Shadowed Ground (12 page)

“Father’s usual,” he said glumly. Carson grunted. “It was just enough to make her relax. Honestly. That’s all it should have done. I would never, ever hurt her.” He dug his hands into the rocking chair’s arms. He felt wood slip under his nails, the sharp pain barely penetrating his fog of grief and stupor. “But there she is, just as if she overdosed. I did that, not them. I’m the monster, not them. I’m worse than them.” His hand trembled violently as he slapped it over his mouth, stifling the rising sobs.

Carson brushed her hair back from her face. He dropped his ear to her slowly rising chest. “I suppose they wouldn’t let a doctor in?” He gently peeled back one eyelid, frowning at what he saw. Charlotte twisted and thrashed weakly against him.

“Of course not,” Alexander spat. “I don’t think they could have been happier to see her like this. They knew it was my fault, too, and that made them happy. How could I have been so stupid? If they’ve been drugging her the whole time, I’m the one who overdosed her. I did this to her.”

“Quiet, Alex,” Carson ordered, his eyes locked on Charlotte. “You don’t want to draw them. I’ll call Elizabeth to sit with her. You need to come with me, before they come for you.”

“Draw them? Come for me?” He laughed, incredulous. “They already have me. They have us all. I haven’t even seen Father for days. He’s probably dead. Don’t you get it, Carson? They know everything. They’re monsters. They’re not fucking human, and they feed on this kind of shit, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. If I’ve killed my sister, I swear to god, I’m going to find some way to kill them before I kill myself.” He was astonished to find himself on his feet, screaming with rage, his head clearer than it had been when Carson walked in. There was something to be said for the sobering effect of blind, righteous rage, Alexander decided.

But Carson, apparently, didn’t agree. He kept his back to the bedroom door, sitting easily on Charlotte’s bed. He fixed Alexander with a look that could freeze fire. He put a single finger over his lips in the universal signal for quiet and subterfuge. His tone was a complete contrast to his physical demeanor, though. He kept it light and careless. It was like watching a ventriloquist. “Aw, shut it, Alex,” he said lightly. Carson even managed a laugh. “You get more and more ridiculous when you drink. Not human, ha! Good one. And that’s an awful lot of killing in one sentence. Sure you wouldn’t rather come kill another bottle with me?” Carson narrowed his eyes and flicked them sideways, fast. “That’s the best cure for a hangover, you know. Just drink more.” That laugh again, so different from the look on his face that it was terrifying.

Alexander stared, dumbfounded.

He didn’t stare long. The head Smith clone glided into the room, hovering just inside the threshold. “How is Miss Ravenwood? Better, I hope?” it said mildly, mockingly.

But Alex, for the first time, heard: “How isss Misss Ravenwood?” The long, sibilant s’s had been there all along, he realized, lurking under a thin veneer of humanity like a snake’s skin just before it shed it.

“Sleeping like a lamb,” Carson said smoothly, rising to stand behind Alexander. He grabbed his shoulder and shook him. “No thanks to this lout. Come on, Alex, there’s got to be better places to drink yourself stupid than your sleeping sister’s bedroom.” Carson’s face matched his light tone as he faced Smith. He even managed to smile at the thing. He looked severely at Alex and dragged him to his feet. “Let’s go, you.”

He said nothing as he let himself be dragged from Charlotte’s side. He kept silent as Carson dragged him past the monster, across the hall, and down the narrow servant’s stairs. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say until he stood underneath the spreading magnolia tree off to the side of the old house, his shoulder still gripped in a vise. The fresh air and light was like being splashed with cold water. He inhaled deeply.

“Carson,” he said, after several moments of deep breaths. “What the hell are you doing?”

The silver-streaked head of security rounded on him. “Saving your life, Alex,” he said, all pretense of lightheartedness gone. “What the hell were you thinking, tipping your hand like that?” His voice was low and furious.

Alexander snorted. “I folded days ago, when I realized who and what they are. When I finally put all together, the day they killed her pet. The weapons, the way they won’t let anybody leave. The new ones showing up. They’re building an army, Carson, an army of monsters just like them. The only thing I still don’t know is why, and they’re not telling, no matter how I ask, although they enjoy tormenting me about it.”

