31. Wolfgang
31
WOLFGANG
T he smoke burns my eyes, choking me from the inside and out. I can barely think, the ringing in my ears distorting my senses. It dulls the screaming and wailing surrounding me like a deadly ripple of sound.
I’ve been flung into rubble, the stage now blown to bits. I try to move but my thigh throbs in pain, and I grit my teeth. Looking down, my eyesight still blurry, I find some kind of shrapnel lodged into the muscle. Without much rational thought, I pull it out. Removing the ragged piece of metal out of my thigh has all my senses rushing back simultaneously, and I cry out at the pain, snapped back to reality.
The screaming intensifies, the smell of burning flesh making me gag. I look around, trying to gather my wits. By the look of it, I must have been out for a few minutes. The crowd in the city square has dispersed but what has been left in its wake is mayhem.
Blood, death and …
“Mercy!” I bellow. The sudden terror of finding her dead has me pushing through the pain and standing. I take a few wary steps, my injured leg slowing me down.
Through the thinning smoke, she appears standing amidst the chaos, blood dripping from a gash near her temple and onto her ripped gold dress. I shout her name once more, stumbling over the wreckage, trying to get to her. But she doesn’t seem to hear me, her eyebrows knitted in worry as she looks all around her, a faraway look dulling her eyes.
“Mercy,” I press when I finally reach her, gripping her upper arms so she focuses on me.
“I can’t find Gemini,” she says, her voice sounding far away while she continues to avoid my gaze. “I can’t find Gemini,” she repeats under her breath.
“Mercy,” I urge, giving her a small shake. “Look at me, you’re bleeding,” I say as I frantically survey her face and body, pushing her hair back to examine the cut.
Her eyes finally snap to mine. “I’m fine, it’s just a …” she trails off, her attention now behind me. “Gods be damned,” she breathes.
My stomach sinks before I turn around and find Constantine pinned to the ground, her lower half crushed under a large beam. Given she doesn’t feel pain, I’m not surprised to find her conscious. But the absence of pain doesn’t negate the severity of her injuries. Belladonna is kneeling beside her, holding her hand while Aleksandr and Constantine’s father are struggling to move the beam off her. But by the look of their failed efforts, it’s much too heavy for them to do alone.
Guilt digs its claws into my chest when I realize that my best friend’s well-being hadn’t even crossed my mind until now. Nor that of my parents. Who, with a hurried glance around the bombed stage, are nowhere to be found.
I grab Mercy by the wrist. “Come. We need to stay together.”
Her vacant expression tells me she must be in some kind of shock. She nods, and I slide my hand down from her wrist, intertwining our fingers together. I try to ignore the piercing throb in my thigh, as she follows me without any resistance, weaving us through the rubble.
“Sasha!” I yell out when we’re close.
His head swivels around until he locates me. “Wolfie,” he says in relief. “I couldn’t … Tinny …” he mutters when I reach him.
Mercy kneels beside Belladonna, reaching over to smooth a few bloody strands away from Constantine’s forehead. They exchange a few words, but I can’t make out what they’re saying, only that Constantine looks a lot less bothered than she should be, acting like this beam is but a mere nuisance.
I pull Aleksandr into a quick embrace. “Are you okay? Are you injured?” I ask while giving his body a quick survey after we pull away.
He ignores my question, his gaze hard. “You need to leave, Wolfgang. And take Mercy with you,” he says urgently.
“But Tinny,” I mutter, slightly stunned which then morphs into irrational panic. “And my parents,” I add, “I can’t find?—”
Aleksandr cuts me off. “They’re fine, they’re with …” Grief quickly flashes through his eyes and he clears his throat. “My mother is dead.”
I curse through clenched teeth while I drag my palm over my face. “Who is responsible for this?” I seethe.
“We don’t know,” he answers quickly. “Even more reason for you to seek shelter.”
“But—” I begin to say.
“Now,” he orders, his expression unusually stern.
I stare at him for a moment, but eventually relent and move to kneel close to Constantine. I mutter a few comforting words into her hair, pressing a kiss on her cheek before telling Mercy we need to go while dragging her up to her feet.
“I’m not leaving Tinny like this,” she says, pulling herself away from me.
“We’re still in danger,” I grit out, “This isn’t the time for recalcitrant behavior.”
“Wolfgang is right,” Belladonna says softly, touching Mercy on the shoulder. “You need to find safety. This was clearly a deliberate attack.”
“What about …” Mercy starts, vulnerability rippling over her face.
She never finishes her sentence. Instead, she falls silent, sharing a wordless exchange with Belladonna before her shoulders drop as if accepting her impending fate.
She turns to face me directly, her gaze deep with a slew of warring emotions—concern, anger, sadness, grief. I’m struck by her beauty even here amidst the madness, blood staining one side of her face, soot and dirt smeared on her skin and dress.
“We did this,” she says, her voice cracking around the rise and fall of the accusation. My heart squeezes, barely managing a hard swallow. Her words sting but ring true and I struggle to fight through the weight of the guilt. “We did this,” she repeats in defeat.
I huff out a haggard breath and try to tune out the pained cries still polluting the air around us. Family members crouched over bodies trying to staunch the flow of blood. Citizens carrying the injured away from the blast site. Dead bodies being lined up near the Mount Pravitia steps.
I keep my gaze locked on Mercy as I take her hand in mine and lift it to my lips. “This wasn’t our gods,” I utter low before pressing a gentle kiss to her skin. But even I don’t quite believe my statement.
Mercy chews on her bottom lip, panic marring her face but says nothing.
“And besides,” I add with a resolute sigh while navigating us out of the ruins. My limp grows worse as we walk up the stairs of Mount Pravitia, the blood still gushing out of my thigh now squelching in my shoe. “It would appear that what is done, is done.”