by June Stevens
“River,” Pinky said, as if just realizing she wasn’t there. “Where is she?”
“She’s on her way. I scryed the guard post at the market after Jarrett called. A city guard officer is escorting her here. I’ll have her taken to the hospital to meet you,” Sam said.
“Please, Dad?” Fiona pleaded.
Jarrett swallowed a thick lump that had formed in his throat. She never called Pinky ‘Dad’. It was a sign of how worried she was.
Pinky sighed and pulled Fiona into a tight hug. “Okay. Just keep me updated, please.”
As he was walking to the door to join Farrah, Jarrett stopped him by saying, “I’m really sorry, Pinky.”
Pinky turned to him. “For?”
“Anya was targeted because she is close to me. It’s my fault.”
“It looks like whoever took her did it to get to you. True. But every person in this room is close to Anya, and every one of us has people who would like to hurt us in any way possible. I’m sure Anya has a few of those herself. It’s a dangerous world, and my girls are tough and know how to take care of themselves.” He moved so that he was toe-to-toe with Jarrett, and the difference in their sizes was painfully evident. Though not short by any stretch of the imagination, Pinky was about four inches shorter than Jarrett and at least seventy-five pounds lighter. Yet there was something in his eyes that told Jarrett he did not want to get on the man’s bad side. “You have nothing to be sorry for, yet. If you don’t bring my girl home to me safe and sound, then you can be sorry. I’ll make sure you are.” Then he turned and walked out.
***
The next three hours felt like an eternity. Jarrett thought he might go crazy before the call came in.
He had spent hours going over every possible suspect with Sam and Fiona. They kept landing back on Python.
“You tried to kill him, isn’t that motive enough?” Fiona said, for probably the fifth time.
“Yes, that is very true. But I’m telling you, Python is a born lackey, hired muscle. He looks big and bad, but when it comes to brains to cook up schemes and plans, he doesn’t have them. Nor does he have the motivation. He doesn’t do anything unless he’s paid, or ordered to. But he’s never been loyal enough to anyone to take orders, except Dread.”
Sam leaned back in his chair. “I don’t want to believe it’s true, but I’m inclined to agree with you, brother. Cora must be pulling his strings. If he survived, she could have as well. And she always had a vindictive streak.”
Before Jarrett could respond, the scry-crystal Farrah had given him buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and activated it.
His heart lurched when the image of Anya tied to a chair with a gag in her mouth came on screen. She was glaring at the person holding the scry and wiggling so that her chair hopped.
“You picked a little ball of fire this time, Jarrett.”
The familiar voice nearly stopped Jarrett’s heart.
“Cora.”
The scry turned, revealing a glimpse of an empty warehouse, before settling on Cora’s face. “Surprised to see me?”
“No,” Jarrett half lied. “I knew you were alive.”
“No thanks to you. Ahh, but that is a discussion for another time. I guess you want your girlfriend back. You know, I never pegged you for sticking to a type, but really Jarrett, a redheaded barmaid? Were you feeling nostalgic?”
Jarrett ignored the bait. “Cora, I’ll trade myself for Anya. When and where?”
Cora’s face screwed up into a childlike pout. “Straight to business, huh? No reminiscing over the good old times? Fine. Meet me at the airfield in an hour. I won’t waste my breath telling you to come alone, but I will tell you that if I see anyone but you, I’ll kill the girl. So you make sure Sam’s agents are like shadows.”
There was a muffled voice off to the side, then Cora said, “Oh, yes, the little dark-haired Blade you were at the bar with last week. She’s this one’s sister?” She jerked her head towards Anya.
Fiona grabbed the crystal out of Jarrett’s grasp and looked into it. “Damn right I am.”
“You can come, too, honey.” Cora said, giving a nasty smile before the scry-crystal went dark.
The three stood in silence for a long moment before Sam said, “Gear up, you two. Meet me in the prep room in fifteen.”
