Waging War

by April White

  “You don’t know anything about Tom!”

  “I know half his blood is mine!” he hissed. All of Slick’s rage and venom suddenly put Archer’s desire to find Tom in a new light. Half of Tom’s blood came from the vicious man who sat in front of me, the same man who had finally succeeded in kidnapping me and who was the Monger Family enforcer. That blood now ran in the veins of a Vampire – essentially immortal and immeasurably strong, with Sight and Clocking skills. I couldn’t imagine that Slick even knew about those skills, but if he ever got his hands on them …

  Slick yelled at the goon outside the door, making me jump. “Watts!”

  The door opened and an improbably tall Asian guy stepped into the room. Slick’s voice was sharp and angry. “Cuff her hands behind her and take her to the museum.”

  I tried not to show him how very terrifying the words “cuff her” were to me, but he saw something on my face that made him smile. “Oh, little girl, if I really wanted to hobble you I could shoot out your kneecap or take off a foot. Try to run, and I will reconsider my leniency. For now I’ll content myself with your eminent discomfort.”

  He waved a dismissive hand, and in a matter of seconds, my wrists were zip-tied behind my back and I was stumbling out of the office ahead of Watts. When the office door closed behind us I actually considered hurling myself headfirst down the stairs in hopes that I could summersault fast enough to get out the door before they caught me. With no hands, I couldn’t hope to draw a spiral, and that escape hatch had been the ace in the hole that kept me calm in front of Slick.

  A second goon, even bigger and meaner looking than Watts, met us at the bottom of the stairs. I dubbed him Beefcake, for the face that made a cow pie look good in comparison. He grabbed one arm, Watts took the other, and they frog-marched me to the back of one of those windowless white vans into which children disappear, never to be seen again. I hated those vans on principle. The streetlights were conveniently out, and it was dark enough outside that I doubted I’d been seen by anyone when I was unceremoniously hurled inside. And when my ankles were zip-tied, and I was covered by a blanket that smelled like dog poop, I developed a gut-sink of epic proportions

  It was well past tea time, and I assumed the Armans had gotten worried and called someone at Elian Manor. Connor knew where I’d gone, and he might check with Cole and Melanie, but whether Cole had actually managed to follow us across the bridge and would tell him, I didn’t know.

  Part of me wanted to just roll with this and see where they took me. Maybe “the museum” was where they were holding the other mixed-bloods they’d taken. Maybe someone there would have something sharp enough to cut through the zip tie and I could get us all out. And maybe the two huge guys in charge of my discomfort were sweet mama’s boys who wouldn’t hurt a fly, much less an eighteen-year-old girl, hog-tied like a pig for slaughter.

  The van lurched as the screech of tires and a horrific smash of metal on metal filled my ears. One of the goons swore impressively as the van hit something that sent me crashing into the back of the seat. I heard the front doors fly open, and then the sound of something impacting with flesh.

  I struggled to sit upright in the cargo area of the van, but the blanket had tangled around my head and shoulders, and panic made it hard to breathe.

  A gunshot rang out – a very rare sound in a country where handguns were illegal – and then a voice I knew like my own called my name. “Saira!”

  “Archer! I’m here!”

  Sirens sounded in the distance. People were shouting, and suddenly the back doors of the van were thrown open, and sounds of wet gasps filled the space. The blanket was dragged off my head and then Archer collapsed next to me.

  “No!” I couldn’t reach him. My hands were still locked behind my back, the plastic zip tie cutting into my wrists as I tried to yank free. His eyes closed, and the wet-sounding breaths came from a gunshot wound in his chest. A fatal wound.

  He was dying. “Archer! Stay with me.” It wasn’t just the chest wound though, it was everything. Every bloody gash, every trauma, every wound I’d ever seen him get bloomed on his body as it fought to close the hole in his chest. There was no blood left in his skin – it leaked out of his ribs, impaled on Wilder’ sword, his stomach where a knife had gone in, his face, from his Tower fall, and even his neck where Wilder had torn into his skin to infect him with his plague.