Under the spreading magnolia, his face dappled with shades of light and dark, Carson went white. He re-affixed his hand to Alex’s shoulder and began dragging him away from the house. Fast. So fast he found himself stumbling. “You told them. You told them you know what they are,” Carson muttered to himself. He picked up speed as he talked. “Gods above and below, you asked them why. I don’t know whether to slap you or give you a medal.”

“I was sick of pretending,” he tried to explain. “And would you slow down? I’m wobbly enough, without you trying to break my neck.” Carson dragged him faster. He fell facedown into a patch of vines. “What the fuck are you doing, Carson?”

His last friend in Raven’s Ward knelt down so that he was at eye-level with him. His face could have melted steel. “I’m trying to save your life. Maybe all of our lives. You have no idea who or what you’re dealing with, Alex. You think you do, but you don’t.” He ran a hand through his short graying hair. He suddenly looked all of his fifty-plus years. “I do know, Alex. I know who they are and what they’re capable of. Like you, I don’t know why, but unlike you, I know you’re damn lucky to be alive. You need to stay alive, because I need you if Plan C is going to work.”

He crawled to his skinned knees. “There’s a Plan C?” He brushed leaves and pebbles off himself. “We’re down to a Plan C?”

Carson cast his eyes westward. “It’s bad, Alexander.” He hauled Alex up and resumed his relentless dragging. “And now it’s up to you. You were stupid enough, or brave enough, or both, to gossip like an old maid at high tea. So now they know you know, but they don’t know you know what it means that you know, which is probably the only reason you’re still alive. So it has to be you, because they don’t know I know, and someone who knows has to stay behind. Someone has to try to keep your sister alive, and my Elizabeth, and the other few of us who haven’t completely surrendered yet.”

“That was the most confusing thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Then I’ll simplify.” They burst through dense vegetation into a clearing. He realized he was standing on the bank of the river that separated Raven’s Ward and Gray’s Landing. Carson stared at it with an intense kind of longing people rarely displayed in public. Every cell in his body seemed to strain towards it as he pointed one thick finger at its steep limestone cliffs. “You have to cross over, and find help.”

Chapter Thirteen: Room for One

The smell of curry stung her nose as she pulled the heavy, windowless door shut behind her. A wood-grain counter ran most of the length of the room. A plastic display case held business cards and colorful flyers, advertising various services and local attractions. Chloe wondered, idly, what kind of attraction the small town of Bent Creek had to offer. It seemed to be nothing more than a stopover next to the interstate. Still, it was as far away as she had been able to force herself to drive with an injured, unconscious Eliot in the back seat. At least we made it out of the state, she thought, wanting nothing more than to collapse on the cracked maroon vinyl couch that ran along the back wall.

“Yes, Miss? Can I help you?”

She blinked rapidly, shaking herself out of her rambling thought patterns. Her thoughts had scattered ever since she realized Eliot wasn’t going to just snap out of his injuries, and that she was going to have to be the one to take over and get help. Be the responsible one. She drew herself straight and squared her shoulders. I can do this, she told herself. She smiled back at him, hoping she looked trustworthy.

“I need a room,” she said evenly. She turned the urge to grind her teeth together into another smile. “It’s just for tonight.” She had decided it was best to try and keep Eliot’s presence a secret. Not only would she be unable to hide his bloodstains, but it was much more likely the Abandoned, and the now, the police, would be looking for a couple. She shifted in her uncomfortable clothes. She’d pulled one of Eliot’s spare hoodies on over her blood-stained t-shirt. It made her hot; the little room had a single window unit that seemed to be pumping out lukewarm air.

She thought of Eliot, draped unconscious across the back seat. She’d left the windows cracked so the air could circulate, but she worried he was baking. It had turned into a warm day.

The little man nodded. The creases around his dark eyes deepened as he began to fill out paperwork. “Marta!” he called over his shoulder. “Do we have a room ready? The young lady needs one now.”

The woman named Marta looked her up and down. Chloe held herself perfectly still. She thought a woman might notice something odd before the older man did. Something about this woman was keener, sharper. Suddenly nervous, she turned to the plastic display case. She picked up a bright red flyer advertising a pizza delivery service and studied it intently.

“We have a queen ready,” Marta confirmed. “On the first floor.”

