by Sierra Dean
“You bitch,” she snarled.
“I’ve been called worse.”
“I will take away everything you’ve ever loved. I will end you.”
“You and what army?” I glanced around us, and she followed my gaze. She struggled against me, and her power tingled under my skin. I could feel her trying to call forth the dead so she could show me her army. But the few scattered corpses left were easily dispatched before they made it through the door, and I could see her certainty fade as the seconds ticked away.
“What are you?” She wrestled herself free, and I had to let her go. I could only hold on for so long.
“As far as you’re concerned, I’m the end of your very, very long life.”
“I didn’t come this far to let someone like you ruin this for me.”
I pulled out my sword and leveled it at her. “I beg to differ.”
Marcela punched me in the face. My reflexes were slowing down since I didn’t see it coming and hadn’t moved to stop it. I recoiled from the pain, ready to cut her in half, but she grabbed me by the hair and dragged me towards the nearest window. She jammed her elbow into my arm, and I dropped my sword, lashing out at her with both hands. I got hold of her hair and retaliated with a good right hook across her face.
She spit blood at me.
“I’m immortal.” She cackled. “What are you?” She hurled us both into the window, and I wrapped my hand around her throat.
I looped my fingers around the chain she wore and tugged, snapping the clasp and ripping the necklace away. “I’m cunning.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
In one hand, I had a necklace that granted its wearer immortality, and in the other, I had a fistful of dark, wiry hair.
I groaned, the brutal agony of the fall swimming through me, reminding me with each breath I no longer healed at a supernatural rate. Glass littered the concrete pad around us, and when I staggered to my feet, it tinkled to the steps.
Marcela, who had also survived the drop, got up with the grace of a drunk, her hands flying up to her neck.
“Looking for this?” I held up the necklace, but this time I was ready for her. As she dove, I lifted my gun—grateful I’d kept it armed and my holster unfastened—and jammed it into her cheek.
Every move was painful, but I wasn’t the kind of girl to let some fractured ribs stop me from getting a job done. I pushed the gun harder into the soft tissue of her face until she yielded and stopped coming at me.
“How long have you been alive?” I asked.
“Seven hundred years. Give or take. Longer than you can imagine living.”
My gaze darted to the sky. A fraction of the sky was exposed, the smoke slinking back enough to show that night already losing its inky hold. The teal blues of coming dawn started to sneak their way in and the few visible stars blinked out one by one. It was strange to see stars at all in the city, and I regretted not taking the opportunity to appreciate them one last time. Maybe I could have seen the real Pleiades, like Sutherland kept suggesting. “You’re right. I’m not going to live seven hundred years. I’m not going to live another seven hours.”
“I know.” When she smiled, her teeth were slick with blood.
“Oh, please. You think you’re going to be the one to kill me? No. But you know when people say I’m going to kill you if it’s the last thing I do? In this case, it’s true.”
“Shut up and do it then.”
My finger moved to the trigger, and I sucked in a breath, ready to take the one life I’d set out to end tonight. What was one more at this point, after everything that had happened over the past week? One more name on my list wasn’t going to tip the scales of my sins one way or the other.
“FREEZE.”
My hand obeyed, though there was no magic in the command. A huge spotlight came on over us, and the light was so bright Marcela and I both blinked in sudden blindness. It had been a while since I’d seen light that intense.
My hair whipped around my face, and she and I both glanced up to see one of the three helicopters hovering above. The loudspeaker crackled, and the next voice that came through was a familiar one.
“Secret, it’s Emilio. Special Agent Emilio LaRoy. I’m going to need you to go ahead and put your weapon down. We’ll take it from here.”
No. No.
I knew we’d been short on time. And I knew the FBI had been looking for a way to help. But this was not helping. I couldn’t let her go, not now. My friends were dead, and I’d given up my own life for this opportunity.
Marcela took two steps back, slipping out of my reach, and she gave me a shit-eating grin that announced she thought she’d won. She thought she’d bested me. If the FBI got her, I didn’t know if she’d stand trial for war crimes, or if they would take her to a lab and study her, but I didn’t care. True justice wouldn’t be done. Human laws couldn’t make her pay the way she had to pay.
The helicopter lowered itself to a nearby lawn, and within moments three armed men jumped out, crouched low to avoid the blades. Emilio, the voice I’d recognized, climbed out behind them. He was a short Hispanic man with a Marine crew cut and warm brown eyes. I liked Emilio.
But he wasn’t going to like me much in a second.
I looked at him, refusing to lower my weapon even as they advanced on me, and when they were out of range of the chopper blades, I pulled the trigger.
The pop made everyone freeze, except Marcella. The back of her head turned to a fine pink mist, and her eyes widened in surprise.
She slumped back to the concrete, and I dropped my gun, lifting my hands to the top of my head in surrender.
“Oops.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
The night sky was overwhelmed with helicopters now, and men in military uniforms were more plentiful than the dead.
