The Better Part of Darkness (4 page)

A wave of dizziness rolled over me, followed by a sudden rush of bloodlust, ballooning, pushing against my chest, wanting to escape. I blinked hard, shocked. God, it hurt. I couldn’t catch my breath.

Steady, Charlie.
It was getting harder and harder to control my emotions lately. Maybe because I hadn’t slept through the night since I’d recovered from dying.

I dropped my hold on Auggie’s coat, stumbled back, and leaned down, both hands on my knees, trying to regroup and settle myself, trying to breathe.

“You ain’t right,” Auggie said softly. “You ain’t right at all. You ever think what happened to you may have—”

Fire shot through me. My eyes snapped open, and I grabbed him by the throat and propelled him into the brick wall, lifting him clear off his feet. “Not. Another. Word.” My nostrils flared. My voice sounded different. Strength flowed through me—so great that I knew if I wanted, I could snap his neck without effort or shove him clean through the brick wall. Part of me wanted that.

What the hell? No. Calm down.

“Start talking, Auggie, ’cause I don’t know … how long I can … hold out.”

He nodded rapidly. I let him slide down the wall until his feet touched the concrete. My hold on his throat lessened, but just enough to allow him to speak. I was shaking hard and confused beyond belief. But getting information was all that mattered right now. I’d figure the rest out later.

“They’re calling it
ash
.”

“I know that. What else? What is it?”

“It comes from some kind of flower in Charbydon, that’s all I know.”

“Who’s dealing it?”

“Just some guys. Dealers, I guess. They’re testing it out, giving it to junkies, other dealers … If you overdose, it does the same thing on the eyes, no matter who you are or where you’re from.”

I squeezed harder. Auggie’s eyes bulged. “Who? I need a name, a place.”

His body stilled, and his terrified gaze froze over my left shoulder. “Oh, fuck.” The color drained from his face, leaving him a washed-out shade of seasick green.

I followed his gaze to see three jinn warriors striding toward us. They were tall, built like linebackers, and wore heavy black sunglasses to shield their sensitive eyes. Their dark gray skin, like soot from a fireplace, was as smooth as polished marble. Their mouths were grim, and they walked with purpose. For thousands of years they held a position of honor in Charbydon as bodyguards to the nobles. Damn.

Auggie began to shake. I released him and took a step back, my hand going to my Nitro-gun.

They stopped in front of us, all of them at least six-four and as menacing as a pack of hungry jackals.

“Hey, fellas,” Auggie said in broken falsetto, “just let me finish with the lady here.” He turned to me, his desperation almost tangible in the air between us. “What was that you wanted, ma’am? A love spell, right?” The vials rattled from his trembling as he opened the coat. He didn’t give me a vial, but slipped a pack of matches into my hand. “There you go.”

I met his gaze and it pleaded with me, seeming glassier than before. “Off you go.” He gave a nervous chuckle, trying to feign a genial tone for the benefit of the jinn, and then he leaned down and whispered, “Run, Charlie Madigan.
Run
.”

For as long as I’d known Auggie, he’d been selfish and greedy, but always reliable. Mutely, I shook my head at him. No way would I leave him to these guys, especially after he’d just tried to protect me. I shoved the matches in my pocket and turned as the three stepped closer.

“Get lost,
brougá,
” the one in the leather jacket spat.

I sneered back, not appreciating being called the equivalent of a disease-infested whore.

Obviously the one in leather was the leader of this three-ring gang. The other two wore parkas. The jinn were severely hot-natured—even in the notorious heat of an Atlanta summer they wore sweatshirts. That was why a Nitro-gun worked so well. It could stun them into submission, freeze their flesh, and stop their blood flow, and eventually the heart, in one Level-5 blast, but that was a shoot-to-kill-only setting, not something an officer would typically use on the street to detain criminals.

“I’m not done with the spellmonger,” I told the one who’d spoken. “Why don’t you come back later?”

