Severed (31 page)

‘The lamp,’ Evie hissed sideways at Cyrus.

‘I’m using the lamp,’ Cyrus replied between gritted teeth.

Evie glanced down and saw that he was telling the truth. He was holding the lamp and aiming it at the Original but the usual flop to the ground and start-hissing thing wasn’t happening. Nothing was happening. The man didn’t even seem to have noticed the UV rays bouncing off his skin. All his attention remained fixed on Evie.

‘What do we do?’ Evie asked, her voice trembling. Why hadn’t Issa warned them of this?

‘We kill it,’ Cyrus whispered back, but she detected the waver in his voice as he said it.

Evie’s gaze darted to the floor for a weapon, something more substantial than a saw blade. The flamethrower lay on the ground just by the Original’s foot. She glanced back up at him, weighing her options. If only she could distract him and make a dive for it she might be able to bring it up and blast him with flame. But would he even feel it? Would the flames just bounce off him, like the UV light was doing? Before she could figure out whether to take the risk or not, the Original took a quick stride forward. The flamethrower crunched like a sheet of aluminium foil beneath his foot. Evie stared in flaring panic at the flattened buckled metal and then lifted her eyes to the Original’s face. He was still smiling at her. She took a faltering step backwards, her knees shaking.

‘Vero,’ Cyrus called out urgently under his breath.

An arrow went flying past Evie’s ear and bounced off the Original’s chest as if the shaft and the tip were made of rubber. The man caught the second arrow in his hand and tossed it to the side with a bored expression. But then his lips stretched back over his teeth, the dark rings of his irises flooded with blood, and he let out a roar which shook another layer of debris from the ceiling.

Evie’s hand closed around the circular-saw blade she’d stuffed into her pocket. She pulled it free and clutched it to her chest. Chucking it would be like throwing confetti at him. She brought her elbow back anyway and took aim. But just as she was about to let it fly, the Original vanished into thin air, reappearing a split second later in front of Vero, his speed so unexpected that all of them stood blinking, including Vero, who didn’t even have time to move a muscle. The Original’s hand closed vice-like around her neck as he lifted her clean off the ground. A gargled croak burst from Vero’s throat and her eyes bulged out of their sockets. Her toes scuffed the ground as the man dangled her in front of his face and snarled. Ash yelled, throwing himself at the Original, levelling a stream of roundhouse kicks to the chest and arms.

The Original flicked Ash away with his free hand as if he was deadheading a plant.

Evie threw the saw blade, watching as it struck the Original on the side of the head and bounced straight off. The Original turned to Evie and narrowed his eyes. She felt Cyrus back into her, trying to shield her. The Original tossed Vero to one side. She smashed into the wall with a thud and lay there unmoving. Out of the corner of her eye Evie saw Ash limp towards Vero’s body, but then all her attention was drawn back to the Original. He was ambling towards her, studying her curiously. She stepped backwards, her foot crunching on the flattened flamethrower. What now?

Evie cast around once more for something – anything – she could use to distract him, just long enough for her to make it through the Gateway. And at just that moment she saw it – the hilt of it, poking out from beneath Vero’s leg – the shadow blade she had picked up earlier. With a hurried glance at Cyrus who was now circling the Original, distracting him, Evie threw herself sideways, falling half on top of Vero, her hand closing around the hilt of the blade and dragging it free in the same instant.

‘Hey!’ she yelled from her position, crouched by Vero’s side, ‘it’s me you’re after! It’s me you want!’

The Original stopped stalking Cyrus and turned his head towards her.

‘Evie!’ Cyrus yelled out in anger.

She ignored him. ‘Come and get me you piece of …’

The Original was in front of her before she could finish her sentence, his knees level with her head. She glanced up at him and then with a scream leapt to her feet, bringing the blade up and driving it straight through his throat. It slid through his flesh as easily as a butter knife through frosting. There was an ear-splitting roar which cut off almost instantly and then a crash which shook the ground as his head hit the floor and rolled like a bowling ball across it, coming to a stop right by Ash’s foot.

