Revived (The Lucidites Book 3) (31 page)

Blades now fly past my body every few seconds, most accompanied by a “zing” sound and a splash of displaced air. Each makes me worried that a misstep will take me into the trajectory of a blade. I’m all instinct, being led through the forest path, not making any conscious decisions of my own. I’ve always felt safe in the forest, been protected by one force or another. I make an abbreviated prayer that this will remain the case here.

Blindingly hot pain scorches my calf as a knife slices through my flesh. My feet lose their footing and my stomach lurches at the idea that the muscle of my leg is separated unnaturally. Fire races up my leg, all my other muscles paying the price for the injury that I must ignore as I stagger for a cluster of trees, more close knit than the prior patch.

The sunlight now casts horizontally through the leaves and trees, giving everything a weird shimmer. From my hideout in the cluster I’m partially hidden by a bush if I remain low.

“I like zee decoration you’ve left on the ground here,” Allouette says, too close. “Your blood splatters out zo prettily.” She giggles, like a girl told an especially good secret. “And there’s zo much of it. I like to zee that.”

Allouette’s obsidian eyes follow the path of the blood and then they light up with evil delight. “Are you going to come out and play or shall I encourage you?”

Behind me is a stupid clearing, no places to hide, only an open field of dirt and patches of grass. In front of me is Allouette surrounded by a few thousand birch trees. Tons of tiny hiding places, none big enough. I don’t even chance a look at my leg, but for some reason it feels better than moments prior, not as fragile. Still, the fire around the cut is quickly draining me. Making a split-second decision I dart to the left, sprinting as fast as I can back through the birch trees. If I can just find a place to hide for a moment I can lure her to me.

And then the second blade intrudes on my skin, nicking me like a spear along my forearm. It feels like a paper cut. Still I continue to sprint and weave.

“Come on, little lamb, you’ve got to be tired now,” Allouette sings as more blades whistle by my head, all sticking into immature birch trees or straight into the earth decaying with bits of bark.

I second-guess a passage through a grouping of trees and my punishment comes in the way of another blade ripping across my bicep. This one is deeper than the last, guaranteed to mark my steps with blood. Running won’t work anymore. I dart forward, picking up a stick that’s about the length and width of the escrimas I dropped while running. Backing up three steps I stride out, so that I’m facing Allouette on profile.

She halts immediately when I come into view. Evening sun casts around her dark frame, outlining her like she’s made of coal and ice. “You know, Chase vill not be coming to your rescue tonight. No one vill.”

Chase is usually stalking me in every dream travel. I half expected him to be sitting on top of Funerary Rock at Machu Picchu, staring down at Joseph and me. Observing us.

“You see, I have made him indisposed for zee night. I’ve made him indisposed for several nights, waiting for your energies to pop into zee dream travel realm, and here you are.” Her laugh sounds like that of a coo from a demented pigeon. “Your little stick is really cute. But you’re zo deluded to think it stands a chance against my knives?”

Sweeping forward, she moves with a practiced grace, her long skirt punctuating every movement, like it’s a part of the dance.

Advantages happen in battles when a person can take their opponent by surprise. For this reason I step forward. “Ren said you kiss like a horse gobbling up an apple and have the table manners to match.”

She halts, lowers her pointy chin, and gauges me. “Did he?” She shakes her head, like shaking off a memory that attached to her like a spider web she just walked through.

“Is it true that you start to smell like bad eggs if you haven’t showered in a while?” I ask, starting to meander my way through the trees, not toward her, but rather making an arc.

She begins her familiar cackle when I cut her off. “That’s what Chase said,” I say nonchalantly. “But maybe I didn’t hear the details right since I was breathless and naked.”

A hiss pierces the almost night air. “You’ll go to hell for lying, girl.”

“They’re not my lies,” I say, completing a half-circle around her. She twists around, having lost track of my progress through the woods. “These are only the things the men you’ve left unsatisfied have shared with me.” I take two steps toward a smoldering Allouette. A knife with a dark handle is pinned in her hand, her knuckles going white from the fierce hold she has on it.

