by Unknown
Five additional fae stood just within the door glaring at them, the wind fae waiting a few steps outside the building.
When had he escaped? Sam tried to think back to when the plaster dust had stopped stinging her eyes, but the change had been so subtle. Evidently the Huzat had seen the end drawing near and gone to get help.
“Well done, Carl. You’ve subdued her?” said the nearest man, his fingertips turning a slight shade of blue.
Whether he meant to or not, the new Víz fae had made his statement sound like a question. He wasn’t sure if Carl was still on their side or had joined Sam. Truth was, with their appearance, Sam wasn’t so sure herself.
“That’s correct,” Carl said.
Before his words had died away, Sam used the last of the Víz power in her to pull what remained of the water in the room, throwing it at the small group huddled near the door. In the same instant, she bashed her elbow into Carl’s nose. As he cried out in pain, she bolted, trying her best to put some distance between herself and this new round of enemies.
“Stop,” a voice said from the doorway as the water settled at their feet, most of it washing out the doorway.
To Sam’s disgust, her feet obeyed as though she had no choice. She tilted her head, eyeing her new enemies over her shoulder with a sneer on her battered and bleeding lips.
“Sam, you don’t want to do this,” said a man Sam recognized as Frances, the Silver Tongued.
Like Sam, he had an exceptionally rare gift. Much like a hypnotist, he could talk someone into doing anything he wanted. Unlike Sam, the other fae still trusted him even though his power was just as dangerous to them as hers.
“The vampires need to be eradicated. You see this, don’t you?”
Sam’s head nodded up and down.
Sam felt his power slip into her mind like tentacles, lacing themselves around her own thoughts. A normal person, a person who hadn’t spent her entire life learning to tell the difference between herself and her gift, including her own thoughts and the thoughts of her gift, wouldn’t have noticed the feelers slipping through their consciousness.
“I was at the courtyard. I nearly had all the guards ready to kill the vampires when Barry showed up, saying you were killing Liam and his men,” Frances said as his eyes scanned the carnage. “I see you’re more of a fighter than even Carl could have guessed.”
Sam only half listened to his actual words. She focused on the tendrils of his thoughts lacing with hers, picking them apart and separating them from her cognizance.
Let him prattle on.
“Now, Sam. You’re going to be a good little girl,” he said as he sauntered up to her, “And you’re going to let them tie you up nice and tight so that I can get back to the courtyard. Once this is all over, and the vampires are destroyed by the FMB, we will decide how to deal with our pesky little Void. Okay?”
Sam gave him a slack smile before pulling her fist back and swinging it into his jaw. With the power of being seriously pissed off and the weakness of a shoulder recently dislocated, she punched him in the face and ran.
Sam bolted around a few tables, finally landing behind the one that had tipped over and landed on the dead fire fae.
“You’re gonna have to do a lot better than that, Frances,” she said from behind her wall.
“Is that so?” he replied, sounding a little off.
No doubt his jaw was hurting, and maybe even swollen.
“You just don’t get it,” she laughed. “You all leaving me to my own devices, not training me, has made me more powerful, not less. Your silver tongue is not going to control me, but I’d love to see you try,” Sam added when she realized her mistake.
She didn’t want him to leave. If he left, he would go back to whisper in the ears of the feds…
Sam turned around, reaching out her hand. Once again she released her gift, the adjustment coming more naturally with each use. It unnerved her how easy it was getting to reach out and drain the life of a person—one of her own kin. She pushed those thoughts aside to be worried about later and watched Frances Silver Tongue drop dead.
“Don’t listen to her,” shrieked Barry, the wind fae who had gone for help.
The other fae bolted for the door, tripping over each other in their hurry to exit through the same small space. As the last one exited, they slammed the door right in Carl’s face. Even from where Sam huddled she heard the sound of them rolling something against the door. It wasn’t long before the same sound came from the other two doors.
They had barred them in.
Chapter Twenty-One
Slowly, Sam dragged herself to her feet. She looked around, hoping to find a single piece of dry fabric, even if she had to tear it off a dead body, to use as a bandage for her bleeding shoulder. Much more blood loss and she would be out of the fight no matter how much power she stole.
Carl turned around, leaning against the door and glared at her.
“Don’t talk,” he growled the moment she opened her mouth.
Even he was afraid of her using Silver Tongue’s powers. Sam gave him a little bow, indicating she would hold her tongue until the power dissipated. The only problem was, the longer she didn’t use it, the longer it stayed in her system.
Sam walked slowly around the room, still looking for a dry, clean scrap of cloth. Carl stayed near the door, eyeing her every move. When Sam gave up on her search, she took up a perch on the central work bench, resting her injured arm in her lap and staring at her old friend.
How could he do this? Was this really the same Carl who had been bullied in school for liking the same toys as the girls and coveting Amber’s pony lunch box? Sam eyed him silently, wondering what could have happened to make him hate with such passion. Had she missed something? Or was it her fault for taking up with Heywood in the first place? Was all this death and destruction on her shoulders?
No. Even if her choices had been the catalyst, his actions were his and his alone. No one was to blame but Carl for his choices. She couldn’t shoulder the burden of his guilt.
