Boreal and John Grey Season 1 (47 page)

***

What was the usual course of action when you’d just told a person — a person you loved — that they’re the monster they’d been fighting all along? When you’d seen the hope in their eyes go out and don’t know how to bring it back?

She found Finn standing by the window in the living room, forehead pressed to the cool glass.

Neither spoke for a few minutes.

“Are you sure?” Finn finally said, his back stiff.

“The places of the Gates match your presence there. What the book says about John Grey is that there was never only one. And his birthmark... It looked an awful lot like yours.”

Finn shivered.

Her arms ached with the need to hold him, but her life had just been turned upside down — again. She hugged herself instead, and wondered if the ice inside her chest would ever leave. “Remember you told me how the Shades are following you? How the Veil thinned wherever you were? How you jumped into this world one day? You have the ability to open Gates.”

The wind whistled outside.

“What can I do?” Finn said, his voice barely audible.

“I don’t know.” She started to pace again, thumping her fists against her hips. “You must stop, that’s all I know. If there’s no Gate, the elves can’t get through.” The elves, who had forgotten for centuries who John Grey was. But now they knew.

He turned toward her. His gaze was dark with fear. “Will you tell Dave?”

Ella buried her fingers in her hair, massaging her scalp. “This isn’t something I can hide for long.”

“No.”

“Maybe he knows a way to stop it.”

“No, Ella. Please.” Finn kept shaking his head. “I won’t. I won’t sleep.”

“Ever again?” She’d laugh but he was so serious she had no doubt he’d try. She still couldn’t believe that she was staring in the face of John Grey, a being with the power to create portals through the Grey, through the Veil, between worlds.

And it was still Finn, his face drawn, his hands white-knuckled on the window sill. It wasn’t his fault, and she wasn’t throwing him to the dogs. Not if she could help it. “We’ll figure something out.”

He nodded, a jerky motion.

“First of all, we need to keep you awake,” she said, a bitterness in her mouth, in her heart, that she didn’t know how to erase. “Start with the basics. Drink coffee. Keep moving.”

She couldn’t bear to touch him. Her heart wouldn’t take it if this didn’t work, if she had to give Finn up.

If she had to choose between Finn and the world.

She brewed a full pot of coffee and all but poured it down Finn’s throat. Put rock music on the portable player she’s salvaged from her old apartment, so loud the window panes vibrated. Decided they should clean the house, get rid of the old blood smell. Finn said nothing, not a word, working hard. Sometimes she caught his eyes on her, questioning, scared, trusting. But when her hand brushed his arm, he flinched and jerked away.

God
. He was hers to protect and she’d promised not to let them take him away, but now she knew exactly why they were so keen on having him — and had no clue how to protect him from his own magic.

By nightfall, Finn was rubbing his eyes and nodding off, so she offered more coffee. When she called her boss and asked about any more Gates opening, any mutilated white animals appearing, Dave said none had been reported and that they could stay home and rest that night.

Worst news ever. Not that it proved anything, but it didn’t disprove it, either.

Finn was staring at her when she flipped the phone closed. She shook her head. They had dinner in the living room, fresh sandwiches and more coffee. No matter what, though, around midnight Finn’s head started to dip forward, and that was a bad, bad idea.

“Finn, come on. We’re going for a walk.”

He blinked sleepily but let her dress him in a parka Mike had left and drag him out into the cold. The snow had melted and the sky had cleared. Stars shone against the black. They walked past bars and restaurants, past parks and the railway station, into the commercial center. Finn began to limp so badly she hauled him to a late hours cafe. He grimaced when she ordered him more coffee.

Could someone die of caffeine overdose? How strong were elven stomachs?

“So we stick to my plan?” Finn muttered, stirring sugar into his black coffee. “To keep me awake forever?”

“That’s a long time.” She gazed out the window at the happy people strolling down the street, bar-hopping. “We’ll find another solution.”

Finn rubbed at his forehead. His face was drawn and pale. One night’s sleep wouldn’t be enough to put him back on his feet, and the prospect of spending more nights awake was terrifying.

No more terrifying than the Gates opening, though.

It felt like a surrealist dream, sitting in the low-lit cafe, talking in quiet tones, like a couple on a date, instead of discussing the fate of the world.

She pulled the book from her backpack and pushed it toward him on the table. “Maybe you can help me, spot some clue that I’m missing.”

