Wormwood Echoes (12 page)

THE ECHOES

She had to go home, to disengage, just for a little while.

If that made her weak, that was okay.

She wasn’t the only one. All the crew went home—most of them to her house to crash until…

Until when the fuck ever.

She took Lex with her.

The girl needed to be with the ones who loved her, not in a hospital bed surrounded by white walls and machines.

Lex didn’t talk much. Her subdued behavior wasn’t unusual. She was sick, and she’d just faced a mother who’d tortured her childhood and haunted her nightmares.

A mother who’d just died.

But Rune was uneasy.

Something was wrong. It was just a matter of time before whatever it was came roaring out of hiding to kick all their asses.

After she got some sleep, she was going to Wormwood to listen for the echoes. Gunnar had assured her she didn’t need to be in the graveyard, but she knew she did.

Her crew was going with her. That was their choice.

A choice she wasn’t arguing with.

But that was for later.

Right then, she had Strad Matheson to focus on.

She barely waited for him to close the bedroom door before she started yanking blades from sheaths, kicking off her boots, tearing off her clothes.

She was wound too tightly to be careful, but she didn’t need to be careful with the berserker. He could take what she needed to give him.

And he could give it back.

Neither of them said anything. There was nothing to say and everything to feel.

She kissed his wounds, then tore them open with her eagerness. Her urgency made her afraid, because her gut…

Her gut was telling her bad things were coming.

The berserker would make her forget her gut.

For a little while.

They were running out of time.

She felt it.

“Rune,” he said, only once, pulling away to look down at her, his eyes glassy, almost black, like tiny ponds frozen over with ice.

“Yes,” she cried, digging her fingers into his sides. “Don’t hold back. You know what I need. Be the fucking berserker for me.”

Maybe he, too, sensed the urgency, because for the first time, he showed her what the berserker unleased was like in bed.

She thought she knew.

She didn’t.

Once, Ellis came to the door, knocking. “Rune? Are you okay? Rune?”

She couldn’t answer but heard the calm tones of Owen’s voice as he reassured Ellis and pulled him away from the door.

The same moment she heard Owen’s voice, Strad drove himself inside her and pushed her mouth against his throat.

She bit him…

And they were connected, the three of them, somehow.

Owen’s voice echoed through her mind, caressing her insides, sending long frosty fingers down her spine, touching her.

Strad battered her body, fucked her, hurt her in a way she needed to be hurt.

And she drank.

“Trust me…”

Her orgasm started and didn’t stop. It shook her entire body, her brain, her heart.

She screamed, maybe, as the enormity of that orgasm held her prisoner, became too much, and refused to ease.

“When you’re fucking him, remember how it feels to want me.”

And then, finally…

“How did I forget?”

Words, hiding thoughts, hiding echoes.

They were there.

She felt them, heard them, because she knew she should. She recognized them. But she wasn’t ready for them.

Just as she’d
never
been ready for them.

So she pretended not to know what the voices that weren’t really voices were. She shut them out.

And the echoes faded.

She lay on Strad’s chest, her hair tangling with his, her fingers digging into his flesh. He was there, warm and real.

She shuddered.

“You okay?” he asked. His voice was hoarse, his arms lying heavy at his sides. He didn’t move.

No.
“Yeah. You?”

He didn’t answer.

She summoned the strength to roll off him. It took another two minutes before she could move again.

He was wounded—new wounds mixed with his battle wounds and the wounds he’d sustained during his capture.

But none of those wounds would kill him.

He didn’t look at her.

She frowned, stretching out her muscles as her body became stronger. “Strad?”

They’d gone into the darkness together. She understood he wasn’t going to be happy about that.

His throat clicked as he swallowed. “I fucked you up.”

“I’ve been fucked up since birth, baby.” She kept her tone light and slid her fingers over his ribs. “You had nothing to do with it.”

Yeah, he’d hurt her.

“Rune.”

“Don’t get all guilt-ridden and shit, Strad. I asked you to be the berserker.”

“I told you I can’t be that kind of help.”

