Kelly Meding - Requiem for the Dead

"Wyatt, it's me," I said.

The door opened, and I slipped inside. Right into Wyatt's arms. I hugged him back, breathing in the familiar scent of him. Feeling the heavy thud of his heartbeat against my chest, the warmth of his breath on my neck. I hugged him, not because I needed it but because he did.

I pressed my lips to the stubble-rough skin near his ear, then whispered, "I'm so sorry about Adrian. So sorry."

He held me tighter, shaking ever so slightly. His Lupa infection had heightened all of his emotions to extremes, and he was feeling his grief more strongly than he'd usually show. Wyatt didn't break down in front of others. He broke down in private where no one could see.

"The sniper's unconscious and tied up," I said, as much for Wyatt as for Marcus. "No cell phone, but gave me an address in Mercy's Lot."

"Do you trust his information?" Marcus asked.

"Not a hell of a lot, but it's all we have." I pulled back from Wyatt's embrace so I could look him in the eyes. He'd calmed considerably, the silver returning to thin rings around his irises instead of overtaking his entire eye. "I need to find a phone and get some backup, okay?"

Wyatt started to speak, probably to say he was coming with me, then stopped. He saw the answer to that request in my face. "Do you know where we are?"

"I have an idea, yeah. Protect them for me?"

He nodded. "Watch your back."

"I love you."

"Love you, too. So much."

I handed him the gun, which he only took under protest, then I slipped back outside.

Judging by the shadows on the ground, it was late afternoon, closing in on dinnertime. My empty stomach concurred with the assessment. That late night snack in the cafeteria felt like weeks ago. Thanks to Reilly's little surprise, I hadn't eaten any of the breakfast I'd ordered. A stack of those greasy pancakes he loved sounded like heaven.

I slipped around the side of the building and headed for the street. A cold wash of familiarity hit me. Corcoran Street. It ran parallel to the railroad tracks, along an alley dotted with abandoned businesses and construction sites, and less than two blocks from here was the Corcoran train bridge. The place where my old Triad partners, Jesse and Ash, had died back in May. Only days before I died the first time, too.

The street was cracked and dotted with potholes, a testament to its lack of use or repair. No cars drove past. The sounds of the city seemed so far away. The air was thick with the ripe odors of the nearby Black River, as well as soot and ash from the train tracks. Freight trains still occasionally ran through the city, and we hadn't heard one all afternoon.

When I looked back at the building we'd been trapped in, I spotted a partial wood sign still hanging over the boarded-up front doors: lice Depar. We'd been in some sort of police station after all.

I started jogging down the street toward the train bridge, eyes open for any signs of life or modern technology. Even a pay phone would be useful. None presented themselves, and then I was standing under the bridge, its metal pylons stretching high above my head.

I hadn't been back here since the night my partners died. We'd been set up, called here individually and them ambushed by half-Bloods. We fought well, like we always had. We'd been a unit for four years, had each other's backs, and made a lot of kills. Until that final fight. Jesse slipped up and got infected. He turned so fast, so horribly, and then he killed Ash right in front of me. So I'd killed him.

Memories of another lifetime tried to come back and I pushed them away. I had other people I cared about depending on me, waiting for me to bring help. I didn't have time for a trip down Memory Lane. The jail's proximity to the bridge, though, did help explain the ambush from that long ago night. Everything had been connected, orchestrated by a pissed-off elf with a grudge against the other Fey.

If I'd known then what I know now, things would have turned out so differently for everyone.

The hair on the back of my neck prickled. I stopped in the middle of the street and turned a slow circle. Something wasn't right—I'd learned long ago to trust myself when I got that weird sensation of being watched. It had kept me alive for four years as a Hunter, and it needed to keep me alive a good while longer.

Nothing presented itself as out of place, until the shadows near the pylons shifted. Glittering red eyes blinked at me. Multiple sets of eyes. My insides went watery and bile rose into my throat.

Goblins.

In the fucking daylight.

The eyes didn't move, but somehow the shapes of the goblins became more distinct. Their oily black skin, their oddly shaped heads and pear-shaped bodies. My fingers itched to reach for a knife and to start slashing throats. Only I didn't have a weapon on me. There were at least six goblins in the shadows, possibly armed with daggers and definitely armed with sharp teeth and claws. They were watching, not moving.

What were they waiting for?

I'd read once that discretion was the better part of valor, and I hadn't understood it at the time. Now that I was older and wiser, the saying told me it wasn't always cowardly to run from a fight—especially a fight I would definitely lose. And I had already lost enough today.

I ran.

Ran full-tilt out of there, down Corcoran Street, away from the jail and my friends. The thunder of feet behind me made my adrenaline spike. They were chasing me. I'd hunted in this part of the city dozens of times and I knew these streets, but they looked so different during the day. I knew darkness and shadows, not sunlight and reflections. I ducked through an unfinished construction site which was little more than a hole in the ground surrounded by plank fencing. I scanned for weapons along the way, hoping for a crow bar or even a solid piece of two-by-four.

Nothing.

The goblins kept pace, their huffing and snarls growing louder. Fear chilled me to the bone, and I ran harder, faster. Ducked through a hole in the fence and came out on another side street. More empty lots. I kept running north, aiming for a bigger population that might scare the little bastards off.

Something slammed into me sideways, and I tumbled to the pavement in a pained heap, scraping skin off my elbows. I threw a fist at the goblin that had knocked me down. Hit it right in the eye. It screeched and backed off. I rolled sideways and lurched up to my knees. Another goblin leapt on my back and knocked me flat onto my stomach.

I twisted sharply and mashed the smaller creature beneath me, using my shoulder blades to slam its head into the pavement with a solid crunch. Its hold on my back loosened. I lunged away and came face to face with another goblin. It bared jagged teeth at me, practically smiling, while its three companions circled us.

I am in so much trouble.

"Who sent you?" I asked.

They started giggling, which was a truly horrific sound, like manic, phlegmy coughing mixed with nails screeching down a chalkboard. I wanted cover my ears, but didn't dare move. If they all attacked at once, I was dead. I'd been killed by goblins once, and I'd be damned if I was going out that way again.

The goblin nearest me licked his lips with a thick purple tongue. "Nessa," it snarled.

"Nessa," the others repeated like a Greek chorus. Truly fucking creepy.

A distant rumbling caught my attention, like a train coming down the tracks. Only it was closer than the railroad, which was two blocks to the west. Please, God, be a car.

The goblins tensed, their pointed ears twitching and swiveling like a dog's. The rumbling grew closer. And then the head of the goblin farthest to my left exploded with the simultaneous report of a gunshot. Relief hit me hard, and I channeled it into hitting the goblin nearest me in the face. It tumbled sideways from the unexpected blow, and I tucked and rolled in the opposite direction.