Carrie Vaughn - Discord's Apple

Even though Robin was killing her, she felt a great sense of relief when a pounding started on the bedroom door, punctuated by barking from the living room. Robin looked back at the door, pointed, and something happened—the pounding faded, becoming muffled as if the door were barred now.

She turned her head to slither out from under him, writhing, trying to escape.

When the thumping against the door stopped, so did she. Too tired, too out of breath, her muscles failed. She lay half on her side, her back twisted painfully.

And Robin was still there, his mouth against her neck. “Now, where was I? Ah, I was searching for rare fruit. Let’s find out what that Greek bloke sees in you.”

When one of her characters found themselves in an impossible situation, Evie had time to think of clever ways for them to escape. Her characters were always so clever, instantly clever, without even thinking about it, because their author had the luxury of revision. Now, in an impossible situation, Evie couldn’t make her brain work to be clever. No time for revisions if she failed here.

“If you don’t have it here, I’ll just have to look for it when I’m finished,” he said. “If you had listened to me the first time we met, we could have had such a lovely time together. We could have been friends.”

She’d left her jacket hanging on the doorknob of the bedroom. If she told him it was there, maybe he’d leave her alone.

Evie and Robin flinched together as the bedroom door splintered inward. Like a cat, Robin sprang away, his back to the wall, facing the door. A second blow tore through the plywood, then a third, then Alex, gripping an axe, pushed through, murder in his eyes. He cut himself, climbing through the broken plywood of the door, and held the axe ready.

His gaze scanned the room and focused on Robin. Alex swung the axe over his head and charged. Wide-eyed, Robin backed away on tense limbs. He appeared to be terrified, but at the moment Alex brought the weapon down to strike, Robin disappeared. Alex slammed the axe into the top of an antique dresser, wedging it half into the wood.

A wisp of smoke and rush of wind whipped through the broken door, to the main part of the house.

Snarling, Alex needed several attempts, jerking back with his whole body, to rip the axe out of the dresser. He paused only a moment before storming after Robin.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded, quickly and birdlike. He leaped through the chopped-up door.

My hero, she thought vaguely before scrambling off he bed and following.

Alex stalked to the kitchen, hefting the axe and looking like something out of a horror film. Robin wasn’t there. Alex searched the room, every corner in which the imp could hide.

Near the sofa, Mab half sat, half sprawled, and barked to wake the dead. Frank was on the floor with her, arms around her body, holding her back. Some of her stitched cuts had started bleeding again. His arms were shaking. The only reason Mab didn’t break free was because the dog was weak as well.

And there Robin appeared, behind Alex, holding a butcher knife from the Walkers’ own supply.

“Alex!” Evie screamed, too late.

Expertly, Robin drove the blade up, through the soft part of Alex’s lower back, under the ribs, through the vital organs. Alex arched his back and growled; Robin twisted the blade.

Alex wrenched away and stumbled back. Evie’s heart ached. She wanted to run to him, like the heroine in a bodice ripper. For a moment, she forgot what he was. It was easy to forget.

Never taking his eyes off Robin, Alex reached back and pulled out the knife. He swept the axe around one-handed, hacking at Robin. Robin jumped, writhed in midair—inhumanly, like he was made of smoke, defying gravity—and disappeared again, and Alex cut through nothing.

Blood covered the back of his shirt, bright red against the white fabric. His hand was red with it. Still, his face creased with intensity, he searched for Robin.

“Not entirely mortal, are you?” said Robin’s voice, disembodied. It had no focus, but diffused through the whole room, without source. “Let’s see how mortal you are.”

Alex stood his ground, waiting for Robin to show himself. He seemed calm, like a soldier waiting for battle, the faintest smile on his lips.

Abruptly, he fell back, flinging out his arms for balance. His knees buckled, as if something had struck them from behind. Robin appeared, light flashing into form, a reflection taking shape. He crouched on Alex’s chest and punched him, knocking his head back. Alex grappled for the axe, which had dropped a few feet away. Robin looked like a slender young man, almost a boy, but he had supernatural strength. Alex couldn’t upset him from his perch.

Taking careful steps, desperate not to attract attention, Evie stepped to the kitchen. She skirted along the wall until her feet left the hardwood and touched tile. She had to find a weapon, preferably one that required minimal skill.

Alex managed to unbalance Robin, twisting violently and slipping out from under him. There was a crack, like a bone breaking or a shoulder popping out of joint. It had to have come from Alex, but he didn’t look like he was in pain.

Robin was too fast. Before Alex could find the axe or establish his position, Robin was on him again, legs wrapped around his middle. He laughed, pulling Alex’s hair while Alex reached, futilely clutching at him. Next Robin grabbed the chain around Alex’s neck. He twisted it, tightening it until it pinched deep into Alex’s skin, cutting off blood and air. Alex’s face flushed, turning darker and darker red, and it seemed as if Robin could pull the chain clean through his neck, decapitating him.

Alex surely wouldn’t survive that.

Evie grabbed the cast-iron skillet off the stove top.

It was almost too heavy, but if she moved it fast enough, her wrist hardly felt the weight. Two-handed, she swung it like a baseball bat, aiming the flat bottom to connect with Robin’s head.

It crunched on impact. There should have been some resistance, some recoil, but her arms hardly felt a jolt as they finished out the arc. Robin followed the arc, spinning sideways, falling limp on the floor, jerking to a stop.

Evie stood ready, skillet in hand. But Robin didn’t move. At this angle, his head seemed flattened, and a trickle of blood leaked from his ear.

Alex lay on his side, his hands hooked around the chain, holding it away from his neck. His breathing wheezed, as if the air passed through a damaged windpipe. Evie’s own breath felt harsh in her lungs; she might start hyperventilating. She dropped the skillet and tried to breathe slower.

She knelt beside Alex and touched his shoulder, helping him roll onto his back. He had to be all right, after all he’d been through. He opened his eyes, and she sprawled on top of him and kissed him. After a moment’s hesitation, his lips moved against hers and his arms wrapped around her, one hand lacing into her hair to hold her in place.

Uncertain, she broke away and lay her face against his neck. Eyes closed, she breathed his scent—sweaty, a touch of blood where some of the links of the chain had broken skin. She wished she could rest here for a long time, warm and protected. The next few minutes were going to be difficult and confusing.

Alex was difficult and confusing. “I’m sorry,” she said finally.

“For what?” he whispered, wheezing as he chuckled with his damaged throat.

“For doubting.”

“Oh my dear, never mind.”

A wet canine nose interrupted. Mab arrived and pushed toward Evie’s face, licking and nosing until Evie moved, thereby proving she wasn’t dead.

“Oof.” Alex, innocent victim of Mab’s affections, halfheartedly pushed the dog’s head away. “I should kill the beast, but I spent all that effort sewing her up.”