The Wicked Within (16 page)

Slowly I got up. Pain thumped through my head in time with my pulse. Gabriel stopped in front of me, a thin smile on his lips and a fanatical spark in his eyes. Yeah. Like father, like son.

“What’s wrong, Gabriel,” I managed, “too chickenshit to take me?”

We circled each other. I kept a firm block on my mind to keep him from glamouring me. I focused on the gruesome images of what had been done to Josephine and her staff. Someone like Gabriel could’ve done that without breaking a sweat.

“I’ll enjoy draining you, freak.”

“To do that you’ll have to get close, Gabriel. Real close. Stone-cold close.” I put my hands under my armpits and squawked at him, knowing Crank would be proud, knowing it would drive Gabriel over the edge. He lunged.

The moment he touched me, the serpent in me struck, leaping to life with such ferocity that it left me momentarily stunned. He thought he was quicker, thought he could sink his fangs into my flesh before my power could stop him. He was wrong.

My fingers clutched his wrists as his hands wrapped around my throat, squeezing and trying to bend my head sideways to snap my neck. But they were already cold and hard. He stared at me in shock, frozen, our faces so close. So intimate. He began to choke. The skin at his throat went white, like a million microscopic marble bugs scrambling upward and leaving stone in their wake. The choking stopped as his vocal cords hardened.

Up over his chin, his open mouth, his wide, shocked eyes and finally his head and then . . . nothing.

My pulse thundered in my ears. I was trapped in the grip of a several-hundred-pound statue. I pulled at Gabriel’s hands. I’d
had no other choice but to turn him. Too bad he’d been at my throat when that happened. A glance over my shoulder showed me another vampire was incoming.

And it was Simon, his eyes blazing with murderous intent. Oh God. I’d just killed his son.

I struggled, the statue’s hold so tight I was unable to get out more than a few faint screams. But it was enough. Michel and Bran tackled Simon from behind, and the fight was brutal. Simon cared for nothing except getting them off him so he could kill me. He was a maniac in his grief, managing to send Bran flying through a second-floor window, then dragging Michel behind him, refusing to stop, refusing to break his stride as he came for me.

If I could topple the statue, maybe the arms would break and I could run. I rocked to my left and right. Simon shouted in horror, seeing what I was doing, knowing that if I succeeded, Gabriel was gone for good. He shoved Michel off and rushed me in a blur of supernatural speed.

But I was already falling. Gabriel and I crashed to the ground to the sound of his father’s roar. One stone arm broke at the elbow, the other at the wrist. I scrambled back, the hands still attached around my neck as Simon plowed into me. We rolled. One marble hand was wrenched free in the roll. Simon ended up on top of me. He wrenched the other marble hand free, raising it high over my head. He was going to bludgeon me to death.

For a second, shock got the best of me.

Then a hand grabbed on to the stone arm and held it still.

A Son of Perseus was a terrifying thing if you were in his sights. My father’s face was hard and grim as he pitted his strength against Simon’s. His other hand went to shove his knife into Simon’s throat when Mandeville appeared at my father’s side, a blade pressed between his ribs. My father was still going to do it, to save me, but I shook my head. Mandeville would shove that blade straight through his ribs and into his heart, and I had no idea if that blade had the power to end my father’s life or not.

Simon’s eyes burned with hatred. “You took someone I love,” he sneered at me, voice trembling. “I will do the same. Go to her house,” he told Mandeville. “Search it for any sign of the Hands. Kill anyone inside.”

“No!” I struggled, but he pinned me with the stone arm as Mandeville released my father and disappeared in a haze of speed.

My father made a move to slice Simon’s throat, but Simon dropped the marble arm and caught my father’s hand in the blink of an eye, stilling the blade before it could sink deep enough to kill. Simon hissed at me, “This isn’t over. Say good-bye to your friends.”

In a blur, he was gone. My father collapsed over me, his hands
hitting the pavement. He pushed himself back up as Sebastian appeared like a demon from hell, taking out a shifter lunging in midair right for us.

Jesus.

I scrambled up, shaking, as the shifter went flying into the building across the street. “The kids,” I told him, the terror sinking in. “Simon and Mandeville, they’ve gone to the GD.”

