Dying Breath Page 14

  Gabriel holds on to me tighter, whispering sweetly in my ears.

  What’s happening? I beg. I’m panting as if air exists here. As if the sweat on my brow is a real symptom of my distress and not some physical representation of an experience. The dream of living. The dream of death.

  Do not fight it, Gabriel suggests, dragging an icy hand across my brow. Resistance only erodes your will more quickly. You will need your will for this. Embrace it.

  It hurts!

  Only resistance can cause you pain.

  And if I’m resisting, then yes. He’s right. It hurts like hell. Did Caldwell murder me? Am I burning in hell like all those church jerks said I would?

  Let go, he begs me. I am here.

  I can’t.

  You can, he argues. What are you afraid of?

  Becoming the monster she knows I am.

  Ally with tear-filled eyes says, you murdered eight people.

  I can’t. I can’t hurt her. I can’t become a monster, and if I can’t stop from becoming a monster, then I can’t let her see it. Oh how easily our hard limits prove soft in times like this. First I said I’d never get her killed, then I got her killed twice. Then I said I’d never hurt her, but I’ve seen enough tears to know I botched that too. Then I promised I wouldn’t become a monster…right before I littered a street in New York with bodies.

  I keep making promises, and I keep breaking them.

  I want to say I’ll never go insane. I’ll never give over to the power the way Rachel did or Caldwell did. Everything I say won’t happen does happen.

  You are stronger than you believe you are, Gabriel says, bracing me against him.

  You keep saying that. I groan. Or at least I think I do. It’s hard to tell in the suffocating darkness. I would call this place the bottom of a lake, far below where the sun’s rays could reach, if only it weren’t so damn hot.

  There’s also the fact I’m not wet.

  I don’t think.

  And yet, I have that feeling of being suspended in water. The resistance gives the distinct impression I’m underwater because of the lazy and useless way my limbs move.

  But the pain—

  Another bolt rips through me and fire races up my spine.

  Gabriel, please!

  He holds me closer. Let go. Jesse. Let go, I have you. You are free to be exactly what you are.

  No. I beg, writhing in the burning dark.

  Please god, no.

  Chapter 21

  Maisie

  Sam blinks his big eyes at me. “What?”

  “Hide her!” My voice comes out like a hissy squeak.

  The windows vibrate with the force of the helicopter’s growling engine. The whole house trembles as I stoop down and grab Jesse’s arms. But Sam isn’t moving.

  “Sam!”

  “I’m thinking.” His eyes are cast down and to the side, his leg bouncing a mile a minute.

  “Can you think and move at the same time?” I wave my hand as if this is going to hurry him up. “Somewhere hidden? Somewhere they won’t know to look?”

  Because they will search the house. Once they find out Dad’s dead, this will get very, very ugly. Very quick.

  Sam snaps his fingers. “I’ve got it!”

  He bends down and takes Jesse into his arms. He scoops her up like she weighs nothing. Thank the Lord of Kibbles and Bits he’s got muscle. It would be better if he had a fancy superpower, but I won’t hold that against him. Mom, Dad, Jesse and I all have superpowers, and look where that’s got us. Superpowers are way more trouble than they’re worth.

  He carries her through the house, her long dark hair swinging over one arm. The carpet squishes as he steps on the mess we made sewing Dad up.

  Dad’s dead. The truth hits me in the chest again and a void opens in my mind. It spreads. It’s like not knowing what to say, but for my brain. I don’t know what to think.

  Dad is dead. The emotions swell. Relief. Regret. Sadness. Excitement. Pure bliss.

  I want to run my hands over the scars on my legs and scream. Scream until I collapse into laughter. I could throw my arms open and spin and spin and spin.

  Will it be like it was before I got my power? Friends and school and nothing to worry about but my homework and how dumb my outfit is? Will it be Mom and me in Chicago with ice cream and skates and a whole city to lose ourselves in?

  Mom.

  My elation ebbs into fear.