For a moment everyone stood in stunned silence, gaping at the head. Then Evie looked around. Ash had pulled Vero onto his lap and was trying to shake her awake, calling her name over and over. Eventually Vero stirred and groaned, opening her eyes and screaming loud as she saw the Original’s wide, gaping mouth staring up at her. Margaret was standing in the corner, breathing heavily, tears rolling down her cheeks.

And Cyrus was in front of her. Gently, he took hold of her arm, which she realised only now was still raised, and lowered it to her side, then he eased the blade free from her rigid fingers. After staring at her for a few seconds until he was sure that she was OK, Cyrus walked over to the Original’s head and dropped a lit match into its open mouth.

Chapter 45

Evie was first through the gap in the wall. She stood there paralysed, staring at the blinding white light opposite. So this was the way through. It looked like a mirror reflecting the sun. The light was so fierce and white hot she couldn’t look at it straight on, couldn’t even make out the edges of it when she squinted. There was no way of telling what lay on the other side. Other than oblivion, that was. Which was probably a good thing all in all. If it had just been a doorway with five thousand blood-high unhumans visible on the other side she doubted she’d have been able to walk through it.

Her heart was suddenly beating a thousand times a minute, her breath short. Wasted. She shouldn’t have to struggle for breath – not now, when every single gulp of air was a luxury, something she wanted to savour and suck deep. Her legs were shaking and she felt angry at their betrayal. She hadn’t come this far to not be able to finish what she’d started.

The others were standing at the edge of the room, waiting, watching, and the resentment bubbled in her. She suddenly felt what it must be like to be a prisoner on death row, with everyone staring through the glass waiting for the switch to be pulled. Except she was expected to strap herself in and throw the switch all by herself. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should ask Cyrus to push her through – one good hard shove. But then she gritted her teeth. She needed to take her dignity with her, that much she knew. Was it going to hurt? That’s what she couldn’t help wondering. She drew comfort from the knowledge that it didn’t seem to hurt any of the unhumans that came through. But then again, it didn’t kill them either.

She was doing everything in her power not to think Lucas’s name. Not to picture where he might be right this instant, above them somewhere. Had he managed to kill that Shadow Warrior on the roof? What if Issa had failed to see something? Evie tried telling herself that everything so far had gone exactly as Issa had foretold and surely that was a good sign. That had to mean that Lucas was fine. And, besides, she was sure she would feel it if he wasn’t.

She stared at the way through and took another small step towards it. She thought about asking Cyrus for the shadow blade he’d taken from her. She hadn’t figured she would need it – but what if? She almost laughed at herself.

She could sense the others getting restless behind her but none of them wanting to call it. Was she supposed to turn around and offer some last words of regret or forgiveness or farewell? No. The last thing she wanted to see before she died was Margaret’s face. She wouldn’t mind seeing Cyrus’s – she might be able to draw some reserves of courage from seeing him. But Issa had said she should just walk and she shouldn’t look back, so she stayed squinting straight ahead of her at the Gateway she was supposed to walk through. No, not supposed to, she corrected herself, that she
had
to walk through.

OK. She lowered her head. One step. Two steps. She could reach out and touch it. She lifted her hand. Her fingers grazed the edge of the light and she turned her head away, blinded by a spray of golden sparks. A tingling feeling shot up her arm as if she’d touched a live wire. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs full, and held it as if she was about to free dive a thousand metres. Then she closed her eyes.

‘Evie!’

Her eyes flew open, the breath exploding out of her. She wasn’t supposed to turn. She was supposed to keep walking. But a hand closed around her wrist and she was spun around.

Cyrus was holding her, gripping her hard now by the shoulders. He stared at her for a few seconds, his expression fierce, then without a word he placed his hands on either side of her face and pulled her towards him, bending his head at the last minute and kissing her on the lips.

He let her go just as suddenly as he’d kissed her, his hands falling to his sides. Evie gasped in a smoke-filled breath of air. Cyrus was watching her intensely, his breathing unsteady. ‘Don’t ever let anyone tell you chivalry is dead, OK?’ he said hoarsely.

‘What?’ she asked, her own voice husky.

‘I’ve led a charmed life,’ Cyrus answered, a rueful sad smile playing on his lips.

Evie shook her head, still not understanding, and then she saw it. She saw it suddenly, in the flash of fear that glanced across Cyrus’s eyes even as he grinned at her and turned away.

