As Lie the Dead

A tiny flicker of orange grew in the periphery of my vision. I tried to turn my head, to see its source. Somewhere past the twisted ruins of the conveyor room, the fire had found me. It licked its way across the floor, over chunks of cement and steel and debris of all sort. So slowly, like it hadn’t a care in the world.

Not like I was going anywhere.

I tested my toes and thought I felt them move. Needles raced up my left ankle, but went no farther. I couldn’t feel my right leg at all. The floor beneath me was damp and sticky. It reeked of blood and grime and old grease. Every inhalation begged me to cough, to expel the noxious fumes from my damaged lungs. Coughing would bring pain, but it might also bring the rest of the teetering roof down and end it all.

No! I couldn’t let them win. I was right, dammit, I knew I was right. I had to prove it. If I died, I couldn’t prove it. Other innocent Clans could be slaughtered.

“Hello?” I tried it as a shout, but my voice didn’t carry over the roar in the next room.

Staying put would kill me. Teleporting had a good chance of same. I didn’t know where I was relative to the outside. I didn’t know how far, or where things were placed. Had fire trucks responded yet? Were Kismet and her people standing outside watching it burn with me inside? Had she already called Wyatt and told him there’d been a terrible accident?

Bitter fury lit my belly. I had to risk it. I might materialize inside a chain-link fence, but at least I wouldn’t suffocate on the fumes of burning gremlin piss.

I inhaled as deeply as I could manage, then exhaled. In and out, gathering my courage. At some point, the deep breathing mixed with tears and turned to sobs. Sobs of pain and fear and anger. With sobs came a keening sound that pitched into a scream. A desperate plea. An exhalation of despair. Another scream tore from deep down, this one propelled by hate. Hatred for myself—for not being strong enough to do what needed to be done.

Hatred for giving up.

A new sound answered my scream. Shrill and far away, it seemed familiar and completely foreign. I listened, ears straining over the roar and crackle of the fire and the distant groan of metal. It repeated, closer. A bird.

Not just a bird. It was no robin or sparrow crying out for me. It was a bird of prey.

“Phin!” I screamed as loudly as I could, sure it wasn’t loud enough. Not for a figment to hear.

For several long beats, I heard nothing. I’d imagined it, I was sure. Heard what I wanted to hear out of some desperate need to believe in rescue. There was no white knight for me. No one to dash through the blaze and save me.

The bird cried out, its lovely song nearly in my ear. I shrieked under a flurry of wings and feathers, and the most beautiful sight came into focus in the dim orange light. A white head and throat, a slash of black across both eyes and around the head, a sharply hooked black beak. It cocked its head to the side so one perfectly round eye was looking right at me. Not yellow or brown as I expected a bird’s eye to be. No, this majestic hunter had eyes of perfect blue.

“Phin?”

The osprey winked. Shuddered. If even possible, looked sick to its stomach.

I started laughing, positive of my insanity. The fumes were making me loopy, seeing things I wanted to see. No way he’d found me in the middle of this burning rubble. No reason he’d be looking for me in the first place.

“You’re not real,” I wheezed. God, it hurt to breathe.

He cried out. Less than six inches away, the sound pierced my skull like a knife. Okay, not my imagination.

He hopped around, testing the ground with impressively taloned feet. There was a pocket of open space an arm’s length away. He stopped there … and grew. Feathers faded into smooth, tanned skin. Claws receded into feet and toes, wings into arms and hands. In seconds, Phineas crouched in that precarious spot without a stitch of clothing on. He immediately started retching.

“Don’t inhale,” I said unhelpfully. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I have to get you out of here.” Sweat formed a bright sheen over his bare skin.

“I’m stuck.”

“You need to teleport.”

No shit, Sherlock. “Was gonna try that.” Air seized in my lungs, and I coughed until I heaved. Nothing came up. Bile scorched my already damaged throat. Tears streamed down my cheeks, mixing with sweat and pooling in my ears.

“How far can you teleport?”

“Dunno.”

“Three hundred yards?”

I blinked, not understanding. My head was fuzzy. I couldn’t get his words to compute into an actual distance.

“Three football fields?” he tried again.

“Maybe.”

He pursed his thin lips, nostrils flaring, pale even in the stifling heat. “You know the perimeter fence near the entrance? The empty lot across the street?”

“Yeah. Seen it.”

“I have a VW bus parked in that lot. It looks like a relic, no one will bother it.”

“Can’t. Haven’t seen it.” If I didn’t know where the bus was, exactly, I’d never hit the mark. Would I?

“You don’t have a choice. The back of it is empty, no seats. Can you picture it in your head?”

I tried, drumming up images of those buses from movies and television. Long and narrow, lots of windows. Sometimes curtains blocking the interior from prying eyes. Open space. So far away. “Think so,” I said.

“I need you to try for there, Evy, please. When I shift back, count to ten and then go. I’ll meet you there.”

“What if I miss?” The only time I’d ever teleported so blindly was immediately after Wyatt’s death at Olsmill. I was lucky we hadn’t landed in a tree then. I’d be lucky if I didn’t land in the bus’s engine now.

“Don’t miss.” He smiled. In it, I saw hope and comfort and an iron will. More will than I possessed at the moment, and I was glad. Glad to have someone else nearby who could be strong for me. I didn’t think I could do it, but Phin believed in me. It was enough.

“Okay.”

He wasted no time in morphing back, and then he was gone. I counted to ten, still sure I’d imagined him. No van existed. I’d end up … seven … six … inside of a Dumpster or stuck to the pavement. Didn’t matter. I was sick of coughing and sweating and … four … three … not feeling my legs. At least it would be over.

 … two … one.

Ready or not, here I come.

I held my breath and slipped into the Break. Agony tore me to pieces. The horrific sounds of screeching metal pressed into me, around me, on top of me. I moved through the agony, drifting toward the image of the van. Ripped apart as I passed through so much solid steel. And fire.

Intent on a van that didn’t exist.

Blood was in my mouth, my nose, my eyes. The taste of it was on my tongue and the smell of it in my nose, and the blood and agony followed me into oblivion.

Chapter Sixteen

Six Weeks Ago

An awful smell draws me out of a restless, dream-filled sleep. Not rotting-meat awful. More like vinegar-tang awful. God, please don’t let Ash be making that Korean sauerkraut mess. Jesse eats it, but not me. Especially not when I’m five days into a never-ending bout of the flu, haven’t eaten anything thicker than mashed potatoes in four, and am tempted to just chop my own head off at the neck so my mucus can drain out faster.