Requiem for the Dead

by Kelly Meding

  "She will attack you sideways," Horzt said. "By any means necessary to accomplish her goal."

  "Yeah, we've noticed. Is she behind the upswing in goblin violence?"

  He nodded. "The loss of Walter Thackery and his machinations have left a void in her reach. She's going to fill it with whatever will hurt you most. Your allies are thinning out, but I can offer you two small gifts."

  Horzt reached into the folds of his robe and removed a long, narrow leather pouch. I took it, the material impossibly smooth, and unfolded the top. Wyatt came forward a few steps to watch me pull out a roll of thin, yellowed paper with a white, bone-like pole at each end. A scroll of some kind, tied together with a piece of silky thread.

  "This is a written history of the elves," Horzt said. "We keep very little written down, as our languages are oral and not transcribed."

  I gentle unrolled part of the scroll. The tiny lines of black ink were written in characters I didn't recognize. "What language is this?"

  "Aramaic. The scroll was written by humans as a favor many, many millennia ago. We came into possession of it when the elves were all but destroyed."

  "So we need an Aramaic expert."

  "Or a really smart internet translator," Milo said behind me.

  Horzt frowned. He probably had no idea what the internet was.

  "Thank you for this." I handed the scroll to Wyatt, then tipped the tube over for the second object weighing down the bottom. Another leather pouch, about the size of a grapefruit, dropped into my palm. The pouch was cinched tight, but whatever was inside wasn't solid.

  "You needn't open that," Horzt said. "Not yet."

  "What is it?" I asked.

  "The cure for your infected friends."

  My heart slammed against my ribs. "For the vampires? You found a cure for Thackery's virus?"

  "I did. A teaspoon dissolved in a cup of warm human blood. Split the dosage among six. You should have enough for them all."

  Relief flooded my chest, and sharp tears stung the corners of my eyes. "Thank you so much for this. But won't Amalie be pissed at you for helping us?"

  "She no longer cares for the future of the Apothi, no matter our actual worth. So we will follow our gargoyle brothers to the north and leave the city for the mountains."

  "I thought the Fey needed to be near First Break." First Break was the underground home of the Fey, built to protect a gateway to another plane of existence that housed the worst sort of monsters and demons.

  "We need to be close to a Break, to our source of power. And this city does not house all of them."

  "We could offer your people sanctuary at the Watchtower," I said without thinking—or discussing it with the people actually in charge of those decisions.

  "A generous offer, but I must decline. Amalie will not chase us if we leave. Her wrath is far reaching and her memory long. I cannot risk my people becoming nearly extinct like the elves."

  Like the Coni and Stri—two Clans of shape-shifting birds of prey that Amalie had helped destroy. My thoughts turned to Phin, and I missed him more than ever. "I understand," I said. "So this is good-bye, right?"

  "For now. Perhaps we will meet again in a brighter future." Horzt turned around and gazed up at Wyatt. "I'm sorry I can't do anything to fix you, but your infection is beyond my ability to heal."

  "You've already given us so much," Wyatt said. And he wasn't just talking about today's information and gifts.

  "Be well and good journey to you all."

  "Good journey," Wyatt said, and I echoed him.

  The ground beneath Horzt rumbled, and he slowly lowered back into the ground the same way he'd come up. As the concrete swirled into place, shapes began to form. Shapes that became words: Good Bye Stony.

  "Good-bye, Smedge," I said. "Horzt, too."

  The words disappeared, and the rumbling ground was lost to the thunder of traffic overhead.

  I studied the medicine pouch, shocked that I had the answer to one of our biggest problems sitting in the palm of my hand. It seemed too damned easy. Nothing fell into my lap like this, and yet I had no reason to doubt Horzt's sincerity.

  "Something tells me Eulan will be surprised to see us twice in one day," Milo said.

  "No kidding." I dropped the pouch back into the larger leather holder, then put the scroll inside with it. No sense in damaging either one of them.

  "Do you think we'll find anything useful on that scroll?" Baylor asked as our group headed back for the hole in the fence.