“When you’re dead, I’m going to cut out your heart and make pâté
out of it,” she says, no sing-song quality to her voice any longer.

“Do you know where we are?” I ask, weaving my way through the trees, allowing her to trail me.

“I do not,” she says, pacing her steps with mine. “Vell, I know you’ll die here.”

“Actually, I thought this was the perfect place for you to die tonight,” I say, retracing my steps to the place where we started. Turning, I flash her my murderous eyes. “This is the Voyageurs National Park. A proper resting place, don’t you zink,” I say in my worst French accent.

She grimaces. “Americans are really obnoxious people. You especially.”

“I can’t argue with any of that,” I say, planting my feet and spinning around to face her.

As I suspected she’s racing toward me, the knife high above her head. I crouch down low, send my front leg back, and pivot around completely, throwing the stick into her abdomen sharply as she closes the distance. Without taking a breath I bring my opposite elbow down on her back, sending her body flat to the forest ground. She crumbles and I almost do too, from the effort my sliced muscles have endured. I stumble backwards, deciding how to finish her off. She’s panting on the ground, slowly rising up onto all fours. Now that I must face the idea of killing someone it feels all wrong. Would watching my back in fear of attack for the rest of my life be worse? Too fast Allouette has her feet underneath her, perched so low that her behind must be close to grazing the floor.

“You’ve hesitated to kill me. You’re not a killer. And that’s the reason you’re going to die,” she says, a look of cold satisfaction on her face.

I lay the palm of my hand out flat, comb my fingers forward twice. “Bring it on.”

“Consider it done,” she says, her eyes hovering above my head.

I chance a glance in that direction and to my horror a glint of silver catches my eyes. A knife with a dark handle dances through the air above my head. It teeters to the left and to the right, not giving me a proper idea of which way I should retreat to avoid it. Then, like a missile zeroing in on a target, its point pivots downward and cascades toward the earth.

I step backward and to the left. Invasive pain, worse than a bullet wound, surges through my body. Hot. Breathing fire. Tarnishing everything around it. When the blade sinks down into the place between my shoulder blade and shoulder I question the judgment I made to escape it.
But it could have been my head,
I reason to myself.
Still, the blade makes no place for me to move as it takes residence in my body. I stagger, reaching for it and then stopping, afraid to bring my hands around the knife that’s now connected to my flesh. Allouette looks too amused, coolly watching as she leans against a nearby tree.

“Vould you like some help vith that?” she says, in a voice so sweet you’d think I should offer her a compliment in return. “Here you are,” she sings. The blade, tearing muscles and ligaments, rips back out of my flesh and rises into the air. I stare up at it, a point coated in blood staring down at me with menacing grace. A single drip of blood falls off its tip and lands on my cheek, like the first droplets of a summer rain storm. In a rush I take three steps back, my shoulder making mention of each step like a trumpet blaring in my head. “You’re afraid I’m going to stab you again?” she asks, like we’re deciding which restaurant to patronize tonight. “Oh, no vorries. No more knives. Your death is a personal one and one I want to enjoy…vith my own hands.”

I clatter backwards, finding a dead end at the same cluster of trees I’d hidden behind earlier. How had we traveled back and forth that much across this forest? The dark-handled knife is now hovering beside Allouette’s face, like a bodyguard. It soars up in the air and turns downward, rocketing at my face. I suck in a sharp breath and roll in the opposite direction, landing on my backside, arms splayed out behind me on the earth. The blade sticks into the base of the birch tree I was stationed in front of.

“Good girl,” Allouette cheers. “You learn so quickly.” She takes two steps toward me and I kick back on my hands and feet, but find the same dead end as before—the tight cluster of trees.

The forest is now coated in mostly blacks and blues of the approaching night. For this reason I don’t see Allouette’s dark frame until it’s pressing up against me. She’s managed to pin one of my arms under her knees. Then she straddles me, pinning my other arm right where its bleeding from the laceration under her other knee. “Are you comfy? I do vant you to feel cozy as you move into ze next life.”

