Boreal and John Grey Season 1 (56 page)

Understood. No second chances
. Ella swallowed hard. “But the doctor—”

“Dr. Evans will check on you once a day. You can call him with the phone you’ll find inside if anything else is needed.”

A policewoman approached and handed Dave a duffel bag. He glanced inside, then zipped it closed.

“Here are changes of clothes and antibiotics, painkillers and bandages. Come along.”

He led the way into the closest building. Barracks, she thought, abandoned and dusty. She walked next to the stretcher, making sure Finn could see her, as they crossed the huge space and came out on the other side. A training area, if the obstacle race circuit, shooting targets and uneven walls for rock climbing were anything to go by. They took a path around the area to a smaller building standing in the center of the compound.

A rusty sign creaked in the chilly breeze as they approached. The cafeteria. Maybe they offered tea?

She swallowed a snort.
Oh dear, not good
. Still balancing on the razor-sharp edge to insanity.

“The place has been fixed so you can stay here for the allotted week,” Dave was saying as he opened the metal door and entered, switching on lights. 

The stretcher’s wheels made a racket on the path and the attendants had to lift stretcher and Finn to clear the step. Then the tread of heavy boots followed as the small force accompanying them followed inside.

Ella stopped. Someone had shoved the long tables and benches aside and had placed two narrow beds against a wall. A small table with two chairs sat by the counter. Boxes of food and drinks lined the shelves she could see. A door marked ‘toilets’ stood to the right.

Dave cleared his throat. “Showers are outside, by the officers barracks. You’ll find towels and soaps there.”

The place was grey and dark, cold and dank, with all the charm of a prison cell.

She’d take it.
God, yes
. The bed was calling her name. At this point, she’d sleep on the floor if she had to. “Looks like we’re set, then.”

The attendants lifted Finn from the stretcher and lowered him on one of the beds.

“Will you be all right?” Dave asked softly, and his familiar, concerned voice brought a lump to her throat. He’d always been kind to her — until he’d shot Finn and had proven to be a perfect, emotionless machine.

“We’ll be fine,” she snapped, wishing she got angry enough to see the seam with the spirals and cogs inside Dave, to remember just what an alien being he was. “What choice do we have?”

“You could let me finish what I started,” Dave said matter-of-factly, and yeah, that did the trick quite nicely.

Fingers curling at her sides, she stepped up to him, his glittering seam teasing the edge of her vision. “Go to hell, Dave.” She turned away, because punching him wasn’t a good idea right now. “By the way, you might want to free Sarah from the clinic. She made the same offer. I declined.”

Chapter Eight

Not real

The doctor checked Finn’s drip and examined him one last time before he left the building with the three attendants. Dave shot her a dark look before he followed them, barking at his police to move out.

Yeah, maybe pissing Dave off hadn’t been her brightest idea. But, hell, she was beat, and her brain wasn’t big on rational thought on the best of days.

The door of the old cafeteria banged shut, leaving them at long last alone and relatively safe. Lots of iron around. Even the beds were iron. Hopefully it’d give the Shades pause.

And now to dream and fight to save John Grey. Who would’ve thought such a day would come — or that sleep would be so much work?

She dragged the second bed right next to Finn’s, wincing at the screeching of the legs on the cement floor. Her hand hurt so bad tears leaked from her eyes. Rummaging in the duffel bag Dave had left, she found painkillers and bottles of water. She chugged two pills down, and sat to unlace her boots. That done, she turned and —
finally
— lay down, fully dressed, reeking of blood and sweat and not caring one bit.

Finn stirred and rolled his head toward her. He stretched out one arm and she shifted closer to lay her head on his shoulder, belatedly checking it wasn’t on his wounded side.

“You did it,” he whispered, wonder in his voice.

“We’re not done yet,” she said.

He stroked a fingertip on her cheek and frowned. “You’re crying?”

She wiped a hand over her face. “It’s all the dust,” she muttered and rested her bandaged hand on his chest.

He grunted, still frowning, clearly not believing her. “You’re in pain.”

“I took painkillers. Should kick in soon.” She sighed, listening to his heartbeat. She could stay like that forever. Her eyes were closing, her lids heavy. “And you? Are you in pain?”

“I’m...” He breathed out, and she looked up, wondering what he wanted to say. He shifted her hand so it rested over his heart. “I’m fine now.”

Her eyes smarted again, and dammit that was quite enough of tears. “Good, because it’s time to dream, and, Finn?”

He harrumphed, his eyes already closed.

“If I don’t start talking in your dream, talk to me, okay? I know you don’t talk much, but this is important, and we need...”

A wave of darkness rolled over her, and she let it come.

***

Ella stood on the frozen plateau among the mountains. A rainbow arched over a girl of six or seven, dressed in a red suit of trousers and tunic. Colorful spheres revolved and danced as the girl waved her small fingers. The spheres rose like soap bubbles, reflecting the light in changing hues that bled into each other, expanding and contracting as they bobbed up and down.

