Within the Flames (23 page)

“Safe isn’t the same as giving in,” he said in a low, hard voice. “Safe is buying time, coming up me, width=with a plan.”

“The plan is now,” she said, but even as those words left her mouth, the sidewalk began spinning. Sweat broke out, and so did nausea. She tilted sideways, lights dancing in her eyes—and something wet bubbled inside her nostril.

She touched the spot. Her fingers came away red.

“Damn it,” Eddie muttered, covering the distance between them in moments. “Hold on to me.”

Lyssa closed her eyes, dizzy. “I’m not an invalid.”

“You’re an Amazon,” he replied. “Here’s a cab. Get in.”

She tried to pull away. “No, I don’t think so.”

He didn’t say a word—just grabbed the front of her jacket, holding her still. But he didn’t need to touch her to do that. All it took was the look in his eyes. All the gentleness gone, replaced by a cold that sank through her, into her heart. It bruised her feelings and frightened her.

She stared at him, knowing full well she could hide nothing of what she felt—and as he stared back, a terrible darkness entered his eyes.

With what seemed to be a great deal of effort, he let go of the jacket. Lyssa let out her breath. Stepped back, and climbed into the cab.

After a moment, Eddie followed.

“Bayard and Elizabeth Street,” he told the driver, then glanced sideways. “We’re meeting Lannes and Lethe in Chinatown.”

The cab accelerated into traffic. Lyssa leaned against the door, aching and tired. “Can I talk about this without you freaking out
?
”

“Yes,” he said tightly.

“I’ve been hunted for ten years,” she told him. “Since I was twelve years old. I always knew I would be found. And I knew when it happened, I’d have to make a choice. Run . . . or stand my ground and fight.”

The cabbie glanced in his rearview mirror.

“World of Warcraft,” Lyssa told him. “It’s a gaming thing. We’re very melodramatic.”

She turned back to Eddie, expecting him to say something . . . anything . . . but it was as if he hadn’t heard a word. He remained silent, staring at his hands, which were resting flat on his thighs. Lyssa stared, too—at his scars.

The cab driver rolled down the window, fussing with his heater. “Turning into an oven in here.”

She hadn’t noticed the heat rising off Eddie, but when the cab driver spoke, she felt an invisible flame wrap around her, from head to toe. It felt good, and she didn’t like that. Right now, she wanted to feel cold, resolved.

She tried to move away from him, but came up against the door. Eddie turned his head, and watched her. She looked away from him, out the window.

The cab ride seemed to take forever. Traffic was bad. Lyssa heard sirens all around them, far away and close, wailing through her until the noise was in her spine, and her heart beat to the rise and fall of that ominous sound.

Chinatown was run-down and gritty. Even the cover of night and neon lights couldn’t hide the dirty awnings and sidewalks. Five- and six-story walk-ups lined Bayard Street, those brick faces crowded with fire escapes, and cheap, glowing signs covered in a funky mix of English names and Chinese characters. There was hardly enough room to drive. Everything from delivery trucks to minivans parked on both sides of the narrow one-way street.

The cab dropped them off at the intersection of Elizabeth and Bayard. Lyssa got out first and put her face to the cold wind, inhaling exhaust and grease scents, and an undercurrent of sewage, slime. She smelled blood, too, but realized—as she pushed back her hair—that it was from her hand.

Nauseating twirling sensations hit her, as though she were going to vomit and spin at the same time. Eyes closed, she breathed even deeper, ignoring the tingle of power that rode up her right arm.

Before today, she would never have contemplated casting a spell—let alone three.
I knew the price,
she thought, with dread.

“Lyssa,” Eddie said, and she made room for him to exit the cab.

It was difficult not to limp along as she walked, hunched over and nauseated. Even her heart pounded too hard. For some reason, that made her think of Mandy, dying alone in the park. She felt like the same thing was happening to her.

Eddie slid his arm through hers. She tried to pull away, but even with her inhuman edge of strength, he didn’t budge.

“Lean on me,” he said.

“I don’t want to.”
I’m afraid to.
You’ll let me down.

He didn’t say anything or let go. Lyssa had no choice but to keep up, but it was easier than she expected to fall in at his side. Natural, as though she’d been doing it all her life. Heat flowed between them. Her heart began to slow. Breathing was easier.

Don’t be tricked,
she told herself.
This doesn’t mean anything.

Of course it does,
replied the dragon, as the muscles of her right arm twitched.
What would
you
say?
Oh, yes.
Loosen up.

Loosen up. She hadn’t been loose in ten years. She hadn’t even been flexible. Her heart was so stiff and brittle, it would break if anyone touched it.

Especially him.

They stopped in front of a narrow metal door crammed beneath the awning of a magazine store. Teen girls filled the small, well-lit clothing shop next door. One of them looked up, saw Eddie, and began nudging the others. She didn’t think he noticed until he turned slightly to put his back to them.

Lyssa peered around his shoulder. The girls were giggling, biting their bottom lips as they checked out his ass.

“They think you’re cute,” she told him. “Not a criminal.”

“It’s amazing how fine a line that can be,” he replied, unlocking the door.

They entered a dark corridor. The cracks in the walls were wide enough to stick her fingers into, and the pea green linoleum on the floor had been spray-painted with obscenities—as well as one giant heart decorated with a skull and crossbones.

Mold tickled her nose, but so did the dry, salt-breeze scent of the gargoyle—accompanied by notes of jasmine, vanilla.

“Lannes and Lethe are here,” she said.

They began climbing a narrow staircase so steep it was almost a ladder. Lyssa had to stop halfway up, breathless. Worn-out.