  Mom. She’s going to freak out when she finds out he’s dead. She’s going to lose her shit. What am I thinking? How stupid can I be? Mom’s never going to be like oh your dad is dead? Let’s get ice cream.

  This isn’t over.

  The partis stuff. The powers. The angels and the world ending.

  None of that is over now just because Jesse murdered Dad.

  This is happening.

  And I have my power. Things aren’t better. They’re about to get a lot worse.

  “Can you get the door?” Sam asks.

  Like a robot, I reach for the back door, grabbing the silver knob below the small curtained window.

  “No, wait.” He adjusts Jesse in his arms. “Look outside. We’ve got to make sure we can make it to the shed without them seein’ us.”

  I open the door slowly and poke my head out.

  Sam’s backyard is empty. The grass—or lack thereof—is like the front of the house. Only clumps here and there rise out of the red dirt. I’m guessing he doesn’t spend his weekends mowing the yard. Maybe he doesn’t even have to pull weeds.

  The white fence stops halfway around the house. I’m not sure what that’s supposed to do. In one corner of the yard, there’s a metal shed.

  “Wait,” I tell him.

  I step out of the back of the house, pulling at the top of his borrowed jeans so they sit higher on my hips.

  I ease myself into the yard, looking over each side of the fence. No helicopter parked in the red dirt. Nothing in the blue sky either. Keeping my eyes on the horizon, I wave to the boy hovering in the doorway.

  He runs across the yard to the shed. I keep sweeping my eyes across the horizon for any sign of the reinforcements. Nobody yet. At the shed, I reach for the handle, wanting to open for Sam.

  “No!” he hisses, and I freeze. “It’ll burn you.”

  He turns his butt toward me.

  I arch an eyebrow.

  He grins automatically. “There’s a bandana in my back pocket. Take it and open the door.”

  His eyes slide over my shoulder to the desert.

  “Hurry.”

  I do as he says, finding the white strip of cloth in his pocket. It’s smart. And I wonder if it’s standard for anyone living in the desert. Where temperatures get above 100 every day, people can’t walk around opening knobs and car doors without burning their hands off.

  That’s also why I haven’t seen any black cars.

  It’s all starting to make sense now. There’s a desert logic.

  I place my wrapped hand on the silver handle and shove down. It groans, swinging out. Sam ducks inside and I do the same, peeking out one last time to make sure no one sees us.

  Nada.

  I pull the door closed, leaving a small crack of light for us to see by. Shelves with boxes and tools hang on the walls, and something that looks like a leather belt. Car parts maybe. The shed smells like oil and god, it’s so hot in here. I feel like we stepped into a sauna only I’m too filthy to be at the spa.

  The shed is small. The ceiling isn’t far above Sam’s head. He could reach up and touch the wooden planks, and his elbows would still be bent, if he wasn’t holding on to Jesse.

  “There’s a trap door.” He taps the wooden floor under his foot.

  It doesn’t look like a door. It looks like nine wooden tiles lying flush with one another, creating the floor of the shed.

  He taps it again. “Pry it up.”

  I drop to my knees by his foot, tracing the groove on the wooden slat with my fingers. To my surprise, it gives.
The wood lifts and reveals a black hole underneath.

  Cool air washes up from the dark. Cool because it’s underground, I realize.

  He bends and sets Jesse on the edge, with her feet hanging into the darkness like she’s chilling by a pool. It’s weird. I snort before I can help it.

  Sam waves me forward. It’s hard to see him clearly in the shed without the light.

  “Hold her up until I get inside,” he says.

  I place my hand on her back, and when she starts to pitch forward, I put a hand in front too. Only it’s not quite enough. I lean her back to keep her from tumbling inside, on top of Sam.

  “Got her?” Sam asks. He’s got a reason to question my stability, I guess. I’m fumbling around quite a bit. But Jesse’s as big as me. I don’t have Sam’s size advantage.

  “Yeah.” It’s also hard to pay attention to what I’m doing. My focus wanders as I strain to hear feet. Guns. The helicopter. The reinforcements must be close now. I can’t be in this shed when they get here. If I’m missing, they’ll search for me and probably find this place. I’m going to have to convince Sam to hide here.