The little man nodded sharply. “I need your driver’s license, and credit card.”

Chloe handed over her Anna Townsend license. She pulled out one of the credit cards, too, but pulled it back at the last minute, as if she’d just changed her mind. “Do you mind if I pay cash instead?” She flashed him what she hoped was another convincing smile.

The man stopped his scribbling. “Cash means you pay up front,” he warned her, his attitude shifting towards suspicious.

“Of course,” she said hastily, pulling out the wallet Eliot had given her in the food court, several lifetimes ago. She made sure to pull all the money out and count it out slowly. Cash blinds people, Eliot had said. She hoped he was right.

Apparently, he was. The man visibly relaxed, becoming even cheerful and jovial as he handed her paperwork to sign. He gave her a heavy key marked 108. “Your room is down at the end, right next to the stairs.” She thought of the injured young man in her backseat, mentally calculating his weight, fully armed. Stifling an inward sigh, she nodded.

He turned back to the small black and white television propped on a small coffee table in the corner of the room.

She let the door slam behind her and wanted to sag against it in relief. She had never checked into a motel by herself before in her life, let alone done so much lying. I must have been convincing enough, she thought in relief. But when she thought about the task in front of her, much more monumental than fooling a motel proprietor, her heart sank again, even as her feet hurried her forward. Come on, Eliot, hang in there, she thought to herself as she pulled away from the office and angled the Cruiser so that it blocked the driver’s side from the office. I can’t carry you by myself.

He lay on his side, curled into himself. She’d torn a t-shirt into strips, binding them around the worst wounds on his arm, and the very deep one on his thigh. He was out cold still, and had been for the last half-hour. Blood stained the upholstery under him. She was going to have to throw some clothes or blankets over the back seat when she got him inside. Anyone even taking a casual glance into the vehicle would be sure to call the police.

She realized she was going to have to wake him up first, or at least attempt to. She unlocked the room, noting with pleasure that the inside was much nicer than the outside, and hurried to the bathroom. Grabbing a hand towel, she soaked it. She realized on her way out that the room had only one queen bed. The woman, Marta, had mentioned that; she remembered it now. One queen bed. But as she stood over her Guardian, still and pale as wax, she knew she wanted to sleep next to him. If she even slept at all. She wanted to know he was breathing, to make sure he was all right.

“Eliot,” she said, wiping his face with the towel. “Eliot.” He didn’t move. The dull panic that had been riding her since she drove, hell-bent, out of the shopping center increased to a heavy thump. “Eliot, wake up. You have to wake up.” She tried the towel again, but still, he didn’t stir. Panic rising, she held the towel directly over his face and squeezed. The dripping water got him to stir and moan a little, at least. “Wake up, please,” she begged.

He moved a little, and moaned. She dripped water on him again. “Please,” she begged. She leaned her head against the car frame, sagging, exhausted and scared. “Please. I need you. I don’t know what to do.”

Under her, he exhaled a little more forcefully. “Chloe?” he asked in a whisper. “Are you all right?”

Suddenly, looking down into his waxen face, she couldn’t hold back her tears. His eyes were closed, his glorious eyes that had been all she knew of him for so long. His eyelids had the faintest purple tinge to them. Dark circles stood out against his otherwise near-ghostly pallor. She cried freely, her tears falling right into his face.

“I’m fine,” she choked out. She leaned in close. “You’ve got to get up. We’re at a motel. I can’t carry you alone, or I would, I swear.” She leaned her forehead against his, her tears mingling with his sweat. “Please,” she whispered. She trailed a hand across his cheek, touched his closed eyes.

The fingers of her right hand brushed across his lips, once, twice, as faint as feathers. “Please,” she repeated.

His eyes popped open as she brushed his lips, staring at her. She felt more tears slipping down her face and onto his. She didn’t even try to stop them. His mouth opened, as if to speak, but he only stared. She didn’t move her fingers. They stayed, lightly touching his open mouth, his breath hot across them. “Thank god,” she breathed, her fingers tracing his lips, moving across his face. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“Chloe Burke,” he murmured. His voice was low and hoarse. “Why would I reward you by leaving you now?” His voice cracked, and he coughed hard. He curled in on himself with the coughing, clutching his side. “Give me your arms,” he whispered, propping himself up.