Shimmer: The Rephaim Book 3 (22 page)

‘Did Debra tell you to do that?’

She heads for the third corner without answering.

I’m about to ask again when my view of her is blocked by a towering figure in a trench coat. Long white hair. Flickering orange eyes. I have a second to register the sword flashing down before I dive sideways and bring my blade up to protect my face.

‘Gabriella.’

Bel.

I roll to my feet, block another blow—jarring—then another. I get my balance, back away, feel that familiar rush of whatever it is that makes me Rephaim. I try not to look for Mya. He doesn’t know she’s in here. How could he? No Rephaite should be able to shift into this room. But she’s gone already.

Bel swings again, and again I block him. ‘Zarael has given me a few moments with you,’ he says, grinning. ‘Let’s not waste them.’ He aims his next strike for my head and I manage to block it and move back, try to keep my bearings. Look for—

Thunk.

I back into the wall. I try to duck sideways but Bel slams me against the solid iron, his hand around my throat. His blade is on mine, pressed against my chest. It’s like LA all over again, when he had me pinned outside the nightclub, but this time I don’t have a knife tucked in my jeans. His eyes flare burnt orange under the insipid fluorescent lights.

‘Rafael will watch you beg for mercy. And then you can watch me take his head and give it to my hellion to pick clean.’ His breath is hot, rotting. He’s close enough that I can see puckered skin around the bullet scars on his forehead. ‘And then I shall peel your flesh from your bones until you remember what happened with the Fallen last year.’

Where is Mya? Why isn’t she helping?

Rafa is on the floor bleeding. Jude is outside fighting god knows how many demons. The Outcasts are outnumbered. I’m trapped in here with Bel.
Me
. Not backpacker Gaby and not Gabe, the Rephaim’s best fighter: someone in between.

I push against Bel. He leans in harder.

Nobody’s coming to save me. Another surge of adrenaline washes through me, clears my mind. Fires my limbs. I am Rephaite: I’m stronger than this. My whole body hums and I shove Bel as hard as I can.

His weight is immediately gone and it takes me a second to realise I’ve launched him about three metres away. I rush him while he’s still off-balance. He blocks my strike, grunts with the effort. I’m quicker now; it’s taken him by surprise.

‘There is no happy ending for any of you,’ he says, slightly breathless between strikes and blocks. I ignore him, looking for an opening to do serious damage. My boots slide around on the slick floor but I refuse to look down.

‘The Garrison doesn’t want you.’

Swing, block.

‘The Fallen don’t care about you.’

Another swing, block.

‘Even the humans who built this room want to kill you. Why do you all keep—’ I kick out his knee and risk a quick look at Rafa. I can’t tell if he’s conscious again or not. It costs me my fleeting advantage because Bel is already up again. It takes everything I have to defend the onslaught of blows that follows. I keep moving, keep breathing. Bel keeps talking between breaths.

‘One way or another…you’re going to end up…in hell with your fathers. You think I can hurt you here? You have no idea…what I can do to you down—’ He howls and drops to his knees.

Mya is behind him. She wasn’t there a second ago. Her blade flashes up, shining with his blood. She’s hamstrung him. Bel swivels from his waist, tries to strike out behind him.

Don’t think.

I change the grip on my sword, draw all my energy to my shoulders and swipe at his neck. Hard and fast. The blade is sharp: there’s almost no resistance. Bel’s head leaves his body and hits the floor with a soft thud. His torso stays in place, as if confused about what happens next. I stare at it. Blank. Not processing the horror of it. Mya puts her boot between his shoulderblades and pushes his body forward. I step sideways as it topples towards me.

I shake. Gag. Lean against the wall to steady myself. Don’t lose it now, we’re not out of this yet.

‘We need to go,’ Mya says and wipes her palm on her jeans. ‘Leon found the override for the door. It’s not opening again without a ram.’

Override?

Dazed, I look around at the corners of the room, all four smeared with her blood. There’s no time to work out what she’s done in here, but if she could get in, then she can get us out.

I drop back on the floor next to Rafa. My arms ache, my lungs burn. He’s watching me with his good eye. So fierce, it almost undoes me. Mya kneels on his other side and we each take an arm to support his weight. He grunts as we lift him. ‘Just to the cornfield,’ she says. I nod. I have a split second to visualise the spot where we left the Butlers before Mya’s taken control and the room is gone.

The shift is like nothing I’ve experienced before. It’s as if we’re in a protective bubble: I can feel the press of the wind but it doesn’t touch me. And then we’re in the cornrow. Both Butlers flinch at our arrival. It’s cold out here, but a cleaner, sharper cold. Seth falters when he sees Rafa, recovers, and rushes to help us lower him to the ground.

