Thea Harrison - Rising Darkness

I didn’t change you enough, he said slowly. I didn’t have enough time to completely break your spirit and reform you. If I had, you would have been totally bent to my will.

She shuddered. Was that a touch of doubt she heard in his mental voice? No, you failed at that. I may not be what I once was, but I am stronger than I’ve ever been. I’m starting to count. One.

Okay, I won’t destroy him, he said. Not yet. I’ll hold on to him until you walk into the clearing.

Her laugh was raw and animalistic, more like a snarl. The gun’s metallic muzzle rattled against her teeth. Let him go or it’s no deal. Two.

Slow down. You’re counting too fast. There are things to consider here. How do I know you’ll keep your word? His mental voice was a silken obscenity. After all, right now I do have such a pretty bird in the hand.

Can he walk on his own if you let him go? Her shaking legs wouldn’t support her any longer, and she sank to her knees.

There was a thoughtful pause. I don’t think so. I’m not sure. I don’t want to loosen my hold on him to find out until you and I have a deal.

Her eyes stung with sweat. She pulled the muzzle away from her mouth and mopped at them. Have two of your men help him. I’ll walk in as they walk him out. When you see me, you’ll tell them to leave him and come back to you. I’ll know if you do.

Hmm, he murmured. Thinking, thinking.

Despair threatened to drown her. What was she doing, buying them minutes at most?

If Michael couldn’t walk, the Deceiver would only take her and then take him again. She wouldn’t even have the brief peace of death.

But she knew that, even if all she gained were minutes, she would do anything to keep from hearing that strained-crystal keening from Michael’s spirit again. Anything.

Her mental voice had turned to rags. Make up your mind. Yes or no.

Silence, both psychic and physical.

She waited another heartbeat then put the muzzle to her mouth again. Michael was right. It did have a kick. She bent over until she was in a ball, bracing both her hands and the butt of the gun against her knees, and angled the gun with care. If she pulled the trigger, she wanted to suicide successfully, not end up brain damaged and trapped in her body.

When the bullet tore through her head, would she know? The brain has no pain receptors, but all around the brain were nerve endings located in the head.

Her breath shook. She said, Three .

All right, the black diamond man said . Congratulations, you have a deal. He showed her a mental image of Michael’s body sagging between two men. She could see both the psychic and the fleshly wounds that scored him. His face was covered in blood. The two men carried him away. She caught sight of his legs moving weakly before the image cut off. They’re leaving with him now, so start walking back.

She pulled the gun out of her mouth and retched. All she brought up was bile. She shuddered and spat, wiping her mouth with the back of a trembling hand.

There, there, cookie, the black diamond man told her. He sounded cheerful. Pull yourself together and get moving, or I’ll tell my men to bring him back.

“I’m coming,” she said out loud, her voice hoarse. She climbed to her feet stiffly, like an old woman. “Keep your goddamn shirt on.”

Edging down the path, still sick with tension, she darted her gaze everywhere in an effort to keep from being surprised by any of the Deceiver’s creatures. The kestrel had disappeared, but Nicholas kept pace with her. When she glanced at him, the ghost shook his head, but he no longer tried to stop her.

She fought to keep in contact with Michael’s energy. Her success was patchy at best, but at least it was enough to confirm that he moved away from the clearing.

The black diamond man wanted her badly enough to gamble on letting Michael go, and that frightened her more than anything. She flashed back to her last life, and the memory of him sprinkling some kind of powder into the crevices of her wound. Dread flooded her body again.

She whispered, “Okay God, if you’re bored and you have a few minutes, now would be a good time to lend us a hand. At least until Michael has a chance to get away.”

She hoped Michael would forgive her. She had done her best to rescue him. Once the Deceiver got hold of her, Michael would have to figure out the next move and rescue her. She knew this was a trap. She knew that the Deceiver wouldn’t let Michael go if he could help it. If they lost this crazy gamble, she was very sorry, but selfishly she hoped she would get to die first.

Up ahead, the cabin appeared through a break in the trees. When she reached the edge of the foliage, she paused to peek into the clearing. Her gaze skittered around, taking in details.

Several bodies littered the ground. Several more guards were alert and positioned at various places through the open area. They all had that queer, smudged quality in their auras. A black limousine parked at a slant across the gravel drive, blocking the way.

A handsome young man leaned back against the limousine, one foot crossed over the other. He was dark-haired with a clever, narrow face and dressed in a tasteful navy blue business suit. He held a handgun in a relaxed grip at his side, the muzzle pointing to the ground.

For a startled moment she felt a happy, relieved incredulity.

Justin hadn’t died in the fire. He was alive.

Then she saw it. The aura surrounding Justin’s body was so black that it shimmered, diamondlike, created from the pressure of an existence that had spanned the ages.

Her world crashed around her, and she clutched at a tree trunk to keep from falling. Horror sank razor-edged teeth into her.

No. No. No.

Oh God. Not Justin.

Justin was truly dead.

She didn’t know she had any more tears left until they poured in burning streaks down her face.

Dark spirits clung to trees, bushes and to some of the men. They rustled and whispered, the oily sound like a toxic sludge pouring along the edges of her mind.

Two men crept toward her through the woods.

She held the gun to her temple and took a step into the clearing. By then she had gone so hoarse she didn’t recognize her own voice. She said, “Two of your assholes are trying to come at me from behind. Call them off. Order the men with Michael to come back. Do it now.”

Not-Justin turned toward her. He gave her a delighted smile, and he looked so like Justin’s roguish, unrepentant charm she gagged.

He said in Justin’s pleasant, familiar voice, “There’s our princess. Hold on a moment.”

She waited. Her stalkers withdrew. Her mind jumped from the men in the woods to the two transporting Michael. They dropped him and began jogging back.

She reached for Michael telepathically. This was the best I can do. I’m so sorry.

She thought she caught a thread of whisper in reply just before an invisible wall slammed down between them, blocking out all communication.

“Now, cookie,” said not-Justin. “I’m a rather jealous sort. Right now I want all of your attention on me. I’ve kept my part of the bargain. It’s time for you to keep yours.”

She hesitated, remembering Michael’s promise to kill her before he let the Deceiver take her. Her hand clenched on the gun’s grip.

Not-Justin cocked his head. “You know,” he said. “Much as I love Mel Brooks’s sense of humor and his satire on racism, this is not nearly as amusing as that ‘shoot-the-nigger’ scene in Blazing Saddles , when the black man holds himself hostage. Put the gun down or my men go back to Michael. I’ll have them cut off his hands and feet. If he doesn’t bleed to death while I deal with you I can finish him later. I do promise you, cookie, if it comes to that I will be delighted to take my time with him.”