Intuition: The Premonition Series (48 page)

“Go,” I whisper, because my throat is too tight to say more. Russell doesn’t need me to say more. He chucks the empty cartons out the window and creeps away from the back of the store as quiet as possible. He takes obscure side streets out of town, maintaining the speed limit and turning on his lights, so that we can look like model humans leaving town in a human way.

Russell keeps glancing at me every few seconds, probably to assure himself that I’m actually here with him in the car, as much as to see how I’m doing. He begins talking when he starts to shake. I think he’s trying hard not to go into shock because his thoughts are scattered. He is rambling about things that aren’t very important, in the grand scheme of things, but I recognize it for what it is, it’s the need to focus on something other than the horror he just experienced.

“Angie, ya know coach Blake’s wife, told me ’bout how she makes blood sausage. It’s one of those sketchy things that the Yoopers make up here. Y’all remember how I went over to their house for breakfast a few weeks ago?” he asks, and I nod. “Well, she made some for us and it was kind of nasty, but I ate it because I didn’t want to hurt her feelins,” Russell says. I nod again numbly because it’s just like him to eat something he hated just so he wouldn’t hurt someone’s feelings. “It was black and had a kind of burnt, piney taste to it. She thought I liked it, so she started to tell me how to make it. She said I would have to go to the meat counter at the grocery store because I needed to get a pint of venison blood to mix in with the meat. I had no idea what I would be doin’ with that information this week,” he mutters, blowing out a deep breath and shaking his head.

“I’ve done a lot of stuff this week I never thought I’d be doin’…” he says numbly. “Do ya know why we’re here right now?” he asks rhetorically. I shake my head slowly. “That annoyin’ door is why we’re here right now. If we had been in any other apartment in Houghton, I would be dead and y’all would be…well, not here…” he says, trailing off. “They sent two of them to our apartment to get me. I could smell them outside the door, feel the coldness clear through it. Ya know how when ya open the door, it knocks ya back off the step if ya don’t know ya have to step back when it opens?” he asks me fast, his speech increasing in speed along with his heartbeat as the adrenaline of the remembered attack comes back to haunt him. “Well, I had been makin’ myself some eggs when I heard them creepin’ up the inside stairs to the door. I had the fryin’ pan in my hands when they just ’bout reached the door to the apartment. I bum rushed the door, sendin’ it crashin’ open on them, which knocked Ultan into Driscoll and sent them down the stairs. I followed them down and wacked them both with my fryin’ pan in the head.”

His hand shakes when he brings it to his neck, rubbing it absently as he watches the road ahead and the rearview mirror intermittently. “I knocked ‘em both out cold, so I had to carry them back up to the apartment. I tied ‘em up—I gathered up some stuff in bags—the money—I threw it in the car. I bolted over to the library to get ya—to tell ya we had to go, but there was a huge crowd millin’ ‘round outside and I couldn’t find ya. Y’all had disappeared. I ran in—I saw that conference room on the main floor—I saw a chair had been flung through the window—I hoped… maybe ya got away—if someone was after ya, and then I got afraid because I thought ya might go back to the apartment—I left the evil freaks tied up there. So, I went back, but ya never came home…” he says, his expression bleak.

“They killed Mrs. Strauss—they even killed her cat. I don’t know why they had to kill the cat, too. Maybe it was hissin’ at them or somethin’, I don’t know, but they drained that poor old lady—left her body in her big, green armchair,” he says. The grief he is feeling is etched on his face. Then, something changes in him, shifts, and his face hardens.

“Naw…” he says in a soft growl—the look of cold detachment, “I’ve done things this week that I never could’ve imagined last week. I thought that there was a lot of human left in me, but I can tell ya, Red, there isn’t. I had no mercy for Ultan or Driscoll…even when they begged me…and they begged me, Red—they begged. I had to move them out of the apartment. I torched the place so no one can find anythin’ that will lead them to us. I took them to our trainin’ spot and worked on them there. They told me everythin’. They told me how they would turn ya—how Brennus probably already had ya in a cell and wouldn’t give ya enough water. I was out of my mind, but it took me four days to get that information from them. I had to really hurt them, Red—I did some things to them that made me have to leave afterward and puke my guts out, but there was no way they were dyin’ without tellin’ me everythin’.”