The ringleader made a step toward me. Without thought, I withdrew the gun from the holster under my arm and pointed it straight at his chest; at the same time my other hand held out my badge. A glow built in his violet irises. It meant only one thing.

Attack.

With my thumb, I moved the nitro level up. This jinn was a big one, and I had the distinct feeling he’d fight until his last breath and do his best to take me with him.

“ITF, huh?” A slow, even grin spread across his dark face. He flexed his big, beefy fingers. “I’m going to like breaking you in two. Human bones, they snap like twigs.”

Auggie cursed behind me as the situation exploded.

One of the jinn was on him in a flash. I got one round off against the jinn directly in front of me before the third struck a massive blow against my chest with the palm of his hand. It lifted me off my feet and sent me flying into the brick wall.

The sudden impact knocked the wind out of me. A bright flash of pain sliced through my skull and back.

Dear God.

My gun and badge clattered to the sidewalk. I slid down the wall to my feet, crouching down like some animal, one hand on the pavement as a surge of blinding anger, anger so powerful and excruciating, erupted through me, stinging a path all the way to my fingers and toes. It was hot and cold. I couldn’t contain it, whatever it was. But it erased the pain, so I welcomed it.

A loud hum vibrated from my core. I straightened as the jinn marched toward me with a leer. Calm settled over me, confidence swelled my chest. I
wanted
to fight, to get down and dirty and give this joker a big ole lesson in southern manners. I had no doubt from Auggie’s reaction that they had supplied the
ash
. The same substance that had killed, that had put Amanda, and numerous others, in the hospital.

My gaze darted to my weapon directly between me and the asshole jinn.

He paused. I smiled sarcastically.

The sane part of me screamed. What the hell was I doing?
Dive for the gun!
But the sane Charlie immediately evaporated, overcome by the hum of energy that squelched any opposition. I cocked my head at him. “Come and get it, you alien loser.” They hated to be called aliens. And I lived to irritate the hell out of them.

A low growl issued from deep within his chest. He hunched his shoulders and ran at me like a bull after a rodeo clown. At the last second, I sidestepped and stuck my arm out, connecting with the soft tissue of his throat. He gagged and fell back, gasping for air. I didn’t give him a second to recover before I jerked him to his feet by the parka collar, but he swung up and hit me in the jaw. Blood surged into my mouth. I grabbed at his head, but, like all jinn males, it was just as smooth and hairless as the rest of him. My fingers found the small, delicate cartilage of his ear, and then the two small metal hoops pierced through the skin. I yanked hard. He screamed.

I kneed him in the gut as the other guy, finished with Auggie, jumped on my back. My knees buckled, and we went down in a free-for-all of hands and feet. One of them fisted my hair, lifted my head, and then slammed my forehead into the pavement.

Pain exploded, radiating over the curve of my head. Tiny rainbow crosses danced in my vision. A wave of nausea clenched my stomach. My strength and confidence wavered. Desperate, I bit the hand closest to me, getting a mouthful of thick, hot blood as black and tasteful as tar. I turned onto my back and kicked as hard as I could.

There was blood in my eyes. I couldn’t see. I hurt all over. They were winning, hitting me over and over.

Frustration welled inside me. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t happen. Not again!

I tried to tap into the anger of before, into the strange confidence and strength that had overtaken me.
Please come back. Please help me,
I begged, letting my body go slack and opening myself to the strange darkness I knew coiled under the surface even as their fists pounded into my belly and face.

The pain subsided and the familiar hum returned. I breathed a quick sigh of relief, nearly choking on the blood in my mouth, wanting to gag from the metallic spill sliding down my throat and pooling in my tense, empty stomach.

And then I fought back; like an animal, panicked, wild, hearing only my heart pounding through my eardrums and swinging at anything that touched me.

It seemed to go on for hours; a slow-motion dream that wouldn’t end.

“Charlie! CHARLENE ELIZABETH MADIGAN, STOP IT RIGHT NOW!”

