Day Killer (City of Crows Book 5)

by Coulson, Clara

  “What the hell?” I whisper.

  Lucian’s voice calls out from somewhere in the abyss, “It’s a day killer spell, Kinsey. Temporarily blinds anyone within a limited area. Part of a whole suite of sensory deprivation spells used for torture.” He briefly pauses to let that sink in. “Take cover somewhere, or get the hell out of the spell’s effective field as fast as you can. Lizzie’s the only one who can see anything right now—”

  There’s a panicked shout, and a moment later, a large object disturbs the air beside my face. It crashes into a pile of rubble behind me. The debris bends and breaks, accompanied by the distinct sound of snapping bones. I whip around to face what must be Lucian suffering from one of Lizzie’s attacks, but then Foley shrieks right before another wall collapses somewhere nearby.

  Nails and wood splinters pelt my skin, and I raise my arms to protect myself. But my right arm, with the dislocated shoulder, is sluggish, and a big piece of a wooden board smacks me in the face. I tumble backward and land on the ruined floor, hundreds of sharp pieces of debris biting through my thin shirt and slicing my skin open.

  Silence falls across the hallway, punctuated by the settling of rubble.

  There’s a footstep, quite like a cat’s. And another. And another. Drawing closer to me.

  I try to pinpoint exactly how far away Lizzie is, but between an inhale and an exhale, her footsteps shift from vaguely distant to right in front of me. Before I can scamper away, there’s a powerful hand gripping my throat. Lizzie hoists me up. I claw at her wrist, my nails tearing into her skin, leaving deep, bloody grooves, but she doesn’t flinch. She’s got wounds ten times that bad right now. If she can keep fighting with those, then no damage I can deal her while unarmed will hinder her.

  She draws me close to her face, her hot, copper-tinged breath rolling across my cheeks. Even though I know she’s simply a vampire, the fact I can see nothing but absolute darkness sets me on edge, and my heart beats in fits and starts, my pulse erratic, a low whine caught in the back of my throat.

  Lizzie’s cheek brushes my own as she brings her lips to my ear and growls out, “You are a particularly annoying worm. Mucking up all my plans. Swooping in to rescue my enemies in their moment of defeat. Escaping situations that should kill you again and again, like a slippery little garden snake hiding in the grass.” Her fingers tighten around my throat, and I start to feel lightheaded. “In some ways, I’m actually impressed that any normal human could derail a Knight operation to such a degree. But for the most part, all you’ve done is mark yourself for a swift extermination. We can’t have unpredictable elements like you running around in the world, now can we?”

  I open my mouth to respond, to stall her, stall her, stall her—

  She doesn’t let me.

  She rams her hand into my chest, up underneath my ribcage, and tears right through my heart with her sharp-tipped fingernails. My retort withers into a wet gasp, and I clutch blindly at the hand sticking out of my chest, blood already spurting out from the edges of the ragged hole, running over Lizzie’s wrist and my own, soaking our shirts, raining onto the floor. In seconds, all the energy drains from my body, my grasp growing weak, my eyelids drooping. The pain, bright and burning and terrifying, dulls to a glowing ember, as my mind begins to dissolve into wisps of half-finished thoughts and unrealized feelings.

  Lizzie rips her hand free with a loud squelch and says, “Have a safe trip to the afterlife.” One of her fangs nips my ear. “And by that, I mean you damn well better pass on the second you die, because if I see your shade hanging around, you’re getting a one-way trip to my charm bracelet. And from there, you will be forced to watch helplessly as I burn your whole goddamn city to the ground.” She giggles. “Bye now.”

  She tosses me aside like a broken doll, and I land in a motionless pile of numb limbs among the rubble. For one brief moment, I try to force myself to my feet, try to get up and keep fighting, try to convince myself I’m not really dying, that this is just another close call and I’m going to be fine. But my legs don’t work. And my arms don’t move. And my breath is stilted. And my blood is pouring from the gaping hole in my chest. And my heartbeat is fading by the second. And my brain is quickly shutting down. And there’s nothing I can do about it but lie there and drift away.