  I lost my ability to reason as I struggled to get to him, crying his name, tearing at the skin on my wrists to free them from the bonds.

  Someone held my arms and I thrashed against them. The only thing I could see was Archer, dying in front of me. Tears and snot and screams flew from my face as I fought to get away from whoever held me back from him. And then the zip tie was cut and I practically fell on his body with the force of my freedom. I could feel his heart beating. I could feel a rasping breath at my neck. But he didn’t move, and he didn’t open his eyes.

  I didn’t let go of him until a growling Bear voice pricked its way through the sounds of my sobbing. “Saira,” said Mr. Shaw, quietly. “Let me take him.”

  I looked up at Mr. Shaw’s worried face. “He can’t go to a hospital,” I whispered.

  “I know,” he said. “I’ve got this. But the police are coming. You’ll need to give a statement. Can you do that without me?” Mr. Shaw was wrapping the stinking blanket around Archer’s body as he spoke to me.

  “It was Seth,” I said, my voice oddly dull in my ears.

  “I know. Archer talked to the kids.”

  I started to shake, and tears ran down my cheeks.

  Mr. Shaw looked out the front window of the van. “I’m shocked he lives.”

  I followed his gaze and saw the crumpled remains of Archer’s beautiful silver Aston Martin that had been t-boned by the van. Watts was slumped over the steering wheel, while Beefcake lay unmoving on the sidewalk. Emergency vehicles with flashing lights mesmerized me as they came screaming down the block toward us.

  A ragged sob caught in my throat, and Mr. Shaw kissed my hair. “I need to take him away from here,” he whispered. I nodded, and he gathered Archer’s blanket-wrapped body into his arms and climbed out of the van.

  Mr. Shaw used the chaos of the vehicles to slip down a side street and out of sight, while I took a deep breath, choked past the lingering sob in my chest, and wrapped my bloody wrists around my knees to wait.

  Connections

  Hours passed in a blur as I told and re-told my story to the police. Almost all of it was true, except for the parts that weren’t. But it was easy enough to paint myself as yet another victim of the seemingly unrelated kidnappings, at least as far as Scotland Yard was concerned. I didn’t even have to edit much of the conversation I’d had with Slick. Seth Walters was now a person of interest to the police, as was the unknown driver of the wrecked Aston Martin with false registration papers. I was going to miss that car.

  The goon that survived – Watts – was in a coma, so he wasn’t available to comment on where they’d been taking me. Slick’s statement about “the museum” sent a bunch of police scurrying to call museum security at all the major ones in London, but no one had seen anything, and we were no closer to knowing where the mixed-bloods were being held. I left Melanie and Cole out of my recounting of the events. They had helped Archer find me.

  My ankles were freed, and my wrists had been wrapped in gauze bandages by a paramedic, but I itched to unwrap them and put Mr. Shaw’s green medicine on before the wounds closed up. Actually, I was just itching to get to Mr. Shaw. It had taken some concentration to answer the detectives’ questions through the voice in my head that was screaming at me to make sure Archer was okay, but finally, they seemed satisfied they’d wrung every ounce of detail they could from me. Either that, or they were sick of Millicent and wanted us both gone.

  Millicent Elian had come to my rescue. There was no other way to describe how she’d swept into the police station and parked herself by my side. She sold herself as my grandmother
– responsible for me while my mother was ill. The look we shared on that statement told me she knew Mom had been tampered with, and they were dealing with it. My fears for my mother got tucked into the locked room in my brain where the voice screamed about Archer. It was almost a relief to shut the door on them both while I was being questioned.

  We were escorted out by Police Constable Grant, a handsome black guy with a smooth voice and a very easy way about him. He held the door for Millicent, then shook my hand gently. His eyes widened slightly at the touch, as if he’d just sensed something about me, and he looked serious when he spoke. “If there’s anything you need help with, even the things you didn’t tell us – come find me.”

  It was my turn to be surprised, but I covered it with a nod. “Thank you.”

