don’t worry. We can walk through!” Putting her arm around the terrified woman, she led her to the door and outside.

  “Good for your mother!” Charisma shouted above the din.

  Yes, good for his mother. And what hell for his father, who abandoned the Wilders to run after her and ensure her safety.

  The fire flared up higher, driving back the employees.

  A female Other leaned against a marble column, a woman who smiled as she threw fire from her palms.

  Samuel faced her. “You bitch. Don’t even think you can get away with that.” With a lift of his chin, he controlled her mind.

  She staggered. Her eyes rolled back in her head. She fell to the ground.

  The flames died.

  Aleksandr saw his mother open the doors wide. She shouted and gestured the employees forward. The guards were still fighting, but the older Chosen blocked them. The Belows sneaked up on them and, while pretending madness—or perhaps with real madness—smacked the weaponry out of their hands.

  From the back, something unseen slammed Samuel. A blade rose and glimmered in the light.

  Charisma shouted.

  Isabelle reached out and grabbed an invisible arm.

  The outline of a human being materialized over Samuel’s prone body.

  When Isabelle kneed him in the groin, he dropped the blade and doubled over.

  She dropped his wrist and shoved him into the stampede of fleeing employees.

  He disappeared from sight, then . . . disappeared in truth as crowds of people trampled him, tripped over him, cursed the invisible obstacle, and bludgeoned him with their tromping feet.

  Charisma grabbed his wrist. “Aleksandr. Look!”

  Taurean appeared, dragging two women toward the door.

  A guard swung around and pointed his pistol at them. He cocked it.

  Aleksandr howled and leaped through the crowd. He was too far. He wasn’t going to make it. He roared again.

  The guard looked over his shoulder. Saw Aleksandr. His eyes widened. He tried to bring his muzzle around.

  Aleksandr grabbed him by the neck and the belt. He lifted the guard over his head and flung him toward the wall.

  The guard screamed. He hit. He slid.

  Aleksandr turned back to find Charisma.

  She was gone.

  Chapter 51

  The crowd closed in around Charisma. She could hear Aleksandr roar her name, but she couldn’t see him. Her phalanx of Chosen Ones had disappeared as, one by one, they peeled off to take care of another crisis, to fight the Others. Violent eddies in the crowd caught her, shoving her toward the outer door.

  But she needed to enter the inner lobby, where the elevators would take her to the top. To the roof. Where Osgood called in the forces of hell.

  She clutched the heavenly feathers close to her body, afraid that the employees’ panic would soon turn this into a riot and she would be trampled, the feathers lost.

  She heard gunshots.

  Saw more blood, dark red and horrible, spatter against the white marble.

  The screams grew deafening.

  She remembered John’s directive: The Chosen Ones were to sacrifice anything to get her to the elevators.

  She had to trust that Aleksandr could take care of himself.

  Fiercely, she shoved and elbowed her way toward the back. She had to reach the elevators.

  Like snapshots taken too fast, Charisma caught glimpses of her comrades.

  Of Rosie and Konstantine throwing punches, and John at their side, using his power to flip the submachine gun–wielding guards through the air like playing cards in a strong wind.

  She saw Genny and Zorana directing Osgood’s employees out the door.

  She heard Samuel shouting, knew he and Isabelle were fighting their way through the crowd, trying to catch up.

  The press of employees toward the exit was a river, driven by desperation. Charisma fought, strained toward the elevators, gained feet and inches only to lose precious seconds. Air was in short supply. She was squeezed and shoved from all directions. She struggled to breathe, but irresistibly she was pressed backward. The gunfire grew sharper, closer.

  The guards were taking people out at the doors.

  Oh, God. Genny.

  But no. Charisma had to trust in John’s powers. He wouldn’t let those bastards get Genny. He wouldn’t let her die.

  Charisma heard Aleksandr roar again.

  He was alive.

  And suddenly three of the older Wilder men materialized in front of her. His uncles. Something about them, their predatory stares and their attitudes, made people swerve away. Slowly, then with greater momentum, her guard pushed against the throng, creating a path for Charisma toward the back of the lobby.

  At last she could draw breath.

  Above the milling heads and off to the side, she saw Aleksandr cutting a swath through the crowd, his blue eyes focused on her. He seemed to have no trouble getting his way. Maybe it was because, when people saw him, they screamed and tried to run.

  Dumb shits. Didn’t they realize he was saving them?

  Wilders in the lead, Charisma reached the guard station.

  She gave a gasp of relief. They were almost there. The elevators were just beyond, nine sets of glossy doors that closed, then opened to discharge masses of sweaty, crying, cursing employees, then closed again.

  The employees streamed out of the side corridors, too, coming down the stairwells, panting from exertion and fear.

  The ground shook continuously now. Above the cacophony, Charisma heard the ominous thud of lightning striking the ground over and over. In her mind, she formed a picture of the fleeing employees facing the press of death inside the building, the fear of annihilation from hail, lightning, every biblical plague.

  She caught a glimpse of Aaron, their gifted thief, sliding along the wall, Rosamund behind him. Maybe they would catch up with Charisma . . . but Rosamund was pointing not at the elevators, but around the corner into the narrow hallway, where . . . where a shock wave of sparkling black energy gathered strength. Like a foul wind, it blasted out, taking out everyone in its path. Charisma and the Wilders careened sideways, stumbling, scattering.

  Charisma was alone again, isolated in the crowd. She clutched the feathers, but she didn’t so much hold them as they clung to her, refusing to leave. Another powerful gust of energy sent her spinning in a circle, tripping over her own feet, falling beneath a hundred stamping feet.

  Someone caug
ht her. Aleksandr caught her. She clung to him as yet another gust of energy hit them. Aleksandr leaned into it, fought to remain on his feet.

  John’s power counterpart in the Others stood in the corridor, blasting them with so much power Charisma’s heart squeezed in agony, then resumed its beat.

  “We’ve got to stop him!” she shouted.

  “Aaron’s got it,” Aleksandr shouted back.

  Behind the Other, a smoky mist rose. Sensing something, the Other’s head whipped around to see Aaron materializing behind him.

  Too late. Aaron snapped his neck and dropped him to the floor.

  Rosamund ran to Aaron and embraced him.

  Aleksandr wrapped his arm around Charisma. “Come on!” Escorted by the Wilder men, they made it past the guard station into the elevator lobby.

  Caleb appeared out of the melee, Jacqueline on his heels. “Jacqueline says it’s these elevators.” He pointed to the doors on the left. “They’re the only ones that go all the way to the roof!”

  “Come on.” Jacqueline held the doors open. “Come on!”

  “Have we lost the rest of the Chosen Ones?” Charisma shouted.

  “Yes,” Caleb said. “But we’ve got to go. Jacqueline says we can’t wait any longer!”

  At her wrist, Charisma’s stones jangled a warning.

  Something about this scenario was wrong. Very, very wrong.

  She touched Caleb.

  He was fine.

  She put her hand on Jacqueline’s shoulder, and the blast of enmity and evil glee made her spring backward. “That’s not Jacqueline!”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” the fake Jacqueline said.

  “Of course it’s Jacqueline!” Caleb viewed the shape-shifter with narrowed eyes. “Although somehow we got separated.”

  “Find your wife,” Charisma told him. “This is not Jacqueline!”

  Color drained from Caleb’s face, and he turned and fought his way back into the crowd.

  Aleksandr turned to his father and uncles and pointed at the impostor. “What is that?”