He sits quiet for a little while, driving through the dark night toward Marquette. I can’t ask him where we are going. I can’t think, even as the pain is slowly receding, I’m still not able to form the words. I just sit next to him, listening to him talk as we both continue to shake from trauma. “I thought I was buyin’ those grenades to kill ya, Red,” he says in a near whisper, turning to look at me. Raw pain shows in his eyes as tears well up in mine for what he has been through. Reaching out, I find his hand. It’s warm and sweaty while mine is ice cold and dry. I feel him squeeze my hand.

“I had to find that gun and knife show that traveled south to Iron Mountain. I found the guy I’d bought the swords from and he knew a guy that hooked me up with the military arms. I told them it was for some minin’ I planned on doin’, but they really didn’t care as long as I had the money,” he says with a humorless laugh. “I planned on goin’ down there, findin’ y’all, and settin’ us both free. I hoped yer soul had already moved on, but I wasn’t gonna let yer body suffer down there alone, so I planned on us just movin’ on. If yer soul was with Freddie, then I figured he would have to release it if my bomb blew him to smithereens.”

“Suicide mission,” I say, and my voice sounds thick and raspy.

“Yeah, I guess so. I thought I’d pick a fight I couldn’t win,” he says. “It turns out I had a royal flush,” he adds with an ironic smile. “That thing loves ya, Red,” he whispers as all of the hair stands up on his arm again. “That thing killed Freddie for ya.”

“Yes,” I croak. “I’m his favorite slave.”

“Naw…yer wrong…he is yer slave, he just doesn’t know it yet,” Russell says. “He’s gonna go mad without ya. He’s gonna twist and burn for ya, and then he’s gonna do anythin’ to get ya back…and I don’t know if I can stop him alone. I can’t believe we’ve made it this far… there are over a dozen of them…”

“I know—I know them all by name,” I whisper. “I killed one… Keegan… I murdered him,” I confess, and I know that my face is turning white as I say it.

“What happened?” he asks.

I shake my head, “They made me fight him to see if I’d been training. He cut me… he was going to hurt me and I… he said he was going to kill you when he found you,” I explain as a tear escapes my eye. “They gave us knives, so I got behind him and I slit his throat… he didn’t bleed like I thought he would…it didn’t pump out of his neck, but it seeped down the sides… since I nearly cut his head off… he died.”

“Oh my God, Red—they made you fight one of them?” Russell asks incredulously. I nod and watch his lips press together as his breathing increases. “Did he put ya in a cell…did he ask y’all ’bout wantin’ water?” Russell asks, and I nod again. “Then, how is it that ya still have a soul, Red?” he asks in confusion.

“Figured it out…the game. Decided not to play…” I rasp, my throat is beginning to feel cracked and dry and I wish I had some water.

“Ah, so it was like that, huh? Y’all told him ya didn’t like his game so y’all were takin’ yer ball and goin’ home?” Russell says, smiling a little in the corners of his mouth. I can’t smile, but I nod because I guess that is about right. I was taking my soul and going… wherever I’m I allowed to go. I want to tell him about my Uncle Jim and how he had been there and held my hand when I needed him, but I can’t form the words.

“Put an IV in… brought me back,” I say, holding up my arm where the IV had been, but there are no marks there anymore to show him.

“He couldn’t stand losin’ ya,” Russell says in a thoughtful tone, studying me. “I bet they’re never supposed to do that. It’s supposed to be a choice, accordin’ to Driscoll…he said y’all can choose to die or to become Gancanagh. Driscoll said he never knew of anyone choosin’ not to become a Gancanagh. But, Brennus took that choice away from ya… Freddie must’ve been really convincin’…”

“Portrait… Alfred gave him the portrait,” I say, and all of the color drains from his face. Russell knows the portrait that I’m talking about—he used to go visit it daily when it was on display at school.

“So it
is
all ’bout ya. I was pretty sure when I saw ya sittin’ on his lap tonight. I kept askin’ Ultan ‘why us.’ I mean, we’re not even faeries, which is a big deal to them,” Russell says, looking at me in the eye as he explains. “Ultan said, normally, they wouldn’t even consider changin’ someone unless it’s a faerie. He said they usually leave other beings alone–they just feed off of humans. He said that Brennus heard our story, but wasn’t gonna bother even checkin’ us out—but Ultan said somethin’ happened and he changed his mind. He saw yer portrait and he had to have ya,” Russell says the last part with bitter conviction.

