Death Before Daylight (42 page)

My blood began to course again, and I shot
toward them. This time, no one held me back. As I neared, Darthon
stood up, and I swung my sword at his. Our weapons collided, but
sparks never shot out. Instead, the beams blended together,
stretching to the ceiling. The smell of fire filled my
nostrils.

“You shouldn’t have chosen his side,” Darthon
spat.

I didn’t have time to listen to him. I didn’t
even have time to look at Shoman or Fudicia. I only pushed harder
against the blade, allowing his fire to burn my face. I didn’t
care. As long as I got a chance to kill him, Shoman would get his
shot to truly kill him when he came back to life.

Darthon’s scowl softened. “I don’t want
this.”

In that single second, Robb’s brown irises
poked through the black pits Darthon had for eyes, but even then,
the stare was one I had seen before. When he had hit me outside the
bar, his clouded expression was filled with desperation, but it was
lined with evil—the kind of evil no one came back from.

“No one has to die,” Fudicia yelled, but I
ignored her voice. “The prophecy—”

It was too late.

I swiped my blade through the air and missed
when Darthon’s leg collided with mine. I hit the ground face first
and barely had time to look up as he swung his blade down at
me.

“
If I die, you die, too.”

His voice was in my head—as if I had become a
light already—and his sword was the only thing I could see as he
brought his blade down. The white light split through the air,
burning ablaze as it sizzled through flesh, tearing against bone
and muscle. A screech filled my ears, and all of time was frozen in
the flickering emergency lights.

Darthon’s sword never hit me.

Fudicia crumbled on top of me, a deep slice
cutting her torso from her shoulder to her hip. The edges of her
skin were black. She spit up blood as she gasped, and in her gasp,
she flickered into Linda—the girl I had met on prom night, the one
who had already been protective of Robb, the girl who had
sacrificed herself for me instead.

No one moved.

“I never left your side,” she said, looking
up at me. “You only thought I did.” From the Light realm to the
shelter, she had used an illusion to follow us. I hadn’t felt her
because I hadn’t thought to check, but she touched my face to prove
she wasn’t an illusion anymore—that she never had been. “The books
are safe.”

She died.

Linda was dead, and Darthon screamed.

58

No one could move. The lingering silence was
draining, and the image before us was worse. Linda—Fudicia—was
dead, yet a smile stayed on her face, a smile meant for Jessica,
for the Dark, for everyone she had sacrificed herself for, for the
people that—apparently—never had to die in the first place.

As the realization of her words hit me, my
sword disappeared, zipping into my veins, and energy crept its way
into my heart. It was still beating. Only seconds had passed. Two
more breaths than Linda would ever have. And her death had caused
my sword to deteriorate. It was the only reason I had energy again.
It had almost zapped me of everything I had, and by the looks of
it, the swords of Darthon and Jessica had done the same to
them.

I was the only one who could move. It had
sucked nearly all of my energy out. As Darthon screamed, I leapt to
my feet. I only had seconds to yank Jessica out from beneath
Linda’s body. She slid out easily. The blood helped.

I held back my vomit as I stumbled back,
pushing Jessica the entire time. She had to grab the console to
keep from falling over, and my eyes moved over Jonathon and Crystal
for only a minute. They were breathing, I think. I had to
concentrate on Darthon.

By the time I faced him, he was standing on
shaking knees, but his eyes were on Fudicia.

“Is it true?” I screamed, refusing to pull my
blade back out. It was draining my powers. I had almost nothing
left. “Can we both live?”

He was silent, but his glare was his response
as he raised his gaze from Linda’s body. His growling grimace
stretched over his face. “You’re dying for this.” Even if it were
true, he wasn’t going to let me live.

I stepped back. “I didn’t kill her.” Still, I
searched for some sign—any sign—that he would give in, that he
would stop. “You did.”

“I wasn’t aiming at her!”

It was the last thing he screamed. He flew
toward us, but I wasn’t his target. I was never his target. He went
straight for Jessica. Their swords collided, but both were weak.
Her feet slid backward right as I intervened.