  Somewhere nearby, Lucian recovers from the blow that sent him sprawling and makes a run for Lizzie, guiding himself with only his smell and hearing.

  My team…they’re going to…find me dead here and…

  Lucian and Lizzie collide and tear into each other like animals, snarls and growls and grunts rebounding off what remains of the walls and ceiling. But the whole vicious battle is muted to my ears, as if it’s happening across a vast ocean.

  I don’t want them to be sad…but I can’t...

  Foley clambers out of the ruins of the nearby room, but his gait is halting, one foot dragging behind him. His breathing is raspy and wet, interrupted with violent coughs, indicating he has serious lung damage.

  How could it have been less than twenty-four hours…since I returned to Aurora and talked to Cooper and went home and… Cooper… love Cooper… and I won’t be able to say goodbye…

  Foley stumbles sideways and must hit a wall because there’s a dull thump and a faint vibration. A low moan breaks through his teeth.

  Cooper doesn’t know… They’re going to have to tell him over the phone… God, I don’t want…

  Weakly, Foley says, “Kinsey? How badly are you hurt? Your heart sounds like it’s struggling.” He pauses. “Kinsey, can you hear me? I can’t walk right now. I have too many broken bones. I can’t get to you. I need you to come to me.”

  I don’t want Cooper to find out like… I don’t want Ella to see me lying here…

  “Kinsey?”

  I don’t want my team to feel…don’t want anyone to… I don’t want Riker to think he… don’t want everyone to mourn… don’t want… don’t want… don’t want… don’t…

  “Kinsey!”

  I…

  …don’t…

  …want…

  …to…

  …die.

  Chapter Fourteen

  An ocean breeze and the scent of sea salt are the first things I notice when I blink into existence on the island. I haven’t been to the ocean since I was living in California for college, and the sensations evoke memories of a better time. Before Mac’s death. Before I knew about the dangerous and conniving creatures hiding in the shadows of the world. So I breathe in the salt, let it cleanse my throat, and lift my chin into the wind so the air can caress me. I stand there, utterly relaxed, in a place it makes no sense for me to be. Until the sights of this strange world—the emerald-green ocean, the tall, curving trees with blue-striped trunks, the golden grass the height of my knees—spur me into investigating what exactly this place is.

  I find I’m standing near a footpath worn into the dirt, so I maneuver onto it and pick a random direction. I would say it’s north, but there are two suns in the sky, so I’m not sure Earth directions are the best reference here. Regardless, I walk along the winding trail, cutting through dense patches of those weird trees, branches weighed down with some sort of plump red fruit, and it takes me down a steep hill using lengthy switchbacks.

  I don’t know how long I walk. The suns don’t move across the sky, and there are no clouds. Time seems immaterial. But eventually, the trees clear out, revealing a sprawling beach at the bottom of the hill.

  (Bear in mind that I’m well aware I died in the museum hallway. I’m not in a “dreamlike state” or anything. I’m just in denial. I’m trying really hard to pretend my life’s not over at the age of twenty-three, and that my body’s not going to be dropped into a grave by next Wednesday. Eventually, I’ll have to process my demise, of course. But eventually is not now. Now I’m having a lovely stroll on a lovely path on a lovely island in some strange realm of the Eververse.)

  Reaching the beach, I take off my shoes—which, interestingly enough, a
re my DSI combat boots, not the expensive oxfords I was wearing before—and sink my toes into the warm sand as I pad along toward the water. The waves are breaking softly, the wind gentle, and I roll up my pants—jeans, also not what I was wearing last time I checked—to my knees so I can wade without getting them wet. The water is cool but not cold, a good balance to the hot temperature and the mild humidity. I only walk out into the ocean until the water grows deep enough to obscure my feet, and then I loiter for a while, the waves lapping at my shins, and look over a vast, endless ocean. There’s not another island in sight. No boats either.

  If this is some sort of afterlife, it’s certainly going to be a quiet one.

  I quash that thought as soon as it pops up. Don’t want to ruin my mood.

