28. NOT A MOURNING PERSON
With a nod, Jette retreated into the hall from which she’d emerged.
“Yorkie?” Jax turned to the aquamancer. “Bring the prisoner.”
York tagged after Jette, both of them gone as suddenly as they’d arrived.
Beside me, Donovan rubbed his wrist. He must have been wondering, same as me, how far the investigators would let this go. Capitol healers could reattach severed limbs in a pinch, so any pain or damage would be temporary. That didn’t make it any less foreboding.
I heard footsteps this time, more of a shuffling drag. York reentered the room carrying Ripley by the back of his shirt.
Tape covered his mouth, and a leather strap encircled his throat. Attached to the front of the makeshift collar was a metal, double-ended fork with its tines sunk deeply into Ripley’s chin and chest. Dried and fresh blood streaked his skin and left dark splotches on his black clothing. He was bent forward at the waist, but the fork held his head angled straight up and back, so we saw each other eye to eye.
“What the fuck?” Donovan whispered.
If it were possible, Ripley looked thinner than usual. Pale skin stretched over his skeletal frame. Two weeks of starvation had taken a lot from someone who only had a little to give. I wondered how he hadn’t died without fluids until I recalled the aquamancer currently supporting Ripley’s fragile body. I knew from experience that York was able to hydrate a person from the inside out.
Upon reaching the center of the room, York let Ripley drop onto the slick, cement floor. The frail teen fell, unable to catch himself with his hands bound behind his back. The cry that escaped him was choked and far weaker than the feeling behind it.
My stomach lurched, and my pulse pounded as I checked the shadows for the umpteenth time, wondering if the promised backup would make itself known before or after I murdered every one of these sadistic assholes.
Jette returned with a knife from God knew where—a machete with a chunk missing from its blade. She brandished the rusty thing as though expecting us to be impressed. Sure, it was big, but size was secondary to technique.
Jax waved her forward, clearly reveling in being the center of attention as he divided his focus between Ripley’s crumpled form, Donovan, and me. “All right, Fitch Farrow,” he said. “We’ll do it your way. And, since it was your idea, you won’t mind going first?”
I cast a narrow look at the footlong knife in Jette’s eager clutches. She was as likely to gut me with the damn thing and say her hand slipped.
Donovan had a firm hold of his left wrist as though willing his body parts to stay attached. “Fitch, we’re not really going through with this, are we?” he whispered.
“Hold your positions,” Felix said through my earpiece.
I was ready to tell him off or pluck the headset out and crush it underfoot when Holland’s form flashed up from a dark spot on the ground. She held her badge in one hand and her pistol in the other.
“You’re under arrest by order of the Capitol,” she announced as Tobin and Vesper emerged from a line of shadow at the base of the back wall. “Surrender now, or we will use force.”
Vesper had her gun drawn, as well, and Tobin’s hands were open, his fingers splayed with what I imagined was a time-stop spell ready to be deployed. Meanwhile, Donovan bounced on the balls of his feet, visibly giddy.
“Well, ain’t this some shit,” Jax growled.
He didn’t budge, and neither did Jette and York. It made me wonder if they would play along—outnumbered as they were. But that would be too easy.
Air whooshed through the building as an arid breeze that reminded me of flyboy Ezrah Everett. Did Jax have more backup? I searched the overhead catwalk and the ceiling beyond it but found nothing as the howl of wind shifted to something with slightly more bass. Rushing, instead. Water.
York hadn’t moved the air, just robbed the moisture from it, leaving the inside of the warehouse as dry as a desert as a pool of water began to swell between his feet and lap against Ripley’s collapsed body.
The puddle spread, and I threw out a mental hook to grab Ripley’s arm and drag him away from the rising tide. Then, it stopped. York stood flanked by a white-crested wave like Aquaman himself, completely still. A few feet away from him, Jette held the machete poised for attack.
Vesper rushed toward them. Anti-magic collars swung like bangle bracelets from her wrist.
Jax’s snarl called my attention. No sooner had I removed Ripley from York’s range than did the shapeshifter sink into panther form. I grabbed the shoulder of Donovan’s shirt and hauled him back, then turned my other hand toward the big cat as he whirled away from me.