I kicked Darthon’s ankles out from beneath
him. He hit the ground, but he never got rid of his sword. If he
kept it up, I could win, but for once, I didn’t want to. I didn’t
want to kill him—not if he could live, not if he could have another
chance—but Darthon squirmed back up.

This time, I kicked him in the face. “Is it
true?” My scream scratched against my throat.

Darthon tried to stand. I had to kick him
again. “Stop fighting!”

He was practically killing himself.

“We’re all going to die anyway,” he spat.
“All of us. Every last one of us.”

His words didn’t make sense until his sword
disappeared. He had realized what I had. The descendant power was
draining, and he was gaining his energy back. A bubble of
electricity shot up from the ground, splitting right between
Jessica and me, only to ostracize Darthon and me together. From the
outside, Jessica yelled something, but her words sounded like I was
underwater. It didn’t travel through the energy.

I tensed, readying myself to fight Darthon.
“I don’t want to kill you,” I said and meant it.

“You won’t have to,” he huffed, scrambled to
his feet, and straightened. His shoulders broadened, and heat
filled the space between us. He had gained his energy back as fast
as I had gained mine, but neither of us pulled out our swords. I
didn’t know how long it would take to drain me again—if it would be
instant or over time—and I wasn’t about to take the chance.

Jessica shouted again.

I ignored her as I made my decision. It only
took me one minute to look over Darthon’s face.
Robb—Darthon—whoever he was—was already dead on the inside. He had
died long ago, sometime in childhood, between his dog and his
parents. He had let his tragedies take him, but I would have to be
the one to complete his destruction.

I took the first attack, slamming my fist
against his face. I hit him again—for Abby—and once more—for
Camille—and one more time—for Linda. Each time I hit his face, a
lost loved one flickered through my mind, and with every hit that
collided with him, he laughed.

Blood sputtered out of him when I stopped.
His chuckle was loud, and the blood smeared against his spiked
teeth. I hit him again—this time, for him. I wanted him to come
back.

When we were kids, we had met by the willow
tree. Or so I had been told. I was too young to remember, but we
had gone back for Independence Day nearly every year. He had even
asked why I hadn’t invited him the year after my mother died—the
same year Camille was assigned to me—and I hadn’t explained a word.
He accepted it without another question, but the year Abby died he
hadn’t been so easy. At her funeral, he confronted me, and I hit
him. I hit him for the first time, and I hadn’t stopped after one
hit either.

Still, he apologized to me. This time, he did
nothing of the sort.

“Why are you laughing?” I screamed at
him.

“I’m not,” he said it at the same time I
realized he hadn’t been laughing.

His chuckles had morphed into sobs—struggled
gasps of screaming air—but his tears had already stopped. The wet
trails left rivers of clean flesh on his grimy face. Still, his
eyes were pitch black. He wasn’t Robb. He was Darthon, and he
looked directly into me as he spoke, “I wish I was sorry.”

It was in that second, his hand grasped my
wrists, and he yanked my left hand backward. I heard the bone snap
before I felt it.

He was on top of me before I knew it, his
knees pushed against my ribs. I writhed beneath him, screaming, as
his fingers moved up my hands. “This is the only way it’s fair,” he
muttered, his eyes moving over to me and over to my hand.

His warm fingers were wrapped around the
jewelry that protected my life.

I tried to move, but it was too late. He
pulled it off, and I couldn’t breathe.

“You’ll never know if it was real,” he spoke
about the prophecy as I died. “Find peace in that.”

59

I didn’t have a choice. When Darthon
separated Shoman from me, I could only watch behind the globe
Darthon’s Light powers produced. I couldn’t become a light to get
through. Fudicia said I would die if I did, and I believed her now.
Eric looked like he was winning anyway.

Until he wasn’t.

In one second, Darthon was on top of him, and
Eric was kicking. His screams—somehow—made it through the barrier.
I felt his heartbeat leave before I knew what Darthon had done. The
rings. Eric’s was off.

I didn’t hesitate.

I let the fire consume me. Every bit of my
insides burned, and I invited them to burn more. My blood boiled,
and my teeth seethed, but I only saw my hair as it glowed
white.

