Secretly Sam (12 page)

It was hard to tell which way was up and which way was down. Standing on the banks, observing the flash flood from dry land, one would never guess how fast it was actually moving or how powerful the flow of water really was. But from in here, within its watery, frothy grasp, the truth became painfully clear.

She’d been cleaned out in almost every orifice; mud and sand and unthinkable things now ran from one nostril to the other and choked her slightly before she coughed them up into the bubbles around her. She had only enough time to half-inhale before more of the ravine was subjugating her airways, threatening a slow and agonizing doom.

She blinked against the distorted and burning darkness, tried desperately to gain her bearings. She had no idea where Lehrer was. Something hard slammed into her hip, but so much adrenaline was coursing through her system, she felt it only as an impact. Otherwise, it was numb.

Half afraid that she would inadvertently slice off her arm on a stray branch or rock, Meagan took advantage of her numbness and shot her arms and legs out spread-eagled, hoping that she would find purchase with one of them. Sand and stones slid along her skin, and she knew they were carving a messy path into her flesh. But she grasped at them nonetheless, desperate to slow herself down.

Too smooth, too sharp, too large, too awkwardly shaped – the branches and rocks slipped from her grip one after another, and she began to despair. Her lungs ached, her throat burned, her heart hammered.

Finally, she felt it. And like lightning, she clamped down with a tight fist, holding on to the branch she’d been offered with nothing short of a death grip. She came to a halt in the fast-flowing water with jarring suddenness, and the popping sound that radiated from her shoulder to her ears sent a chill down her spine.

But as her fingers slipped along the branch’s slimy surface, she realized it was the least of her concerns. She dug her fingernails in, fought with the terrible current, and tried with all of her might to bring her other arm around. Somehow –
somehow
– she succeeded, grasping hold of the branch with both hands. The pain started then. She wasn’t even in the clear; the branch might break, she might still go careening off into nothingness, never to stop, never to breathe normally again. And the pain still came.

She heaved herself up and out of the water, a keening wail emanating from her throat as her legs flailed and her boots fought to find purchase in the mud.

“Meagan!” came a distant voice from the darkness. Meagan tried to see through the curtain of hair, leaves and water that caked her eyes. A figure was moving slowly out of the ravine several feet away. A brown figure… holding a branch.

He came to the water’s edge. “Meagan, don’t try to climb out, just grab this and hold on!” Lehrer instructed, his words barely audible over the roar of the water and the rain still slashing into its surface.

Meagan complied, reaching out with slippery will that came from her very marrow to clutch like a mad woman at the edge of the branch he offered.

“That’s it!” he yelled.

It was very hard to tell her body to settle down. As soon as she did, however, she felt herself being pulled against the incredible tug of the water. She was moving against the current, slowly but surely. Finally, she felt the slope rise against her chest, smelled the pungent tang of rotting vegetation and mold, and instantly shoved the tip of her right boot as far as it would go into the mush.

“That’s it!” Lehrer called again. He knelt on the ledge of the ditch, his elbows tucked into his sides, his face a grimacing mask of pain.

She did it again with the other boot, and again, one leg after another, spelunking her way out of the ditch with the help of her teacher.

Eons later, she rested face-down in the mud on the ravine’s bank and Lehrer lay beside her, both of them gasping for breath. The storm waned around them; the thunder rolling away, the rain quieting to a drizzle.

An owl hooted somewhere in the distance.

Meagan tried to take stock. She moved each of her toes, moved each of her fingers, and swallowed the whimpers of misery that threatened to climb out of her throat. Her left shoulder was dislocated, and the arm felt as if it were going cold. Her broken nose throbbed, the mounting ache wrapping around her head and seeping into her brain.

But Mr. Lehrer wasn’t moving beside her, and the sounds of his breathing were odd to Meagan’s ears. They hitched at every in-take, and rattled with every release. Meagan pushed herself up on her one good arm and rolled over to face him. He lay on his back, his eyes open to the rain clouds above, his teeth clenched in what she knew was both pain and fear.

