Salem's Revenge Complete Boxed Set (17 page)

I yell something unintelligible, clamp my eyes shut, snap my teeth closed, biting my tongue, feeling the warm flow of blood in my mouth, not caring because I can’t feel such a minor pain amongst the agony roaring through me…

And then it stops, so suddenly it takes my breath away, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to breathe again.

But I do, slowly at first, taking a hesitant breath, then another, my heart racing, my skin sheened with sweat. The tip of my tongue throbs, a dull pain that’s almost welcome compared to what I’ve just endured.

My eyes open when Ax speaks. “So, Rhett Carter, why would the Necros offer such a substantial reward for your capture? Their offer is so generous they’ve got every willing witch gang looking for you. But more importantly, why do they want you alive? The Necros are seekers of the dead, and yet the instructions were very clear: No reward unless you were brought in unharmed. Why is that?”

I wish I knew. Every last taut muscle and frayed nerve in my body wishes I knew. But… “I don’t know,” I say.

Sheiloff’s hands close in.

“Wait!” I say. “Wait.”

“Willing to talk?” Ax says.

“No, I mean, yes.”

“Which is it?”

“I’m willing to discuss this. Trust me, I want to know why the Necros put out a reward for me every bit as much as you do.” Unless they somehow figured out I’m hunting them, I think. I could see how that would piss them off.

“Trust you? Trust a witch hunter? If you weren’t bound, you’d be doing everything in your power to kill me, and I’m supposed to believe a single word that slips from your lips?”

“I have no reason to lie,” I say.

Ax strokes his chin, glances at Sheiloff. Her lips move, but there’s no sound. “Mmm hhh,” Ax says, as if reading her lips. “That’s a good point.” She’s speaking in his head. Weird. “Let’s try once more, shall we?”

Sheiloff bows once and pushes her lethal hands toward me.

I close my eyes and wait for it.

“Eat steel, ya bastards!” a familiar voice shouts.

BOOM!

Chook-chook!

BOOM!

Chook-chook!

BOOM!

My eyes flash open as the room erupts in gunfire. Sheiloff dives for the floor, but the shots aren’t aimed at her. Ax takes all three rounds in the chest, his t-shirt blossoming with wet, red roses of blood. He flies back, all the way into Sledge, who knocks him aside and charges across the room toward an open door I hadn’t even noticed, white light flooding down at an angle, illuminating the attacker, whose voice I recognized instantly.

Laney raises her shotgun and pulls the trigger once more.

W
hoomp, whoomp, whoomp!

The heavy flap of wings resonates through the cellar door and, in a burst of feathers, Laney is thrown inside, her shotgun spilling from her hands and sliding to rest at my bound feet before she can fire again. She curses and tries to push herself up, but it’s too late. A massive, vulture-like creature unfolds itself through the entrance and pounces on her, pinning her chest-first on the hard cement floor. Its clawed talons tear holes in her shirt, which quickly fill with spots of blood.

No.
She’s not even supposed to be here.

The vulture—who I only now realize is part warlock, a fourth Shifter I wasn’t even aware of—arches its back, preparing to peck at Laney’s head…

“No!” I shout. “Please…don’t!”

“Do it, Crake,” Sheiloff hisses, floating up from the floor, where the dark wizard had sought cover from Laney’s shotgun blasts. “She killed Ax.” My eyes dart to where the gang leader’s shotgun-pellet-riddled corpse is crumpled on the ground. Holy crap. Laney just gained one on me in the warl-killing category.

“If you spare her, I’ll cooperate,” I say quickly. “I’ll do whatever you want. You’ll get your reward.”
Just don’t kill her.

For once, Laney is quiet, unable to speak as she gasps and squirms, trying to suck a breath into her compressed lungs even as she attempts to free herself.

Crake the vulture-warlock cocks his head, as if considering. Long, dark, greasy hair hangs tendril-like over his black eyes, which almost appear sleepy and bored. And then he rears back once more, and bucks forward…

“No!” I cry, a choked sob whimpering from my throat at the same time as there’s a vicious crunch. My vision blurs as I stare at Laney’s slumped form, no longer gasping, no longer struggling under her captor’s mutant weight.