  Turning, I amble along the beach, occasionally stopping to poke at tiny pink crab-like creatures and pretty blue shells washing in with the high tide. When I reach the end of the beach, the way blocked by a shelf of dark, jagged rocks, I head out of the water and up the sand dunes toward the start of another path. This one leads to the opposite side of the small island, which appears to end with a sheer cliff face overlooking the sea.

  The climb up is harder than the walk down, but oddly, I don’t feel winded or thirsty, so I continue on until I near the highest point of the island. Here, about fifteen feet from the edge of a drop-off, the trail veers sharply to the right, leading to another grove of those trees perched on the very edge of the cliff. Someone chopped a hole through the spindly foliage, leaving an opening roughly the size of a person.

  As I close in on this gap, a voice rises over the continuous roar of the waves.

  I stop and listen. Maybe I’m not alone after all.

  A second voice responds to the first, this one louder and angrier, but the words aren’t clear enough to discern. I need to get closer. Using my best sneaking skills, I creep up to the little tunnel cut into the tree branches and peek through to the other side. Standing on the very edge of the cliff are two people.

  On the left is a man of medium height and build, wearing a thick gray cloak that falls all the way to his ankles. When he gesticulates as he’s speaking, the cloak shifts to the side, revealing a long-sleeved black shirt, some sort of tough, handmade leather pants, and a pair of heavy-duty work boots. Guy must be burning up in this tropical heat. Yet his posture is loose and unconcerned, as if the temperature doesn’t bother him.

  On the right is a tall, stately black woman with numerous, waist-length braids, wearing considerably less clothing; she’s got on a sleeveless orange dress that cuts off just above her knees. She’s not wearing any shoes either, and her only notable accessories are a couple bejeweled gold bangles on her wrists and a small dagger tucked into a sheath on the brown leather belt for her dress.

  The two of them look human enough at first glance, but that means nothing in the Eververse. They could be gods, demons, faeries, or about ten million other creatures that us humans have never even come into contact with. True, they’d probably look considerably less human if their species had never been to Earth—for some reason, Eververse creatures like taking on humanoid shapes—but that doesn’t mean they can’t zap me out of existence just by wiggling their pinky fingers. Pretty much everything in the Eververse can crush a human like a bug.

  I consider whether to alert them to my presence, but decide to listen to their conversation for a couple minutes before I do anything stupid.

  “I’m telling you, Pell, they’re making a move,” says the angry man. “Latest rumors from Earthside claim they’ve entangled themselves in prominent nonhuman affairs, that they’ve had a hand in recent upheavals in the ghoul underground, the vampire government, the low-god circles in South America. This is more than secret meetings in rotting basements, more than dabbling in dark magic, more than committing common crimes for common goals. Someone has organized them. Someone is leading them. They’re planning something. A revolt. A revolution. Like I always told you they would.”

  “I never thought you were wrong, Don,” Pell replies, crossing her arms. “But it’s not me you have to convince. It’s the Host. They think the blood restraints are enough. They’ve been adequate deterrents for thousands of years. They’ll be adequate for thousands more. The wasting still gets them all in the end, despite the generations of human blood diluting their power. They’re weak. They’re frail. The Host don’t see them as a threat, not from the high perch of their shining thrones on their golden mountain.”

  “You make it sound like you’re not one of them.” Don snorts. “But I guess it’s different being a common legionnaire.”

  Pell rolls her eyes. Her irises are blue, but each one has a golden ring around the pupil. Not a feature I’ve seen before. “You have no clue how stuffy and uptight those bastards have become in recent centuries. You haven’t been there in what, five hundred years? Seven? They listen to no one but themselves. Half the time they don’t even listen to each other.” She shakes her head, and her beaded braids rattle against each other. “I really wish you’d quit it with your self-imposed exile and come home.”

  Don sighs. “You know why I can’t do that.”

  “I know why you won’t,” she retorts. “There’s no reason why you can’t. You’re a stubborn old ass like the rest of the Host. You just have a different goal in life. A goal, mind you, that is ridiculous.”

  He bats the air with his gloved hand, like he can make her criticism dissipate. “Stop changing the subject. We’re not discussing me. We’re discussing you warning the Host about an imminent incursion.”

