“What’re we gonna do, Em?” Celine breathed into her ear, snapping her back into the moment. “He’s one of ’em, ain’t he?”
One of them. Yes. One of the Dragon’s Brood, who had killed so many innocent people just that morning in the Stay Inn—and who were now creating so much devastation.
Yet Corbbmacc had helped them escape; he had somehow orchestrated the obstacles behind them. How had he done it? What she’d seen back there would’ve taken days, at least, to prepare—maybe weeks.
They rode on. The din of chaos faded away until all she could hear were the crashing waves, the pounding hooves, and the steady rhythm of her own heart.
The ground rose and fell as the coast became rockier. Now and then, they passed dark shapes hulking at the side of the road. Most were clearly the ruins of buildings, quietly falling to pieces with the passage of years. Others were difficult to see amongst the shadows, but looked unsettlingly familiar—the husks of burnt out and decaying cars, perhaps. Starlight glimmered from rusting chrome and shards of broken glass.
After a time, Corbbmacc slowed his steed and fell back to ride alongside them. Though it was hard to be sure over the thudding of the horses’ hooves, Emily couldn’t hear any sounds of pursuit.
“We’re going to have to stop soon,” he called over to her. “We need to check how badly he’s hurt.”
The boy, of course. God only knew how much damage had been done when he’d fallen from the tree, or what the bloodthirsty vegetation had done to him. Emily nodded.
A mile further on, Corbbmacc guided his horse to the side of the road, and Storm followed with obvious relief.
Their destination was a small, dilapidated shack. Corbbmacc led them around the back as if he’d been there before. He clearly knew where he was going.
A flat expanse of cracked pavement, littered with weeds and debris, stretched out behind the tiny building. A rusty metal railing still ran between it and the back wall, marking the edge of a broken walkway. The air was thick with the music of crickets, performing as they had since long before there were human beings to disturb the peace. The sound was oddly comforting to Emily. Not everything in the world had changed.
Beside the rail was an old and rusting hulk that seemed to be the corpse of a car that might once have been sleek and stylish. Now, with its busted windows and broken wheels, it only looked sad.
Corbbmacc maneuvered his horse in beside the car. With an economy of motion that only comes from long years of practice, he slid from his saddle with a low groan of relief. With surprising gentleness, he lifted the unconscious boy from the horse’s back and carried him around the railing to the back wall. He laid him carefully down on the ground. The boy moaned—a terrible gurgling sound that made Emily’s stomach clench—but did not open his eyes.
Corbbmacc returned to his horse and began uncoiling rope from where it hung at the horse’s side.
“Don’t just sit there,” he said, sending a pointed glance in Emily’s direction. “Help me tie them up.”
With considerably less grace than Corbbmacc, Emily dismounted, then helped Celine to the ground. The girl was still trembling, but she squared her shoulders and started away toward the place where the boy lay without a backward look.
For a moment, Emily stared after her, the vague shape of an idea already forming in her mind. Reluctantly, she pushed it away for the time being and turned back to the mare.
She scanned the assortment of light equipment tied to Storm’s sides. Most were bits of metal and leather objects whose purpose she could not even begin to guess, but her eyes at last lit upon a coil of rope hanging from the saddle. Clumsily, she unwound it and tied the horse to the rail as Corbbmacc had done.
He came over as she finished. Wordlessly, he tested her knot, seemed satisfied, and turned away.
Emily matched his stride, falling into step beside him. He wasn’t acting like an enemy, and yet she could still hear his shout as it echoed from the buildings that had fallen into the streets. For the dragon!
Celine was kneeling by the boy, clasping one of his hands in both of hers. Emily could hear his breathing, harsh and labored.
“Come on,” Corbbmacc said. “We need to get inside. I don’t think they’ll be here before morning, but best we are out of sight. We can’t go any farther tonight anyway.”
He picked up the boy’s limp body once again and carried him inside through a crooked and decaying door.
