Page 22 of Looking Grimm (Marionette #4)

Nash’s face twisted into a look so rife with anger I thought he would stick his hand down my throat and scoop the potion out by the palmful.

“You stubborn bastard,” he growled.

A string of words followed, but I didn’t hear any of them as everything that had been carrying on at half speed picked up to triple time. The throbbing ache in my shoulder and opposite hand filtered to the back of my mind, overwhelmed by the sudden need to draw deep, lung-swelling breaths while my heart drummed up-tempo.

Frankly, it felt amazing. I felt all the right things, more in control of the thoughts racing by and able to channel them. I cracked a grin at the thought of the wannabe Hex members littering the entry hall. They wouldn’t know what hit them.

Nash kept talking, cursing me, I assumed. He was red in the cheeks, and his fists were clenched like he wanted to grab me and shake.

My smile stopped him cold. I saw the pallor return to his face before I glanced over my shoulder toward where the rookies would soon come into view.

“Fitch, just move the damn rocks and we’ll go.” Nash’s caught hold of my upper arm. “There’s no sense fighting…”

I moved the rocks, all right. I thrust my towel-wrapped hand toward them with a rocket of force that sent them scattering backward. They tumbled across the scrubby brown grass, letting in bright light and air.

“Go.” I nodded to the clear path ahead. “Get your car.”

Nash balked. “And leave you here? No chance.”

We both knew where this was headed. Adrenaline potion or not, I was badly injured, and the only legitimate medical help was miles away at the Capitol. Holland would sooner leave me in a puddle of my own juices on the Bitters’ End floor than waste government resources healing me. Honestly, if I died here, it would save them a step.

All the deep breaths rushed my brain with oxygen and the faint smell of smoke. They said they were going to burn the building, but not if I could help it.

I tipped my chin toward the open doorway and said, “Don’t wait up.”

Turning on my heel, I started toward the entry. Nash’s rough grab on my shoulder hauled me a step back. It should have hurt more than it did.

“Fitch, I’m not a child,” he retorted. “I’m not Donnie.” He dragged me around and set his grip, his fingers pressing in inches above the knife wound in my chest. I felt the warm wetness before I saw it; rich red blood began to seep out.

Nash saw it, too. He stared so hard and so long that my heartbeats became like seconds ticking off a countdown clock .

“No, you’re not.” My reply stirred him from growing shock. “And you won’t end up like him, either. I learned from that shit. Get out of here and let me handle this. Please.”

Nash released me, but he didn’t leave. I would shove him if I had to. Send him skittering to safety and lock the door behind him.

He took the smallest step of retreat. “I’ll wait for you,” he said.

The words, and the mention of my brother, caused my heart to twist. For many years, Donovan was the only person in the world who gave a damn about me. He asked me once if I loved anyone besides myself. I’d loved him. Now, I loved Nash. I had someone else who cared… for the next few minutes, anyway.

I didn’t watch him go. It felt too final, so much harder than throwing myself off the bluffs last night. This was better, though. I would die in battle rather than running away from the life I’d never wanted.

The smell of burning and the whooping cheers of Grimm’s brute squad carried through the bar. I moved toward it while familiar sights blurred by in my peripheral. As I reached the pass between the bar and the entry hall, small balls of fire floated toward me. They weren’t hurtling like comets through space but rather drifting, almost aimless, and landing to die in scorched spots on the floor.

One passed very near my head, carried by lazy wing beats. I scrutinized it. The tiny creature was made of folded paper in the shape of an origami crane.

“Papermancy,” I scoffed and ventured onward.

In the entry, the broken front door stood agape. Avery’s mutilated corpse sprawled in a puddle of red and, beside him, the self-proclaimed papermancer had dressed for the occasion in a striped blue polo and slacks. He was the least criminal-looking criminal I’d ever seen, and I’d grown up watching Avery parade around in ascot ties and double-breasted vests.

The papermancer pulled handfuls of origami critters from his slacks pockets and tossed them into the air, where a short, squat woman flicked sparks to set them ablaze. She wasn’t a proper pyromancer, but she wouldn’t be around long enough for that to matter.

“Teamwork,” I muttered, drawing their attention. “How inspiring.”

“Marionette?” the papermancer asked. Even surprised, his voice was a drone.

My lips curled in a sneer. “Surprise, fuckers.”

Two more invaders charged down the staircase, rattling the wrought iron. A glance at the second-floor railing found flames surging out of Nash’s bedroom, and my stomach bottomed out. Thick, gray smoke billowed toward the ceiling where it swirled around the entry’s chandelier like storm clouds.

“It’s caught!” one of them called out. “Time to clear out!”