The situation was bad. First things first.

Meagan closed her eyes and cursed the world for putting her through so much pain as she did what she’d learned to do in gymnastics in the fourth grade. A wave of nausea rolled harshly through her, accompanying the agony while she slammed her shoulder against the ground, ruthlessly popping her arm back into place.

It took a moment for the stars to recede from her vision. It seemed to hurt much worse now that she was older. The extra pain was unexpected. Somehow, she managed to keep from vomiting, but she knew her arm would ache for weeks.

Once she could function again, she sidled back to her teacher’s side and leaned forward to speak to him when suddenly he coughed – violently. The movement turned him on his side in time for blood to collect behind his lips and roll over the corner of his mouth.

“Oh gods,” Meagan said before she could stop herself.

“Broken rib… punctured my lung,” Lehrer told her, his voice gurgly and weak.

Meagan thought of the way that he’d been hunched over as he’d pulled her out of the creek. Either the puncture had occurred as he’d jumped into the water – or he’d done it to himself while pulling her out of it.

A cold sort of determination settled over her. Her magic yet remained there inside of her, if a bit beaten up and shoved into the corner to make way for the terror of the last several minutes of her life. She needed to use it now, not to harm as she’d wanted to do moments ago, but to
heal
.

“I’m going to try to heal you,” she told him, wincing as she moved closer so that she could cradle his head and keep him on his side. “But you have to guide me. Can you do that?”

He nodded, closing his eyes. His body was rigid, his hands curled into claws. She could imagine that he was trying to keep from coughing.

With great care, Meagan lowered her good hand to Lehrer’s forehead. She knew enough about the spell to know she needed to make contact with his body, but she wasn’t about to press her hand to his chest, which is what she otherwise would have done.

She hoped this was good enough.

“I’m ready,” she said.

“Repeat after me,” Lehrer ground out through his tightly clenched teeth.

Meagan listened closely, concentrated with all of her might, and repeated the words he whispered.

Chapter Twenty-One

They didn’t have to say anything. Even if he hadn’t been able to read their thoughts and scour their brains from a hundred paces, the looks on their faces as they entered the clearing said it all. They’d allowed Lehrer and Stone to escape.

And there was something else.

“Spit it out,” demanded Sam as he met them half-way.

“Logan is being protected by a spell,” said Briggs. “And the flask we need to break that spell was tossed into a ravine.”

“The same ravine I’m assuming you allowed the witches to escape into,” Sam said softly.

As one, the boys nodded. They didn’t try to deny it, much to their credit, and they didn’t even look chastened. They looked pissed. That was good. Sam couldn’t stand people who scraped and mewled and offered up excuses.

Without hesitation, he dove into their thoughts, ripping what he needed from their short-term memories. It was not a gentle process, and both Briggs and McCay clamped their hands to their heads and squeezed their eyes shut, baring their fangs against the pain the intrusion caused.

But it would be short lived, and Sam was in no mood to waste time.

Once he had what he needed, he pulled out and turned away. “Logan will be here any minute,” he said, leaving them to straighten themselves out and shrug off the remnants of their discomfort.

He paced a few steps away. In the distance, a train’s whistle split the night. It had several miles to go yet, but it was drawing near.

He needed time to think.

He had to find a way to get that flask, and he wanted Lehrer dead.

Sam stopped, his hands on his hips, and shot a glance toward the brown-haired vampire. Shawn Briggs ran the back of his hand under his nose to wipe away the few drops of blood that had been loosed by Sam’s mental attack. Then he rolled back his shoulders and met Sam’s blue-eyed gaze.

Briggs had a thing for Meagan Stone, the young witch who had originally helped Samhain gain entrance into this realm in the first place. Sam supposed he could allow her to live, but only if she were turned to his side and absolutely under his control. Otherwise, she would have to be destroyed. Her ability to manipulate October’s door was too powerful to take any chances with.

