Impulse (54 page)
“Stand back. One clean stroke and her head will be away.”
“Release her!” Justus roared, blood trickling down his cheek. Rage snarled on his curled lip as he assessed the situation the way he often did in the training room.
“No matter what happens,” I ground through my teeth, “kill him.”
Damn Merc for what he inflicted on that man
.
Justus vanished; something I’d rarely seen him do. The speed of action was beyond comprehension. One minute he was standing ahead of us and the next, Justus appeared behind Merc. In a swift motion, he pulled Merc’s wrist away from my neck and drove the dagger straight at my head. I winced, but the dagger had another target.
It plunged into Merc’s eye, impaling him in the skull.
Gasping, heart racing, I staggered forward.
Justus had balled up his energy and, in one powerful burst, pushed himself in a position of control. Only a skilled Mage could harness their light in that manner. It was too advanced for me to understand, even after several attempts in the training room. Because it was a one-time shot and depleted an abundance of power, it’s a last resort when there are no other options.
Merc collapsed to the ground in a heaping pile of worthless Mage manure. Justus kicked his legs to straighten them out and I winced at the gruesome image of the blade impaled in his eye socket. The wind shifted and a chill ran up my body as the leaves rustled in the trees.
Simon edged out from the road where he stood witness. “Come with me, Silver. This is a private revenge.”
Chapter 39
Justus couldn’t hear the empathy in the footsteps of his friends when he was left alone with Merc
. He was only aware of the frost licking the back of his neck like an ice dragon. The pale moonlight gave a murky appearance to the blood that oozed from the mangled eye in Merc’s head.
Unable to speak, he paced around the paralyzed body of a man who was born a Norseman.
Killing him quickly would be mercy that Nigel and Eleanor never had. Dirt and pebbles crunched beneath his boots and a narrow black shoelace dragged behind him as he stepped off the pavement. Years had elapsed and Justus would never know what might have been if Merc had only spared her life. Never had he imagined such a reawakening of suffering, proving that the laceration would never mend. Only now there was salt in the wounds with the revelation that she had been a Blocker.
Sweat trickled from his brow and he kicked Merc in the head. He continued to pace—arms thick with punishment, fists clenched with murderous intent, and a bitter taste of bile when the images of the confession swarmed in his head like angry bees.
Poison from Merc’s lips. Acid from his tongue.
Being a Charmer was something of a disappointment to his Creator. Women were in abundance like the bounty from a vineyard, and Justus often selected the most beautiful and unattainable fruits until he was drunk with them. But after Eleanor’s death, he’d felt more like an imposter with women. It became easier to pick the ones that were weak minded and easy. Every emotion they felt for him was a lie, and coming to terms with that fact was numbing. Sex was no longer a patient harvest but a quick bottle of cheap wine. Justus drank up the adoration, but in the end when the lights went out, it was only about the sex and the hangover was always the darkest part of the experience.
When Justus had first laid eyes on Eleanor, she was leaving a restaurant in a sage-green dress with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. He’d stood on a busy corner and watched the lovely young woman with soft ribbons of long, silky blond hair looking expectantly up the street. Her smile was radiant when she waved at Nigel and kissed him on the cheek, with eyes that glittered like the Pacific Ocean. Such incomparable loveliness and grace. At first, he thought it was Nigel’s woman, but later discovered that Nigel considered her a sister as they shared the same Creator.
Justus remembered the way her creamy complexion could make a man stutter, but most of all it was the innocence that played in her eyes.
Each day he followed her at the same times because she was a creature of habit. He watched her admire small trinkets and fabrics in the local shops. Her fingers were so delicate it made his own seem oafish and dangerous. From the opposite side of the windowpane, Justus’s charm had no effect.
Eleanor had admired a sample of blue silk fabric once and walked away when she noticed the price. Justus must have ordered twenty yards of it and had it special delivered. He hadn’t included a card and never knew what she thought of the anonymous gift. Nigel had money, so it didn’t seem right that she denied herself beautiful things. Anticipation rose each day with the sun when she emerged from her door. He hoped to see her wearing the fabric, but a heavy sigh always followed when she stepped into the bright sunlight wearing a plain dress. There were many nights that he imagined her wearing it, and that would be the day that he would speak to her.
Months passed and Justus was perfectly content with his routine. One Sunday morning, she never came out of the house.
Justus continued circling around Merc’s body, each breath serving as a reminder of the one Eleanor no longer had. Light burned through his veins like hellfire, settling in the pit of his stomach as Merc’s words festered.
Eleanor screaming
.
Eleanor screaming.
He squeezed his eyes shut because the stars burned too brightly. His right foot kicked up a chunk of dirt and it landed by Merc’s arm. Justus sat on top of the former Council member’s chest with his hand wrapped around the grip of the dagger buried deep in Merc’s eye.
“We’re talking,” he said through clenched teeth. “Move an inch and I’ll take your head.”
Justus would wait until the Enforcers arrived because that’s what law-abiding men did. In a swift motion, he pulled the dagger out and pressed it sharply against Merc’s throat with his right hand gripping the handle and his left palm pressing the back of the blade. Justus wanted answers.