Emilio had needed to pull rank and threaten several men with court-martialing if they attempted to arrest me, and in the end I was left alone. The first people on the choppers were Cedes, O’Brian, Nolan and Genie. Sig, Clementine, Reggie and the rest of the vamps still with us managed to slip away without notice, which was for the best. The sun would be up soon, and I’d have enough trouble finding safe places for Holden and Sutherland.
In all the mess and confusion, Marty—the living necro twin—was long gone, having bailed long before we got to the Met. No one knew where he was, and he obviously hadn’t stuck around to see what happened to Marcela. I was too tired now to care about one necromancer. He couldn’t cause this level of trouble on his own.
At least Emilio and Tyler—who had now taken charge of the scene—knew the vampires needed special treatment. I could count on them to take care of the others, even if I wasn’t around to help.
I didn’t say goodbye to the group on the first helicopter. I knew them all well enough to know they would insist on staying behind to talk me out of what I was going to do. But a deal was a deal, and I’d done what I had to. I was too tired to fight anymore. The battle was over and we’d won, but I’d lost so much in the process and so had they. It was better they didn’t know, not until it was over. I was happy just to know they were all safe, and though my city was in ruins, I knew it would thrive again.
Desmond, who had stepped into a leadership role with Dominick at his side, was discussing something with one of the tactical unit leaders. I thought about slipping away, but if I was going to do this, he was the one person who needed a proper goodbye. Maybe not the goodbye he deserved, but he shouldn’t be asking himself later if he was to blame.
He might have thought he could stop me, and I needed him to know none of this was his fault. I couldn’t tell him what I was going to do, but I had to make sure he knew what we’d shared had been the most real, most important thing in my life.
“Des?” I came up beside him and took his hand, giving it a squeeze.
“Hey, you.” He bent and kissed my forehead, smiling down at me. “You okay?”
“I…” I glanced back at the museum, and my heart
skipped a beat. “I will be. And you will be too. It’s over now, and everything is the way it’s supposed to be.” Now I knew how it felt to be on the delivery end of a far-too-vague speech. He looked confused, worried, but when I offered him a small smile, he seemed to relax. “I love you so much, you know that?”
“Of course I do.” He lifted my hand, kissing my engagement ring, and in that moment I wanted to bail on the whole thing. Maybe I could run. There was a chance Aubrey wouldn’t find me, at least for a little while.
But that wasn’t the promise I’d made.
I had saved the city, and the fairy king had made it possible, and I had a debt to pay, no matter how high the price.
My lower lip trembled, and I knew I wouldn’t hold out long before I started crying. “You are my whole world.” I held his face and kissed him. It was a long, lingering, lime-tasting kiss that thrilled me all the way down to my toes. If I had to go, it was the perfect last memory to go out with.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He ran his fingers through my tangled curls and stared at me too long. He would know something was up if I didn’t move now.
“I forgot my sword upstairs.” I pulled free from him but wanted nothing more than to stay in his arms. “I’ll be right back.” The lie tasted sour on my lips, and I didn’t want it to be the last thing I ever said to him. “I love you.”
His worried expression had returned as I left, but I didn’t dare look back for fear I really would change my mind. If Aubrey came to claim his reward, Desmond would lose me anyway. At least this way I’d go out on my own terms, and I’d be living up to my end of the bargain.
I wove my way back through the museum, which was now filled with live military officers, none of whom seemed terribly interested in stopping me. When I got back to the Special Exhibit hall, my sword was still lying on the floor where I’d dropped it. I knelt beside it and lifted the blade, looking at its luminous glow in the pale light coming through the window.
My hands shook as I flipped it over and over, hoping the weapon itself might offer some suggestions on how I was to proceed. How did the samurai do it? When they fell on their swords, did they literally lean into the blade? That seemed messy and impractical.
“You don’t need to do this.”
I froze, cursing myself for waiting too long. I should have done it already, then no one could talk me out of the necessary conclusion. Holden’s slight British accent gave him away, and I didn’t look back at him. Of course it would be Holden who came. He’d been there when Calliope announced my plan. He’d known all along this was what I intended to do.
I stared at the sword and pretended he wasn’t there.
“Secret, listen to me.”
“Shhh,” I hissed. “You can’t change my mind. I have to. You know as well as anyone the way a promise works, Holden. I can’t back out now.”
He moved until he was standing in front of me, and when it became obvious I wasn’t going to look at him, he sat on the floor so I had no choice. “Then you don’t have to do it alone.”
That caught my attention, and I blinked back my tears, staring at him. He was, as always, impossibly beautiful, only now he looked sadder than I’d ever seen him. He appeared as resigned to my fate as I was, and no more happy about it.
“Give me that.” He took the sword out of my hands, and I yielded it without a fight. “What exactly did he say?”
“He said my death would cleanse the sword.”
“Did he say you had to take your own life?”
The question surprised me. I’d never considered any other option than killing myself. The sword needed my blood, and who else would I ask to take my life from me? That wasn’t the kind of request I could make of anyone, let alone those I cared about the most.