Emily met Celine’s gaze. Moonlight shone in her golden hair, creating a sort of halo about her. She could see her own misgivings mirrored in Celine’s wide, uneasy eyes.
“Do yeh think he’s safe, Em?” Celine whispered. Even in the dark, Emily could see her unquestioning faith in Emily’s judgment. What on earth had she done to deserve such loyalty? She, Emily, was responsible for Celine now. She’d led her into this mess, and still Celine stood beside her, in the dark, and asked what they should do.
She reached deep inside her soul, willing the knowing to show itself and give her some clue. It didn’t, of course. It never had. No amount of wishing or hoping would ever make it work that way. How much easier life would be if it did.
“I don’t know,” she said at last, hating herself for the uncertainty. “But we don’t have a lot of options right now but to find out for ourselves.”
Celine nodded without surprise, and together, they followed Corbbmacc inside.
The interior of the small building was pitch black. They paused just beyond the threshold, trying to see by what little moonlight filtered in from outside. They saw Corbbmacc’s dim shape moving amidst the shadows, then a light flared as he lit a candle.
“Finished trying to decide if you can trust me, even though I saved your goddamn lives?” he growled, glaring at them above the flame. “Get inside and close the fucking door.”
Face burning, Emily turned and did the best she could to fit the door back into its frame. It seemed to only have a single intact hinge, and at some point, the walls had listed to one side, making everything skewed and lopsided.
When she turned back, Corbbmacc was kneeling next to a heap of straw piled in one corner. The boy was stretched out on top of it, his mouth hanging open. Even in the flickering light of the candle, she could see that his face was streaked with blood. His wet and rattling breaths filled the small space, coming in choked and uneven wheezes. They were worsening if anything, and the sound made her arms break out in gooseflesh. There was more broken inside him than could be dealt with by three teenage fugitives in an abandoned gas station.
She took Celine’s hand, and together, they moved to stand beside Corbbmacc, staring down at the boy they’d risked so much to save.
Corbbmacc probed the boy’s arms, legs, and torso with a sure and steady hand, then he rocked back on his heels and ran a hand through his own hair.
“Broken arm, both legs broken, and at least a couple broken ribs. I can’t be sure, but that sound seems like one of them has lodged in his lungs.” He looked up at Emily, and a scowl crossed his face. “This is not how it was supposed to go, goddammit.” There was a longer pause. “Shit!”
He set the candle on the concrete floor and moved to slump against the wall beside the boy’s makeshift bed.
“What do you mean, ‘not the way it was supposed to go’?” Emily asked, letting go of Celine and kneeling down beside the pile of straw. Her eyes traveled down his still form. He looked like a child who had stayed up past his bedtime, save for the blood that crusted in his hair and the horrible strained sound of his breathing. Her stomach roiled with guilt. Her fault…her fault…
“I mean,” Corbbmacc said, “that you were supposed to get him out without getting him killed. At least, that seems like it would’ve been reasonable.”
Celine sank down beside her, and her hand crept back into Emily’s.
“How would you know anything about it?” Emily asked. A slender thread of anger began worming its way through her, mixing with the guilt and exhaustion. Who was he to tel
l her what she was supposed to have done? She’d done her damnedest to get the boy out. She hadn’t wanted to get any of them hurt. Shame and fear burned inside her, adding fuel to the fire. It was that last hockey game all over again, only infinitely worse. She’d trusted the knowing, and it had betrayed her again.
With a trembling hand, she reached out and gently brushed the boy’s hair back from his forehead. She stared into his bruised and bloody face, trying to make that feeling of recognition she’d felt beneath Marianne’s tower come back to her. It didn’t. Now he just looked like any other boy. Had she imagined it?
“I was told you’d be coming to get him out, and that you’d know what the hell you were doing. Joke’s on me, right? I’m going to fucking kill Paige. My cover’s blown, and he’s going to die if we can’t get him to someone who can deal with his injuries. And we’ll probably make those worse if we try to move him any farther. Dammit!”