She knew she was frowning at him, but she was too tired to care if her poker face was in place. Without thinking, she opened her mouth to speak.
“Aaa” he said, making a sound as he raised his hand to forestall her speaking.
Sam clamped her mouth shut, rolling her eyes.
She felt Frances’ power bubbling through her, a bit like a carbonated beverage. Every power was different, and this one was no exception. It tickled her from the inside out, making it hard to sit still, and yet her injuries and exhaustion fought the need to move, ultimately winning.
They sat for a few minutes, making no effort on the doors until suddenly the building started to shake and rumble. The quivering increased, stools toppling, figurines crashing to the floor, and plaster dust rising up into the air. The low-hung light fixtures began to swing in wide arcs.
Sam fell from her perch onto the work bench, grunting with the pain of the landing. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Carl lose his footing and fall to the ground.
While she knew Illinois had suffered an earthquake or two, like everything else during this night-from-hell, this was fae induced.
They planned to fight her from outside, and topped off with Silver Tongue’s juice, there wasn’t much she could do.
“Dammit,” she muttered, too soft for Carl to hear.
Sam slipped under the large, sturdy workbench. She thought about calling to Carl, but he had stoutly told her not to speak, and she was nothing if not obedient. To her astonishment, he crawled to her of his own free will and hunkered under the workbench.
The magical earthquake continued long after a natural one would have puttered out, bringing more and more destruction to the already disheveled warehouse. A large rack of dust masks clattered downward, landing at an awkward angle, half supported by another table. A second later, one of the machines seemed to crumble apart, its old screws no longer able to hold it together under the pressure of such vibr
ations.
After another few minutes of shaking, industrial-looking trim work rained down from the long, narrow windows running along the tops of the walls. Panes of glass began to shake loose, shattering on impact with the cement floor. A light fixture lost its battle with the enormous arcs and fell to the ground, crashing right next to their little fort, a stray piece of glass slicing across Sam’s arm. The cut was shallow, but it hurt.
She cried out, grabbing the cut with her other hand to staunch the slight trickle of blood.
Sam and Carl huddled under the desk, covering their heads with their arms and pressing against each other until the earthquake finally sputtered to an end.
Sam let out a long sigh. With that much power expended, that fae would be nearly useless for a good, long while. She wanted to tell Carl this, to ease his fears, but he still didn’t want her to talk, so she kept her mouth shut.
Cautiously, Sam dragged herself out from under the table, careful not to pull on her newest cut—it had already stopped bleeding and she wanted to keep it that way. From her position next to the workbench she surveyed the damage. Assuming the other fae came back in to finish her off, they would be fighting on a very dangerous battlefield.
The truth was she needed to disarm the situation as fast as she could. A new thought crossed her tired mind. Frances Silver Tongues’ power might be the only thing that could calm the growing tensions in the courtyard. Though he was no longer there whispering in the ears of the feds, his seeds of dissension had already been planted, and the vampires were already angry, hungry, and afraid.
If she could use his powers to calm everyone down, she might be able to save a lot of lives.
But she could only do that if she could escape. Sam closed her eyes, allowing her gift so slip past her tattoo. She didn’t let it taste any of the other fae, even though her tank had a tiny bit of free space now. She needed to save that space for an actual attack. All she wanted was to see where they all were.
The new water fae with the blue finger tips—who she suspected could turn anything he touched to ice—was in the alley, the wind fae and exhausted earthquake fae were ahead of her at the entrance nearest the Reservation wall, and the fae she knew nothing about stood at the door opening out onto the main street.
Sam was just about to allow her gift the freedom to take a sip from the wild card when she smelled a strange, acidic scent. Her eyes flashed open in time to notice a greenish-gray fog rolling in from under the doors.
“Shit,” she exclaimed despite Carl’s injunction against talking.
His head whipped around, taking in what she had seen as he produced a few of his own curses.
Sam ignored him as she clambered back up onto the workbench, proving slick with the blood she had left behind. She slipped, banging her chin against the rough wooden surface. She tried again, taking it a little slower as the fog rolled closer and closer.
Carl had no problem climbing onto the table on the side not marked with Sam’s lifeblood. He ignored her struggles, his eyes glued to the sickly smog covering the floor.
With one last gigantic effort, Sam managed to pull herself back onto the table, the fog grazing her bare ankle as it rolled onward, unaware of what or who it touched. Sam screamed as she flopped forward onto the workbench. She rolled over, bumping into Carl’s legs as she curled up and grabbed the seared flesh. Her ankle looked as though it had been doused in acid. Fresh tears of pain clouded her vision as she gripped the flesh just above the new wound and squeezed.
Sam looked up at Carl, blinking away the tears to clear her vision.
Carl stared down at her, his face devoid of any emotion other than fear. Before long, his eyes flicked back to the rising fog.
“It’s getting higher,” he said.
“I have to…” she began before he turned to her and kicked her in her mauled shoulder.
