beats per minute (30 page)

***

Suspended in motion, the civilians had been herded into the
centre of the dance floor. Cowering in the darkness, they huddled blindly
together, buffeted by an unknown gale, in some cases ragged and bloody, but
alive; alive, yet oblivious to the battle that raged right in front of them,
around them, among them. They were unsuspecting inhabitants of a war zone.

Leaning as far over the glass as she dared, Raegan gasped.
Directly below the skylight on which she was perched, Warwick and Adriana were
fighting a pair of Fay in tandem; and there was Tyrell, struggling against two.
He was losing ground quickly. But then Bree, in a magnificent feint, managed to
lure her Fay inward enough to stab him in the gut with both blades in quick succession,
kicking up with her right foot at the same time that he fell to his knees.
Jarred by the kick to his hand, his broadsword soared into the air and,
somersaulting over him, she caught it, landing behind him and lopping off his
head with one swift, strong stroke. Transfixed, Raegan started with an
involuntary jolt, her fingers flexing against the glass in euphoria. But
success did not give Bree pause; straight away she was moving again, leaping
halfway across the room to cannon into a Fay who had been about to plunge its
dagger into an unsuspecting Tyrell’s back.

Raegan pressed her hand to her head. At least the odds had
been shortened. But then, counting again, her brows knitted together in a
frown. Warwick had estimated six. Bree had killed one, and there were still
four fighting in the room. Where was the last?

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than a shadow had
fallen across the roof.

She sprang forward onto her hands, gripping the stone base
of the skylight, using it to support her weight. Propelling herself up and
back, her legs were wrapped around her would-be assailant’s neck, flipping him
or her to the ground before there was time to even draw a breath. She landed on
top, foot wedged firmly in the cavity between neck and shoulder, ready to
strike once more.

Staring back up at her, the picture of open-mouthed
shock,
was Declan.

The adrenaline still coursing through her wilted. It was
just
typical.
He had followed her. But of course he hadn’t put in an
appearance until she’d done most of the hard work, figuring out an alternative
entry point, sussing out the battle below.

She would not let him get to her.
She would not help
him up. She would not even acknowledge his presence. Stepping over his prone
body, Raegan resumed her watchful position without saying a word.

 ‘It’s a mess in there.’ He let out a low whistle as he
leaned over her shoulder, apparently recovered to his natural state of
obnoxiousness. She stiffened in annoyance. ‘Hold it – where are the other two?
I can only see four.’

‘Bree killed one already.’ Raegan tried her best to tune him
out as she ran through options in her mind. From her vantage point, she had
counted eight windows set into the walls of the bar. She reckoned the one in
the right hand corner would be the safest bet, as it was partially concealed by
the bar.
But how to get in?
It was too high to reach
from the ground. She could lower herself down the side of the building; if she
had momentum enough she could swing through it, but that would destroy any
chance of a surprise attack...

Declan’s voice butted into her thoughts. ‘So what’s the
plan?’

 ‘You’re not in the plan. Go home.’

‘But.
Um.
Raegan, I’m sor-‘

‘If you apologise to me I will throw you off this bloody
roof.’ So much for pretending he didn’t exist.

‘But I am sorry. You can’t believe I really meant that stuff
– y’know, about the others. Not caring. I just wanted to keep you safe.’

She made a rude noise.

‘You don’t have to believe me. I know I behaved like an ass,
but I was only following orders. They’re my friends too! Hey, at least remember
our conversation with Warwick – I was the first one to say that we should
fight.’

He had a point.

And two hopelessly inexperienced Regents would definitely be
better than one. It was infuriating but she had to admit it to herself: he was
right.

‘Fine.
For now, let’s call a truce.
But if we had the time I’d rip you a new one.’

‘Time’s all we
got
, ma’am,’ he
quipped, earning himself a dirty look from her. ‘Sorry.
Habit.
So how we doing?’

‘It’s close. Too close. Bree’s the only one to get a kill so
far – so that’s five Fay still standing, if Warwick’s numbers were right. We
could definitely be useful, even just as a diversion. Or we could get some of
the civilians out.’ The words were a tangled mutter. Raegan’s mind was clearly
focused on strategy and not conversation.

