ARC: Crushed (3 page)

Chapter 5

Colton doesn’t survive as long as I would like. Partly because he’d already bled out quite a bit while Jo and I argued, and partly because I’m too pissed to be careful. But then the soul-drunk hits, the bubbling high that follows the devouring of a person’s life, and I don’t care.

I stand, near-giggling over the destroyed corpse, surrounded by the sweet scent of blood and revenge. Worries float away, like they’re tagged to the tail of balloons caught in a hot, happy updraft.

I barely react as Annabel coalesces in front of me. She blanches as she looks at the corpse, but composes herself before she turns to me. Her expression is sadly solemn as she regards me. Then slowly she lifts her hand to her mouth and presses her cocked pinky to her lips, signifying I fulfilled my promise. We didn’t actually pinky swear, but there’s no arguing with ghosts. Or children.

I kiss my own pinky in return. She smiles slightly, and then freezes, as suddenly still as if she were a photograph. Her image becomes pixelated and grainy, dissolving into a girl made of glitter. Then she dissipates, swirled away by an unnatural wind to the places dead people go.

I’m left alone, standing among the wreckage that set her free. I’ll never see her again.

I don’t jump when Armand steps from the closet. I never forgot he was there; his approving presence was like a warm hum in the back of my mind. I may have shown off a little.

“Meda,” he says. I twist, gently, slowly, to look at him. His eyes gleam in the dim light. The reckless abandon of the slaughter spills into everything, drowning my inhibitions in a wave of who-can-care, and my feet draw me to him. “That was magnificent.”

I smile at him, aglow.

He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but then closes it. Then his jaw flexes and he grabs my hand. I gasp as a wave of electricity rushes over my too-sensitive nerves. I want more and twine my fingers through his, sliding our palms together, revelling in the sensation.

“Don’t go back,” he says. “Not right away. Come with me.” His eyes dance, and I see a world of wonderfully wicked things there. Beautiful eyes, deep and dark, like caves full of nightmares. “Let’s go find another one.”

I lean into the words until only a few inches separate our faces. The Hunger burbles happily at his suggestion of more. It’s content, but never, ever satisfied.

Why shouldn’t I go with Armand? We could play in the dark, doing what we do best. Why follow Jo home, to sit in my prison? It seems a ridiculous idea, given how the night calls.

I smile at Armand and his eyes shine.

A hard banging makes Armand jump, but I’m too relaxed.

“You done yet?” Jo demands through the door. Her voice radiates fury – and yet she waited for me. The realization hits me like a splash of cold water. “Meda, come
on.
”

I turn back to Armand, and see he’s looking toward the door as well. His lips compress into a thin line. He catches me noticing, and his mouth relaxes, his lips restored to their plump sensuousness. They’re a little damp, the slight shine almost mesmerizing. Then they bend into a smile. He knows what I’m thinking, but I don’t care.

“Meda!” Jo calls, like an ice bucket. “Come on, Meda. I’m…” long pause. The taut desperation creeps back in. “Let’s go home.”

It’s no home to me. What waits there but a strait-jacket of restriction?

“Please, Meda,” Jo says. Her voice is heavy, and I wish I could share with her my life-sucked effervescence. I wish I could tie her worries to my happy balloons and send them floating away. Friends should be able to do that. I can’t, but there is something I can do, one worry I can lift away. Armand’s eyes are on my neck watching the way I toy with my necklace. The metal feels slick from the blood on my hands.

“Bye Armand,” I say, releasing him and drifting toward the door. “It’s been fun.”

He grabs my hand. I tug, but not hard enough to pull it away, though of course I could. He couldn’t hold me if I wanted to go. His grip tightens for a half-second, but then he gives a wry smile and lets go.

“
Au revoir
, Meda,” he says, and backs out of line-of-sight of the door.