Corbbmacc slammed his fist into the wall beside him, and a few bits of dry and brittle plaster drifted down like snow. One touched the candle’s flame, making it leap upward for a moment before turning to ash with a soft hiss.
“You were told I was coming?”
“Paige told me. That’s why she sent me to Seven Skies months ago to try to see if I could get work with the guards tending the horses. Didn’t she tell you?”
“I don’t even know who you’re talking about.”
Their conversation was interrupted as the boy began to cough. He writhed, and a bubble of blood popped on his lips, coating his chin with a fine film of scarlet. He grew still again, but his breathing seemed more labored than ever.
In the candlelight, Celine met Emily’s gaze. Emily felt her expression fall into hard lines. Celine’s was petrified. This was it then, wasn’t it? The idea that had been gnawing at her since they arrived surged to the forefront of her mind, and it refused to be denied.
She must have seen what Emily was thinking, because Celine’s eyes went wide, and she shook her head violently.
“You have to, Cel,” Emily said, hating herself for saying it, but knowing it was the only thing they could do.
“What if I ’urt ’im? What if I kill ’im! I can’t, Em…”
“Look at him,” Emily said fiercely, gesturing at the boy’s battered form. “Listen to him. He’s going to die anyway if you don’t. You can’t make it any worse than it already is.”
Or any worse than I have, she thought bitterly.
“What are you…” Corbbmacc began, but Emily shook her head without releasing Celine’s gaze, and he desisted, watching them in the gloom.
“But Em…”
Emily took both of her friend’s hands and squeezed them between her own. “It might not work at all,” she said. “I know that. What I can do never comes when I tell it to. But you helped me, and now you have to try to help him. Please, Cel. If he dies, it’ll be…” Her voice broke, and she had to force herself to go on. “It’ll be my fault.”
The two girls stared at one another for a few seconds, then Celine snatched her hands away and stood, turning away and walking a few paces deeper into the darkness.
Emily watched her go, feeling helpless. Maybe it was selfish to demand this of Celine, but dammit, this wasn’t the boy’s fault. He didn’t deserve to die.
Of course, it wasn’t Celine’s fault either, but Celine had helped Emily, and despite what she’d said, in her heart of hearts, she did believe that Celine could help the boy, too. It was her talent; it was her gift.
Celine stood facing away from them, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her shoulders shook, but no sound escaped her.
Emily turned away, feeling tears sting her own eyes. Whatever Celine’s gift was, it clearly cost her far more to use it than the knowing cost Emily.
She lifted the boy’s arm, feeling for a pulse. The image of her mother’s limp body swam to the forefront of her mind as she did, and she remembered the feel of the loose flesh between her hands. This time, though, she found the beat. It was fluttering and irregular, but it was there.
Corbbmacc shifted in the dark, and the silence stretched out between the three of them.
At last, he broke it.
“Are you saying that Paige didn’t send you?”
Emily looked at him over the candle that burned between them on the floor, still cradling the boy’s arm.
“I told you. I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
He frowned at her, studying her from the shadows.
“If you don’t know who she is, how did she know you were coming?”
“Well, when you find out, let me know,” Emily snapped. “Especially since I didn’t know I was coming.”
He leaned forward into the candlelight. “I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly. “I’m just…confused, I guess.” He reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder.
“That makes two of us,” she said, but she didn’t pull away. She looked back down at the boy. Sweat was beading on his forehead, and his hair was matted with it. Far from being pale, his face was now full of bright color and flushed with fever.
There was a noise beside her, and Corbbmacc quickly withdrew his hand. Emily looked over to find Celine kneeling on the floor, her gaze on the boy. Her face was nearly as pale as his had been, and her eyes were overbright.
Without a word, Celine reached out and began undoing the few remaining buttons on the boy’s torn and mended denim jacket. She pulled it gently open, and the flickering light fell across his broad, emaciated chest.