Sam shrieked in pain and glared up at him. Using what seemed the very last of her fading strength, she rolled onto her feet, nearly falling off the workbench, and carefully stood, putting most of her weight on her one good ankle. When Carl went back to staring at the fog, Sam clamped her hand over his mouth, her other hand grabbing the base of his neck. When he tried to struggle against her, she held him at the edge of the workbench and his efforts died down—after all, he was as much her enemy as he was her friend.
“I can get us out of this,” she said as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. “But I have to clear Silver Tongue’s magic out of my system before I can take anyone else’s. To do that, I have to give someone some orders. You’re the only someone present. I will not order you to hurt yourself…
“Carl, I’m trying to help you,” she added in a softer tone. “Will you please fight with me to get us out of this?”
After a long, agonizing wait, he nodded against the grip of her hands.
Slowly, Sam released him.
“Touch your nose.”
He obeyed.
“Step closer to me.”
He did.
“Jump up and down.”
Carl glared at her but obeyed, taking the smallest hops possible.
The order-obey session continued as the fog rolled higher and higher. Sam felt the power of Silver Tongue recede from her, but not fast enough. Finally, in a last ditch effort—just as the fog was about to lap over the edge of the table—she reached out and took from the acid fae.
The fae was nearly too far away from her for her to steal, but she managed it. As she stole, she directed the new power to the edge of the table, creating a barrier that held the fog at bay. The green-gray smog began to run up the invisible walls of her barrier as it continued to fill the room. Thankfully, the more she stole from the fae, the slower the fog spread.
Sam felt her eyes grow wide. She had no idea how she was pulling her stunt off. She hadn’t stopped to consider what to do. She had simply seen the issue, thought up a plan, and done it.
“Carl,” she gasped as beads of sweat formed across her brow. “I need you to use some of your own magic.”
“And do what?”
“Fry them,” Sam said, her voice thick with rage and exhaustion. “Fry them like a freaking toaster oven.”
Carl swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“I can’t. They’re our own people.”
“And they are actively trying to kill us.”
The green-gray wall was nearly waist high when Sam began to smile. The fae was losing focus, too tired to produce much more. Her enemy backed off, taking a few steps away until she could no longer steal from him. Sam’s smile turned into a frown. If she couldn’t steal from the other fae then it was only a matter of time before her barrier deteriorated.
“Carl,” she said again.
“I’m not killing the fae,” Carl replied, crossing his arms.
“Is there any way you can get even one of those doors open?”
“You want me to walk through the acid?”
Sam ground her teeth together in her effort.
“No, with your electricity,” she said through her teeth. “This barrier has a time limit.”
Carl’s eyes grew wide. He looked at the three doors, but with the thickness and height of the fog, was unable to see anything clearly.
“I can’t see,” he whined.
“What do you need to know? My mom worked here,” Sam panted.
“Umm…”
“All three have the emergency bars,” Sam said, her eyes shutting as it became harder to concentrate on the draining power trickling out of her fingers. “You just need to get something to hit one of them to open the door and the door will open, preferably the door that opens towards the wall.”
“I need something that uses electricity.”
Sam tried to think, to imagine the room as it had been before the earthquake, or better yet, after the earthquake, but she couldn’t think beyond the tiny bit of power left in her.
“The barrier,” shrieked Carl as he pointed to one end of the work bench where a hole h
ad sprouted in the invisible wall and green-gray acid was pouring into their safe-haven.
Finally taking initiative, Carl reached out with his power and sent a bolt of electricity through her barrier and into the fog, shooting blindly in the direction of the door near the Reservation wall. Carl repeated his efforts again and again while Sam inched towards him, away from the hole as the puddle of acid crept closer and closer to their feet. Finally on the fourth attempt, they heard a large explosion and the door banged open. Much like the water had, the fog swooshed out.
Sam and Carl heard two voices rise up in piercing screams as the fog rolled over them. Sam was about to let the barrier down when she opened her eyes and realized the fog did not move as fast as the water.
“Carl,” she whispered, her arms shaking in her effort to keep them outstretched.
“Hold on,” he ordered, reaching out as she collapsed.
Carl held her upright in his arms, his collarbone jabbing into her bruised cheek. Sam squeezed her eyes shut as she dug into the very depths of her gift for the last dribble of the stolen power to keep the barrier up, but then it was gone, all used up and her arms dropped.
To her amazement, she didn’t feel any fresh agony. Slowly, Carl lowered her to the table and Sam allowed her eyes to drift open. It was over. They were alive.
The other doors banged open and the man with the blue fingertips and the man who had nearly killed them with his acid stumbled inside.
“I’ve caught her,” Carl announced suddenly.
Sam rolled her head over to glare at him. Had she heard him correctly?
“I don’t think she has much fight left,” Carl added, sounding as though he had fought the fog off with his bare hands.
“What happened to Susan and Barry?” asked the blue-fingered man, waving his hand at the steaming corpses near the open door.
“The door just gave out,” Carl lied.
“You little bastard,” Sam whispered.
The three fae turned to glare at her. Sam kept her face relaxed as she lay sprawled across the table. She couldn’t decide which part of her body hurt worse, her ankle or her mauled shoulder. Focusing on the pain made it easier to bring tears to her eyes. The hot liquid spilled over her eyelids and rolled down her temples, mixing in with her hair.