He took it, turned it over in his hands — strong, callused fingers with thin white scars — and nodded. He glanced around, checking if anyone was watching before opening his jacket and stuffing the book into the inside breast pocket. His leather shoulder holster gleamed dark against his white t-shirt and the beige gun handle curved over his ribs.

The jacket flap fell back into place, hiding gun and holster.

“You crossed a year ago,” she muttered, sipping her tea. “What changed a year ago? Why were you able to cross then and not before?”

He shifted uncomfortably and she narrowed her eyes at him.

“I entered my majority,” he said.

“At twenty-two?”

Finn shrugged.

“Is that the normal age for an
aelfr
to hit majority?”

“I was a couple of years late.”

Oh
. “So I’m guessing entering majority means that your magic matures, right? And also...” She waved a hand, warmth climbing her neck. “Your body?”

Finn stared into his coffee. He nodded.

Interesting. Fascinating
.

And quite useless
. He’d crossed, and then had stopped creating Gates, at least functional ones, until...

“Oh crap. You and me.” She groaned and resisted the urge to bang her head on the table. Finn arched a brow at her, and she waved a hand at him. “The Gates didn’t work after you crossed, until you met me.”

Of course. She was the Stabilizer.

He watched her, not even breathing, a small vein in his jaw beating frantically. “You mean that you—”

“Must be why the dreams are more intense, why I can even share your memories when awake.”

He stood, bumping into the table. “I’ll leave.”

“Wait, Finn.” She scrambled upright, caught his arm. “There must be another way.” She wanted to believe it, because she couldn’t imagine a life without Finn. Didn’t want to imagine it. 

Hope lit up his eyes and unable to resist any longer, she leaned forward and cupped his face, kissed his lips.

Couldn’t keep apart.

As one
.

“Let’s go,” she said, suddenly aware of everyone watching. “We’ll figure this out. For every magic there’s counter-magic, right?”

She really hoped so. Meanwhile, she’d send Finn to stay in another town, another state if needed, and see if the Gates stopped forming. It could buy them time — or could solve the problem altogether.

***

On the way back home, she slipped in a puddle of melting slush, and found Finn’s arm around her waist. When she straightened, he didn’t let go. Warmth radiated from him, through his jacket, heating up her skin. They continued like that, bodies pressed together, steps synchronized, to the entrance of the building. Then she fumbled with the keys and he moved away, leaving her cold.

No, she couldn’t be without him, without his warmth, his faint smiles, his familiar glare. Just the thought felt like someone was ripping her heart out of her chest.

Sending him away would be a temporary solution, she told herself as they rode up. She reached for his hand, tangled her fingers with his, felt him relax. Until she found a real solution.

Moonlight fell through the windows of the living room, painting the old sofa and table silver. Finn closed and locked the door and followed her inside, in the soft darkness.

He stopped. “Someone’s here.”

The light came on, making Ella gasp.

Dave entered the room, two men at his back.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Her hand went to the grip of her gun, always at her hip.

“I asked if I could trust you. I think there’s something you forgot to tell me.”

Finn’s eyes flicked to the exits — doors, windows. His hand reached into his jacket for his gun.

“Finn, wait.” Ella sucked a sharp breath. “Dave, just say what you came to—”

Dave drew a semiautomatic, fitted with a silencer, and raised it.

Oh fuck
. “Down, Finn!” She threw herself at Dave as he fired.

The sound crashed like a jackhammer, deafening her. Dave shoved her off and she staggered, turning around.

Time stopped.

Finn lay flat on his back, face slack, a crimson stain spreading on his white t-shirt. She couldn’t find the breath to speak. Her knees couldn’t hold her; she began to slide down and grabbed hold of the back of an armchair to stay upright.

Lifting his gun, Dave took a step toward Finn.

That broke Ella from her paralysis. She jerked forward, grabbed Dave’s hand and twisted it.

A shot went off, smashing into the window across the room, raining shards. Ella let go of Dave and covered her face with her arm.

Dammit
.

The glass tinkled around them, then silence fell.

Ella uncovered her face and frowned. “You bastard, you...” She glanced back at Finn who lay still on the floor and the words failed her.
God, Finn...
She’d failed him, just like she’d failed Simon. “He gave me all the information he has about his race. He wanted to fight on our side, damn you!”

And it was too late. What use did words have now?