At first, Emily thought what she was looking at were bruises where his ribs had broken. Perhaps some of the discolorations were, but as she watched Celine gently run her fingers over the boy’s chest, the spots began to form a picture, and she realized she was looking at another dragon tattoo. It was done in a different style, but the similarities were greater than the differences.
Celine didn’t seem to notice, though. She rested her palms on the boy’s right side, then turned to look at Emily.
“’Elp me,” she pleaded, and tears fell from the corners of her eyes. She blinked them away. She was trembling, but her jaw was set.
“How?”
“Just ’elp me, damn yeh.”
Emily dropped the boy’s wrist and put one arm around Celine’s shoulders, pulling her against her side. The girl shook like a live wire beneath her tunic, and Emily was reminded of the electric thrumming that filled her own muscles each time the knowing came.
Celine closed her eyes. More tears overflowed and hung from her lashes for an instant before falling between her hands and onto the boy’s breast. Her fingers spread wide as though she wanted to memorize the contours of his chest by touch alone.
Corbbmacc got to his feet, alarmed. Emily shot him a look that seemed to take him aback. His face flushed, and he started to say something, then, apparently thinking better of it, simply knelt by Emily’s other side and watched.
The temperature in the room began to rise perceptibly. Outside, it was as if the crickets had ceased their songs, waiting for something to happen. The air felt close and full of static electricity. She felt it run up and down her arms and heard it crackle in her hair.
Celine began to shake more violently. Her fingers convulsed, pulling on what little flesh there was clinging to the boy’s ribs.
The light of the candle seemed to expand, filling the dingy, dirty room with a soft yellow glow.
The knowing swept over Emily all at once, and while the physical sensations were the same, what it brought to her this time was very different.
The world blinked out, and she was lying in a dark alley amidst heaps of rotting garbage. The smell of decay clawed at her throat. Beside her, a rat gnawed on something small and bloody as it stared at her from its gleaming black eyes.
A man loomed over her, and she tried to scramble away. His foot came up with terrifying speed and kicked her hard in the side. All the air whooshed out of her lungs, and she collapsed onto a damp cloth sack that lay amidst
the refuse. A white cloud of maggots burst from it and covered her bare arm like an extra sleeve that wriggled and squirmed across her skin.
The rat let out a high-pitched squeal, unfolded a half dozen spindly, spidery legs, and skittered away for less active quarters, its prize still dangling from its tiny jaws.
The man kicked her again. Pain exploded in her stomach, and the world started to go gray. She saw him pull his foot back once again and…
Flip…
Now she was peering through tall shrubbery at a well-tended lawn awash with bright sunshine. A group of children played there, moving through the steps of a game that involved a simple song. Her heart ached with longing. How she wanted to join them.
“First we make a ghost…of the man we loved the most…then we catch the fox…and put him in the box…now we dig a hole…”
She felt something sharp press into her neck. A pair of hands seized her from behind and jerked her away from the shrubbery, spinning her around.
She was facing a pair of boys, perhaps ten or eleven years old. One, the taller of the two, hauled her up by her wrists until her feet nearly left the ground, grinning vindictively.
“Make ’er squeal! Make ’er squeal!” he singsonged, and the other boy poked her again with his piece of broken glass. Blood trickled down her side.
She cried out with pain, and Emily heard Celine’s voice emerging from between her lips.
She struggled, but now there was a third boy. He helped the second bind her wrists with a bit of rope, though she kicked and bit, fighting like a wild animal to get free. All the while, the jagged piece of glass pricked her flesh, her arms, her chest, her face…
Flip…
She was kneeling on the floor beside the body of an old man. The soft light of late afternoon streamed in through the kitchen window. The flowery curtains there, trimmed in old and yellowing lace, billowed in a gentle breeze.
She was cradling the man’s head in her lap and sobbing with Celine’s voice…
“Don’t be dead…don’t be dead…please don’t be…”
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