‘Okay.
How?’

She pointed to the window. ‘That’s our best entry point.
It’s in almost complete darkness and is partially obscured. In a corner, so
nothing could sneak up behind us, and we could then roll and shelter behind the
bar. We’d have a pretty clear view point from there.’ She scowled, heading back
over to the skylight to check the status of the fight below. Declan couldn’t
help admire her. She seemed so much older, suddenly; talking as she moved, continually
alert, scanning for any changes in their surroundings, ears pricked for an
intruder, a hundred possibilities being processed behind her eyes. ‘I just wish
we could get in more quietly. I don’t think those windows open. We’ll have to
break the glass.’

‘Not necessarily.’ Declan crossed the roof and opened his
jacket, pulling a long, thin piece of iron from its depths. He smiled briefly.
‘I found this crowbar in the alley; it’s pretty rusty but figured it’d be
better than nothing as a weapon.’

She looked blankly at him. ‘So?’

‘So – I have some experience jemmying windows.’ He leaned
over the side again, squinting at the window ledge below. ‘I can’t see much
from here, but this doesn’t strike me as the kind of place to have any high
security fittings, you catch my drift? Betcha I could force it open.’ Eyes
darting, they came to rest on the flag attached to the side of the building.
‘Bingo.’

‘What?’

‘You just keep on point. I’ll figure out a way to get us
down there.’

Raegan nodded, distracted. The civilians were still safe as
far as she could see. But the fight was no less intense.
Neither
side had really gained any ground – and
there was still no sign of Sam.

She sprang up. Sitting still was pointless: her muscles were
screaming to join in. But the strange sight of Declan, leaning out
acrobatically into the open air as he attached a length of rope to the
flagpole, stopped her in her tracks.

‘What are you doing?’

‘It’s ready. I’ll go first and pop the window; you can
follow me down.’ He tested the rope again for security.

She studied the makeshift device. It wasn’t one of Jasper’s
creations. It was clumsy. But it would do. Grudgingly she grasped the rope.
They both took another peek over the side. The alley was clear; the night, held
in their traverse, was calm.

He stood on the edge like an abseiler. Before he pushed off,
his eyes met hers, serious. ‘You ok to hold the traverse until we get inside?’

Raegan flexed her muscles, mentally, checking each and every
nerve ending for exhaustion. The answer made her smile. Chasms passed between
each strong tick: the clock was slow but stable. ‘Yeah, I am. I don’t even feel
tired.’

His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘Me neither.’

With that he kicked off. Steadying her feet against the
bottom of the ledge, she fed the rope through the loop as he whizzed down the
side of the building.

Excitement rising, she watched him. He was at the window
now, turning the crowbar this way and that- he was almost there-

And then she saw it.
The dark blur.
A speeding bullet, moving toward him.
She didn’t have
time to cry out.

Declan was knocked clean off the window pane and sent
sprawling to the floor.

She didn’t even think. She’d thrown the loop of rope over
the flagpole before she realised she was moving. Leaping off the side of the
roof in a swan dive, she sailed towards it, allowing her hands and legs to wrap
loosely around the rope so she could fly down to the ground. She was barely
even aware of her hands stinging with rope burns; every muscle was strained
towards Declan below as she tried to see what was happening-

The rope ended a few metres from the ground, so Raegan was
forced to jump. Her timing was off and she landed inelegantly. But at least she
landed on two feet.

This was bad.

A woman stood before them.
A Fay.
One who could slow down time to such a degree and move so fast within it that,
even with the two of them traversing to their maximum, she could still evade
their notice until the last fraction of a second.

The woman was beautiful. Raegan didn’t know why she was
surprised. Christian had also been beautiful.

Her eyes were even bluer than his; cold, as light as the sky
in summer, stunning against the milk of her cheeks and the violet of her sleek,
asymmetric bob. Her lips, thin and cruel, were parted in a humourless grin.

‘How sweet.
You have come to save
your friend.’ Her voice was surprisingly deep and husky with traces of an
accent.
Russian, perhaps.