Torn in half, I wait for the blood to pool around her, for the monster to finish the job, to tear at her flesh with its soul-cracking beak.

But wait. Wait. There’s no blood.

Crake crawls off, his beak morphing into a mouth and then back to a beak, his wings becoming arms. Like the rest of the Shifters, he’s still in transition, in-between warlock and the freakish creature he wants to become.

Behind him, Laney’s limp body expands and contracts as she breathes. Still alive. Hurt, but alive. The vulture knocked her out with the side of its hard beak, the slight change in the angle of his attack saving her life.

I let out a deep breath, wait.

“What are you doing, Crake?” Sheiloff says, her voice floating eerily from the abyss that is her cloak-shrouded face.

“What’s the girl to you?” Crake says, ignoring the wizard, his attention focused completely on me. His beak is a mouth again. Then not. The back and forth is really starting to freak me out.

I hesitate. What difference does it make? If I say she’s a friend or an acquaintance or a stranger, will that change his response? I’m faintly aware of the looming boulder-like presence of Sledge moving closer, waiting for my response.

“We’re in love,” I say, trying to hide the lie. It’s not hard, not with my face twisted in horror as Crake’s red wrinkled face leans in.

Sheiloff laughs deeply, raising every hair on the back of my neck. “That’ll make killing her all the more fun,” she croaks.

Sledge cracks his knuckles.

“No,” the vulture says.

“What?” Sheiloff says. “You can’t be serious. She killed one of our own.”

“Boss?” Sledge says, raising a heavy hoof and letting it hover over Laney’s head. His mouth is back, either because the spell wore off or because the wizard decided to have mercy on the bull while showing none toward Laney. All he has to do is let gravity take over…

“No!” Crake says, more sharply this time. Slowly, grudgingly, Sledge lowers his hoof just inches from her cheek. “With Ax dead, leadership of the Shifters falls to me. Any who dare to disagree will be punished as a traitor.”

“I’m not a Shifter,” Sheiloff says. From the darkness that seems to surround her, a bony, white hand appears, palm out.

“We had an agreement,” Crake says, venom in his tone.

“My agreement was with Ax. And the only rule was that we wouldn’t kill the witch hunter.”

“The rules have changed. Deal with it or leave. If you so much as touch one hair on the girl’s head, every Shifter will hunt you to the ends of the earth.”

A creak and a slam turn everyone’s attention toward the other side of the room. Flora’s black, slinking form steps soundlessly inside. Two balls of yellow eye-shine pierce the gloom of the cellar. “What’d I miss?” she says, licking her lips, her pink tongue streaked with red.

Sheiloff turns and strides out the door. “You can keep your reward,” she says over her shoulder.

Inwardly, my heart leaps. With the wizard out of the picture, maybe we have a chance of surviving this.

“Take them upstairs,” Crake says to Sledge.

I don’t even have time to brace myself before the bull head butts me in the forehead and I black out.

R
umbling in the distance.

A storm, moving away. Lightning flashes through a rain-streaked window and I groan, my head aching. When did it get so bright?

No.

Not bright.

Just
not
dim. There’s a big difference.

I try to move but I’m tied to a chair, my arms behind me, my legs shackled together.

As lightning flashes again, I remember the hooked-beak vulture, Crake. What he said to Sledge just before he smashed his iron skull against mine.
Take them upstairs
. We’ve been moved out of the dark gloomy cellar and into a dusty, slightly brighter—although admittedly still cast in shadows due to the storm—attic. At least we’ve got a window, except there’s not much to see except a weed-choked lawn filling up with puddles, and occasional jagged slashes of lightning from the heavens.

Mr. Jackson’s many lessons sit in the back of my mind like clay pots, filled to overflowing with dozens of iterations of the same three words.

Never. Trust. Anyone.

Mr. Jackson’s advice and training have gotten me this far, but can things really be so absolute, so black and white, like the difference between the mountains and the sea? Somewhere there must be gray. Somewhere.