  “Look”—Pell pinches the bridge of her nose—“I can request a public hearing on the matter and ensure everyone knows the subject ahead of time. Start a gossip chain. That way, our wise and powerful leader will be pressured into approving the hearing, because refusing to have even a short chat on the matter will make him look like a gutless ninny.”

  “All I ask is that you try your best,” Don says. “If that’s all the pull you have, so be it. I’ll continue the work on my end and do what I can to stop their advance on Earth, along with hunting down whoever’s been whispering in their ear from this side of the fence.”

  “Sure you don’t want help with that instead?” Pell pokes his shoulder. “You know I’m a great traveling companion.”

  “Last time we traveled together, you ate all my food, used all my water, ruined my maps by spilling that water on them, and then pulled out of the trip before we even…” He moves two steps to the right to get Pell to stop prodding his arm. “I need you where you are, Pell. You’re my eyes and ears in the Goldlands, my only access point to the Host. If the Host decide not to move, even when the situation becomes undeniable, when they truly decide to leave Earth to burn under the weight of their own follies, when they abandon the land they were supposed to protect…”

  He peers up at the clear blue sky, but I get the idea he’s seeing something much farther away. “When that day comes to pass, you can join me, Pell, and we’ll go to war together, like old times. But I’m not giving up on the Host prematurely. There’s a chance a few of those bastards still know right from wrong.”

  “A slim chance,” Pell mutters. “You know, this whole intelligence-gathering operation would be a lot easier if you actually had consistent, trustworthy contacts on Earth. What happened to that one woman you were pals with not too long ago? What was her name?” She snaps her fingers. “Mary?”

  Don groans. “Maria. And no, I can’t use her. We, uh, had a falling-out.”

  Maria? Like my mom?

  Sure, there are a lot of women named Maria on Earth, but what are the odds that after my…death, I end up on an island in the middle of the Eververse, populated only by two people discussing major supernatural issues currently happening on Earth, and the Maria they’re referring to is not my mom? Seriously. What are the freaking odds?

  I knew I had to have come to this island for a reason. You don’t get tossed into a random afterlife after you die. You get sent somewhere
that resonates with your soul, somewhere that matches your fundamental self in some way, shape, or form. Genuinely religious people end up in the Eververse realms that most closely match their religions, whereas the agnostics and atheists wind up in realms that fit their personal beliefs, god or no god.

  My soul was drawn to this tiny island because of the man on the cliff. The man called Don. The man who knew my mom. But who the hell is he?

  “Really, Don? A falling-out?” Pell huffs. “Leave it to you to sever your best connections.”

  “Oh, shut up. Like you’re any better.”

  “I have friends, unlike you. Probably because I don’t sit in shady booths in pubs wearing that ridiculous cloak with the hood up, staring creepily at everyone who walks by like I’m evaluating the likelihood they’ll piss me off enough to justify murder.”

  “I don’t do that.”

  “Don, that’s exactly what got you kicked out of that pub in the Winter Court. Remember? When you got into a row with a dullahan because you wouldn’t stop staring down his disembodied head after he sat it on the table?”

  “Guy shouldn’t have left his damn head on the table while he went to take a piss.” He spits over the edge of the cliff. “Those headless horsemen have no manners.”

  “See? This is exactly what I’m talking about.” Pell throws up her hands in exasperation. “You reflexively push away anyone in your immediate vicinity. You set everyone against you. For the absent god’s sake, Don, you have to let sleeping dogs lie. It’s been two thousand years since you and…”

  “We have company.” Don’s shoulders suddenly tighten, and he reaches for a short sword sheathed at his side. Slowly, almost as if time is moving at a quarter of its normal speed, Don whirls around to face—and presumably attack—me, having finally sensed my presence intruding on his conversation.

  But the second he starts to turn, the collar of his cloak whipping up and partially obscuring his face, the second the flash of his gold-ringed eyes registers in my brain, something yanks me backward. And upward. And I’m flying. Away from the island. Into the sky. Higher and higher and higher, faster and faster and faster, until I’m moving so close to the speed of light that I’m scared I’ll collide with the atmosphere like a bullet hitting glass and shatter the entire sky to glittering pieces, and—