Holland’s gun rattled off a shot. It missed Jax’s long, low body as he bounded ahead, angling for Tobin. Time manipulation seemed to be a concentration game and seeing the hairy, black beast barreling toward him must have shattered Tobin’s focused thoughts. Holland tracked the shapeshifter’s approach with her pistol but didn’t shoot again. Good thing because the angle of her gun would have sent a stray bullet straight toward Donovan and me.
In the pause, Vesper had managed to get collars on York and Jette, rendering York’s indoor maelstrom a rapidly dispersing puddle. The two were free to move before Jax tackled Tobin to the ground .
Holland rounded on the panther taking furious swipes at the fallen investigator. Shrieks of pain cut through the air. A wave of Holland’s hand brought vines of shadow up from the floor. They latched onto Jax’s animal form, melding with his thick, black fur. He rose into the air, lifted then flung by the misty streams of darkness. He hit the ground and skidded several feet from Tobin, who was leaking blood between agonized cries.
I spun around to where Donovan stood as frozen as if Tobin had time-locked him, too.
“Get out of here!” I shouted at him. “Take Rip and go!”
His wide eyes met mine, and he nodded. He broke into a sprint, splashing through the water covered floor as he raced toward Ripley.
On the other side of the room, Holland knelt over Tobin. Her face was as white as her hair as she tugged off her sweater and pressed the balled fabric against the other investigator’s shredded chest.
Donovan reached Ripley and crouched beside him as though afraid touching him would make a dire situation worse. My brother’s hands shook as he reached for the collar buckled around Ripley’s throat, trying to free him from the crude torture device.
“No time for that!” I barked at him, then glanced back to ensure Jax was still sprawled and motionless on the ground behind me.
Grimacing, Donovan adjusted to hook his arms under Ripley’s. He hauled the scrawny teen up and began an awkward scuttle toward the door we’d entered through.
With them on their way to safety, I focused on the other side of the room where York and Jette had turned on Vesper. The investigator backed rapidly, cocking the gun she’d retrieved from its holster and firing a round into York that hit center mass. The tall man doubled over, then hit his knees, groaning.
Jette hadn’t stopped, crowding into Vesper and throwing punches that sent the investigator’s gun skittering across the ground. I extended my fingers toward the firearm and called it through the air to my waiting hand.
It was too risky to shoot while the women were entangled, so I set the safety then tucked the pistol in the waistband of my jeans. Jette and Vesper went down and rolled across the wet ground, trading blows. Jette’s superhuman punches were thankfully nerfed by the antimagic collar or she would have caved in Vesper’s face by now.
I watched them tousle, waiting for a moment I was certain they weren’t hanging onto each other before I wrapped telekinetic tethers around Jette’s arms and legs. A swinging punch upward threw her into the air. She struck the corrugated metal ceiling with an echoing clang.
From there, all that was left to do was let her fall, flailing, screaming. I gave her an extra push through the last few feet, ensuring the three-story drop would finish her off. She landed facedown next to Vesper, whose battered features managed to show shock as she scrambled aside.
York, meanwhile, sat hunched, clutching his bullet wound. I remembered the cruel device strapped to Ripley’s throat and thought it poetic justice as I cast a mental thread toward York’s jaw. It caught his chin, and I reveled in the feeling of a stretch-then-snap as I yanked up and back. His head lolled loose, testing the elasticity of his skin as his skull tipped onto his shoulder.
Quiet fell along with an eerie calm as I surveyed the scene. Holland was working on Tobin, and Vesper had scuttled that way, leaving me standing a few yards away with my fingers tingling and chest heaving.
“Somebody talk to me!” Felix’s frantic voice crackled through my earpiece. “What’s going on?”
“No arrests today,” I muttered to him. “Ended up doing things my way.”
“Is everyone okay?” he asked.
“Everyone that matters,” I replied.
Relief brought a ghost of a smile as I thought of Donovan and Ripley far removed from the chaos. Waiting in the car, hopefully, and I was ready to join them.
A niggling thought struck me, and I scanned the room again. York, half-beheaded, Jette, squashed flat, Holland and Vesper crowded around maimed Tobin… Where was Jax?