  I could feel his eyes on my back as we left the station, and I knew PC Grant understood that there may be things he didn’t know, but not knowing a thing didn’t make it any less real.

  Millicent got behind the wheel of the Rolls that had been illegally parked in front of the police station but was completely without citation, which didn’t shock me. I slid into the front seat next to her and leaned my head back with a bone-deep shudder.

  “Are you injured beyond your wrists, Saira?”

  I shook my head. “No. Just tired of keeping it together.”

  She looked over at me with something that looked suspiciously like tenderness and touched my arm gently. “You’re safe now. You can let go.”

  Maybe it was kindness from Millicent, or maybe it was just the horrific events of the day draining out of me in the form of salt water, but I managed to cry almost the whole way back to Elian Manor.

  When I could finally breathe without gasping, I thanked Millicent. She kept her eyes on the road as she turned down the long drive to the manor house.

  “I believe that’s the first time you’ve ever thanked me,” she said softly.

  I stared at her in the dim light from the dashboard and realized she was right. “Thank you for taking me in when Mom left me. Thank you for taking me to St. Brigid’s, and for telling me truths that my mother hadn’t.” Her eyes had gotten moist and I took a deep breath. “And thank you for giving me and my friends a safe place to come home to.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said simply. She parked the Rolls outside the garage and turned to me. “Robert took your young man into the keep. We can move a bed in for you to stay with him if you’d like. I’ll go check on your mother and Jeeves. Liz is with them in the library, and I’ll have Sanda bring you food. Is there anything else that needs to be done?”

  I was trying really hard not to let my expression show how stunned I was, and I deliberately softened my voice. “I need to talk to everyone about the things I learned from Seth Walters.”

  She nodded and gripped my hand tightly for a second. “We’ll come as soon as we can.”

  I gripped her fingers back. “Thank you.”

  She gave me a quick smile and we got out of the car to go our separate ways in the manor. I was absurdly grateful for the swarm of canine love I was greeted with. It was one of the benefits of having Connor’s family at Elian Manor – a pack of dogs happy to see me, no matter how crappy my day had been. I knelt down and gave Natasha, Connor’s red dog, an extra hug before I opened the kitchen door. It was good to be home.

  I headed straight for the keep, where the sight of Archer lying on a thin mattress on the big table nearly erased whatever peace I’d managed to find. His battered face now had yellow bruises and old scabs in place of the bloody, pulpy mess I’d seen a few hours before. And his chest rose and fell without the wet, sucking sound of a gunshot wound.

  Ringo sat by his head sporting a bandaged arm and a worried expression as his eyes darted between Archer’s sleeping face and my terrified one.

  “You gave him blood?” I asked. He nodded mutely.

  Mr. Shaw bustled into the keep behind me carrying a box of what looked like medical supplies. He stopped in his tracks as I turned to him, then dropped the box and held his arms open to me. Pure instinct had me rushing into them, and he held me as if it was more his need than mine that put me there.

  “We’ve all been a little mad with worry for you,” he said.

  “I’m fine. Millicent rescued me.”

  He chuckled as he finally let me go. “I’ve never seen her move so fast in my life. I didn’t even know she could drive a car, much less that she was any good at it, but she was in the Rolls and down the drive before I’d even finished telling them where I’d left you.”

  I looked over at Archer’s sleeping form. “Thank you for bringing him back.”

  “I won’t lie to you, Saira he was in rough shape. I’ve seen what you mean now about the old wounds resurfacing. To be frank, it makes me want to lock you both up in a tower and throw away the key, for all the danger you’ve been in.”

  I smirked a little at that. I knew how Archer had gotten hurt, because I’d been present for most of his injuries. But taken all together it looked like he played on freeways, dodging traffic for fun and sucking at it.

  Mr. Shaw continued quietly. “There were enough injuries still repairing themselves that we could have tried the virus on him.”

  I looked sharply at him, my stomach suddenly full of razorblades.

  He shook his head. “We didn’t, though Ringo said Archer wants the cure.”