For the b000alfriefest, most terrible moment—she thought about cutting herself again. Just a little cut, a little blood, to give herself energy. Enough to get through this day.

Or I could cut Eddie.

Revulsion filled her. Lyssa leaned hard on the cracked wall and pressed her fist against her mouth. Memories trickled—memories of power, and being inside the
Cruor Venator
’s rotting mind.

Other memories strained: her mother’s smiling eyes, a splash of blood on snow. Her father’s scream of rage.

Both of them murdered. Estefan killed, and many others. All because power had become someone else’s addiction. Power and revenge. What had she said to those guys studying
Macbeth
?

Once you decide to use violence to get power, it’s difficult to stop.

Eddie hung back, two steps down—and leaned on the wall opposite her.

Silence fell. Just their breathing and the creak of the building. Muffled voices from outside, and the honk of a car horn. Her heartbeat. Her terrible thoughts.

Lyssa closed her eyes. “Something you want to say to me?”

She heard him climb the steps separating them. The stairwell was barely wide enough for her shoulders, let alone two people. His leg touched hers, and his hand slid past her arm to rest against the wall. Heat poured off him. Fire. Fire in her own skin, licking down to bone, and blood.

“Is it easier not to look at me?” he asked, in a soft voice.

“Yes,” said Lyssa.

“Okay,” he replied. “It’s about what you said in the cab.”

“I didn’t think you heard me.”

“I was listening.” His thumb brushed against her mouth, and she flinched, opening her eyes . . . and meeting his. “I understand fighting. I understand the choice to run . . . or hold your ground. I respect you for it.”

“So what’s the problem?”

His expression was so severe. “Lyssa. Donere.yss/p>

She pushed against his chest. “Fine.
Of course
I’ll get hurt. There’s no win in this situation. I’m
already
hurt. I’m just not dead.”

“That’s not good enough. I want you safe, alive, and happy.” He caught her hand and held it against him, unmoving. “Is it such a bad thing for someone to care what the hell happens to you?”

Yes,
she thought, suddenly exhausted.
Yes, if I lose them.

Heavy footsteps on the landing. Heavy as a gargoyle. Lyssa sagged against the wall, heart sinking into her stomach as she looked away from Lannes and Eddie—staring down the stairs, desperately fighting for control over her memories, and grief.

Eddie said, in a rough voice, “Give us a minute.”

Silence. Then, Lannes replied, mildly, “Is everything okay?”

Lyssa closed her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks. Eddie made a small sound, deep in his throat, and moved so that he blocked her from Lannes.

“We’re fine,” he said, in a gentler tone. “We’ll be right there.”

She couldn’t see their faces, but the hush that fell in that stairwell was immense, and charged.

Until, finally, she heard the rustle of wings and the groan of stairs.

Eddie let out his breath. Lyssa chanced a look and found his back turned to her. He stood one step above her, staring up at the landing. His hands curled in loose fists. Strong, broad, steady.

“I’ll be honest,” she murmured, closing her eyes again. “I didn’t like it when you were angry with me, back at the apartment building. And I don’t like it that I even cared.”

Eddie turned and sat on the steps. Then he held out his hand to her.

His hand looked so large and warm. Lyssa couldn’t help herself, and let him draw her down to the same step: crammed together, side by side, in that narrow space, cocooned in cracking walls and heat, and shadow.

He held her hand in a loose grip. “You know my worst nightmare? Losing my temper. I did that once, and it ended . . . nbses (T1)"so badly. And, oddly, not as bad as I wanted it to.”

The wounds in her heart bled a little more. “Is that why you ran from home?”

“Yes.” Eddie looked down at their hands, turning them over so his scars were hidden. “And I wasn’t mad at you.”

“Yes, you were.”

He closed his eyes. “I’ll go insane if I can’t protect you. But . . . I’m afraid I won’t be strong enough. I hesitated, with Betty, at the end. I knew what I had to do, but taking that last step . . .”

“I know,” she said softly. “Part of the reason I’ve been running all these years is that I don’t
want
to kill.” Lyssa held up her right hand, oddly shaped inside the glove. “I was so close to taking Betty’s life. And then, when Lannes finished her . . .”

“I felt relieved,” he said, and they shared a long look.

“Well,” Lyssa told him, finally. “I’m glad.”

The corner of his mouth softened. “That so?”

“I hate movies where the heroes just go around shooting people like it’s nothing. You know, bang-bang, right in the face—and then they get off some funny line and keep on going like it’s just another day, and oh—it’s time for lunch.”

His smile grew a fraction more. “But some people find that sexy.”

Lyssa struck a pose, aiming a gun with her fingers. “
Pew-pew.
”

A snort escaped him, and his eyes warmed.

“You’re right,” she said, blowing on her finger, concentrating on making actual smoke trickle from the tip of her glove. “It’s totally hot.”

Eddie laughed outright and covered her hand with his. His smile faded, though, and he bowed his head . . . drawing her hand close to his chest, holding it with heart-stopping gentleness. Lyssa leaned in and kissed the top of his head.

Above them, the ceiling creaked. Someone big was pacing.

“Your friends are waiting,” e w

“You’re my friend, too.” Eddie glanced up at the ceiling. “You saved Lannes and Lethe today.”

“It wasn’t that simple.”

“You saved them,” he said firmly. “You didn’t have to come with me, and you didn’t have to help them, but you did. I know it cost you something.”

Lyssa remembered the taste of Lethe’s blood . . . and how good it had felt when she frightened those witches. Knowing she could own them, if she really wanted it.

She sighed. “I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

“But?”

“You’re right. It cost me.”

Maybe my soul,
she thought.