Kismet appeared by my side. She was bleeding from a deep gash in her left leg. The rest of the blood on her clothes was fuchsia. She gave me a once-over and quirked an eyebrow at my impressive array of wounds.
“I’ve had worse,” I said.
Tybalt jogged over. “The rear teams report killing half a dozen goblins that tried to run,” he said, “but no other activity on that side of the building.”
“We’re picking them off as best we can, too,” Kismet said. “With their leader dead, they don’t know what to do. Goblin males don’t traditionally do much thinking for themselves.”
“And Tovin’s still got himself locked inside,” I said. “I don’t know if he’s just biding his time until my clock runs out, or if he’s daring us to come in. What time is it?”
“Quarter till three.”
An hour left. I looked around for Wyatt, keen on getting his advice. He wasn’t mingling among the battle- worn. My heart skipped a beat. Kismet was speaking, but I walked away. Pushed past people, worry planting its icy seed in the pit of my stomach.
I found him on the other side of the Jeeps, standing amid a grisly scene of dead bodies and noxious blood fumes. Back to me, I saw weariness in the slump of his shoulders and bend of his knees. He trembled—barely noticeable if I wasn’t looking for it. Above the hiss of his ragged breathing, a steady plopping sound stood out. I followed it to the red-stained tips of his fingers. Blood dripped in a steady stream from his wounded arm.
Fear and bald understanding almost knocked me to my knees. The bullet may have gone right through like a normal round, but it hadn’t been normal. Not even close. Triad teams heading into an unknown situation involving Halfies or Bloods always entered with anticoag bullets chambered and ready.
Wyatt had been bleeding to death for the last half hour.
Chapter 28
00:58
As though my sudden understanding had robbed him of the last of his strength, Wyatt fell. He was too far away for me to catch him before he hit his knees. I caught him around the waist and eased him down onto his back. He looked like a ghost, pale skin stretched taut over his face. His lips were dry and colorless. Glassy eyes blinked up at me. Hard, shallow breaths dragged in and hissed back out.
My stomach twisted, tightened, and my heart nearly hammered right out of my chest. Fear blasted through me like a winter wind. I knelt beside him and cupped his cold cheeks in my trembling hands.
“Wyatt, look at me. Wyatt!”
He blinked twice, hard, and saw me. “Sorry.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“It’s better this way.”
I wanted to slap him, punch him hard until he took it back. Force him to stand up and dress me down for hitting a superior. Instead, I reached down and clasped his good hand. He squeezed back, so weak. Something thick clogged my throat. I swallowed hard, unable to dislodge it.
“Better for you, maybe, but I can’t do this alone.” My voice sounded strange—high-pitched and desperate. The din of the fight faded away until nothing existed but us.
His pale lips stretched into a tired smile. “You can, Evy. You have to.”
“This is my death, goddamnit, mine. Not yours.”
“You’ll be whole. Force his hand. You can win.”
I leaned over and pressed my forehead to his, as though I could keep him there by touch alone. His cool breath puffed against my lips, each exhale a struggle. I didn’t understand. Didn’t want to understand. I only wanted him to stay. Stay by my side and help me fight.
“Stay with me,” I whispered.
“I can’t. Evy, promise me.”
“Anything.”
The hand holding mine squeezed harder. “Live.”
My insides quaked. Everything in me screamed to get help, to fight and save him—even though I knew I couldn’t.
“Evy?”
“I promise.” I brushed my lips across his. When I pulled back, a single tear had marked a slick track down his cheek. My chest ached. Scorching tears pooled in my own eyes, stung my nose.
I held on until his hand loosened around mine. His eyelids drooped, forever hiding his glimmering black eyes. His chest rose once more and stopped. He lay so still I thought the world had frozen in place. Then an anguished scream broke the spell, and I realized it was me.
Until that moment, I’d never known the word “heartbroken” as anything other than a metaphor. Yet as I gathered Wyatt in my trembling arms and held him to my chest, I felt it happen. Something inside me shattered, releasing rage and anguish unlike anything I’d ever felt—whole and feral and never-ending. I pitched headlong into the despair of loss, with the last person I cared for in the world dead in my arms.
My descent into grief, however, was cut short rather rudely by a blinding gray light. Even with my eyes closed, it was all I could see. It blasted through me like a lightning bolt, electrifying every nerve ending. I was falling into consuming fire that did not burn. It invigorated me and, within the chaos of pain and ecstasy, a life played out in my mind’s eye.
A little girl so lonely she prefers playing with stuffed animals to other children, misunderstood by unknowing parents, misguided by well-meaning counselors. A misfit in high school who acts out and makes bad choices and ends up in trouble more times than her beleaguered parents can bail her out. Coping with the loss of everyone important to her and the desperate need for a fresh start.
They could have been my own memories, save the faces of the players and the point at which they diverged. For while my story ended in a fulfilling job with the Triads, this girl’s story ended in a tub of hot, bloody water. It was Chalice’s life that I experienced, all of her memories coming to the surface as the pact made between Wyatt and Tovin shattered.
Wyatt was dead. I got to live. Forever trapped in someone else’s body, with her life tucked into the back of my mind. Alive. Whole. And furious.
I see her walking across a college campus, balancing too many books and a coffee cup. A clumsy, harried young man knocks the books to the ground, getting coffee on his khakis. Alex. He gathers her books, smiling his sunny smile at her. I felt her love for him—genuine affection for a gentle soul who accepted her, warts and all. So undeserving of his violent fate.
How was I seeing these things? Chalice Frost was long dead, her soul at rest. Was memory more than just consciousness? Had some of her remained behind, her body as much a part of memory as her soul had been? I had enough trouble with my own memories and emotions; I didn’t need someone else’s crowding my head.
The gray light faded. Still holding Wyatt, I no longer felt the hard pavement beneath me. The cloying odor of earth and leaves clued me in before I got a good look. I had transported us both, quite by accident, into the woods. I could still hear the distant hum of voices, the occasional spatter of gunfire, the residual stink of the explosion.
Had my release from Tovin’s spell made me powerful enough to transport not just myself, but others? The evidence was in our new location, and the very faint ache between my eyes. My entire body thrummed with energy. It cycled up into me, like a lifeline to the earth itself. With full possession of Chalice’s body, I had tapped into the Break and was helpless to turn it off.
I eased Wyatt to the carpet of leaves. His head listed to the side and lay still. I touched his cheek, his forehead, memorizing his face. Revenge hadn’t felt so good when I enacted it for myself, but I had a feeling revenge was going to taste wonderful when I tore it out of Tovin’s ass.
Something poked my thigh as I rocked back on my heels, preparing to stand. I dug into my jeans pocket, the tips of my fingers sliding around something solid and hot. The crystal Horzt gave me. I pulled it out and held it between my forefinger and thumb. The clear crystal had turned cloudy white and was fiery to the touch. It seemed