‘Help Jude,’ I say and catch my breath.

Mya disappears.

I sit cross-legged in the dirt, holding Rafa to me. ‘Hang on,’ I whisper to him. I can’t stop touching his face. He’s battling to stay conscious. ‘Where’s Taya?’ he rasps.

‘Malachi’s got her.’

He swallows, closes his eyes.

Through the cornstalks, I make out flickering movement. Rephaim striking and then shifting, frustrating their demon opponents. Dust kicks up next to me. Ez and Jones. Flushed and panting. Where’s Jude? Panic crushes me. And then I see him behind Jones. He’s bleeding above his ear and cradling his left arm but he’s intact. He searches for me and our eyes meet. Relief surges between us.

Rafa opens his good eye, spots Ez. ‘Love your work,’ he manages.

Ez lifts her hand up to cover a tiny sob, and then she kneels down and gives him an awkward hug. Jude limps over and squeezes my shoulder, says so much without words.

‘Get ready, boys,’ Seth says, and Rusty hoists the launcher onto Mick’s good shoulder.

‘Where’s Mya?’ I ask.

Ez stands up. ‘She’s clear of the house.’

‘You sure?’

‘She left with us.’

Zak appears on the roof of the farmhouse. He lifts his fingers to his lips and lets out a piercing whistle, then he disappears…and he’s next to Ez. He takes one look at Rafa. Turns to Mick and says, ‘Aim for the back of the house.’

Mick doesn’t need to be told twice.

There’s a muffled
whompf
, a puff of smoke, and a second later the rocket punches through the side of the farmhouse. Glass explodes: a shower of concrete. The corn shakes. I lean forward to protect Rafa but we’re too far away to get hit with debris.

‘Again,’ Zak says.

Rusty fumbles to load the second rocket. There’s a gaping hole in the side of the farmhouse now, the outer galvanised iron torn and jagged. Plumes of plaster dust roll out from inside. Mick sends the next missile into the belly of the house. Another ear-cracking explosion and the roof folds in. No way is that iron room still in one piece. A howl of rage inside confirms it. Or maybe Zarael just found Bel.

‘Nice shot.’ Zak says. He rests a hand lightly on my head to get my attention. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

SKIN DEEP

Brother Ferro is waiting, latex gloves, surgical instruments laid out on the infirmary bench. Taya is on a bed across the room, either unconscious or sedated. Another monk, at least two decades younger than Brother Ferro, tends to her injured hand. Brother Benigno.

Rafa gasps as Zak lowers him onto the gurney. He doesn’t look any different after the shift. Why doesn’t he look any different? His breathing is ragged, his eye still swollen shut. Blood still seeps through his shirt.

He spots Jude with his good eye, relaxes a little.

‘I don’t understand,’ Zak says to the older monk. ‘He shouldn’t still be bleeding.’

Brother Ferro waves him out of the away. ‘What are his worst injuries?’

‘Two stab wounds to the stomach, possibly more,’ I say.

‘Chest and thigh,’ Rafa croaks.

I glance down, see that his jeans are torn and stained dark too.

‘Gabriella, your help please.’ Brother Ferro’s Italian accent is even thicker under pressure. He shoves Rafa’s shirt up and places gauze over the wound on his stomach. He gestures for me to keep pressure on it while he cuts Rafa’s jeans. Rafa’s leg is still bleeding. Everything is still bleeding. It’s like he hasn’t even shifted. Rafa fumbles for my wrist, misses. Why is he so weak?

‘Out, out!’ Brother Ferro snaps at the others. Zak, Ez and Jude take a few steps back but nobody leaves.

Ez is holding the swords—hers and mine—all stained dark. Jones stands with the Butlers, blood dripping from his blade onto the floor. Mick’s still got the rocket launcher on his shoulder. Zak notices and takes it with one hand, puts it on the bench. He nods to Jones. ‘Can you check everyone made it back okay and then look in on Dani?’

Jones glances at Rafa, swallows. ‘Okay.’

I check Taya. Malachi is in a chair next to her bed, holding her good hand in both of his. His eyes meet mine, totally exposed.

Brother Ferro is trying to stop the bleeding from Rafa’s leg. ‘Here,’ he says to me, and I take over, putting pressure on that wound so the monk can get back to Rafa’s stomach. He cuts Rafa’s t-shirt and peels the fabric away from his sticky flesh. I can take it. I can—Oh my god. I turn away. My eyes lock on Ez. Her face crumples, but she nods at me to keep it together. The smell of antiseptic burns in the back of my throat.