“Why kill Nigel? He would have faced punishment by the Mageri for not producing evidence.”
Merc’s lips peeled back as the blood pooled from his socket. “That’s bullshit and you know it. The Mageri sat on it because they never had any intention of going against him. Nigel knew more and threatened he would talk.” A rivulet of blood trailed down his neck.
“Knew what?”
“Where I was investing my money.” He smiled. “How’s your gut these days?”
Justus paused and looked at him gravely. While he had little memory of the bombing at Novis’s house, Merc had just indirectly admitted to being the responsible party behind the sword. It didn’t matter. “You funded the experiments?”
“You see the world in black and white, Justus. This whole fucking mess we created ourselves—hiding from humans and letting their population explode. Working together in harmony? That’s a joke. We built civilization. Deep down, everyone knows we don’t belong in the shadows of mortals. Some just need a push in the right direction, but they’ll follow. Peace is nothing but a bedtime story, and I think we’re all big boys now and know that fairy tales don’t exist.”
“Blah, blah, blah,” he muttered. “My funding was a waste of money, so enjoy your monkey for as long as you can. When others find out what she is, they’ll want her dead. Imagine the fear in knowing a mutation exists, one with powers they don’t understand. Hell, maybe she’s contagious,” he said, huffing out a laugh.
The teeth of the blade bit into Merc’s neck and he grimaced. He wasn’t going anywhere, not with Justus using his knees to pin down his arms.
“That woman is a life to be valued, which is more than I can say for you.”
Merc lifted his eyes to the sky. “You’ll never win. You can lock me away, but my connections will bail me out. They have big plans and unlimited funds. The faith in the Mageri is fractured and it won’t take much more to break that trust. The people will look for answers, and they won’t look to you. Our time will come, Justus. Humans will know we exist. Ready yourself.”
Justus sighed. “A fact we’ve long prepared for, and we will build relationships with them and—”
“Fucking kidding me?” he ground through his teeth. “Wake up from your dream.”
That struck a chord deep within Justus. Eleanor had been nothing but a dream, a floating petal on the wind who disappeared in the blink of an eye.
“Why Eleanor?” he nearly choked on the words. “Nigel, yes. Exact your revenge like the coward you are. But the woman—”
“No witnesses. I had the dagger in Nigel’s chest and was ready to take his head. The woman should have fled before I saw her; she sealed her own fate.”
More blood polished the dagger. Justus spoke each word slowly. “She was an innocent.”
“Yes,” he grunted. “Innocent and sweet. What a shame I had to ruin that silk dress.”
The air seized.
“Blue?” Justus whispered hoarsely.
“What?”
Justus leaned in close so his lips were to Merc’s jaw. “Was. It. Blue?”
Merc’s eyes rolled up, plucking a memory. “Yes, it
was
blue. But it turned a deep shade of maroon by the time I was done with her.”
After a thousand miles across time, the long journey for truth had ended. Sharp pain needled his lungs with each breath. Was it the first time she wore the fabric? Its silk was so lovely that it mirrored the Pacific waters, and he imagined how it paled in comparison to her sparkling eyes.
Visions of Eleanor splayed across the white marble floor of Nigel’s house with blood pooling around her crept into his mind. The facts of their deaths were known, but never the details of the crime scene—not even to HALO. Nigel’s Creator had spoken with the Mageri and any investigation that would have occurred was done privately.
His heart sank.
That stony heart he thought was long dead. One that beat on occasion when Silver was brought into his life, filling with pride and protectiveness, but one he kept guarded. One never meant to love.
With a violent roar, Justus rammed the knife so far into Merc’s neck that his remaining eye widened with surprise. The gasping lasted seconds and then, just as sudden as the act itself, Merc’s light flickered away.
A cool gust of wind carried fallen leaves and one landed on the dead Norseman’s shoulder, tangling in his bloody hair.
Justus was fractured. He’d committed a crime by taking the life of a Mage. The situation had been contained and Merc never directly threatened his life. The implications were caked on the bottom of his boots.
He tossed the knife into the dirt and stood up. So much time had passed—could he even say that he’d loved this woman? Merc’s revelation that she possessed an ability he never knew about broke him. Once the light was pulled from her body, she was rendered mortal and spared the atrocious death of a beheading. One detail made public was that Eleanor had been stabbed in the heart. It was a mystery never quite solved as it was not a common way for a Mage to die, but the assumption was that another Mage juiced her light and she was weakened enough to succumb to death.
He winced from the guilt of never having spoken to her. Not one word. She never even saw his face or heard his voice. Had he just once approached Eleanor, maybe she wouldn’t have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
In the wrong dress.
Chapter 40
The Enforcers questioned us while the cleaners removed Merc’s body from the property.
Due to the circumstances, members of the Council showed up and spoke to Justus privately. I was inside the house when he walked by with blood on his hands, leaving a trail of red mud in the hall. I cleaned the floor before the Council arrived. Merc’s death was deemed justifiable. Unbeknownst to us, the Mageri had changed the status on his escape, labeling him an outlaw. This meant by law of the Mageri, anyone could hunt him—dead or alive. It was a fortunate turn of events, all things considered.