  "Hard to tell until someone translates it," Wyatt said. "But I doubt Horzt would have risked giving it to us if it was useless."

  "Agreed," I said.

  Marcus held up the piece of fence while the rest of us ducked through. We stopped as a group next to the first car.

  "I want to get the cure back to the vampires," I said before anyone else could.

  "Right," Baylor said. "If this works, we can certainly use their help again. Take Milo and Marcus with you. Truman and I will take the scroll back to the Watchtower and get started on translating it."

  Across the circle from me, Marcus tensed at almost the exact same moment that Wyatt did. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Marcus growled. Wyatt grunted, then collapsed face-first to the pavement. A splash of red feathers poked out of his back, right between his shoulder blades.

  "Get dow—!" Marcus couldn't even finish his thought before a dart hit him in the throat, and he dropped like a rock.

  Milo lunged for Marcus. I grabbed Milo and yanked us both behind the parked car. Baylor skidded to a stop at our feet, a dart in his thigh, and he fell unconscious a split-second later.

  "Where the fuck are they?" I asked, clutching the case to my chest. We were facing the road and the water, with no hiding places for snipers. They had to be under the bridge.

  "No idea," Milo said. He grabbed Baylor's gun from his hand. "Call it in."

  I fumbled into my back pocket for my phone. Something small bounced off the roof of the car, then hit the pavement in front of us. A round object that made my chest tighten. I didn't have time to reach for my emotional trigger, to attempt to teleport us out of there.

  Milo tackled me to the ground right as the flash bomb exploded.

  Chapter Six

  Later

  Some serious discomfort in my left arm helped wake me up from total blackness. I blinked a cement block wall into focus. The ground beneath me was hard and cold. I wiggled my left arm, which was bent beneath my body and numb from the pressure. My head hurt from the concussion blast and I tasted blood in my mouth.

  "Evy?"

  Marcus's voice somewhere nearby. It echoed, though, hinting at close quarters. I grunted in response. Got my arm out from beneath me, then tried to sit up. Something heavy weighed against my neck—a metal collar of some kind. A collar attached to a length of chain. The chain was threaded up to the ceiling, connected to some sort of pulley, and it went out the front of my cage.

  Shit. I knew exactly where I was. I'd been here before.

  Five-by-eight jail cell. Iron bars in front of me and to my left. Four cells, and I was in the last one. I'd been jailed here once before, months ago, by a bunch of idiot teenage Halfies working for Tovin the Crazy Elf.

  I yanked at the thick metal collar and couldn't get it off. Reached for the Break, intent on teleporting my ass out of that cell—only the Break wasn't there. Just like the first time, something was blocking its magic from me. "Fuck," I said. To compound the badness of the situation, I'd been stripped out of my damned clothes. Right down to my bra and panties.

  And I wasn't the only one half-naked. In the cell next to mine, Baylor lay unconscious, modesty protected only by his boxer-briefs. Marcus was next to him, already on his feet and prowling his cage. Unlike Baylor, he was totally naked—he'd told me once clothes made shifting take longer, so he wore as few layers as necessary, which meant commando. The skin beneath his collar was bright red.

  Silver. Damn.

  In the far cage,
the same one where I'd watched my friend Alex die only to come back as an infected half-Blood, lay Milo, also skinned down to his boxers. He was starting to wake up, though, and Marcus squatted close to the bars on his side.

  "Milo?" Marcus said. "Milo, wake up."

  "Working on it," came the pained reply.

  Baylor grunted and twitched, and soon all four of us were awake.

  Four of us. "Where's Wyatt?" I asked.

  Marcus lifted his face and sniffed. "Truman hasn't been down here." His lips curled back into a snarl. "Bengals."

  "Seriously?" Milo asked. "The Bengals kidnapped us? Why?"

  "We will assuredly find out."

  "Evy," Baylor said. "Can you teleport?"

  "No, I'm being blocked." The first time I'd been here, a magically infused orange crystal had been blocking my access to the Break. I didn't see another crystal, but that didn't mean it wasn't there somewhere. And how the hell had a Bengal gotten his paws on one, anyhow?