‘That one I can stitch,’ Brother Ferro says, nodding at the gauze on Rafa’s lower stomach. ‘But this one has already closed over.’ The monk points to the older wound a little higher, where the demon sword went through him at the Butlers’ camp. But it’s not the stab wounds or the dark purple bruises across Rafa’s ribs that turns my stomach. Or even the thought of what that blade must have done to his organs. It’s the huge crescent moon carved into his chest with a thick, ugly line through it.

Rafa winces as Brother Ferro jabs him with a local anaesthetic.

‘Did Bel do that?’ I whisper. Was this Bel’s response to my taunt about his bullet wounds? Did I goad him into doing that to Rafa?

Rafa opens his good eye. ‘Yeah.’ He coughs, recovers. ‘And now he doesn’t have a head.’

All movement stops. Even Brother Ferro pauses, surgical needle in one hand, suture thread in the other.

‘How?’ Zak asks.

It takes a bit of effort, but Rafa turns his head to see him. ‘Gaby.’

Jude stares at me. The cut over his ear has stopped bleeding, but he still needs it dressed.

‘Mya hamstrung him,’ I say. ‘I finished him off.’

‘Mya? How did she get in there?’ Jude asks.

I jerk my chin in Brother Ferro’s direction, hope he takes the hint. I don’t want to talk about what happened in front of the monks; they’ll take the news straight to Daniel or Nathaniel. But whatever just happened with Mya is big. So big she hasn’t come to the infirmary yet—not even to see Rafa.

The door into the ward swings open and Micah’s head pops through.

‘Holy shit. What hap—’

‘Out!’ Brother Ferro snaps. ‘This is not the commissary.’

Micah disappears.

‘Keep that pressure strong, Gabriella.’

I do. With my free hand, I stroke Rafa’s cheek with the back of my fingers. His stubbled skin is hot and clammy. He lets out a deep sigh and my chest aches. He passes out again. Brother Ferro has me hold gauze on Rafa’s chest now too.

The monk is trimming the last suture on Rafa’s stomach wound when the main door opens again. The monk’s head comes up but the rebuke dies on his lips when he sees who it is.

Daniel takes in Rafa and then Taya. It’s a moment before he can speak. ‘How are they?’ The question is for Brother Ferro, not me.

‘Brother Benigno is working to stave off infection in Taya’s hand. She has a number of lacerations and bruises, and I suspect she had cracked a rib before Malachi healed her. She has also taken several heavy bumps to the head, but she will be awake again soon.’ The monk keeps working while he talks, unwrapping an antiseptic wipe. He nods for me to take the pressure off the chest dressing, and cleans the crescent moon gouged into Rafa’s flesh. Blood immediately pools.

‘And Rafa?’

Brother Ferro pauses. Sweat beads on his neck. ‘He didn’t heal in the shift.’

Daniel stares at him. ‘How is that possible?’

‘He’s lost a lot of blood. The first wounds were partially healed, but these others…’ He tosses the bloodied wipe aside, unwraps another. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this. Not even when Calista was hurt. It’s drained his strength. It’s made him, I don’t know’—he shakes his head—‘more human than Rephaite.’

I watch Brother Ferro carefully trace the outer arc of the crescent room with another wipe. ‘What does that mean?’

‘I don’t know, Gabriella. The trauma of these injuries would have killed a human long since.’ The monk wipes his forehead with the back of a latexed hand. ‘I don’t fully understand how your physiology works. If he can’t heal during a shift, then I don’t know if he will heal at all. And if there is internal bleeding…’

‘That’s not good enough,’ Ez says, stricken. ‘You have to do more than patch him up. You have to fix him. We
need
him.’

‘If he were human, I would give him a blood transfusion but we don’t have—’ Brother Ferro stops.

‘What?’ Ez and I say together.

‘We could try Rephaite blood.’

‘How?’ Daniel asks.

‘It would have to be person-to-person. It’s archaic, but we don’t have time for anything else—unless you want to shift to a hospital? I didn’t think so.’

Blood continues to seep from Rafa’s chest. The monk wipes it again. And again. The gauze I’m holding on Rafa’s leg is soaked through.

‘We’d need a match.’

Daniel goes to the computer next to the sterilising unit.

‘You know Rafa’s blood type?’ Ez asks.

‘The brothers have medical information on all of you.’ Daniel clicks through files. ‘Okay, Rafa is Type B. So is Malachi and—’