Chapter 30 #2
“He generates another spawn. Fine.” Nova throws her hands up, and I work not to flinch.
“He’s bored easily, I suppose. But to choose you as his successor?
I thought maybe you had some hidden aptitude.
But you’re not more powerful than I am.” She scoffs at the idea.
“That was proof enough.” She waves her hand in the general direction of campus, indicating the graveyard and our altercation, presumably.
“Is it because you secured alliances with spawn from his enemies? I could have done that.” Nova gives me a sneering up-and-down look, clearly suggesting the kind of tactics I used to secure said alliances.
Now that pisses me off. “Maybe Death just likes me better.”
“Likes to control you, perhaps,” she says with a dismissive wave. “But what kind of legacy is that for him? When I’ve been here the whole time. Waiting. He promised he would come back for me.”
Her consternation seems genuine, as does her giant blind spot to her own behavior.
Why would Death choose someone who is clearly gunning for his role?
She seems to think her ambition is a qualification rather than a disincentive.
As if defeating him is the only way to get him to admit that he’s proud of her, or something.
Oof. I am so not the only fucked up daughter of Death.
“I have no idea why Death does anything,” I say. “He’s kind of an asshole. Dropping in and out of my life at random points.”
“He didn’t raise you?” she asks, brow furrowed.
I shake my head.
“So you don’t even know him? You don’t know what happened to—” She clamps her mouth shut abruptly, cutting herself off.
I lean against the nurses’ station, hoping it looks casual.
I have an idea, a really stupid horrible idea.
I’ve only got one shot at this. I need to keep her engaged as long as possible, but still strike first. “We should talk about it, all of it,” I say.
“Let’s just step outside. Get away from all these distractions. ”
For a moment, she seems startled, as if she’s forgotten what we’re in the middle of and where we are. But then she looks genuinely amused. “Really? You think I’m going to fall for that?”
Impatience bites at me, taking chunks of my forced calm with every gulp. “You’re strong. But even you can’t survive a bullet to the head.” At least, I’m pretty sure. “The humans are going to send everything they’ve got to stop you, even if they don’t understand what they’re up against.”
“Better, then, to stay where I have so many hostages.” She flicks her fingers toward the patient rooms before turning her attention back to me.
“It doesn’t have to be complicated. No one else has to die here.
You’re going to surrender. Let me take what I need from you.
If you give willingly, it’ll be enough to take down—” She stops, her gaze jerking to something behind me. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Chessa. Shit.
Nova starts to lift her hand.
Now.
Our Beecher freshman self-defense training included a mini-session on active shooters. What to do if you’re in a situation where you’re in close proximity to a shooter and you can’t run or lock down.
I had similar training in high school, which, in general, sucks as a statement on the human world. In this case, though, it might be useful. Nova might not be wielding an automatic rifle, but the idea is the same—disrupt her concentration, make it harder for her to attack.
I chuck the visitor sign-in plexi at Nova’s head, followed immediately by the clipboard.
Automatically, Nova backs away, throwing her hands up to protect her face. It’s an instinctive override, hardwired into the human brain. And we are still partly human at least.
I can’t tell what Chessa’s doing, nor can I look back. I’m hoping she’s taking the opportunity to run. I continue with the barrage of everything I can reach—an overstuffed pen cup, a giant mug, a metal tray of some sort—and close in on Nova.
Then with the last item, a paper cup full of coffee, I’m close enough to take the next step. In a shooting situation, you’re supposed to swarm the attacker.
In this situation, I just punch her. Thumb on the outside, leading with the knuckles.
It doesn’t have to be hard. It’s enough to stun them and show them you’re going to fight back. That’s usually enough. That’s what Officer Schute said.
Still, when blood spurts from Nova’s nose and she claps a hand over it, I’m filled with a gritty satisfaction.
While she’s reeling, I reach out and pull. The glow of her life is warm and bright, thick and rich. The sensation is like a square of dark chocolate melting on my tongue, but throughout my whole body. I’ve never felt anything like it.
Her bright blue eyes go wide with shock, and she staggers back, stumbling to one knee.
I keep pulling, as fast and hard as I can, with no effort to control or tamp down the effects on her. Like hauling in a catch.
Her shoulders hunch, curving protectively toward her chest, but she’s frozen, caught in the tide of my power.
