Public Enemies (7 page)

“You'll fight in his place. Your wish is granted,” he intoned, loud enough for the whole arena to hear. Softer, he added, “'Ware that you don't regret your altruism.”

I had a moment to be glad I was wearing flats before the two giant moth-things each grabbed one of my arms and flew me toward the pit. My head was still spinning from the suddenness when they let go, about six feet from the bottom. I hit the ground hard; I tried to tuck and roll like in the movies, but I ended up hurting my shoulder. And the snarling intensified, along with a wet, slavering sound.

The creature that slunk out of the shadows had the wings of a bat, a goat's head, and the rest of its body appeared to be serpentine with vestigial limbs that ended in razor-sharp claws. It was roughly three times my mass, and I was already calculating all the ways it could kill me when a black bag dropped at my feet with a clang. My mom would be horrified that I'd gotten myself into such a mess.
There's no excuse for violence, Edie. It's always better to talk things out logically.
Somehow I didn't think this monster would be interested in chatting.

It snuffled through gaping nostrils as I edged toward the sack. Best guess, these were weapons or tools I could use. Even the Harbinger wouldn't expect a human to fight barehanded. Would he? My hands trembled as I lunged, then scrambled back. I was struggling to unfasten the ties when the creature charged. Breathless, I spun to the side. Blindly I reached into the pack and pulled out … a heavy stick. On closer inspection, I realized I was holding a spiked flail, a weapon I recognized from playing D&D with my parents in junior high. It was also much heavier than pen-and-paper adventures had led me to expect.

Part of me wondered if this was an elaborate illusion. In role-playing games, if you disbelieved a spell and made your saving throw, the danger disappeared. So I tried that first as the monster turned, clumsily, for another go.
I don't believe you exist. You're not real.
But the thing didn't fade; it ran at me and the claws that raked over my back as I dodged felt pretty damn real. So did the blood trickling down my spine. I'd never known pain quite like the hot stripes etched across my back; even the work Kian had done on me didn't compare.

The claws must be poisoned.
As that thought occurred to me, the monster lashed out with its tail, sweeping me at the knees. I bounced forward, my weapon clattering beside me. Pure instinct drove me to roll again and again, until I was far enough to get to my feet. The spikes on the heavy metal ball sparked on the rocks. From above, I hadn't noticed any particular geographic features but there were niches in the stone that let me play a terrifying game of hide-and-seek. I found a crevice too narrow for the monster to follow, slid sideways, and ran all the way to the back.

Judicious maneuvering let me wriggle around to face the beast, now mindlessly slamming at the stones. More terrifying, the wall gave way in small avalanches each time it swung its tail. It tore at the channel with its claws while I weighed how badly I was screwed. Fear made it hard for me to think straight; I had no combat abilities to speak of and I'd dropped the sack that might have something helpful besides the flail. Since I could barely lift the thing, it was hard for me to picture doing any damage with it.

Above, I heard the audience booing my careful, chicken-shit tactics. They wanted blood. Shivering, I factored the rate of excavation against the estimated distance the monster needed to travel. Math affirmed that if I just crouched here against the wall, I'd die five minutes from now, give or take a few seconds.

I have to make a move.

In retreating here, I'd thought only of momentary safety, nothing about strategy that might let me defeat the thing. Did monsters like this die? It was probably created by our stories, which meant there
might
be gryphons, hydras, and unicorns running around somewhere too. I didn't recognize this thing from the legends I knew, which sucked because stories might've built in an Achilles' heel, like how unicorns could be tamed by virgins. Obviously purity had no impact on this demon's desire to rend my flesh and gnaw my bones.

Four and a half minutes left. Do something.

But sheer fright had my brain on lockdown, so I could only think of how the time was ticking away. More of the stone barrier between me and it sheared away; it lashed out with its claws, slicing the air no more than five feet away. Two or three more solid hits and—

“Get the bag.” That eerie whisper belonged to the Harbinger, but he was nowhere nearby. I shouldn't be surprised that he could throw his voice since he had all kinds of other illusions at his command. Yet if I could figure out how to get past the thing, I'd already be doing it.