A nagging nibble tugs at a balloon string, and I pause. “Don’t tell anyone you saw me.” It’s a threat, but I’m too mellow to force any heat into my words. Somehow I don’t think I need to, that he already knows me well enough to understand my threat isn’t empty. “Or I’ll come find you.” I turn my back to him and put my hand on the knob.

“Is that a promise?” he murmurs, his accent drawing the softly-spoken syllables together.

I don’t answer and I don’t turn around.

But I do smile.

When I emerge, Jo’s waiting. She gives me a withering look, then pulls a package of baby wipes from her bag and tosses (hurls) them at me to clean up with – how like Jo to come prepared – then climbs stiffly onto her motorcycle. I’m definitely not forgiven for sneaking out, but because we’re in a hurry, Jo’s forced to bite back her bitch-out for later. Her rage is confined to huffy looks and moody lane-shifts.

Unlike booze-drunk, the soul-drunk only increases my reflexes – the better with which to go on murderous rampages, my dear – so it’s safe enough for me to drive my own motorcycle. The hot air skims over my skin, the songs of the night sing in my ears, the stars are so bright I can almost feel them for the suns they are, shining down, bathing me in warmth.

I replay the night in my head, pulling out each detail to savor in Technicolor detail. The expression in Colton’s eyes when he knew it was the end, the rush of power as I controlled him, the rush of justice when I crushed him.

And Armand. His eyes hot on my skin; his smile, so wicked. The way we moved in concert. How different it felt to share it with someone who understands. I’ve only ever shared my… gifts with my victims.

Needless to say, they don’t really appreciate them

I keep hoping the clever sun will pop over the horizon, calling us to class and curtailing Jo’s waiting lecture, but apparently it’s feeling rather dull this morning, and slow. The road passes too quickly while time crawls too slowly. It’s not quite dawn when we reach the Templar community and Crusader home base.

After the demons destroyed the last Templar community in their attempt to kidnap me, the Templars relocated to the mountains of West Virginia. It’s a little valley as far away from everywhere as they could manage while still being able to procure electricity and wide enough roads to bring in the trailers.

Yes, I said trailers. The Crusaders take their vows of poverty seriously, or at least this branch does. Just my luck to get the Harley-riding, trailer-living clan.

Jo and I stash our bikes under their tarps and re-hide the keys before starting the trek back toward our valley. Hidden escape vehicles, along with the rings of sentries we have to sneak past, are just a few of the new measures the Crusaders implemented after the demon attack in March. The improved security of the new school is something I appreciate most of the time, seeing as the whole host of hell wants me dead, but it does make it tricky to sneak out for a midnight snack.

The school is housed in a hastily renovated timber mill, an enormous building made of crumbling brick that climbs up the mountainside from the river in a set of stair-steps. The mill was built about a hundred (million) years ago and has been abandoned for at least half that time, so is not quite up to snuff – what with the giant holes in the rotten floor, the crumbling brick, partially collapsed roof, etc. But when your kids train their whole lives to fight demons and have super-healing capabilities, minor things like collapsing buildings are ignored – extra-curricular survival training, really. Eventually the school will be moved into the new, highly fortified stronghold the Crusaders are constructing in the center of the valley, but, as yet, it’s only partially completed.

Jo’s and my rooms are with the seniors on the top and most decrepit floor of the old mill, at the very end to isolate me somewhat from the other students. I reach the side of our building, and start scaling it. The crumbling brick is both helpful for providing and handholds, and not so helpful, for obvious reasons.

I’m about ten feet up when I realize Jo doesn’t follow. I twist and look down. She waves me on and points around the side of the building, where there’s a door.

Ah. Not such a big deal if the Crusader kid is caught out of bed in the early morning. But the half-demon? Clearly up to no good.

Our windows are barred, pointless really, given the Swiss-cheese nature of the rest of the building, but they were here before us. I climb past my room and heave myself up to the shingled roof. Then I creep along to a busted eave and slip into an attic Jo, Chi and I claimed as ours back when we actually hung out. Then there’s only the trick of tiptoeing between rotten boards, then skipping down the steps to my room.

