Wild Thing (50 page)

'I'm sorry, Godsson, but you really can't leave.'  Sweat stood out plainly on Sanders's forehead, and he looked extremely nervous.

Godsson smiled as he bent down and slid his arms under Sara's small, limp body.

Sanders took a small step forwards.  'You can't leave simply because the moment you come within a hundred meters of the outer wall, the Institute and every one and every thing inside it will be immolated by the nuclear bomb installed right here.  All automated.  There's nothing I can do – except choose to set it off earlier, if I wish.'

Godsson, effortlessly lifting his burden, froze in shock.  For just a moment, his concentration wavered as he read the truth in the older man's eyes.

For just a moment, his shield flickered. And Faith fired her rocket, snarling.

Godsson's shields were powerful: proof against magic; proof against physical attacks like bullets, even high-powered rounds or explosive shells.

Not so much against rockets.

Sanders was hurled backwards through the air by the blast.  Harmon remained stuck like glue to the bitumen for just a moment, then suddenly the awful weight vanished and he, too, tumbled over in the wake of the explosion.

Godsson, globe and all, flew backwards through the air, Sara falling from his arms to smash on the ground, and Faith leaped forwards, crouching low over her body to protect her as she fired her second rocket, now from near point-blank range.

The blast threw the dog into the air, one sharp
yip
torn from her lungs, as Godsson's golden glow winked out.  Harmon staggered to his feet and charged forward, desperate to reach the madman before he could gather his wits.  Grabbing the stunned mage, he began pounding his head into the bitumen of the road.

Let's see how good your powers of concentration really are, you son of a bitch!
 

Chapter 57 

He might have kept pounding his patient's head into the tarmac after Godsson fell unconscious – just to make sure he didn't come around before they could get him back in his cell – but Professor Sanders's limping arrival brought him back to himself.  Flinging himself to his feet he raced across to where Leeth's body had fallen.

Surely, the laser-like blast must have bored a hole through her heart?  But her chest looked mostly intact, and fortunately, she had been inside Godsson's protective globe for the dog's first rocket.

There was almost no blood, and his spirits soared, only to crash as he looked closer.  He needed more light.

'Hello?  Are you all right?'

That was Simmons, late to the party as ever, up on the Institute's front steps.  Harmon heard Sanders answer, but he had already seen Shanahan's flashlight shining from the rose bed.  Ignoring the other two, he ran over to get it, then raced back to shine it over Leeth's chest. 
Into
her chest.

Sweet, buttered hell.

The stretchy material of her skin-tight top had pulled back, revealing the injury: exactly as wide as her hand.  The wound angled slightly up, straight through her left breast.  Gingerly, torch tucked awkwardly under his chin, he pulled the edges of the cut further apart.

Sweet buttered hell on rye.

She'd stabbed her hand sideways, slipping between the fourth and fifth ribs, angling up through the middle of her heart, he guessed.  Sliding
between
the ribs.  He couldn't see how deeply she'd stabbed, but it had been deep enough to stop her heart instantly.

The chest wound was ghastly, yet not as bad as he'd feared: whatever spell Godsson had blasted through her, it appeared not to have done any physical damage. 
Why was there so little blood?
  Had the light vaporized it?.

He shook his head.  He should be able to do this.  Thanks to the Repetition Effect.

Off to one side, he heard Simmons gasp.  'Good Lord, what- Oh!  Fuck!  Godsson! 
Godsson's out of his cell!
  Professor Sanders!'

Harmon's icy tones slapped into the man's panic.  'Yes,
Doctor
Simmons, we had in fact noticed that ourselves.  Perhaps you could make yourself useful by holding this flashlight for me, rather than screaming like a girl?'

'B-but G- G- Godsson-'

Professor Sanders's cool voice broke in, his tones gentle and reassuring.  'Yes, Simmons, I'm just trying to bring Brian around.  He and I will then take Godsson back into his cell.  Would you prefer to help me with that, or to hold the torch for Alex?'

