Where was Juliette?
To his right. She slowly advanced, cradling her right arm against her chest while the other held a knife.
The table couldn’t keep them both away. Roman retreated into the shadows. If he could just lead them away from Sparks, then he could call out, and they wouldn’t be able to stop the boy before—
The militia roared, charging forward. Roman cursed as the knife scored a glancing strike against his forearm.
From the other side, Juliette closed in on him.
He was trapped.
Sparks convulsed. He was deathly cold. The only warmth came from the blood rapidly pouring out his guts. He couldn’t seem to breathe. His hands shook as he struggled to press the wound closed, but Juliette had twisted the knife inside him, widening the gash too much for him to deal with.
Oh hell no, please… I can’t be killed by her… Anybody but her…
His spasms became a constant shuddering as his body went into shock. If only he was activated, then his body would be able to survive this. If only he had a needle.
Oh.
Suddenly he realized what an idiot he had been.
Of fucking course.
“Wait!” Roman cried, throwing up his hands in surrender. His back was pressed against the wall. He now had two more cuts from the knife, in addition to the ones on his chest and forearm. “You win. I give up.”
Juliette scowled. “Too late for that. I offered you a chance to be reasonable, and you fucking shot me.”
“Yeah, well, you should have known I’m not a reasonable man. Never have been.”
“You’re right about that.”
“I guess there’s a part of me that always needs to be pissed off.” Roman’s gaze darting between Juliette and the militia. Which one would strike first?
“It’s not a part that I’ll miss.” Juliette raised her knife.
But she paused when she noticed the light coming from behind her.
Blue light.
Sparks smashed the empty activation needle against the floor. He had ripped a sleeve off Roman’s coat and wrapped it around his wound. He still needed to stitch it closed, and soon, but now he was activated his body was no longer in shock, and he could ignore the pain. He could fight again.
It had taken him too long to realize — of course Roman kept his activation needles in his coat. That’s why Roman had tossed his coat at Sparks. He had created a backup plan.
Finally, Roman had given Sparks his own needle.
Juliette and the militia turned to him in unison. Juliette’s face fell. “Oh… shit.”
The militia ran at him, yelling.
Sparks grinned. This was going to be fun.
Roman was glad he had bothered to take the activation needle from the room upstairs. Really, really, fucking glad.
He tackled Juliette to the floor and knocked the knife out of her hand. She went limp beneath him — she knew she didn’t have a chance, not anymore. Roman punched her in the face, again and again.
When her nose was broken and bleeding and she was spitting teeth, he finally stopped.
“You win,” Juliette said faintly. “You’re going to release monsters into my city, and you’ve destroyed the only Ministry that could save it. Congratulations. I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”
She reached out with her good arm, picked up her knife, and raised it up.
Then pulled it down towards her chest.
Roman caught her by the wrist, stopping the blade just as it pierced her skin.
“Oh no you fucking don’t,” he said. “You don’t get to take your own life.” He pulled the knife from her grip. “I’ve already claimed it.”
He shoved the knife into Juliette’s heart.
45
It was over.
The boy flinched as Roman finished closing his wound — he had found the device the militia used to staple the Adrenalite’s chest wounds shut after they had been hooked to the machine. Three of the steel staples now held Sparks’ skin together. It was enough to stop the worst of the bleeding, barely. Roman picked up Juliette’s knife and thoroughly wiped the blood from it, then went to the lantern and held the blade over the flame.
Sparks’ face was pale. “You came for me. You—”
“Try not to talk,” Roman cut him off. “Focus on breathing. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“But—”
“I’ve just risked my life to save you. If you die now, I’ll be very pissed. Understand?”
Sparks nodded.
When it was hot enough, Roman removed the blade from the flame. Sparks cringed as the knife neared his skin, his light pulsed a frantic, quick tempo. Roman pressed the knife against the wound for two breaths while the boy cursed through clenched teeth. Roman caught the stench of burnt skin. Then it was finished.
Next, Roman ripped off a section of his shirt and wrapped it around Sparks’ forehead. It made a makeshift bandage to cover his bleeding ear. Or half an ear, at least.
When he was satisfied the boy would be okay, Roman turned to Juliette’s corpse. He could barely believe that she was dead. He had done it. Until the moment he had buried the blade into her and watched her die, he wasn’t sure she actually could die.
So… that was it. She was dead. So was the Adrenalite who had — potentially — killed Stevens. Roman had got his revenge. It was over.
Now what?
Roman didn’t know the answer to that. He had never considered the after. He supposed the first step was to get out of here and regroup with Ruby and Caleb.
“Let’s go.” Roman picked up Juliette’s gun, shoving it into his belt. He took Sparks by the arm and helped him to his feet. The boy grimaced with the movement, but his condition seemed to be quickly stabilizing. His light’s pulse gradually transitioned from weak and erratic, to longer and brighter pulses as Roman led them out of the room and back to the stairs. Roman paused on the landing. His gaze switching between the flight of steps leading down, and the set leading up.
Where was Candle? Surely he should have come back by now.
Something must have happened to him.
The real question was: did Roman care? He’d killed Juliette and saved Sparks, that was all he had come here for. If he left now, maybe he could leave behind the problem of Candle, and he wouldn’t have to help release a half-dozen Adrenalites back into Legacy.
Sparks looked up at Roman expectantly, still leaning on him for support. “Now what?”
Roman frowned. “I hate that question.”
Ruby listened to the footsteps draw closer, barely daring to breathe. Her fingers curled around the handle of a crossbow. She had crawled between desks, careful not to make any noise until she found the weapon. It was laying on the chest of its previous owner, who was missing his head. She heard the militia cross the room to the open elevator, and she had hoped he would climb down. No such luck. He began to walk between the desks, searching for her.
“Come out, whore,” he taunted. His footsteps were slow, unhurried. Now they were coming straight for her.
Ruby had nowhere else to hide.
She sat up, struggling to lift the crossbow with one hand, and rested its end on the edge of the desk. With only one hand — and an injured one, at that — she couldn’t aim properly. The militia was five-yards away. His expression dropped when he saw the crossbow.
Ruby fired, but the quarrel went wide, missing him by a full two feet.