If handled correctly, she represented a reward for Briggs’ continued good behavior. She also posed a possible bargaining chip. And when it came to Logan, he could use all of the extra aces his hand could hold.

In the meantime, he needed to take care of Lehrer, and more importantly, he needed to get ahold of that flask. Without its destruction, Logan was literally unattainable. He could bring no harm to her, and neither could anyone nor anything under his influence.

Sam had to kill the thing he loved in order to keep it. If he couldn’t take Logan’s life, he couldn’t bring her back with him to his realm.

He racked his brain.

The metal bottle that housed the second half of Logan’s protective spell was currently being dragged along the bottom of a ditch in some swiftly flowing storm runoff. Briggs and McCay had already proven useless in this respect. Vampires would clearly do no good in this particular situation. According to Logan’s mythos, and to many legends in general, a vampire could not cross natural running water.

Sam could change them. They didn’t have to remain vampires. There was an entire menagerie of big, beautiful baddies waiting between the pages of Logan’s stories. He had the supernatural world at his fingertips.

The problem was, changing them into something else would prove just as useless because the real and final issue involving the flask was that neither Sam nor anything he created could touch it. That meant anything he turned Briggs and McCay into.

The whistle sounded again, closer this time, and fury rushed along Sam’s nerve endings like the prickle of fire. He could feel time breathing down his neck the way most humans could feel
him
breathing down
their
necks.

Sam gritted his teeth, baring his fangs.

He couldn’t touch the flask…. He couldn’t
touch
it….

An idea occurred to him like parting clouds after a monsoon, and his snarl became a smile. He felt lighter.
Perfect
, he thought, as relief washed over him like a blessing.
Yes. That will do
.

The plan was two-part. One part would deal with Lehrer and the witch. The other would help him with that flask.

Sam reached out for his newly acquired power and began to draw it in. It was like winding up a slingshot or cocking the hammer of a gun. He pulled what he needed into himself and focused it in preparation for what lay ahead.

Then he combed through the store of knowledge in his mind, the words and scenarios and creatures he’d stolen from Logan’s prolific pen. He straightened when he found what he was looking for, and his wicked smile broadened.

The plan would take some finessing, and he would have to be convincing. Much of its success depended upon his ability to make the unreal seem real.

Sam turned to the vampires who stood waiting in silence, their backs straight, their eyes glowing red. He approached them slowly. “When Logan arrives, one of you will pretend to be me,” he began. “This is what we’re going to do.”

Chapter Twenty-two

“Meagan!” Dietrich gurgled around the word, coughed up the residual blood remaining in his throat, and hurriedly spit it out. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and rose to his knees while Meagan slumped beside him. He was restored; there was no more pain in his chest, and no more blood building in his throat, but as the final words of the spell had shifted him into full health, it seemed to have sapped the very same from Meagan.

He took her by the upper arms and pulled her up to brace her against his chest, knowing even before he placed his hand to her cheek that her skin would be ice cold. The rain had all but stopped, but they were already soaked, and the night was crisp with Autumn. He’d seen this happen before; her body temperature would continue to drop unless he got her warmed up fast.

The words to a spell were slipping past his lips before he’d given them conscious thought. He continued to speak, casting quickly and under his breath, until he felt Meagan begin to warn under his touch. He looked down, noticing the return of color to her cheeks, and almost breathed a sigh of relief.

Almost.

It was the haunting baying of hounds that brought him up short, stilling the air in his lungs. The sound traveled over the hills and through the forest like a dawning nightmare, the yipping and yapping of some hellish creature that Dietrich absolutely knew was not natural.

“That doesn’t sound good,” he whispered.

The hounds drew closer, their howls and growls wrapping around the tree trunks to reach out toward them on fingers of fog. He could feel something impending, something approaching, and he knew he needed to get Meagan to safety.

“They’re coming for us,” he said. He looked down. Meagan’s eyes fluttered and opened.

“Who is?” she asked, her voice slightly hoarse as if from disuse.