Chapter 32
Chapter
Thirty-Two
The pain was obscene, almost baffling in its intensity.
Kate couldn’t think, couldn’t move, could barely breathe as her body shrieked at her, overwhelming her with the painful reports that things were bleeding, broken…failing.
She was dying. And the deceptively strong old man was grinning at her like a ghoul, eyes gleaming with a perverse lust as he struck her, over and over, with what had to be superhuman strength.
If I were Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I would totally be kicking your ass right now, the small part of her brain, the one that made inappropriate quips during times of high stress, yelled at Victor.
But then, she wasn’t Buffy.
That said, her protective inner stand-up comedian might not be able to fight—but she sure could talk smack.
“Bet…bet you can’t even get it up, Matlock,” she slurred, intent on hurting the bastard in any way possible before he punched her ticket. “Bet you’re hung like a Tic Tac.”
She got the satisfaction of seeing his face transform into a snarl—right before he brought his fists down hard on her ribs.
Okay. Maybe the smack talking isn’t helping. Her inner smart-ass, which usually never shut up, was finally subdued.
I think we’re really dying this time, kiddo.
There was a loud sound. She thought it was something in her body, some large bone, until she realized it wasn’t her at all.
It was the sound of the old man yelling in surprise—just before there was a loud thud.
Through her distorted vision, she could barely make out two figures.
Two men, she thought. The old man, fighting. Running?
And…was that Thomas?
Of course. He was here to kill the old man, after all.
“Go fuck him up,” she said with approval, although through the blood in her lungs, it came out more like “Guh fohp.”
She thought she heard yelling, scuffling. Maybe running. Then, she barely registered the smooth, sexy scent of Thomas’s cologne.
“Oh, honey,” Thomas breathed next to her. “Oh, sweet crispy Jesus. This is bad.”
She opened her eyes. Pain flashed through her like a lightning bolt. She gasped, or tried to. Breathing was becoming problematic.
“Kate.” Low voice, slightly accented. The Asian guy, the cool bodyguard with the shades. Yagi. “Don’t move.”
“Wasn’t…planning…on it,” she managed to say, even though each word cut her. She thought she saw Thomas grin before her eyes shut.
She didn’t know how many jokes she had left. Or how much time.
I’m dying. It seemed obvious, but the fear dwarfed the unbearable pain for just one second.
If she died, at least this screaming, relentless pain would stop. There was a seductive temptation to that. But as even the hint of vision she had closed off, and her pain drifted a little, she started to subconsciously wonder…
Wasn’t there a light she was supposed to head for?
Because right now, everything just seemed dark.
She heard the hollow sounds of a scuffle, as if from a far distance. Footsteps…running. Cursing. She struggled to hang on.
There’s no light. No fucking light.
They never tell you what to head for if you’re going to Hell, she realized. She doubted there was a light over that entrance.
She whimpered. The vision of Hell had her clinging to the pain, like hanging from a sharpened sword over a chasm.
“Damn it.” She recognized Thomas’s deep, silky drawl. The undertone of fury. “He was ready for this. Ready for us. Probably just a lure.”
“That would make sense,” Yagi’s voice said. “He’s bait. That’d be why he’s in the city. Why else would Cyril have one of his signatories so close to you?”
“You get a tracker spell on him?”
“Yes,” Yagi said, with some small satisfaction. “He won’t go far.”
“Kate.” Thomas’s voice was low, with that tin-echo effect, but Kate could still hear him, like a faint but perfectly clear radio station. “Is she…?”
“She’s not going to make it, Thomas.”
A pause. A long silence. Hearing the confirmation made her weep…at least, she thought she might be weeping. Her body felt a long, long way away.
And it was getting colder.
“Kate…Katie, hon.”
She felt attuned to his voice.
“You’re dying, sweetie.”
She whimpered, couldn’t help it.
I don’t want to die.
She remembered Slim’s face. His worry, his absolute conviction that it was going to be agony and unthinkable pain. She’d fucked up so many times in her life, made so many mistakes.
Then she thought back to the third grade. To Sister Mary Grace’s prune-like face, after her second expulsion from Catholic school. “You keep this up,” the woman had quavered, pointing her wrinkled finger, “and you’re going straight to Hell!”
At the time, Kate thought that the nun had just been speaking metaphorically—and, admittedly, that the cleric was just super pissed. But maybe she’d actually been prescient.
It’s bad enough I’m dying, and probably going to Hell. Irony is just adding insult to injury at this point.
“There is a way I can help you,” Thomas’s voice said, quickly, almost desperately, bringing her back for a moment. “But I’m going to need you to agree to it, okay? I’m going to need you to show me you’re doing this of your own free will.”
“Thomas!” Yagi warned. “Don’t we have enough problems? Just let her die already. You don’t need the complications.”
“You said this could help. Besides, she was only trying to do the right thing,” Thomas said. “I’m not having her die for something she was trying to fix.”
Going to hell, she thought. Dying, and going to…
“Katie, if you want to live,” Thomas continued, “I need you to lift your hand, sweetie. Okay? Just lift your hand.”
She thought about it. The pain. She couldn’t live with this pain. Didn’t know how she’d live, period.
I don’t want to go to Hell.
Her body screamed as she tried to force it to move. It ignored her.
“Thomas, her skull is partially crushed,” Yagi snapped.
“She’s bled too much. You’re going to need to shift some of your soul energy to heal her, which you haven’t practiced and haven’t tried before.
It’s going to knock you out for an hour.
And frankly, every minute we spend with her is a minute he’ll slip away. ”
“Kate,” Thomas said, his voice pleading. “I’m not going to make your decision for you. But I will help you, if I can. Please. Let me save you.”
Despite the maelstrom of pain, her mind went quiet. She thought of everything she’d ever wanted. Everything she had done wrong. Everything she’d swore she’d do.
No, damn it. No way I’m going out like this.
The pain was a wave. She dove into it.
Then, through a brutal force of will she didn’t even know she possessed…she lifted her hand.
Something pressed against her thumb.
“Signed with blood,” Thomas said. “It’s done.”
Wait, whoa, she thought, as her hand fell away. I signed what, now?
Then she felt something indescribable. A burning flash, all the darkness turned instead to blinding, equally painful light.
She shrieked, then fell into numbness. As she heard Thomas yell, like a wounded wolf, she dropped into the void, and went gratefully unconscious.