The dinged metal door stood open from Donovan and Ripley’s hasty exit. Had the shapeshifter followed them out?
“I hear something,” Felix said. “Is someone outside?”
“Fuck!” I bolted toward the doorway and into the dark night outside .
“Fitch?” Felix cut in again. “What’s happening?”
I dug the earbud out and threw it down as I dashed through the parking lot. It was as empty as it had been when we arrived, but now hauntingly so. I spotted the Porsche a short distance away, but it was uninhabited. Pressure built in my chest while I moved forward in short bursts, my head swiveling to take in everything.
Lot lights hummed, distant traffic rumbled, and my boots crunched across the pavement.
“Donnie!” I called out. If Jax was lurking, the shout would alert him to my location, and I’d rather draw him to me than risk him hunting my brother.
Seconds passed with no response, and I felt pervasively cold. There weren’t many places to hide out here. The area was barren except for dumpsters, stacked shipping crates, and neighboring ramshackle buildings. Maybe Donovan had taken Ripley into one of those to hide.
My fingers trembled as I pulled my phone from my pocket and scrolled the call log for my brother’s number.
I stopped in place, looking down at my silhouette stretching across a swath of moonlight. The cell trilled through three, four rings, then rolled to voicemail. I swore again and moved forward at a faster pace, angling toward the Porsche.
I had nearly reached it when I noticed something out of place. A pair of legs extended past the rear bumper, wearing shoes I didn’t recognize. Breaking into a trot, I moved alongside the car and then around the back end, hoping to find the mystery legs attached to Jax’s corpse.
As luck would have it, I found exactly that. But the dead shapeshifter wasn’t alone.
Three bodies sprawled across the gritty cement. Jax lay flat on his back with his long hair fanned around his head and his sole eye staring sightlessly at the sky. Blood ran from under his eyepatch and streamed from both nostrils. The dark fluid looked nearly black, clogging his ears as the easily identified cause of death. Someone had used the Hex mark on him, killing him with the very object of his desire. But I couldn’t appreciate the karmic justice of it because I’d moved on to the other two people.
Beside Jax, Ripley, sans collar wheezed while bracing himself on his elbow. At my arrival, he glanced back, his face full of alarm and pervasive remorse. His lips fell apart as though ready to speak, but no sound came out.
Beneath him, Donovan lay prostrate. His chest heaved, and he cupped both hands to his throat… or what remained of it.
Blood, so much blood, bubbled up, making every breath a gurgling gasp. It was such a mess of split skin and burgundy spilling everywhere that I struggled to make sense of it. But then I knew. A swipe from a big cat’s claws had severed the jugular vein and reduced my brother’s life to a liquid rapidly leaking out.
I dropped to my knees and crawled to Donovan, wanting to reach for him but stopping with my hands quaking in midair.
Ripley collapsed with a whimper.
Donovan looked at me. Even in the scarce light, I could tell his color was wrong. His brown eyes were impossibly round in a look of terror I almost couldn’t face.
“No, no, no…” Words dribbled past my lips. Some coherent, most not.
Donovan took hold of one of my hesitant hands and squeezed it as hard as he could. Then began the collapse. I bent low, nearly laying down in my need to get an arm around him, to hold him.
He couldn’t speak, and neither could I, choked by tears and breaths coming too fast or not at all. I pulled him to my chest, then dragged him onto my bent knees as I rocked back, cradling his body against mine as he strained and struggled. His blood seeped through my shirt, warm and wet as it coated my chest.
“Don’t leave me,” I managed to say. “Don’t do this, please. Please, shit…”
Our hands stayed clasped as his grip began to weaken.
“Donnie?” I leaned him back enough to see his face. He wasn’t fearful now, rather stricken with an unnatural peace, and I couldn’t decide which look was worse.
“Stay with me, okay? There’s healers…” Miles away. More than that, minutes away. Minutes my brother didn’t have. “They’ll help you.” I whispered the promise I knew couldn’t be kept, futile words.
Donovan’s breaths became increasingly damp and labored, and I drew him in again, tucking my chin over his head.