A flash of light to my left drew my eye. Peering closer, I saw divots in the rock that could be used by a desperate girl as handholds. Holy shit, I was so limiting the way I considered my escape routes. I was focused on 2-D, only forward and back.
But I can totally go up.
My skirt wasn't long enough to hinder my movements, so I twisted around in the niche and set my feet in the outcropping. For a few seconds, I feared that my upper body strength wouldn't let me do this—while the monster smashed ever closer—but I strained with all my strength and went up a couple of feet. Two more, and two again, until I was out of its reach.

Fifteen feet up, I found the tiniest of ledges, imperceptible in the gloom. Like a tightrope walker I crept around the edge of the pit, searching for the bag. It took the beast a little longer to realize I wasn't trapped anymore, then it snarled with rage. The ground trembled as it wheeled. The thing sniffed the air in my direction, suggesting it couldn't see too well.
There's the bag.
But now I was up too high to reach it easily. Climbing down would be too slow.

I have to jump. Before it spots me.

Crouching, I dropped. Somehow I held on to the flail, but the impact hurt my ankles and I fell over when one of them twisted with a painful crack.
Broken?
I had no idea; I hadn't been the type of kid to play outside and injure myself. But now I couldn't even run, and my back was still bleeding. I grabbed the bag and used the handle of my weapon to shove to my feet. With frantic hands, I dug through, finding blades and bottles, but I had no idea what item held the key to stopping this creature.

Just before the beast trampled me, the whisper came again, exasperated. “Red vial.”

It was dark enough that it took me critical seconds to figure out which one that was. Distracted, I took another talon slash, this one across my shoulder. The pain made me drop my weapon. Now that I was bleeding in two places, the monster's sounds grew … voracious. Long skeins of drool drizzled from the goat's jaws, and when it opened its mouth to bite, the thing had fangs, not the flat teeth of an herbivore. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with the red vial, but there was no time to think. Impulse made me chuck the glass into the open maw lunging at me. My aim wasn't good enough to make a basket at normal distance but since it was on top of me, the vial skimmed right into its mouth.

Reflex made it bite down. I stumbled away as it growled and spat slivers of glass. A few seconds later, it tumbled forward and hit the ground. And with a distinct edge, the Harbinger proclaimed me the winner. When the moth-men came for me, I almost passed out from the pain in my back and shoulder. Somehow I held on until they set me on the edge of the pit. Then the pain flourished into three-point agony. My ankle would barely hold my weight, but against the odds, I was standing in the ballroom again.

“We must have a serious chat,” the Harbinger said, clamping my arm with steely fingers.

Kian shoved to the front of the crowd pressing around us and pulled me away. “Another time. We're done here.”

The intended victim was still cowering; he stared up at me as I quietly offered a hand. But I didn't have the strength to pull him up. Kian saw what I was trying to do while the monsters around us got increasingly restless, probably sensing the Harbinger's discontent, and he hauled the kid to his feet.

Then he knelt, his voice more commanding than I'd ever heard. “Get on.”

Before the rioting started, we ran for our lives.

 

THESE BOOTS WERE MADE FOR RUNNING

Even with me on his back, Kian ran like all the devils in hell were chasing us. I clung to his shoulders and tried not to think about what would happen if they caught us. The halls were still dark and ominous with pounding footfalls echoing behind us along with the grunts and moans of excited beasts. This might just be getting them more worked up but we had to get out of here. The Harbinger needed to cool down before I saw him again, presuming that was even possible.
I might be on his shit list for all time now. He did say this kid is his favorite pet.

Despite his injuries, the boy kept up with Kian, his breath coming in gasps that sounded like sobs. Otherwise he was eerily mute as he ran.

Each step carried us closer to the front doors, but the scrape of claws was getting closer. I didn't dare ask what would happen if they caught us. Something snagged my hair but Kian pressed forward and I stifled a cry as a hank tore free. My scalp stung but we didn't stop, racing out into the crisp air toward the car. Somehow, it was still dark, lending credibility to Kian's claim that we hadn't been inside as long as I thought. He rounded the Mustang and set me down gently, then turned to the boy panting beside us.