  Our clothes lay in a heap near the basement door—a door that wouldn't open to anything good. Strange to think that I'd been here before, and I still had no idea where "here" was. Wyatt and I had gotten out the first time thanks to Smedge. And Smedge wouldn't be coming to the rescue today. I had no idea if Wyatt was still alive, and my heart ached with the uncertainty.

  We didn't have to wait long for answers to our burning questions. Marcus began growling seconds before the door swung open. A tall, muscular man with dark auburn hair walked in. His shining copper eyes gave him away as Felia. Marcus snarled louder. The stranger ignored him and stepped over to a pulley system with several levers—our chains and collars.

  Not good.

  He flipped a switch and turned a crank. Instantly, the tension in my chain tightened as the slack was pulled upward into the pulley. The chain went taut, the stiff collar pressing against my throat, tight enough to pull me nearly to my tiptoes. He stopped and locked the chain in, leaving me with nowhere to go. My hands and feet were still free—thank God—but I was one solid yank from being choked to death.

  The man went down the row until all four of us were strung up in a similar way, never saying a single word.

  Marcus broke the silence first. "What do you want, Vale?" he asked.

  The fact that Marcus knew the bad guy surprised me more than it should have. There weren't that many Felia in the city, and being part of the ruling family meant Marcus probably knew most of them. Still, everything about this felt personal, and that made me very, very nervous.

  "I have a simple request, Marcus," Vale replied. "I want the security codes to the Dane mansion."

  Marcus made a noise that was part-laugh and part-snort. "You know that will never happen."

  "Never say never."

  This wasn't going to end well. The Dane mansion was a small fortress, and it housed not only Marcus's family, but also the last members of the Coni Clan. Marcus would never betray the people there like this, no matter what Vale dealt out.

  "So this is how your family will see Riley defeated?" Marcus asked with a disgusted snarl. "You fear a fair fight just as your brother did, so you'll sneak up from behind and stab him in the back?"

  "Actually, I was planning to stab him in the face."

  The coldness in Vale's voice gave me chills. Not simply because of the lack of emotion as he spoke of murder, but that he'd said it in front of all of us. We were dead in his eyes, no matter what. Please, Wyatt, please be alive.

  "You're a fool, Vale, as is your entire family," Marcus said.

  I wanted to tell him to shut up and not antagonize the bad guy, only he was doing exactly what I usually did. Bluster and bray in order to buy time for help to arrive. Only we hadn't managed to call anyone in time. No one at the Watchtower knew where we were. They might not even realize we were missing.

  "We'll see who's the fool," Vale replied.

  He snapped his fingers, and a second Felia came inside. He was shorter than Vale, but had the same auburn hair and muscular build. The Goon walked to my cell, unlocked the door with a set of keys, then pushed the door to the side with a metallic clank. My stomach tightened. Every instinct in my body screamed.

  Goon got close enough. I grabbed the chain over my head with both hands, held tight, and kicked out hard with my feet. My heels slammed into Goon's mouth and snapped his head back. He yelped and stumbled right out of the cell until he hit the far wall. Blood dripped from his split lip. His copper eyes flashed with fury.

  Vale chuckled. "I see she lives up to her reputation."

  "Take the collar off and you'll see what I can do, Fuzz Face," I snapped. I'd been sparring with Marcus for weeks just for the practice, and I had no doubts I could deliver a solid beat-down to Vale's ass. Especially with so much extra motivation hanging by their necks.

  Vale came to my cell door, but stayed out of reach of my kicks. His nose wrinkled. I really hated it when Therians—Felia, Cania, or otherwise—sniffed me. It made me want to apologize for having not showered recently, even if I had. Athough in this case, I hadn't.

  "You reek of the half-breed," Vale said with obvious disgust in his voice. "What sort of person would lie down with an animal like that?"

  "You got a wife I can ask the same question to?"

  His eyes narrowed. "This one belongs to another. His smell is all over her. She won't be useful."

  Crap. Yes, I'd seen my fair share of torture recently, but of the four of us here, I was the fastest healer. I needed to keep this asshole's attention on me as long as possible. "Where's Wyatt?"

  "Who?"