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “So fucking sorry. I… I did everything wrong. It’s my fault. All of it. I… I…”
Donovan’s fingers were limp. His body was terribly still. I knew he was gone before I stopped talking. My apologies were wasted on the night air that whisked them away.
Fifteen years earlier...
“Fitch?” My father’s voice accompanied a knock as he pushed my bedroom door open. “You awake?”
I flipped off the power on my Gameboy and stuffed it hastily under my pillow. “Yeah,” I replied, struggling with a tangle of sheets and blankets as I shifted to sitting.
“Got a minute to talk to your old man?”
I checked once more to be sure the handheld console was tucked safely out of sight, then nodded.
The light from the hallway silhouetted Dad’s form as he stepped into my room. He padded across the floor, leaving the door to click closed behind him.
The lamp on my bedside table flipped on, and I squinted at the sudden brightness. When I saw my father’s face, he had no frown or furrowed brow, so I wasn’t in trouble. Mostly, he looked tired. He was wearing his work suit at bedtime, either just getting home or leaving again—it was hard to keep track lately.
He sat on the edge of my mattress, clasping his hands in his lap and staring down at them for a long moment.
Maybe I was in trouble, after all.
He glanced over at me, and a smile cracked his stony expression. “You’re old enough to know… Well, actually your brother is old enough that we can be sure…” He scru nched up his face, then chuckled. “I practiced explaining this all day, and now I can’t remember where to start.”
My projector nightlight cast dim stars on the ceiling, slowly spinning. They held my attention for a moment before my father sucked a deep breath.
He turned to fully face me. “You’ve probably noticed Donnie isn’t like you and me.”
I stared back at him, unsure if I was missing his point or if this was all for the sake of telling me something I’d realized years ago.
“Your mother?” he began again. “She’s human, and I love her very much. I know you do, too.” He tugged on the knot of his tie. “What I’m trying to say is there’s nothing wrong with being human—”
“I know Donnie’s not a witch, Dad,” I said.
My little brother denied the fact. His favorite game was telling me to move things with my telekinesis while insisting he was doing it himself. I used to argue with him about it, but that made him cry, so now I played along.
Relief washed the tension from my father’s face. “Of course, you do. Smart boy.” He reached over and ruffled my hair. “And you’re a great big brother,” he continued, “so you probably know this, too, but it isn’t always easy for humans in our city. Sometimes they need our help.”
Responsibility was my father’s favorite topic of discussion. It was the reason he worked for the Capitol, and why I would, too, one day. We had a responsibility to use our powers for good, to better the world. Since most of the world was made up of humans, we were responsible for them, too .
“Am I making sense to you, son?” Dad asked.
I shrugged. “Yeah.”
His smile spread, and his hazel eyes sparkled. “Listen,” he said, “I need you to make me a promise, okay?”
“Okay,” I replied, feeling uncertain about what came next.
“Take care of Donnie whenever you can. Look out for him. Keep him safe.”
My mouth dipped in a frown. “Safe from what?”
“Life.” He huffed a laugh I didn’t understand, then quickly sobered. “He won’t always have me, but he’ll have you. Better than that, you’ll have each other, and I think that makes you a couple of pretty lucky kids.”
I searched his face, struggling with the expression I couldn’t identify. Was he worried? Mom looked that way often, but I rarely saw it on him.
He met my gaze and held it, steady and warm. “You know I’m always proud of you.”
“I know, Dad.”
“You’re gonna do great things,” he said.
I bobbed my head as he leaned in and wrapped me in a bear hug.
“I love you.” He gave me a squeeze. “Very much.”
My response of “Love you, too,” was muffled into the shoulder of his suit coat.
He pulled back, then stood and smoothed out his slacks. “Get some rest, all right? No more video games.” His knowing look and wink warmed my cheeks.
Pulling my Gameboy from under the pillow, I set it on the bedside table. The lamp switched off, and Dad walked quietly to the door and pulled it open inward.
“Night, Fitch.” He stood, silhouetted in the light from the hall. “Sweet dreams.”
Shimmying under the sheets, I yawned through a reply. “Goodnight, Dad.”