“You can’t…”
He smiled, and it was the most heartbreaking smile imaginable. “Do you remember what I told you, when you came to me and said you were marrying Desmond?”
I will love you with every piece of myself, until New York City crumbles to ashes.
Seemed almost prophetic now.
I nodded.
“I never thought the end would come this soon, did you?”
My breath came out shaky, and I hiccupped. “Seems awfully unfair. I finally make a choice, and I don’t even get to enjoy it.”
“That’s the universe’s way of telling you you chose the wrong man.” His smile faltered, and he stared down at the sword. “Are you sure about this?”
I barked out a laugh. “No.”
“At least you’re still sensible.”
A thought occurred to me, and I grasped his wrist, making sure he was looking at me. “I want to give you something. I want to make this worth something.”
“What, saving the world wasn’t enough?”
I placed my hand on his cheek, then leaned in and kissed him. Though it wasn’t like my kiss with Desmond, it felt just as right and just as necessary. The finality was there, and now I’d properly said goodbye to them both. “I love you.”
“You know I love you.”
“I do.” This, I knew, fulfilled Calliope’s prediction for me. She said I would be with someone I loved in the end, and at least she’d been right about that.
“Is that what you wanted to give me?” He appeared perplexed, and I shook my head, my tears flowing freely now.
“Promise me you’ll make it quick, okay?”
And that undid him. I’d never seen Holden cry, not in all the years I’d known him, not after everything we’d been through. But now he choked out a sob and used his thumb to wipe away two bright red trails of bloody tears from his cheeks. “Damn you, woman.”
I kissed him again, unable to resist my one last chance. And when I was done, I slapped him. I hit him as hard across the face as my waning strength would allow, and when he blinked at me with surprise, I said solemnly, “I, Secret McQueen, Tribunal Leader of the East Coast council, declare a fight against you.”
The realization of what I was doing settled over him, and he lowered his head, blinking back more tears.
“I accept.” His voice trembled, and he braced one hand on my shoulder, stroking the side of my neck with his thumb.
He looked me right in the eyes when he killed me.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The funeral was held at dusk.
Though it was meant to be a small service, hundreds of people had gathered in silent clusters around the ceremony site. Human and supernatural alike, they all shared common loss that night. The air was thick with sadness so cloying some people started to cry before any words of remembrance had been spoken.
Cemeteries were still in shambles, with specialty crews working around the clock in government-designated camps trying to determine which bodies belonged where. It was a laborious and emotionally taxing process given the thousands of corpses that had piled up around the city, many of which were miles from where they were originally buried.
And there were the newly dead. The ones who had no home in the ground yet and no place to put them for the time being. Services were being held, but most with empty caskets while the bodies waited in cold storage until they could be properly laid to rest.
It had been two weeks since the Hands of Death had been defeated and the citizens of New York were able to leave their homes without fear for their lives. But the garden of carnage waiting for them in the streets was unlike anything they’d been prepared for. The roads were still closed to traffic for all but emergency personnel and the military, while bodies were moved and stored.
Some families might never know what happened to their long-buried kin, thanks to the ravages of weather and decomposition. Others remained unidentified because no one was left to claim them.
The president had come after the initial military sweep deemed the city safe. He toured the streets followed by an entourage of media, and met with many civilians. He shook hands and expressed his sadness about what had become of one of America’s greatest cities and pro
mised the government would do what it took to rebuild New York bigger and stronger than before.
He talked about heroes.
He talked about those who had sacrificed their lives.
But he didn’t name names, and there were no official memorial services. In the end he went back to Washington, and the people of the city were left to their rubble and their fallen dead. Hero was a cheap word, and every time it was used in newspapers or on CNN in reference to the chaos and madness of what had happened in New York, the people knew most of the story was going unsaid.
The real heroes of that day died without accolades, many of them not knowing if their efforts made an ounce of difference.
Tonight one of them was getting the farewell they deserved.
Hell’s Kitchen was living up to its name. As one of the neighborhoods with the highest concentration of damage, most of the buildings remained unoccupied, and a majority of the businesses were still closed.
Including the Starbucks on 8th.
In the falling darkness, the streets were abandoned. Lawlessness was a problem still, especially in the harder-hit areas, and anyone with common sense steered clear after dark. It wasn’t safe to wander the city alone. Not yet. Maybe not ever again.
I felt like a newborn walking out into the night air.
In many ways I was. If not a child, then born anew in a different way. Given a second go at the life I’d chosen to give up.
I might not deserve a second chance, but here I was all the same.
Calliope wasn’t thrilled I was leaving her care so soon. She’d scolded me repeatedly, and asked, “Do you think it’s every day that people come back from the dead?” To which I had to chuckle, since I was pretty sure we’d all had our fill of people coming back to life.
When I’d woken up two days after my death, I thought God had a funny idea of the afterlife. Holden was sitting next to my bed, looking as disheveled and undone as I’d ever seen him. I had a feeling he’d been waiting for me to open my eyes for a very long time.