  My legs shake.

  “Okay.” Sam pulls Jesse toward him and my pulse skyrockets when she slips from my hands. But Sam catches her, rolling her into his arms like a lumpy sack.

  I’m not sure if he’s partly on the ladder, or if the bunker is shallow enough for him to stand in and still have his head above ground.

  He must be on the ladder. Because he descends into the dark with Jesse, leaving me to hover in the shed alone.

  I crawl toward the door again, straining to hear. Nothing. It’s an eerie silence with only a faint whistle of a breeze through the crack. Except, I don’t hear the helicopter anymore and I don’t feel its vibration through the ground. It’s got to be landed by now.

  My heart pounds so hard I’m going to pass out. It’s the hot shed and my fear and this horrible uncertainty about what’s going to happen.

  Not even the cold air wafting out of the bunker is enough to calm me.

  I hear a click, and I lean over the side and peer into the not-so-dark. A Coleman camping lantern illuminates the room in white-blue light.

  On my stomach, I lean over into the hole for a better view.

  Jesse’s on a cot in the far corner. On the opposite side are two milk crates overturned. The milk crates are made of black plastic and look shiny in the artificial light. On one wall are wooden boxes. Is that where he got the light? Are those boxes full of supplies?

  He must be reading my mind because he says, “This is an emergency bunker. Dad built it in case anything happened, like a natural disaster or a meltdown at the military base.”

  “Cool,” I say, but apart from the actual temperature, it isn’t very cool at all. It’s claustrophobic and very end of the worldsy. Sam can only take about four steps in any direction with the ladder in the middle of the room.

  I open my mouth to say more, to thank him for helping me, but before the words are out, a bucket of ice water pours into my chest. My guts tighten along with the muscles low in my abdomen.

  At the same moment, my tether to Mom winks out. The silence is sudden and shocking.

  “She died,” I say. I blink, sitting up on my knees.

  “Who?”

  “Mom died.”

  Sam comes to the ladder and climbs the first two rungs. “She probably bled out.”

  I nod. I’d seen her wounds too. He has the decency to look sympathetic for my sake, though I can’t blame him for hating my mom. Not after what she did.

  But at the same time, I make up my mind to ask something first, however embarrassing.

  “What’s it?” Sam asks. He’s on the ladder, his face even with mine. And he’s got a cute pensive pout.

  “When you kissed me,” I begin and my mouth goes dry. “Did you kiss me because you like me, or were you thanking me for saving your dad? It’s totally cool either way, I was just wondering.”

  He leans forward and kisses my lips again. This kiss is slow and deliberate and when he opens his mouth it forces my mouth open a little too. It’s hard to say which kiss I like best.

  He pulls back but not much. I can feel his hot breath on my face. “What do you think?” he whispers.

  My face is uncomfortably hot. “Both?”

  His grins. God, help me.

  “You have to stay here with Jesse.”

  He gives her a look and then turns back at me. His smile has lost some of its shine. “Okay.”

  And he doesn’t sound like it’s okay.

  “I don’t want them to find you. I don’t trust them, okay?”

  He frowns.

  “Promise me,” I tell him. “Whatever you hear, stay here.”

  “What if she wakes up?”

  I don’t want him to be boiled alive by my half-crazy sister either.

  “Try to talk to her. If she seems…” What? How in the world to finish that sentence? “If she seems crazy, give her space.”

  “Give her space?” he snorts. He gestures to the room. “Okay, sure.”

  I scoot back and start putting the floor tiles in place. “It’s better than the alternative.”

  “The alternative?” he asks before the wooden tiles click into place, sealing him inside.

  “I use my power for the third time today.”

  I stare at the shed floor until I’m convinced no one can see the edges. I tap on the top and Sam echoes my rhythm playfully.

  It’s all the reassurance I’m going to get.

  “I’ll be back,” I say and step out into the sunlight.