She shrugged, then flinched. “You’re not Jeremy. It’s nothing like that.” She smiled, though he wasn’t looking at her, and ran her thumb over his nipple. “I like rough sex.”

“If you were human you’d be dead.”

“But I’m not human. And you’re not Jeremy.” She’d keep saying it until he believed it. Because it was true.

“What the fuck did he do to you, Rune?”

She pushed herself up and waited for him to look at her. “He hated me, is what he did. He hated me as much as I hated myself.” She leaned over and licked the blood smeared across his cheek. “I gave him nothing back. I let him restrain me and I let him beat the fuck out of my monster. I let him shame me, punish me, hurt me. Because I wanted to be hurt that way. I wanted to pay for killing my parents. I wanted someone to punish me for being a fucking monster. I don’t anymore.”

He said nothing, just stared up at her.

“And now,” she continued, “my monster could tear apart these walls and use the wood for toothpicks. I need you to be
you
with me. All of you.”

He smiled, sort of. “I know what you need, sweetheart. But I don’t want any part of me or what I do to be anything like what he was or what he did to you.”

“Shit was muddled with Jeremy. I was a mess of need and sickness and hatred.” She shook her head. “That’s not what this is.”

When he remained silent she shrugged again. It felt good, just the tiniest hint of pain. “This was rough sex. Sex for a monster. I can take anything you give me, Berserker. And I can like it.”

But she knew without a doubt that the berserker was going to kick himself for hurting her, even though in the heat of the moment he hadn’t been able to care.

“I heard the echoes,” she told Gunnar, as they walked through Wormwood. The crew had gone to work, and though she should have been there as well, she needed first to talk to the ghoul.

Dawn was absent, and the graveyard was silent.

It seemed even more vast than usual. The old tombstones were familiar, but the air was stagnant and dry. For a moment, she had the eerie feeling that she and Gunnar were alone in the cemetery.

The Others were dying off.

“Yet you are still here,” he said.

“I’m not sure how to go.” But she heard the lie in her voice. She hadn’t wanted to go, and it was as simple as that. “I’ll hear them again.”

“Perhaps.”

“I’ll fix this, Gunnar.”

“You’re the only one who can, Your Highness.”

She clenched her fists, suddenly angry. “And why the fuck
is
that?”

He turned toward her, his cheekbones sharper than ever, his eyes sunken. “No human can cross over to Skyll, Rune. Unless that human is dead, the worlds have aligned at the perfect moment, and the human is sucked in.” He started to touch her arm, then quickly withdrew his hand. “No human can go. Do you understand?”

Her legs shook and she had to concentrate on nothing to keep standing. “It means my crew can’t go with me. That’s what it means.”

He nodded. “Humans cannot pass the barrier, coming or going. You must go alone. And you
must
return.”

“To save the world,” she mumbled, still shocked, but some part of her not surprised.

“To save the Others,” he said.

“But we were in that world,” she told him. “When we went to Orson Blackthorne’s lab. They were with me then.”

“You were on a path, dear. You were not in Skyll.”

She swallowed her arguments. He knew more about it than she did. “What can you tell me? What do I need to know about that place?”

“It will not be easy.”

“Yeah, I kind of already figured that one out for myself, sexy. What else you got?”

“You will see familiar faces. Nothing there is as it is here. It is a world made up of magic. Others rule. There are no laws except the ones created by those in power to suit themselves and torture the lowers. You will see. All I can tell you is that you can return. When you doubt yourself, remember how weak old Gunnar brought back his ghoul friend.”

She grinned despite herself. “Ghoul friend.”

He looked at her, stern. “You cannot fail. Keep that as your truth.”

“I cannot, Gunnar?”

He hesitated. “You will not.”

She sighed, but was less afraid. She no longer had to wonder if taking her crew was a bad idea. She no longer had to worry that Skyll would kill them. They weren’t going. And though she would have to go alone to face Damascus, she was relieved.

But when they found out, every one of her crew was going to be upset.

