Jay Posey - Three

“I’m not coming back, Dagon,” Cass said. “Neither of us are. You know that.”

Dagon shifted his gaze around, met her eyes briefly, quickly looked away. He had an awkward posture, always uncomfortable, like his bones didn’t quite fit together. Pale skin almost translucent at times, dark circles under dark eyes. Impossibly thin, like a knife-blade. Unequivocally deadly.

“I’d watch out for you, Haven. I always have.”

“My name is Cass.”

He looked at her again, fleeting. Nervous.

“Cass,” his voice quavered. “Just come back with me. We can work it out. Me and Ran. We’ll take care of you, I promise.”

“I don’t think you’ll get the chance.”

“Why? Asher won’t do anything.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He looked back to her, held her gaze for once. He looked lost. For a split second, she almost felt sorry for him.

“What are you—?”

Dagon almost asked the question, but at the last possible moment, he twisted his body, bent backwards, held a gravity-defying pose as Three’s blade severed the air where Dagon’s neck had been a half-instant before. How Dagon had sensed Three, Cass would never know. Even watching Three’s approach, she hadn’t heard him. It didn’t matter now anyway. She could hardly believe what was unfolding before her.

Three must’ve been surprised by Dagon’s sudden evasion, but he almost seemed to expect it the way he redirected his blade in a fluid motion, a single strike. Dagon bent again, twisted, dropped on his shoulder and whipped his shin across Three’s collarbone. Three stumbled back, rebalanced, just as Dagon whirled and regained his feet. For a heartbeat, they sized each other up.

Then collided.

Dagon was the first to impact, his knee crushing into Three’s solar plexus a half-second before Three buried his elbow into Dagon’s jaw. Dagon spun with the force of the attack, but carried through with a kick that knocked the sword from Three’s hand. Three responded with a stinging backhand, followed it up with a flurry of strikes too fast for Cass’s eyes to see. Dagon bounded backwards, but in the next instant lunged forward, catching Three with a hard palm to the face, and then darting his fingertips into a nerve cluster at Three’s shoulder joint. Three fell back again, dazed, clutching his arm as it dangled uselessly. Dagon melted to the ground, rolled, somehow came up to his feet with Three’s blade in hand.

Cass couldn’t help it. She called out, reflexively.

“Dagon, no!”

Too late. Dagon slashed the blade across Three’s throat. Three’s hand jerked once, spasmodically. For a moment afterwards, no one moved. Then, Cass gasped at the thin line of crimson that welled on Three’s Adam’s apple.

“Please,” Dagon said, glancing at Cass, almost pleading. “They’ll hear us.”

Dagon looked back to Three, watched him with unreserved fascination, the hint of a smile on his thin lips.

“I could’ve killed you, you know.”

Three hesitated, nodded. He reached up, felt his throat with his fingertips. A seam of blood stretched from one side of his throat to the other, a shallow cut, almost surgical. A warning.

“I didn’t do so bad myself,” Three replied in dry monotone.

Dagon chuckled humorlessly, dropped his gaze to his own torso. There, for the first time, Cass saw a slender length of polished steel protruding from between Dagon’s ribs.

“Missed the heart,” Dagon answered.

“Not by much.”

Dagon shrugged, smiled. Shot a look to Cass. Struggled, wavered. Finally.

“You know I can’t just let you go.”

He turned back to Three, eyed him. Cass saw something pass between them, some kind of understanding she couldn’t identify or explain. Three smirked.

“But I can give you a head start.”

Dagon plucked the blade from between his ribs, bowed slightly, extended Three’s short sword back to him. Three took it without ceremony; slid it into its sheath.

“I’ll keep this one,” Dagon said, holding the simple knife. “A reminder.”

Three touched his throat again.

“Guess I’ll keep this one then.”

“Next time,” Dagon started.

Three just nodded. Cass picked Wren up and quickly joined Three. Dagon wouldn’t look at her anymore.

“You should go,” he said quietly. “They won’t be far behind.”

“Dagon…” Cass began.

“Don’t.”

He turned his back to them, but made no motion to leave.

“Seeya, Spins.”

“Bye,” Wren murmured.

Cass swung Wren to her back, and hoped in her heart she’d never see Dagon again.

Three didn’t know what exactly had just transpired, who Dagon was, or why he’d let them go, but he wasn’t about to wait around for someone else to find them. He grabbed Cass under the arm and led her as fast as she could go back the way he had come. They’d made it deep into a tight alley, maybe fifty meters away, before Cass ripped her arm from him and stopped running.

Three halted, whirled to face her.

“We’ve got to keep moving.”

Cass set Wren down on his feet. And then, with everything she had, she punched Three square in the face. He took it, but reflexively grabbed her wrists.

“You left us!” she spat. “You left us to die, you son—”

Three spun her, shoved her hard against the nearest wall, crushed his body into hers, pinning her.

“You listen to me,” he growled, in a cold monotone. “I promised you nothing. I owe you nothing . You’re alive. For now. You want to stay that way, we move. Now.”

Three looked down deep into Cass’s dark eyes, saw the defiance there, the hard resolve, the intense fire he knew would burn him later. But also acceptance. She knew he was right. There would be time for arguments later. He hoped.

He stepped back, released her wrists.

“He said a head start. How much of one?”

Cass massaged her wrists, shook her head.

“Not enough to get away.”

And as if on cue, there came a cry from the far end of the alley. In the strengthening light of the early morning, the source was unmistakable. Tall, muscular, right arm dangling, gray and useless. Fedor.

Three snatched Wren off the ground and broke into a dead run with the boy tucked awkwardly under his arm, Cass right on his heels.

Cass fought to keep up the breakneck speed that Three required of her, but without the quint, she couldn’t get any more out of her body. Fedor’s massive form was closing the distance with every step, and Cass knew Jez couldn’t be far behind.

The trio twisted and turned, seemingly at random. Cass wanted to tell Three that they’d never lose Fedor when they were already this close, but she didn’t have the breath or the words for it. Then, she started to notice their surroundings. Landmarks she hadn’t even realized she’d noted the first time she’d seen them. A crumbling brick wall. Piles of rusted corrugated steel. A lewd advertisement from some former shop.

Three was leading them back the way they’d come. Something nagged at her, in the back of her mind. A warning. Too faint, too vague to heed.

“Come on, this way!” he called from ahead.

Cass couldn’t figure out the point in retracing their steps. They were way too far from the Enclave to make it back. Even if they could, the guards at the gate would never let them in after the way they’d left. It all seemed pointless. Fedor had dropped out of view, but she knew he was still tracking them. And he never tired.

The trio rounded another corner.

“Keep running,” Three barked. “Don’t stop, don’t look back!”

Cass didn’t have the will to argue. Three practically tossed Wren to her as she passed him, and she slung him on her back, on top of the backpack. Three slowed. She hazarded a glance back, and saw him drop to a crouch.