Sebastian grabbed me and we traced, landing in a tumble in the middle of First Street as his power gave out. His head hung low and he was shaking, but he pushed to his feet. I caught his hand and together we ran the rest of the way, hoping like hell Simon and Soren Mandeville hadn’t beaten us to the house. Hoping like hell the kids weren’t home.

Please, don’t let them be home.

My lungs burned. My muscles hurt so bad I wasn’t sure how I stayed on my feet. An orange glow bled through the trees. It grew the closer we came, and I heard the distinct crackle of fire.

Oh God. The house was burning.

I drew up short in the street out front. The sound of things being smashed inside echoed over the inferno. Heart lodged in my throat, I ran for the house, but Sebastian held me back. “No.”

A figure burst through the front door, engulfed in flames. Not one of the kids. A vampire.

“And stay out!” Dub stepped through the flames, following.
The burning vampire staggered across the pavement and collapsed in the middle of the road.

A faint moan from across the street drew my attention.
No.
Crank’s truck lay upside down in a dented heap, against the neighboring fence. I raced over, shouting her name, dimly aware of Sebastian beside me, of Dub calling her name, and the intense heat he brought with him.

I dropped to my knees at the driver’s-side door, which was now only a few inches off the ground. It was enough for me to see the seat was empty. She hadn’t been wearing her belt. “Crank! Jenna!” Movement caught my eye. Her foot was stuck in the passenger-seat crease. She was sandwiched somewhere between the fronts seats.

“Crank! Hold on, we’re coming!”

Metal creaked and moaned as Dub crawled into the passenger side and eased down into the mangled mess. He braced his feet on the dash and front seat, bending down to search for Crank.

“Is she okay?” He didn’t answer. “Damn it, Dub,” I choked out, my voice shaking, “is she okay?”

She
had
to be okay.

M
ICHEL ARRIVED AS WE TRIED
to get Crank out of the mail truck. She wasn’t responding. Sebastian shoved the back door down and climbed inside. I went in after him, catching a glimpse of Crank on her side, one leg bent at an unnatural angle and her arms wrapped around her middle.

No matter how many times we said her name, she didn’t respond.

“We shouldn’t move her,” I said, worried something might be broken in her spine or neck. “Can you tell what’s wrong?” There were too many mail bags for me to angle my way next to him and see her completely.

He shook his head. “But it looks bad.”

Dub paced behind the truck. Michel leaned in. “I can stabilize
her. We need to get her to a hospital. Was there anyone else in the house?”

My stomach dropped. We scooted out of the truck and I stared at Dub. Behind us, 1331 blazed, the heat coming off it hitting us like a hell-born wind. All the rotting wood, the furniture, the weeds and overgrowth had gone up like kindling. “Dub, where’s Violet and Henri?”

He kept pacing and biting his nails, his wide eyes on the ground but unseeing.

“Dub!” I stepped in his path and placed my hands on his shoulders. He stopped but wouldn’t look at me. He was burning up; even his clothes were hot to the touch. Emotion poured off him. I whispered his name, and finally he lifted his chin, his face cracking with horror and grief. “I didn’t mean it. They came and I just . . . ”

“Hey. It’s all right. You did good. You did what you had to do. Where are the others?”

“I don’t know. They weren’t home. But Crank, she . . . She was pulling up, and one of them just stepped in front of her truck and stopped it like it was nothing and then he—he threw it across the road and came inside.”

Tears streamed down his face, and I hugged him to me. “It’s okay. She’ll be okay.”

He stepped back and swiped his hand under his nose and
sniffed hard, nodding like he was trying to convince himself.

Michel pulled Crank from the truck. While she was in his arms, her body stayed frozen just the way we’d found her. Michel must’ve used his magic to keep her body still. “I’ll take her to Charity Hospital,” he said, and then he was gone, leaving us there alone to stare at our house being eaten up by fire.

“Who were they?” Dub asked.

A heavy weight settled on my shoulder. I’d killed Gabriel, and Simon had exacted his revenge.

“It was—” Sebastian spoke up.

“It was me,” I cut in. “I killed one of the Novem’s heirs, and his father came here to get back at me.”

Dub went still and his eyes met mine. They were blank, taking in the news, letting it sink into his bones.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

“My grandmother is dead. The Novem is at war,” Sebastian said over the apology echoing in my head. “They’re all after the Hands now.”