  "The half-breed, where is he?"

  Malice pulled the corners of Vale's mouth into a twisted smile. "Don't concern yourself with him any longer, woman. Enjoy your final few hours alive."

  "Like I haven't heard that before."

  Vale's gaze wandered from me up to the chain keeping me dangling from the ceiling. "Suffocation is a slow, painful way to die."

  My guts twisted. "I've been tortured before."

  "Indeed."

  Vale and Goon left my cage door open—which didn't help me any, because I couldn't get out of that damned collar—and walked down the row. Past Baylor—whose intimidation face was on full-force and looked as easy to persuade as a brick wall—and past Marcus, who looked pissed enough to pop a few blood vessels. Vale opened Milo's cell door and took a single step inside.

  Shit.

  I had to angle a bit to see them through the bars and the two bodies in my line of sight. Milo seemed relaxed, but I'd seen him fight. I knew his poker face and how quickly he reacted to threats.

  "How about you, boy?" Vale asked. "Have you been tortured before?"

  Milo didn't answer. Didn't seem to react at all, and I wanted to know what he was thinking. He'd been beaten as a child, and he'd been wounded as a Triad Hunter. But torture was another animal altogether, something not really understood until it was experienced. Milo had suffered so much these last two months already.

  "I'm the only one with the information you want," Marcus said.

  "You're right," Vale replied. "But you know as I do that some things hurt much more than physical pain. And this human smells like you, Marcus. Why is that, I wonder?"

  Milo's shoulders flexed. Marcus moved toward the bars, only to be jerked back by the collar around his neck.

  Good God, that must have been some kiss, if Vale still smelled it.

  Vale snapped his fingers. Goon turned the crank, and the chain yanked Milo right off his feet by the neck. Milo gasped and grabbed the chain with both hands. The collar lifted from behind, putting the curve of metal directly over his windpipe. Vale lunged forward and punched Milo in his unprotected midsection—the perfect blow to make his lungs seize up and knock the wind out. Milo's face flushed bright red. He coughed and sputtered and couldn't seem to keep his grip on the chain.

  Marcus roared—a terrible sound more animal than man. I wanted to scream and yell, too, to make them stop hurting my friend. To make them hurt me instead. I
'd heal. I always did. Milo didn't have my healing powers, and I'd already lost so many friends.

  All I could was watch, and somehow that hurt more than any physical blows that Vale could have landed.

  The moment seemed to last for hours, though in truth was probably only a minute or two. But when you can't breathe—when you're watching a friend who can't breathe and you can't do anything to help—even a minute is an excruciating eternity. Vale finally gestured at Goon, who released the slack on Milo's chain. Milo hit the floor hard and rolled onto his side, away from us, coughing and gasping.

  Vale stepped out and closed the cell door. "Think about it a while, Marcus," he said. "You're quite alone here, and I can make his death last for days."

  "I will kill you with my bare hands, Vale," Marcus said in a voice so deadly it sent chills down my spine.

  "Who's the one in a cage, Jaguar?"

  Vale and his goon exited without loosening our chains, leaving Marcus, Baylor and I no choice but to stand there.

  "Milo?" I said.

  His reply was a fierce grunt. He raised his right hand and gave a thumbs-up, but didn't turn to face us. He just laid there, panting.

  "I'm so sorry," Marcus said. His voice was a whisper, but sounded incredibly loud in the silence of the prison. I'd never heard him so unsure of himself.

  "Not your fault," Milo rasped out. He rolled onto his back, then sat up. His face was still red and he looked like he wanted to vomit. "I know you won't tell them anything. You can't."

  "He'll kill you."

  "Maybe." Something sad passed across Milo's face. Sad and determined. "But the future of your people is more important than me. More important than any of us."

  Marcus's hands clenched into fists. He looked like he wanted to disagree. He didn't, though, because Milo was right.

  "Can you tell how many Felia are in the building?" Baylor asked. Leave it to Cerberus to get us back on point.

  "I can detect three distinct scents, including Vale and Peck." Peck must equal Goon. "Both have been in contact with Truman recently too, because I caught his scent on them."