  Some of those razorblades flew out of my eyes at Ringo. His look back said he’d fight me if he had to, but he was too tired and worried to get up and start it.

  I turned back to Mr. Shaw. “You’ve seen him at his weakest. Can you honestly tell me you’re sure he’d survive something that turns off the only thing that has kept him alive through all those injuries? What if you turn it off and he has to survive every one of those injuries again? You know there’s no way a normal human would live through that.”

  He looked at me for what felt like several lifetimes before he finally spoke again. “You’re right. I have no idea the severity or scope of the injuries from which he would have to heal if we turned off the super-charged telomerase.”

  I waited for something more, some defense of his work, but although he opened his mouth to say something else, nothing came out. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  I went over to Archer’s side and Ringo got up from his seat. He didn’t look at me when he told Mr. Shaw to call him if Archer needed more blood. It hurt me that Ringo left without meeting my eyes, but it hurt me more that he would have been okay playing roulette with Archer’s life. I looked up at Mr. Shaw. “You don’t have to call him for blood. I can give whatever Archer needs.”

  He shook his head. “No, actually, you can’t.”

  I stared at him. “I did before— in France.”

  “He can ingest your blood because it breaks down differently in his digestive tract, but he can’t be transfused with it, which is what he needs. Despite the mutation, he’s still a Seer, and your Clocker and Shifter blood doesn’t mix.”

  “Are you sure? Because Wilder got Clocking skills from my mom’s blood.”

  Mr. Shaw’s voice turned hard. “Do you really want to find that out now? In his condition?”

  “I don’t know, it seems like you were thinking about injecting him with an untested viral cure in his condition.” I should have bitten back the words, but I was too tired, and the last of the fear-induced adrenaline had left me shaky.

  But Mr. Shaw didn’t see the bags under my eyes, or my trembling hands. He only heard the bitter words, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Saira, when I got Archer here he was unconscious and couldn’t drink. Ringo was the one person in this house I could safely ask for enough transfused blood to keep him alive. Ringo jumped at the chance to help his friend, and you just treated him like he held a knife to Archer’s throat. You accuse us of playing fast and loose with Archer’s life, and yet somehow your love and care is worth more than any of ours? Grow up, Saira, you’re not the only one with something to lose.”r />
  Mr. Shaw ignored my shocked expression and left the keep.

  “Well, that was interesting.”

  I spun back to face Archer, who slowly cracked his eyelids.

  “I pissed him off,” I said as exhaustion coursed through me. I shouldn’t have had any tears left to cry after the marathon session in the car, but apparently my eyeballs didn’t get the memo. I sat, dully, and resisted touching him because he still looked so hurt. “And Ringo, and probably Connor by now too. The only person who isn’t mad at me at the moment is – inexplicably – Millicent.”

  “He sounded more worried than angry. Much like a parent whose child just ran in front of a car.”

  I choked back a sob at his feeble attempt at a joke, and Archer cracked a tiny smile. The sight of it made my heart do backflips in my chest and I wiped my eyes messily. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I got hit by a truck.”

  A fresh wave of slightly hysterical teary laughter hit for a second. “You did. Well, a van, actually. What were you thinking?” I smoothed the hair away from his forehead, and bits of dried blood flaked off with it.

  “That I couldn’t lose you.”

  “I would have Clocked out eventually.”

  “Your wrists were zip-tied behind you. There’s no Clocking from the bottom of the Thames without hands.”

  He coughed, and then winced at the pain. I held my hand on his shoulder as if I could transfer healing through the bandage on his chest to the wound beneath. He looked around, and his voice was hoarse when he spoke again. “I feel like I’m somebody’s offering to the Gods.”

  My bark of choked laughter made him smile again. “I’m sure it made sense at the time.”

  He looked at me through serious eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what? Almost dying? I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive that yet.” I was only joking a little bit.

  “He took you, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.”

  I stared at him. “That’s not on you!”

  “I wasn’t there.” A weird anguish trembled in his voice.