I was a light, and I would be until the
end.

I broke through the barrier, but breaking it
wasn’t difficult. It simply didn’t hold me back. I walked right
through it. Darthon’s back faced me. He didn’t even see it
coming.

I broke his neck just like the first time,
and just like the first time, I knew he would come back to life.
Only Eric could kill Darthon, and right now, Eric was Eric—a
human—and he was gasping for air. His green eyes were on me,
widened, but I couldn’t look back for long. He would live through
it, and I knew it, but he didn’t know everything.

I picked up his ring and slipped it back on
his hand.

A hiss tore out of him as air filled his
lungs, and he sat up. His hand landed on my leg. “Thank you.”

I didn’t look at him. “Do it.”

Darthon groaned.

“Fast.”

Eric transformed, only tearing his sword out
for the kill, but he froze when Darthon spoke, “She’ll die if you
kill me.” His tone was emotionless, and so was his face as he
rolled over, chest facing the ceiling. Darthon wasn’t even fighting
back. “She’ll die because she’s one of us.”

I fell out of my form. At least, I tried to.
But it didn’t work.

“I can prevent it in here,” he half-growled,
half-laughed. The bubble was the last bit of strength he was
using.

“He’s lying,” I spoke to Eric, knowing what I
had to do before Darthon regained his strength. “Kill him.”

Eric—as Shoman—looked from Darthon to me.

“Trust me.”

And he did.

Shoman raised his sword, Darthon shouted—like
he never thought Eric would believe me—and it was over. The blade
met Darthon’s throat, but he didn’t die immediately. He gurgled,
and I closed my eyes as I fell to the floor.

At first, I thought it was from exhaustion,
but then, I knew it wasn’t. My heart was slowing. My lungs weren’t
taking in as much oxygen as they needed to. But my body
tingled.

“Jessica,” Eric was speaking to me, but it
was his touch that I concentrated on. The warmth was unlike the
Light’s warmth. It was solid, as if he had completely embraced me,
but it was only his fingertips. “Jessica, are you okay?” His voice
rose. “Jessica—”

It was the last thing I heard before I
succumbed to darkness.

60

Jessica slumped to the floor so fast that I
almost didn’t catch her head, but that moment changed everything.
Her light form was gone. She shifted back into her human form, and
her skin paled.

“Jessica.” My voice shook as I remembered
Darthon’s threat. I glanced at him, half-expecting to see Darthon,
but he was Robb. He was dead, and Jessica wasn’t moving.

“Jessica.” I squeezed her arm. It had to be
exhaustion. “Jessica.”

Her face was getting paler, as pale as a
shade’s, but she was human.

“Jessica.”

She didn’t respond, and I pulled her into my
lap, repeating her name like it would change something, but it was
my hand that caught my attention. My ring—the one she had
replaced—was no longer glowing. It wasn’t sparkling. It wasn’t
doing what it was intended to do. It was supposed to keep us alive.
It was always supposed to keep us alive.

“Eric.”

I startled, staring down at Jessica, but her
lips hadn’t moved at all. Crystal landed on her knees next to me,
her face bruised. “Eric,” she repeated my name, but I could only
stare back. “Eric, you’re bleeding.”

She was acting like Jessica wasn’t dying in
my arms.

“Get back.” The voice was Luthicer’s, but it
was someone else who had grabbed me. I tried to fight it, but I was
too weak. I was yanked back like a child, and I looked over my
shoulder to see my father. He was alive.

“Jessica—”

“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asked, leaning me
against the wall.

I tried to stand, but he pushed me back,
lightly at first, rough the second time. He gripped my shoulders.
“Eric, listen to me.”

I was doing everything but listening to him.
I was watching the others—Urte, Jada, Pierce, and Luthicer. They
were all alive, and they were surrounding Jessica. Luthicer dug a
needle into Jessica’s arm. She didn’t move.

“You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep
fighting it,” my dad’s voice sounded far away.

My mind was racing, and all the muscles in me
were tightening, but I kept pushing. I didn’t even care about
breathing anymore. I just wanted to know if Jessica was alive.