A few steps away, a boy juggled wind currents. They whistled around him, whipping his long, pale hair, ripping the snow, raising it in swirling mini tornadoes.

But it wasn’t Finn.

Ella walked among the tiny magic-wielders, glance darting over pointed ears, cute faces and slender bodies clad in thick fabrics embroidered with the crests of the royal houses. Power sparkled around her, energy bent and twisted — hot and cold, bright or invisible, loud or quiet, touching her or skirting her.

Where was Finn?

She waded through the quiet, focused elven children, until she saw the boy standing to one side, leaning against a huge boulder, arms crossed, glaring.

So familiar.

Finn
, she tried to call, but no sound emerged. His eyes flicked her way, though, acknowledging her, before shifting back to the magical display.

Suddenly, his eyes widened
and he jerked. A
ball of light flew at him, hitting him in the chest. He yelped and dropped to his knees.

Laughter rang all around. The colorful displays dimmed, and many heads turned their way, and hands pointed.

“Not real!” they called and Finn bowed his head, letting his long hair hide his face. “You’re not real.”

Sorrow swamped her. She tried to turn, make the kids shut up, but her feet had taken root in the brittle snow.

Then the landscape was changing, disorienting her, making her dizzy. Passing from dream to dream, from nightmare to nightmare, as the darkness turned to grey and she found herself standing on a huge, white plain, below a cliff.

Something about it was familiar. She thought she saw faces up above, on the ledge, looking down. Staring at something.

She turned, dreading to see.

The boy lay in the snow, blood seeping from his broken leg on the snow around, the white of bone glimmering through the gory mess below his knee. Grey eyes stared right at her, clouded with pain.

She gritted her teeth, twisting this way and that to move her legs, but nothing happened. Walking to him was impossible. Calling him wasn’t working. She dropped to her knees, defeated.

And came awake, her face wet. Glancing around in the faint light of an overhead lamp, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. If something had crossed over, it had to be outside the building.

Falling back against the pillow, she stared at Finn’s grimacing face. Still caught in the dream. She reached out to shake him.

Outside, a howl rang, raising gooseflesh on her arms. Finn’s body jerked and his eyes opened. She clamped a hand on his shoulder to keep him from moving and listened.

Shouts, heavy footsteps, a gunshot. Low voices. Finn was watching her from hooded eyes, his breathing harsh and shallow.

“They got it, whatever it was,” she said.

He slumped back on the pillow and turned his face away.

Ella clenched her jaw. Goddammit, it wasn’t working. Finn was sinking into nightmares and she could only watch as he ripped open the Veil between the worlds over and over again.

***

“There’s ham,” she said, examining the tins on the shelves. “Canned fruit, tuna, and saltine crackers. Would you like some?”

Finn grunted, neither affirmative nor negative, hunched over on the bed. His eyes looked bruised, and the vomit green of his hospital pajamas lent a sickly hue to his skin.

Man, he’d looked quite bad when she’d first taken him in and when he’d been shot, but now his eyes were sunken in their sockets and his cheeks were hollow. Worst of all, the relentless energy that had kept him going, the glint of curiosity and interest in his gaze, had dimmed.

He was staring at the needle inserted in his hand.

“You need to eat,” she said quietly. Not that she felt like eating, herself. She was still woozy and her brain felt as if padded with cotton. She’d munched on a cracker earlier and taken her antibiotics, though, and Finn didn’t seem inclined to eat even that much.

Depression clung to her like a poisonous web. On the counter sat the book that had saved Finn’s life — the saga of John Grey, a neat hole in its center, the cover encrusted with dried blood.

Finn’s blood, dammit.

She unscrewed the lid off a water bottle and went to sit next to him. He didn’t look up.

“Are you in pain?” she asked.

He shook his head, tugged half-heartedly on the needle, then pressed a hand to the bandage on his ribs.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” she muttered. “Should I call the doctor?”

“No.” The word was sharp and he ground his jaw, as if angry at himself for speaking.

“Finn, that was a lot of damage. It’s okay to ask for stronger painkillers or anything else you need.”

“I’m opening Gates.” Each word forced between gritted teeth. “These animals... they’ve killed people.” He ripped the needle from his hand and blood spattered the white sheets. Before Ella could move, he surged up and shoved away the drip, sent it clattering to the floor. His fists shook at his sides. “Nothing can help.”

Killing people
. A wolf had killed Simon. She remembered corpses in a park with scaly wolves stalking over them. She watched Finn standing there, breathing hard; shaking.

“Listen.” She got up, her bad leg throbbing. “It’s not your fault. I’m not blaming you.”

He said nothing.

She reached for him, didn’t touch him.
Like in the dream
. “We’ll find a solution. You can do this.”

“Can’t.” Spoken so quietly she barely heard it. “I was never good enough.”

Looked like she wasn’t the only one depressed. With those dreams, who could blame him for hitting rock bottom?

“I promise I’ll fix this.” She’d make goat sacrifices and dance naked in the moonlight, if that was what it took. “Finn, you can do this. You’re strong.”