“I think…” I start to say, but have to clear my throat because it feels like I’ve been drinking sand. Russell notices and reaches back in one of the duffle bags in the back. Rummaging around while he drives the car, he manages to extract a bottle of water. Handing it to me, I gratefully take it, drinking half of it before I am again able to speak. “I think that, in a messed up kind of way, Brennus is trying to help me,” I murmur as a scowl forms on Russell’s lips.

“How is makin’ ya an undead, evil parasite gonna help ya?” Russell barks in anger. He is still shaking, but his anger seems to be getting that part more under control.

“Without a soul, the Fallen would no longer be interested in me. I would be evil… they would be down with me… the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” I say, taking another sip of water while he processes what I’m telling him. “Brennus isn’t afraid of divine angels. He’s confidant that the family could take care of me if anything hunted me… but he didn’t count on an angel coming for me who didn’t plan to survive,” I say, and my voice sounds hollow. “One that had a soul and was not afraid to choose to die, rather than let me submit to them.”

“Yeah… he wants ya to be his girl—
mo chroí
—it means ‘my heart,’” he says, and he pronounces it “mo kree” in a perfect imitation of the way Brennus had pronounced it.

“What does
a ghra
and
muirnin
mean?” I ask, and see him grit his teeth.

“
A ghra
means love…like beloved and
muirnin
means sweetheart,” Russell says, gripping the steering wheel with both hands and crushing it a little. He notices right away and eases his hands off of it gently. “Those bites on yer neck…they don’t seem to be gettin’ any better. Did he say anythin’ about puttin’ somethin’ on them to make them heal?” Russell asks.

I shake my head no as my fingertips brush over the bite marks on my neck. They are still oozing blood, not coagulating and crusting like a normal cut. “It must be from the venom…maybe it stops the victim from healing,” I say, seeing the grim expression on Russell’s face.

“Maybe Buns will know what to do ’bout them,” Russell says absently.

I still. “What?” I ask.

“We’re meetin’ her in Marquette. Brownie’s there, too. I called them when I made my plan to go down in the copper mine,” he says, not looking at me. He seems defensive, like he is expecting an ass kicking from me for calling them. “I wanted them to know what happened to us. I wanted them to let my family know that I wasn’t ever comin’ back, but that it was my choice.”

“What did they say?” I ask, because I can’t ask about Reed. If he is dead, then I am, too.

“They demanded to know where I was, and then they were here in a few hours, drivin’ this car and makin’ plans to go with me into the mine,” he says with a grim expression. “I had to convince them that it was likely that y’all were now Gancanagh, and that we weren’t ever comin’ out of the hole…even if they came with me,” he adds, and we both are choked up because he had gone down there to die with me.

“Brownie made me promise that if we did make it out, we would meet them in Marquette so that we can discuss what to do next,” Russell says.

“What about Buns…what did she say?” I ask.

“She said she would see us in a few hours,” he replies as he gives me a half-smile. “She wouldn’t even consider that we weren’t comin’ out of that place. She wouldn’t accept it—she just wouldn’t.”

“Why did you go in there, Russell? You know that I want you to live…why didn’t you just go with them?” I ask. It was such a stupid thing for him to do. He had no idea that I was not a Gancanagh before he came down to get me. If they had caught him, they could’ve made me hunt him, like he’s food. If I had been turned, I may have fed on him like he was nothing to me…like I hadn’t loved him forever. That thought makes me feel twisted and torn.

“Why did ya come into the Seven-Eleven with Freddie?” he counters in a low tone.

“That was different… I had to…”

“Yeah, well, I had to, too. I love ya every bit as much as ya love me,” he replies.

“Russell…you should stay away from me. I’m no good for anyone. I’m like a magnet for—evil faeries and Fallen and angels that don’t know any better than to want me. Until I met the Gancanagh, I thought that I wasn’t evil—that I didn’t crave darkness—but now I’m learning that…” I stop when he reaches out to take my hand again. I pull it back from him. “No, Russell, listen to me. Do you know what I did when Brennus ordered Alfred killed?” I ask, watching his eyes.