Sanders approached.  'I'm dreadfully sorry, Alex.  So young…  Wait.  Alex, what are you doing?  You're not going to try to heal her, surely?  What about what Godsson said?  How can we-'

Harmon locked eyes on him.  Sanders was old; almost frail…

Perhaps his thoughts showed on his face, since Sanders backed away, one hand going to his ear.  Harmon had no idea who he might be calling, but it didn't matter.

He tuned them all out, summoning the energies, the will; calling up the healing pattern as he sank his senses into the cleanly-severed heart.  Quite remarkably sharply severed. 
Her magic
, of course.  Of course she'd used her own magic against herself.

She'd clipped the lower edge of her lung, too, he sensed, as well as cutting cleanly through both left and right ventricles of her heart.  The wound, a hand's width, was fully fifteen centimeters long.  She'd gone wrist-deep into her own chest.

But healing required blood, and Godsson's laser-like spell had
vaporized
it.  If she had been magically exsanguinated….  But her dramatic self-injury must have stopped her heart instantly; before it could pump all her blood through the destructive beam.  A remarkable stroke of luck.

Micro-organisms already swarmed and reproduced, but he burned them away.  Gathering the strands of her flesh together, he felt her cells respond.  So far, so good. 
This was going to work!

Senses focused totally within her chest, he wasn't even aware when Simmons plucked the flashlight from under his chin and shone it down over his psychic surgery.

At last, the healing slowed, stopping.  He watched her chest rising and falling, waiting for her eyes to open.

And waited.

Keeping the healing active, he concentrated, wove his mindmeld, and entered… to find nothing.  Just quiet emptiness: silent rooms and vacant halls of memory.  The air moved with a calm tiredness, fading eddies drifting toward sleep.  That long, last sleep.

She slipped from him, and the pain of that loss struck him with stunning force.  In empty halls, he turned, a wordless cry of anguish, and called out to her.

For just a moment, a shiver ran through the empty stillness.  Hesitant; doubting….  He cried out, again, calling her back.

And a wave of warmth crested, plunged through him, and Sara's eyes blinked open.

'Keepie?'

He was shocked to feel his eyes swimming.  But instead of breaking his concentration, or making the spell falter, instead the healing seemed to surge more strongly than ever.  She made a small sound of pleasure, her eyes falling shut once again as the cells of her breast knitted together.

Then he felt her tense, felt her own eyes on his, and he shifted his senses from within to without.

'Keepie!  How come I'm alive?  Didn't it work?'

'It worked, Leeth.  You did it.'

'And then you saved me.  You
do
love me, don't you, Keepie?'

He tried to shake his head, no, but found he couldn't move the muscles of his neck for some reason.

Despite his silence, she smiled, a small but very satisfied smile, and let her eyes drift shut again.

Again, he felt water swim into his vision.  Blinked it away, and sighed, the healing
flooding
from him.

Finally he felt the last stretch of flesh stitch together, taking extra care with the alignment of the edges of the skin at her breast.  He sank back, arms across his knees, then let himself fall fully backward.

Just smiling up at the wash of stars splashed across the night above.  Feeling satisfied.  Though there would no doubt be hell to pay for this latest escapade.  His heart sank at the thought.  She had gone too far this time, he suspected.  But he was too wrung out to process that concern right now.

In front of him, a sudden gasp of indrawn breath signaled that Leeth was “back.”

'She was inside me, Keepie.  I trapped her in my heart, and then I stabbed her.  I killed myself to kill her, ’cause she needed a death.  ’Cause she'd been born from a death.'

'I thought it was something like that.  Godsson believes his own magic helped.'

She crawled up to sit cross-legged beside him.

What a strange place to be having a deep magical-philosophical discussion
, he thought.

'I think maybe it did.  I think it was locked in my blood.  Godsson's light
burned.
  I felt it burn
through
me.  Beyond me, to somewhere Else.'

'Ah.  That makes sense.'

'But if it needed my death to end it, to end the
Her-
pattern,
what does it mean if I'm back alive?  What if it means She'll come back?'

'That's a risk I'm prepared to take, Leeth.'