  Chapter 22

  Maisie

  I run through the back door, past the living room and kitchen, and out the front door. I think it’ll be quicker to cut through the house than to try to go around. I hesitate on the stoop.

  Beyond Sam’s white fence and upturned bike, a cluster of men with guns—very big guns— stand over my mom. They aren’t wearing their usual head-to-toe black. It’s desert fatigues this time, cloth the color of sand except for black combat boots.

  They’re looking down at Mom and saying things. One looks up and I see his mouth move. No voices though. A second scans the area, craning his head as far as his neck will allow before he pivots toward the other side of the street.

  He spots me and nudges the man beside him. I don’t need to know what he says next. I get the gist of it. They all turn and glance my way.

  Azrael?

  I don’t want them to find Jesse or Sam, so if I can use Azrael’s influence I will. I’d do anything for my friends. I consider it one of my better qualities. It’d probably get me sorted into Gryffindor.

  I am here. A cool breeze slides up the back of my sweat-soaked neck. Boy, I can’t wait to get out of the desert.

  I start walking toward the men, hoping to meet them more than halfway. I should have already been outside. I should have led them away from this house entirely. But they would have wanted to see where Dad died no matter what I say or do here.

  Azrael’s power hums in my mind and electricity glides along my skin.

  “Maisie,” a man says when we’re about four feet apart. “Are you hurt?”

  “No.”

  Lieutenant Perry has always been kind to me and Mom. I’d even say he loves her, but Dad would’ve murdered him if he’d harbored any thoughts like that. Unless Dad was the kind of person to rub a person’s obsession with his wife in a guy’s face.

  My stomach turns as the gun resting across his chest dips. He’s bending down to look into my eyes. I don’t know if he’s looking for shock. As he grabs my arms and begins to run a hand over my skin I realize he’s looking for a wound.

  “I’m not hurt.”

  He lets go of me and steps back. “What happened here?”

  Azrael shifts inside me.

  “They were fighting,” I say.

  He wants me to elaborate.

  “Mom, Dad, and Jesse.”

  “She’s alone?” Becaus
e of course he’d focus on the threat above anything else.

  “I think so,” I say. “I haven’t actually seen her in action yet.” A half-lie.

  “She blew up half the damn town,” a second guard says, pulling at the collar of his shirt.

  Perry holds up a hand to silence him, and for a moment, I’m struck by the sight of blood on two of his fingers. It’s drying on the flesh exposed outside his fingerless gloves.

  “Dad’s dead,” I say.

  Perry’s jaw flexes. “Did she hurt your mother?”

  “No. The police shot her.” I can’t help but notice his lack of reaction to Dad’s death.

  Perry doesn’t look happy or convinced by this. Azrael’s breeze blows through me, sliding over Perry’s body like a ghostly sigh. I watch Perry’s eyes glaze as his mind is forced to accept the truth.

  “Mom died from her injuries.” He’s got to know this since Mom didn’t disintegrate into an ash cloud. But then again, Lieutenant Perry’s just a guy. He’s head of team, sure, but a guy. How much did Dad tell him about all this crazy partis stuff?

  Perry kicks at the ground, his jaw working furiously.

  “I told him to take me with him!” he kicks the dirt again and swears. “Where is she?”

  I glance at Mom and scrunch my brow. I’m playing dumb on purpose.

  “Your sister,” Perry hisses. He’s not mad at me, but having an angry man with a gun growl at me is enough to make my pulse jump.

  “She killed Dad. She must have because he’s gone.”

  “Where were you?” Perry says, grabbing my upper arm. His fingers bite into my arm. “When your mother was attacked, where were you?”

  “In town!” I squeal. My arm burns.

  I say nothing as he drags me into Sam’s house.

  “Is she fully conscious yet? Or is she still dead?”

  “I don’t know!” This rings true because I don’t know. Jesse could have woken up. She could be out of the hole by now. But she was breathing when I left her with Sam.

  I turn to glower at Perry. “You’re hurting me.”