Rough bands pinned me against the wall. I struggled against them, against the hard, scratchy surface. Tears made a hot trail down my face. The sensation of loss gripped me. Distant sobs echoed in my ears, and I realized with sudden clarity it was me making those horrid gasping sounds.

The wail of sirens filtered through my disorientation along with my sister’s voice saying my name over and over again.

I was so tired. Too tired to fight anymore.

Cold water splashed on my face, bringing me sputtering back to reality.

What the hell?

My feet were off the ground, my back pressed flat against the brick wall, held there by thick vines that wrapped around my limbs and torso. The vines had come from a potted plant near the map store.

Bryn stood in front of me, holding an empty bucket and staring up at me with tears and worry.

A crowd had gathered, a group of tourists snapping a few pictures. Others were drawn to the gruesome sight of Auggie’s lifeless body surrounded by broken and spilled vials, their liquid framing him in a macabre rainbow of color and blood; and the three jinn bodies, one frozen from the nitro blast and two beaten to death. Blood was everywhere. Mine and theirs. Red and black.

Bryn’s chest rose and fell quickly. Her healthy skin had turned ashen. The smile that always lurked in her eyes was gone. “Charlie,” she urged again, this time with a catch in her voice.

My mouth was too swollen to talk, but I didn’t have to ask. I knew Bryn had done this, had stopped me. I let my head fall back against the brick and pain shot through my skull. Bryn closed her eyes and mumbled. The vines withdrew, setting me gently on my feet. I crumpled to the sidewalk, and she was there, holding me, getting blood all over her pretty yellow sundress. She smoothed the damp hair from my face and talked to me in a soft, soothing voice, rocking me back and forth, her cheek pressed against my temple. The scent of herbs and spices clung to her clothes, skin, and hair. It was a good smell, the kind that eased my confusion.

She was crying, saying she couldn’t lose me, not again, and not after Connor.

Our brother. My twin.

A senseless act of violence when we were teens, and he was gone.

He was the reason I went into law enforcement, to protect my family, to keep assholes and killers off the streets of my hometown. Bryn had been fourteen when Connor’s car was hijacked with him inside. Two black crafters jacked up on meth had held a gun to his head and made him drive out to Piedmont Park, get out of the car, and beg for his life on his hands and knees. They taped it with a handheld recorder. And then they executed him, took his car, and made it all the way to Vegas, where they bragged to the wrong person about what they’d done.

I’d felt it the moment Connor died. The feeling has never left me.

Bryn’s rambling continued, but I didn’t hear her words, just the sound of her aching, choked voice. Thinking of Connor cleansed the mud from my brain and hardened my soul. He had made me strong, and I wasn’t about to start crumbling now.

I lifted my head and stood with Bryn’s help just as police and paramedics arrived.

“Charlie,” she whispered. “You’re healing.”

“What?”

She stared at me oddly. I could barely see her through the swollen skin around my eyes. “The cuts on your face, they’re healing.”

I touched the split lip, the movement of my arm painful. Everything hurt.
Breathing
hurt. “Are you doing it?” I struggled to ask.

“No, it’s not me. It’s you.”

“It’s not me.” No, it couldn’t have been me. I didn’t have powers like Bryn. And I was okay with that. I had my own kind of magic. It was called a Nitro-gun, a 9mm SIG Sauer, and a Hefty (a Taser-like High Frequency Tag capable of disabling or destroying the sound-sensitive Elysians). That was all the conjuring I needed.

Hank raced down the sidewalk, his face contorted with fear. He skidded to a stop beside us, his breath coming out fast and heavy. Hard, dark sapphire orbs replaced the vibrant blue sparkle of his eyes; they had changed as they always did with any kind of heightened emotion. There was only one other time I’d seen him this distraught. Eight months ago. When I was dying. When he hovered over me in the dark alley between Mercy and Solomon Streets, willing me to live, calling for backup over and over again until his voice broke and praying to a God he had never had much faith in, making every promise in the book if only I’d survive.

“Damn it, Charlie. Are you okay? Did the medics check you out? God, you’re a mess.”