Vicki Pettersson - Cheat the Grave

Mackie ripped the blade from his body, listing toward me. We both yelped when Tripp miraculously lunged for one last blow, the butt of his gun ripping air to land on Mackie’s temple with a resounding crack. The monster went down again…and I plowed into something as hard as his petrified skull.

“Archer!” Strong hands steadied me and kept me from struggling.

I whirled, tense…and then slumped. “Carlos! Help. Tripp-”

“I smell it,” he said, motioning behind him. “Get her out.”

Fletcher and Milo stepped forward, but I pointed behind me. “No. Get Mackie out.”

Carlos saw instantly what I meant: if I fled, my Olivia Archer identity was forever lost. The Tulpa had been forced from the room before Mackie attacked me, and his bitch, Lindy, had no doubt followed to assist with Skamar. If I disappeared now, leaving the scents of rogue agents and Mackie behind, they’d put all the pieces together and know exactly who I was.

If I stayed, pretended to be an unwitting mortal whose mind had played tricks on her in a moment of stress, I’d still get my shot at the Tulpa. I had a hidden room I could take refuge in, which was a damn good cover for making it out alive. The Tulpa couldn’t say any different; he’d had his hands full upon leaving the office.

Assessing all of this within seconds, Carlos’s next order sent everyone in motion. “Attack.”

They ignored the weaponry in the grocery bag Tripp had dropped, clearly wishing to avoid his fate, and attacked Mackie with their hands, boldly pitting fists against blade-a suicide mission if done one-on-one. Yet together it was an effective example of the power of numbers.

They drove the crazed man from one side of the room to the other, the incessant whining in his throat rising to a pitch only dogs could hear as he was herded away from me. He gave one last desperate lunge-a move I didn’t even note until the men clustered around him formed a wall in front of me.

Then Alex cried out and an entire arm fell to the floor. Mackie squealed in delight, and the others continued punching, though more carefully…which wouldn’t work. Panicked, I whirled as the men lost ground and Mackie inched closer. Lunging for the grocery bag full of weapons, I didn’t care what I withdrew as long as it was lethal.

It was the saber, with its side firearm. Yet, the cluster was too tight, the movements too fast, and I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t hit one of my men. I backed all the way across the room, heels braced against the bookcase behind me, then yelled for them to clear. No one heard. But Tripp, now propped against the far wall, rolled his head, saw the weapon in my hand-one no one else could touch-and my braced stance. Fingers to lips, he let out a piercing whistle, then collapsed into himself.

I caught Gareth’s dazed expression, before Carlos yanked him back. Mackie scented me, spotted me, and lunged in the time it took to blink, and though I was ready, he was halfway across the room before I plugged him. He dropped a foot from the bookshelf and lay still.

“Eat lead, you rancid prick.” I depressed the trigger again…and the fucking thing shorted out. Pissed, I flipped the weapon around and used the flat end-and all my mortal strength-to hammer his skull. This had the surprising effect of reviving him. His head whipped up, bowler hat still perfectly affixed, and he growled.

His leap never reached me. It must have been Carlos who caught him from the side, because they were the first two out the shattered window, the others following, pummeling Mackie like schoolyard bullies in the moonstruck night.

Chest heaving, I ran to watch for a moment, catching only a glimpse of the dervish, a mass of limbs and fury, but one headed away from me, rather than toward. Within seconds the sound faded, leaving me alone with breath arrowing jaggedly from my chest, my mind numbed but whirling. Somehow, despite having been enclosed in a room with both the Tulpa and Mackie, I was also alive.

Adrenaline coursed through me, banging against the thoughts already careening through my head. How to hide what I knew? How to explain what had happened here? How to convince Lindy and the Tulpa that a sole human woman could have made it out of this room alive?

Yet every question fell away when I whirled to spot Tripp’s tortured body propped against the wall, eyes fixed on me. They were bright with the kind of pain that drained rather than sharpened the senses. He hadn’t much longer to live.

Look what he did for you. I crossed to him, tears instantly welling. More than Warren had ever done. And it was so unexpected-a fucking former Shadow ! A man raised to both despise mortals and murder the Light. And he lay dying because he’d protected someone who’d once been both.

“Archer…”

“Shh…” I knelt beside him, earning a pained grunt when I accidentally jostled him, but his gaze remained on mine, aware, coherent, and unwavering. His cowboy hat had come off when he fell, and it was the first time I’d seen him without it. It made him appear naked somehow. Dark sweaty hair plastered itself to his skull in thinning strands, and I swept them back before resettling the hat on his head. His hands were still melted around the silver gun’s barrel, still steaming on his lap too, though it looked like the nerves in his palms had finally shorted out. His chest was another story.

“Oh God, Tripp. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m relieved.” His mouth quirked as I jerked my head up, and he motioned downward with his chin.

I frowned, but released his head gently, then pulled up his pant leg to reveal a bubbling mass of flesh so infected it was nearly writhing. Grimacing at the redness, I covered it again, careful not to touch it. “Mackie’s blade,” I said, suddenly understanding why he’d fought to save me, heedless of his own life. I’d seen the wound before, but hadn’t put the two together. It was already predetermined. I hoped none of the others, once outside, were struck tonight.

“Better to die fightin’.”

I thought so too. Tripp, knowing this, let his head fall back. But just when enough time had passed that I thought he was slipping away, his fevered eyes slitted back open. “Carlos believes in you.”

I averted my gaze. I didn’t want him to feel like his actions had been for nothing, but I couldn’t lie either. I didn’t believe in myself.

Despite his pain, his impending death, Tripp moistened his lips and kept talking. “I got something for you, girl. Been carrying it around with me for when this time came. If you’d please…”

He angled his head at his chest, unable to get to whatever was inside his inner vest pocket. I tried not to look at his smoldering, melted palms, and carefully unbuttoned his vest. Mackie’s inflicted wound already bulged red, like Tripp’s chest was some sort of science experiment gone wrong. His eyes were on my face, so I kept my expression unreadable as I reached inside his pocket to withdraw a plastic bag of slim brown cigarettes. I looked back up into his sweaty, rugged face. “’Cause you don’t think I’ll live long enough for lung cancer to kill me?”

“Them are special cancer sticks. Quirleys. Got ’em from Miss Sola herself.” He frowned at some memory, one that had him drifting off before he jerked his head. “I earned those babies one by one, each costing me a chip she could use to thread the constellations in her night sky.”

“Is this-”

“What I bartered your powers for?” He’d been anticipating the question. “Hell, yeah.”

Cigarettes, I thought as he began to cough painfully. I felt the old anger begin to rise, but there was no real life to it, and it resettled quickly. What did it matter? I’d have given up those powers in order to save Jasmine shortly after anyway. Besides, Tripp and I hadn’t been allies in Midheaven. Over there, it was every soul for himself.