“Get in back.”

Evidently he understood, though he still hadn't spoken a word. He hopped in and Kian helped me into the passenger seat. A tide of monsters rushed down the drive toward us, and I pictured them literally tearing the car apart as Kian slid over the hood and bounced into the driver's side. As he started the car, something with fangs and claws slammed the window. It shattered instantly, spraying me with powdery glass. He slammed the car into gear and executed a rapid 180, tires spitting gravel. We ran over a howling beast with a
bang-thump
and then we were racing down the private drive toward the road.

Kian cut me a worried look. “You're hurt. And it's freezing in here. Just hang tight, Edie. I'll get you to a hospital.”

While I wanted to refuse, that would be stupid. My ankle needed to be x-rayed, and I wasn't sure how bad the claw marks were. My head was feeling woozy, and the affected areas had gone numb, which couldn't be normal. The doctor would probably be stymied about my wounds, which we might pass off as an animal attack, but what about the toxins in my bloodstream? Yet I couldn't go without care.

Shivering, I nodded. “What time is it?”

“Half past two.”

Crap, I was definitely out past curfew. Yet I suspected my dad was sound asleep, none the wiser. “Seriously? But…”

“I know, it felt like days.” He glanced over his shoulder at the kid huddled in back. “What's your name? Where do you live?”

Silence.

Maybe he found Kian intimidating, so I tried. “I'm Edie. And you are…?”

“He called me Aaron.” The whisper was so faint I barely heard it.

“But that's not your name?” I asked.

Another pause. “I don't remember. You don't have to drive so fast. If the Harbinger didn't mean for us to escape, we wouldn't have.”

The kid made a good point. “So the chase—”

“Was for show,” Kian cut in.

“I didn't think he'd ever let me go,” the boy said softly. “He said I was supposed to live and die for his amusement.”

A shiver rolled over me. The casual cruelty reminded me what sort of creature was in charge of protecting me—and I'd be insane to rely on him again as I had tonight. But I didn't regret helping this kid get away. I just had no idea what we were supposed to do with him now.
Surely his family's reported him missing?

“You need to see a doctor too. I think your fingers are broken.” My words came out slurred, likely a result of the poison in my bloodstream.

Kian sped up, glancing at me worriedly. “Hang in there.”

Fifteen minutes later, he found a small hospital in some small town up the coast from Boston. The place was tiny compared with the hospital where I'd visited Brittany, but there were also fewer people running around. Since it was the middle of the night on New Year's, they were busy with drunken accidents, and our situation didn't seem as weird as it might have otherwise.

We waited for almost forty-five minutes, and it was getting hard for me to breathe by the time they escorted us back. They tried to take the boy back on his own, but he clung to Kian's hand like he'd never let go. In the end, the nurse let us wait for the ER doctor on the same bed. He asked a few questions about what we'd been doing tonight, and I let Kian do the talking. He told a fairly convincing story about a New Year party gone wrong and an angry guard dog. Afterward, they tended my wounds and checked my ankle, sprained, not broken, then they set the kid's fingers and put medicine on his cuts and bruises. The staff asked where Aaron's parents were, but Kian said he was his brother and opted for private pay.

“Did something else happen?” the doctor asked, troubled enough by my respiration to check again.

“I might've been stung by something,” I wheezed.

His concern sharpened. “Are you allergic?”

“I don't—” But I couldn't finish the sentence; a vise tightened around my rib cage, compressing my lungs. My head throbbed from lack of oxygen, and everything went dark and smoky. In a few seconds, I'd be out.

“Anaphylactic shock,” someone yelled.

The medical team responded, running around and doing things to fix it. An oxygen mask went over my nose and something sharp pricked my arm. I was feeling better in five minutes or so, enough to sit up. Kian looked near death himself; he stumbled toward me and drew me into his arms, ignoring the people trying to work around us.