It was time to ask the question she really doubted the ghoul had the answers to. Or maybe she was just afraid he’d tell her it was all a lie. That Strad hadn’t been taken. That Dawn hadn’t killed his guards.

That he’d lied to her.

“Who held the berserker, Gunnar?”

“I did not know them. I would have left them to their business but Dawn insisted we rescue that one. For you.” He lifted an eyebrow.

“You must know something about it. You know a little about every other thing that goes on around here.”

“I suspect their motives, but I do not know who they were. I do not know the ones who commanded them.”

“Motives?” She crossed her arms. “What motives?”

“He would convince you not to go to Skyll.”

She frowned. “Someone took Strad because they were afraid he’d keep me from finding a cure for the Others?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps they were simply afraid he would keep you from going. You are wanted there, Rune. By many. That is all I have for you—and that could be an incorrect assumption.”

“Why now?”

“Because now is the time.” He lifted an eyebrow. “
I
do not hold the secrets of the worlds.”

“You seem to hold more than your share, ghoul.”

She couldn’t convince him to smile.

“You’re worried about me,” she said.

He looked over her head, his gaze distant. “I have always worried about you, Your Cherishedness.”

“Always, Gunnar? That’s a long time.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “It is forever.”

She hated that he was solemn, sad, desolate. Hated that he knew or felt things she couldn’t understand. Mostly she hated that she couldn’t help him.

“It’ll be okay,” she told him, grabbing his long fingers and squeezing his hand. “I’ll bring back the antidote for the Others. For you, and Lex…”

She let him pull away as she realized something.

“Lex,” she murmured. “I can take Lex.” She focused on the ghoul’s long face. “I can take Lex, Gunnar?”

“Maybe. You can try.” He shook his head and his long, fluffy hair drifted aimlessly about his head. “But perhaps you should not.”

“Because she’s sick? Because it’s too dangerous?”

He tilted his head. “Both those things are true. But I fear she will not want to return with you. And I would not see you heartbroken.”

“The wasteland. It was familiar. I think my father came from there. I could see. In the…tunnel, or whatever it was—the path. I could see in there.”

Hadn’t she known, when they were on the path, that Lex would need to go? That she would believe she belonged there?

Maybe she
did
belong there.

But Rune wasn’t sure she could let her have the chance to decide.

“Lex is dying,” she told Gunnar. “She’s not strong.”

“She may not last until your return,” he agreed.

Rune closed her eyes. “God. What should I do?”

“You must decide that for yourself.” He leaned toward her suddenly. “You are sick as well.”

“I know,” she admitted.

“You have time. But without the cure you will become…”

“A brain in a jar,” she finished.

He thought about it, then nodded. “Yes. But don’t fret. If that were to happen, you would still be here in spirit. And your men will build an exquisite shelf on which your jar might perch.”

She gaped. “Fuck you, ghoul.”

And finally, he smiled.

“Go away,” he said. “The echoes will sound again.”

She studied him for a long moment. “What’s the other reason you risked yourself to fetch Dawn? It wasn’t just to encourage me, was it?”

He pursed his lips. “Some things are not your concern, Your Horror.” He ambled away, patting gently the coat pocket holding his candy.

So she left Wormwood with more questions than when she’d arrived.

There were things to wrap up before she left.

When she walked into the Annex and saw Bill talking with two younger employees, she stopped to watch him.

He looked like shit. He’d lost weight, his skin was sallow, his eyes dull. He had a new bruise on his cheekbone, and when at last he hefted his briefcase and marched away from the other two men, he limped.

Just slightly, but she noticed.

Someone was beating the hell out of him.

And he was too afraid or too proud to get help.

Rage hit her all at once, choking her. She strode toward him, but before she reached him Eugene headed her off.

“No,” he said.

She looked at him, too angry to speak.

“Follow him, Rune. Berating him, nagging him, that will only make him close up further. Follow him and don’t stop until you find out what’s going on.”

She gave him a curt nod and went to find her crew.

But that night, one way or the other, she was finding out what the
fuck
was happening to Bill Rice.