I pause outside Jo’s room, but don’t hear any movement.

Sweet. If it takes her too long to make it back, there’ll be no time for a lecture. I hum a little as I sweep into my room – then stutter to a stop.

“Took you long enough.”

Crap. Damn those Crusaders, and their refusal to let us put locks on our doors. “Darkness cannot live where the light shines,” I was told, which is a self-righteous way to say they don’t trust us.

My happy hum turns to a groan. My buzz has long abandoned me to face her alone. The door knob is still in my hand and I’m tempted just to slip right back out.

“Don’t even think about it,” she threatens, shoving to her feet.

I hide my wince by turning towards the door as I close it, then give her an affronted face that says “I would never!” before creeping over to drop into my plastic desk chair. I brace myself for the coming lecture. I don’t have to wait long. The three hour drive did nothing to lessen her rage. If anything, it gave it time to build.

“What the
hell
were you
thinking
?” Jo demands, hands on her hips. Her face is already flushed and working itself up to a magnificent shade of red. “
How could you?
”

Murder Colton? Happily and with pleasure. But I do
not
say so. Jo-lectures are quicker and less painful if I keep my mouth shut.

Yeah, no, this is definitely not my first. I’m becoming a bit of an expert.

She rants and raves and punches the air, while I fight the urge to make gabby hands every time she turns her back.

It’s not that I don’t want to be good – I do. For my mom, for Uri, for Jo (when I don’t want to kill her). Not to mention, the Crusaders are the only thing standing between me and the demon hordes who want me dead. It’s just Jo’s and my definitions of “good” are about as similar as an Eskimo’s and a Jamaican’s definitions of “cold”.

She rounds on me. “Well?” she demands, hands on hips. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” She looks at me expectantly.

“Gee you’re pretty when you’re angry.” I duck just in time to avoid the pencil sharpener she hurls at my head. I hold my hands up before she can launch another missile “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

She clenches her fists.

“You actually get really, really red and kind of blotch–”

She makes an enraged roar that sounds like it was supposed to be my name and dives for me.

I scramble towards the bed, but she manages to grab my ankle and I land face down. Something hard digs into my stomach, and I reach under and haul out a DVD.
Titanic
. I didn’t put it there.

At the sight of it Jo pauses in her attempted homicide.

Oh.

Oh, crap.

The events of the evening all become clear.

She must have snuck over to watch the movie once everyone was in bed – about the same time I was waiting for to make my escape. Then she found me gone.

She’s almost always busy these days. Off with Chi, or squeezing in extra training, or in the infirmary because she destroyed her leg in practice. It doesn’t exactly help our relationship as the only time I see her is when she pulls herself away to lecture me.

Except, of course, the last time we watched a movie.

“Ta-da!” she says. I take that as my cue and open my eyes. Dominating the top of my dresser is a boxy television, and sitting next to it is a real, honest-to-goodness DVD player.

I hug it. It is my squishy and my squishy it will be.

Jo laughs. I look at her like the miracle worker she is.

“I thought you might like it.” She says with satisfaction. “I explained to Headmaster Reinhart how you stay in your room in the evenings in order to keep a low profile…”

Blatantly untrue, which she knows. I stay in my room because I haven’t anything better to do.

“…and he agreed that maybe you should have something to pass the time.” Then her nose wrinkles, and she grabs a flat DVD case off the top of the TV, looking at it. “All the movies we watch have to be approved, but it’s better than nothing.” She shrugs.

I grin. It’s way better than nothing.

She grins back, and points to my desk. “And of course – popcorn.”

Jo slips the movie in and we settle down. The movie’s pretty terrible, some kind of rom-com with a perky heroine dumber than any extra in a horror flick. It’s still better than nothing, and, anyway, I laugh at the main character as if it were all comedy.