She smiled, and looked away.

He heaved himself up, then stood.  'Come on, Wild Thing, can you walk, or do you need me to carry you back inside?'

It was rather amusing to watch her expression, as outrage at being considered weak fought her desire to be held.  The healing should hold, but there was always the sense that one should let the cells “remember” they were back together where they should be, before stressing them unduly.

She got to her feet, with not quite the bounce she normally evidenced.  She looked around, frowning.

'Um.  Where's Godsson?'

'The others carried him back inside.  Into his cell.  He can heal himself when he wakes up.'

'Oh.'  She frowned.  'Why will he need to heal himself?  What happened after I, after I stabbed Her?'

'Leeth.  You understand that I am a trained psychologist?  But although I rather hope Godsson's annual “attacks” will cease thanks to tonight's events, Godsson is
clinically insane
.  He's also one of the most powerful mages on Earth.  He cannot be allowed out.'

'But what happened?'

Stars above, she still doesn't believe me!
  But he didn't need to convince her immediately.  He just hoped they would be given the time.

'What
happened
?'

He smiled.  'Professor Sanders distracted him, then Faith blew him up with her rockets.  Both of them.'

'Wow!  I wish I'd seen that!  Where's Faith?  Did Mr…'

Leeth looked around, surveying the destruction.  Her gaze stopped on a strange sack, off to one side.  Furry, with… legs?  No. 
No!

She hurtled over, knees sliding through the churned up grass and dirt as her worst fear was confirmed. 
'Faith!
'

The sight didn't make sense to her: Faith was bigger than this, this broken, still lump of scorched flesh and metallic components.

'Faith!'

Harmon watched; saddened.  The dog had been dangerous.  In more ways than one. 
This would be a valuable lesson for her to learn
, he told himself: that people die.  Even good people.  That she herself might die.  Perhaps the death of her friend would temper her own rashness; might even save her own life, one day.

'Keepie, quick, heal her!  Before it's too late!'

He walked slowly over.  'I'm not even sure I could.  I don't know whether my healing spell works on animals.  And even if the spell might work, all that cyberware would interfere.  Block the magic.'  He had learned
that
lesson deeply, the last few days.  'I'm sorry, Leeth.  You need to accept that Faith-'

'
Heal
her, Keepie!' she practically screamed at him.  'I
know
you can do it!  We're all animals, you said so.  Your magic will work!'

Her fingers, he saw, clutched and worked at the fur of the dead dog as she stared up at him, tears streaming, pleading with him.

Her face twisted in grief and desperation as she begged him.  'Just heal her!  I'll do anything if you just
heal
her!'

She would never forgive me if I didn't at least try
, he saw.

'Please, Keepie.'  Her voice had sunk to a whisper.

Harmon saw a kind of horror awaken as she saw that indeed he
might
refuse her this.  For some reason, the expression that dawned on her face made him feel like she'd stabbed
him
in the heart.

'I'll do anything,' she whispered.  '
Anything
, I promise.  If you just Heal her.'  Begging.

As she gripped the dead dog, oblivious to the seeping machine oil mixed with blood and internal fluids in which she knelt, he found reasons to try. 
Perhaps
it would be good for her to think that sheer determination can be enough
.  That willing something hard enough could make it so.  A good attribute for his Huntress archetype to possess.

He knelt down opposite her, his knees nudging her recent defender's furred body.  'I'll try, although I don't know if the healing magic will even work on a dog.  But I want you to promise to be obedient, in future.  To stop arguing and protesting every simple request.'

'I'll try, Keepie.  I will.'  Then her expression hardened.  'But only if you Heal her.  Not if you just
try
.'

Even now, she bargains
.  He had to admire her spirit.

But that very intransigence sparked a steely determination in himself, in turn.  He would not just try to heal the creature, he would succeed. 
And
take what she had freely offered, in payment.

Her face stared up into his, and her expression softened once again.  Knowing now that he would try.  Believing that he could do the impossible.

'Please, Keepie.  I know you can do it if you try.  I
know.
'