Her long fingernail comes closer to my face, almost in slow motion. I jerk, trying to free myself from the pin she has me in, but she’s impossibly strong. “Now, now,” she soothes in a most unsoothing voice. “Ztay still.” The finger traces the contours of my forehead, along my nose, around my lips, over my chin, and down my throat. There she joins it with her other hand. “Zay goodbye, you filthy Lucidite, the dark spot of my life, the ruiner of all things.” Her hands clamp down on my esophagus. Air is no longer welcomed into my body. Air inside me has no place to go. I’m trapped inside my prison of suffocation. Again I try to move under her pinned stance, but she has me restrained from the elbow up. She picks me up by my throat and rams my head back down on the base of the tree. Stars circle in my vision, but I maintain consciousness—barely. My fingers search the earth, dirt pushing under my nails, twigs grazing my hands and then…the smoothness of the hilt greets the palm of my hand. It’s stuck firmly into the base of a tree. And with each passing second I lose my hold on this earth. On this motivation.

Being strangled and rapidly losing oxygen strangely heightens every detail. From this close distance I spy flecks of gold in her almost black eyes. Spidery veins drape her eyelids.

The rosewood handle is smooth. Taking a gigantic breath that brings me no air and empties my lungs of none of the used carbon dioxide inside me, I jerk the handle once. It stays pinned. Again, I try and release the blade, this time working it back and forth. Splinters of wood flake from the tree as I wiggle the knife free. With a force only leant to me because Joseph is somewhere close in the physical realm I lurch my arm out from under her bony knee, swing it up, and send the blade of the knife like a speeding dart into her temple.

♦

My eyes snap open. Joseph sits right up against me in my bed, his face popping with relieved surprise when I awake.

“There you are!” He grabs my hand, peers into my eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I’ve had better nights,” I say, wincing from the pain in my shoulder as I try to sit up. “What about you?” I say, touching his neck which has a small gash and is bleeding more than I like.

“Oh, I’m fine,” he says, dismissing my concern. “But I think you’re lying. I bandaged up the wounds I could find, but are you hurt anywhere besides your arms and legs?”

I look down to see he’s used pieces of a T-shirt to make tourniquets around the lacerations on my arms and the one around my calf. “Thanks,” I say. “I have a couple other injuries, but nothing serious. Why don’t you use the rest of that shirt to wipe up your neck?”

“What happened?” he asks, pressing the wadded up shirt to his neck.

My head swims in a sea of images and dizziness. I’ll tell you, but I only want to go through the story once,” I say, standing up and swaying slightly. “Take me to Trey.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

S
houts echo from Trey’s office as we approach. I’d press my ear up to the door and listen if I wasn’t certain passing out was a mounting possibility.

My knock is weak, and sounds more like a cat pawing. Joseph gives me a nervous look. “You lied. You’re not all right,” he says, searching my body for the other wounds.

“Not right now!” Trey answers through the closed door, his words on fire.

“Yes, right now!” Joseph says, beating on the door.

A second later it slides back, revealing a red-faced Trey and beside him Aiden looking equally flustered.

“What is it? I’m in the middle of something,” Trey says, gritting his teeth. I’m not sure if the blood loss is making me imagine it, but he’s almost hostile.

“Whatever it is, this is more important,” Joseph says, half dragging me into Trey’s office. I’m leaning on him increasingly by the minute.

“Fine,” Trey says, throwing his hands through his hair. “Aiden, we will continue this later.”

Through my swimming head and blurring vision I spy Aiden burning a hole in the floor with his eyes. “You’re dismi––” Trey stops. Reaches out. Grips my shoulder. “Roya, why are you bleeding?” he says, picking up my hand and inspecting Joseph’s dried blood. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I say, surprised to hear my words slur. “And that’s not
my
blood.”

He grips my shoulder harder, not realizing his fingers have just reached into the gash in my back. Pulling his hand away he looks at the fresh blood now covering his fingers.

“Oh, well,
that’s
my blood,” I say, aware that I sound drunk.

“What? What’s happened?”

“I just killed Allouette,” I say, and then all my body weight slumps against Joseph and the world goes black.

♦

“Why didn’t you take her straight to the infirmary!?” Trey says.