Jarrett looked down at his cutoffs. “I have some clothes in my room, but I’ll need some weapons.”
“Not a problem,” Sam said.
Jarrett went to his room and changed into his regular uniform of heavy, black denim pants, black shirt, and black leather vest. When he walked into the op-prep room fifteen minutes later, there were ten agents besides Sam and Fiona. Eight were equipped with either a crossbow or compound bow, and the other two carried med packs. They were arranged around a table with a large, hand-drawn map in the center.
“We don’t know which platform she will be at, if she will even be on a platform. It’s too risky for you to be inside the airfield. I want you spread around the perimeter here.” He pointed to the map to indicate where. “Medics, I want you here and here. No one fires unless I give the order.”
“Not even if we have a clear shot?” One of the agents asked.
“No,” Jarrett answered, his voice hard. “The suspect and the victim have similar hair colors. It’s too risky.”
Sam cleared his throat. “Okay, people. Make sure you have plenty of bolts and arrows and let’s move out.”
Jarrett and Fiona hung back until the other agents had left the room.
“I have a feeling you have more of a history with this Cora chick than you told me the other night. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t care,” Fiona said, giving Jarrett an assessing stare. “If I get a chance, I’ll kill her.”
Jarrett returned her gaze unwaveringly. “Unless I do it first.”
Despite the fear and anxiety that rolled through him, Jarrett was struck with the same sense of awe and irony that he had every time he was at an airfield or saw an airship. When he was a child, a hot air balloon was a novelty. Something most people never even glimpsed. And over the span of his long life, he’d seen so much come and go. He remembered the one shining century of astronomical technological advancements, one after another. He’d lived through the era of the Wright brothers’ first flight, Amelia Earhart, zeppelins, jets, and space shuttles. In a time where people flew around the world in huge metal machines, air balloons were once again, or perhaps still, a novelty used only for amusement and recreation. Then the cataclysm came along and washed away all the technology. So much knowledge had been lost.
Now, it was a time for hot air balloons again, but while some in the world might not ever see one, and many would never ride in one, they were not used for recreation anymore. They were the only mode of air travel. The smaller hot air balloons were usually owned by a rich family, or by a company to transport a few individuals at a time from a large city like Nash City to a smaller community, sometimes as far as Atlanta. The larger airships were basically a wooden cabin that held fifteen to twenty passengers attached to three or four hot air balloons, each with a copilot that answered to the ship’s navigator, usually a mage with power to navigate wind currents.
The full circle society had taken never ceased to amaze him. But now wasn’t the time to think about that.
The three agents walking behind him split away to take up positions around the airfield. He forced himself to concentrate as he stalked towards his destination. Fiona kept stride next to him, Sam on the other side of her. She stopped, tapped his arm, and pointed. There were six two-story-high platforms with balloons docked at four of them, and two three-story airship platforms, both of which were empty. Each balloon glowed against the dark sky, the fire used to heat the air illuminating them. By that glow, he could see three figures, one in a balloon and two on the platform next to it.
Sam motioned that he was going to circle around. Jarrett and Fiona nodded, and he slipped off into the darkness while they continued forwar
d towards the docking platform.
Jarrett’s entire body was on high alert, and the same tension rolled off Fiona in waves. He rarely worked with a partner these days, but when he did, he liked for it to be her. They worked well together, and trusted each other implicitly. Although they had been in situations much like this before, it had never felt this dire.
Even last year, when Fiona had been kidnapped and Jarrett had helped Ian rescue her, he hadn’t felt anywhere near as scared as he did now. As much as he loved Fiona like a sister, it was nothing to how he felt for Anya.
He also couldn’t deny that he had more faith in Fiona’s ability to get out of bad situations. He knew Anya was a tough, fierce fighter. But the fact that she was a norm negated all of that. It would take little effort for Cora to kill Anya. Even if Anya somehow managed to free herself from her bindings, she was no match against the vampire.
“That’s far enough,” a female voice called down from the platform when they were about ten yards away.
