Every other day(82)

I’d known she was holding something back—about tonight, about this place, about coming here, helping me. Her eyes shining, she’d told me that this was her choice.

No, I thought. Oh, God. No.

I knelt next to her and felt for a pulse.

“Are they gone?” she asked, opening one eye.

Relief—bittersweet and warm—surged through my body, and I jerked my hand away from her neck. “You’re okay?”

“I got clawed a little,” she said. “Playing dead seemed like a really good idea at the time.”

“Playing dead?” Elliot repeated, and I saw in his eyes that he’d bought her act as much as I had. From the moment I’d seen her lying there, I’d been sure that the worst had happened, that I’d killed her by not being fast enough, strong enough, smart enough.

“I’m fine,” Skylar said. “And even if I wasn’t—I chose this. I knew what it was going to be like, and it was my choice to make. Deal.”

For a corpse, she was starting to get pretty mouthy.

“Come on,” I said, wishing more than ever that I could send them back. “Let’s go.”

We moved forward, step by careful step, me on point and the others bringing up the rear. The world was silent, absolutely silent all around us, until I heard Skylar whisper a single word into the back of my head.

“Duck.”

One word. Just one whispered word—but I did it. I fell to a crouching position the second before some kind of spear came whizzing by my head, close enough that I could feel the breeze it left in its wake. Close enough that if I hadn’t ducked, it would have taken off my head.

I should have heard it coming. I should have smelled it: meat and day-old blood and something sickly sweet. Without thinking, I grabbed hold of the closest hellhound body. I dug my fingers into its hide and pulled, ripping off a chunk of flesh.

In one smooth motion, I stood, brandishing the hide as a shield.

“Okay, now that is disgusting,” Bethany said.

I didn’t reply. I was too busy waiting for the next shot—and tracing its trajectory back to the thing that had shot it.

I could see it in the distance, guarding the entrance to the building. It took me a moment to place it. Tail of a scorpion, body of a lion, three rows of razor-sharp teeth.

“Is that a manticore?” Skylar said. “Aren’t they extinct?”

Apparently not. Of all the creatures in the preternatural world, this one most resembled the kind of hybrids that Chimera was trying to build. It looked like a dozen different creatures, sewn together by the devil’s seamstress. I catalogued its weapons: the teeth, the tail, the poisonous spines. A niggling sensation told me that I was forgetting—something that I’d read in a book.

Its voice, Zev said. Knowledge flooded my body—memories that weren’t mine, fights that my body hadn’t taken part in.

Lions roared. Harpies screamed. And manticores—with their human mouths and shark teeth—did something else, something unbearable and ungodly.

I processed the facts, but not fast enough, and the manticore’s cry reached my ears. It was like someone was taking a chain saw to my eardrums, making mincemeat of my brain. For the first time ever in this form, I felt something that resembled pain.

Blood poured out of my ears.

The others went down beside me, hands clasped over their ears, writhing in pain. I felt the warmth of blood on my face, trickling out of my nose, as the beast fired—one spine after another digging into my makeshift shield.

Skylar shoved something into my hands—the saw blade—and without thinking, I threw it. It cut through the air, a ring of silver light in the darkness.

I saw the moment it made contact. There was another scream and then silence—just the sound of a heavy object dropping down onto sand.

The manticore’s head.

“I thought that would come in handy,” Skylar said, satisfaction lacing her tone.

She’d already saved my life once here tonight, when she’d told me to duck. Whether or not her choice of weapon had made a difference in this kill, she’d already made good on her word that having them there would make the difference between life and death for me.

“I’m glad,” Skylar said fiercely. “I’d do it again.”

Sometimes, I thought, sparing a smile for my small blonde friend, crazy’s all you’ve got.

“Come on,” I said, ready to put this night behind us. “Let’s get this done.”

We managed to close the space between us and the building without straying from the path. The tracker in me could see the places where wheels and feet had tread before—safe places, in this rotting minefield.