Kelly Meding - Another Kind of Dead

“He just needs to rest.”

She left and returned with a spare blanket and pillow. It wasn’t an ideal spot, but I tucked the pillow under his head, careful not to jostle. He’d have a big enough headache when he woke up. My own head was throbbing steadily, but I ignored it in favor of seeing to him. He’d always taken care of me. I wiped his face with a corner of the blanket, kissed his cheek, and stood.

Dizziness nearly toppled me, so I stood still, trying to get my bearings.

Kismet and Milo were attacking the remains of her car, attempting to get at the rear compartment. I wandered into the bathroom and shivered as I remembered the last time I’d walked out of it. Had it been only that morning? It felt like a lifetime ago.

I rummaged in the medicine cabinet and found a bottle of ibuprofen. I dry-swallowed three. As I closed the cabinet, I caught my reflection—dark circles stood out beneath both eyes like identical shiners. The cuts from the glass had healed, but my healing power couldn’t seem to stay on top of the wear and tear of using my Gift. Unless it was from something else—something like the petri dish my body had become for Thackery’s benefit.

My blood had the potential to fight off vampiric parasites. Too bad it couldn’t heal the wounds of others. I’d have gladly offered a pint to Felix if it meant saving his life. I didn’t want any more Hunters dying because of their association with me.

In the main room, they’d managed to clear a path wide enough for Kismet to climb into the wreckage; sometimes being five foot two and gymnast-fit had advantages. She was passing weapons out to Milo, who dutifully piled them on the floor. Guns, clips, knives, a short sword, throwing stars, silver spikes, a few grenades—we might just have a chance at killing those hounds.

“That’s all I can reach,” Kismet said. She wiggled her way back out of the wreck, clothes damp, and ran a hand through her short, red hair. “Now we just need an attack plan.”

“We can’t fight them hand to hand,” I said. “Our best bet is the guns.”

“Agreed. We’ve got frag and a-c clips, plus three flash grenades.”

“Flash won’t do much in this weather. We may want to wait a little longer for the storm to move out. The wind and rain will make it too difficult to aim.”

“We don’t have a lot of time.”

“I know, but we’ve seen the heart of the storm. I can feel the change. Give it half an hour to die down.”

She nodded, then started arranging the weapons. I’d expected more of a fight.

Wyatt was still out cold. His pulse beat a little stronger, and his color was better. I sat with him for a few minutes, watching him sleep. How I’d ever believed the trickster had been this man next to me, I didn’t know. The visual had been perfect, but even shape-shifters can’t replicate a person’s heart and soul. Can’t replicate a smell or taste. I pressed my lips to his forehead and inhaled. So familiar, so completely him.

“Wake up for me,” I whispered.

He didn’t.

“Do you really think someone at Boot Camp is responsible for this?” Kismet asked.

“I don’t want to,” I replied, “even though it makes sense. Look at the hounds outside. Someone had enough time to warn Thackery that we had Token, and I’m positive Thackery’s smart enough to have anticipated how we’d use him.”

“Why work with someone like Thackery? His research is unnatural.”

“Roofie rounds.”

“What?”

I gazed up at her from my crouched position. “We do research similar to it at R&D, don’t we? We have frag bullets that can pierce gargoyle hide and a-c’s that make even the strongest vampires bleed out. Could you imagine the power we’d have if we could inoculate humans against a vampire’s bite? Eradicating the Halfie problem would make our jobs so much easier, and no one else would have to suffer like Alex did.”

Kismet looked at the ammunition box in her hands.

I dropped my forehead onto my palm. The power to save other people from Halfie infection could be coursing through my veins, hiding in my blood. Or Thackery’s theory was full of shit, and I was getting my hopes way up.

“So you … what?” Kismet asked. “You agree with this possible traitor?”

My head snapped up, cheeks blazing. “Not even a little fucking bit. The research could be helpful, but it’s no excuse for turning on us.”

“Doing what you think is right isn’t reason enough to turn against the people you work with?”

I started to blast off a retort, then snapped my mouth shut. She wasn’t talking about this mystery person at Boot Camp. Her intense green eyes gazed at me, hard and piercing, daring me to answer. Goading me into denying I’d done the exact same thing.

Dammit, I hated being called on my own mistakes.

A groan saved me from answering. Wyatt was blinking at the ceiling with bloodshot eyes and trying to sit up. I pushed him back down.

“Did it work?” he asked.

“It worked.” I placed a palm flat on his chest, rubbing gentle circles. “You did good. We’ve got weapons.”

“I think …” He swallowed hard. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

I helped him half run, half crawl into the bathroom, and I rubbed his back while he threw up. When retching turned to dry heaves, I soaked a rag in warm water and wiped his face. The pallor was back, and his entire body trembled. I sat down with my back to the wall and pulled him into my arms, holding him against my chest like he’d done so many times for me.

“I feel so weird,” he said.

“You channeled a lot of power through your body. Just relax.” I didn’t have a lot of practice in offering comfort. Even when Jesse and Ash were injured, I’d let them tend to each other. They’d tended to me on occasion, but some invisible thing kept me from returning the favor. From showing without words how much I cared.

Wyatt’s head rested in the crook of my shoulder. I pressed my cheek to his temple, tightened my arms around him, and tried to do just that—show it without words. “I love you,” I whispered.

One of his hands found mine, and our fingers threaded together, palm to palm. He kissed my knuckles, and I felt the smile on his lips.

Another hour passed before the storm showed signs of calming. The worst of it had moved beyond us, but the air remained thick with residual energy. After I forced some crackers and half a can of soup down Wyatt’s throat, he seemed coherent enough to join me, Kismet, and Milo at the table.

“His fever’s up,” Milo said, referencing Felix without saying so. “We can’t wait much longer.”

“Even if we kill the hounds,” Wyatt said, “how do we get off the mountain? All our cars are smashed to shit.”

“Someone will have to get down where there’s a signal,” Kismet said. “Make a call and get some backup.”

I grunted. “That could take another hour to get someone up here, and then get Felix back down.” She shot me a look that asked if I had a better idea. I hated to admit I did, mostly because it was going to hurt like hell. “I can teleport him closer to the road. I’ll have more control now that the storm’s moving—”

“But less power,” Wyatt said.

“Yes, but with the condition he’s in, I need control more.”

“Is that even wise?” Kismet asked. “You’ve been through two huge power surges, or whatever you call them, already today. Can you manage one more, and with a wounded person?”

“I can try.”

“No.” Milo surprised me with his sharp delivery, and even more with the cold glare he leveled in my direction.

“Milo—”

“No fucking way, Evy. You don’t know these roads. You can’t tell me you know exactly where to teleport so you don’t land both of you inside a damned tree. You’re not going to try with Felix’s life.”