Dub blinked, his face going a little paler than before. “And we’re stuck in the middle,” he echoed in a hollow tone. Anger twisted his features. “She’s human, you know!” He threw out his hand toward the truck. “She’s not like us! She can’t stand against them.”

He was right. Crank couldn’t protect herself, or outrun a
supernatural. She was smart and brave, and could hold her own for a little while, but facing down a vampire, shifter, or powerful witch—not to mention facing a bunch of them . . .

“This shouldn’t have happened,” Dub said through tears. “This shouldn’t have happened!”

He pushed past us and ran down the street. I watched his image fade into the darkness, my chest feeling as though it burned as hot as the three-story fire beside us. I wiped at my tears, angry with myself, angry that I hadn’t been here, that I’d caused this.

And Dub. Poor Dub was left to defend himself. He was just a kid too. Just a fucking kid.

“Hey.” Sebastian spun me around to face him. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

“Why not? It’s my fight, and I brought all of you into it.”

“You didn’t murder my grandmother,” he said. “You didn’t set the Novem up to fracture. You didn’t make Gabriel attack you. So don’t do that. Don’t take on all the blame. Don’t start feeling sorry for yourself.”

I flinched as though he’d slapped me and stepped back, caught off guard by his words. Sorry for myself? Is that what he thought? That I only cared about me?

“Wait,” he started, shaking his head, frustrated. “That’s not how I meant it.”

“Go to hell,” I said through tears, walking away and then
turning back. “I feel sorry for them, for what my being here has caused. I can feel that. I’m allowed because I
care
about them. Tell you what,” I said, swallowing my grief. “You knock off the ‘lying to my face and shutting me out’ routine and then maybe you’ll have the right to say what you just did.”

I swung around, intending to march off, but ran smack into Henri. He stilled me with his hands on my arms. I let my forehead fall against his chest, wanting to let all the fear, worry, and anger out, but I forced it down and moved away.

Henri’s gaze was riveted on the house. It was completely engulfed now. Behind him I saw movement, a shadow down the street, crossing into the swath of light from the streetlamp.

It was the River Witch in his cloak and hood walking with a cane, and a tiny girl holding his hand. Relief weakened my legs. Thank God. Violet was okay. I hugged Henri. He let out a surprised grunt. And then I was running.

I dropped to my knees in front of Violet and hugged her.

When I released her, she stared at me for a long moment, her face expressionless, but her dark eyes were filled with regret. “The house is on fire,” she said. “All my treasures are burning.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

My mother’s letter and the few things she had left for me were burning too. I stood and watched the flames lick the sky. The house next door would catch fire soon. Sparks had already
lit the trees between the two houses. The entire GD might go up in flames.

“Feels good,” the River Witch remarked, “the heat on my face . . . ”

I was surprised to see him out of the bayou. “What are you doing here?”

The gaze he fixed on me was bright and more than just intelligent; it was cunning and almost . . . pleased. “I’ve come to help you, child. Things are at work that you cannot overcome on your own, things that need to be . . . monitored.”

I frowned at his odd choice of words. Suspicion had lingered with me from our first meeting. “Why help at all? What do you care?”

“Because the alternative, if you should lose, is unacceptable.” He tapped his cane on the ground. “Now come, let’s see what we can do about this fire, shall we?”

As Violet went to see Sebastian and Henri, the witch moved to the middle of the street, which was as close as one could get to the flames now. There were a few fire stations and EMTs in the French Quarter, mostly to deal with the human tourists and locals. No one was going to come to our rescue out in the GD. And even if they did, there was no way they’d stop the inferno.

Bran showed up, bruised and bloodied, his sword hung over
his back like he’d just stepped off some ancient battlefield. He took quick stock of the situation. “Where’s Michel? We need him back in the Quarter.”

“He took Crank to the hospital.” I nodded to the truck. “She was inside.”

A hard glint came into his eyes. “Bastard. And Simon?”

“I’m not sure. He’s either burning or gone.”

“Things are going to get worse, Selkirk. Athena has used a simple divide-and-conquer strategy. Phase one is complete; we’re divided. Conquer is next. She’ll launch her own offensive soon. United, we could have stood against her. We’ve done so in the past. Divided, we won’t stand a chance.”