The Dolls(104)

His words are smooth and determined, but something flickers in his eyes as he says them, something like regret, and I use his moment of indecision to muster the last of my strength and pull away. The blood covering my body makes me slippery enough that he loses his grip, but I only manage to stumble a few feet down the alley before he’s on top of me. His knife glints angry in the light again as it slices through the air toward my heart, but I twist at the last minute and it lodges deeply in my upper left shoulder instead.

I cry out in agony. This cut finds muscle, and the pain is excruciating as he removes the knife and prepares to bring it down again.

Once again, I roll out of the way just in time, so that his knife clatters against the pavement instead of cutting through to my heart. But this only makes him more furious, and he’s far stronger than me. I try to touch my Stone of Carrefour, my only hope, but he sees me going for it and grabs my wrists.

“You’re not using that damned thing again,” he growls. “Not like you did when I tried to kill you in the truck crash.” He pins my arms above me against the ground using his left hand, and with his right, he raises the knife again.

I can no longer move. The blood is flowing out of me too quickly. My eyelids are growing heavy. My whole body throbs. And as Drew holds the knife over me, mumbling something about my heartbeat being silenced so that evil can be stricken from the world, I close my eyes and prepare to die.

But suddenly, out of nowhere, something springs from the darkness and pounces on Drew, knocking him off me. My eyelids are fluttering, and I’m finding it hard to breathe. I can hardly see. In fact, it’s not until I hear the shape mutter a curse that I realize it’s a man. All I can see are shadows, blurs.

“It’s going to be okay, Eveny,” he says, and for the first time, I realize that it’s Caleb. Caleb has come back for me.

“Watch out,” I croak. “Drew has . . . knife . . .”

My voice is fading with my consciousness, but I’m aware of Caleb grunting, “I know.”

The shadows rise and fall around me, and I can hear fists connecting with faces, heads hitting pavement, grunts of pain. I muster all my strength and reach for my Stone of Carrefour.

My heart is full of only one thing: a fierce desire to protect Caleb. And when my fingers brush the stone, that’s enough to invoke some kind of magic, even without words or herbs. I watch in frozen surprise as a bubble with a faint greenish tint surrounds Caleb. Drew attempts to stab him, but the knife just bounces off like the bubble is made of iron, not air. Both guys look momentarily confused; I know I’m the only one who can see the protection surrounding Caleb.

“Caleb,” I say, and what I’m trying to tell him is that the magic isn’t strong enough, the bubble is already starting to fade. But he seems to realize it too, and this time, as Drew slices toward him again, the knife gets through and gashes through Caleb’s upper arm. I hear him cry out, but just as quickly, he spins away and grabs the knife.

Drew rolls over and tries to come after him. He cries out as he lunges forward, his features twisted in anger.

And that’s when his chest meets the tip of the knife Caleb is holding unsteadily in his hand. Later, when I try to reconstruct it all in my mind, I’ll remember Caleb’s eyes widening, his hand going slack, the knife remaining wedged in Drew’s chest as he staggers backward and falls.

But right now, the world is still growing dim, and all I know is that Drew has stopped moving and is lying on his back, his eyes wide, the knife lodged deep in the left side of his chest. He makes a gurgling sound, gasps for air, and then goes still.

“Caleb?” I whisper into the nothingness. The noise of Bourbon Street is still very far away. I feel like we’re surrounded by overwhelming silence.

“Come on, Eveny,” Caleb says, struggling to his feet. “We have to get out of here before someone else from Main de Lumière arrives.”

He scoops me up in his arms, wincing, and I’m vaguely aware of the blood flowing from the gaping wound on his shoulder. He begins stumbling back toward Bourbon Street, and as I strain to see behind him, the world begins to fade.

“We just have to find Peregrine or Chloe, and they’ll heal you,” Caleb says, his voice sounding very far away, although I know I’m still nestled against his blood-soaked chest. “You just have to hold on. . . .”

His voice disappears as I lose consciousness.


I come to for a moment, long enough to register that we’re back in the mansion on Chartres Street, and that Caleb is leaning over me on the couch.

“Thank God you’re awake,” he sighs.