Chapter 27 #2
That’s what happened to the ripped-up road, to the Foreign Language House, to Izzy. Nova sent those tentacles of power out underneath the barrier, to anyone close enough to feed on.
“Of course, I nearly starved first. And then I barely had enough sustenance to keep myself alive.”
This is nothing like the rippling, tickling sensation of Devon’s magic against my skin. This is the marrow of my bones being sucked dry while they’re still in my body. A scream presses itself up into my throat, but there’s no air to let it out.
“But you?” She makes an obscene smacking noise with her mouth. “You are just delicious, all ripe and full of other people’s life. You are exactly what I need.”
I gasp, forcing oxygen into my resistant lungs, and try to lift my hand. I can push back against her power, follow it back under the barrier to reach her.
Except anything I manage to push in her direction just gets absorbed into the flow she’s already pulling from me.
“I really would have helped you,” she says, almost sounding sorrowful.
My knees wobble and then give out, the tentacles of power wrapping tighter around my legs and crawling up my body.
They squeeze tight, a burning sensation, leaving a tingling numbness in its wake, as though all my blood is being drained.
Which is not far from accurate. She’s pulling the life from me, in a rising tide.
I just need to find a way to break free of her long enough to get my head above the water.
The back of Devon’s hand brushes against mine, and out of desperation, I grab at his power, his life, the lone branch hanging over the Nova rapids.
For a second, it feels like we reach some kind of equilibrium, a perfect balance with the two of us on one side and Nova weighing down the other.
But then, then, she stands, without breaking her hold, and I watch, in horror, as those stacked clogs slip right past the edge of the barrier.
“No.” It’s more of a gurgling sound from my throat than an actual word.
Nova steps out, free of her prison. “Hush,” she scolds, twisting her hand in a familiar gesture, like she’s scooping dice up from a table or wrapping fabric around her closed fist. Of course. Because we had the same teacher.
Devon’s life and mine flow past, an invisible warmth, a jet stream of existence, and I can’t stop it. I can’t even move to grab her and hold her back physically.
The pull of her power digs in deeper, like her teeth are scraping against the inside of me. Devon drops to the ground next to me, his face pale.
She hums in satisfaction. “There, that’s the good stuff.”
Tears leave hot streaks down my face. This is how it’s going to end, how it was always going to end.
Her head jerks up, just a second before I hear the sound of someone approaching through the roaring in my ears.
I catch a flash of movement and dark fabric from the corner of my eye, before Carter appears at my side. He’s empty-handed, without the shovel or even the stupid keychain of pepper spray, not that either of those would do any good now.
“No, please,” I croak. I don’t know who I’m begging—Carter to leave or Nova to leave him alone.
Carter’s gaze flicks to me for a moment, sadness and resignation carved in his expression, as if he knew this end was inevitable.
“No, no,” I plead in my cracked and broken voice.
I expect him to grab for me, to attempt to pull me free. But instead, he raises his hand toward Nova.
Her confused expression matches my own.
I don’t understand what’s happening until she stiffens. Then blood spurts out of her throat and soaks her clothing in a jagged seam down her body. Horrible wet squelching sounds follow, as if she’s being torn apart …
Oh. Oh Jesus.
How is Carter doing—oh. Blood. So much blood.
War spawn. Carter. War spawn.
Rage contorts his face, that rare glimpse of emotion on full display. “Don’t touch her,” he snarls at Nova.
Carter is a War spawn. How? I can’t even process that revelation right now. Nova screams, staggering to one side, and her hold on me breaks. Pain and sensation return abruptly, tearing through me messily. I crash to the floor, gasping, legs as fragile as carved chalk.
Then, with as much effort as I have left, I drag myself out of the way to Devon’s inert form.
Nova reaches out, twisting her hand in that oh-so-familiar move in an attempt to stop Carter, to steal his life force before he can finish taking hers.
His eyes narrow, pale spots appearing on his cheeks, the only sign of his distress. But Nova’s spurting blood slows, and she slowly starts to straighten up.
Shit. She’s going to break him, and then walk right out the door.
I start to crawl over Devon to reach Carter, to help, if I can.
But my whole body is leaden, as if my muscles have turned to stone. It takes everything I have to move.
Nova staggers forward past me, toward Carter.
I’m not going to make it in time. She’s going to kill him, all of us, and shut the door on us. No longer an empty memorial, the cenotaph, but an honest-to-God crypt going forward.
“Hey, bitch.” Chessa jumps inside the vestibule of the mausoleum, like she was just waiting for this moment. She holds something up and a long steady stream emerges from her hand.
It’s the pepper spray. A wave of relief washes over me, only to be crushed almost immediately by the realization that she just fired pepper spray into a tiny enclosed space.
Within seconds, I can’t breathe, my lungs are on fire. My vision blurs with tears, and I can’t see anything.
There’s a loud thud and then coughing, choking, and swearing fills the mausoleum as everyone struggles for fresh air. I yank my sweatshirt up over my nose and mouth and swipe at my streaming eyes. It doesn’t help much.
But it’s enough for me to see a blood trail on the white floor, leading toward the door, and Chessa picking herself up at the entrance, holding her arm tightly across her chest.
Nova is gone. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I get to my feet, legs still wobbly and weak, and grab at Devon’s coat to drag him out with me. Carter comes over, his eyes red and swollen and streaming tears.
“No,” I whisper. “Don’t hurt him.”
But Carter ignores me, lifting Devon off the floor, wrapping Devon’s arm around his shoulders, and then pulling him toward the entrance. I follow, on my hands and knees, after them.
Carter has dropped onto the ice-encrusted grass, letting Devon collapse next to him. Chessa is bending over next to him. “Is he okay?” she asks.
I collapse onto the grass nearby, panting. Milk. We need milk. I think that’s what’s supposed to help.
But before I can fully formulate the thought or start to speak, a shadow emerges from behind a nearby tree and then a bright light shines on us, eliciting cries of pain from Carter and me.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Detective Morales demands, striding over to us.