For a moment, just a moment, I feel a spark of hope. That I’ve got this. I won’t need any help. I can take Nova down without help from—or commitment to—Devon and Carter. I can stop Nova and still keep my distance from the Old Ones. I won’t have to be the new Death.
But then, with a wrenching sensation that ripples back toward me, up my arm and in my body, Nova jerks her head up. Instantly the warm and rich feel of her stolen life waters down to something more akin to a Swiss Miss packet in a bucket of lukewarm water.
She’s fighting back.
I grasp for my hold on her essence, but it slips away, and then it’s gone completely.
Nova pushes to her feet smoothly, as if she was never down in the first place.
She shakes her head at me with a gentle smile. Except for the mocking tinge.
“I told you. Weak and stupid,” she says, lifting her hand toward me.
In the next moment, everything reverses itself. I can no longer sense the life within her, and darkness creeps in from the edges of my vision.
The suffocating pressure against my chest holds me in place, and I can’t move. Can’t do anything to stop her.
“Leave her alone!” The words sound like they’re coming from far away. But I still recognize the voice.
No, Chessa. “Go!” I try to say, but the noise that emerges is a faint gurgle. I don’t feel my legs giving out so much as the reverberation through my body when my knees make contact with the ground.
Nova’s gaze flicks to a point behind me, and she starts to raise her other hand. I have nothing more to give, no way to stop her. Tears flood my eyes, despair clawing at me.
But then, Nova hesitates, her attention split between me and the corridor at my back.
Instinctively, I twist my head just enough to see behind me, blinking to try to clear my blurry vision.
It’s not Chessa who’s captured Nova’s attention. She’s vanished. I hope out the double doors and running for her life.
No, this is someone tall with a distinct shock of blond hair—Carter.
Oh my God, he came. Relief washes over me in tidal wave proportions, temporarily sweeping away my other concerns about him.
And right next to him? Devon sauntering down the hallway as if he’s not in a rush, as if he’s never been in a rush. A choked sob escapes me.
But they’re not alone. Behind Devon, I catch a glimpse of a sleek and fashionable trench-coat-wrapped figure—Maggie—and then a pair of legs in baggy jeans with those filthy Vans. Shane.
Devon must have reached out to all of them, not just Carter. And they came. They’re here … for me.
More tears cloud my vision. I would sag down to the floor in overwhelming gratitude, but my body is caught in Nova’s power.
I scrabble for an escape, a tiny gap in the onslaught of Nova’s attack. But there’s nothing. It’s like falling down a steep incline and trying to stop myself. There’s nothing to hold onto.
“I’ll be with you momentarily,” Nova says to them, but her teeth are clenched. It’s taking more of her concentration to hold me than she expected. Or she’s weaker because of my efforts.
Her gaze softens, then, pupils widening as she stares at someone behind me. Not a lot and not for long, but enough for me to gather that Devon has added his efforts to the mix.
A moment later, blood begins to seep through her shirt again, red and fresh against the darker dried stuff. Carter and possibly Maggie working together.
Nova groans as organs and skin shift and tear beneath the fabric of her clothing. Fuck. That’s definitely Carter.
Nova’s grip on me slips slightly, and I can breathe again. Barely.
Red droplets spatter on the floor, but only one or two at a time. Most of it vanishes in the pull from Maggie, which tugs at my own flesh like a dry wind.
The lights flicker, generators stuttering loudly to life, and my heart vibrates in my chest, like I’ve licked a battery.
I would assume it’s simply a side effect from dying, but then electricity crackles in a blue-white arc from behind me, slamming into Nova.
She throws her head back in a silent scream.
Holy shit. Shane? No wonder his mother is worried about him being recruited.
It doesn’t last long. The arc sputters out, and Nova straightens up, squaring her shoulders. But she’s moving more slowly now, her gaze focused on the four of them behind me. If she attacks them directly, she’ll kill them. She’s so strong.
But to attack them, she’ll have to let go of me. And that is an opportunity.
I picture the four of them behind me. The distinct swirls in each of them, the power held in each of their lives.
The moment I feel Nova’s grasp on me lighten just enough, I mentally reach back and grab for that essence at the core of Carter, Devon, Maggie, and Shane.