At least that’s what I tell myself. Laney tried to save me, how can I not trust her? How can I not do everything in my power to repay the favor? And just because I want to protect her doesn’t mean I trust her, not really. Does it?

“Hey jerkwad.” The sharp voice snaps my gaze away from Mr. Jackson’s three words and the storm.

Laney, tied to a similar chair, glares at me with one eye closed, as if she’s in considerable pain.

“You’re alive,” I say.

“No thanks to you,” she says, trying to open her other eye. Thinking better of it, she keeps one eye shut. “Nice lump,” she adds as an afterthought.

Sharp voices cut through the floorboards, and I glance down. “They’ve been arguing for a while now,” Laney says. “One of them, Cat Woman, wants to take us to the Necros immediately. Bird Man thinks they might be able to get a bigger reward if they hold out for a while.”

I sigh. “You shouldn’t have come,” I say.

“Neither should you,” she says, accusation in her voice.

“I had to,” I say. Didn’t I? “I had to save them.”

“Really?” she spits. “How’d that work out for you?” Low blow. I close my eyes, feeling the lance of failure deep in my chest. “You didn’t even know them. They’re not family,” she says.

“They’re still people,” I say, not opening my eyes. “And it’s not like you’re my family either.”

Silence. Uh oh. Somehow Laney not talking is worse than her venomous words.

I ease open my eyes amidst the roar of another thunderclap.

Laney’s eyes are narrow and filled with heat. “Maybe not,” she says. “But Trish is the only family I’ve got left, and if something happens to her while…”—her voice hitches slightly and I see her swallow a thick gulp of emotion—“…while I’m saving your sorry ass, I swear I’ll…” She lets the threat hang in the air, the heavy silence finishing it in a way that’s worse than any words she could have conjured up.

“Look, I—”

“No, you look,” Laney interrupts, sticking her chin out. “Until you stumbled up our steps we were doing a pretty good job of surviving the apocalypse on our own.”

I blow out a hot breath. Suck another one back in. Swallow. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”
I’m sorry about everything.
The same words I spoke to the bloodstained wall at Beth’s house.

A portion of the anger leeches from Laney’s cheeks. “Why’d you just run off like that? We should’ve talked about it. Maybe you could’ve changed my mind, convinced me to come with you. We could’ve done it right.”

“There was no time,” I say.

“What happened to you?” she asks, and my chest tightens because I know she doesn’t mean today.

I play dumb. “I got captured by a wizard, nearly had my toes licked by a shapeshifting cat, and was knocked senseless by a half-bull/half-man.”

“Before,” Laney says with patience I didn’t know she possessed. “Before you met me.”

“Where’s Hex?” I say, suddenly realizing that the cage my dog was held in is now empty.

Laney shrugs. “That’s one strange mutt you got there. Ten minutes ago he melted into a puddle and…I don’t know how else to put it…
flowed
out of here.”

Traitor
, I think, but I can’t help but laugh even though it makes my damaged head hurt even more. “He does things like that,” I say.

“Will he come back for us?”

“Usually.”

“You never answered my question,” Laney says.

“What do the Chinese characters tattooed on your neck mean?” I ask.

“If I tell you, will you answer my question?” she says, raising an eyebrow.

I stare at her.
Never. Trust. Anyone.
A crack forms in my shell. “Okay,” I say.

She shrugs. “I don’t know what they mean,” she says. “I thought they just looked cool and my friend dared me to get a tattoo, so I did. My parents were furious.”

“Liar,” I say.

“No, really, their faces were so red I thought they might catch on fire.” She stops suddenly, as if only just realizing her word choice.

“Tell me,” I say. She tries to act stupid and immature, but I can tell it’s a defense mechanism. I have the feeling I’m only beginning to understand just how smart she really is.

Her eyes narrow further, just cracks in the gloom. “Fine. They mean”—she pauses, almost seems to think to herself—“family, okay? Now you can laugh at the fool who thought the universe revolved around her family, when in reality they were ashamed of her because she didn’t have one speck of magical ability.”