Evie raised her hand, grabbing for his arm, but he was too fast. Her palm grazed the Scorpio scar on his back, and then he was gone. Cyrus had stepped through the Gateway instead of her – and all that remained of him was a black fading outline standing out against the curtain of light in front of her. And then there was nothing left of him at all, not even the memory of his shadow. He was simply gone. Evie was staring at a brick wall. The light had vanished. The room was empty. The way through had closed.

Margaret’s howls spun in her head and Vero’s cries split the air and darkness threatened to swallow her whole.

Chapter 46

Lucas caught her as she fell, crashing to his knees, holding her. Nothing else registered – the noise, the screams, sirens and alarms were all just white noise. The only thing that he registered was that Evie was alive. That he was holding her in his arms, touching her. That it was all over. And she was still here.

‘Evie,’ he whispered her name, burying his face in her hair, feeling her breath shallow and warm against his neck. ‘Evie,’ he said again, taking her face in his hands. She opened her eyes slowly and the whole world rushed into them – the blue dark as indigo. He felt the scream inside her head, tearing through her, could hear it echoing in his own skull.

‘Lucas.’ She whispered his name as if she didn’t quite believe it was him kneeling in front of her, holding her. As though she was scared that she was dreaming. Her hand hovered just above his skin, almost too afraid to touch him.

He clasped hold of her fingers and she let out a gasp, then fell against him, holding him tight. After a few seconds she glanced up at him. Tears were sliding down her face.

‘How … how did … what happened? I thought I was supposed to be the one to close it?’ she asked.

Lucas couldn’t give her an answer. He just shook his head. He’d fought his way past two more Shadow Warriors and a handful of Thirsters, had leapt down the stairs, burst into the room and all he’d seen was a blinding flare of light and Cyrus silhouetted against it. And then he’d watched the light fade to nothing.
He hadn’t been in time
.

And yet it didn’t matter. Evie was still here. And he didn’t understand how or why, but for the moment he didn’t need to. He reached a hand and touched Evie lightly on the cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

‘How could Cyrus do that?’ she asked, staring at the wall, her face pale, her lips ashen.

‘He’s like you.’

Lucas turned his head. It was Vero speaking.

‘He was like you,’ she corrected herself, her voice breaking as she fixed Evie with a dark-eyed stare. A trickle of blood ran like a fat red worm from her temple to her jaw. She was holding her elbow as though it might be broken.

‘What do you mean he’s like Evie?’ Lucas asked.

‘Cyrus was a child of two warriors too. A pure Hunter.’ Vero’s shoulders were shaking as she said it and Ash put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head, closing his eyes as he did. It was only then that Lucas became aware that Margaret was kneeling on the ground, keening to herself as she rocked back and forth, her hands clutched to her chest.

‘How?’ he asked, guilt pulling at his insides, even as his grip on Evie tightened.

‘His father was a Hunter.’

‘Who?’ Evie asked in a stunned whisper, ‘
Who
was his father?’

‘David. The man who was training your parents and Victor and Margaret.’

A long, otherworldly cry erupted out of Margaret’s chest, silencing them all. Lucas stared at her, fighting the urge to shove Margaret against the wall and demand to know how she could have let them believe all this time that Evie was the one, that she was the one to be sacrificed, when all along it had been Cyrus. But as he got to his feet all the anger evaporated out of him. Margaret had only been doing what he himself had been trying to do – protecting the one she loved. He understood Margaret far better than he wanted to and the anger was washed away by a torrent of pity he knew she would hate if she ever became aware of it.

‘How long have you known this?’ he demanded in a quiet voice, turning back to Vero.

‘Just since last night,’ Ash answered for her. ‘Victor told Cyrus who his father was. I think when you and Evie ran off, Victor thought he had a second shot at it. And Cyrus agreed. He was going to close it by himself – and then Evie showed up and volunteered.’

Lucas turned back to Evie. She was still kneeling on the floor, staring at the wall, tears dripping onto her lap. Her arms and hands were covered in red welts. He dropped to a crouch in front of her, feeling the ache in his broken rib, and put his hands on her shoulders, turning her gently to face him.