Raegan didn’t say anything.
Couldn’t.
Her vocal chords were paralysed. She wanted to be brave. But she couldn’t shake
the notion that she was still that girl in St Jude’s, running away from the
thing that had killed her friend.

The alleyway seemed horribly big.

The Fay was taunting her now, walking around them in a slow
circle. Clearly she did not see them as any sort of threat: Declan had managed
to back away a few paces, but from the horrible angle of his leg where he had
fallen, standing upright was out of the question; and Raegan was motionless as
a stuck pig.

As if to illustrate her lack of concern, the Fay jabbed
curiously at Declan’s leg with her foot. He did his best not to cry out, but
the agonising pain was clear from the sweat beading on his forehead and the
tense quilt of his jaw.

It was this incident that finally snapped Raegan out of her
trance. It was the nonchalance of the Fay; the way she casually delivered pain,
poking at them with the abstraction of a scientist with two unsuspecting lab
rats.

The kick Raegan delivered to the back of the Fay’s head was
swift and sure; it took the woman completely by surprise. Her second, even more
spectacular move, squatting and then sweeping her leg beneath her opponent’s
feet, dropped the Fay to her knees.

There was no playfulness in the arctic eyes now.
Staring up at Raegan from underneath her fringe, the beautiful face
twisted, almost skull-like, with malice.

But before Raegan could deliver another blow, the Fay sprang
to her feet, soaring toward her with unearthly precision. Her hand wrapped
around Raegan’s throat – so like Christian – tight, squeezing; but with a
gurgling noise of rage, Raegan’s fists remained on course. They staggered with
the momentum of the combined blows, keeling over to the side; the woman used
this to her advantage, pushing Raegan to the ground.

It was all so fast. There was no pause to take a breath
before the next relentless impact of bruising force against soft flesh.

Somewhere in the struggle, the Fay managed to straddle her,
pinning her arms down with a knee either side, and Raegan felt a new – somehow
more real - kind of terror; it sliced through her middle like a flare of
warning. As the woman leaned in, she made a final, futile attempt to headbutt
her – but it was useless. The Fay brought her hands up to Raegan’s face in a
bizarre, mocking carress.

‘I don’t want your heart,’ she hissed. ‘I could pop your
head like a grape right now! But I prefer to do it slowly.’

She began to push against Raegan’s temples. The pressure
mounting was unbearable. Raegan struggled in vain. She was going to die. She
was going to die horribly. Her skull would cave in, agonisingly slowly, her
eyes, already bulging, were going to explode in their sockets...

And then a crowbar flew into the side of the Fay’s head,
colliding with such force that it would have killed any human outright. It
succeeded in knocking her away from Raegan. Gasping, Raegan backed away,
feeling for the floor with her hands, her head splitting down the centre.
 A cold stickiness drifted down her neck. Her ears were dripping blood.

Declan, holding the crowbar aloft, whipped his head round
urgently, stepping toward her on his injured leg. His movement was ginger,
unsteady; but he was able to support himself. ‘Get out of here,’ he yelled
hoarsely.

The Fay, by now dusting herself off, looked furious. She began
to get to her feet. He positioned himself firmly between her and Raegan.

‘I won’t leave you,’ she croaked.

‘She doesn’t want you! She wants me, don’t you, sweetheart?’
He taunted the Fay, brandishing the crowbar like an invitation. Her eyes
flashed angrily. Lowering his voice urgently, he shot Raegan a sideways glance.
‘If you stay here, we both die. You have to get to the others – get help! I’ll
hold her off as long as I can.’

She knew he was right. She hated it.

‘Go!’

Head still aching, tears suddenly springing to her eyes,
trying not to look back at him standing there alone, she ran. Her heart felt
like a weight in her chest, swollen and sore; it wanted to sink down, admit
defeat, and it took all her strength to hold it in check, and keep traversing.

Time was slipping away. She saw the flickering at the
corners of her vision; that dreadful bending that let her know she was losing
control. Just like in her grandfather’s study; like with Christian, during that
first, terrifying brush with the Fay. Her feet, pounding on the pavement,
slowed. She had to get a grip.