He stared up at the two women on top of the airship loading dock, trying to gauge the situation. Even at this distance, he could see that there was something wrong with Anya. Instead of the rage or fear he would expect to see, her face was slack and expressionless. No, not expressionless, dazed. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he instantly knew they were glassy and unfocused, the pupils dilated.
“Why isn’t she moving? Why isn’t she fighting that bitch?” Fiona’s voice was shrill with fear and anger. “Anya could easily take that knife from her, vampire strength or not. Why isn’t she?”
“She’s drugged,” he ground out.
“That skank,” Fiona spat. “It makes sense that the only way she could keep Anya from killing her is to get her high. She probably bit her.”
Jarrett didn’t tell his friend that there was more than the endorphin producing enzymes in vampire saliva causing her sister’s lethargy. He had a feeling that she’d been given a dose of whatever Python had been peddling at Wet Willy’s. The same drug that had already killed two people. And Jarrett had no doubt that, despite the lack of evidence, Python was the drug supplier they’d been trying to catch.
The flickering firelight from the hot air balloon revealed a sickly pallor to Anya’s skin that he knew Fiona couldn’t see, and judging from her drooping shoulders and the way Cora’s arm about her waist seemed to be the only thing holding her up, Jarret knew the situation was much worse than he’d first suspected. Her legs hung limply at a slightly odd angle. He couldn’t be sure, but he suspected Cora broke them. If Anya weren’t drugged right now, she would likely be in a great deal of pain.
Rage slammed through him, and the only thing that kept him from charging the tower was the fact that he could still see Anya’s chest moving. As long as she was breathing, he had hope of getting her out of this alive.
“Cora, this is between you and me. Let Anya go,” he raised his voice only slightly, knowing that even at this distance Cora could hear him even if he whispered.
“You aren’t in charge here, Jarrett,” she called down, raising her voice for effect and the benefit of Fiona’s non-vampiric hearing. She placed the tip of the dagger beneath Anya’s chin, pushing up so that her face lifted into the moonlight. Jarrett didn’t have to see it to know that a thin rivulet of blood trickled out of Anya’s pierced skin and down the knife blade.
Fiona howled and started for the tower’s stairs, but Jarrett grabbed her arm, jerking her back. She screamed and fought against him as he held her tight. “Fiona, stop it!” he ordered. “You can’t go after her. She will slit Anya’s throat before you hit the bottom step.”
High above them, Cora cackled. “Listen to him, girlie,” she taunted, bringing the knife to her lips and running her tongue over the blade. “Mmm. It would be a shame to waste all this delicious blood.”
Fiona kicked against Jarrett’s hold. “I’ll show you just how girlie I am when I shove my boot up your ass,” she screamed.
Jarrett tightened his grip. “Fiona, shut up,” he growled in her ear. “Please, let me talk to Cora. I will get Anya out of this, I promise.”
Fiona stilled, letting her body relax in his hold. He warily let go.
She turned on him, growling. “I’ll let you do the talking, for now. But if my sister doesn’t make it, neither will you.”
“Knife in heart. I remember,” he said, and briefly flashed back to the conversation they’d had almost two weeks ago, before Anya had become more important to him than any other human ever had been. Two weeks before he’d put her life in peril. He should have turned and walked out of the bar, and her life, that night.
“Are you two finished gossiping down there?” Cora called. “I’d like to get on with this, I’ve got places to be, people to slaughter.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jarrett saw Fiona’s fists clench, but she remained quiet.
He took a step forward and yelled, “What do you want Cora? Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it. Just let Anya go.”
“I can’t do that. You see, I want you to suffer like you made me suffer. That means taking from you what you took from me. Your love, your world.” She ran the back of the knife up and down Anya’s throat as if in a caress.
“Well then you’ve got the wrong woman,” Jarrett lied. “You know there isn’t ever going to be anyone that means that much to me. Not after you.”
“Liar. You’ve been with her every night this week,” Cora screeched.
