seen it.
But even as she thought his name, a shadow appeared against the white light of the closing hole. It was a small shadow, man-sized, and Nico slumped in relief. Good, the Weaver was here to seal the breach. But the figure didn’t try to close the hole. Instead, he leaned out, one arm holding onto something behind him, the other reaching into the dark. And as he reached, he screamed.
“Nico!”
Josef cursed and slammed his sword into the strange white floor. It cracked under the Heart’s blunt point like an eggshell, but the blade held. Grabbing the hilt as his anchor, Josef leaned out beyond the edge of the world. Hands clawed at him, but he beat them away, slamming them against the sharp cracks of the shell without looking. Even as he fought, his eyes never left the spot where he had seen Nico vanish.
His chest burned as he reached out. He’d barely let the gash close before going after Nico, barely made it through the hole the demon had ripped in the veil. He’d pulled himself on his elbows the last few feet even after he saw both demons tumble out of the shell into the dark, even when he knew it was too late.
It didn’t matter. Josef couldn’t stop. The idea of losing her now, after everything they’d gone through, after all they’d fought, was simply unacceptable. He wouldn’t give up, and he wouldn’t let her go. He would stand here reaching into the freezing dark until the healing shell took his arm off if there was so much as a chance that her fingers would close on his.
Josef leaned out farther still, looking frantically through the dark for a pair of golden eyes, but there was nothing outside except blackness and hungry hands. “Nico!” he screamed again, cringing in pain as his wounded lungs expanded.
As the name left him, Josef couldn’t shake the horrid, creeping feeling that, even if she could hear him, Nico wouldn’t answer. He’d seen her shoving her claws into the demon when he’d climbed in. She’d dragged the creature into the dark with her on purpose, and now he may have lost her forever.
Josef swore loudly. Whatever form she took, Nico was Nico. Demon, human, or anything in between, she would sacrifice anything to keep him and Eli safe. It drove him crazy. She didn’t seem to understand that she had value, too, that she was worth saving.
“Dammit, Nico!” he roared into the dark. “I will not let you go like this! I will chase you out of this hole if you don’t come back!”
His words vanished into the blackness, eaten like everything else. Josef didn’t care. “You told me you wanted to live!” he screamed. “The demon ate your childhood. He ate everything you had. Don’t give him this, too! Don’t let him take you from me!”
He threw himself forward until his fingertips on the Heart’s pommel were the only things anchoring him to the world. His legs were braced on the closing edge of the shell, his hand thrust out so far his joints were screaming. Josef didn’t care. He pushed out farther, the scream wrenching out of him. “Take my hand!”
The demons screamed back at him, black claws scrambling to eat him. Josef thrust them away with his will and stayed perfectly still, an iron statue, waiting. The light was fading quickly now as the shell closed behind him. Soon, the healing wound would be too small for him to retreat, but Josef didn’t look back. He stood, hand grasping, aching lungs bellowing in his chest.
“Nico!”
And then, without warning, he saw something. It was tiny in the infinite dark, little more than a pale flash, but it caught his eyes like a spark. He locked onto it, bashing the mad demons out of his way until he saw it flash again. It was a finger. One white finger, reaching out.
Josef lurched into the dark, and his straining hand brushed soft, human flesh. The moment the white finger touched his, he hooked the joint with his own and yanked back. The white finger jerked forward, revealing a white hand.
Josef reached out again, grabbing the tiny palm with his larger grip. Holding his sword with his anchoring hand, he pulled with every ounce of the Heart’s monstrous strength, and together, inch by inch, they dragged her out of the dark.
The hand was followed by a white arm, and then the crown of her head came into view, her short, black hair falling over her face. Next came her shoulders, her thin white chest, her hips, her legs.
Nico emerged with painful slowness, as though they were pulling her out of tar, but as Josef braced his legs and leaned back, pulling with all his weight, Nico’s head lifted and her yellow eyes locked onto his. She was crying, screaming, and though the demons ate her words, he could see them on her lips. She wanted to live. She wanted to live with him.
With a final roar, Josef yanked her free, dragging her against his chest and falling backward just as the shell closed. The wound slammed shut, slicing through the grasping hands that had tried to follow them. As the severed limbs crumbled to ash, Josef slammed onto his back, holding Nico against him with one hand and the Heart with the other as his chest thundered. He almost didn’t believe they’d made it until he felt Nico grab him and bury her head in his side.
“I’m sorry.” She sobbed. “I shouldn’t have come back. I don’t belong here. I’m a—”
“I don’t care,” Josef said, cutting her off before she could finish. He slid his hand up her back to grab her head, forcing her to look at him. “You. Are. Nico,” he said, grinding each word between his teeth. “That’s the only thing that matters.”
Nico’s golden eyes widened. “But I—”
“If there’s a problem, we’ll figure it out,” Josef said. “Or make Eli figure it out. That’s what we keep him around for.”
Nico laughed at that, a tearful snort as she ducked her head against him. Satisfied, Josef lay back and focused on overcoming the enormous pain that he’d been putting off. As he blacked out, he felt Nico’s hands on his face.
“Thank you for saving me,” she whispered.
“We save each other,” he said. “That’s why we’re here.”
He felt a soft brush on his forehead. Her lips, he realized. That thought made him grin wide as he slid into blissful unconsciousness, his fingers tangled in Nico’s short, soft hair.
Eli woke to the most horrible pain he’d ever experienced, which was a joy in and of itself. He hadn’t expected to wake up at all. After all, the Shepherdess had stabbed him, twice. He should be dead, expected to be. Death was the reward you got for playing the hero, and he’d been frightfully heroic there toward the end. That’s why the good thieves were never heroes. Hard to spend your ill-gotten gains when you were dead.
“I think he’s waking up.”
He went still. It was Miranda’s voice, and it was close, as though she were sitting beside him. A great feeling of relief crushed into his chest, and Eli realized he’d half believed that the only reason he was alive was because Benehime had won and somehow saved him for worse punishment. But Benehime would never let Miranda near him.
Slowly, hopefully, Eli cracked his eyes. Miranda’s face filled his vision. She was hovering over him, and he felt a pressure on his chest as she shook him gently. “I knew it,” she said, her pretty face pulling into the sneer he recognized as well as his own reflection. “Stop faking and get up, you degenerate.”
“Well hello to you, too,” Eli croaked, opening his eyes all the way.
He was lying on his back in the white nothing of the Between. Miranda was sitting beside him, fiddling with the gems in the Rector’s mantle as she glared in his direction. That much wasn’t surprising. What was, was that they weren’t alone. The Weaver sat on his other side, his old face pulled in a kindly smile as he peered down at Eli.
Welcome back to the living, Eliton.
“Don’t call me that,” Eli muttered, sitting up.
As the wave of nausea hit him, Eli realized this was a terrible idea and promptly lay back down.
You should take it easy, the Weaver said. I’ve repaired most of the damage, but you were on the edge of death for almost an hour while I repaired the shell. Some trauma was sadly unavoidable. Best to stay still.
“Right,” Eli said, swallowing. “Good plan.”
Rather than risk lifting his head again, Eli slid his fingers up his chest to assess the damage. After the way Benehime had stabbed him, he expected to find gaping holes, or at least a bloody mess, but his shirt was cleaner than it had been in days, and his skin was smooth and painless to the touch. He smiled. Having a Power to play