I don’t laugh. I close my eyes. Memories of my family’s deaths may shriek through my nightmares, but at least I don’t have to be reminded every time I look in the mirror. And at least my family didn’t turn on me. I can’t even imagine…

I open my eyes.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Laney says, her mouth a red slash in the shadows.

I shake my head. “I’m sorry,” is all I say. “I’m sorry I asked.”

“Serves you right,” she says, and it’s good to hear the daggers in her voice again, chasing away chinked-armor and frayed ropes. “Your turn,” she says.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” I say.

“Right. Nice try. I spilled, so now you’ve got to.”

“I’ve…” I start, trying to decide where to begin. “I’ve let a lot of people down,” I finish lamely.

“Who hasn’t?” Laney says.

“I was trained to only help people when it was a sure thing,” I say. “You know, like when I know I’ll win.”

Laney screws up her face. “You’re a witch hunter, right? That sounds pretty pathetic.”

“You think I don’t know that?” I say, sounding harsher than I’d planned. My gaze travels down to my bound-together legs. “Mr. Jackson, the man who trained me, taught me that if I get myself killed, then a lot
more
people will die. So I have to put my life above all others for the greater good.”

“And here I thought you were some kind of hero the way you rushed into danger,” Laney says. “You’re just another coward.”

“I’m not,” I say quickly, attempting to meet her eyes but ending up on her nose. Am I? “At least, I’m trying not to be. Mr. Jackson taught me things that have kept me alive so far, so it’s not easy to just unlearn some of it.”

“It’s creepy the way you talk about him so reverently,” Laney says. “It’s like you’ve been brainwashed.”

I cringe at her words. Sometimes they feel closer to the truth than I want to believe. “He took me in when I was alone and broken and…”

“Scared?” Laney’s grin flashes annoyingly.

“Yeah, scared. So what? My family had been killed, maybe my girlfriend, maybe my best friend, too…so hell yeah, I was scared.”

“I—” The certainty fades from her voice. “Just. Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t tell you,” I say, wishing I hadn’t told her. I’m not looking for pity. I’m not looking for any of this. Being prisoner. This conversation. I just want to freaking find the Necros and make them pay. Considering they’ve put a bounty on my head, I should probably be careful what I wish for.

“You said your friends
might
have been killed?” she asks.

I tell her everything. I don’t know why I do it, and I don’t know why it feels so good to do so. Maybe because hiding secrets is like burning away your insides with a hot iron. Maybe because I’m beginning to trust someone for the first time since Mr. Jackson told me not to. Maybe because I know I’m probably going to be dead soon anyway—like a deathbed confessional.

When I finish, she says, “I’ll do what I can to help you avenge them.”

The air whooshes out of my lungs. “What? No,” I say. “No.”

“Yes. So long as we can keep Trish out of the middle of it, in a safe place, I’ll help. But this is the last time I rush into a house full of witches to save your un-hero-like rear.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “Okay,” I say, although I’m not sure how she can help me when she’s tied to a chair. I keep that thought to myself.

“Why am I alive?” Laney says, and it sounds like a deep, universe-shattering question, but I know what she means because I’ve been thinking the same thing. Witches don’t spare the lives of humans.

“Because they need me for some reason,” I say. “The Necros want me.”

“That explains why
you’re
alive, but not me.”

At that, I smirk. “Well…I might have, kind of, sort of…told them that we’re lovers.”

Laney makes a sound that’s half-laugh, half-choke. “You what?” she says, but I know she heard me the first time.

“It’s all I could think of,” I say, feeling a strange rush of amusement that’s completely inappropriate for the situation.

She laughs and then I laugh, and I suspect we look like a couple of crazy people as flashes of lightning illuminate the room. Our absurd mirth is cut off by a shout that starts inside and works its way outside our window. A dark wing-shaped shadow bursts across our view. The vulture—Crake. And beyond…

Beyond a familiar form seems to glide along the damp, overgrown lawn. Something unnatural tugs at my chest.

The Siren.

And past her, a rumpled brown figure, his coat soaked through, running toward the house.

The mute beggar.