“She’s just a fuck, Cora. That’s all.” He was surprised he didn’t choke on the words. “Killing her will do nothing to me, but it will piss off the Nash City Blades. She has family in high places.”
“It’s true,” Fiona called up. “She’s my sister and the Commander of Nash City considers her his niece. Let her go now, and we won’t hunt you down and cut you into a million tiny pieces.”
“Ha, the Nash City Commander. How is old Sam? Or should I say, how are you, Sam? I know you’re lurking out there somewhere.” Cora lifted her voice so that it rang out in the night.
Sam stepped from behind a building about twenty yards away. “I’m here, Cora. What they say is true. Let the girl go, and you will go unchallenged. As a matter of fact, I have the authority to guarantee you immunity from all Blade pursuit.”
“You and I both know you only have that power for this crime, no other. But it doesn’t matter, my old friend. This girl is the answer to all I’ve yearned for over the past eight months. Jarrett Campbell’s destruction.” She opened the small door in the side of the hot air balloon’s basket and stepped inside, dragging Anya with her.
“Cora, I’m telling you, she means nothing to me. No more than any other innocent person. Take me, and leave her here.” Jarrett was careful to keep his voice steady, pleading, but not desperate.
Cora let out a screech. “You can lie to me all you want, Jarrett, but I know the truth. I’ve watched you this past week. I’ve seen the way you look at her. She is your entire world, and I’m going to take her away from you, just like you took my world, my love, my heart.”
She turned and nodded to Python, who cut the tether and triggered the crystal-heating element in the center of the basket. The balloon began to slowly drift away from the platform.
Fiona burst into a sprint towards a nearby platform. Jarrett knew it was with the intention of taking the balloon and pursuing Cora, but something told him it was futile. Something kept him still, his eyes glued to Cora and Anya in the basket.
Cora palmed the knife, putting her fingers to her mouth and blew a kiss to him. A loud buzzing started in his ears and the entire world went into slow-motion as she grasped the knife, put the blade to Anya’s throat, and pulled it across in one long slicing motion. Blood bloomed from the wound. Then, as if she were a rag doll, Cora lifted Anya and tossed her over the side of the basket.
Jarrett’s feet started moving before he even knew he meant to. He streaked across the lot, jumping the remaining distance. He caught Anya in his arms, but the mom
entum of her fall took them both to the ground. He pulled her close and rolled so that his body took the brunt of the contact. He immediately, and as gently as possible, rolled her off him and onto her back.
Through the buzzing in his brain, he could hear chaos around him. Fiona ran towards him, her feet pounding in rhythm to her screams. “No, no, no, no.”
Sam, still on the other side of the lot screamed into a scry-crystal. “Shoot to kill. Take that balloon down. And where are the damned medics? Get the med-mages here now!”
Boots pounded the ground, arrows shrieked through the air, voices yelled orders, but as Fiona dropped to her knees next to Anya’s body, his world narrowed to only the three of them.
He pulled his shirt off and pressed it over Anya’s throat, but the blood soaked through instantly. “Help me. Put pressure on the wound.”
Fiona’s hands covered his, but it didn’t help. The blood was oozing out, and Anya was getting paler by the second. Her breath was so faint he could barely hear it.
“It’s too much blood. The med-mages aren’t going to make it in time,” he said nearly choking on the words.
“Campbell, don’t you fucking let her die,” Fiona screamed at him, her voice harsh and ragged.
He could save Anya, but she would hate him. He could save her, but lose her forever. He could save her and condemn her to a life of loneliness, of watching everyone she ever loved die. But the alternative was losing her and living an eternity knowing he could have saved her.
He looked up at Fiona through dry, burning eyes. “It’s too much blood. The only way…”
“Do it,” She choked out, blood and tears streaking her face.
Wordlessly, his eyes never leaving Fiona’s, Jarrett grabbed the dagger from his waist and in one swift motion, slit his own wrist.