His buddy had other concerns, apparently involving me. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

My heart thrashed in my chest, its pulse painfully fast. My blood rushed as I threw out roping strands of thought and grabbed the men descending the stairs. The telekinetic tethers cinched around their waists and pulled them off-course. They flew over the handrail, thrown headfirst like javelins into the far wall. They shrieked in unison, but their cries were cut short by the crashing collision. Skulls crunched, splotching the white paint with blossoms of red. They tumbled to the floor, landing limp in a two-man pile.

The papermancer and his Bic lighter buddy gaped at me as two more figures darkened the front doorway.

The clock in my chest ticked with thudding beats that seemed to rattle my insides. My lungs begged for air that no amount of panting could satisfy while darkness teased the edges of my vision.

I needed more time.

Without my hands to add precision, I made a mad mental grab. I missed the closest assailant, the human torch, who barreled into me at full speed and knocked me flat. Pain spiked from my shoulder as it struck the floorboards. My vision blanked black.

It pulled at me, a slow thing amidst all the fast. Inky nothing like weights draped over me, pinning me to the ground. I stayed down when I should have gotten up, sucking sharply at the smoky air.

Inches away, Avery’s battered body remained a harbinger of what was to come. I cringed back from his mangled face as one of the invaders shouted, “Back off, shitheads! Puppet boy’s mine!”

I couldn’t see well enough to know who spoke while I blinked back the darkness set on consuming me. It took a mammoth effort to roll onto my side and fix the four Hex newbies in my view.

They formed a wall across from me, holding everything from a candle-sized flame to a matte black .45 pistol. It might have been intimidating if I hadn’t ended on the papermancer, who wielded an origami ninja star that I could not bring myself to take seriously.

I caught them up—one, two, three, four—wrapping mental threads around necks and spines. With cinching tugs and jerks, bones broke and vertebrae separated. They toppled like a line of dominoes.

Sweat slicked my body as I slumped onto my back and injured shoulder. It was warm, then terribly cold, fueling the chills that shook me like I was caught in an earthquake’s aftershock.

Smoke thickened the air and burned my eyes. I told myself that was why I was crying again. Always crying, always angry or sad. But this time I was afraid.

Fast.

The room spun.

My blood pumped.

Fire spread.

All too fast.

I didn’t feel enough. Didn’t feel anything. Didn’t see anything but heavy gray clouds and the flashes of yellow-orange fire eating up the building. Then a figure emerged from the haze.

No doubt it was the Hex member who would get the honor of claiming my life since I had no hope of fending them off in this state. I stared, squinting through tears until a shock of copper red hair and a wonderfully familiar bearded face came clear.

He swiped through the air with one hand while coughing and ducking under the cloud of smoke. When he spotted me, he bolted forward and knelt at my side.

“Thought I was too late,” he said. I couldn’t tell if it was emotion or the fire that strained his voice.

He slid one arm under my knees and wrapped the other around my back, then tucked me tight against his bare chest. I wanted to cling to him, but I couldn’t so much as twitch a finger as he rushed us both out of the building into fresh air.

The sunlight made me squint and, once my eyes were closed, it was a struggle to open them again. When we stopped, it wasn’t in Nash’s car, or even the Bronco I’d left parked out front. Nash laid me in the grass at the edge of the gravel lot, then leaned overhead, his face glistening with tears. I saw his hand cup my cheek, but I didn’t feel the touch.

“You still with me, Trouble?” he whispered.

I wasn’t sure.

This was how Donovan died. And Nash hung on like I had, helplessly watching and feeling the blood run out and the body go cold. I wanted to think that, in death, I’d see my brother again, my parents, too. But I didn’t believe in heaven because I knew I’d never see it, and if there was a God he would surely have sent them somewhere far better than wherever my soul was headed.

The distant wail of sirens caused me to crane my neck toward the sound. My already rushed breaths came faster, and I turned worried eyes on Nash.

“Investigators,” I gasped. “How did they…?”

My thoughts circled a bottomless drain. It didn’t make sense. Had they tracked my phone? Did someone see Donnie’s car?

“I called them,” Nash said. He sounded far away.

I stared at him, emptied of everything except the sudden ache in my heart. “You turned me in?” I asked .

Nash’s face wrenched as he stumbled through a reply. “No, baby, no. It’s just…” His throat bobbed through a hard swallow. “You’re hurt. You need help.”

“That’s not help,” I rasped in response.

He scooped me up and cradled me across his lap with my head on his shoulder. I squirmed weakly against him, sending mental commands my limbs failed to obey. My efforts amounted to nothing as Nash gripped me tighter. I trembled, and he shook, too, his body seized with quiet sobs.

I heard the sirens. Louder. Closer.

“Nash?” I blinked blearily up at him. He was red and gold and always so warm, but even his arms around me felt cold now.

“Don’t send me away,” I wheezed. “Don’t leave me. You promised you wouldn’t leave me…”

But I was the one leaving, sliding down into the clawing darkness that ripped us apart. It eclipsed everything else, and the world became quiet.